the fourth wall, shattered

[Deleted]

So, since I'm thinking about writing a new character who breaks the fourth wall, I thought I'd revisit my first one. It made me chuckle, so just for fun, I thought I'd post it here.

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The easy S T U F F . . .

Name: Landon James Bristow
Nickname: none
Age: Twenty
Member Group: Local
Power(s): Multidimensional Perception - Landon can see into and hear a dimension other than his own-- the dimension of the real world, specifically. Our dimension. He constantly hears narration and can watch the forums and its members if he so chooses.
Play By: Ryan Gosling

Let it F L O W . . .

You think you don't give a damn? Well, you don't not-give-a-damn nearly as much as I don't give a damn. You want to know why I don't give a damn? It's because none of this is real. You see this bottle of whiskey I got here? It ain't real. You look real confused right now, but it don't matter, 'cause you ain't real either.

I bet you think I'm the town nut. That's what everyone told you, huh? Everyone knows who I am, and everyone says I'm craziest man they ever met. Well, in all reality, I'm the only sane person this town's got. I'm the only person who knows what's really goin' on. You think you got free will, huh? Or maybe you believe in destiny. Well, let me tell you the truth. You ain't got neither free will nor destiny. Everythin' you do is being controlled by some no-life loser sittin' behind a keyboard. Most of em's teenagers, but some is older, some is younger. They're all sittin' there with their plot pages and their shout boxes, and whatever they type, you do. They type, "Sally Jo sat down?" Well then Sally Jo's gonna sit her ass down. They type, "Sally jumped off the cliff?" Then it don't matter if Sally's the happiest gal on Earth, she gonna jump right off that cliff. That's just how it works.

These kids call themselves... roleplayers. Cruel and sadistic is what they are. Always makin' us characters go through tragedy after tragedy just to watch us suffer. Don't even gives a damn about our feelins. If you gets lucky, you might get one of the nicer ones. And then you gets to be what they calls a Mary Sue. And you get to just dance around bein' all perfect and pretty and shit. And you don't have to suffer nothin'.

But me? I got stuck with the most sadistic of them all. Name's Anna. I mean, look at me. She created me. Who the hell would create me unless they be a maniac? Pure evil, that little one. I'm always tryna do things that'll piss her off so that maybe she'll decide to write me up a nice little suicide plot, but she won't let me do it. She gets too much kicks outta watchin' me suffer. Little bitch.

Anyhow, you're probably wonderin' how I gots to be this way. Well, let me explain-- not that it really matters anyway. Life was fine and dandy when I was a youngin'. My ma, Skye Bristow, was a nice lady. Took good care o' me. My pop, Ryan Bristow, was real good too. We weren't rich or nothin', but we got by, and things were just fine. Things were normal. My mama stayed home and took cares of me and my sis, Amber, and my pop brought home the bacon. Amber and I got along good, too. She was older than me by a year. She was the classiest o' the bunch. Real pretty, real sweet. Smart, too. She was always tryna tell me to say "please" and "thank ya." Told me that people would like me better if I talked right. But when my power came 'round, she didn't want nothin' to do with me.

My "power." More like a damn curse. It came 'round when I was twelve. I started to hear voices. And you know what those voices were sayin'? Those voices were narratin'. They was narratin' everything I did. If I wanted to walk to the table, I couldn't do it without hearin' some whiny female voice sayin, "He walked to the table." If I started to like a girl, I couldn't like 'er without hearin' some long-winded sappy monologue in my head 'bout how much I liked her. It was damn well drivin' me crazy. I started gettin' all paranoid and shit, too. Soon 'nough the folks at Hammel heard 'bout me. Didn't know what to make of me, but they took me in anyway, "for studyin'" they said, but I knows they just took pity on me 'cause I had no where else to go. Parents wanted to turn me out, said I was goin' crazy. It was either Hammel or the loony bin, so I let them ship me off to Hammel. Soon enough, my powers started to grow, and I started to see things. If I shut my eyes and concentrated real hard, I could see all kinds of things. Mostly I saw this blue website with forums and little blue buttons that said "Post Message" and "Preview" and shit. If I put my head to it, I could see people sittin' behind their keyboards and controllin' us little people like we're their puppets.

Knowin' that it didn't even matter 'cause I wasn't real, I didn't listen to anyone. Didn't pay attention in class 'cause I knew it didn't matter. Didn't bother tryna learn how to talk right, 'cause it didn't matter. Didn't learn to control my power, 'cause you guessed it-- it didn't matter. Some of the kids at Hammel thought I was a nut and they wasn't afraid to tell me so, but most everyone just left me alone. Scared o' me, I reckon. I came, I learned what little they could force me to learn, and I went. Didn't really have nowhere to go, so now I lives in a little house in Pilot Ridge close by to the school. Still visit sometimes just for nostalgia's sake or for somethin' to do. As for work, I deliver the mail. Easy enough, and I'm done by noon. Gets me the cash that I need to buy more beer.

After years and years of knowin' that I ain't real, that you ain't real, that none of this shit's real, I got pretty cynical. Shit, you'd get cynical too if you heard what I heard and saw what I saw. Didn't care 'bout nothin'. Didn't wanna fall in love 'cause I knews it was just a story anyways. Got into the habit of drinkin' a lot. You might judge me for it, but I don't care. We ain't real anyway. Nowadays I just spend most my time wanderin' 'round, lookin' for somethin' to amuse me to pass the time.

You still thinks I'm crazy. But your roleplayer is readin' this shit and laughin' 'cause the little sadist knows it's true.

Behind the M A S K . . .

Name: Anna
Age: Sixteen
RP Experience: On and off since the age of eleven.
How did you find us?: Shea <3[

Show your S K I L L S . . .[/div]

It was two in the afternoon on a Sunday. After a twelve-hour slumber, Landon's eyes finally fluttered open.

"'Fluttered?' Really? What am I, a goddamn fairy? If you gotta narrate everythin' I do, at least try an' make me sound less like a little pixie girl," Landon growled grumpily, annoyed that the narrating voice in his head insisted on waking him up. Slowly and lethargically, Landon sat up from his bed and ran his fingers through his disheveled hair. He stumbled toward the refrigerator and opened it. No more beers.

"No shit, Sherlocke! I can see that. Do you really have to say it?" Landon shouted gruffly. He slammed the refrigerator shut and walked to his closet to find some clean street clothes. Knowing full-well that he was living in a fictional world, he seriously considered walking out in his underwear, but today he decided to play along and appease his roleplayer.

"I ain't tryin' to 'appease' you! I ain't tryin' to please nobody. It just gets to be a hastle after a while when everyone's starin' 'cause you're in your underwear. Might as well put some clothes on just to make things easy." Sighing, Landon started to ignore the voice and proceeded to find some jeans and a relatively clean gray t-shirt. After throwing that on, he opted against dragging a brush through his hair that day. Instead, he snatched his wallet from the top of his desk, shoved it into his back pocket, and went straight to pushing open the front door. He scowled a bit as the bright springtime sun hit his face.

"Might as well go pick up some beer." With that decided, Landon stumbled over into his driveway, got into his beat-up Ford, and drove to the nearest grocery store with Nickelback on full-blast.

Tired and ready for his morning dose of alcohol, Landon yanked his keys from the ignition and made his way into the store, not bothering to lock the car door. He never locked any doors. He knew that if his roleplayer felt like tormenting him with robbery, she wasn't going to let a stupid lock on a door stop her. At least if he left the doors open, he wouldn't have to deal with broken windows.

"Smirnoff, here I come," Landon muttered, a small smile appearing behind his unshaven face as he wandered down the beer aisle.

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