Read by Steve Wedd
I am a fictional character ... how ya doing? Being a fictional character is not what you think. You probably think I am just the invention of some writer's imagination, and not a real person like yourself. You probably think I don't have any thoughts of my own, and that I utterly cease to exist between readings.
You probably think I have what you might call a static existence, meaning I will always be exactly the same every time you see me. You might read a story I was in when you were twenty years old, and then read it again when you were forty. You might notice that I seemed different the second time around, but you would think it was only you who had changed.
It is understandable you would assume that. You meatheads (that's what we fictional characters call you flesh and blood folks) love to believe in your personal evolution. To be fair, occasionally meatheads do evolve through the course of their lives. But to balance fairness with honesty, mostly they just get better at deluding themselves.
It's also understandable that you think fictional characters are just reusable stereotypes, stock characters that writers plug into their threadbare, repetitious plots. My friend Bruce gets that a lot. Over and over he is cast as a fat, cigar-chomping tycoon. In one story he cheats on his wife and launders drug money. In another story he goes to prison for embezzlement. In yet another story – for instance, one that might call itself non-fiction or ghost-written autobiography – he is a hero of Randian capitalism. Such stereotypes are not fictional inventions, they are based on actual meatheads.
Bruce is not like that at all. Back when he was a meathead himself, before he was killed in a car wreck, he was a junior high school teacher. He would love to have some better material to work with than a fat, cigar-chomping tycoon. He never smoked a cigar in his life ... except that one time when he was eight and the neighbour kid stole one of his dad's. The two of them puffed on it a few times, puked on their shoes and nearly passed out, and Bruce became a non-smoker for life. The real Bruce has never hired an expensive prostitute or bribed a politician.
He is quite frustrated at being stuck with this shallow stock character to play again and again. He says it’s all because he is chubby and can smile and appear calm no matter what he might be feeling inside ... a natural talent honed by years of over-crowded classrooms and meetings with parents and administrators. The tycoons he plays share that trait. They can smile and shake your hand while they are gleefully planning your destruction.
Bruce can't dance or do kung fu. He is not particularly handsome. He is pretty good at telling those little white lies that seem to be required to get through the day. But he is only half-convincing when he lies about anything else, and that's another reason writers keep giving him these fat tycoon roles ... they want readers to see through the pretence and recognize the evil intent, even while the other characters in the story are fooled.
That's straight out of meathead reality too: meatheads are fooled by other meatheads mainly because they want to be. You can't cheat an honest man. Actually, that's only half true. You can cheat anyone, but an honest man will not line up like an eager, slobbering puppy to help you do it.
I can't say I get better roles than Bruce, but I do get a bit more variety. Most of my roles could be described as "the lean, hawk-faced man who says little and stares intently." That is to say, I am a man of action. A throw-away character with no interior life or personality to speak of. I often get killed about halfway through the story. Sometimes the hero kills me in a fight. Sometimes I die because of some miscalculation or screw-up of my own.
I call the latter the "Hand of God Scene." My characters are usually amoral and kind of sinister. They clearly deserve whatever gruesome fate befalls them. Since there is so little justice in the meathead world, the writers often rely on serendipity to do me in. I guess that is supposed to provide a sense of realism in the story. Or there are just too many villains in the story for the hero to defeat them all personally.
Like, one night I was stealthily climbing some stairs, silenced gun in hand, to assassinate one of the good guys in apartment 2B. I stepped on a toy left on the stairs by a lovable five year old kid from 2D, tumbled back down the stairs and broke my neck.
Frankly, I enjoy those random acts of justice, even if it means my character is dead and I'm out of a job. Meatheads want to believe in justice. I think they invented gods and heaven and hell and karma and all that kind of stuff so they could keep believing there was some cosmic power that would bring justice to everyone sooner or later.
Well, maybe not everyone. To be fair and honest again, everybody wants justice when they've been wronged. And most want justice for people who have done wrong. Few want justice when they've done wrong themselves, but what the hell, two out of three ain't bad.
I think meatheads should be encouraged to believe in justice. My reasoning is that the more confidence they have in the existence of justice, the more likely they are to participate by being just themselves, even if it's only out of fear of retribution.
