(Riley Was Sure They Couldn't Hurt Him. After All, His Adversaries Were...) Just On Paper: Another Short Story By The Ceej

Giving A Whole New Meaning To The Saying, "The Story Comes To Life."

This story is based on one particular personal experience of The Ceej's, or so he claims. His personal experience was not nearly as entertaining or dangerous as this one. In fact, it was just simple. This version was created for entertainment, however, and should keep you on the edge of your office chair. Also we apologise that the below story was written in American English. The Ceej used to write this way, but we can assure you that all future work is written in proper English. He would rewrite this one in proper English, but can't be arsed.



“I’m gonna fucking kill that prick,” Riley yelled, trying to hold back.

“What’s Mark’s phone number?” Dr. Lynn asked.

“Why would I give you his phone number?”

“So I can warn his family of your threats.”

“And why would I let you warn Mark?”

“You have to. I’m required by law to make a good faith effort in preventing any crimes from occurring. If you don’t provide me with a legitimate way to contact Mark Bradford or his family, then I have to tell your mother about your threat so she can.”

This aggravated Riley, as he was sure that everything he said was confidential, “You’re not allowed to tell anyone, Dr. Lynn. It’s an invasion of my privacy.”

“I must respect confidentiality, yes, but you’ve admitted to an intent to break the law, and it is a higher responsibility of mine to prevent that.”

“You still don’t get it, Dr. Lynn,” Riley insisted, “I’m not really going to kill Mark. I just feel like killing him.”

“Here’s what I suggest, Riley. Write down these feelings. Maybe write Mark a letter you’ll never send him. Maybe write him into a story where he gets what you think he deserves. But I suggest if you write a story, that you don’t actually use Mark. Just create a new character to use as an effigy. Some character that represents Mark that you can actually kill or do whatever you want to.”

Riley’s eyes lit up. He realized the endless possibilities to writing effigies and killing them. He knew what he wanted to do when he got home. He hurried up the rest of the meeting. As they exited the office, Dr. Lynn approached Riley’s mother, “Mrs. Valiant, I believe we made some progress toward keeping Riley’s anger at bay.”

“What did you tell him, Dr. Lynn?”

“I just told him to write. He likes doing that anyway. He’s going to write a character as an effigy of Mark Bradford and have things happen to that character. No one gets hurt and Riley appeases his anger.”

“I don’t know if I approve much of Riley writing violent things.”

“Don’t worry, Mrs. Valiant. Violence in his world will prevent violence in the real world.”

“Okay, Dr. Lynn. I guess the co pay is the same.”


Riley sat at his computer mumbling to himself, “Mark, Mike, Marv, Matt. I’ll go with Matt. Matt Bradley. But what’s going to happen to him? Who’s going to do it? Who? What do I mean who? I’m the one that wants to kill Mark. I’ll kill Matt. This is going to be fun.”

Riley began to write a background for Matt Bradley. It was much the same as Mark’s background with a few dramatic embellishments. He was a writer. That’s what he did. He wrote fiction. If he just told Mark’s story and changed the name, it would be fiction. He began to write himself into the story and he suddenly wasn’t where he thought he was. “Where am I?” he asked himself. He soon realized he was in the story he created. Only, it wasn’t text. He was in front of the house next door to Matt Bradley’s house. He knew now, that to write the story, all he had to do was act it. He wondered if he had the power to change things other than himself from within the story.

Suddenly, a bolt of lightning struck from the clear sky, hitting a tree and setting the branches ablaze. Riley was amazed. It was at that time that he realized he was still writing this story. But when he wrote in his exit from the story, could he go back? Would the story be written? At this point, he didn’t care. He was in a world in which he was God. Even if he couldn’t go back, this was a much better place to be. Even still, he still wanted to kill his effigy of Mark Bradford. He walked towards the house.


“Mark?” the woman who answered the door asked.

“Matt,” Riley stumbled, “not Mark, Matt.”

“Who are you?”

“I’m one of Matt’s friends.”

