So soon the author sleeps unable to finish the page,
The characters spin, confusion reigns failing to set the stage.
“Help us please. We know not what to do.” And, still she sleeps.
A foggy mist, dampened haze twirls, writhing within her mind,
Wandering to and fro, in and out, searching for memories hard to find.
Without the author they have no purpose, no reason to even exist,
They cannot cry, they cannot scream, they cannot give their last kiss.
“Awaken please, author, we fear the unknown, we fear being alone,
You must awaken, put us somewhere safe, give us a home.”
“Wake up author, wake up, your monster is on the loose,
Wake up, please wake up before we have to cook the goose.”
Johnny, eyes rolling, lightly popped her upside the head,
“It is before our goose is cooked. Oh, never mind,” He said.
“Well, so,” sticking out her tongue, “What does it matter how it is said?”
“If the author does not wake up everyone in her book will be dead.
No control, chaos, he will destroy everything with his giant hands,
There will be heartache, death, and misery throughout story book land.”
“ Don’t worry about that now Tabby,” Johnny screamed, “Here he comes,”
Run Tabby, run faster, hurry, run towards that big sparkling sun.
Okay so it was not the sun. It did not matter, it hid them well,
But two pages over, a busted window, and a new story to tell.
“Author really you must wake up now, your monster is being mean,”
Uh Oh, I can see his massive shadow, has he grown? Biggest I’ve ever seen.”
“He’s coming towards us Johnny, what should we do? Where to now?
Tabby began to cry, she tripped and hit her knee, but on what, and how?
A little turtle peeked from his shell, looking from one to the other, and back,
“You must hurry little turtle, you must move quickly, before the monster attacks.”
“But, but, I am a turtle I just creep along I cannot go fast. Oh, what can I do?”
“I know, we can put you in my backpack. It will be dark, but we can save you.”
“Here....he...comes, he is gaining, and I am losing, my speed and my breath,
If we can’t awaken the author, it is going to mean our deaths.
And in her ear a bone chilling scream unlike no other heard before,
Slamming pages together in her book, opening and shutting many doors.
Oh, what horror the author would face her monster running amuck,
Knocking around treasure, cars, her tiny little people, and semi-trucks.
And still the author sleeps, while the characters run wild,
Maidens and knights, fairy’s and dragons, loves first child.
Tossing and turning, a horrifying scream sets her upright,
The author is awake now caring for her characters till dawns new light.
How does she rid the destruction between the pages of fantasy’s place?
How does anyone that does not like the story plot? Simple, delete or erase.
© Cynthia Clark