Page Two: Lynn

            The title at the top of the story was Untitled, and Gon didn’t dare to read any further than that. He stayed away from it throughout the whole day, wondering how he had been able to write all that in his sleep. Or had he? He wasn’t sure. As he watched TV at one AM in the morning, still too scared to go near his desk, too afraid that he would fall asleep again, and write more of the untitled.

            “Fake suspense is when something happens out of the blue, without any explanations at all.” Gon remembered the words of his late friend, Nate, who had also been a writer himself. “And real suspense is just the opposite, something that happens and makes sense to the readers of the story.”

            Then what is this Untitled, Nate? Fake, or real? Gon thought, as his eyes slowly closed themselves to sleep, no longer able to keep themselves open. Gon didn’t know it, but if he had stayed awake just a little longer, he would have seen all the channels blur into unwatchable messes, and then the face of a dark-haired girl appear in the middle of it, saying: “Wait just a little longer, Gon. I’m almost there, I will arrive soon…” 

*   *   *   *   *   * 

            Gon dreamed of a lot of things in his sleep, and this one was no different from his other dreams. He dreamed that night of little scenes from his past, little bits of memories that slip into his subconscious whenever his consciousness let it come. He must have been exhausted that night, for the memories flowed in without stop, as if a door had been opened somewhere in his mind, somewhere where his consciousness have not yet explored.

            He first dreamed of his childhood, when he was still in a confused world, in a world that he did not yet understand, nor cared to figure out how to understand it. Gon never knew what he wanted to do. Gon never cared about what he wanted to do. The world was big, and everyone had their places in this world, a purpose that they can't change, a purpose that they will know once the time arrived. Gon never had to worry about it. Gon could survive whatever future that will come his way.

            "I'm sure that you'll become a great teacher!"

            "You're such a great artist."

            "You're probably going to grow up to be a scientist."

            And many other words that countless people have fed into his mind. He never really listened, for they were just probabilities and not a certain point in the whole fate that were given to him.

            His parents wanted him to be a doctor, and considering the high IQ that his brain possessed, they saw that as no contest or feat. It was an easy goal, one that could be taken at no effort at all. Gon didn't care, his future was just one thing that he had to take before he died, and just like school, he could endure the boring days life offered.

            His dream then shifted to one that contained Nate. It was about the first time that Gon had met him, in some publishing company's party, when Gon was about ten or eleven years old. He was invited into this party because his essay won the first prize in some 'Save my Green Earth' contest, and was published in some anthology of short essays. He didn't even remember what it was about. It didn't matter. It wasn't important. It wouldn't affect his life.

            Nate was a semi-successful writer then, his novels selling faintly well, never a best seller. Nate was cool to Gon. Never caring, never emitting anything personal, just a person who lived in his own dreams and world. He was different. He reminded Gon of himself.

            Nate was a romance writer, yet he also wrote what he called 'normal novels', which were just novels that contained drama and tragedy with everyday life normal characters. He never wrote short stories, dubbing them as just vehicles to tell a scene of a bigger story, just a part of a bigger play.

            Gon could have considered Nate a mentor, for he was the one that drew Gon into this world of fantasies, a world that he fell in love with, a life that made the reality of the world worth living. The world of writing, of literatures created by your dreams. Nate was able to use words and phrases to created worlds of his own, to be able to distort the boredom of life into an exciting one, to make everything else seem interesting. Writing was the most difficult, yet the most satisfying, thing that ever came across Gon's life, and maybe because of that, he wanted to be a writer.

            Nate was twenty years older than Gon, yet maybe of how similar their minds were, they became best friends despite of their difference in ages. "I see a great talent in you, Gon." Nate had said after reading Gon's first story, which was only a little longer than ten pages. "And I'm sure that if you develop it right, you'll become a famous writer in no time."

            Gon dreamed next of when he was fifteen, after he had finished his first draft of his first novel, and Nate was editing it for him. They were both sitting on a bench in the Riffle Park, under the shadows of some kind of big tree. Gon didn't remember which kind of tree it was, for they all really seemed similar to his naďve mind. Besides, he had more important things to concentrate on then, mainly the response that he would get from Nate.

