Author VS character.

By Crtwriter and Cristian Romero de la Torre

Short story.
Tragicomedy, Metafiction.

Hugo Díaz is following his routine and having breakfast calmly in the same bar where he does every morning.
What he doesn't know is that his monotony is about to be interrupted by a visit as sudden as unexpected, that of his own creator.
What could go wrong? 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Cistian Romero de la Torre
• Release date: Oct 9, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223237501

Book preview

For all those who left without warning and without being able to say goodbye to their loved ones.

© Copyright 2023 – Cristian Romero de la Torre

Hugo Díaz was having breakfast at his trusted bar, a small establishment located on a pedestrian street. The modest interior was compensated by a spacious terrace.

Hugo always sat outside, enjoying the warmth of the morning sun.

He finished his toast with olive oil and was about to do the same with his orange juice when he was interrupted.

—Hello, Hugo,— the man took a seat in the empty chair across from him.

—Hello,— Hugo was surprised by the intrusion. —Do we know each other?

—No. Well, I know you, but you don't know me.

—How is that?— He smiled.

—It's complicated.

—Alright,— he hesitated. —And can I help you with something?

—No.

—Okay,— he hesitated.

—See, Hugo, what I'm about to tell you is hard to accept. But I need you to stay calm.

—Go on...

—You're not real, Hugo, you're just a product of my imagination.

—What?— The comment made him smirk.

—I know, it's hard to believe, but I'm telling you the truth.

—I understand,— his expression showed skepticism.

—It's not a joke, it's a fact.

—Yeah, right,— he smiled. —And you are...?

—My name doesn't matter. What's important is that you understand I'm a writer, and I'm the one who created you.

—I thought my 'creators' were my parents,— he said playfully.

—Angel and Aurora are your parents because I wanted it that way.—

—Wait... How do you know their names?— The information disturbed him.

—I've told you, I'm the creator of everything you see, feel, and know.

—Is this some kind of joke...? Because it's not funny.

—It's not a joke, Hugo.

—Okay, well,— he rubbed his temples. —And... do you have any proof of what you're saying?

—Do you see the doorway behind me?

Hugo nodded.

—In a few seconds, a young girl will come out with her dog, a German Shepherd.

The prediction came true, just as he had foretold.

—It's a good trick... Did you tip her off to come out, like through a microphone or something?

—I didn't tip her off. Everything you see is my doing, including her and her pet.

—Haha,— he laughed nervously. —That's funny.

—I can imagine what you're feeling. Take your time to accept it.

—Did you escape from a mental institution?— He replied sarcastically.

He remained unfazed by Hugo's comment.

—Don't you have anything else to say?— He commented mockingly. —Hey, if you've created all this, you're not very original, are you? You could have created a blue sun and a yellow sky, or I don't know, maybe turned me into a superhero.

—I suppose you're right. But humans tend to replicate reality. I imagine it's a desire for control. Or maybe it's instinct, or simplicity, I'm not sure.

—Wow, a philosopher in addition to being a writer,— he finished his juice after the jest. —And tell me, why did you create me?

—I've written many characters, many books. You're not the first, and you won't be the last. But with you, I wanted to try something different.

—Alright... heh heh,— Hugo chuckled. —And besides my name, what do you know about me?

—I know everything about you, Hugo.

—Really?— Once again, a bravado expression. —Go ahead, then. Tell me something revealing.

—Is it necessary?

—Yes. Show me what you're saying,— he affirmed with determination.

—What do you want me to tell you?

—I don't know, you're the writer,— he smiled arrogantly.

—Well, you're 32 years old. You were born on April 8, 1991. You're an only child. You were born and raised in Puertollano, Ciudad Real, but your parents moved to Valencia when you were eight years old. Your father was offered a permanent position at the university and couldn't refuse it. It was hard for you to adapt and make friends at first, but you eventually succeeded, and it shaped your character.

Hugo paled as the narrative continued. His smile disappeared, replaced by a much more serious expression.

—Your best friend's name is David. You've known each other since high school. And, well, there's Olivia, your great love. You met at the 'Universitat Politècnica de València.' She was studying architecture, and you were in fine arts. You first crossed paths in the cafeteria, it was a chance encounter, almost magical. That day, you talked for hours, and even though you don't believe in love at first sight, you knew it. Although, well, your love story ended eight months ago. It was mutual, or that's what you tell yourself. But we both know you'd like to be with her again.

—How... How do you know all that? It was difficult for him to articulate complete sentences.

—I've told you because I was the one who decided it.

—But... it's not possible... He shook his head in disbelief.

—What else do you need me to tell you? I know you're afraid of blood and needles. You drive a 'Peugeot 206.' Since you broke up with Olivia, you've moved back in with your parents. You want to be... correction,