The Narrator

When people come to Sydney in a dream, they ask her one question that changes her life, "Are you the Narrator?" Now Sydney is trapped inside her head, narrating the stories of others in different dimensions.


2. Quincy, pt 1

"Uh..." I say, unsure of what to do.


"Just narrate," says Quincy's irritated voice. I try to open my eyes, but find out I can't, or maybe they're already open, it's just pitch black.


"Okay..." I take a breath, remembering his summary. "Quincy sets down his coffee on the table. It was too hot to drink." The inside of a wooden house materializes before me. Quincy screams as he takes a sip of what I'm assuming is coffee from a mug. He puts it down on the wooden table next to him. I look down to see myself a flickering form, nearly transparent. "Uh, Quincy's dad comes in the room."


A man that looks much like Quincy enters the room. 


"He says..." I say. "Quincy, son. My beloved son. Your day has come." Quincy's father repeats the words as I speak them.


"Quincy, son. My beloved son. Your day has come."


"What day is that, father?" I say, Quincy repeating it. I remember my sister yelling at me, "Stop mimicking me!"


"It is the day," I falter. I look panicked at Quincy. He stares at me. His father fumbles for words, babbling nonsense. 


"Do. Something," says Quincy, through gritted teeth, not my mouth piece at the moment.


"I-its...take your son to work day!" Quincy's father says. I breathe a sigh of relief, but Quincy looks like he's about to facepalm. 


"Sounds great, father," Quincy says, a murderous look in my direction. I wasn't sure why. I don't know if I create Quincy's father's job, or not.


"Uh...the scene dissolves into Quincy's father's workplace," I say. The scene melts and shifts to a morgue. "Uh oh..."


" my workplace," says Quincy's father. "The funeral home..." I look apologetically at Quincy, but he stubbornly refuses to look at me. "Uh...why don't you sit over there?" Quincy's father points to a chair by a desk. Quincy sits awkwardly in it. "I'm just going" I have no idea what funeral directors did.


"And...just then..." I say, an idea formulating in my head. "Some...people...guards burst in. They were from" Quincy looks likes he's about to facepalm again. "They were uh...the gods' representatives." He now facepalms, hard. The representatives and his father look at him.


"Headache," he says. They all roll their eyes and stare at each other.  Quincy sighs exasperatedly at me.


"Mr...Fauntleroy...we're here to take your son away," I have a guard say. Mr. Fauntleroy makes a face of pain.


"V...very well," he says. Quincy looks like he's going to strangle me. 


Mr. Fauntleroy waves a hand towards his son. 


"And Mr. Fauntleroy begins to weep like a little girl," I say. He does just that; giant tears stream down his face, snot bubbles, the works. He claws at his son's feet. Quincy frowns deeply. "Uh..the guards take Quincy to a volcano, the entrance to the gods'" Quincy yells from exasperation. "And a guard hits Quincy on the head for being an annoying little prick." One of the guards hit him on the head.


"Annoying little prick," breathes the guard. Quincy stares daggers at me, and the scene shifts and melts to that of a fiery volcano. A cliff reaches out over the lava, which bubbles. 


"Quincy is afraid," I say.


"No shit," he whispers to me. He looks terrified. "You better not sacrifice me."


"That wouldn't be the story, though, now would it?" I ask him. He shakes his head.


"Quincy looks to the lava, and voices hiss back at him." 


"Come on, Quincy. Take a swim." "We want to have you for dinner, Quincy. Honored guest." "We want to make meat of you---I mean meet you!" "I wonder how you'll taste with---stop hitting me Glasath!" "He's afraid! He's afraid!" "Come on, Quin. Just step off." "Step off, bitch." "Take a swim, Quincy!" "Mmm! Human with nacho cheese!" "I said STOP HITTING ME GLASATH!!!" 


Pillars of lava shoot up, causing Quincy to stumble several steps back.


"The guards bow down to the god being bothered by Glasath in fear," I say. Now we were going somewhere. I hear the guards...reps...whatever...hit the stone and yell their service to the gods. "And Quincy runs at full speed away from the lava, gods, and such, because he's..." I sigh. "He just runs. Runs into a forest which he does not know is named The Forest of Death. Which is Death's home. Death is a nice woman, but very overworked, which makes her crabby. She, being a cast away god, is even more angry, and would not hesitate to take Quincy's soul."


"Come on, Sydney!!" yells Quincy as he runs.


"Quincy shuts up, because he realizes he needs to save his breath for screaming when he sees Death, the one thing he fears most." Quincy shuts up.


Quincy enters The Forest of Death. It's very dark and there are the howls of wolves and hoots of owls. 


"Quincy comes upon a small stone house with smoke coming out the roof. Maybe it was a cabin in the woods, or a cottage in the forest. It didn't really matter. This was The Forest of Death. Nothing mattered anymore.


"Quincy, being rude, opens the door without knocking." Quincy looks at me with pure hatred in his eyes. "I'm just trying to make this go faster," I tell him. His face does not change. He enters the house.


"A woman dressed in a black pencil skirt, white blouse, black business jacket, and black heels turns around. Her black eyes have malice in them and her black hair tied back in a messy bun don't help her appearance. She wields a scythe, capable of killing anything it slices open, reaping the person or thing's soul, or what is considered a soul."


"What are you doing here?" hisses Death, mimicking a snake perfectly. Quincy turns sheet white.


"I...I," stutters Quincy. I don't really know where to go from here. "Help. I don't want to be eaten by the gods."


"You're the sacrifice?" she hisses. Quincy nods. She gets an interested grin on her face and walks around him, like he was being auctioned off, even though they were the only two here. "You might be of use to me yet."

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