Have you all met Alex? He was in a story I wrote once but at the end, he walked out of it. I was confused. Why didn’t he like the way I planned for things to end?
“It wasn’t my story babe,” he says with a patient sigh.
“So you’ve said, but-”
He yawns, bored with this conversation already. “No buts. That’s it. You know this, get over it.”
“I am not!” he gasps.
“Pretty sure you are…”
“I’ve seen Fight Club you know? Maybe you’re the imaginary one…”
He could be right. Fight Club, The Matrix, Dark City, Inception. They all question our reality on some level. How do we know we are real? How do we judge our reality?
Once Alex almost had me convinced he was the one writing and I was imaginary…