AWOL: A Character Lost by Anthony Renfro Page B

unlighted room, and once again, crashed hard into the wall. This time the crash was so hard that it sent both boots flying, jingling and jangling as they flew, landing somewhere in the dark with a loud thud. The character stayed where he stopped, flat on his back. He was tired, and he was frustrated. He had been tumbled into and out of so many different stories that his head was spinning. He wondered to himself if the audience this guy was writing for was feeling the same way. He just wanted to be home, and the character knew the audience wanted to see him there too. They were probably begging for it by now.
    “Rough landing,” I wrote, words flashing on the wall
    The character looked up at the wall as the words flashed out. He flipped the wall off and muttered a barely audible “fuck you” under his breath. He had no desire at the moment to talk to the author, the guy sitting at home, typing on his keys, comfortable, not having to dance from one horror story to the next.
    “A little pissed at me, I guess.”
    The character laughed and didn’t say anything, just lay there.
    I let him lie there a moment so he could get his mind straight. He needed it.
    After a few moments, the character sat up to a sitting position and shook the cobwebs free. He rubbed his eyes, stood up, and collected his cool. “I saw my other son again.” He took off the gun belt and dropped it onto the floor.
    “Really?”
    “Yep. He disappeared into one of the cabins, and just as I went to open it – guess what? I was back here.” Controlled rage ran across his voice as he said this, doing his best to keep the anger in. “You like jerking me around and the audience as well, right? I know what you are up to, they probably do as well. Using my son to get some audience sympathy or trying to push your little story forward with dramatic tension. It is shameful, it really is. It’s not even possible or probable for him to be in the same story as me. Don’t you realize that? Probably don’t, you just think it’s clever.”
    I ignored him. “It appears he is lost, just like you. I guess you got lucky with your first son.” The words flashed on the wall, and then flashed out.
    “Lucky,” he laughed. “Lucky he was caught by those blood suckers. Lucky that he almost got fed on. Lucky that those animals nearly tore him to shreds. Lucky that I don’t know where he is right now, if he is safe or not.” The character paused for a moment. “If that is luck, then mister author, I want no part of it.”
    “Do you need a nap or a break?”
    “I just need to be home, and I need to find the rest of my family.” The character studied the doors without light this time. He wondered if he would ever make it back.
    “Are you sure?”
    “Look. I am just ready to get done. The sooner we get this over with the better.”
    I was sure he needed a break, but he didn’t want it. So I decided to push on.
    “Okay, well, I’ve been given it some thought, and I think the Monster door is the one you should go into next.”
    The character turned on the light and looked at the doors. If he went into Monster, then Alien would be ignored all together.
    “Why not Alien? That’s the next one.”
    The character was trying to get back into the rhythm of things. He knew that if he cooperated that the author would eventually get him home. He was trying not to think of his sons, one lost in the author’s twisted imagination, the other possibly back in his story. He was also trying not to think of his wife, and what she could be going through at this moment. He stopped that thought train; he just didn’t want to imagine the hell she could be in right now, if she wasn’t home in her own story.
    “I just don’t think you need to be there just yet. It feels like to me that one will be needed later on, but for now you need to go into the Monster door. You’ll also need some new clothes.”
    “That’s obvious.”
    I ignored him and thought of some clothes he would