Heartache
Table of Contents
Prologue Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Chapter 27 Chapter 28 Chapter 29 Chapter 30 Chapter 31 Chapter 32 Chapter 33 Chapter 34 Chapter 35 Chapter 36 Chapter 37 Chapter 38 Chapter 39 Chapter 40 Chapter 41 Chapter 42 Chapter 43 Chapter 44 Chapter 45 Chapter 46 Chapter 47 Chapter 48 Chapter 49 Chapter 50 Chapter 51 Chapter 52 Chapter 53 Chapter 54 Chapter 55 Chapter 56 Chapter 57 Chapter 58 Chapter 59 Chapter 60 Chapter 61 Chapter 62 Chapter 63 Chapter 64 Chapter 65 Chapter 66 Chapter 67 Chapter 68 Chapter 69 Chapter 70 Chapter 71 Chapter 72 Chapter 73 Chapter 74 Chapter 75 Chapter 76 Chapter 77 Chapter 78 Chapter 79 Chapter 80 Chapter 81 Chapter 82 Chapter 83 Chapter 84 Chapter 85 Chapter 86 Chapter 87 Chapter 88 Chapter 89 Chapter 90 Chapter 91 Chapter 92 Chapter 93 Chapter 94 Chapter 95 Chapter 96 Chapter 97 Chapter 98 Chapter 99 ENDChapter 89
Adam sat on the chair across from the older gentleman after Taylor left him alone with her manager. The door to this private office room automatically closed behind them, leaving the two of them together with little to no supervision or prying eyes watching them.
"So," he said without batting an eye, "what is this all about?" The young man questioned as he stared at the elderly man in front of him, "Why did you want to speak with me?" He inquired, narrowing his eyes slightly as he waited for the elderly man to answer him.
"You can call me 'The Author," was all he replied with, ignoring his question entirely. "I am responsible for managing this library," he told him, "and also for administering the stories for everyone in this world," he added while resting his arms on the desk, "including yours."
What did he just say? That he wrote stories about people in this world, including his own? What the hell is this old man saying? Surely he must be joking, right? Because if he is, then there won't be any problem observing his body language to determine if the old man is telling the truth or not.
But just as he did, however, not a single reading came out of this person. He found it impossible for someone like himself who can study and analyze the body language of a person to find their intentions and lies by simply staring into their eyes, yet the older man before him seemed to have no intention whatsoever in doing so.
His face expression and posture appeared as if he were nothing more than being truthful about the words he spoke to him. Unable to find the truths and lies behind those eyes of his, causing the young man to question whether he is simply too exhausted or that there truly is no way he can tell what this man is thinking of.
Shaking his head in disbelief, he said, "Okay, Author," saying in a skeptical tone while looking at him dead in the eye, "I'm listening; what did you want to discuss with me?" The young man asked in an annoyed tone, hoping to get his answer as quickly as possible.
Instead, the old gentleman simply smiled. "There's no need to be so impatient; I understand why you are feeling anxious, Adam," he replied calmly, causing the guest to simply stare back in surprise from having his name mentioned while continuing his monologue. "It is not everyday you would have someone you just met speak to you as if he's your oldest friend," he explained in an apologetic tone."
"How did you know my name?" Red flags were being raised in his mind, making the young man feel uneasy about this whole situation. "Did you read my mind, or something?" Adam demanded, wondering if this author was capable of such a thing. He couldn't help but find the thought very disturbing.
"No, no, nothing like that," the old man shook his head. "I already knew your name because I'm the one who observed and protected you from the start," he said with a reassuring smile, causing more confusion and doubt to arise from the young man.
"I don't understand what you are trying to say," he stated with visible irritation in his voice, "why are you telling me all these things? What is the point of all this?" Demanding an explanation from him, I asked, "Are you trying to tell me that you're some sort of god or something?" The young man asked, hoping to finally receive some answers from this strange person.
"God?" The elderly man chuckled lightly. "I'm not God, son," he clarified. "I'm merely a simple writer who learns in reading and managing books." Curious about what he meant by that, Adam decided to ask him another question.
"Then, who or what exactly are you?" He inquired before crossing his arms in defiance, unamused by this whole ordeal, "Are you a spy, an entity from another dimension, or some powerful psyker?" That would explain why he isn't able to read this man's body language.
"Those are all valid guesses, but you are completely wrong," the old man answered as he slowly shook his head, knowing they weren't the right answer to his question. "I am merely a normal human being just like yourself, but I'm more of someone who takes interest in the stories of people's lives, creating them and sometimes reading them to learn things."
"Story?" Adam raised an eyebrow upon hearing those words from his mouth: "What kind of books have you made?" He asked with a sign of impatience, "Was it a novel or just a series of pages?"
This isn't making any sense to him; why is he even talking about these things to begin with? Is there some ulterior motive behind all this?
"Indeed," the elderly man nodded before standing up as he headed to a nearby book shelf. "These books," gesturing towards them as he retrieved one book in particular, "contain their own stories of universes, where these are created to entertain or teach others, inspiring them to be more than what they think of themselves," he explained as he returned to his seat, handing the book he brought over to him.
Adam frowned at this sudden gesture and asked, "What the hell is this?" He demanded before looking down to see the cover of the book, which is nothing more than a plain book, "Why are you giving me this? You want me to read or borrow this?" This isn't even making any sense anymore; in fact, he believes this old man is just out of his mind and he should have known better to leave.
"That is not the case," the author shook his head again. "I want you to open this very book," he instructed him as he continued to stare at him with his gazing eyes, "open it and begin to read what it contains, to understand the true nature of what is hidden within," replying eagerly before leaning back to rest his back against the chair, patiently waiting for the boy to follow his instructions.