            The park had been pretty calm that afternoon, which was not uncommon for Riffle town. Gon was born in there, and basically spend his whole childhood there. He didn’t mind though, for the town gave him the quiet that he needed to concentrate on his writings, and it was also here that he met Kara. Riffle town was about an hour east of Dayton, on the eastern side of Ohio.

            What was he thinking then, as he waited for Nate to finish the last thirty pages of the novel? Probably about Kara, and how soft her skin felt when he touched it. Or maybe about how he was lucky enough to be born in the U.S., and the hardships his parents must have gone through in order to emigrate here from Osaka, Japan. Gon couldn't remember it correctly, for the dreams gave no help in this part of his past.

            Nate had finished reading it after an hour or so, looking up at Gon with a smile. Gon remembered that Nate's hair had swayed in the spring breeze, brown eyes bright in the afternoon sun. Nate had always seemed like a stickman to Gon, because of how thin and fragile he had always looked to Gon. Nate always said that the reason he was so thin and pale-skinned, was because writing took most of his energy out from him, yet he didn't regret anything that he had done as a writer, or the writings that made him the way he was.

            "So, this is the story you want to publish, huh?" Nate asked in a quiet voice.

            "Yeah," Gon nodded. "Is something wrong with that?"

            "No, no, not at all. The story is perfectly written, and I really can't find any fault with it." He paused, as he crossed his legs and rested his chin on his hand, his elbow lying on the surface of the leg. "It's just that I kind of expected you to be a 'normal story' writer, instead of a murder-mystery writer."

            "A 'normal story' writer?"

            "Yeah, you know, a 'normal story'? A story where drama happens to normal life people, like the classics Great Expectations or…"

            "I know what that means, Nate. I just don't get why you would think that of me."

            "Well," Nate thought for a moment before he answered Gon, his eyes looking up at the spring blue skies. "First of all, your prose and writing style really fits in perfectly with those kinds of writers. Secondly, your characters have depth, and most of your earlier stories had the characters being the main attractions of the story, while the plot was just icing on a perfectly baked cake…"

            The alarm's screeching scream abruptly woke Gon up, shooting Nate's words and the dreams of the night right out of his mind. He slowly got up from the couch, blinking under the uninvited sunlight, as he once again walked toward the crying alarm to shut it off. His back hurt from the night on the couch, inserting him with fully saturated pain each time he took a step. The push of the button will make everything all right again, the push of the button will shut off the annoying alarm, the push of the button will make his life quiet once again.

            Gon didn’t need the dream to finish to know what Nate had said next, he remembered it too well to have to be reminded of it. Nate would say “And third, you’re just too skilled to waste your talent in murder mystery stories.” Gon would agree with Nate, yet he wouldn’t change the stories his mind wanted to record. He would then try out a romance story after Nate died, a romance story that would be split up into many parts, and then become a monthly book series, even though it would be cancelled after only the second book. The series would be called Crystal Ball, it would be Gon’s attempt to follow Nate’s writings, the romance genre that Gon has never tried before.

            Gon never told Kara this, but the main character of Crystal Ball, Lynn Midori, was actually Gon’s impression of the perfect girl, the girl of his dreams. Long dark hair, clear brown eyes, a little smile that would warm anyone’s heart. A soft voice that seemed to whisper in the air, a beauty incomparable to any other. She wasn’t just a character to Gon, she was Gon’s view of beauty in this dark, colorless world.

He looked back at his desk after he had shut off the alarm. The untitled was still on the corner of the desk. Untouched. Uncontinued. The papers were no longer classified as the Untitled, or the "Untitled" in Gon's mind. It was just untitled, another plain object in his life, another thing that will happen in the course of his life. The papers no longer seemed so special in that day's morning light, its mysticism now gone from its presence.

            His throat felt dry, as he stared at the untitled. He had gotten used to it, to the presence that occupied that space on his desk, just as he had gotten used to the monotony of his present life, the little town that he now lived in. He didn't know why, he didn't know how, yet his mind didn't even ask the questions of why or how, and Gon didn't even spend a second more thinking about the whys and hows, as he went on to prepare himself for the day that will face him later on. The untitled was special no more. The untitled had become a part of his life. 

*   *   *   *   *   * 

            “Did you see that yesterday? The whole blurring and stuff?”

