Adventures in Wrimonia, Part Thirty-Two: Amy’s Unfounded Revenge

With Keladryie’s inspiration, Mia wrote twenty-five hundred words that day, putting her at 33,500 words. As day twenty-five began, she drank two cups of coffee before beginning to write and grabbed a chocolate bar as a reward for writing a paragraph. The math told her to write 2750 words per day to reach 50,000 words in time, and despite writing 2500 words for several days this month, Mia sighed and looked at her computer. This was going to be impossible, she thought as she poked her blue bar in the hopes that poking it would make her word count rise. It didn’t work, of course, so Mia turned back to her laptop. Alaina was nowhere to be found; in fact, she had run away sometime last week and decided never to return. Maybe I should have used that other idea after all, Mia thought as she typed at her novel.

Even though Alaina was gone, Amy and Keith decided to do their duties as characters and show up every now and then. It was a good thing they did, too. They were more cooperative than ever, at least for the next few hundred words. Despite Amy’s forgetting to use the pawn to win Cole back and choosing to pursue Keith instead and despite her forgetting to find out about her parents’ past altogether, Mia decided to let them take control of the story. Maybe this would be the key to getting fifty thousand words.

Or it would be the key to getting fifty thousand words if Amy didn’t grab Mia’s bag and start digging through it.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Mia asked, snatching the bag from Amy. “You don’t even exist outside of my imagination. Cut it out.”

“But I do exist here in Wrimonia,” Amy replied. “And we’re in Wrimonia, so I can do what I want.”

“What do you want?” Mia asked. “Do you just want to go ahead and make hot monkey love to Keith?”

Amy pondered this. “Well, that would be kind of nice,” she said. “But no, not at the moment. I’m looking for your traveling shovel of death.”

Mia stared. How did Amy even know she had it in the first place? Amy definitely wasn’t around when the traveling shovel of death was introduced. Amy kept digging through the bag and pulled it out. “Thanks, I’ll need this,” Amy said.

“For what?” Mia asked. “And how’d you know?”

“Silly Mia,” Amy said. “I know more than you think I do.”

“How can you? I’m your author!” Mia stood up to face Amy and noticed that she was shorter than her character by at least three inches.

“Yes, but you know how some superheroes just instinctively know how to save the world?” Amy asked. Mia nodded, remembering how she watched those action shows with her brother as a kid. “We characters can be the same way. After all, the object of a good book is to suspend some belief for a few hours while you’re reading.”

“This is a little too much belief to suspend,” Mia said. “Get your own traveling shovel of death.”

“But I don’t know where the reaper is,” Amy said. “And I don’t have time to chase him because she’s due to die in a few hours.”

Mia stared. Since when did her character become a killer? “Wait, since when did you decide to kill someone?”

“Since Cole decided to get a girlfriend. Don’t you remember writing that part?” Amy examined the expression on Mia’s face.

Mia shook her head. She remembered when Amy and Keith saw Cole with someone else on the street one day, but not another woman.

“Well, I’ve decided that Cole has a girlfriend, so I’m killing her.”

“Amy, that makes negative sense,” Mia said. “You can’t just go killing someone, especially with no evidence.”

“Who says I can’t? It’s fiction, after all,” Amy shot back. Mia looked at Keith, but he just shrugged. He wore all black and carried a pair of binoculars.

“Okay, she’s coming, honey,” Keith said. “Get ready.” Amy put on a black trenchcoat and a matching black fedora and waited as a blonde woman wearing a tight purple dress and knee-high black boots entered the scene.

“Who’s this ugly woman?” Mia asked. “If that dress were any tighter, it’d squeeze the fat out of her. Not that she has any fat to be squeezed out of her to start with.”

“That’s my prey,” Amy replied. “And she’s about to be dead.”

“Amy, it’s my book, not yours. I was willing to give you some leeway earlier, but then you decided to start kill–”

“AAAAAAAAAAAH!” Amy and Keith ran toward the woman, surrounding her. Amy pulled out the traveling shovel of death and hit her on the head with it. The shovel did its job, and she fell over, unconscious.

“Come on, one hit isn’t going to kill her,” Keith said. “Give her another one.”

“Fine, give me a minute!” Amy replied. She leaned over the woman, examining her eyes, her slightly crooked nose, her mouth, her large breasts that were getting squished by the tight dress, the long hair flowing over her head and her shoulders, the blood that now flowed out of her head. Amy stabbed the woman in the neck with the shovel and ran, traveling shovel of death in hand.

“Why are you carrying that with you?” Keith asked. “It’s evidence!”

“You idiot, that’s exactly why I’m carrying it with me,” Amy replied as she dug a hole in the ground and threw the traveling shovel of death in the hole. She reached into her pocket and pulled out the pawn from the chess set, then repocketed it.

“Let’s go,” Amy said, taking Keith’s hand. “We’ve done enough damage here for today.” They walked away from the scene, leaving the body for someone else to clean up.

The entire time Mia wanted to chase after them, but something kept her tied to the computer, typing up the entire incident. She didn’t finish typing the scene until they had left, and as they walked away, Mia yelled after them. “Amy! Keith! Get your butts back here and clean up this body, stat.” When they didn’t return, Mia returned to the laptop and tried to think of what could happen next. Conflict, she thought as she pondered a possible source. Only a thousand words to go.

***
I’ve definitely had this feeling before. In fact, this sums up the last few days of my first NaNo novel when I went to 25,000 words to 50,000 in a few short days. Sweet, sweet conflict.

I opened up the file containing this part today and realized that it was part thirty-two. Thirty-two? When did this happen? Granted, I know exactly how many parts there are since I created them in advance, and as you might guess by the day of the month in Wrimonia, we’re not at the beginning anymore. This explains my surprise a lot.

Feel free to link this on your blog, Twitter, whatever. Just don’t pass this off as your own, and we’re cool.

I highly encourage you to donate to the Office of Letters and Light, the nonprofit organization that runs NaNoWriMo, if you enjoy this tale of noveling madness. If you donate in the new year, your donor goodies will appear in the month before the event you donate to (NaNoWriMo or Script Frenzy).

If for some strange reason you’re really into giving money to Internet strangers who write somewhat humorous things, I won’t complain. You can do that at the link below.





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