The white-haired boy woke up in the hospital...
He was still alive.....
The pain was very present and weighed down his body.....
"He woke up?"
"It would seem..."
"This young man surely needs help"
"Their concerns... The emotions they show... All this is just a reflection of real life"
"I understood... I can't die until the author decides to. So I'm quite an important character," he said to himself calmly, looking at the author's pencil drawn in his hospital room, the doctors who came to inquire about his health and even takumi who were also there, crying a torrent of tears.
....
He was not released from the hospital until two months later...
He returned home, gazing at his fictional surroundings with new interest.
He was looking at the words that the author was writing... Words that became physical beings that he touched.
He wrote down all this reflection in a notebook: Meta-fictional reflections.
An evocative title.....
"Do you think so?" the boy asked, juggling the coin between his fingers with impressive dexterity.
He put the coin in the vending machine and took a can of soda.
He drank it as he walked, so the world around him took on a beautiful pastel hue.
"Is that what we call animation? It's funny to see it manifest itself in this fiction"
The pastel aesthetic moved, changing the shape of the people and objects around him. He looked at himself and laughed, thinking he was really weird with this style of animation.
Yet it was magnificent.....
"You're right," the boy said as he resumed walking home.
...................
"Uh... Who are you?" the boy asked, looking with concern and fear at the woman sitting in his house...
She was in front of the TV, not turning to the boy who felt more and more uncomfortable.
He looked at his screen and his eyes widened.....
What was broadcast on TV....
It was simply a succession, edited like a film of what happened to him : his encounter with the Wolf, his reflections, his accident...
The woman ends up turning to him.... With a serene, but empty expression.....
It was very disturbing....
"Good evening, I'm the one who created you.... I'm the author. We have a lot to tell us" The woman simply said as she turned off the television.
"Fiction is just reality without social truth"
Georges bouillier
To be continued....