“Can I tell him who’s here to see him?”

Riley panicked, but almost immediately realized that he had complete control over this story. He could have Matt know him. It was that easy, “Riley. Tell him it’s Riley Valiant.”

The woman turned around, “Matt, Riley’s here to see you!”

Matt ran toward the door, “Hey, Riley.”

“Matt,” Riley said, “I found something really cool down by the… the… down by the creek. Yeah. The creek.”

“Cool,” Matt replied, “Let’s go.”

Matt seemed to lead Riley to the creek. Riley questioned himself. He wondered how Matt knew where the creek was if he just made it up. He trusted his victim to lead him to the scene of the murder. Riley just told himself that he was writing this at his desk, so he was leading Matt. He was not being led. But what if he was? What if he no longer had control over his story? He stopped questioning when Matt arrived at the creek and called for him.

“Riley,” Matt called, “what’s taking you so long?”

“I’m almost there,” Riley called back as he looked for a stick, a rock, or anything that could kill Matt. He found a smooth, round rock about the size of his hand and picked it up. He arrived at the top of the creek’s bank and looked down. The creek was beautiful. Riley wondered to himself if he was good enough of a writer to do the beauty of the creek justice on the page. Was he the only person who would ever see this creek’s awesome clarity? Would anyone else know about the sparkling ripples or the bubbling breaks at the bases of the rocks? It’s a shame that the blood of his character would ruin his beautiful creek. But what must be done must be done.

Riley skidded down the side of the creek’s bank and walked toward Matt through the shallow water. His face showed intent. He came to do something and it wasn’t something nice.

“Riley?” Matt was concerned, “What’s wrong?”

Riley approached Matt, swung back his arm, and slammed the rock into the side of Matt’s face. Matt’s head flew to the right along with the blood from the injury and water from the creek. “Why, Riley?” he cried, “What did I do to you?”

“Nothing,” Riley said as he swung again, “but Mark Bradford has pissed me off and I can’t fucking kill him!”

Matt fell backwards into the creek. “Please,” he cried, “Please don’t kill me. I swear I won’t do anything to you. I’ll kill Mark Bradford if you want. Just please don’t kill me.”

“See, here’s the problem, Matt,” Riley said as he dropped the rock and knelt down in the creek, “You can’t kill him any more than I can. You’re my creation. I’m your god. You’re stuck in fiction and I’m visiting from reality. Fictional characters have no physical impact on reality, but real people can have great physical impact on fiction, especially when those people are the writers.”

“What are you talking about, Riley? I don’t understand.”

“You don’t have to,” Riley put his hands around Matt’s neck and shoved his head to a rock in the water, “I created you to kill you. Your purpose in life is to die. So, fucking die already.”

“You’re crazy,” Matt gasped, “We’ve been friends for seven years. Before that I lived in—”

Riley tightened his hands so Matt couldn’t breath, “You still don’t get it, Matt. I never saw you before today. Everything you remember never happened. You don’t exist. You’re fiction and I’m writing you out.”

Matt’s body went limp. Riley checked his pulse just to make sure. He climbed to the top of the creek’s bank just to take one last look. The creek’s beauty was gone. What was once sparkling and clear was now red and cloudy. “Oh well,” Riley said to himself, “at least I did what I came to do.”

He wondered what he had to do to get out of this world he created. He had an idea. He said softly to himself, “Riley went back to is own world.”


Riley read what he had written for the first time. He was surprised that this was some of his best writing. He didn’t even remember writing it. He decided he would save the story and print it.

Riley’s brother walked by the door and noticed Riley at his computer, “Hey, Riley. I didn’t know you were here.”

“Why wouldn’t I be, Tucker?” Riley asked.

“Well, I walked by your room a lot and I never noticed you in there.”

“I’ve been here,” Riley pulled a few pages from his printer, “I’ve been writing.”

“Anything good?”

“Some of my best.”

“Can I see?”

