A/N: A short ficlet, written on the side while I work on a longer piece. Enjoy. :) I don't own Animorphs, or KA. :(
Walk the Line
My eyes scanned the words on the page. My fingers typed the final lines. I would have cried if I could have. This was it. Years of work, and it all came to this. The Yeerks had been defeated. Rachel was dead. The other Animorphs…well, it was left for the reader to decide.
My name is Katherine. You probably know my last name. You probably know where I live. I have made a career of turning reality into fiction. If my plan had worked…if I had had more time…
No one would have believed me if I went to the news, announcing the advent of an intergalactic war. I would have been written off as crazy. No one would have paid attention. But I am a writer, which means that I find creative, new ways to reach my goals. So I created heroes.
I created a brave leader named Jake. A moral intuitivist named Cassie. A lonely brooder named Tobias. An alien brother named Aximili. A sarcastic cynic named Marco. And a fearless warrior named Rachel.
I created them as vessels. I used them as a way to warn the world. See, kids will believe anything. So maybe I could convince the children, the people too young for the Yeerks to care about, to be careful. To be suspicious. Maybe they would find out the truth, before it was too late.
My hand directed the mouse to the 'save' icon and clicked once.
(There.) Said a satisfied voice. (Your great adventure is finished. And the world is less convinced of a threat than ever.)
My plan had backfired horribly. As soon as the first book hit the shelves they found me. They took me, forcing me to become a slave in my own body. To my shock, the book was a success. They decided to keep the series going. If the war was portrayed as enough of a fantasy, perhaps it would just make it more unbelievable – the exact opposite outcome I had hoped for. For years I was forced to walk the line between fantasy and reality, watching helplessly as the seeds I planted refused to take root.
The amount of fans I gained was shocking. The Animorphs adventures were mostly from my own thoughts, with a few improvisations from the vermin that was enslaving me. The Yeerks became a great threat, but the Animorphs, my heroes, became great as well. For awhile, I had hope. Webpages ran rampant, fan art and fan fiction came out – painting frighteningly accurate portraits of the world I was now subjected to. Then, in what seemed far too soon for me, it came to an end. The Yeerks were growing uncomfortable with the thriving fan base. It had become a risk after all.
(Your fans have the ending they wanted.) I grimaced mentally. I hated that voice. I hated the way it taunted me and my failed plans. (Your fictional Earth has survived. Now they can move on, and your efforts can fade with any hope of your race seeing the real threat.)
It was over.