I was gonna answer all of the answers to this when I got home from work, but I just couldn't stop laughing. Thank you so much

By the way, I mean no hate to OP. Just wanted to make a meta prompt, because, as said before, I was bored in a class that wasn't teaching me anything. My ED101 class is about to start as I type this, hope you all had fun reading it!

Quickie

"You were my beta reader. I edited according to your feedback. I even put you in the dedication."

Flips over book, "To my beautiful love. May your suffering of my first drafts not be in vain. Aww... it was. Your book still sucks."

"Sigh. At least I tried. What's for dinner?"

Fin.

What is the terrible thing that causes fear and can not be explained by mundane reasons (like someone switching the book covers)

"Why am I even doing this."

"Huh?" The writer glanced behind him, to see me, Ben, glowering.

"It's another dumb r/WritingPrompts prompt."

"Huh?"

I glowered at him, and back at my screen. The teacher on my Zoom screen talked about the end of the semester, but she didn't notice I was on Reddit. And Honestly? She probably didn't care.

"Well, at least it isn't superheroes or aliens, I guess." I muttered. "Might be able to get some good comedy out of this."

"No, no, man, I don't know who you are." the writer stood back, confused. "In fact, where am I?"

"You're in a study room in the High Library at Elizabethtown College. It's 1:29, and you've just been made up by a bored college freshman in the middle of his english 100 class." I rolled my eyes. "You're a person I made up for a writing prompt because I was bored of talking about things I already know about."

"Like what?"

"Going over logos, pathos, and ethos for the fifth time this semester." I grumbled. "I really just wanted to write something, to be honest. Didn't want to hear about TED talk analysis and research that we went over a month ago."

"No, like, how did you get in my room?" the writer looked around, confused. A tic-tac-toe game was on the whiteboard. I had done it myself, out of sheer boredom.

"This isn't your room, idiot." I repeated. "You're in a study room. I created you 5 minutes ago when I saw this prompt by u/ReadyDude3849 that looked interesting enough to pass 30 minutes before I head off to my ED101 class." I explained. Of course, I wasn't actually explaining. I was just writing out words as if I was

"Wait, so I'm not real?" the writer titled his nonexistent head.

"Nope." I smiled.

"So, what is this all about?" he asked me, technically.

"It's a meta prompt about me struggling not to write about superheroes or aliens, mostly." I said. "The prompt references how the subreddit seems to go through the same aesthetic over and over again, unable to pry itself away from the superheroes and aliens that so many people want to subvert." I wrote down. "Still, I have some issues with the meta prompt, so I wanted to make my own short story."

"Wait, so this is a meta prompt? Aren't those like, the next most common thing behind superheroes and aliens?" the writer looked scrolled through the subreddit.

"I mean, that's true-" I started. "I just don't think the OP realizes how diverse the actual prompts on the site are." I sighed. "Sure, the posts are usually about superheroes or aliens, but the stories themselves are diverse." I finished.

"Huh? What do you mean by diverse?" the writer challenged me.

"Well, good thing you asked that random question. Let me explain." I smiled, and left the class Zoom, as my teacher finished up with the lecture.

"The aesthetics of the prompts aren't always too creative. The ideas we make are normally recycled, but coming from a writer, I think that can sometimes be a good thing." I said, smiling. "The prompts themselves, at least, the aesthetic of the month that we like so much, doesn't really matter. Just looking at all the ideas by themselves lets me come up with whole new worlds, new characters, and even other prompts for other people to explore."

"Like me?" The writer used his nonexistent hand to point at himself.

"Exactly!" I chuckled to myself, as I kept writing. These meta jokes are fun. "Heck, I've even seen prompts exactly like this one at least 3 or 4 times this month, and honestly, I didn't want to write at that time. But now, looking at the prompt, an idea came over me, and because I was bored and had time, I could post it here for everyone to see. If anything is important, I think it's that, at the end of the day, people will read what I write, and have fun. The prompt doesn't matter as much as the story that comes out of it. And seeing stories by great people like u/shalidar13 and u/ApocalypseOwl makes me smile. The stories themselves are creative, and that's what matters. " I switched locations to an actual classroom, where class was soon going to start.

"Wait, where are we now" the writer asked.

