I Keep Rewriting My Life's Script

But I still can't find the happy ending

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This tendency writers have for glorifying nature — I don’t get it. It’s the same five things in marginally varying combinations.

They dropped me in Maze 31 yesterday morning and I’m already tired, not of fighting my inner demons that pop up like ads, but of cobwebs.

I despise these silvery patterns.

“Want a carrot?”

A rabbit, standing in front of what looks like a dodgy tearoom, tugs on my sleeve. “Two carrots for the price of two! Only today, Ma’am!”

The joke!!! I can’t believe they tried that. And he has a spider on his posterior.

Thunderclouds form in my head.

I’d kill it with two swipes of my pocket knife, but I’ve already hit my limit for the day. Plus, rabbit meat isn’t tasty. I’ve read cautionary tales. Logged half my life on gaming consoles. And yet I can’t resist it.

Munching on the carrot, I follow its eager footsteps.

Welcome to The Boyfriend Experience

What’s that?! It was supposed to be an adventure game, not another rom-com.

Is it a side quest?

The rabbit conveniently disappeared. Well, if that’s what they want of me. I won’t disappoint my public, but I’m pretty sure the boyfriends won’t like this girlfriend.

They like the tired storylines. Contestants forming partnerships — being human before we end.

I can be whoever you want me to be. As long as it doesn’t bore me.

The problem is, who do I pick? They’re all the same. Two-dimensional characters with textbook personalities, who can’t spell their movie-inspired names.

Their constraints aren’t mine. Morning to midnight is the deep craving of my bloodthirsty mind. I embrace it and pull out the remaining carrot. There’s just the right verse in my spellbook. Multiply and sharpen — for dull enemies only. Orange daggers fly across the room.

Sonata for poked-out eyes.

Splashes of indigo make their way back to me. They changed the color of blood. As I said, the viewers are loaded with self-contradiction and toxicity.

Masking my disappointment, I perform a flamboyant bow, absorbing delirious cheers.

A pair of muddy leather boots enters my field of vision. “You dropped these.”

Tiffany & Co.? That’s the kind I like to drop.

I put the earrings in. Classic portal stuff. We land in a Western. It’s raining, and it’s after dark. Muddy leather boots dude gives me a Colt 1873 and seven bullets.

“Last one for you. Just in case.”

How thoughtful.

My options are playing a live version of ‘Kill, Marry, Hook-up’ or to keep them guessing till the end. The loaded weapon doesn’t help my decision-making process. It’s too easy.

Wiping heavy droplets off my forehead, I cross the wrinkled restricted tape. Two sets of footsteps join the simulated nighttime sounds.

“I forgot to introduce myself. I’m your unreliable narrator.”

I shoot the last bullet. Straight to his head.

“Nah, you can’t kill me. Not like that. Stop rewriting your life’s script. Stick to one scene and explore it. Find your true north. Go deep inside yourself. You know, the usual.”

Not this again. I’m done finding myself.

There’s no one here to answer my pleas. And I’m relieved they can’t hear my thoughts. When someone seeks my suffering, they usually miss one thing. I have no limits.

I stare ahead with glazed eyes. We hold hands and turn a corner.

There’s a chalk drawing of a precipice on the sidewalk. It’s my exit. It’s too easy to make it real. I close my eyes, squeeze his hand hard, and jump. We almost had our happy ending, but there couldn’t be an ever after.

Not in this world.

Not with me.

---

Author’s Note

We co-wrote this story with

Debdutta Pal

in alternate increments of 50 words on Substack.

As usual, I stole words from Debdutta’s stories and titles to write my parts because she’s inspiring, and I always try to trick Marsha and Edward into thinking Debdutta wrote my lines.

Fun fact! We were supposed to make it 700 words but stopped at 600 as we accidentally wrote a strong ending! It happens!

(I hope you’ll agree it was a strong ending!)