Okay, this was 47 minutes past midnight. Not asleep yet, though. And it's technically still the tenth in certain time zones anyway. I have now gone completely meta on this this thing, which usually means that I've run out of ideas. But, on the bright side, I now have ten of these.
Blue sat in the kitchen, still recovering from his fall. “You
know, Raven, sometimes I really want to find our Author and wring their neck,”
whined Blue, holding a bag of ice to his bruised leg. “I think we already
attempted that,” said Raven, disinterested, “and I don’t recall we were successful.”
“What would happen, anyway?” asked Blue.
“What do you mean?”
“If we were to kill our Author? Would we stop existing?
Or would we just get free will?”
“I don’t know,” replied Raven, sneaking a shot of vodka
into his tea for the inevitable contemplation of his existence.
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