The book signing was a disaster, three punch ups, a million threats and arguments and two times the police showed up, how could I possibly describe it in a way that'd make sense to you?
Well theres three types of book authors, popular ones, cult ones and niche ones. I was the latter of the three. Popular ones have reviewers that either love or hate their work. Cult authors may be dismissed by most, but still gain that small loyal following, and then theirs niche authors. My fans, though they fund my works, absolutely hate me. They dismiss every plot development and every piece of dialogue as the signs of an ageing old hack. And then theres the fan boys, I used to write memoirs of sport stars. Now I've been writing geeky fantasy novels ever since the first industry went to bust. No one read book anymore, except nerds. Yet for the sport fan, they didn't approve of this change, they despise it with a burning passion.
The manager couldn't possibly wait to get me out of the store come closing time. I had done nothing wrong, or at least that was what he said, but my fan's nerd-to-jock ratio forced the police to come and break up two separate fights.
My car was behind the building, the dusk sunset brought a grotty orange haze that gleamed between the alleyways of this city. At my red Mercedes Benz were four men, all leaning on it. They were bulky and didn't look like the friendliest of hoodlums. Still, having the tenacity to lean their greasy asses on my car royally ticked off.
"Oi!" I yelled, the car beeped with the press of my car key.
They look at me, "Well well well, it's the traitor"
Oh Christ It was these guys, they got in a fight with a group of cosplayers, then a fight with the cops and somehow manage to run away. There were six of them before, the other two were probably arrested.
"You put Roscoe and Max in jail, bro. We just wanted an autograph y'know, but you seemed to care more about your little butt buddies instead of your real fans" said a man with a sleeveless jacket and barbed wire tatts.
I didn't want to give them the satisfaction of a reaction.
I try to grimace and look menacing, "Get off my car or I'll call the cops" They look at each other, then at me, their skin all grows a shade darker of raging vehemence. They didn't speak any further, they didn't have to. The first guy jumped and pushed me over. My neck hit the curb funny, the evening sun seemed to turn to a pitch black night in an instant. But there were no stars. The pain hit my neck so a brief moment, like an electric shock. Then I began to feel a cool breeze flow across my brow. It took a moment to realise my eyes were shut this whole time!
I opened my eyes and found myself somewhere extraordinary. It was a grassy knoll, but close to the edge of a cliff. Beyond me were valleys upon mountains upon rivers. It was the most beautiful site I've ever witnessed. I knew I had never been there before, but somehow it looked familiar. I was now dressed in an Atlanta Falcons NFL Jersey.
"Wh-what?" I said, picking at the white stitching of the jersey. I was wearing black shorts, long white sports socks and black Nike Air Jordans.
I walked up to the top of the hill and found a tall man looking at the other side. I approached him, but before I could speak he did instead, "It's a beautiful site, I'll admit"
"Who are you?" I asked with a jitter. He let out a low laugh and turned around. I could recognise this face through smoke. It was the protagonist of one of my memoirs.
"Shaquille O'neal!" I exclaimed
"That's right, its me. This is heaven, everything you imagined was created in this world." I smiled, this was amazing. Ever since I was a kid, I've always wanted to meet the character I created.
"All I have to say is..." he began. He put his large hands on my shoulders, I felt like a hobbit in comparison to the tall man. "...is that you're a FUCKING NERD!"
He knees my in the dick, my tiny balls explode on impact. I crumple to the ground.
"That's right, you're a nerd. You wrote books on sports stars, I was hanging with the greats. Magic Johnson, Ronaldo, Cathy Freeman, Rafael Nadal. But now I have to deal with fuckin' nerd shit. Like mutherfucking dragons, little hobbit people, some douche named Naruto and some chick called 'Princess Nina' keeps following me trying to do battle. I don't even know why man!"
Princess Nina was a warrior princess who scours her world slaying giants with the hope of one day finding the giant that ate her groom on the day of her wedding.
"She keeps trying to stab me man!" he yelled
"Halt there! You giant scum!" A voice boomed through the air.
A shadow overwhelmed both of us and a dragon was in the sky. It bowed its head and aimed toward us. We both screamed as it suddenly morphed into a woman of a small stature. She aimed for Shaq's head and hit the target dead centre.
"Gah!" he screamed and hit the ground hard, "This is worse than working on Kazaam!"
He rolled down the hill and out of site. The woman stared down at me, "Art thou wounded, old man?" she said in a voice that boasted valour.
"Y-yeah, I will be" I replied
She took me by the hand to help me up.
"Wait, I know who you are" she said
Suddenly Shaq came back, "Wait!" he said
We turned toward him.
"Why are we fighting?" he said
"Because you are a giant" she replied
"That man wrote us into this stupid world, he would've killed your man too!"
She paused, then stared at me. "You are right" she said, "Lets kick his butt!"
"Uh oh" I said
And then they kicked my ass to no end. But that was the beginning of a new adventure. But for now, this is.
THE END.