There once was a boy—A teenager, to be more specific—who was about five feet and eight inches tall, and who was rarely confused by anything. A perceptive lad who liked to, and usually did, have things under control.  He lived in an average-sized town in the Midwest, where he went to school and did regular boy things. This boy’s name was Tyson Prince. And Tyson wanted more than anything to understand most everything. Or so he thought. That was his go-to line for when people inquired about his study habits and fairly odd personal life.  

It was a spring day when, as he walked down the hall of his school, he heard a voice. One which he was certain he had not heard before, but which was at the same time, rather familiar.
     “What?”
There was no answer, but the voice continued to speak, and Tyson had the sudden feeling that one may get when staring for too long at one of those product labels which includes a picture of that same product label. Over and over and over again.
     “Holy cow”, Tyson said, “can you hear me?”
The voice talked about itself for a moment, and then replied. Yes. Of course. You’re a character.
     “What?”
The voice talked about how it was growing tired of all the repetitious dialogue, and it decided to start over. Use a different approach. Tyson forgot about it.
---
Tyson walked down the hall of his high school. He was a teen of 16 who was not as much of a nerd as he fancied.  He passed his girlfriend on the way to his locker, but she didn’t seem to notice him.                                                                                                                                         
He knelt down, took out his geometry textbook, and went back the way he came. He had barely taken two steps when a steel-grey box crunched through the roof of the hall and landed right in front of his face. It looked to be about 10 feet on every side, and it had a wooden door. The floor beneath the box was shattered, and the box side above the door read Plot Box. Tyson opened the door and stepped inside.
The interior was lit by a crystal chandelier still swinging from the impact which seemed quite out of place, and the only other features of the cube were an old, green, chipped table and two black folding chairs. One of these chairs was occupied by another teenage boy of 16 who had brown hair and green eyes. In this boy’s hands were a large notebook and a mechanical pencil. Tyson sat in the chair opposite the other teen, as he was meant to. The entire time that this was happening, the teen wrote furiously in his notebook.
     “Hello, Tyson. This is my plot box. Do you like it?”
     “Who’s your decorator?” Tyson asked.
     “That would be me. Why? What’s wrong with it?”
     “It could use some color, I think.”
The brown-haired boy chewed on his pencil thoughtfully, turned back a few pages in his notebook, and scribbled down a note. The walls became a brilliant shade of magenta.
     “Better?”
The magenta changed to a quiet sort of blue.
     “Uh… yeah.”
     “Alright, Tyson, let’s get down to business.” He consulted his notebook, “What is your greatest fear?”
Tyson drummed his fingers on the verdant tabletop. Strangely, he felt at ease and quite comfortable.
     “What is all this? And who are you, exactly?” he asked.
     “Oh, right. Well, this is a literary device that I’m trying out, and I am… Author… But you can call me God.”
Tyson raised an eyebrow at this, and the other guy waved it aside. “Just kidding. Author’s fine.”
Author tapped his pad impatiently. “Come on. Answer the question. ‘What is your greatest fear?’ If I’m going to write for you, then I need to know what motivates you. First tell me what it really is, and then tell me how you would answer if that was asked by—let’s say—your second-best friend.”
Tyson opened his mouth to pose a question-
     “And, before you ask, yes, you do have to answer truthfully. Trust me.”
Author was right. As he always was.
     “Well, I think that my biggest fear is being alone. And I’m pretty sure that that’s what I would  tell my second best friend.”
Author looked thoughtful. “I think you’re right,” he said, “Alright, next I need you to tell me ‘What is your greatest aspiration?’”
Tyson shrugged, but an idea was forming in his head. “I… want to go to Hogwarts? No…” he was confused for a long moment. “I want to be noticed and admired, I guess.”
“Interesting,” Author said, jotting more stuff down on a page which Tyson could see was labeled ‘Tyson’.
Author leaned back in his chair. “I think that’s enough to work with for now. Just one more thing- What’s your girlfriend’s name?”
Tyson stammered. “Her- It’s… I think it’s…” And then, with sudden conviction, he said “Jordyn. Jordyn Rice.”
Author nodded, satisfied. “Okay, you can go.”
The door of the plot box opened and Tyson walked out into the hall just as the box’s wall shifted to a golden yellow.
A faint pop emanated from behind Tyson, and there was a faint smugness left behind where a large, color shifting box had been. Tyson’s life resumed. He walked and then jogged to catch up with Jordyn who was some way down the hall.
