"Who are you?" she asked, looking up from her book. She was sitting at an outdoor table, at her favorite cafe, across from the park, reading and drinking coffee, when he suddenly appeared.
"I'm the Prince."
"The Prince of what? You look kind of...splattered."
"I'm the Prince of your dreams, I think. I'm not really sure."
"Hmmm. Think again," she said, going back to Chapter Four.
"I'm the Fairy Tale Prince everyone talks about," he said. "But I'm updated. Big time and I think I'm called something different."
"Honey, there are no fairy tales about men, unless they're hunting someone, or a side character, with no name. You're not Cinder, Snow, Sleeping Beauty or any of the others. Nothing is named after you. You're a generic male, used to set an example for women to follow, but no one does that any longer. The patriarchal things men used to write about in order to bully and entrap girls, just don't work any longer."
"What does that mean, exactly?" he asked. "Are you saying I'm no longer needed? If so, what am I supposed to do?"
"Maybe you can start a new religion, like Siddhartha did, or open a bookstore. I suppose you could find a woman's shoe, then look for the person it belongs to. Perhaps you could find a woman in a coma and kiss her back to life, or find a girl in a glass coffin, surrounded by seven little people, wake her up and bring her to your castle."
"I don't want to do any of those things."
"Don't blame you," she said.
"Isn't there anything else I can do, or be."
"You could be a regular person, I guess. I mean, you look great. You look like a bad boy, a biker, a poet and..."
"Would those things would make me a regular person?"
"No. Those things would make you exceptional, to certain people. Bad boys come with a lot of baggage, no one wants someone who's really bad, some bikers can be fun, poets too, unless they're moody. You can be a nice guy, they don't always finish last."
"I don't understand."
"Where are you from?"
He shook his head. "Not sure. Apparently, I walked out of a book and all of this is very weird. I was in a story about surviving a world war. Life was hard. We were fighting the bots. A lot of us aren't completely human, or at least many have been augmented, rigged, or boosted. It was the only way we could survive. Food was scarce, places to hide were few. I was just going to the next page, when suddenly I was standing here, talking to you."
"Is your book fiction?"
"I don't think so. I think it's non-fiction, his-story. Humans made AI's and thought they could control them, but that level of stupidity seems like it should be fiction. Anyway, I'm mostly human in the book. The bots turned on us. Those humans, or part humans, who are left, have been fighting ever since. Tech didn't work out the way the scientists expected," he said.
"You don't look as if you're dressed for war."
He looked down at himself. "I don't?"
"No. You don't look as if you're protected from any weapons."
"I don't know what to say. This is what the author put on me. It stops bullets and lasers, most of the time."
"Okay. So, are you going back to your book, or are you going to stay here?"
"Where is here?" he asked, looking around. "Is this what the earth looked like before?"
"Before your war?"
He nodded, touching a leaf. "It's green. Everything is alive."
"Well, not everything," she said. "What's it like in your book?"
"Everything is black and crisp, shiny, like melted glass, burnt. Everything is dead. People are sick. Those of us who have been augmented just last a little longer. Radiation poisoning and other things, are wiping humans out."
"There's a movie like that," she said. "An ex-body builder with a thick accent was the star. If you're following that script, are you here to fall in love and sire the next hero?"
"What?"
"Are you planning on having sex and impregnating a female so she gives birth to the hero who will save the world? That's what happened in the movie."
He stared at her until she sighed and sipped her coffee.
"Never mind," she said. "What are your goggles for?"
"So I can see the signature the bots give off before they hit. But they're for other things as well."
"What color are your eyes?"
"I don't know."
"Don't you ever take them off?"
He stared at her again. "We live in different worlds. No, I don't take them off, unless forced to do so. All information comes through the screen inside the headset."
"Do you know your author?"
"Not well. I sometimes tell him what to write. He thinks it's his idea, but a lot of the time, it's not. He doesn't understand the battle, or the people."
"But didn't he bring you to life? Make you up?"
"Yes, but once we existed, we took over. He has no real idea of what we are living through."
"Are you involved with anyone?"
