The writer is trapped on a giant white rectangle. It's paper. He's about one sixteenth of an inch high. Yeah, yeah. I know. Don't want to play along? There's a new Archie & Veronica on stands now. It's a Double Digest. I'm sure you'll like the Dilton story this month.
So there's this teeny tiny writer on a giant slab of enormous paper. Beyond the paper, darkness. Nothingness. Nietzsche would've loved it. The writer's starving. Bored. Out there, over the side of the sheet, there's an endless void. He goes to sleep, wakes up, then walks in a circle for fifteen minutes. He takes off his clothes and stands there, naked, on this giant piece of paper. He's really bored, now.
The writer is starving to death. He makes up an imaginary friend named Starvin' n' Dyin' .
“We're gonna die here, Starvin' n' Dyin' ,” he tells his pal. He's very thirsty, now. His voice is hoarse.
“I ain't gonna drink my piss, Starvin' n' Dyin' !” he yells, at nobody.
Day four. The weakness has settled in. Jacob gets an idea. Then goes to sleep.
Day five comes and goes. Jacob stands up. Sits down. He's still thinking about that idea. The one from yesterday.
Day six. It's terrible. Hunger is agony. Jacob rolls his body to the edge of the sheet. Stares over it. Feels the chill of a gentle breeze, wafting up from below. Far, far below. Somewhere, down in that darkness.
The air roars through his ears as the shit-stained paper disappears behind him.
Published On: April 15th, 2007
Permanent Location: http://www.forgetmagazine.com/070415b.htm
