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Rated: · Other · Fantasy · #1686814
This story is based on a few books I have read as well as the story of King Arthur.
[b]A World of... Characters?[/b]

I opened my eyes to the morning light. [i]Another day, another adventure,[/i] I thought. Climbing out of bed, I winced in pain as my right leg thudded against the ground, jarring my bones. My leg felt like a lead weight as I changed into a white t-shirt and dark shorts. Thinking nothing of it, I brushed my teeth and went downstairs for breakfeast. I noticed that my leg was fine again.

In the kitchen, I went about the usual routine; raid the fridge, cook some breakfeast and wander back into the dining room to eat it. After eating breakfeast, I stepped outside for a breath of fresh air. I had been living alone in the house for about three months now. My parents died in a car crash some years ago, and my grandmother passed away due to old age. I had enherited the house, being the eldest (and only) child in the household. My grandfather had died several years ago, and I was on my own at the ridge of some mountain in the Rocky Mountains.

As I breathed in some fresh air, I finished the coffee in my hand. As I turned to go back inside, my leg started being heavy again. Ignoring the weight on my legs, I went back into the house for a second cup of coffee. My leg was quite heavy as I got near the house, and suddenly became normal as I entered my house. [i]...What?[/i] I thought. Shaking my head, I poured another cup of coffee and went to watch some TV. As I powered on the TV, I nearly dropped my mug. Staring at the TV screen, I couldn't believe my eyes; the screen was, for once, showing just pixels. Sighing, I looked at the wall behind the TV and saw everything in very high detail; I even spotted a microscopic coffee stain on the wall directly above the TV. Shaking my head, I turned off the TV and went upstairs to finish that essay for the university I was enrolled in. I was required to write a 5-page fictional story over the summer. As I reached the top of the stairs, my leg started getting heavy again. I examined my leg and found nothing wrong with it. Sighing, I turned on my computer... and stared at a bunch of random pixels. Sighing, I broke out my trusty notepad and pen from the drawer in my desk.

As I wrote, I did not notice the very strange scene around me. Mist was forming on the window beside me as I typed away about a steamy windshield; a random bush started growing behind me as I described a juniper shrub. Finally, my one and only neighbor rang my doorbell. As I went to open the door, my neighbor described an impossible scene taking place on his front yard; two characters from my story had appeared out of nowhere onto his front yard. They seemed dazed as I approached them. One was carrying a sword and was in a medieval knights' armor; the other was dressed in royal clothes from the Dark Ages. The knight raised his sword as I approached him, with a fiery personality like I described in my story. The other man remained calm and was carrying a quill and some parchment.

"Raising a weapon against another human is against the law in this realm," I said to the knight. He lowered his weapon as he recognized me; we had met once before. This had happened before, when I was beginning the essay. I had transported them back into their own realm by writing about it, though there was a risk that I would enter their realm as well.

"Why have thy summoned me again?" demanded the scribe. He had a British accent to his voice, and I recognized him.

"It was an accident. I think I used that pen again. I'll send you back promptly, William. As goes for you, Sir Lancelot." I took my pen and jotted down a note in my notebook. Seconds later, William disappeared. I raised my pen to jot down the words that would send Sir Lancelot back when my writing arm got very heavy. [i]Gah, not now of all times.[/i] I picked up the pen and wrote the words to send Sir Lancelot back with my left hand. It felt odd, but I was born with the ability to write with both hands. Sir Lancelot disappeared, but when I opened my eyes, I saw a stone wall in front of me. Looking down, my pen had disappeared. It had happened; I had followed Sir Lancelot back into his realm of Camelot.
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