Chapter 2
Albert sat there, watching Mark finish the rest of his tea.
“What?” Albert asked finally. Mark finished his cup and set it down gently. He coughed.
“Well, I’m kinda stuck with your story. I’ve got you a job and all at the Bakery, but nothing exciting really happens in bakeries. Nobody really likes stories where nothing exciting happens.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah. So, I’m not too sure where your story is going to go. So I thought to myself, why not ask the guy in the middle of it all?”
“How am I supposed to know that you are what you say you are?” Albert asked.
“Did you not see the kettle explode into a bar of gold?” Mark asked sarcastically. Alfred frowned.
“So what do you want from me?” Albert asked quietly. Mark thought for a moment, squinting his dull grey eyes.
“I’m going to hang out with you for a few days. See what you do and how you do it, first hand. We get to do whatever you want.” Mark said, spreading his hands wide as if to encompass all possible activities.
“Whatever I want?” Albert asked, perking up.
“Not that.” Mark childed, pointing at Albert. Albert frowned again.
“How did you know?” Albert asked innocently. Mark scoffed.
“Buddy, I know you better than your mother does. I know that you’ve never been to another town,” Mark says, pulling out a finger to count the reason. “I know you’ve never been awake past nine thirty,” Mark counts off another finger. “You’ve never eaten an orange. You’ve never been swimming because you’re afraid that you’d get water in your ears. You’re allergic to sheep. You’ve never even had a filly friend. And, to be horribly honest... it’s all my fault. I’ve written most of your entire life.” He finished quietly. Albert’s retorts and arguments all fell away when Mark admitted guilt.
“You mean that you’re the reason why I’m boring?” Albert asked, defenseless. Mark nodded. “When Sharp Tongue tried to drown me in third grade- That was you?” Albert asked. Mark nodded. “When Amelia turned me down for the Prom when I sang for her in the Talent show, That was you too?” Albert accused. Mark just sat there, nodding. Albert stood up now, insulted. He looked over his shoulder before he spoke again. “So when my application to Canterlot University was denied, That was you!?” Albert shouted, enraged. While he was speaking, Albert got on top of the table. Mark put his hands up.
“You had to have had a fall from grace! You were so good in school, your future had so much hope! That’s what made it interesting! That’s what made it fresh! You had to be denied! That way, you would have never started up working at the bakery! You would never have met-” Mark explained hurriedly, but realized what he was saying and stopped quickly. Albert leaned over, towering over Mark
“Who? Wouldn't meet who?” Albert demanded. Mark shook his head.
“I don’t know who! I never ended up writing past your job at the bakery. It could be anypony!” Mark explained hurriedly. Albert huffed, still not satisfied. He turned away from Mark, jumping off of the table. Albert couldn't think straight. Half of himself wanted to kick Mark out of his house and never see him again, but the other half wanted to grovel on the ground and pray to Mark for an interesting, rich life. But he didn't. He stomped to his bedroom, slammed the door, and collapsed onto his bed. He started to cry. Everything in his life was designed to be interesting. Every moment of pain, every single invalidated love, every disappointment, each was written to make Albert a more lovable character. Am I even real? Albert thought to himself, wallowing in sadness. Albert cried himself to sleep, hoping that the morning would bring a better grasp on his situation.
Albert slammed the door to his room. Mark sighed. He wiped his forehead with the back of his bony, pale hand.
“I didn’t think he’d hate me.” He whispered to himself. He dug through his bag, digging out his laptop and another pen. He set both of them flat on the table. He flipped open his laptop and turned it on, pinching the bridge of his nose. The laptop booted, eliciting a beep when it was ready. Working quickly, Mark started a word processor and started to type. His fingers flew fast over the keyboard, writing entire pages in no time at all. His hands blurred and a smile spread on his face. No sooner had sweat beaded on his forehead that an icy glass of water suddenly appeared on his right. He took the glass, still typing with his free hand, and drank the water in one go. He set the glass back down and devoted his full attention to the writing. He wrote pages and pages, not stopping for anything.