"Doesn't matter." I said. "The point is, the creative process often recycles the same ideas, but its how we expand on those ideas that makes it all the better. The stories we produce and enjoy here are all unique. I just like seeing cool people write cool stuff, and that's why I'm here."

"Ok, I get it, your cheesy lecture hit. Still, where are we now? This room is way more bright than before." the writer looked around at all the posters that, honestly, were for young kids. We were in a basic spanish classroom.

"You don't exist anymore." I said.

As I finished writing the prompt, a couple of my friends came to sit down at my table to chat before class started.

I did a quick runthrough of my prompt response, and with a good feeling in my chest, hit "Comment."

thank you! i wanted to challenge myself with an five minute writing!

Yes.

Wait, I mean no!

Um... maybe?

This new generation of heroes didn’t understand the unwritten rules, the rules that were written in blood by their predecessors. They were reckless, with none of the caution or respect the old hands had. That got people killed, people like his minion, and best friend. Heroes don’t kill civilians, they don’t kill minions, and they sure as shit don't raid villains legitimate businesses, especially during working hours. Somehow the Plant Pact got it in their minds to do all three. It was a miracle only three people died. By the end of the day three more would be dead.

“What are we gonna do boss?” His only remaining minion, Jeremy, asked as the last of the first responders packed up and left. The ruins of his once vibrant corner store were cut to pieces, along with three people, only one of which worked for him, and the damn heroes were celebrating on the net. It was galling.

A familiar rage burned inside him, usually kept under tight control, hidden under a thick layer of playful mischievousness. That control was fraying. His superpower reflected emotion, amplified it, and granted power based on the type and strength of the emotion. If he just let go he’d spiral into a fury that’d leave him either dead or half the city burned, probably both. It was tempting, oh so tempting to just let go. Maybe if he was younger, or less experienced, or less cautious he might have, but he wasn’t like the Plant Pact. He refused to be. Instead, he let the rage simmer and smolder, on the edge of a flare-up, but controlled.

“We aren’t going to do anything Jeremy. You’re going to go home. Call your girlfriend over, and make sure you have an alibi. You’ll want one after this.”

“Are you sure?” Jeremy looked skeptical, of course he was. He’d only seen him lose, often in humiliating fashion. Never mind that he never got caught. He was a joke, a loser, an incompetent villain, more meddlesome than dangerous. Jeremy never saw him at his worst.

Jeremy was a good kid that got caught up in a bad business, he’d practically begged him for a job after every other villain in the city rejected him. He also was never good at reading between the lines, and never quite questioned why an incompetent nobody lasted as a villain for over a decade. He was about to find out.

“Go home Jeremy, and make sure to keep an eye out. You’ll want to see what happens next.”

He didn’t bother waiting for a response, hands already moving toward his phone. You didn’t go a decade in the business without making friends, and he had a favor to call in. Any decent cyber security specialist could find three teenagers bragging on a Facebook live stream, much less his old friend Grey Hat, one of the first people to ever manifest an internet-based superpower. He’d get a kill order for what he was about to do, but then again what proper villain didn’t have one? It was time he finally joined the big leagues. He only wished his dead friend was around to see it.

***

The C-list hero's hideout was an abandoned warehouse in the bad part of town, only a mile from his place of business. He was a target of opportunity, a convenient mark for reckless do-gooders with an appetite for destruction. They said as much on what little he could stomach of their live stream. His phone was in ruins now, along with the tattered remains of his control. Good thing he didn’t have to wait anymore.

The battered door flew off its hinges with a flex of the arm and was tossed to the side like garbage, making a clamor as it rolled and tumbled to a stop. He wanted to melt the entire place into slag, but not before making sure they knew what was coming. He wanted to see their fear before the end.

“Oh shit!” Someone yelled, high pitched so it must be the lone woman on the team, Root. He usually didn’t touch women or children but there was an exception to every rule.

The three heroes shot out of their makeshift den, a couple of couches, a TV, and a large table in the far corner of an empty warehouse. They were quick to get into formation, to their credit. Their dark-skinned leader Stout Oak taking point, flanked by Root and Razor Leaf. What he couldn’t commend was their response.

