Anthony’s life was perfect, he had a beautiful wife and an precious, perfect seven-year-old daughter. But we all know life can’t be taken for granted, and that’s exactly what Anthony did. The clock chimed eight, perfectly on time. Of course, it should be on time. After all, it was a clock, so that would be expected. In a small office sat a man. He wasn’t exactly young or old, in his mid thirties. His appearance would’ve been that of a typical man for his age if it wasn’t for the odd craze that had come over him. Frizzled dirty-blond hair that looked like it hadn’t been brushed in days- no, weeks, sprawled in all directions across his face. His hands pressed against the table, clenched into fists as frustration overtook him for what seemed like the millionth time that day. His clothes, which alike his hair could use a good wash were bland. It was clear the man didn’t care much about fashion. His classic checkered flannel was atop his back and covered a plain black T-shirt. It was ragged and old- though that was he only item that wasn’t ruined according to his actions; it had been is fathers. His pale white skin made it clear that the man didn’t pay much attention to his health either. This man was known as Anthony. Anthony Roberts. (Don’t ask why that’s just the name I came up with hhh-) He thrashed his way around the office, knocking anything out of his way that had previously been in it. Papers flew around the desk, scribbled with notes that looked like something from an ancient time to the untrained eye. Or rather, to any eye other then Anthony’s. You see, Anthony believed he was trapped in a fantasy. A mere work of fiction. A book. He believed he was a character- No, an experiment in a book. He wouldn’t be totally wrong- you’re reading that very book now, of course. Anthony almost growled as he tossed more of his papers across the room, roaring with rage and frustration. Months worth of work and research went flying up into the air, landing upon the countless other months of work which sat depressed on the floor. Most likely, they would be forgotten and burried, for Anthony realized his plan of escape was yet again, a failure. He was trapped in a cycle, a new lead pressed him forward just to fall flat. Soon after his lead vanished, the papers that had led him there fluttered or crumbled or slammed against the floor to be buried and forgotten. The ceiling approached the desk everyday, and if the door had opened on the inside nobody would even be ab,e to get in the room. Truthfully, Anthony’s motivation to escape was not just the fact that he theorized he was in a story, but he just wanted out from this world. It had been so cruel.. toying with him around like a cat chasing a mouse, and he was done with it. He wanted to go to any world other then this,, and if escaping from a book he previously wouldn’t have cared he was in was the answer he was going to d whatever it took. But his patience was wearing thin.,The dark wooden walls of his office creaked as he slammed his fists against the walls. Another usual fit, the man was crazy after all. The neighbors had tried to get him sent to a hospital more then once, but nobody messes with Anthony Roberts. He was too crazy, no doctor could fix a man like him. (Ended it really short because I only have so much space to write in scratch lol)
Book stuff. I have a kinda out there but super cool idea for a book series. It wouldn’t be for ages and probably won’t be posted on scratch but I felt like writing the prologue anyways. I’m still prioritizing finishing strays, then spreading fire alongside a secret new series and possibly a comic? I have too many book ideas h a l p It’s completely different from what I usually do but I quite like it. I’m not sure how I’d do it, it’d have to be handled really carefully to make it work without getting dumb I guess but I like it. For all I know there’s some other famous book character named Anthony roberts. If there is, I am completely unaware