“Ah, Tucker, I don’t know. This is something I was supposed to write for Dr. Lynn. It’s kind of violent.”

“Come on.”

“Oh, all right,” Riley slid his chair toward his bed, “Have a seat.”

Tucker sat down on Riley’s bed and took the pages from Riley’s hand. He commented on the first thing he noticed, “You’re in it.”

“Yeah,” Riley replied, “but you can’t tell anyone about this no matter what.”

Tucker read most of the story in silence, but as he approached the end, he began to read aloud, “Matt’s body went limp. Riley checked his pulse just to make sure. He climbed to the top of the creek’s bank just to take one last look. The creek’s beauty was gone. What was once sparkling and clear was now red and cloudy. ‘Oh well,’ Riley said to himself, ‘at least I did what I came to do,’ then Riley returned to his own world.”

Tucker sat in silence for a minute or two then spoke up, “So you… uh… you killed a kid?”

“Yeah,” Riley replied, “Dr. Lynn told me to write this because Mark Bradford was pissing me off.”

“Yeah. I figured as much.”

“Can I tell you something, Tucker?” Riley’s voice trembled, “Something you can never repeat.”

“You can trust me.”

“Tucker, I was there.”

“Yeah, I read it.”

“No, you still don’t get it,” Riley said with a tear rolling down his cheek, “I was really there. I wasn’t at the computer writing this. That’s why you didn’t see me. I was there. I heard Matt begging for his life. I felt the blood from his face on my hands. I saw the creek. This isn’t fiction. I didn’t write it. I was there.”

“Are you okay?”

“No!” Riley cried, “No, I’m not okay. I just killed a kid.”

“Relax, Riley” Tucker consoled, “You didn’t kill anyone. You were just really involved in this work. It’s really good. Matt’s not real. He wasn’t alive before you killed him. And even if you were there, it’s not a real place. You can kill people there because they’re not real.”

“It seemed so real, Tuck.”

“I’m sure it did,” Tucker put his hand on Riley’s shoulder, “but that’s what’s so cool about being a writer. You can go places that don’t exist and visit people that don’t exist. Not only that, but you can bring these places and people to others who can go these places and identify with these characters almost as much as you can. It’s perfectly okay to kill these people in your stories if you want to. I enjoyed your story and it helped you vent. Are you going to be okay?”

Riley sniffed, “I guess. Don’t tell anyone. You promised.”

Tucker put up two fingers, “Scout’s honor. I wish I could write as good as you.”

“As well,” Riley corrected.

Tucker stood up and made his way to the door, “My little brother correcting my grammar. He really is a writer.”


Riley awakened early the next morning. He read his story over and over again. Each time he read it, he convinced himself a little more than he wasn’t really there. He convinced himself that he just had a vivid idea of what it was supposed to be when he wrote it. Of course he couldn’t tell anyone. He looked at the clock. It was after 7:00, so he put his story under his mattress and got ready for school.

When Riley arrived downstairs, Tucker was sitting at the breakfast table eating a bowl of Krispy Krunchies. “Feeling any better, Riley?” he asked.

“I guess,” Riley grabbed a bowl from the cupboard and sat at the table, “It seemed so real, though. I must have been really into this story.”

“That’ll happen,” Tucker passed the cereal to his brother, “Do you have it saved?”

“Thanks,” Riley poured the cereal into his bowl, “Yeah. It’s on a floppy disk under my mattress.”

“Better you keep it on the floppy. That’s not the kind of thing you want on your hard drive. Especially with Mom around.”

Riley poured milk on his cereal, “Guess you’re right.”

“Yeah,” Tucker replied, “but you need to forget about it now. It’s time to go to school.”

Riley dropped his spoon, “But I haven’t done my homework yet… or eaten.”


“Yeah, my brother made me leave before I could even take a bite,” Riley told his friends.

“At least your brother’s nice to you,” Riley’s friend Aaron explained, “My brother won’t even talk to me.”

“You think you guys have it bad?” Shawn retorted, “My brother kicks my ass twice a week.”

