• It’s Tuesday, again.

    Today, I’m going to get out of bed and go to my Tuesday classes. I’ll attend my section and eat in a random dining hall. I’ll probably see Shaun, Nora, Richard, Kelsey, Karin, Kelsi and/or Jun. We make up the cliché weird group of this story.

    A few weeks ago, I realized that I am not real. Not like you, whoever is reading this… at least I think you might be real. It just seems to me that I am not the main character in this story. I have no tale of greatness in me. I’m just a supporting character at best, a nameless extra that is involved in a distant subtext at worst.

    I know I have a purpose in this story, but a reason is not a guarantee of notability. I could be a link in a rumor chain that affects the main character(s). I might be the person that bumps into a main character and causes a vital plot point to be dropped. I don’t know. I think that bothers me, knowing that I have a purpose and knowing vaguely what my destiny is without the specific knowledge on the particulars of achieving it.

    Beyond my petty meaning, another enigma has been keeping me up at night; who is the main character? At first I looked around the group of people that I have the most contact with. This assumed that if I’m developed enough as a character to have these worries, then I must be near the center of activity. I realized, however, that the author of this story might be thinking of an expansive series and has flushed out many characters for future use. This has me worried. What if the first book is a flop or, worse, never published.

    Worries aside, I have a class to get to. Maybe I’ll know when I’ve completed my role in this creation.

    ______________________________________________________________

    A zombies ambled up the stairs, his vacant eyes showing a haunting desire. Hensly reloaded his shotgun and fired, taking the creatures head from its shoulders. As the cranium fell to the ground, Hensley spit, “Poor bugger, I think I had a section with him yesterday.”