“No one wants to read out there. This is just a waste of time.” His frustration was finally coming out, loud.
“I want to read.”
“That’s because you want to know what happens to you.” His anger was unknowingly getting surpassed of his own judgments. He was yelling at someone who doesn’t deserve it.
“May be I have my own reasons but hey, even you have yours to write down.” Talking sense but frustrated mind loves to reject the sensible.
“Yes. I do. My reason was to deliver a tale. To let the world know what cooks in my mind but if there’s no one out there to read, what’s the point of writing?”
“Well there is one more reason to write.”
“I can’t find any.” Disappointment speaks.
“The reason is me. If you’ll not write, I’ll never be born. I’ll keep wandering in your mind and keep asking you what lies in my future. Why I was bought in your mind. I am your character and I have all the rights to know what happens to me; with me.” The Author’s unborn character pours his heart on.
“What should I do?” Author felt emotional.
“Write for your own peace. Let the world be ignorant. If they are ignoring, it’s their own lose. Never let them judge what you should do. We have chosen you and now it’s your duty to bring us out in this world.”
“Wait a minute. I am confused.” Something struck the author at that very moment.
“I am wondering who the author is because right now you are writing me; you are writing my actions and that means you are writing me.”
“Does that matter?” His character smiled and author started to convert words into a world of his own where his character will write the Author within.