Aaron noticed that Riley had stopped paying attention, “Riley!”

Riley continued looking into the distance. Shawn waved his hand in front of Riley’s face, “Earth to Riley.”

Riley pushed Shawn’s hand away and watched as Mark Bradford sat at the table. Riley jumped immediately to his feet and sat down at a completely empty table. Mark also moved to this table. Riley was aggravated by this, “What the fuck do you want, Mark?”

“Whoa, Riley!” Mark was confused, “What’s got into you?”

“You still don’t get it, Mark. You’re fucking dead to me.”

“What did I do?”

Riley’s face became hot, “What did you do? What did you do? What didn’t you do? You owe me money, you told your friends everything I told you in private, you annoy the fuck out of me every damn day, you copy my homework and cheat off my tests, you pretend to be my friend but you talk about me behind my back, you won’t read my works because God forbid anything I write be good, you come to my house when you need something but never just to hang out, you hurt my brother and said you were just goofing around, you constantly change my computer settings, you killed my gerbil, you borrow my shit without my permission, you throw guilt trips on me to get what you want, and you steal my Jell-O every day at lunch. Now beg me not to kill you.”

Mark put Riley’s Jell-O back on his tray, “Not all of that is true.”

“Yes,” Riley threw his half-eaten Jell-O back at Mark, “Yes, it is. Now, get the fuck out of my life.” Riley grabbed his tray, stood up, turned around and tripped on the seat. Mark began laughing and several students joined him.

Riley pulled himself up with the aid of the table. Embarrassed, he brushed the food off his clothes with his hands. He looked back at the table where his friends were to check if they were laughing and was very disappointed. Erin McAdams, the girl he planned to ask out on a date, was laughing harder than anyone else. This wasn’t the worst part. Mark walked over to her, held out his hand and asked Erin to go with him right in front of Riley. Riley hoped she’d decline his offer. A chill went down his spine when he heard her say, “Of course I’ll go out with you. Let’s get away from that jerk.”


“But she went out with Mark, Tucker,” Riley cried.

Tucker had a simple solution, “Kill her.”


“You told me this morning that you still have that story where you killed your friend, Mark.”

“He’s not my friend.”

“Well, go back in the story and write Erin out of it.”

“I can’t do that, Tuck.”

“Why not?”

“I’m done with that story. I’m not writing like that anymore. I’m not writing myself into another story and I’m not killing anyone else. I’m done.”

“Then why’d you keep it, Riley?” Tucker asked, “You know if you were done, you’d have thrown it out and deleted the file. You kept it so you could do this.”

“Why would I kill her, Tucker? Why? She’s beautiful. She’s smart. She’s funny.”

“Is she? If she were so smart, so beautiful, and so funny, then why is she dating Mr. Dead In A Creek? She called you a jerk.”

Riley’s mother entered the room, “Who called Riley a jerk?”

No one, Mom,” Riley answered.

“But Tucker just said someone called you a jerk.”

Tucker responded, “We’re role playing, Mom. You know? Like Dungeons And Dragons.”

“Yeah,” Riley added, “but we left our dice and books upstairs so we gotta finish the game up there.”

“All right boys,” Riley’s mother put twenty dollars on the table, “I’m going to work in a few minutes, so you’ll have to get your own dinner. You can order a pizza if you want.”

“All right, Mom,” Tucker said as he and Riley ran up the stairs.

Riley sat in his chair, “I’m still not killing Erin.”

Tucker shut the door and sat on Riley’s bed, “If you think you can live a normal life without getting your anger out, you’re mistaken. You need to do something and hitting a pillow never worked for you.”

“But this didn’t work for me either, Tucker. I killed Mark’s effigy, and then I felt bad about it. Then I saw Mark at school today and almost killed him.”

“The first time is always the hardest,” Tucker reached from under the mattress and handed Riley his disk, “That’s what they say about killing people. It has to apply to this.”

“All right,” Riley took the disk, “You win. Now, please give me some privacy.”


