The bard sat atop the tree that day. His faithful bat flying serenely around him. Guarding him. Alert. He knew not what consequences lied ahead in the future. Nor did he care. He was far too powerful for anything, for the amount of belief he had in himself was unfathomable. But today the bard sat…changed, he felt not himself anymore, he was a different person altogether...he sat still…solemn…silent…in deep thought…the day he felt had lost its meaning…
His creator “Peeves” had promised him a glorious ending. He was contacted by “the writer” two decades ago breaking the news to him. He would be taking a break from penning the bard’s life for a short while. But, to make it up for him, Peeves offered the bard a life of sorts of an organism. The bard would be born of a human on a planet called "Earth". He would be able to make all his decisions himself and without any interference of “the writer”. This meant that he could write up his own story and become the product of his choices. Now this was an offer the bard couldn't refuse! He was already dreaming up big plans for himself. "Freedom at last!", he thought as he dozed off to sleep.
Suddenly a blaring siren went out in the distance. Startled, he fell from the trees. In his state of befuddlement, he called out to his bat a second too late. Alas! He knew this was it. It really wasn't her fault. She was too engrossed being 'alert' to external formidabilities to take notice of her masters very injudicious fall.
His vision blurred, all he could fathom was the ground drawing nearer.
To be continued.