Albert opened his eyes. The sunlight was shining bright in his eyes, and he could faintly smell fresh bread baking. He blinked, trying to remember the night before. His eyes opened wider and his mouth dropped when he did. He rolled out of bed about as gracefully as he could. With the sinuousness of a dead cat, he clomped to the bathroom and looked at himself in the mirror. His glinting yellow coat was matted and unbrushed. His dull brown mane was no better, clumped together and sticking out in all directions. His hazel eyes were shot through with red, evidence of his sleepless, sorrowful night. Albert had a splitting headache. He frowned, leaning closer to the mirror. There was a bump on his forehead. He rubbed it, and it was sore. He frowned even deeper. Suddenly, the bump grew taller. Albert’s headache grew horrifyingly worse. Albert stormed out of the bathroom and into the kitchen, which experienced a complete renovation in the night. A shining silver refrigerator replaced Albert’s dull white model, and an entire oven somehow made it under the counter in the middle of the night. Mark had left the stove unattended for a moment, probably to get the paper from outside. Albert walked a little bit closer to get a better look. Sizzling strips of meat were cooking in a cast iron pan. Albert looked away quickly before he was sick. Albert looked down at the floor. There was a single, furled piece of paper. Albert spread it flat with his hooves and read it. Mark’s indistinct scrawl was barely legible, but it seemed to be Mark trying to get ready for breakfast.
Mark held his hand open, aloft to the sky, waiting for the blessing he knew to be
waiting for him. He closed his eyes tightly, waiting in anticipation. Suddenly, there
was a flash of heat. Mark felt a weight in his hands that wasn’t there before. He
brought the hand down to see what was there, and was extremely pleased to find
three fresh eggs clutched in his fingers.
There were many paragraphs similar to that one, where Mark summoned tomatoes, bacon, and butter from the sky. Not all of these were so creative. Some of them were just a few words long.
There is a spatula in my hand
I found the apron in the closet
The refrigerator was full of carrots
The last one confused Albert. He abandoned the scrap of paper and pulled the refrigerator open. Confusion transformed into enraptured awe as Albert beheld the ungodly mountain of carrots inside of the new refrigerator. From floor to ceiling, every shelf, drawer, nook, and cranny was filled to bursting with carrots. Albert couldn’t decide where to start first.
“Oh my God.” Mark exclaimed, seeing a bloated, moaning Albert on the sofa. Half-eaten carrots were strewn all around him. Albert had both his forehooves clutching his stomach, moaning in pain. Albert groaned loudly.
“Too many carrots.” He panted out, trying not to throw up. Mark smiled.
“I probably shouldn’t have put those there.” Mark admitted, but Albert still groaned.
“Please fix it?” Albert pleaded, but Mark shook his head.
“You need to deal with it. I need to finish making my breakfast. I don’t have time right now to write away your carrot woes.” Mark explained, walking past Albert’s carrot orgy and into the kitchen. Mark and Albert were silent for a long while. Albert, in his carrot-induced stupor, and Mark, cooking his breakfast. Eventually, Mark was done cooking and carried a plate into the living room to eat. Mark snapped his fingers and a plain chair appeared out of thin air in front of Albert. Mark sat down in it, looking at Albert. Mark’s face was pensive, cautious. Albert tried to sit up and look at him, but he couldn’t muster the energy.
“I’m sorry about last night, Albert. I shouldn’t have been so... blunt. You need to be eased into this. But, you do need to know what I am and why I’m here. Do you want to know?” Mark asked. Albert waved a hoof in the air for Mark to continue.
“I am the Writer. You already know that when I write things, they always happen in this world. Always. There’s nothing that I type or put on paper that doesn’t happen here. Now, that being said, I don’t write everything that happens here. That would take so much time, I couldn’t even begin to tell you. I only write you. But I don’t write everything you do. There are little bits and pieces that I can’t. I didn’t plan out that carrot escapade. That was all you.” Mark said. Albert interrupted him, sobered out of his carrot binge.
