This is a POV narrative written by a character of mine, Forbye, on the subject of me, the author. Hence the title.
Foreword in link below explains why I wrote this, and more specific information on the background/origin of Forbye, the character who wrote this, or POV if you wish.
Suggestions for a better last line appreciated.
She was born on a dark and stormy night.
The midwife was driving a long way through the country roads in the bad weather, and she never made it in time, but the baby was safely home delivered.
Now that she's fifteen she tells the story of her birth like it's an old cheesy horror film.
I wonder if I was born on a dark and stormy night.
My origin is very blurry and vague, even she isn't very sure of it.
What I do know is that I was created for fulfillment.
She used me to do things that she didn't have what it took to do in her life.
She couldn't say what she wanted to say to those that hurt her, so she made me to say it to those who hurt me.
Did she ever think that maybe I didn't NEED a tragic backstory to be interesting?
Her writing was unrealistic, it was foolish, it was self-indulgent, and worst of all it was blind.
She was young, I'll give her that, but she didn't understand that her actions really affected us.
I wish I didn't need her. And maybe I don't.
I have every reason to leave her and she knows it.
At least, unlike some stupid writers, she never ever thought of herself as our Goddess, who giveth and taketh away, to whom we oweth our very lives.
I found her old novel drafts for a book that never made it past the first chapter.
The two main characters had cool and barely pronounceable names, and everyone else was just Bob or Fred or Joe. They had exotic appearances too, and everyone else looked normal.
Everybody who was somebody had a tragic past.
Then there was Jess. Poor girl was in an RPG full of two-dimensional, mentally unstable and very dysfunctional characters.
When she finally snapped, she gave the silent treatment to Annie for years until she matured and wrote a very sincere apologetic letter.
If I could ever meet Annie personally, be there face to face, mercy knows what I'd do.
I hate what she's done to my life. She's tried to fix it but she's never been there for me.
But I still remember how she'd come back every few months.
She'd sketch me, she'd colour me in, tenderly fixing the smudges and the mistakes, wishing that someday I may forgive her.
Don't tell her, but....I like her pictures.
I adore this Victorian gown she designed for me. It's sophisticated, and elegant, but also practical.
That's her specialty.
I'll at least admit that Annie has matured, and consequently, things are better for us.
Now Jess has a balanced life, and a sister. I live in a fantastic steampunk library with a kind and witty four-armed lady named Mavis.
I have a best friend to keep me from drifting too far.
I like Mavis and I like the library, and to be honest my life isn't so bad.
But sometimes it's just not enough.
I had parents, I had a sister. We were all we had, and we were all we needed.
Sometimes I want to ask her...
Why did you kill them?
I want to know where I come from. I want a future outside of these walls.
I need a purpose, and we have to find it.
Or I might live this way forever.