“Calm down guys it’s just Diet Sprite. What’s he going to do, tickle us to death?” Stout Oak said.

Root and Razor Leaf snickered in response, both visibly relaxing. Stout Oak even had the balls to point his phone at him, no doubt still recording. He was part of the night's entertainment after all, might as well give it to them.

“I always liked the name Sprite you know? I named myself after the trickster fairies of legend, more out of an ideal than anything. It was a great state of mind to be in, always fun and playful, never serious. I wanted to stay like that forever, and with my power I could have.”

“Can we skip to the part where you swear undying revenge and then get beat up? This isn’t a movie.” Stout Oak interrupted.

Sprite smiled thinly, a fake transparent thing. “You’re right, it’s real life. In real life heroes die when they fuck up.”

As the last syllables left his mouth, he moved. Rage lent his limbs an incredible strength, the painful burning almost pleasurable. He grabbed Razor Leaf's arms faster than he could react and twisted. The pop of bone and ripping of muscles made the fire inside flare, like new wood to the fireplace. Something inside him fed on the pain, enjoyed it. It made him stronger.

Someone was screaming, it might have been him, as roots burst from the concrete. He shared some of his rage with them. The air shimmered, the concrete near him glowed and the giant roots vaporized, leaving not even ash. His eyes met Roots, he could see the fear reflected in the thin woman's eyes like fire, the fearful poignant moment of clarity, of understanding. The next moment she was gone, erased in flames.

Something hard and wooden cracked him in the back of the head, sending him stumbling but undamaged. He was too angry to be hurt. Stout Oak was twice his size and still growing, turning into more of a titan of wood than a man. Even amid his rage, he shook his head.

“What possessed you to turn into wood against someone like me?”

Flames crawled up Stout Oak’s giant form, burning great gouges into his wooden flesh. The man-tree roared in pain, as it turned to char, but didn’t die. Not yet, that would be too easy. The man had to suffer.

He turned at the sound of boots on concrete, Razor Leaf was up and running, clutching his broken hands. He was always the most dangerous of the three, able to control leaves and make them as hard and sharp as steel. Unfortunate for him that he required his hands to direct his power. That’s a weakness any supervillain would exploit.

He almost casually picked up a piece of broken concrete, courtesy of Root, and tossed it at the fleeing man. Razor Leaf almost made it to the open entryway before a rock the size of his head tore through both legs. There was screaming but he ignored it as he surveyed the scene, happy with the destruction but not satisfied, not yet.

An eye caught Stout Oak’s phone, somehow undamaged despite their brief fight. Perfect. The phone was still streaming as the chat went nuts. A couple more minutes and it was sure to be shut down, but for now he had their attention. He panned the phone around to the dead and dying heroes, before switching it around to film his face.

“You may know me as Sprite, a minor villain. I wanted things to stay that way, I never wanted to do this but they forced my hand by attacking my business and killing my customers and employees. Let this be a lesson to you all. Do not fuck with me, or you will burn like these three.” He smiled at the camera before switching it back around.

The cheap metal sheeting of the warehouse warped and contorted from heat, as the concrete underfoot bubbled and roiled. The phone in hand was hot but still functional as the warehouse began to collapse. He embraced the heat, the pain, and the rage, as his power built into a crescendo.

“You can call me Infernum.”

"STOP! STOP! STOP IT!" I screamed at the top of my lungs

They all just froze bickering turned into confused stares as they didn't know what to do about the at this point calm detective loosing his- OH WHO THE FUCK CARES ABOUT A NARRATION "THIS BOOK IS A GOD DAMN MESS!"

"What are you talking about? What book?" The butler asked

"THIS BOOK! THE BOOK WE'RE CHARACTERS OF! THIS SHITTY WRITTEN BOOK!"

"Detective Jones," Mrs Banelby the now ex-wife said "this is reality"

"NO IT'S NOT AND YOU WANT TO KNOW HOW? YOU! FATMAN!"

Charlie Banelby the victims brother was aghast at the comment on his size "Me?" He inquired.

"YOU FOUND THE BODY OF YOUR BROTHER WHERE?"

"The second floor..." he whimpered out.

"YES THE SECOND FLOOR AND YOU SAID HE WAS STABBED YES?"

