May 1999 ........................... [load original version ]

Sunday, a day when I finally decided to kill my hero, my alter-ego, my imaginary friend, my creation. The morning shines upon him, while I’m not sure any longer if this is how this should begin. I entered one of his adventures to commit this hideous crime. I’m standing behind him and beholding him as he thoughtfully watches through the window over people who’re killing their own aberration.   

“Don’t you think you are overreacting with your constant standing by that same window every morning and spying on people?”

Surprised, Alex turned to me.

“Who are you?” He was startled by my appearance.

“Don’t you recognize me? It’s me, Dule, your creator.”

His facial expression showed it all, the confusion and the uncertainty. He didn’t understand what I was saying, but I could empathize with him. It is hard to accept something outrages as this. Sometimes even I have a hard time accepting it.

“I’m sorry if I’ve frightened you. I’m not that tolerant to you, as well as to other people. I still haven’t decided what your reaction will be to what I have to say to you, but one way or another, you’re going to accept it because it’s the truth…”

“What truth!? What are you talking about, and who the hell are you!?” He sat by me on a sofa and waited for an answer. Calmly, almost childishly, like a father’s son.

“It’s not that easy to explain it, but I’m going to try. Your biography started in May of last year. Before that time you didn’t exist. You were born as a grown up man, with false recollection of your own past.”

“I don’t understand. What are you trying to say?”

“Alex, you are not real! All this shit around you doesn’t exist. Your stupidities, your nightmares, your illusions, your adventures*. None of those things ever existed. You are just an imaginary character of a single damn fool who thinks he can actually be a writer. And now I’m here to end this serial. I want to dream a new dream.”

With panic, nervous footsteps scattered across the room, he was trying hard to figure me out. He was struggling to understand. Naturally, that didn’t worried me because, without me, he truly couldn’t think.

I waited for him to calm down. Actually, I was waiting for myself to calm down and get prepared for what I’m about to do. Alex looked me straight in the eyes. That was a moment I’ve been waiting for. I simply pulled out a gun and put a bullet through his head. I couldn’t think of anything more original or unique, I just wanted him to be gone. Sorry if I disappointed you, I really am.

There was no blood. Alex’ body resembled a deformed torso of some bad artist. The room and his entire world disappeared along with him.

The serial is over.

“This is the end my friend, the end.”

Suddenly I feel insufferable pain in my heart. I didn’t expect to feel this way. Well, what else can I say, I just killed my own creation. How am I suppose to feel?

“You know what? I think I’m going to fall asleep now.”

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* Sequels of Alex serial where Nikita comes back to Alex' life and brings her hunting past with her. Together, they run away from police, and try to get to her lost documents, top secret files that explain details about her "last flight," her last assignment. Files that Alex holds safe since the day she left him. Together, they will try to kill Marcell, Nikita's contractor, and straighten out their relationship and lives for good. Instead, Nikita uses Alex for her own selfish purposes, and leaves him again with broaken heart and smashed apartment. This was a two-part adventurous short story that went terribly wrong and very soon became a piece of trash.