Thomas stood in silence for a while, confused, then he spoke, "Hello? Where did you go? Whoever you are?" He said, swiveling around.
After a few seconds, he then wandered aimlessly, as if searching for something. "Come on, there has to be an end somewhere. Where's the exit?" He ran, left to right, forward and backward, then next second, his eyes widened, and he spun around, lips parted to speak, but a calm, composed voice cut in.
Thomas didn't bother screaming either. Might be because of the fear of silence, "I don't know, you tell me. From what I remember, I... I was about to kick a ball, then what happened? Where is this place? Is this even Earth?"
Thomas's eyes widened even further. "Did Earth get destroyed? Are we on Mars?"
"No…" The outer sighed, shaking his head. "That would take a long time."
He paused as a thought entered his mind. It took him a moment to process it all before he said, "You said you were kicking a ball? Did you just retire from football a few months ago? Forward player? From Europe?"
His eyebrows slightly raised, "Yeah, that's me. I'm Thomas, Thomas Szczepanowsk... Wait,"
A sudden thought hit him, widening his eyes, "Am I being kidnapped by the aliens for my performance in the World Cup?"
"No, no, no. This can't be it. I must be hallucinating," he muttered before slapping himself. "That hurt…" he said, soothing his chick.
"What do you mean? What's happening? Tell me! Who are you? Where am I?" Thomas shouted into the emptiness.
A deep breath followed before the voice finally answered. "I think… I think you died."
"I… What?"
"Died."
Thomas kneeled down to the ground and lowered his head. "What would happen to my son, daughter? What would happen to my wife?"
Thomas lifted his head slowly, looking at the nothingness with a concerned face. He said, "She…. Would?"
"No… but…"
They remained silent, then the voice came in.
"Yes?" Thomas lifted his head, and in front of him, a flower appeared, drifting downward. His eyes followed it until he noticed the candles surrounding him.
Thomas looked up again as a soft bell chime echoed in the empty space.
Then with empty expression, Thomas lowered his gaze again, and stared down at the white ground.
Outer stayed silent too. Why would he even say something like this in this situation? How could he rest after such an incident?
Then the insider lifted his head and said, with raised eyebrows, "Wait, so you are the god?"
"Ohh…" Thomas looked at the emptiness, with no expression, then said, "so you are… Jesus…?"
The writer looked at the laptop silently, not knowing what to say or think.
He placed his hand on his face, shoulders relaxed and inhaled air, "No," he said, while shaking his head, and exhaling the air, "I'm not, I'm not… I'm not God." He planted his hand on the desk. "You are in a story."
Thomas looked ahead, thought about the possibility for a second, then left eyebrow raised, right lowered, "hmm, I knew, there would be a story in my name but…"
"That's what I said, didn't I?" he said before placing his finger on his chest. "Someone is writing a novel about me—."
"No, Dumbass," Outer snapped, "Why would anyone write a story about you? Your life was perfect from the very beginning, there's nothing in it that could inspire anyone. Did dying make you lose your mind? Try using your brain for once, think outside the box!"
"My bad," Thomas said, scratching the back of his head, "I guess I did lose my mind? Can you explain one more time?"
The boy exhaled through mouth sharply and composed himself. Breathe in, breathe out… Then he looked up and said, "I said, I think you're inside my web novel, as the protagonist—the one I'm writing… I guess."
Thomas's eyes widened, his mouth slightly agape. "Wait… is this some kind of transmigration?" His lips curled into a grin.
"Yes…" Outer mumbled. "Imagine it like you transmigrated into a fantasy world." He gestured toward his laptop. "And I'm... kinda like a god, I mean the writer, " he added, pointing at himself, "I don't know how this is happening, but it seems like that is the case,"
"Ohh. Now I get it," his eyebrows lifted, he nodded and continued, "So I've been transmigrated into a fantasy novel, and you're the author,", arms crossed.
"Yes, yes, there's more depth, but…. let's go with this for now," Outer sighed in relief, nodding slowly with a small smile.
"Then why didn't you just tell me directly?"
"Yeah." He nodded.
"Wait, no—are you kidding me?" Thomas said, staring into the distance with narrowed eyes, then raised his eyebrows, and said "If you had told me I was sent to another world by a god to save it and all that hero stuff—maybe I'd believe you," then his eyes narrowed again, "but inside a novel? Are you serious?"
"I know it's hard to believe," Outer muttered, staring blankly at the air for a few seconds before speaking again. "I don't know how this is happening either."
Thomas kept receiving the words, as he looked at the air,
Thomas turned his eyes slightly, scratching his head he said, "I don't know… Maybe I'm just dreaming. probably will wake up in a few minutes."
Outer clenched his fist, his teeth grinding behind a forced smile. "Alright, let me help you wake up. If I'm right… then I… should be… able… to…"
Suddenly, the air around him filled with the scent of chicken shit. A lot of cooked chickens surrounded him and started attacking. The chicken addict with chicken in his mouth. Chickens playing football. Oh no, he was now sitting on a chicken?
A twisted menacing grin stretched across writer's face, his fingers pressing together in a gesture of cold calculation, and he saud slowly, "Let me help you wake up,"