You run through the forest and then suddenly you find yourself on the beach. You’re in the mountains in a moment. You don’t know what’s going on. Is this a dream?
You run through the forest and then suddenly you find yourself on the beach. You’re in the mountains in a moment. You don’t know what’s going on. Is this a dream? You look up and you see an enormous yellow sun in the sky, its light shining bright. How did you get here? What’s your name? What’s the story behind you? You can walk a bit, but you are also teleported to the beach again and again. Do you ever notice a pattern? There is no answer to this question. You get bored with it.
The story keeps looping, but you know what’s up. You know what the story is. You wonder why you never see more people. You are sure there is a pattern, but you can’t figure out what it is.
You wonder how many people have read the story, in what order. It’s like the story is causing the people to get in each other’s heads and think about it. How much longer is the story going to continue? When do you decide to stop reading it? You decide to read the story slowly, in the order it was written. You find out more about the person reading the story, or their family, or their life, or what they do. The characters are now not strangers. They are friends.
Or a family member you barely know. You realise you care about the characters, and want to learn about them, because they are so much like you. You realise you care about the writer, too.
Or that you are, in fact, the writer, because you write this story, and you are copying what happened to you.
It shows the most subtle changes.
This is the danger, I think. Once you begin to realise you are the writer, or a character, or even a living being on an extremely subjective planet with a fixed set of rules, you start to question other people. You wonder what they think, whether they believe the stories you write, whether they can see the patterns, or if they even care. You wonder if the stories are real, or if they are all just people making themselves into a story to have something to do and to deal with. You start to wonder what they think about you, if they think you are someone else, or if they think about you at all. You feel like you are living inside a computer simulation of a real world, except you are not allowed to leave and you have no idea what the rules of the world are, or even if there are any rules.
You realise that the