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Interlude 1

“Well, it seems like we’re off to a fairly serious start, huh, Cici,” Sigmund rhetorically questioned Cecilia. “I think you did a pretty solid job at describing the atmosphere in a way that describes all the emotions Samuel is feeling, and I feel it sets the mood and gives the reader a better mindset into what Samuel is going through. Why did you choose to write this type of story, though? I would have, personally, started on a lighter note.”

“Well, there are three main reasons I wrote the story like this,” Cecilia explained to him. “First off, I wanted to express how I feel lonely sometimes, even when I’m surrounded by people who care about me. I’ve never really been as outgoing as you, Sig, so writing a character like Samuel was a good way to vent my frustrations over my shy nature. I mean, do you remember how we met last year?”

“Heh, yeah, I do, actually. I remember you were wearing a Graphite Blimp shirt in class, so I started talking to you about it.”​

“Yeah, you were telling me how you felt their fourth album is their magnum opus. I think their fifth album is better, though. But anyway, the point I’m trying to make is how you were the one who initiated the conversation with me, not the other way around. I guess I just feel somewhat isolated a good chunk of the time since people generally aren’t as outspoken and outgoing as you are, Sig.”​

“Eh, well, people voted me the most outgoing student in high school, so I literally can’t argue with you!” Sigmund laughed for a few seconds in amusement over winning such an absurd-sounding title.​

“Really? I didn’t know. It’s a trait I admire about you, though.”

“It’s not as glorious as you think, honestly. It just means I have a hard time keeping my damn mouth shut,” Sigmund confessed with a slight grin.

“Well, regardless, it’s a trait I don’t have. I’d like to develop more self-confidence, but writing about someone like Samuel was a way for me to express my insecurities, even if it probably isn’t visibly apparent.”

“Ah, gotcha.”

“Another reason was that I’ve spoken with various older men and women who've told me similar thoughts and feelings about what loss is like. I suppose this was also something that was subconsciously on my mind when I was writing. I wanted to write a story about accepting, but not forgetting, the loss of a loved one. This was my attempt.”

“I think you did a good job, all things considered.”​

“Thanks. Another reason I chose this story is because I was trying to figure out what exactly I wanted to write about. So I wrote a story about an author trying to figure out what he wants to write about so that I could figure out what to write about.”​

“Whoa, whoa, whoa there, Cici, all this talk about meta writing is making my head spin! So lemme get this straight: you’re a writer writing about a guy who’s trying to figure out what he wants to write so that you can get a better idea about what you want to write about? What’s next? Are our lives just some cruel prank orchestrated by a mastermind writing and dictating all our words and actions?”​

"Oh yeah, and I'm sure there's totally a fourth-dimensional being controlling his actions as well." Cecilia rolled her eyes. "But the whole experiment worked, and now I know what I'd like to write about next...even if it was a bit unorthodox, I suppose."​

“More than a bit,” Sigmund said with a smile, “but whatever. I’ve actually figured out what I want to write next. It might sound dumb, at first, but I think you’ll find it to have a bit more depth than you might initially think.”​

“I’ll be the judge. What’s it called?”​

“Prepare your mind and body,” he said with a brief pause, “...the title is called...

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