"Yes, yes he was stabbed we know that" sneered the Olivia the victim's mistress

"OKAY HE WAS STABBED ON THE SECOND FLOOR AND YET! WHEN I LEAVE THE MURDER ROOM, OH LOOK STAIRS 4 FLOORS WORTH OF STAIRS! WE ARE AT THE TOP! THE FRONT DOOR IS AT THE FLOOR BELOW US, AND I WALK BACK INTO THE ROOM AND OUT THE WINDOW I SEE A FOUR STORIE TALL BUILDING! AND WE'RE AT THE TOP!"

"Okay sir you need to calm down" the bu-

"QUIT WITH THE NARRATION I SAID! AND THE MURDER WEAPON. WE KNOW IT WAS THE SWORD AT THE TOP OF THE FIREPLACE WHOEVER! IT'S A FUCKING PLASTIC SWORD! NOT SHARP, NOT METAL, AND YET FITS PERFECTLY IN THE WOUND TO A T!"

"This whole case is a giant contrivance, this was a dinner party the murder happened 20 minutes ago and it's currently what time?"

"...12:41 pm"

"12:41 PM! ALSO THINK ABOUT THIS ONE WE'RE ALL STEREOTYPES! THE EX-WIFE, THE JEALOUS FAT BROTHER, THE MISTRESS, THE OLD LADY WHO ACTUALLY DID IT SPOILER ALERT!, AND THE RED HERRING BUTLER! WHO THE FUCK WROTE THIS SHIT?"

I did, also... with the snap of the authors fingers the narration was back, Yo

"OH SO YOU'RE THE AUTHOR!" Detective Davis exclaimed slowly losing his mind "HEY!"

Yep

"I ONLY HAVE ONE QUESTION FOR YOU? WHY!" The Detective said about to manhandle the author

Reddit.

"What?" Whispered the author

This was just for a reddit writing prompt, it asked for a self aware detective in a contrived murder mystery, and it was only until last minute I realized i can't do this properly sooo...

The Detective took a step back as the existential dread settled in.

yeah and this has become way to meta for my taste so, for those who've read this i say this with the deepest part of my heart Downvote this to oblivion, legitimately do that i don't have the talent to make stuff like this...

I still think you should ditch her. Soft-hearted weeny vampire like you is all talk anyway. Vampires have all gone down hill since the old days. Granpappy Abe knew *real* vampires.

Sorry, not sure I follow? It’s a horror story

I apologise, I should have possessed the self-restraint not to argue with a craven bloodbag-hugger. The Tide of Blood shall sweep your kind away soon enough, and we shall be free at last to remake the world in our image!

AWESOME! I love it. Gimme more! Lol

Nox was an English teacher at Inanoi Middle School and was currently tutoring one of their favorite kids. She was always well-behaved in class, always getting student of the month. Her name is Nay. Pointing out something was wrong with her essay, "You forgot your period again." It was a simple mistake, but she quickly corrected it. Nay subconsciously picked up her phone. Nox went to ask to put it down. Then she quickly started packing up her stuff.

"Thank you, Mx. Nox! My mom is here!" The girl cheered as she packed up all her papers.

"I'll walk you to the door to see you off." They cooed and playfully ruffled the kid's hair.

Amber whined about her hair being messed up but skipped towards the door and opened it, beckoning her teacher to follow. Nox followed, giggling softly as they made their way to the front of the school. Amber was rambling about her day but wasn't paying much attention. They were thinking about going on patrol soon and, hopefully; they don't run into their nemesis. It's so annoying to deal with their teasing and flirting, making them feel these stupid emotions. They shook their head trying to get rid of the thought of their nemesis. Amber rubbed against Nox's leg trying to grab their attention. "My mom is here!"

Paying attention, Nox looked down and then up to see someone that she was at least expecting. That damn Nemesis has a kid, and that kid is my student. Some petty revenge won't hurt anyone, right? "Hey Amber, is it okay I meet your mom?" Nox asked gently.

Amber looked up and tilted her head, raising one of her eyebrows curiously. Shrugging her shoulders, she kept skipping along until she arrived in front of her mom. "Hey, Mom! Meet Mx. Nox. This is my teacher." Her tone was cheerful.

