Young Writers Society

I stood before the door, trying to take deep breaths. It was a green door, and for some strange reason it had a red spot directly in the middle. Odd, what the imagination would cook up. I grasped the brass handle, turned it, and stepped into the unremarkable room, clutching my notebook and pen in one sweaty hand.

They were there, all four of them. My main characters, the living personas of my imagination and writings.

Kivan Shra-matt had been with me the longest, since I was about fifteen, and her appearance reflected my wishful thinking of that age. She wasn’t beautiful, not exactly, but she was tall and deeply tanned, not a parlor or rub-on tan, but the honest bronzing that comes from years of hard work beneath the sun—hard work I never had the stamina or inclination to do. She regarded me, half warm, half wary, with blue eyes exactly like mine. Then she smiled, and I knew there was real warmth behind the expression. “Good to see you again, Gyr. It’s been a while since we talked like this.”

I nodded, gulped, and stole a glance at the man standing next to her. As Kivan was my very first hero, so he was my very first villain—though he did eventually find redemption and forgiveness through the course of the story he shared with Kivan. His name was Danteel, and with his chalk-white skin, solid black eyes, and skeletal figure, he was the most alien person present. Also, with the silver sidelocks in his silky black hair, he was by far the oldest, nearly fifty-five.

My mind flicked through the hundred and one horrors I had put him through with my pen, the painful and truly tortured past I had given him so that he might be both a sympathetic and a ruthless character. Even though he was, technically, within the power of my imagination, still I feared reprisals. Danteel was never one of those people to let a trivial fact like not really existing get in his way.

But he gave me a cool, genteel smile that even I could not penetrate. The expression stretched the scar across his mouth, and I knew there were many more such marks covering his thin back. “Welcome, Miss Falcon,” he said, his voice cold and smooth like frozen silk. His black clothes contrasted strikingly with his skin, and with the extreme plainness of the setting. I noticed for the first time that the room was painted a standard off-white, and the only furnishings consisted of an oval table with five chairs set around it.

Kivan and Danteel, who had known me longest, sat after their introductions, but the other two, both protagonists of my newest story, remained standing. Karenna Morn, a tall, waif-like girl a year younger than me, toyed with the curly brown hair that fell almost to her waist, and had trouble meeting my gaze. But I knew her eyes well enough—one blue and one green; those mismatched colors had spelt trouble for her her entire life.

The boy standing next to her—and he was a boy, though he looked sixteen years old or more—had no such shyness. His arms were crossed across his chest and he glared at me defiantly. Tannar was his name, and while he was, behind his human façade, a spirit that could control the forces of air and water, he was the one I was least afraid of. I smiled impishly at him—he was my first truly mischievous character, and he caught the fun in my gaze and grinned back at me. “So, what do you want this time?” he demanded.

I looked around the table. Here were assembled the ageless figures of my pen and imagination, and the timeless markers of my own character. Kivan—patient, steady, friendly—was my toughness, the core of resolve I rarely showed. Danteel, with his long experience and aristocratic grace, was my anger and my fear at the same time. Karenna, out-of-place but smart, unsure of her role but still determined, was my hopes for the future, as well as my doubts. But Tannar was all fun and mischief and carefree omnipotence. Tannar could fly, and Tannar could make it rain, and Tannar could sing and play any instrument like he was born of music. Together, the five of us made only one person, and the realization of that truth sent shivers down my spine.

I gestured for Tannar and Karenna to sit, trying to regain some of the authority that came with my position. She gracefully took her seat, but Tannar hopped up onto the table, crossed his legs, and snorted. “You could have found a more interesting place to meet.”

Danteel gazed at the younger man coolly. Though Tannar and he had never been in the same story, they had bumped into one another within the confines of my mind, and as such maintained a kind of polite hostility towards each other. Danteel regarded Tannar as impulsive, inexperienced, and careless, while Tannar viewed the other with the kind of mixed resentment and admiration with which a younger actor might view one who has “made it.” “May we come to the point?” Danteel asked.

I nodded. “I’m afraid it’s academic,” I said. “But luckily, open-prompt.”

Tannar snorted. “And you come running to us. Too lazy to do the work yourself and you know as soon as you start scribbling or typing we’ll take over the work for you.”

“To be fair, I did create you,” I pointed out.

“God-complex!” Tannar cried.

“Well, she did,” said Karenna, and Tannar subsided at her gentle rebuke. Karenna turned to me, and this time had no trouble meeting my eyes. “Why all four of us?” she asked.

“I thought…I thought I might write something that can show my teacher what I’m actually good at. Not that I stink at research and such, but you guys are where I thrive. I guess I could have cooked up some new characters and a short plot, but then they’d take forever to get rid of, and anyway, I’m proud of you all.” I gave Tannar an extra smile; he rolled his eyes.

“So you were thinking of doing a kind of fan-fiction thing, featuring all four of us?” Kivan clarified. “Why just us?”

I shrugged. “Well, I have so many characters, I don’t want my readers getting confused, and it’ll be hard enough for them to keep you four straight,” I shot a look at Danteel and Tannar, “no offense.”

“None taken,” they said in unison.

“What universe, then?” Kivan asked. “Danteel’s and mine or theirs?”

“I was thinking, perhaps some neutral territory. I don’t want to deal with the mayhem of bringing you all into my world, so maybe I’ll just write it someplace…else.”

“What’s the story then?” Danteel abruptly joined the questioning. “It doesn’t seem that you’ll have much room, with just a few-paged essay.”

I nodded, “Yes, that’s part of the reason I’d appreciate your input.”

“What about…” Kivan stared off into the middle distance, “what about you write something where you’re involved as well?”

“Yes,” Karenna seemed to like the idea. “Like, the writer and her characters, talking on equal footing, just like normal people.”

“I’m certainly not normal,” said Tannar, insulted. “But I can see what you mean. Like a…mass interview or something.”

“What if…” Danteel’s quiet voice demanded attention. “What if you wrote something where you spoke to all four of us, someplace nondescript, about writing the essay.”

I blinked, and Tannar whooped. “That’s perfect!” he cried.

Kivan and Karenna smiled at each other. “I certainly like the idea,” said the Kivan.

A slow smile spread across my features, and I stood, notebook in hand. “It’s perfect.” Quickly, before I forgot, I scribbled in my notebook, “I stood before the door, breathing deeply…”