The Story of Evette
I learned my lesson, a long time ago, that people come and go. Even I come and go, I don’t linger around forever. People can promise that they’ll stay forever, but they must know that they really can’t. They just lie to others, and themselves, that they will stick around. For the sake of their sanity, they don’t say, “No, I’m not going to be your friend forever, because I’ll die before then.”
Who wants to listen to that? Well, no one, as in my experience. I’ve been telling people that for years, and they all look at me like I’m crazy. The only person who didn’t look at me like that was Jonathon. My fiancé.
Well, he WAS my fiancé. Before….
Nope, nope, nopity nope! Sorry, Reader, you’re going to have to be disappointed on this one. Cause I’m not telling! Oh, boo hoo. Suck it up. Life is disappointing.
Yeah, I am different. I know that I’m a story, not the writer. I am the character that you get to read about, the character you feel emotions with. That you scrutinize and make fun of on the Internet. I’m not stupid enough that I don’t know what goes on outside the book or computer screen or whatever.
Anyways, while you’re here, I’ll teach you something about life. Yeah, you better put on your reading glasses for this one; it’s a doozy.
Life is a disappointment.
5 Years Earlier…
Wait, why am I back here? I can’t be back here!! You! Author! Put me back to where I’m supposed to be! I can’t relive this, I can’t… I’m going to die. Seriously.
Evette walked to the kitchen, not knowing anything was wrong.
NO! I am NOT walking over there. DO NOT MAKE ME GO OVER THERE, OR SO HELP ME-
She almost walked past the oak table, but spotted a single letter directly in the middle.
“That’s odd,” she said out loud.
She picked up the letter, curious. There was no return address, but Evette recognized the hastily scrawled handwriting. She turned the letter over, her fingers shaking slightly. She hesitated, then started to slit the envelope.
Seriously! I can’t live through this again. I just can’t. I already lived through it once, I can’t do it again.
Evette took a while to open the envelope. Once she got it open, she slid the letter out. It was a very thick material, nothing like Evette had ever seen before. She took a deep breath and unfolded it.
Nope! Turn away, turn away, turn away, I’m not looking, turn away, turn away…
“Darling,” Evette read out loud.
Hey! How did you do that?
Do what? Who are you? WHERE AM I??
I’m the author. I was writing your story, but then it just went black. How did you do that?
How should I know? All I want is to get out of here… WAIT. You said you’re the Author…?
You are a terrible person. I know what you’re doing. You took me back to- to- THAT TIME! WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT?? I barely survived it the first time! I still don’t know what happened, and I can’t relive it again. I HATE YOU.
Whoa, whoa, whoa. I’m just doing my job. But how are you doing this? I’ve never “talked” to my characters before. I’VE always controlled the story, not the other way around.
Is that right, bucko? Well, too bad! Because I’M taking over this story now! I’M THE AUTHOR NOW. HOW DO YOU LIKE THAT, HUH??
Wait, what are you doing?
I’M CONTROLLING THE STORY! HAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!
Author suddenly found herself in the middle of a cornfield, blinking around in confusion.
“Where am I?” she shouted at the sky. “Evette, put me back! It’s not supposed to be this way!”
A million gumballs started to rain down from the completely clear sky, much to the surprise of Author.
“Ow!” Author screamed. She covered her head in her arms and sank to the ground, trying to escape the torrent of gumballs.
She looked up and saw a small shed in the middle of the otherwise empty field. She sprinted towards it, slipping and falling over the sea of candy. She finally made it to the shed, and stood in the middle, clenching her fists.
“Evette, so help me, put me back where I belong so I can finish the story!!” she whisper-screamed at some unknown being.
Hey! I was having fun with that!
Pelting me with gumballs was not fun. Now, back to the REAL story.
“Darling,” Evette read out loud, “First I want to say that I’m sorry. I won’t be coming back to you. I know I told you that I would, but I just can’t. You’re not the one for me. Because I still love you, let me please offer an explanation. When I went to Radan, I met my childhood best friend. We talked for a while, for nearly five hours. I realized that I’m in love with her. I’m sorry. I know this is the worst thing I’ve ever done, and I am filled with regret at the pain I know I am causing you. But I have to do what’s best for me. Please forgive me. I love you, Jonathon.”
