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[katurianx3]

Once upon a time, Katurian had been the sort to write only happy stories, complete with loveable protagonists and endings that were always, always perfect. But this, of course, was a long time ago; twenty-two long years, to be exact, since his writings had been innocent and untainted by what he'd come to learn life was really like. And yet, it

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[youarefalling]

The bookshelf has given me one or two things that have made me raise my eyebrows, and I know what people are speaking of when they talk about it as though it were not only sentient but malevolent. But I have never seen that for myself, and so when I see a familiar face there, and a face that looks like that, I both wonder and know.

"Katurian," I say, stepping closer to him and looking down. "Are you all right?"

I'm fairly sure that he is not.

[katurianx3]

Katurian just scoffed, his eyes widened in disbelief. "This," he said slowly, gesturing down at the open book, "This is my life. Like it was some fucking work of fiction." Quickly, hit with a thought, he skimmed through to the end, the last few pages, just to see how this ended, and at the sight his hand hit the paper. It was there, in stage directions, of all things, the way everything had wound up there on the floor of the interrogation room, Tupolski pulling the trigger three seconds too soon. "Right down to what brought me here."

[youarefalling]

I crouch down beside and a little behind him, looking down at the book in his hands. I've heard about this... but never seen it. Somehow it hasn't occurred to me what seeing something like this would actually do to a person.

Maybe I've always felt as though my life were a work of fiction.

"And what brought you here?" It's all I can think to ask.

[katurianx3]

He couldn't say it. A good four months in this place, the story told once or twice, and now, with this, Katurian couldn't bring himself to spell out the details of the execution, his brother, his parents, the murdered kids. "There on the page," he said instead, a little too flatly, holding out the book and gesturing to the lines for characters, the ones that had actually been said, the directions to do just what had been done to him. "In black and white."

[The dialogue, if you need it, is in his debut.]