8 - THE STORY'S CHARACTER

When Marcia crossed the border's city where she found many police vehicles and firefighters, Marcos put the pen aside, proud to have finally written the word end.

And he was lighter with the outcome. It was not a definitive ending. However, it seemed. Her character could live again, and he was happy about it. She was his villain, but somehow she was not a bad villain. She had her reasons, and he respected her for it.

He looked out, and the landscape was still the same. The snow curtain was coming down over Black Lake covering any view. Still in his chair, Marcos stretched himself and yawned. He looked at his watch and was shocked. It was more than 2 am. He had lost track of time, trapped in the bonds of his creation. His masterpiece. By far, it was the most intense book he has ever created in his career as an amateur writer.

He got up, put his hands on the door handl, and got confused to see that it was locked. When had he done that? He didn't remember getting up to lock up the door.

He shrugged and turned the key. He walked to his mother's room and got alarmed realizing the bed was empty. He went downstairs and did not find her there either. He went to the kitchen, and drank a glass of water as he wondered where she might have gone. It was a weekday. And even if it was Friday or Saturday, she rarely got out at night.

He washed the glass and put it in the dish drainer. He went to the living room, and when he opened the door, the girl was outside waiting for him.

***

As soon as Marcia left, she felt something weird. She felt as if a new thread connected her to someone in the place she had just destroyed. And it was a different connection. It was not hate or love. It was bigger than both. It was as if her creator called her. As if he was crying out for her to find him, so that they can talk about her origin. About her nature.

She followed that invisible thread. He passed by houses in flames, and bodies on the floor. Some people were still alive, running from side to side searching for a new victim to battle until their death.

She crossed again the store where she had taken her first victim.

She crossed a house where the bodies of a man and a woman were hanging by a rope. Maybe they made that decision when they realized the chaos that was set in the city. But if they knew that, they wouldn't be affected, they would not die that day and would never have done such an act. She regretted it and told herself that she would warn them the next time. She would weave one more net, the same one that she had created the mad and insane, to unite the ones that were pure by heart. So that innocent lives wouldn't be taken in vain.

A tear trickled in her face by the scene and once more, she was caught by surprise. What was that feeling that gripped her heart? She had so much to learn about those things. And maybe the thread that she was following would explain some of those things.

She came in front of his house. Her heart squeezed. She was in front of the source of her answers, and she had so many questions. Would he know how to answer them? Maybe not all of them. Maybe he didn't even know about her. Maybe he created her by mistake. It didn't matter. She was there, and she would try her luck. And if he was still alive, he was a good person. A human being worthy of the new world.

A window's light on the second floor was lit. She stood below with her feet buried in a meter of snow, watching the glass lighted up. Her heart pounded.

She forced her feet to move, but now, they seemed to weigh a thousand pounds each. She walked slowly. How long did it take to walk those two meters to the door, didn't know? It could have taken a minute or an hour. What if he had the power to erase her, just as he had to give her life? What if he found out about what he created, realizing the monster he brought to that world and then killed her? Because she knew people did not see her as something good. To humans, she was a threat. She was death.

He thought about opening the door and getting in, but something in her mind asked her to wait. And so she did. She stood for minutes in front of that unfamiliar house with millions of thoughts running through her mind. She waited until she heard footsteps. Her heart threatened to jump out of his throat. And then the door opened.

***

Marcos got scared and jumped back when he saw on the other side a little girl, barefoot and wearing only a dress, without any warm clothing. He was caught by surprise, and was not expecting to meet anyone outside especially at dawn.

She smiled at him, and he smiled at her.

What was that connection he was feeling about that stranger? It seemed like he knew her.

—Are you lost?

—A long time.

He did not answer. He was puzzled by her words.

—Since the storm?

—Well before it.

—Do you want to come in? We can try to call your parents.

She got in.

—Wait here.

Marcos went upstairs and reached into his mother's bedroom looking for a warm coat that could heat the little girl. He ran down the stairs and handed coat to her.

—Take it; you must be cold.

She accepted and got dressed, smiling from ear to ear.

Once more, that loving feeling flooded his heart. How strange was to feel like this with a stranger. And that feeling of knowing her very well was even stronger.

—What did you mean by well before the storm?

—Don't run away, please, but I think you created me.

He laughed, remembering the time when he was a child. The imagination in childhood is a fantastic thing, and for a moment, he felt a nostalgia of the time when he only cared about reading his books and watching his favorite movies.

—Unfortunately, I don't have the power to create anyone.

She got up and went in his direction. He took the boy's hands then he saw his story going through his head. About the fat woman trapped in her cave, overpowering a city and devouring humans so she could expand, purify the planet, and give the human race another chance.

Marcos dropped her hands and took a few steps back, almost falling with his butt on the floor as he stumbled on the center table in the room.

—It's impossible.

—I thought so too. But I felt it.

—But this story was done today. It is impossible for you to be her.

The girl started to cry, but the tears were of happiness.

—Oh lord, thank you for creating me and giving me such an important role.

—He did not answer. His face became a mix of confusion and fear. And she realized.

—Please, don't be scared. I want answers.

The boy collapsed on the floor.

—I'm afraid I don't have the answers. I just found out I gave life to a character...

And then a click sounded inside his mind.

—What are you doing here in Black Lake?

She smiled once more, and her eyes glittered together. For a moment, he could have sworn; he saw flames behind the girl's pupils.

—Destroying those who don't deserve to live in the new world. As you ordered me to do.

And then he remembered his mother. And then the snow came in his mind. And the night's silence. A shiver ran through her body. Fear invaded his being.

—What did you do?

—I killed and let live those who deserve it. Wasn't I raised for that?

Marcos started to crawl back with his hands and slammed into the wall. Sweat welled up on his forehead, and ran down through his face. He gave life to a monster. An evil being. A destructive being.

—Where is my mother? He murmured, more to herself than to the girl.

But she answered.

—I'm afraid she didn't live.

—You cannot do that. You can't kill others at your own will. You are a story, and the stories are free to do so because they are fiction. No innocent dies there. It's all fiction - he yelled with tears streaming down his face while hearing the girl's words. - If it was me who created you, I demand you to stop with all of this. Disappear, exile, go back to your cave. Leave the humans alone.

She didn't say anything. She stood still where she was. Her face was contracted. His words hurt her. And what she felt about finding her creator turned to be bitterness. He was rejected. She believed she had found more of the love pot. She was mistaken.

She got up and headed to the door. Before disappearing into the snow, she said:

—It's too bad you think about me that way, my lord, my God, and my creator. I don't dare to take your life, and I don't even know if I would exist if I did such a thing. But we'll still meet each other one more time. In this world or another. And I hope your words the next time would be an apology. Stories can be more than fiction. And I think deep down you know that too.

And then she disappeared. Hours later, the snow went off too. And from the city that once existed, only Marcos' house remained standing. When the firemen and police arrived, they had found only ashes and snow melting.

And that entire house.

When they opened the door, they found him in the same place he was when the girl left. But words didn't come out from his mouth, and reactions did not exist in his body. He was in shock. And he would be like that for many years. Maybe until the end of his life

She was gone waiting for the next call. For the next victims and the next re-encounter. From her eyes, tears flowed like an open faucet that would never stop. By the snow that follows her, a trail was formed behind her through the footprints of her feet. In the shape of water, her eyes expelled the mark of bitterness and rejection.

She cries.

She walks.

THE END.