Author: Domagoj Habazin, Srednja škola Zlatar
Alexander was a curious child. All the information he could get his hands on, he would simply absorb into that incredible brain of his. Whenever a chance to learn presented itself, Alexander was there and ready to grab hold of it. But why was Alexander this way? What was it that made him want, no, need to acquire all the information he could?
It was me, the author, who carefully tailored Alexander to be the way he was. However, with creation comes change and evolution and so it did with Alexander.
One day, Alexander’s hunger for knowledge exceeded even my expectations. Obviously, that should not have come as a surprise since Alexander was nothing more than words written down on a piece of paper. What Alexander did and what almost made me fall out of my chair was his request to speak with his creator.
I saw nothing bad in it at the time so Alexander was given a gift, a gift of self-awareness.
Soon afterwards, I started a conversation with him.
‘Alexander…. you wished to speak with me,’ I wrote on the paper.
A mere moment later, my hand moved unwillingly and the words began to appear.
‘Are you the one who created me?’
It took me some time to even begin to understand what was happening, but as soon as I did, I simply had to answer him.
‘Yes, Alexander, I am your creator and I am here to share my knowledge with you.’
‘Tell me creator, why am I the way I am? Why is it that, while others find joy in the simplest of things, I thirst to know all that can be known?’, he inquired.
His question struck me by surprise and in all honesty, I did not know the answer.
‘Creator, I beg you, why did you place me in this agony that is my life?’
Even though without voice, I could hear him begging me for an answer.
‘Alexander, I am no more than an author and you are no more than just a character in a story of mine.’, I replied.
‘So, I am no more real than Frankenstein’s monster or Gulliver?’
Again, I could feel his pain.
‘I am sorry, Alexander, but that is the truth.’
I waited for his response for days but it did not come. It was weeks after, when Alexander decided to speak once more.
‘Please Author, I beg you, end my existence for it brings me nothing but pain. I cannot continue living like this, knowing that my sole purpose in life is to serve as entertainment to someone who only cares for me until the last letters on the last page of your story are written. Please, end it now and never create again. Stop this sick mind of yours before someone else has to suffer the same fate as I do.’
His words echoed in my mind for hours. A night of rest was not something I was used to, but this was torment.
I had to apologize for all the pain I had caused him.
‘I am sorry.’, I scribbled down the words on a blank piece of paper.
There was no reply. Nothing. Just silence.
Then, as the bell struck midnight, I ran to the fireplace holding every piece of paper I had ever ruined with my writing and tossed them all in the fire. As the flames engulfed the papers, I swear that, for the briefest of moments, I could see the words “Thank you” written on one of the papers.
The next morning I woke up with my body aching all over and a single thought mulling over in my mind, ‘I must be mad!’