Author, I hate y-y-you. I w-w-would be happy if y-y-you died r-r-right now and n-n-never woke u-u-up again…
Evette… are you crying?
No! I-I-I’m not…
I’m sorry, Evette.
No, you’re not! You don’t even care about me at all! All you care about is your “job”. You don’t care about any of your “characters”! Do you ever think about how they feel? Sure, you write about their distress, happiness, sadness, but you don’t actually know how they feel. You are a terrible person. I hope you know that.
I- I never thought of it that way. My characters have never talked back to me before. I never knew how they really felt…
Maybe you should take that into consideration before you DESTROY SOMEONE’S LOVE, or KILL SOMEONE. You know, that’s hard on Reader, too. I’ll bet he-slash-she is crying for me right now. Yeah, THANK you Reader. At least I know that ONE person cares for me.
Evette, I do care for you! Hardship is a part of life. You know that. Everyone gets rejected sometimes, it’s not that big of a deal-
NOT THAT BIG OF A DEAL?! AUTHOR, HAVE YOU EVER BEEN IN LOVE, AND THAT PERSON WAS ALSO IN LOVE WITH YOU, OR SO THEY TOLD YOU? DID THEY SEND YOU A LETTER TELLING YOU THAT THEY LOVE SOMEONE ELSE? DID THEY NOT EVEN BOTHER TO COME TELL YOU IN PERSON? DID YOU STRUGGLE WITH DEPRESSION AFTER, THINKING YOU WERE WORTH NOTHING?
No, Evette, but how do you know that’s how the story went?
BECAUSE I LIVED- wait, what are you talking about?
I can change the story because I haven’t written it yet. Maybe right after Jonathan wrote the letter and left you, you recovered and went on a few dates and found the perfect guy and got married.
Is that really how the story ends?
It can be.
Okay, okay. But you have to stop interrupting now.
My lips are sealed.
Evette sat down in the chair with weak knees. She put her head in her arms and cried for her lost lover.
Wait a second! I thought there was a HAPPY ending! You promised, Author.
I’m not done yet! Just be patient!
Oh, sorry. Okay.
Evette sat up suddenly and wiped her face. She vowed never to cry another tear for Jonathon. After she got up and canceled all their wedding plans, Evette got a feeling, deep in her bones, and decided to head to a bookstore. Even she thought it was crazy, but who was she to interrupt what was clearly her fate?
Hey, now, I am not crazy.
Would you please shut up? I’m nearly finished. Don’t you want to know the end of your own story?
She got in her car and drove to the nearest bookstore. It was a cozy place. She browsed for a while, the feeling inside her getting stronger with every footstep. But, after a while, the feeling started to fade and she started to feel frustrated. She wasn’t one to question fate, but this was taking too long. She rounded around a bookshelf faster and more sharply than she normally would have and ran into someone.
She cried out, surprised, and fell to the ground. The other person also fell.
She looked up, about to say something angrily, but she stopped in her tracks. The feeling inside Evette was coursing once again, stronger than ever.
“Whoa!” the stranger laughed. “You’ve got a really strong projection!”
The stranger was a man a little older than Evette. He had dark brown hair and black eyes with golden skin. He was holding a few books, though they had spilled onto the floor when he fell.
The stranger, still on the ground, held out his hand to Evette, who had the look of a deer in the headlights.
Evette stared at his hand suspended in the air for a moment, then jolted out of her trance.
She put her hand in his.
Three Years Later
The wedding march played on a guitar, slowly and softly. Evette walked down the aisle towards her love, her father holding her arm.
Cameras flashed, her family and friends smiled, her best friend in the maid of honor’s place cried shamelessly, grinning at her. The priest had a small smile on his face. But Evette wasn’t looking at them. She was looking at her love.
Thank you, Author.
Thank you for reading this short story. I hope you liked it!
Yours in writing,