[ WP ] You turn on your PC to keep working on your novel , but to your surprise , when you open the file , it is writting itself . You read some of what has already been written and it seems your characters have created free will , and the plot is progressing without you .

I was at my house last weekend when something unusual happened. I live on the street by the old elementary school at the corner by the hospital and stoplight. My house isn ’ t hard to miss because it stands out in its shabby, rumbly kind of way. The grass is overgrown, shrubs need pruning and the wooden porch is scratched and really worn-out. It was almost nine o ’ clock at night and I was in my study right by the front door. 
 
 I sat down on my ancient mechanical chair to start working on my novel again. I turned on my PC, one that I have had for a long time now so it takes a long time to boot up. I waited patiently as the lights flickered on the CPU and the monitor slowly glowed ON. Ten minutes later, I was double-clicking my document that I had created four months ago; it was a file called “ Damn Dorothy ”. 
 
 Damn Dorothy has been a piece of writing that I began to sweat out the history with my ex-girlfriend. She was one of a kind. A very fine, very adorable young lady who I miss so much. In my novel, Dorothy was a woman who could break every man ’ s heart into an infinite number of pieces. She looked like an angel and dressed like a swan. She spoke in metaphors and sang in similes. She couldn ’ t help but mesmerize men on the bus, bus stop, street, mailbox, and building across the street. Was she a witch? Dorothy was anything but that because she had no magic that she was casting. It was pure charisma. I know because I had had a Dorothy in my life at a not too distant time. I was now facing my monitor screen, ready to divulge my emotions into writing that could make me or break me: a winning situation in either case ( I didn ’ t care about anything at this point ). 
 
 The cursor in Microsoft Word was blinking and as I pressed on the buttons on the keyboard, nothing changed on the screen. Puzzled, I waited; sometimes my prehistoric CPU could take a minute to react. WHY IN THE WORLD ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT ME. DO YOU THINK I CARE ABOUT YOU THAT I 
 
 I had no idea what was happening so I jumped up from my chair and looked from behind the curtain because it still typed: 
 
 GO 
 
 GO 
 
 GO 
 
 YOU are doing a good job writing this novel but Dorothy is ready to marry. Perhaps rich. Royal. 
 
 I didn ’ t know what to do with this situation so I cowered on the ground wrapped around the window curtain and peeked at the screen still: 
 
 Surprise me by letting me go underground. I am ready to lead a revolution. 
 
 The screen went black, the CPU turned off, and the entire house lost power. All dark and me alone in the corner.