---
Jordyn sat opposite Tyson at lunch. An awkward moment passed before Tyson stood and sat down again next to her.  He put his arm around her and she paused while eating a… an apple.
     “What is it?” she asked.
     “Nothing.”
     “…OK…”
And then the world EXPLODED!
---
Jordyn sat next to Tyson at lunch.  Her long blond hair smelled strongly of shampoo. Lilac shampoo. She held his hand and sweetly said “Tyson.  I want this to last forever.”
Tyson didn’t know what to say, but he felt somewhat worried. Trapped.

The Plot Box, its walls now a deep green, smashed through the roof and landed on the lunchroom table, crunching it into the ground.  Author’s head poked out of the doorway almost before it landed. “Tyson, get in here.”
Tyson looked to Jordyn. She was exactly the same as she had been a few… Before.
     “She’s not going anywhere,” Author said. Tyson wrenched his hand out of Jordyn’s and went inside the box. They sat down at the table.
     “Maybe I should use a less destructive way of showing up. like a door appearing in the wall.”
     “What is it? And why do you want to know?”
Author seemed interested in Tyson’s questions. “Like I said before, I need to know how you act. I am writing you. I’m writing you talking to me. So just get back to business, and you can go back to living your life.”
Tyson still didn’t understand,but he decided to roll with it anyway. He shrugged. “Fine.”
     “So, where do you see you and Jordyn in two years?”
     “Don’t you think that’s a kind of personal question?”
Author shook his head. ”Get real. That doesn’t matter. Besides, you were just answering about the most personal questions imaginable… a minute ago,” He stared at Tyson’s face. “I guess you are getting a personality. Cool. Answer the question.”
Tyson found himself doing so. “I don’t really see me and Jordyn in two years. She does, though.”
     “Hmm.” Author took a note. “Go on.”
He took a deep breath. “She’s just so needy and she doesn’t know how to give me any space, and she’s kind of annoying. But I do like her.”
     “Are you sure?”
     “Yes,” he said, earnestly, “Its just that… I don’t know… I guess that I just want someone else.”
Author fished a red gel pen from his pocket and clicked it. “Interesting.” He made some big scribbles in his book on a different page and unclicked the pen. “Jordyn is oblivious to how she makes you uncomfortable and she doesn’t give you any peace.” Author wasn’t asking a question—he was making a statement. Tyson nodded his head. “And you want someone else.”
Nod.
Author scrawled a few bits more. “I can work with that.” He retrieved his mechanical pencil again, clicking it a few times to get the graphite just the right length.
---
Tyson didn’t know what to say. He felt worried. Trapped. Jordyn placed her other hand on his and kissed him. Tyson smiled a fake smile. ‘Am I afraid of commitment?’ he asked himself.
Jordyn leaned her head on his shoulder. ‘Why does she have to take the fun out of it, make it all serious? I’m not ready for that kind of commitment, and neither is she.’
He felt really awkward. A voice came into existence behind him.
     “Hey, Jordyn. I’m stealing him for a while. I’ll bring him right back.”
Tyson whipped around and saw his friend… Arthur. He rose from his seat, gently dislodging Jordyn perhaps a little too quickly, and followed Arthur outside.
Out of Jordyn’s hearing,he let out a breath that he didn’t know he’d been holding, and said “You came in the nick of time.”
Arthur half-smirked. “Yeah?”
     “Uh-huh. Where are we going?”
     “Just for a walk.  Look, Tyson, I know that I’m not your best friend— What am I, like your… second best friend?”
     “That sounds about right.”
They walked slowly across the front of the school.
      “Believe me when I say this, Tyson; you need to get away from Jordyn. I know that you want to.”
Tyson almost protested, but he had the dignity to not do so. “Is it really that obvious?” he asked.
     “I’m pretty perceptive.”
They walked silently for a few moments.
Arthur nudged Tyson and pointed to a group of girls. Cute girls. “See that one in the blue jacket?”
Cutest girl. 
     “Yeah?”
     “She wanted to meet you.”
Arthur strode over to them and Tyson followed slowly.
     “Hey, Vanessa, how’s it going?” he said, putting his arm around a girl that wasn’t the one with the blue jacket… and the beautiful face. And perfect auburn hair. And a really nice- “Tyson, this is Patricia Meyer. Patricia Meyer, may I present the one, the only, Tyson Prince.”
Suddenly the two of them were standing very close tone another.
