Fanfiction Fanfiction

Publish he pressed.

"That ought to bring it up to a thousand".

He went to view his story:

612 Words

HOW!?

How can one write so little and feel the've written so much?

He despaired. There was nothing left to write about. He had already written about writing. What else was there to write? Some drama?

"Ok," he said.

Just then a mare burst in.

O.C. turned and gasped at what he saw.

"Clarissa!?"

"Yes it is I," she responded. "And I know your dark secret!"

He gasped, " I don't believe it!"

"Yes!" she exclaimed. "It's that you're incredibly bored."

She continued, " Yes, writing 600 pages of filler for a 300 page story bores you!"

He tried to interject, " That only adds up to nine-"

"Shutup you get the idea!"

"You're right, I'm bored. Let's go on an adventure."

"An adventure where."

"Somewhere far away in time and in space."

"Seems difficult."

"Somewhere few have seen and none have traveled."

"And expensive."

He slumped down.

Clarissa gained a worried expression.

"What' wrong O.C.?"

He spoke between sobs, "600 words, Clarissa. Only 600 words."

He collapsed into her arms.

She looked around, "What?".

He shook his head, "Both my stories are only 600 words... Wait you made a comment about the word count earlier."

"Yes, but that was before I was a character and more of a joke."

"Ah." He replied.

It all made sense.

He returned to his laptop and saved what he had already written.

Maybe it's been enough, he thought.

He crossed his fingers and hoped he had written enough...

924 words.

He sighed. He shook his head

He thought:

Readers will ask, "Why didn't you just write another fanfiction?"

His only response was that he knew he would never write another. His genius work would sit, remaining unread in his documents folder. Months, years to come. He couldn't let that happen. With a new motivation in his heart, and courage in his bones, he once more began to write. He wrote and wrote and wrote and wrote. He sized up his writing. 76 words yet? No. He grew frustrated. Sigh, he thought: people will read this and asked themselves, "What the hell is this, he's just writing his thoughts."

They'd be wrong. His story was entirely a work of fiction.

He looked back at the word count. Sighed a sigh of relief when he saw the blessed number.

1051

My god he smiled. I've done it.

uh.. And then he died.

So did Clarissa.

The end.