Her mom looked at Nox, raising her hand to shake before examining their frame. "Oh!" A small grin appeared on her face, "Mx. Nox? I see, you didn't tell me you have such a beautiful teacher." Seductive tone almost immediate.

Nox didn't want to stand for this for once. "Amber, I didn't know you had such a pretty mom." Giggling a little.

The mom flushed wasn't expecting such a comment and shot Nox a soft glare before shoving her kid in the car. "Let's go, Amber! I have work to do." She cackled as she got in and rode off.

FUCKING SUPERHEROES. It never ends. It never ends.

The trickster's fireball is fake.

His sister's fireball is not.

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This is why you don't break the Unwritten Rules

He pleaded with me as I packed my suitcase. "It's doesn't mean anything. It's just fiction."

"Based heavily on your actual life," I spat, tossing several shirts into my luggage. "And you and I both know that's bullshit because if it was just fiction, you would've shown me the real pages you wrote. Instead of just stroking my ego to keep me quiet."

I'd been so proud of him when he'd gotten the book deal. I knew how many years he'd spent trying to make it as a writer, all the novels he'd left unfinished, all the rejection letters he'd got. I'd comforted him after every single one. Until finally an offer letter.

When I asked to read the book, he hesitated. It went over my head then, the way his eyes flooded with fear when I asked to read a couple pages. I just thought he was heady with champagne. He e-mailed them to me a few days later. Truthfully I was impressed but surprised the publishers had gone for it. His writing was beautiful, it always was. The characters were pulled straight from life. He might've changed a few names but clear as day I recognized his mother, his friends, his brothers. Even me. He'd included bits and pieces of our story, only the good parts which I was grateful for, even though deep down I felt it left the book without much conflict.

Little did I know, I'd only gotten the friends and family version.

"Did you really think, I wouldn't find out? That no one would find out?" I yelled. "That I am so easily appeased and illiterate that I wouldn't buy my own fiance's book?"

He sighed, ashamed. "I... didn't think it would matter."

I scoffed. "You didn't think it would matter that you tore me shreds in your book?"

"I changed the names!" he desperately reminded me. "It's not like anyone knows that it's you!"

"EVERYONE KNOWS THAT IT'S ME!" I roared. "WHO ELSE IS IT SUPPOSED TO BE?!"

I'd picked up a copy of the book yesterday, practically giddy when I saw it displayed front and center at our favorite bookstore. That giddiness turned to horror when I actually started reading it. He'd written about everything. Every single detail I shared with him in confidence. My parents, my depression, my mistakes... my assault. Raw and exaggerated, it was all out there for everyone to see.

And, see they did. Suddenly all the hushed whispers and side glances I'd been getting at work and from friends made sense.

He begged me to stay but I refused. I couldn't spend another night in the apartment, looking at his face. If I could've fit the last three years in the suitcase and taken it with me, I would've. I settled for a couple of outfits, some shoes and what was left of my dignity.

As I stood in the elevator waiting for it descend to the ground floor, I ruminated on all the times he'd kissed me on the forehead and called me his muse.

I used to think it was a compliment.

"Why do you keep me around?" I remember him asking me. He had tears in his eyes, streaming from his black eyes like fountains. I put down the greatsword I was sharpening and looked down to him with assurance.

'Because you're our Ranger, a damn good one at that!'

He looked up at my face with a embarrassed smile, then wrenched it away.

"Me? Good? Please, Andy, I lied about my rank to the others, but I told you! I'm just a shitty E- with a shotgun, with armour I bought secondhand off some drunkard in a tavern! I just, I don't feel like I'm doing anyone a service. You guys don't need me at all..."

He clasped his gloved hand on the dangling necklace around his throat as a few more tears flowed from his eyes. The necklace was a gift our Rogue, Maxine, had gotten for him for the Winter Festival last year, when he was still new to the team.

'But we need you, Michael,' I assured him, 'for what lies ahead, you must be there. And no matter what your level is, I vow to get you through, and so does Khan and Rivian, and especially Maxine.' I couldn't help but chuckle about Maxine. The Rogue was a lot more like Michael than she let on, and a lot closer than he realised as I shot a grin at the flustered flitting of an invisible tail in the room.

