Why Veronica Wants Me Dead

She aimed her gun at me. I could see rage in her eyes. I could tell that after she pulls the trigger, she would cut off my head and my limbs…chop and chop all my flesh into tiny pieces until I look like that meat you stuff inside the salami. Such anger she felt and I couldn’t blame her for her revenge. I made her life miserable.

I just had my dinner that night. Who would have thought that the person who rang the bell would be some kind of a killer? When I opened the door and stared at her, I was flabbergasted by the perfection. She looked just like I had in mind: tanned by the tropical sun, black curly hair, bushy eyebrows, a missing tooth, scars on her neck. She even wore her favorite color: violet. Then I began to wonder…how in the world did she stumble upon my doorstep pointing that gun at me?

Veronica Garcia had all the reasons to kill me.

“Fuck you!” She cursed. I suddenly felt the chills in my spine. I stepped back with the fear that my life was hanging by a thread.

“Veronica…calm down…we can talk about this.”

We were inside the house already. She continued to point her gun at me with her hateful eyes.

“So you are the one responsible for all what I’ve been through! Fuck you!”

I knew it was too late to explain. Whatever happened had happened. Veronica could kill me anytime but I suddenly felt the need to explain. “Veronica, you don’t know what you’re talking…you don’t know anything…”

“Don’t act so innocent you son of a bitch! You made me grow up in a poverty-stricken province...you allowed my father to rape me again and again…you made my beloved boyfriend go into that lake and drown himself…and you even killed my only daughter with that fuckin dengue fever!”

I realized that it was useless to pretend that I didn’t have any idea what she was talking about. Of course I knew everything. Veronica’s story was exceptional. It’s the only tragic story I’ve ever written in my fifty years of being a Writer.

I knew that it could happen. That one day, a character from one of my stories would come by knocking at my door and ask me why I made his or her life like this and that. But I was curious most of what I’m going to do if the situation comes. How would I ever talk to my character? How would I ever explain that I had nothing to do with his or her life because it just sprung in my head and I just wrote it?

Even I myself wanted to search and ask that anonymous Writer somewhere in the world who wrote my life so that I would become a Writer too. You see, everything is interconnected. All the stories in the world are entwined in a very complex and twisted plot.

It all began with the First Writer. He wrote about the world and the world materialized in space just like what he had in mind. Then he wrote about people and so people began to live in the world. Some of these people were gifted with the First Writer’s Talent and they became Writers themselves. And so the cycle went on. When a Writer writes about something, somewhere in the world, whatever the Writer wrote becomes a reality. When someone in America writes about cherry blossoms, the sakura will burst to life in Japan. When someone in Ireland writes about a murder scene, a man is being stabbed at the same time somewhere in the streets of Mexico. That’s how everything goes. The Talent never dies. Every Writer is obliged to write about a new Writer so that somewhere in the world, a new Writer will be born to write new stories and continue the cycle of the world.

And so here I am, a Writer.

My parents didn’t expect that I have the Talent. I grew up poor in academics. And my teachers thought I got dyslexia when it comes to grammar and spelling. It took years until I discovered my gift. When I was in high school and started reading a very exciting fantasy series, my Talent ignited. I’ve been writing stories since then, a noble craft that makes me proud along with other gifted Writers of the world.