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WpMetadataReadOngoing<5 mins
WpMetadataNoticeLast published Mon, Apr 11, 2016
With every freak accident comes a story, usually tragic, and believe me, mine was, but this one could mean the end of the world as everyone knew it. Now, I never wanted to die, I had a good home life, there wasn't drug use or any form of abuse in my home, and even though I didn't get along with my mother all the time she cared about me. A lot. The story I'm about to tell could ruin lives, but if not for the ending of this story, it could end them. My English teacher taught me that a good story is simply one that made you feel something, but this story doesn't have an antagonist. Then again, maybe there is an antagonist. Maybe it's the negative emotions, maybe it's all of us, or maybe I learned that we never truly blame ourselves for anything; I still don't blame myself, nor anybody else. As much as I'm avoiding it, I need to tell this story. I need someone to know, that when it happens again, to put a stop to it.
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Protagonists, the most important characters in stories. They're the ones that are supposed to save the world and be a symbol of hope for humanity, the ones that can defeat anything in their way if they want to, the ones whom the reader wants to win and succeed... ...Well atleast thats how a good heroic protagonist should be. I wrote three novels after dropping out of college at 20 years old. My first novel was a disaster, boring characters, recycled plot, and a protagonist so rude even I wanted to punch them. The next two? Absolutely amazing and really well-liked. I was ready to quit writing for good when i suddenly got hit by a car and woke up in someone else's body, someone i don't recognize at all, who goes to the exact same school from my first novel. Yeah. That happened, i'm screwed. Great. Now I'm stuck in a world full of arrogant, clueless students. Why couldn't i have entered one of my better stories?! And if that's not enough, the soul of this body won't stop yelling at me to "give their body back", as if i could do that, while a tiny version of them sits on my left shoulder and a tiny version of my 19 year old self from my past life rides the right shoulder. What even is happening anymore? Sigh...

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