In the Pages - Chapter 1

Times knew Roman, but not very well. So, when the two of them managed to get usurped by Calibri and Arial as the reigning fonts, leaving them with only each other, they absolutely panicked.

Comma had to admit that it was interesting to watch, and then he absently handed over $20 to Period for winning the bet. Period has always been one of his best friends. And so, it is only because Period asked that Comma is now standing outside of Exclamation Mark's classroom, waiting for the class to end.

There is nothing that Exclamation Mark (affectionately, or perhaps mockingly, called Clammy by Period and Question Mark both) hates more than receiving too many phone calls. When he is in the middle of a class, dealing with the troublemaking Apostrophe and Semicolon, his phone rings and rings and rings, sometimes eight calls in a row from the same (amateur) author; when he is in the middle of a line in the Alphabet Market, while watching silent films (the only ones that premiere in the Wordless Theaters, run by Sentence and Question), everywhere!

Excuse him for a few minutes; he has to take a call.

"Clammy!" There is a particularly loud ring. Exclamation Mark grinds his teeth, and he stares at his friend, and tries to calm down. It is difficult when Comma seems to have picked up the completely ridiculous nickname from Period. "I'm so glad you're here, because do you know how tiring it is to go around and around the pages looking for you-" Starting from about here, bruises begin to appear on Comma's body, "because it's so, so huge and I can't even see over the edge of it, you know, where the author is, and our bedrooms are missing a wall, I'm sure you can fix it, but I'm not sure-"

Exclamation Mark sighs and holds up a hand to silence Comma. He's been hanging around Run-On Sentence, Sentence's estranged cousin, far too much. He makes a mental note to tell Period to haul Comma whenever Run-On Sentence is within sight.

"You're a complete masochist," he mutters. Comma blinks, oblivious to the pain that he should be in, because it's generally accepted that bruises hurt. Comma abuse, yet another sign of the amateur wannabe author. Or, even worse, the dreaded teenage first-time fan fiction writer. He shivers. As if sensing his thoughts, Comma shivers as well.

Exclamation Mark shakes his head. "Fine, fine. You have ten seconds to tell me what you want, fifty words or less, and this had better be worth the time you took of my holiday."

"Um... I'm not sure anymore... Period said that you might be able to help him with... with whatever he was doing. Then he told me to go away... Was it a bad idea to get you? Did I do something wrong?"

Exclamation Mark massages his aching head. Somewhere, he can hear a voice scream for mercy. "Comma, stop before you make Ellipsis faint of blood loss." He knows what Period is up to. He wishes he didn't.

"So, did I do a good job?" Comma looks far too hopeful and innocent.

"Yes, you did." Exclamation Mark sighs. "Hurry up and lead the way back. If what you said is true, we have a long walk ahead of us."

Comma positively dances with joy as he leads the way across the edge of the page. He seems to forget that Exclamation Mark is trailing behind him as he prances about, searching for his best friend. How the deadpan Period managed to befriend somebody as self-conscious as Comma and not have him worrying about every single thing he does is beyond him.

"-Space is still spacey, and Apostrophe still likes to confuse everybody with his talking, and the author hasn't improved any with grammar and proper use of it's and its, so Period doesn't want to cooperate, and he's sending Semicolon out in his place, but she isn't happy about it either and she's really angry with Period, and she's giving him the silent treatment until he apologizes, but he doesn't know how to apologize and it's funny, but I'm just worried that I'm getting in the way of their relationship and I don't really know what to do, and I keep feeling like I'm being a bother and stepping on their toes, but I don't-"

Exclamation Mark has years of experience with tuning out his sister's questions. He figures it's best to do the same here. While Comma rambles on and on about how everybody else is doing on their summer holidays, Exclamation Mark is staring at the paper, doing his best to avoid the splatters of blood on the floor.

Stupid masochist.

At long last, they make it back to the dedication page, where the four oldest of the punctuation marks have made their home. It isn't a very lavishly decorated page, with only two sparse uses of italics to add a touch of class. Far too many authors-in-training use italics to emphasize every single thing, and it loses most of its effect afterwards. Exclamation Mark sighs when he thinks of the many good little stories huddled up on the cold winter realms of the Recesses (of Imagination), out of the warmth and comfort of ink and paper, and maybe just a little pang of sympathy strikes his heart. Or, maybe not.