Riley already knew where he was going with this one. He knew he would do this when he saw her laughing. He couldn’t convince himself otherwise. It was pointless to think he could. He wrote himself into the story wearing a tuxedo. He wanted to look nice for his date.

Riley walked slowly down the streetlight-lit road. His world was nice in the evening. He approached the house and rang the doorbell. A woman answered the door, “Yes?”

“Hi, Mrs. McMiller,” Riley said, “I’m here to take your daughter, Erica on a date.”

“Come in, Riley,” Mrs. McMiller said, “Erica’s not ready yet.”

Riley entered the house and sat on the couch. Erica McMiller walked slowly down the stairs. She was as beautiful as Erin McAdams. The lighting in the hallway lit up her hair. Her dress was amazing and went well with Riley’s corsage. Riley couldn’t believe he was actually going to kill her. This could go an entirely different route under different circumstances. “I’m ready, Riley,” she said.

Riley handed Erica a bouquet of red and white roses, “These are for you.”

“Thank you, Riley,” she took his hand and walked with him to the taxi.”

Riley opened the door for Erica then walked around to the other side of the cab and got in, “Vinnie’s Italian on 367 Eustace Avenue.”

After the cab arrived at Vinnie’s, Riley opened Erica’s door and took her hand. He opened the door for her. “May I help you?” the greeter asked.

“Valiant. I have a reservation for two at 7:30,” Riley responded.

“Right this way, Mr. Valiant,” the greeter led Riley and his date to a table.

Riley pulled the chair out for Erica. They engaged in some small talk before the wine steward arrived, “Care for some wine?”

“We’re only fourteen,” Riley answered, “Do you have anything virgin?”

“Yes, of course,” the wine steward replied, “We have a menu of non-alcoholic sparkling grape juices.”

“Just bring the best one you have.”

“Right away, sir.”

“You know, Erica,” Riley said, “I’ve wanted to go out with you for a long time.”

“I could tell,” Erica replied, “I’m sorry it wasn’t sooner.”

“Where is that sparkling grape juice?”

“It’ll come. Let’s just talk.”

“All right. Talk. I’m listening.”

“That’s not what I mean.”

The wine steward arrived, “Your sparkling grape juice.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Riley grabbed the bottle by the neck and broke it against the table. Erica was concerned, “What’s wrong, Riley?”

Riley stood up and knocked the table to the side and then pushed over Erica’s chair, “You still don’t get it, Erica. You should have gone out with me!”

“I did go out with you,” Erica cried.

By this time people were getting worried and talking about calling police. Riley knelt on the floor next to Erica, “No. You went out with Matt Bradley.”

“That was before,” Erica slid across the floor, “He’s dead now. He was murdered.”

A wry smile crept across Riley’s face. Erica saw this, “Oh my God!”

“Yes,” Riley crawled toward Erica, “You’re right on both accounts.”

“What?” Erica slipped.

“I killed him,” Riley stabbed Erica in the chest with the bottle, “and I am your god.”

“You’re crazy!” Erica cried as a man tried to restrain Riley.

“That’s what Matt said,” Riley stabbed the man with the bottle and jumped on Erica, “but I told him that he wasn’t real. I told him he was my fiction and I wrote him out of my story.”

“I don’t understand,” Erica cried, “please don’t kill me.”

“I didn’t let Matt’s begging stop me from killing him,” Riley stabbed Erica in the neck with the bottle, “and yours won’t stop me from killing you. You’re dead.”

Riley stood up and dropped the bottle. He looked at the mess he made, “It’s a shame everything beautiful I write is reduced to this.”

He walked slowly out the door and down the street. He saw police coming so he ducked into an alley, “And Riley returned to his own world.”


“Maybe you were so passionate that you wanted the fear of getting caught,” Tucker tried to explain.

“You still don’t get it, Tucker,” Riley threw the pages into Tucker’s lap, “I was there. I didn’t write any police into the story. I didn’t write people trying to stop me from killing her. I was there and this happened without my control. Tucker, I’m losing control of my story.”