“So if you’re the person who writes my entire life, does that mean I’m not real?” Albert asked. Mark frowned at the question, thinking for a moment. Suddenly, Mark took his fork and poked Albert in the stomach with it, hard. Albert yelped.
“Did that hurt?” Mark asked.
“Of course it did!” Albert shouted. Mark smiled.
“You’re real.” Mark assured Albert. Albert was surprised.
“You mean... So if I can feel pain, I’m real?”
“Pain’s the only way most of us can feel alive. It’s good writing if you can take a personal experience that most people may have had and put it into the character. Makes the guy more human, more lovable. He’s easier to sympathize with. But If you can feel pain on your own, without me writing it, you’re probably real.” Mark reasoned. Albert sighed.
“Okay. So what else can you do?”
“Anything.” Mark said quickly.
“Really? Like what?” Albert asked. Mark grinned, pulling a folded piece of paper out of one of his hoodie pockets. He unfolded it slowly, and flattened it out when it was completely unfurled. Albert sat up, watching Mark read from the paper. Mark didn't actually say anything, but read silently. Albert’s surroundings faded away, replaced with scenery made entirely out of fire. There was fire absolutely everywhere, unbelievably hot and everywhere. Albert felt the skin and muscle melt and burn away from his bones. The fires around him consumed his body with their intense heat, but at the same time he felt perfectly cool, unharmed, and safe. He tried to scream in pain, but nothing happened. Mark was standing calmly in front of him, reading the unfolded piece of paper.
“We can stand on the surface on the sun and not be burned.” Mark said. No sooner had he finished his sentence that the surroundings dissolved again, resolving into a long room with many stained glass windows. A mauve carpet led away from Albert to a pair of doors. He was sitting down on something. He felt taller. A look down at his body confirmed his feelings. His long, slender legs were capped with gold. He felt a weight on his forehead. He reached up with his hooves and pulled the thing off of his head. A golden tiara, unusually large, inset with a large purple gem. Princess Celestia’s crown! And Albert was wearing it! He threw it away from himself before he was caught. Panicking, he noticed that he was wearing a golden collar inset with a nearly identical purple gem. Albert quickly turned around and looked at his back, finding a set of wondrous yellow wings. Eyes wide and hooves shaking, he slowly raised his hooves to feel. Paralysed with fear, he found the long horn that he knew was there. He looked around the room to find Mark where Albert tossed the crown. Mark leaned down to pick up the crown, placing it in one of his hoodie pockets. He looked down at his paper and started to speak.
“I can make you the God of all Equestrian creation, with supreme power over all that you see.” Mark said. The Throne room slowly faded into a bright ballroom with a stained wooden floor and plain white walls. The room was filled with vaguely familiar ponies. Standing the closest to him was a light blue mare with a golden mane.. Her green eyes looked at Albert with unyielding love. Two foals were standing close to her. One of the foals, slightly taller than the other, had the same blue coat as the mare and a dark brown mane. The other foal, the smallest one, had a bright yellow coat and a shining golden mane to match. Memories of them flooded into his mind. Holding each one after they were born, their first steps, their first words, their first day of school. The breath caught in Albert’s throat and tears bubbled up in his eyes when he recognized his children. His wife stared at him with her bright green eyes and smiled. He choked on his words when he realized that all of the ponies in the room were his family. He looked behind him to see Mark, tears in his eyes, reading off of his paper.
“I can give you the family that you have never had.” Mark said. Albert felt a moment of panic when he turned to see his entire family dissolve into nothingness. Albert was back on his couch, belly full of carrots, and Mark sitting in front of him. Albert, full of crippling loss, looked at Mark with plaintive sadness.
“Why?” Albert asked, pouring all of his sadness into his one single word. Mark swallowed the last bite of omelette, setting his plate down on the ground.
“You asked me what I could do. I told you.”
“My- My family?” Albert asked, grasping at straws. Mark smiled.
“That’s the beauty of an unfinished story. Anything can happen.”
“But I need them!” Albert begged, jumping off of the couch to beg to Mark. Mark shook his head.
“Little steps, Albert. Little steps.”