"Comma." The deadpan voice is immediately recognizable to Exclamation Mark. It's the same monotonous voice that he has been hearing for the past eight years or so, and it's as normal as the rustle of pages in the breeze and the loud screaming of bolded letters.

"Clammy."

"I am not called Clammy." Exclamation Mark narrows his eyes dangerously. Period just stares, eyes half-lidded, and carries on with whatever it was he was doing before. "Do not refer to me as 'Clammy' ever again."

"In your presence, at the very least, Clammy," Period says, not even looking up from his- thing. It looks like a hybrid between R, Ampersand, and Semicolon. It writhes and whimpers in Period's grasp, but nobody pays its pain any attention. Comma just bounces around Period's space, staring out at the Table of Contents, dangling his feet off of the edge of the page. Period stares at it in a clinical, scientific fascination, poking and prodding it. Exclamation Mark just can't bring himself to care. He's never seen anything like it before. But it is oh-so familiar.

Oh yes, Exclamation Mark knows exactly what Period is up to, and he is definitely sure he does not want any part in it.

Which really is too bad for him, since Period has been taking lessons from Apostrophe on being difficult to deal with.

"No." Exclamation Mark thinks he does not have to say anything more. "You will no order me to go along with whatever scheme or plan you have come up with, and I want no part of it. You are not to approach me with any offer along those lines for the rest of your natural existence."

Exclamation Mark cannot see Period's face, but if he could, he would note the rolling of eyes, and the slight quirk of lips- just a shade more smile-like than his regular face. "Very well. I will not approach you. I will not offer. And I remind you that we do not have natural existences. We are merely ink and paper, as is everybody else. Including this one." Period frowns at the thing in his hands.

"I hate you."

"You don't really mean that." Period knows when he is right, and he also knows when he has succeeded. "One of these," he begins, thrusting the failure in Exclamation Mark's direction, "has escaped from my section of the page a while ago. I believe that it has run off to somewhere near the end of the novel, possibly hiding somewhere around the page numbers."

"You want me to go and fetch it." Period says nothing but continues on with his work. "Alone. All the way across some four hundred pages. And still possibly not find what you want me to find. Am I getting this right?"

"Yes, just about," Period says. "Except for one thing: you're not going alone. I'm coming as well. I do not want you possibly killing my experiment."

"Oh, traveling? Can I come too?" Comma bounds over, smiling wide. "I don't know where we're going, but it's going to be fun, just like the last time we went to visit 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, and 0 over at the Table of Contents, and it's like when we went looking for O after Q insulted her again 'cause we had no idea where we were going, and then, there was that-"

"You can come to," Period interrupts.

"Oh, really?" Comma's face looks like it will explode from the joy he is feeling right now. "Thank you Period! I'm going to call Kess now, because I promised her that we're going on a date and-"

Exclamation Mark ignores his phone and pins Comma to the wall. "You are not taking my sister on a date. Do you hear me?" he snarls.

Period rolls his eyes. "Set him down, Clammy. There is such a thing as too overprotective, you know? Comma hasn't done a thing to hurt Question Mark, and if I know him well enough, he won't do anything in the future either."

Exclamation Mark appears not to have heard him, and just concentrates on trying to keep Comma pinned against the wall without crushing the other's neck. As much as he doesn't want to admit it, Comma is his friend, no matter how annoying the other gets.

Period sighs. "A road trip will do us all some good." And then, very gently, he pries Comma from Exclamation Mark's grasp. "Comma, go call Kess. Clammy, you're coming with me. Time to get packing, and then we'll see if we can get Apostrophe to come along as well."

He drags Exclamation Mark away, gives a nod to a brightly smiling Comma, and leaves. His experiment whines mournfully before it shrivels up and dies. All that is left behind, when the reader will flick through the pages savoring the feel of rough paper flying through their fingers, is an old, faded inkblot, seemingly innocuous, almost invisible.

Period bends down and wipes away the blood on the floor. Comma really should know how to clean up his own messes.