“I understand you were into it,” Tucker handed the pages back, “But I can’t believe that you could lose control of your own story and I find it very difficult to believe you were actually in it.”

“If I don’t stop this,” Riley took the pages and tucked them under his mattress, “one of these days, I’m going to die in the story. What happens if I die, Tucker? Am I dead for real?”

“No,” Tucker assured Riley, “People write their deaths into works all the time. Those people are still around. If you die in the story, you’re still alive here.”

“Well, I’m still not doing it again.”

“Yes, you are. I know you. You saved it and printed it again. You’re going back in there as soon as someone else pisses you off.”

“You know what, Tucker? Fuck you. I’m not discussing this with you anymore. It’s your fault I went in there this time.”

“You were going to do it anyway.”

“Get out!”


“I just don’t see why you gave Mark such a hard time,” Shawn complained, “He’s our friend.”

“He’s not my friend, Shawn,” Riley snapped, “and if he’s still yours, you’re missing something.”

“What, Riley?” Shawn turned off his video game, “What am I missing?”

“You still don’t get it, Shawn. He’s nothing. He’s a user. He’s not a friend.”

“Well, Riley, I think he is a friend and you should respect that.”

“Respect that?” Riley was flabbergasted, “Respect that you’re friends with the kid I hate more than anyone in the world, including my dad?”

“Yes, Riley. If you can’t respect that, then you’re not the friend I thought you were.”

“What the fuck is up with you today?”

“I could ask you the same thing.”

“Well, Shawn, I have one way to settle this. It’s him or me. If Mark’s still your friend, then I’m not.”

Shawn walked to the door and opened it, “If that’s the way you feel.”

Riley stood up, “Fuck you too, Shawn.”


“No, Tucker,” Riley insisted, “I am not going back in.”

“You know you are,” Tucker replied, “I don’t know why you come to me first when you already know what you’re going to do.”

“No, I don’t. I don’t want to go back in. I’m losing control and I’m just gonna delete that file.”

“I don’t think you are. I think you come to me because you think I’m going to talk you out of it. But I’m not. I think it’s healthy for you to write this down, so do what you’re going to do already.”

“I hate you,” Riley walked out of Tucker’s room and slammed the door behind him.

Riley paced up and down the hallway mumbling to himself, “What am I gonna do? I can’t go back in. I lost control. But I have to. What else can I do? I guess I can control it. It’s my story. Damn it, why is Tucker always right?”

He went into his room and sat at his desk, “All right, but this is the last time.”

Riley marched down the street in his creation intent on finding Shane and getting out as quick as possible. He approached the house and banged on the door. Shane answered, “Riley, this is a surprise.”

“Yeah, well, Shane, I got something to show you.”

“At the creek?” Shane suspected.

“Uh, right.”

“Hold on, Riley. Let me put my shoes on.”

Riley didn’t see Shane make a phone call before he left, “Sorry it took so long. Let’s go.”

Riley walked fast as he wanted to get this over with as soon as possible and Shane seemed to keep up with him. While hiking through the woods, Riley noticed that Shane picked up a rock. “What’s the matter, Riley?” Shane called as Riley ran, “Paranoid?”

Riley ran so fast he fell down the bank of the creek and sprained his ankle. Shane slid down. Riley tried to speak but Shane hit him in the face with the rock.

“Riley returned to—”

“See, here’s the problem, Riley,” Shane said as he swung the rock again, “Fiction can have a great physical impact on reality. You’re real, and I, a fictional character, am affecting reality, namely your life. You’re a real person and can’t seem to control your own fiction. You’re a pitiful excuse for a god.”

Riley fell backwards and saw that there were hundreds of people on the tops of the creek banks cheering for his death, “Riley went back to his own—”

Shane dropped the rock, knelt down, and put his hands on Riley’s neck, “You still don’t get it, Riley. You created us just to kill us and we’re striking back. We’re writing you out.”


