The Author's Playground

P R O L O G U E

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Every author loves their story.

Sure, you may get tired writing it after quiet a while, but even so; it was a novel you enjoyed writing before, no?

The words you put consideration to, the effort you did researching overnight.

The thrill to have a reader, the thought of someone enjoyed your work.

All of it was something you used to cherish, that you may ended up forgetting the joy over small things one day.

Everyone loves their work.

But some forgets they did.

Like... a certain author who could no longer bring to love his work.

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'Slash!'

"Quick! Run away!" The shout echoed coming from the voice of a young teen age.

The scenery was painted in shades of red.

Blood pooled towards the rain-slicked ground, together with the moonlight that filtered through the heavy thunderstorm above.

Corpses were piled up in one another.

It almost appears like a one-man massacre.

There in the distance stood a lone figure, a young man with silver-white hair, covered with rain and sweat, and streaked with blood. His breath filled the silence as he clutched tightly against the broken sword.

Everyone had already evacuated and fled except him.

All of them simply obeyed his command to run away, retreating in far distance as not even a single person dared to look back. None of them dared to try to save the young man who stayed behind.

In their hearts, they carried only one thought:

'What a heroic person!'

If a viewer were reading this through their books or screen, they'd probably think:

'Ah... this is the 'protagonist' of this story'.

But is it really?

The silver-haired man stood alone as the horde of monstrous wolves surrounded him.

The monster's red eyes did not dare to leave their gaze against him and its low growls could be heard visibly.

Yet, the young man kept his focus, even though his body started to tremble in fear.

This is where most stories would follow a familiar script;

A: When a weak young boy who was about to die. Depending on his determination to live, he was able to survive thanks to a somewhat overpowered skill or something.

Or perhaps...

B. A powerful ally would swoop in to save him, and this act of mercy would spark a desire in the man's heart to grow stronger, to repay the debt.

Yes, that's how it usually goes, no?

But not this time.

'Crunch!!'

This isn't 'his' story.

The wolves lunged. One after another, they tore into him.

Fangs sank into his flesh. Claws raked through his body.

The young man let out a guttural scream, unfortunately, his voice was simply swallowed by the storm.

The broken sword fell from his hand, clattering uselessly onto the ground.

His once commendable figure was now tangled into pieces. His limbs were ripped apart.

And those people he saved?

Would they remember him? Would they honor his sacrifice?

Of course, not.

The moment they looked back at his corpse, all they would feel was fleeting pity. A sad tale, yes; but one they'd forget in time.

His heroic attitude would fade into obscurity, and will not even go to history.

That's it.

When the wolves finally left their feast complete, a figure approached hiding from the trees.

The newcomer had deep blue eyes, and messy dark blue hair tied into a loose ponytail. He crouched beside the mutilated body, his lips curled into a smile.

"Well," he speaks, almost conversationally, "this is the story I wanted to write."

As he stood, a faint blue glow illuminated suspended right before him.

Then almost instant, a translucent screen followed up before his eyes.

'Ping!'

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[System Notification]

Prologue Completed.

Total Accumulated Views: 100

Comments: (1)

User8927: "WTF? The protagonist died right away? No way that was the MC, right?"

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