The young man sighed, seeing that there's no point in arguing with this crazy old man, "fine," giving in as he held the book in his hand, "but after I finished, tell me what the hell is even going on," saying in a firm voice before slowly opening the book.
What he saw, however, was nothing more than a blank page. "This is all it has?" Adam turned his head to see that the old man was just sitting there quietly, smiling at him with a satisfied look on his face. "A blank page?" Deciding to see more, he flipped the pages, but nothing; all of them were nothing more than blank sheets.
"Every empty piece of paper waits for one to fill it with its stories, Adam; a person can write anything they wish," the old man said as he closed his eyes. "Be it a fantasy story, the history of a place, a mystery or horror novel, even a simple story about a man and woman getting married can be written."
"Yeah, I don't even have a pen, old man," he said with annoyance in his tone, "or maybe you want me to use my finger or blood?" He questioned sarcastically before tossing the book to the side, "Well, I don't know what the hell is your point, nor am I interested in this conversation, but I want to head back home already," being more ready than ever to leave this place and forget this entire event happened to him.
"Home, yes, home," the author replied with a sigh as he opened his eyes to stare at the young man once more. "It's funny, isn't it?" a mysterious smile appearing across his wrinkled face, "how we humans are all part of a story and how you never thought it would be your life being told on the pages of a book."
"Excuse me, what?" Adam blinked twice when he heard him utter those words.
"You must be tired after all these days you spent running around the world, desperately searching for something to cling on to for eternity, but I have to ask," the author sighed as he folded his arms before continuing to speak, "are you lonely?"
Loney—is he really alone in this world?
It feels that way sometimes when things just don't make any sense to him at all. But he is used to his own solitude, as the world is unforgiving of his existence, even making it difficult to connect with anyone because of how cruel the world is.
Perhaps he's alone because no one would probably understand his reasoning; they'll call him insane and send him off to the mental asylum for the rest of his life. However, it's not true at all. He has had friends and colleagues. They don't share the same interests as he does, but they're all good people nonetheless.
Clenching his fists, he said, "Truth is..." God, why is he suddenly feeling emotional all of a sudden at this time? "I'm really..." biting his lips to the point of causing a small cut to appear, "I'm lonely," he finally answered with everything he had, "because of how I was born, because of how I was made, because of how I see the world; it's too much."
Tears began to fall down onto his cheeks, feeling the pain of his own existence. "It hurts so much!" Bringing his fists down on the table, he said, "This world is so fucking bat shit insane! Human beings should be helping each other, being kind, and look what I got! Huh?! Bunch of assholes and greedy pricks running all over the place with no regard to anyone below them!" He shouted as he wiped away his tears, "I don't want to be alone; I don't want to die in a place like this! I just...I just...."
Sniffing loudly as he looked away from the author's gaze, he said, "I know I am no better than the people who I criticized because I have also done very bad things before, but...but..." he turned to look back at the old man with a sad expression on his face, "Why is everything so hard in my life? Why can't things go well for me? Why...why..."
Everything is so hard that it's funny to even mention it. He keeps going on and on without ever stopping, but no matter what, the pain of his past and the people he lost all come back to him.
What was he thinking when he signed himself to be the man he became?
"Life is beautiful," the author said suddenly with a smile. "The world is filled with so much horror and suffering, isn't that what you said before?" He chuckled as he shook his head. "Such a sad world, but beautiful nonetheless."
"Beautiful?" Adam replied with a sneer, "You call this beautiful?! Have you seen the world that I've been seeing? Revenge, hate, grief, loss—I have seen all of it, and you tell me these things are fucking beautiful?!" Pissed off beyond words.
The elderly man expressed surprise at the boy's sudden outburst but soon regained composure. He sighed and looked at him. "Isn't that what life is? We all eventually suffer from something bad, as that is the cycle of life. The universe doesn't want everyone to live happily ever after, nor does it want the idea of heaven. There is no heaven or hell in the world we live in, nor is there an overseeing judge that will punish you for your crimes; there are only your choices and the actions you take toward those around you."
Adam froze in his spot, unable to move an inch, when the old man continued with his speech: "Life is beautiful because you see the beauty of living no matter how ugly the world is. It may be cruel, unforgiving, unfair, or sad, but in the end, there is always light that will never extinguish, no matter how dark the world is. Is the world cruel? Yes, it is. But it is beautiful nonetheless once you keep moving forward to your dreams."
"Yeah, but how come everyone isn't good to—"
The Author cut him off: "Do you want everyone to be bad?" He questioned further, "Do you think it's more fun to be around someone who is evil all the time?" The boy's answer was silence: "If the world was full of nice and good people, would it still be interesting? Would you still be interested in doing what you want?"
He didn't respond again, but this time he kept his mouth shut as he thought about it for a moment before shaking his head and saying, "Not really. If everyone is good or bad, then what is the point of differentiating who is good and bad?"
"Exactly," he chuckled, "it's the conflict that drives stories forward; that's what makes stories interesting. If there were only good or bad people, it wouldn't make sense to you, right?" Tilted his head slightly to one side, almost as if he were thinking about something entirely else.
Adam couldn't believe what he was hearing; this old geezer had a point: there is no reason to understand the world around him if everything is all rainbows and sunshine or when everything becomes bad. Good and evil are necessary for maintaining balance and stability with each other; that's what makes people different from one another.
"Do you want to see what lies outside of your world?" The author's question was mysterious and intriguing: "Would you like to see it?" The Author asked again, this time wanting to get back on topic, but the curiosity was burning inside this young man.
Nodding with a firm expression, "I do," saying in strong conviction of what he was getting himself into, "I want to see what's out there," resulting the author to nod with an approving smile on his face.
"Very well, then it is settled; close your eyes and count for five seconds."
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