Fan-fictions and Fur Filled Fish

Make it rain on them hoes.

AUT seems fond of issuing fan-fiction assignments in many of its Creative Writing papers. I think I’ve got three to do this semester, and my well of inspiration seems to be running dry.

For the uninitiated, fan-fiction can be defined as a text, written by fans, that explores the characters, settings and side-plots of an existing, established piece of work. It allows writers to delve into the world of their favourite book/movie/TV show/game and focus on a marginalised aspect of the story.

The stories are generally set in the universe of the original text (without getting into crossover fan-fiction), and, because it is assumed that the readership will largely consist of other fans, fan-fiction stories presuppose the reader’s knowledge of characters and events.

It’s kind of interesting and you can write about some pretty wacky shit.

Ever wondered what would happen when Milhouse experimented with his homosexual tendencies? Right here. I know you’re curious about the contents of R2-D2’s email inbox.

I’ve become something of an insomniac recently due to a haunting question that has invaded my subconscious and refuses to leave. It keeps me awake. Late at night I lie in bed, tossing and turning, longing to feel the arms of sleep’s embrace. But my mind refuses to rest. I can’t get to sleep, I just can’t, without knowing what the dog version of Finding Nemo would be like.

Riveting stuff, I’m sure.

Anyway, here’s an example of a fan-fiction story I wrote a couple of years ago. It’s kind of juvenile and inexcusably overwritten in places. Am I selling it well?

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Dopey's Lament *



Dear Brothers, a shaking hand wrote.

By the time you read this I will probably be dead.

Melodramatic? he mused to himself. Definitely. Over the top? Probably. He sighed to himself, and scratched his head. They’d never been his strong points, eloquence and self expression. God, he’d never even bothered to speak aloud. Not one word. To anyone. His brothers assumed him mute, but this wasn’t true. It was a strong indifference, an intense apathy that saw him keep his thoughts to himself.

I wish I’d told you all how much you meant to me, brothers. I regret the silence I kept all those years, through the seasons. I loved each and every one of you, appreciated you all more than you can ever know.

He paused and tapped his teeth with his pen, looking around the room. The only light came from a small oil lamp, the dancing glow trying to escape out through the heavily curtained windows. Small empty plastic bags littered the floor, the ghosts of a thousand highs. A pair of crackling speakers, their wiry insides exposed, begrudgingly pushed out some down tempo number.

After She was brought to life by the Prince, we were lost brothers. Lost. After years of watching over Her body in the forest, suddenly we were without purpose. Our mining jobs gone, our home in ruins. Depression reigned.

Would they judge him? He wondered. Deny that he’d existed at all?

We coped in different ways. Some of you took up sports. Some took up other careers; butchers, bakers, candlestick makers. I envied your strength.

How long had it been? When was the last time he’d seen their faces. He tried to picture them. This room made time stretch and contort until it lost all meaning.

But as for me? I wallowed.

He paused again, collecting his thoughts. There had been a time when he’d considered Her his everything. His refuge. A time when he felt content and his heart still knew of hope.

She found me one day, on the outskirts of the Prince’s castle. She was as beautiful as ever: lips as red as blood, hair as dark as the window frame, and skin as white as snow. I was so happy to see her; overjoyed, ecstatic. She promised me a purpose. She promised me an escape.

The door burst open, purple suit and gold heels swept into the room. A saccharine smile was plastered across her face, the lipstick’s rosy hue foreign on her otherwise pale skin.

“Great work tonight,” She said, flinging a full gram bag of snow-white at his feet. “Enjoy.”

The door closed again.

I should have seen the warning signs. At first She wanted nothing for the snow-white. It was free, as much of it as I wanted. But it wasn’t long before She started wanting small favours, an errand here and there. I obliged, of course, and gratefully too. I was in debt.

That subtle fuzziness that started in one place, and grew and grew until it blossomed and exploded, demanding attention, swimming in the blood and warming the heart.

Big debt. The favours became more brazen, more outrageous. Eventually I would go on to steal for Her, fight on Her behalf. I killed for Her. And still She gave me the bags of snow-white.

That glorious feeling as the senses succumbed. It filled that strange little hole he had inside, that hole where the other six used to be. It satisfied him. It completed him.

I was stupid, brothers, stupid. Thought I was immune to snow-white’s allure. Childish and ignorant, I thought I could use it in moderation. Self medicate.

The next three words took him a long time to write.

I was addicted.

Would this room, this godless place he’d learned to call home, really be the last thing his eyes saw? Surely he should be on a cliff top somewhere, watching the sun dissolve into night’s cold embrace one last time. Surely he should be somewhere absorbing an image encapsulating the very essence of being.

And so I lost my principles, my standards. My self respect. I became drained, empty. A shell without its tortoise. A shadow of myself, committing horrific acts in exchange for more snow-white.

He picked the full bag up off the ground. Mechanically prepared himself a dose. A big dose. He closed his eyes, head pointed towards the window. Shivered a little. Cold? Anticipation was more accurate. Freedom.

I’ve disgraced you all. Embarrassed dwarves everywhere. I beg your forgiveness; for my estrangement; my actions; and my selfishness.

He felt his body surrendering. Imagined his organs waving a white flag as the snow-white swirled through his veins, brushing aside his body’s defences.

A life balled and chained, brothers, is no life at all. Let me be liberated in death.

He was a dove’s reflection in a lake of glass, the moon bigger than he could ever remember.

Yours forever

The dove arced and flew into the night sky. The water rippled where its reflection had been.

Dopey




*Not to be stolen, reproduced or distributed in any way. Not that you'd bother. Misuse of semicolons? What was I thinking!?