Re: Alright, people. (Yet another contest omg)

Suite 203

I don't know where I had gotten all the pads from or how my clickety-click pen cartridge could hold so much ink, but there surrounding me was Thalamasa Sprite Hotel stationary. Notepad upon notepad with page after page of my novel all in long hand.

It had been written in a frenzied blur of pure inspiration. The epic tale of how one-by-one, Waldo defeated or drove off each of the delusional sprite gods. It was an epic pest removal alright. Brian Virgil Conan! Elroar! Manchia! Master Zen-Dao Meow! Youkai Morningstar!

All taken down by Waldo.

AH-CHOO!

But tragically, Wendy, the woman Waldo secretly loved, also died. Killed by the scent...

AH-CHOO!

...of the very flowers he had presented to woo her. How could Waldo have known that she would have a sudden allergic reaction and die along with the other sprite gods. His broken heart would always taint the...

AH-CHOO!

"Oh no. What have I written? This is awful. Why did I ever listen to that pig's idiotic literary advice?"

I read through my pages, which seemed so brilliant only moments ago. There was nothing about the real me in these scribblings at all. Nothing of the authentic autobiographical work I had intended. It was done alright. Yes. I had completed my first novel, faster than I ever expected, but...but it wasn't me. It was just a colossal stack of idiotic nonsense!

AH-CHOO!

It felt as if all the creative energy I'd been storing up all these years to write my own beloved novel had been somehow sucked out by the hotel and stolen to tell its only story instead. Yes, I may have defeated the sprite gods, but the Sprite Hotel was getting the last laugh.

Then I saw the green mirror again. It had grown to full size and that creepy brain was hovering above. The mirror seemed to be taunting me.

"Who wants to read about Waldo anyway? You think your pathetic struggles and mundane reflections hold any interest to anyone?"

No. The hotel may have stolen the mojo for my first novel. But I wasn't going to let the mirror destroy my second one. I would get out of here and I would write the real novel.

"Face it Waldo, no one cares."

The mirror was winning. There was only one solution. Shatter it!

But I kicked it and scraped it and bashed it. I even tossed a chair at it and nothing so much as even scratched it.

But when I accidentally ripped a page of the novel from the hotel pad, I noticed a hairline crack suddenly appear in the mirror.

"Ah-ha! So that's its weakness!"

I started tearing into the notepads, ripping them into shreds in a frenzy. The big green mirror was shattering. Glass was flying everywhere, showering down upon me, but I didn't care.

Every page of the novel but one had been torn to shreds and the mirror had been reduced to shimmering powder. All save one final sliver, the size of a pendant. I took the last page of the bastard novel and was about to tear it to shreds, but instead gave it one final farewell read...

Suddenly by serendipidy, my savior burst into the room.