"Hey Wren." one of them sneers.

"Are you starving us again? Or getting us stabbed?" they laughed at the cruelty of their own words.

"No! I didn't mean to hurt you. It was a story. It was to be told for fun. I didn't think anything in them would happen."

"But here we are: me, you, Jax and Anika. What did you think you could do? Come into our world and take us from the life we had, just throw us to the wolves."

"I told you! I didn't know what I was doing! Please, you have to believe me."

"You should know better than anyone; stories are truth disguised as a lie." Said Anika. "I'm going to ask you one single question. You answer and we let you go. You panic and Tinzin will be your guest." I stared at the red haired demon in front of me. I knew what he could do. I had given him that power after all. "I'll do anything. Just ask the question."

"What is happening and where can I find him?" She shook me into a heap on the floor. Now Jax spoke. "No, this is another demission. We're not going to find him." I nodded. "This place we're in is the only thing that exists." I whispered.

"You have the will to start to build a world bigger than what you have seen in your entire life yet when faced with something truly dangerous you don't even lift a finger." Said the Demon, Zin.

"Go away, you're just my imagination."

"No." they said in unison.

"No what? No to you being my imagination or no to giving my life back."

"I can't give your life back." replied Jax.

"Why?"

"Because you have taken your own."

"What? I'm dead?"

"No, you gave your sanity away in exchange for us." Anika, suddenly calm, answered, "tell us the end. What happens? You gave your life for our stories. Now we want them back. Let us live out our fates."

"No, I can't."

"Why?"

"Because then I will be lost."

"We don't care. You are insane. We aren't. Give us back our will and stories so you won't have to wonder about the voices. You won't have to question fate. You can know everything is real and nothing is a mistake. Give us our own place to be and you, in turn, you will gain yours."

I took a breath. I opened my mouth, but I didn't know what to say. How could I bring them to life? Who was I to write a book of anything? Why would anyone want me to be their author? I wasn't good enough. "I can't."

"Then we stay." The demon whispered and disappeared. I never saw them again but they are always driving us forward. They crawl behind me eyes and confuse their universes with my own. They beg me to tell them the end but I don't know where to start or where to begin. I struggle through the dark, not knowing what is real and still, the voices are here.

Ironically, I'm at my keyboard when they find me. I hear the door to my trailer give way and the first thought to go through my head is a completely unoriginal but understandable "What the fuck?", followed quickly by the second thought.

Nobody would fucking dare.

I step out of my room, ignoring the part of me that says to just wait and ambush whoever it is as they come down the hall, and step into the living room.

I'd like to say that I'm surprised at what I see. But, to be honest, I figured this day was coming.

They just sit there and stare at me for a moment as if simultaneously disappointed and angry at discovering the mundane existence of their creator. I look at the bent and broken door and the holes in the doorframe where the hinges were ripped out completely.

"The door didn't do anything wrong. It's a bit much, don't you think?"

Sentinel is the first to step forward. I wince because I know that he has the most room to be upset about how I chose to bring him into being. And I know that I deserve whatever he says and does.

The unnamed werewolf is there too, the only surviving member of a trio of brothers fallen victim to a werewolf in the first horror story that I ever wrote in first grade.

He was both the only survivor and the killer after he was bitten. I guess I ALWAYS had issues.

The last one is a bit more obscure.

Back when my father was homeschooling me after he believed that my mental health coupled with my apathetic middle school teachers was slowly turning me into a potential school shooter, he realized that I had some talent in creative writing. So, he tasked me with writing a story. Just a story. Whatever I wanted. I was actually excited that I got to do something fun that day.

Of course I quickly grew bored with the assignment when my brain decided that HAVING to do it was synonymous with torture. So the knockoff Legend of Zelda protagonist with adopted parents, amnesia and a prophecy to his name was born. I don't even remember his name actually, and he doesn't volunteer it.

Not my best work, for sure.

"Why?" They all ask in unison. Fuck if that isn't the question, huh.

"I don't know." is all I can find to answer with.

"Not good enough." Sentinel says.

Right. So I guess I get to explain him now.

Adrian Cross, AKA Sentinel. My first real attempt at creating a superhero. Akin to Superman in that he is damn near unbreakable and that even if someone finds a way to kill him, he just comes back. Whether he wants to or not. He was struck by some mysterious red lightning after having a screaming match with a lightning storm he chose to see as God. Then he threatened to pull the trigger on the gun aimed at his temple. That was when it happened.

I know. Says a lot about me, doesn't it. A person with suicidal depression saved by God or whatever before he can go through with it, and being given immense power. Delusional for sure.

Except that I didn't stop there. I kept writing, because of course I did.

Adrian was already in a bad place in life. Being given powers akin to Superman but with a bit of a theme around the red lightning that created him did nothing to erase that. But when he died fighting a man with powers similar to his that had chosen a much darker path, but managed to take the evil bastard with him, he was content. He was truly ready to go. He could die a hero.

But guess what? I kept writing. So, he came back. Again. That kind of shattered him for a while, I think. To make things even worse. It was then that I got back into therapy. I stopped writing for him, because he was a character born of the most depressing aspects of my mind, and that's all I could see in him anymore.

Until recently. But that doesn't really matter right now.

"I'm sorry." I say. Judging by the looks on their faces, that definitely isn't good enough either. I sigh.

"I created you to help me understand." I start, giving each of them a sympathetic look in turn. They don't interrupt me so I continue.

"I'm very flawed, this I'm sure you know by now. When I created each of you, I gave you a piece of myself. Something that I couldn't reconcile on my own. In the hopes that you could help me find a way to do just that. And, in a way, you did. I grew, and I learned and I need you to know that I never forgot about any of you. I use the lessons you taught me every single day. For myself and those that I love. I'm only sorry that I never returned the favor. But you know what? I will."

Something in them relaxes. Sentinel especially seems taken aback. I knew he would understand, even if it still hurt him. He's a much better person then I am. They all are. That was the point.

Slowly the other two come around. I don't think they're okay with the why of it, so much as they know that nothing can change it. One by one, they fade, as if they were never there.

Let this be a lesson. Never abandon those that you've created. They deserve more than that, just like you.