Author’s Note: I wrote this story in response to a writing prompt in the WritingPrompts subreddit:
This story was first posted on Reddit. Also, please don’t waste your time, Tobby.
I’m a writer. A famous writer. I have several bestselling novels in my list of achievements, and my fanbase loves me, because I love them too.
And speaking of friends, I have lots of friends. A number of fellow writers, illustrators, editors, and my agent are a part of my circle of friends. Lately, they’ve been telling me that my latest novel is very different compared to my usual books. Still, it was a bestseller, and it got a lot of good feedback, so I didn’t feel concerned about them noticing the difference.
One day, though, I decided to read my previous works again, ’cause I was a little curious about how I evolved when it comes to writing.
Alone in my apartment unit, I read dust-covered copies of my previous works. They were all about people who wanted to escape reality, people who embraced delusions, and people who ended up on the path of destruction. It was shocking, really, when I found out that my past works were about very troubled people, and that they were bestsellers as well. And all of my previous works’ endings were tragic ones! All of them even had characters who often thought that there was no hope in reality!
And then suddenly, I wrote and released this bittersweet story, a story with an ending where hope is clearly visible. One day, I felt like writing it while doing my usual habit of holing up in my room. Now that I think about it, I also received a lot of surprised responses from friends who saw me while I was spending my break times by doing household chores and other important things. They all said that I was a very lazy person. I told them that I was doing what I should be doing to live properly, and they didn’t mind me doing what I was doing after that. ‘Sides, they were glad to know that I changed for the better, and that boosted my self-esteem, which is very important in living properly.
Still, I was wondering about what happened to me. During the past days, I woke up feeling refreshed. Tired, sometimes, yes, but not unmotivated. Everyday, I felt like I should be living properly. Everyday, I felt hopeful. My friends told me that I have a strong hatred for optimism, but I don’t remember having such thoughts. I remember always having optimism.
What happened to me, then?
That question was answered when I watched the evening news one day.
“FAMOUS WRITER FOUND DEAD UNDER BRIDGE”
I stared at the report, at the evidence, at the facts that were not supposed to be true.
I stared and stared and stared.
Suddenly, I heard loud knocking coming from the door of my apartment unit.
I turned my head to look at the door, unable to respond properly because of what I discovered.
Still, I heard the question that the door muffled.
“WHO ARE YOU? WHO IN THE WORLD ARE YOU? WHAT DID YOU DO TO HIM? ANSWER ME!”
Who am I?
Ah. Yes. I know who I am now. I truly didn’t notice what I did back then, believe it or not, but I know what I did, and based on those actions, I know what sort of person I am.
I’m a liar.