The next day was it. What the last eighteen months had been building up to. Our quest to defeat the Draconic Tyrant of Kherremia was at last, about to adjourn. I remember seeing that boy, scared stiff in the arena as the gargantuan form emerged to face us. It was ironic, actually, his firearms were best equipped of all of us to pierce through the beastly king's scales.

We were doing so well when I watched it happen. A blast of sickly purple mana, then a ghastly scream as Michael was suddenly hit. He staggered, that matte black gun in his hand held as tight as he could hold it as he looked up toward the Tyrant with a rage burning hotter than the fireballs thrown our way. With a bloodcurdling cry he charged at the dragon, weapon blazing with shot after shot of enchanted bullets taking more and more out of the weakened Dragon King, when at last the Tyrant had dropped dead. I saw Michael do a final fist pump like after every victory of battles past before collapsing in a cloaked Maxine's arms.

Even after his death, the Tyrant could never have been content to go down so easily. It was a fact I had kept to myself. The old legend was that any who should strike the Dragon Tyrant down would be cursed to find themselves his next of kin. In truth it had been my plan at first, the day I recruited that sheepish, silvery haired Ranger, to let him take the final blow and bear the curse in a weak body to make containing him easier. But the boy grew on me, on all of us. Even if he was at first a subpar fighter, the morale benefits were better than a Bard could boast, and raising our spirits became his prerogative, even as his combat ability grew far beyond the 'E-' rank when this adventure began... I am ashamed that my original plan has come to bite me so.

I watched it play out in the inn room we rented until I could watch it no longer. Maxine stayed in his room for all of that fateful night. She was stronger than I was, to see him through it. I didn't have to tell the others for them to realise what had happened. We, for all our power, could do little as our friend and compatriot lost himself. I felt less like a Paladin and more like a petty Murderer, the robbing of Michael's humanity only showing that my claim of virtue and justice was just a sham. Where was the justice for him? I would ask myself in my worst of moments that night. You brought him here, you let him do it! This was your plan, come to its horrible fruition!

We all stepped into the room that morning to see Maxine, uncloaked and crying over the bed. Michael's groans and gasps were something no longer human, like a stirring beast had emerged where our friend had once sat. No! my mind screamed. There he sits! In the accursed image of the Tyrant himself, yes, but with the mind and soul of our friend! You will not abandon him, such is your duty. But what shall you even do? What can you do?

'Sir, what do you say we do?' Khan asked, mirroring his thoughts. The Orcen fighter, usually never without his aggressive persona, was somber that morn. We all were. Then Maxine exclaimed with a glimmer of hope in her voice.

'He's awake! Oh by the Gods, Michael!'

The three of us were not so jubilant at his awaking. He was nigh unrecognisable then. He was covered in the same crimson scales of the Terrible Dragon King, his face morphed to match it. Nascent wings had burst through his clothing and horns as black as night were growing from his head. Still, his silver hair still sat atop his head, holding onto him for dear life. He opened those eyes again, and for a moment I believed all would be well. That everything would just go back to how it was. Then he hissed, not in anger but fear, recoiling from the bed and hurtling into the darkest corner of the room with flap of his wings.

Maxine's tail fell. I did not blame her. I placed the armoured gauntlet of my right hand upon her shoulder, looking to her staring at the floor, as the thing we insisted was still Michael crouched in the corner, eying all of us with slitted gaze. In a moment of weakness I considered it. It is shameful that it even reached so far forward in my mind. I considered putting him out of his misery then and there when I clasped my greatsword tight.

I watched as she approached, and I prepared to stop her, to pull her away like she was going to touch a fire. But still I was paralysed. She reached out to the dragon in the corner, as it desperately wriggled to avoid her. With tears in her eyes, she clasped the necklace still around his neck, fiddling with the iron plate at its centre like dogtags. I watched her slowly let it fall from her claws as she sobbed but inches from the dragon. At last I had found the strength. She had said her goodbyes I suppose. I tightened the grip on my sword as I began to raise it.

Then I stopped. Maxine looked up to find herself firmly in Michael's arms. A tear rolled down the transmogrified boys face, as the new geography of his face tried its best to smile. The only sound in the room was Maxine's tail excitedly thwipping against his leg.

