[ WP ] The characters from one of your abandoned stories find out that you have given up on them .

The writer picked up his old Moleskine journal, it ’ s binding coming undone and the back cover hanging off. He had recently been going through his old stuff from his high school days, looking for things to throw away to make room for new things. He took a deep breath, preparing himself for the worst, sat down at his desk, and opened the journal. 
 
 Sloppy, smeared handwriting greeted him inside. Line after line of his nearly indecipherable scrawling text. Dialogue, setting, paragraphs. He looked over it with pangs of nostalgia, and just a touch of embarrassment. This was some of his early work. And it was absolutely horrible. But it was his, so he kept it. All these years, in the back of his closet, waiting for him. He flipped through the pages, remembering what it was like to write all this out, sitting on his bed in his old family home. He was so young back then. So naïve. 
 
 He read through everything he had written, slogged through the awkward love scenes between the main character he based on himself and the female character he based on his then girlfriend. Their messy breakup was one of the main reasons he stopped writing this story. He learned a lesson then. Never base characters completely off of people you know. 
 
 He got to the end, and being a sentimental sap, wrote a note on the page where he left off. 
 
 I ’ m sorry to do this to you. I really am. You know how much effort I put into this. You were there, every step of the way. I thought about your story every day, and I was really excited about it. But I had no idea what I was doing back then. I just rushed into this, having no plans about where the plot was going, not even knowing what the plot was in the first place. It was a rookie effort at best. But I ’ ve gotten better. I ’ ve started a new project, one that actually has a plot. It ’ s going to be a long haul, but I think it ’ ll make it big. So thank you, for being my first big failure. Because without you, I never would have gotten to where I am now. 
 
 -M 
 
 He put down his pen and smiled. He was closing the book, when something caught his eye on the last page. He opened it back up to reveal that a message was appearing below the one he had just written. 
 
 A rookie effort? Your first big failure? That ’ s all we are to you? Is that really what you think? You created us, and now you toss us aside like garbage. You never cared about us. And now you ’ re going to throw us away. 
 -D 
 
 Startled, the writer sat there for a while, looking at the note that had been written. The handwriting wasn ’ t his, not even close, so it couldn ’ t have been something that he had written and somehow hadn ’ t seen. Besides that, he told himself, this is clearly referencing what I just wrote. 
 
 He decided to write back, see if there was another response. Maybe his mind was just playing tricks on him. He picked his pen back up and began to write again. 
 
 I said I was sorry. I am sorry. But I couldn ’ t continue with this story after the breakup, you know that. There was too much in here based on Emily, and after we split, I couldn ’ t bring myself to continue writing about her. 
 -M 
 
 Well maybe you should've thought of that before you started writing about us. You took a huge risk, and it did n't pay off, and you just blew us off when it became “ too hard ” for you. You're selfish. You're weak. You're a terrible writer. 
 -D 
 
 The writer sighed and rubbed his eyes, growing tired of this back and forth with someone who's stuck in the mindset of a high school freshman. 
 
 Alright, look. I understand where you're coming from and what you're thinking. I created you. And I know you feel abandoned, because you think you're all alone. You think nbody really understands you. You think you're the only one who really “ gets it ”. But heads up; you're not. There are people out there who could understand you, who could help you, but you do n't reach out to them because you hold your standards too high. And now you're alone. Not because of me, but because of you. You made yourself alone. And now your time is up. Goodbye. 
 -M 
 
 The writer signed his initial, closed the journal, and leaned back from his desk. He sat there for a while, staring at the journal. After a while, he stood up, took the journal off of his desk, and walked into his kitchen. He rummaged around in his kitchen drawers until he found what he was looking for; a book of matches. He took the matches and the journal and walked to his back door. 
 
 He stepped outside, into the warm summer evening air. The sun was setting, and the wind was still. Perfect night for a little fire, the writer thought to himself. He placed the journal on the ground, and opened it up to a blank page. He struck a match, and dropped it onto the open pages of the journal. It did n't take long for it to ignite, and soon it was burning nicely, the fire crackling and smoking. The writer smiled to himself, and looked into the sunset. He stood there like that until the sun went all the way down below the mountains, and then looked down at what remained of the journal. There was a scorched area of his stone patio, but he did n't mind too much. The journal was a pile of ashes now, smoldering weakly. He stamped them out with his foot, leaving nothing burning 
 
 The writer thought to himself that it was oddly poetic, what he had done. He ’ d destroyed his work, but at the same time, had destroyed an old part of himself, a part that he wasn ’ t necessarily proud of anymore. He felt rejuvenated, revitalized, like a phoenix who had just been born again from ash. A fitting metaphor, he thought with a smile, as he walked back inside his house. He shut the door, and turned out the patio lights. The pile of ash sat there, until the wind began to pick up. Slowly, the pile began to get smaller, as the ash was carried away into the air. Eventually, as the writer lay asleep in his bed, the last of the ashes disappeared, blown off in the breeze. And in that moment, the writer and Daniel, his creation, both knew peace.