     “Hi,” She said. She sounded just the smallest bit shy.
     “Hey.” Tyson shuffled his feet like an insecure high-school student. “So, do you go by Patricia?”
     “No, it’s just Trisha.” She took his arm and they began walking away from the crowd. “I’m going to call you Ty. If you don’t mind, of course”
     “Uh, no, not at all.” ‘You can do whatever you want,’ he thought.
     “I- I’ve been watching you for a long time and—” She broke off and turned away. “That sounded real creepy, didn’t it?”
Tyson smiled. “A little.”
Trisha looked at Tyson and saw that he wasn’t shocked or appalled; she giggled and leaned against him.
     “Actually, I’ve been watching you too.” A lie, but that wasn’t important at the time.
She stared right into his eyes. “Really?”
Tyson smiled. Trisha placed her head back on his shoulder.
     “I like you, Ty.”
They kept walking. Tyson didn’t know when they were going to stop, but he hoped that it wouldn’t be very soon.
     “I like you too.”
---
The next day, Tyson stepped off the bus at the school and saw Trisha standing by the double doors waiting for him. She ran to him and took his hand and they walked inside. Arthur greeted them, grinning as though something was funny. “Enjoying yourself?” he asked Tyson smugly.
Tyson rolled his eyes and ignored him.
Arthur continued. “Awful convenient for you, isn’t it?”
Tyson and Trisha both paid attention. “What are you talking about, Arthur?” Tyson asked.
     “Jordyn. Moving. Away,” Arthur searched their faces “You’re trying to tell me that you don’t know? Of all people?”
Tyson shrugged. He didn’t want to show any concern over Jordyn while Trisha was around, but, in reality, he was shocked and bewildered. “I guess not. Why? Where’s she going?”
     “Wow,” Arthur said in amazement, “Are you kidding me? No, seriously, are you? She already left. Her whole family moved to South Africa.”
Tyson scowled at Arthur “This had better not be a joke, Arthur. Because, if it is, I swear I’ll break your neck.”
Trisha shook Tyson’s arm. “Ty, who’s Jordyn?”
Arthur held up his left hand and placed his right on an imaginary bible. “I swear that I speak the truth, only the truth, and nothing but the truth.”
Tyson still wasn’t sure if he should believe him, but Arthur… yes. Arthur took religion seriously.
     “Ty. Who is Jordyn?” asked Trisha, her tone becoming more demanding.
The school bell rang.
---
     He’d tried to explain to her that Jordyn was only a friend of his, and he was pretty sure that he had convinced her. At least, she seemed convinced.  Looking back on their conversation, however, Tyson was beginning to get the feeling that she had wanted to believe what he said and had dropped the issue because she decided to put their best interests at heart. That was sweet. She was sweet. She smelled good. Tyson held her tighter, and she did the same. A gentle drizzle was falling, and they were both putting off walking to their homes in the rain.
Arthur appeared, hands in pockets and thoughtful expression on face. Tyson always felt slightly uneasy when he was around. Maybe it was because Arthur was always so relaxed wherever he went.
Arthur sniffed the air dramatically. “There’s a change in the wind,” he said, scowling, “Mark this, Tyson: Be wary of the coming disturbance. I fear that you will be much endangered by it.”
With that, he swept off into the rain, and there was a faint smugness left behind.
     “Why does he always have to be so dramatic?” asked Trisha.
     “I dunno. Do you want to stare deeply into each other’s eyes?”
     “Yeah.”
The Plot Box sprang into existence, stopping every particle of the world in its tracks.  Tyson thought that the effect was impressive, especially with the rain, but he was still ticked off with the interruptions which were becoming commonplace in his life. He knew that he wasn’t missing anything—He could see that clearly now—but he was still annoyed.
The Plot Box door opened and Author stepped out, gesturing for Tyson to come inside.
     “What is it this time?” Tyson snapped.
     “Oh, come off it. Get in here.”
Tyson fumed as he extricated himself from Trisha’s frozen embrace and stormed into the Plot Box.
     “Your walls are grey again,” he grumbled, sitting down in as angry of a manner as he knew how, “and it smells like fish in here.”
     “No it doesn’t. And the walls were distracting me. Stop being ridiculous.”
Tyson pouted.
Arthur continued. “So, we need to change some things up. More things.“
     “Like what? I am really liking the way that things are right now.”
     “Oh, I don’t know. I’m starting to think that this is just going to end up a soppy teen romance novel, and frankly, that would be disgusting.”