Yeah, yeah, I know the history of the cult, your 'order' has been spouting this nonsense for hundreds of years. You know no-one outside your group takes you guys seriously anymore, right? Your numbers are also tiny compared to what they once were. Accept it, the age of fear is long gone.

‘We are closing this store and This is the only one that is left’ the elderly man said, adjusting his glasses with one hand, while whipping the dust off with the other. I was hesitant to buy that book. I love reading books, especially so when I travel. And I would be on a flight for the next 16 hours. Even that couldn’t convince me to buy this book. I again asked him if he was sure that this was the one that is left and pleaded him to check the stock. He let out a slight whiff out his nose and said ‘No, this is what we have, everything else is sold out and people are not buying this at even half the price’. Ouch that was painful to hear. I still didn’t wanna buy the book. Not that hated the book or the author. Quite the contrary, loved the author and was married to her. I’ve read the manuscript hundreds of time, when she was writing it.

I’d Helped proof read it and was proud of myself that I could point out some improvements in the book. Wife encouraged me and was amused at my findings like how you encourage and hype up kids doing some activity so that you can keep them occupied. I didn’t care and was living it up.

It was supposed to be her life story or should I say ‘our life story’. The book is an autobiography and transcribes the story of how she went from an extremely introverted girl with braces and pigtails to the current ultra successful boss lady, leading a startup worth a couple billions.

Of course I had a role to play, with us being very much in love since college. She did include a chapter about us and how love encouraged her to be bold and daring.

Well with my flight out of this shit hole airport departing soon and only this store being the only one open, I had to but this book else have to make conversation with fellow passengers. Yuck.

I bought it in a hurry and thought I’d read it one more time and rekindle our college romance. We are very much in love but it’s quite not the same. You see marriage has this effect on couples, the spark slowly dies and you start taking things for granted. Reminiscing the old romance would do some good to the marriage.

I waited till the flight was in the air and has reached a stable height, to open the book. I sort a breezed through the first few chapters with them being quite the same, except for some rephrasing of sentences.

I wondered at the speed in which I’m skimming through, reading half from memory, I’d be done in an hour and had to sit idly for the remainder.

But, the fifth chapter had some interesting changes. It had a few more characters in college that I don’t seem to recall. We had the same friends groups, but don’t seem to remember anyone by the name of Julian Saw. Maybe one of her acquaintances or some random passer by who used to wave at her. The character seemed to take more and more prominence in the latter chapters. ‘He taught me how to love myself’, ‘Being with him was like having a cold fire burning through my veins’. For some reason this chapter seemed to be more like a porno novel than something about inspirational leader.

When the reviews came out first, I was confused as a number of them were saying that ‘the only thing the author inspires you to do is to be incredulously and uncontrollably horny’. She said it was about our romantic angle that got criticism. I’d felt guilty for sometime, but hey it was her decision to include it.

Now I know what those reviewers really meant. I thought Saw was a figment of her imagination. But it got wilder, more and more characters got introduced and I recognised some of the names. Ian Haley. The Ian Haley, who was a prominent investor in her startup and her mentor. The way she’d written her having graphic sex with him made bike rise up my throat. He was more than Twice her age.

Oh boy, it didn’t stop there. There were others many many others. All having graphic sex with her during the years she was working hard in her startup. She’s started her company 5 years after we’d gotten married. That means all of this was her charting on me, atleast in her mind.

I was ducking pissed, wanted to confront her on these. But that’ll have to wait another 14 hours.

There was no mention of me or our college romance. The final chapter had a single mention of me. It ended on a “funny” note, saying that ‘my poor husband doesn’t know this and let’s keep it that way’.

I’d lost it and let out a loud whiff that’d woken up a few other passengers. The audacity to name me and shame me on her book. Took me for an idiot and playing me for all these years. I felt my world came crashing down.

I hurried through the baggage collection and went home with a rage in my face that should’ve gotten me arrested for looking like a homicidal maniac. There she was composed as ever in her couch, with a co-worker who she mentioned was the longest of them all and whom she’d keep as a pet forever.

She came into the kitchen to hug me. I calmed myself, picked up the knife from the kitchen. I Hugged her

Awesome… unexpected, and hilarious! Well done.

It's quite cute. Love the story.

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