Tucker walked by Riley’s room and noticed he wasn’t there. He went in and called for Riley with no answer. He noticed the story on the monitor, “All right, Riley. You got me. I believe you now. You were there. Just come on out.”

There was no answer. He saved the file and removed the disk, then printed it. He put the disk in his room and brought the pages downstairs, “Mom, Riley’s missing.”

“No, he’s not,” Tucker’s mother answered, “He’s upstairs writing something.”

“No,” Tucker’s voice trembled a little as he handed the pages to his mother, “This was on his computer and he wasn’t there.”

“What are you trying to pull, Tucker?”

“I’m not pulling anything, Mom. I’m not that good at writing. Sit down. I want to show you something that might make you feel better.”

They sat down on the living room couch. “I think Riley’s all right,” Tucker explained, “I think he’s over at Aaron’s or something. Look how this ends, ‘Shane dropped the rock, knelt down, and put his hands on Riley’s neck, ‘You still don’t get it, Riley. You created us just to kill us and we’re striking back. We’re writing you out,’’ Now if you notice, that’s how Riley talks. That means he must have written this. And if he wrote this, he’s still around somewhere.”

“He picked it up from your father,” Tucker’s mother cried a little, “He used to beat Riley. I think maybe he wrote that as a sick joke.”

“If he wrote that, then where’s Riley?”

“He might have been abducted. Call the police.”


“Are you all right,” Marlin asked.

“No, Marlin,” Tucker snapped, “My brother is missing.”

“I’m sorry,” Marlin tried to be polite, “I hope they find him.”

“They won’t. He’s already dead. I’m sure of it.”

“I hope they find the guy who did it.”

“They won’t. They can’t find someone who’s not real.”

“Wait,” Marlin inquired, “Let me get this straight. Someone who’s not real killed your brother?”

“You know, I know you don’t really care, so shut up.”

Thoughts went through Tucker’s mind. He tried to figure out how he could exact justice on the fictional killer. “I’m no writer,” he thought, “If I were, I could finish the story.” He then decided he must finish the story.

“Marlin?” he asked his boss, “can I leave early? I need to help my brother.”

“I thought he was dead,” Marlin answered.

“He is. But I have to finish the story.”

“If you leave before 9:00, don’t bother coming back,”

Tucker threw his work vest at Marlin and left, “Keep the fucking vest. I hope your wife gets diphtheria.”


Tucker sat at his computer with the story loaded from the disk, “Okay, how did Riley do this?”

As he reluctantly began typing, he found himself in the creek with his deceased brother at his feet. He knelt down and put his hand on Riley’s shoulder, “I’m sorry, Riley. I’m sorry I didn’t believe you. I’m sorry I didn’t talk you out of it. This is all my fault. I wish I could take your place.”

He stood up to find this Shane guy who killed his brother. He came here to avenge his brother’s death and avenge his brother’s death is what he was going to do. There was one problem, though. He didn’t know where he was going. He decided to walk up the bank of the creek and walk straight through the woods and maybe eventually end up in civilization. And he did end up in civilization after two hours. It didn’t occur to him that he needed a weapon. His only thought was to find Shane and kill him, but since Riley never wrote a last name, it was going to be difficult. He tried houses for a good half an hour before he got a good lead, but at least he knew how to get there. He finally arrived at the house and knocked at the door. When the door opened a kid was pointing a gun in his face.

“Whoa, dude!” Tucker exclaimed, “Is that necessary?”

The kid put down the gun, “Sorry, I thought you were someone else.”

“Who did you think I was?” Tucker asked.

“Oh, just some kid who tried to kill me.”

“Where is this kid now?”

“The creek, if he’s where I left him.”

Tucker’s face got hot and he began to tremble.

“Are you okay?” the kid asked.

“Fine,” Tucker lied, “I’m looking for someone named Shane.”

“You’re speaking to him,” Shane answered, “What do you want?”

“I just wanted to do something for my brother. Can I come in?”