     “Wouldn’t be that bad.” Tyson mumbled.
Author ignored him. “So, I’m thinking that I should add some SF and/or fantasy elements. Shake things up a bit. Or a lot.”
Tyson drummed his fingers impatiently. “And why do you need me if you want to do that? Because I was real comfortable and happy just a min-… before you came.”
     “Suck it up. Anyway, I’m not wasting any of your time. I need to see what would affect you in the most dramatic, or humorous, as the case may be, way. How about dragons?”
If Tyson’s eyes hadn’t already been fixed on Author, then he would have done a double take. 
      “Dragons? You’re not serious, are you?”
Author produced his writing pad and pencil. “No, you’re right. There are way too many ‘teenager and dragon’ books nowadays. Sad, really.” He chewed on his pencil. “I don’t think that I could pull off a good extraterrestrials story, and time travel makes my head hurt because of all the contradictions and nonsensical technobabble. Lost civilization? No. Those are lame. And anyway, how would there be any that we haven’t seen, what with Google Earth and all that stuff?”
Tyson snored and wished that he could sleep. Or go back outside. Author kept rambling. “At this point, Lilliputians is kind of a dead horse trope, and I would need more groundwork for that anyway. Superheroes?” He stopped, and Tyson paid attention again. Author tapped his notebook thoughtfully. “Superhero.” Author began to write.
     “Hold on,” Tyson protested, “I don’t want to be a superhero. They’re always crazy and messed up. And they have family issues.”
     “Family issues? Like not having living parents? Like, ever? I haven’t discussed your family with you yet, so don’t worry about that. And you won’t be crazy. Much. See, you are thinking of the more recent superheroes. I am planning on a lot fewer shades of gray, and a lot more black and white.”
Author turned his focus completely to his writing. “You can go.”
Tyson would have complained some more, but Author wasn’t letting him talk anymore. He stomped out side, and the rain fell from where it had been so nicely waiting for him to get back.         Trisha was standing, and he hugged her. “Are you sure you have to go?” he asked, knowing the answer.
     “Yeah. Sorry, but I really need to finish that project.” she said. 
Tyson sighed. “OK, then. Bye.”
She kissed him, “Bye,” and walked out into the rain.
As soon as she was a few hundred feet away, Tyson sprinted in the opposite direction, racing to get home. He was incredibly late. His dad had told him that he needed to be back before five or he was ‘in more trouble than he could comprehend’. Last Tyson checked, it was a quarter to six. Thunder boomed ominously. Maybe it was just because he was about to get busted, but the thunder really did seem ominous. As though it meant to do him bodily harm in the near future.  His backpack bounced up and down, and the rain mixed with the sweat on his back. Pain began to creep into his chest, but he kept going at full speed. The rain increased to a downpour and began to drown out all other noise. Apart from the thunder. Tyson continued to the edge of town and up the hill where his house stood. As it came into view, he noticed a terrifying mass of dark, low hanging clouds directly above it. He sped inside shouting for his dad, trying to warn him about it.
And then the world exploded.
---
     Tyson woke amid smoke and steam. All that he could hear was a faint buzzing, but rain was still pounding the earth. He felt powerful. Memory flooded his mind, and he jumped to his feet, searching frantically through the wreckage of his home, crying out for his father. Eventually, he saw a foot protruding from underneath a piece of shingled roof. Desperately, he tried to lift the debris. He strained every muscle in his body in his attempt, but he was unable to move it. Just before he gave up, Tyson shouted in anguish, and a flash arced from his arm, blasting the piece away and igniting it, revealing a sight that would haunt him for the rest of his life.
He ran. His feet carried him toward the mountain. Eventually he collapsed after climbing several miles up. The rain tapered off leaving Tyson sitting on a boulder in the dripping forest. He didn’t cry, but he wanted to. He stared at his feet. The toes of his soaking tennis shoes were gone, and most of the fabric was melted. The buzzing was still loud, and Tyson listened to it. Then he raised his hand to his ear and snapped his fingers. Not a sound. Or almost none. The sun timidly peeked through a hole in the storm clouds. He walked in a daze down the mountain with a destination vaguely in mind.
---
   Arthur hurried to answer the knocking at the back door. Why would someone be knocking at the back door, anyway? He turned the knob and pulled it open.
     “Tyson?”
Tyson fell forward into Arthur’s arms and went unconscious.