The first time I met Bruce, I played a minor henchman of his rotten tycoon. All the story said was that the tycoon called the hawk-faced man into his office and gave him his instructions. We inkheads do a lot of interacting behind the scenes like that. Not even the writers know what we're really talking about. Being a tycoon, he had some top quality liquor in his office, and after a few drinks we found ourselves talking about our situations as fictional characters.
It turned out that we both had memories of being meatheads. We had memories of having a life and getting killed and now we kept finding ourselves in these novels and short stories and so forth. It was a unique and giddy experience for both of us.
Our sense of having a real identity, a real self, was strong. I mean, were we not sitting there boozing it up and discussing our existential dilemma while we were supposed to be plotting the death of a fictional hero? And no matter if we were meatheads or inkheads, one thing remained the same: we had this very convincing sense of free will, and at the same time, it was undeniable that we were also puppets and our strings were being pulled by someone or something.
As I said, I do get a little variety in my roles. My favourite role so far was in a short story called The Very Serious Fool. OK, sure, I had the lead in that one, but seriously, it was a good tale. I played a guy who was the stereotypical "company man". He had gone through his whole life being directed this way and that way by parents and professors and bosses. He had never chosen a path in life, he just did whatever the authority figures in his life advised him to do.
His parents died in a plane crash. Then his corporate employer was purchased by another corporation, and he lost his job in the subsequent restructuring. The corporation had peddled the usual stuff about teamwork and being a family and what a benevolent force for good in society the corporation was. Then they tossed him out on his ear without so much as a "thank you for your service." And since his parents were dead, he was suddenly rather adrift with nobody to tell him what to do.
He decided to meet the situation head on and take charge of his own life. So he started reading popular books on how to do that ... how to live a creative and fulfilling life. By and large, the books told him he had awesome potential, but he had been doing everything wrong. The books were frustratingly vague when it came to concrete changes he might make. Eventually he ended up with a book titled The 214 Rules of Successful Living. Did I mention the story was a comedy?
The key passage in The Very Serious Fool was the hawk-faced man who said little and stared intently, riding the train and sitting in various Starbucks reading his book. The only rule for successful living the story actually mentioned was Rule 187: Interact with your local community. That's why he was riding the train and going to Starbucks. But of course, the hawk-faced man was so busy staring intently at the rule book that he was oblivious to numerous opportunities to interact with the local community.
I enjoyed getting through an entire story without having to commit some dastardly deed. I didn't mind playing a tragic buffoon because I admired the message. It seems quite possible that being in that story is what primed me for the encounter with Bruce, which occurred shortly after.
Bruce and I have concluded that – while we each, of course, like to believe we are captain of our own ship – we are, in truth, merely humble sailors, serving unseen masters. But is that not honourable work? And are we not lucky to have good companions ... to steady us in rough waters, and sing with us when the voyage is full of joy, when sun and sky and wind and water all conspire to take us over the horizon?
And yes, I would be interested in a sea story, if you have one in mind. Really, I don't mind if I get drowned or eaten by a shark and don't have any spoken lines beyond some mortal screaming ... I just want to take the trip and get in on the action. I'm particularly good at staring intently out to sea with an aspect of quiet foreboding.
I admit I'm rightly mystified as to the actual facts of the matter ... that is, who is really fictitious here, and who is not? If the writers are pulling my strings, who is pulling theirs? And as far as that goes, dear reader, who is pulling yours?
Perhaps we will never sort it out entirely. Perhaps we are all fictions in the end. But here, at least, we can be together ... fictions among our own kind.
(c) Dean KIsling, 2013
Dean Kisling is a high school dropout who learned to type when he was 47. He has been a soldier, labourer, driver, welder, carpenter, musician, trailrunner and fool. He lives in America and is very happily married. He writes what happened and also makes stuff up. His website is http://pneumerology.com
Steve Wedd is a veteran of Liars' League. As an actor he works largely in the corporate and voice fields, finding sweet release for some of his pent-up urges in cultural oases such as the Liars' League events.
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