            “I’ve heard in the news that it was done by a group of hackers.”
            “No way, dude, hackers only hack computers and stuff, they can’t do no TV.”

            “Yes, they can. Everything is now connected by the net, everyone is now connected…”

More voices, more faces, nothing that he should care about. Gon walked slowly by the group of people, as he once again felt for the keys hidden inside his pocket. He felt his mouth open as the door slid open with the touch of the key, the opening widening as he looked inside his house. “This is brilliant, brilliant!” He heard Danny’s voice yelling as he walked inside, the place lighted by the pouring sunlight.

            “Danny, what are you doing here?”

            Danny looked up as Gon let out his voice. He didn’t look surprised, he didn’t look scared, he just smiled as he saw Gon, holding up the untitled papers as if they were a glorious trophy. “I knew you couldn’t stop writing, Gon.” He laughed as he said this, showing Gon the papers. “And you know how I know this? Because you’re a natural-born writer, Gon, and a great writer can’t stop writing, because it’s in their bloods, in their instincts…”

            “How did you get in, Danny?” Gon interrupted Danny’s joyous speech, throwing his book bag onto the floor.

            “The door was unlocked,” Danny replied as he pointed at the papers again. “And I gotta tell ya…”

            “It’s not my story, Danny.” Gon said coldly as he walked past Danny, looking for something to quench his thirst.

            Danny just stared at him as Gon reached into the fridge for a can of Coke. “You’re kidding, right?” He smiled confidently now, still holding the pages in his hands. “This is your handwriting, Gon…”

            “And I didn’t write it.” Gon opened the can, the soda fizzing as he drank it down.

            Danny stood there silently as Gon finished his drink, but smiled again when he continued his speech. “It’s brilliant the way you named your character.”

            “What do you mean?”

            “I like it how you named your main character after you…”

            “What?” Gon cried out as he reached for the untitled, reading the opening pages for the first time. The story was about a writer named Gon Guree, who gave up writing after realizing how his newer stories weren’t as good as his old ones.

            “That’s real clever, Gon,” Danny said then, even though Gon didn’t respond, reading the untitled with shaking hands. 

*   *   *   *   *   * 

The ancient wooden seat wasn’t exactly comfortable to Gon, yet it was the only object suitable for sitting in the dim-lighted library. It was quiet in here, as if the books themselves have nothing interesting to narrate, and wishes to be left alone in their silent slumber, their conscience long gone from their molded pages.

“The conscience is nothing more than the whisperings of the dead,” Gon remembered Nate saying this one sunny afternoon, a month after the successful release of Gon’s first novel, as they sheltered themselves under the light shadows of an ancient oak tree. “Teaching us of the things that they have learned.”

            “So you mean our stories are also the stories of the dead?” Gon had asked, resting on the soft grass of the spring. “Considering they’re also from the conscious?”

            “It could be, considering no science has yet explained how writers are able to pull stories out of the air.”

            “Then that wouldn’t make us creative people at all, would it?”

            Gon tried to put his old memories away, as he tried to memorize the facts for his chemistry midterm. The cool recycled air inside the library felt good, as he memorized effortlessly everything in his first reading. “Excuse me, do you mind if I sit here?”

            Gon quickly raised his eyes as soon as he heard the female voice, and he almost went in shock when he saw the woman. The long dark hair, the clear brown eyes, the little smile, the soft voice, the way she was stood up… She looked exactly the same as the way he had pictured Lynn Midori. “N-No, not at all.”

            She sat by him, placing her green book bag by her side. “I see that you’re also in Chemistry 121.”

            “Your book,” she pointed at the book Gon was reading a minute ago. “It’s a Chemistry 121 book.”

            “Oh, right,” Gon replied, still not able to get over the fact that she looked so similar to his character. “Are you in Chem. 121 also?”

            “Yeah,” she smiled as she said this, extending out her right hand in the offering of friendship. “I’m Lynn Midori.”

            Gon looked at her with widened eyes, as he slowly reached her hand, shaking it with a numb sensation. “I’m… Gon Haiiro.”

            “Pleased to meet you.”

            “Yeah…” Gon replied, as his mind screamed in confusion and fear: What the hell is going on?


Page 2


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