“Come on,” Shane opened the door, “Who is your brother?”

“Some kid you know.”

“The god?” Shane sat down.

“The what?”

“That kid who just started killing people and claiming he was our god. He told us we were fiction, so it didn’t matter. I showed him. I made sure he suffered, too.”

Tucker lunged at Shane but fell when Shane shot him in the knee, “You bastard!”

“You shouldn’t have come to finish your brother’s job,” Shane aimed his gun at Tucker’s head, “You’re gonna end up the same way he did.”

“I didn’t come to finish anything!” Tucker kicked the gun out of Shane’s hand with his good leg, “I came to avenge my brother’s death. You’re going to die along with everyone in this world.”

Shane picked up a lamp, “That’s where you’re wrong. You can’t kill everyone here. You can’t even kill me.”

“I can, and I will,” Tucker rolled as Shane hit the floor with the lamp, “And I’ll make sure you suffer like you made Riley suffer!”

Tucker and Shane lunged for the gun and the same time. Shane grabbed the handle and Tucker grabbed the barrel. “Give it up,” Shane said, “You’re not going get this gun.”

“Oh, I think I am,” Tucker twisted the gun and threw it to the ground, knocking Shane’s hands off of it, “And I’m not going to kill you right away either.”

“You better,” Shane insisted, “Everyone knows you’re here and they’re coming.”

“Shut up!” Tucker shot Shane in the knee, “Just shut the fuck up!”

“God!” Shane yelled, “You are so going to die!”

“Right and wrong,” Tucker shot Shane in the other knee, “I’m your new god, but I’m not going to die.”

“Kill me already, god!” Shane yelled.

“I don’t think I will yet,” Tucker shot Shane in the shoulder, “I think you should suffer.”

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you, god?”

“Yes,” Tucker said, “and if you want the suffering to end, you’ll give me all the ammo to this gun.”

“The other clips are in that drawer,” Shane cried, “If I let you go to kill anybody you want, will you use your god powers and fix my wounds?”

“Sorry,” Tucker shot Shane in the hip, “I don’t have time to heal you or kill you. Look at all those people.” Tucker grabbed the clips and limped quickly out the door, but just for his own joy, he shot Shane in the other shoulder.

As Tucker limped down the street and through the woods back to the creek, he had no choice but to kill the people who were chasing him. He couldn’t get away with speed because his knee was shot so he just kept shooting people to slow them down and changing clips when needed. He could have just left, but he wanted Riley to have a proper burial. As he slid down the bank of the creek, he noticed that Riley was breathing. It was faint, but it was there. He didn’t seem to be conscious, however. Tucker wanted to ask Riley how to leave, but Riley wasn’t in any position to speak. He grabbed Riley and said to himself, “Tucker took Riley back to reality.”


Riley awakened in a hospital bed. His story was on his chest. His brother was in the chair beside his bed with his right leg in a cast and crutches on the wall beside him.

“You’ve been out for days,” Tucker said, “I’m sorry I didn’t believe you.”

“I heard you the first time,” Riley replied.

“You were out cold.”

“I still heard you,” Riley began reading the final installment to his story.

“You know, they thought Dad abducted you.”

“Shh. I’m reading.”

Tucker waited for Riley to finish, “So what do you think?”

“You’re a shitty writer,” Riley answered, “But you did real good.”

“Real well,” Tucker corrected.

“Maybe you’ll be a writer after all,” Riley laughed.


The original version of this story had a much darker ending. The ending changed at about the third draft or so, but The Ceej still maintained a copy of it updated with most of the changes to the other story that remained constant. If you want to read that version of the story, click here, but also know that there were more things changed than just the ending. There had to be some sort of continuity. He never copyrighted the alternate ending version, but enough of it is the same where, if someone reposted it, he could claim they were stealing this one. Don't hesitate to use the contact link at the top of the page to criticise this work or to say which one you liked better. Also, if you liked it, donations are much appreciated and there is a button for that on the main page.

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