Sheldon, part 27

“Of course it’s not your fault, pumpkin,” said Charlotte’s mom. “It couldn’t be your fault.”

“By definition,” added Charlotte’s dad.

“What do you mean, by definition?”

Charlotte’s parents looked at each other. “You see,” said Charlotte’s mom with an understanding smile, “Nothing that happens can ever really your fault, because you’re a fictional character.”

“You’re not writing all of this,” added Charlotte’s dad, “You are being written. We all are.”

“Yes,” Sheldon said, interrupting, “but who is writing us?”

“The writer,” Charlotte’s parents said in unison.

Charlotte laughed. “Sheldon, I guess you could have seen that one coming.”

“I suppose so,” he said, “but none of it seems very fair.”

“What’s not fair about it?”

“Well for one thing, even Philip K. Dick didn’t tell his characters they were in a fictional universe until the last page of the book. Whereas we just sort of jumped right into the deep end of the pool.”

“I think it’s all going swimmingly,” said the cat.

“Maybe it’s all to the good,” Charlotte said, ignoring the cat. “I mean, we’re not going to be able to figure out the whole story of why you’re a ghost, unless we confront the creator.”

“And you think playing ping pong against the fourth wall is how we’re going to do that?”

“Yeah, pretty much. Sooner or later we’re going to smash right through that fourth wall, and then we’ll see who is on the other side of the looking glass.”

“Mixing metaphors much?” asked the cat.

“Do you have a better theory about what to do?” Charlotte asked the cat.

“In fact,” said the cat, “I do.”

One thought on “Sheldon, part 27”

  1. Don’t we need at least the illusion that fictional characters can be at fault, that they can make good choices and bad choices, that they can learn and grow? Otherwise, why would we ever care what they do and why would we bother to keep reading? Well, I guess there’s plot. I admit to a certain curiosity about why Sheldon is a ghost. I am slightly fearing a shaggy (ghost) dog story, though. But I guess this has a cat, not a dog, so who knows where it will go. Only the writer. Or does he?

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