"You mean do I have a girlfriend?"
"Yes."
"I'm not sure."
"You seem to know a lot of things, and language doesn't seem to be a problem," she said.
"I've been in a lot of books, so I have multiple perspectives."
"How is that possible?"
"It's like reincarnation. You live a lot of lives and you bring a little of each with you when you're born. Same thing for characters. I'm a male, good looking, and usually the hero, or the Prince. But I don't like being the Prince, or the hero. I just want to be a normal person. Unfortunately, authors always put me into those roles."
"I didn't realize that what you're saying, was even possible."
"How would you know? How many characters who walk out of books have you met?"
"Not a lot," she said, smiling.
"How many?"
"When I was little a mouse came out of a book and stayed with me all day long. Then she went back to her family and I only saw her on the pages of the book."
"He nodded. A lot of characters like children. Especially animals. There's a kinship between them and children are more open to magic. As humans develop, they are expected to let their magic go, so they can be easily controlled."
"Do you have a family?"
"The bots killed my father. He was a fighter. He was brave. Many followed him. My mother is still alive, at least she was when I left the book. She's a scientist, working on something that will stop the bots. She hardly sleeps. I'm concerned for her health."
"Siblings?"
"A brother. He was killed fighting with my father."
"I'm sorry."
"Thank you. I'm sure their characters will be recycled into another story. They were strong and caring males who fought well."
"Where's your book now?"
"On the bench, over there," he said, looking across the street.
"Shall I get it?"
"Yes, please."
She sat back at her table, book in her hand. "How do you get back inside?"
"I don't know how I got outside of the pages," he said, rubbing his chin.
She opened the book, and put it on the pavers. "Maybe you just need to step into it."
"Maybe," he said, standing on the pages. "It doesn't seem to be working."
"I can see that," she said. "Do you think I can read you into the story?"
"No. I don't think that at all."
"Do you want to come home with me?"
"What about the war?" he asked.
"I don't know. What about it? Do you know how the story ends?"
"I think I die."
"Well, maybe you can live longer if you stay on this side of the pages."
Later that evening, when they were sitting together on the couch, watching a program on robots, and eating popcorn, there was a whooshing sound and a man pulled himself out of the open book laying on the table. The man looked around, spotted the Prince and bowed.
The Prince, or hero, stood up and went to the newcomer. They clasped hands and pounded each other on the back. "This is my second in command," he said.
"Who's running the war, if you're both here?" she asked.
One by one, characters came out of the book. A scruffy dog needed help, but they managed to get him out. A bot tried to come through, but was violently denied access. The apartment was full to bursting with characters, all wondering where they were. Finally, they sat down on the floor and the Prince explained what he thought was going on. He picked up the book and flipped through the pages. Most were blank. The only drawings were of the bots.
"It would seem," he said, happily. "That we have been released into the real world."
A cheer went up from the crowd, while popcorn was being passed around and pizza was being ordered.
"Where are all these people going to sleep?"
"Where they're sitting, of course. That's where they sleep in the book," he said. "Wherever they're sitting."
"Are they going to stay here?"
The Prince asked if they'd like to stay and they all said yes.
"I suppose I can teach them how to get around," she said.
"That would make you the hero," he said.
She looked him up and down and said, "I think I might like a Prince of my own."
He smiled and put his arm around her.
In the end, they mostly lived happily ever after. The war couldn't be stopped, of course, but they were able to control what was going to happen, even if only for a little while.
"What if we're just in another book, right now?" she asked. "What if that's all there are?" she said. "Books. Stories. We may be saying all of this, as someone is typing it."
"That's possible," he said, looking at her. "Maybe that's all life is, a story. What difference would it make? You can still tell the author what to write, now and then."
****
Think about these things the next time you're reading a book. Some of the characters may seem wiser than others, because they've had experience. They've been around for awhile. And one never knows when someone will spill out of a book and start talking to you. I think it happens more often than we'd like to admit.
More importantly...we may be nothing more than characters some psycho author's story, right now. Perhaps, we need to find our way out from between the covers of that book.
AI generated art from: Pixabay
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