The character turned around to see a man who looked like a cop in street clothes. He was an older guy – late sixties, with salty brown hair and a thick mustache, wearing khaki pants, a polo shirt, and loafers.
“I would love to know what’s going on,” the character replied, as he saw a young man and woman escape off into the woods nearby, laughing and pawing at each other’s clothes.
“My name’s Frank by the way, former cop,” he replied, holding a hand out for a shake.
“Martin,” the character replied, returning the handshake.
“Well, Martin, a few days ago The Good Night Killer disappeared, simply vanished. One minute he was slicing and dicing and the next, nothing. I was tracking him when it happened, almost got him.”
“Like he just walked out of the story,” the character paused. Was this a slip up? Would it send this story into some kind of creative chaos? The character didn’t know that answer, but he was happy when Frank seemed to gloss over it.
“Story? No, just like he walked out of the world.” Frank gave the character a look over. “Not from around here, are you?”
“No, I’m sure of that.”
Frank moved on with the conversation. “After that, it all got weird.”
“People started doing what they wanted to do, mostly sex and partying. It’s like they have no fear. They’ve lost that part of themselves.”
You have a home.
You have a life.
You have it all.
Then suddenly you wake up alone and afraid in a cold, dark place. Somehow you find your courage and your voice. When you ask for help, words light up on a wall in the darkness. You read them and realize you are in the creative center of your author’s mind. Instead of rescuing you, the author asks you for help.
This book is about the journey of that character, as he moves from story to story desperately trying to find his home.
Find AWOL free here today and tomorrow: