Writing Prompt Wednesday #16

You are a side character. You’ve always been a side character. In every movie, TV show, or book that has ever had some crazy supernatural shit go down. You’ve seen it all, and nothing surprised you anymore. You somehow always manage to befriend a main character, and that always drags you into these wacky adventures. One day, while sitting and talking with one of your newest main-character friends, you accidentally let it slip that you’ve been on countless adventures exactly like this one. To your surprise, they let out a sigh of relief and say, “I thought I was the only one.” https://writing-prompt-s.tumblr.com/

NOTE: Okay, I actually really loved writing this one. I think this prompt makes for a great short story where the author can tease themselves a bit (you’ll see that near the end). I hope you all enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it!

Uh, hi. I guess I’m in a new story now. Well, I’ll start off with introductions. My name is Jeremiah Routh and I’m a side character. “Oh but how do you know that?” you ask. Please, I’ve been in so many stories it’s scary. You befriend some weird, lonely kid at school, then they discover something weird and Bam! you’re running away from some gargoyles as if your life depends on it (spoil alert-it did). There’s no stopping it, I have no control over it, and it’s just stupid. I seem to be the narrator in this story as well, which is a terrible decision if you ask me. Hey you! Author lady! Bad idea! No bueno!
Anyways, I just made a new friend the other day. Taller kid, described as “handsome-but not in the noticeable way. A subtle handsome” so I think he’s our guy (main characters always have that sort of description. The authors think they're clever or something, jeez). His name’s Stephen Marinelli, so let’s go talk with him.
While we’re walking, I have another rant. Why do I always have to be shorter than all the main characters? No matter what story I am-no matter how short the MC is, I'm always at least an inch shorter. I mean, I get that they’re supposed to look tall and heroic but I don’t want to look like a little kid next to them! Like, at least make me tall enough so I can reach the Oreo's on the top shelf! 
I spot Stephen sitting alone across the street. I call to him, “Yo, Stephen! What’s up?”
“Hey Jeremiah,” Stephen says.
“You okay?” I ask, repeating the words that I’ve had to every story I’ve been in. “It seems like something’s on your mind.”
“Oh, it’s nothing.”
“C’mon, talk to me,” I say. Then under my breath, I mutter, “The author will kill us both if you don’t.”
“What?”
“What?”
Stephen looked confused for a second before he said. “I...saw a strange...thing last night. I don’t know what it was, but I heard a scream. I looked out my window and saw this brown blur. Then it was gone.”
“Oh here we go again,” I said, louder than I had meant to.

“What? What do you mean?”
“Nothing, continue.”
“No, no, I want to know what you mean,” Stephen insisted. My mouth hung open, trying to form words. “Go on. What do you mean by ‘again’?”
“Uh, well,” I stuttered. “You see, the thing is...I’ve been on adventures like this...before.”
Stephen studied me for a moment. “Oh thank goodness,” he sighed. “I thought I was the only one.”
My eyes widened in confusion. “What? You’ve done it too?”
“Of course. You see, our author doesn’t just make characters for one story. She makes a character and tries to see what story they’re best suited to.”
“I guess that makes sense…” I murmured. “But what are we going to do with story now? We can’t continue now that we’ve broken the fourth wall.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Stephen said. “This story was crap anyways. I doubt the author even had an ending planned.”
Out of nowhere, an arrow pierced Stephen’s shoulder. I looked around frantically for where it came from, but Stephen was laughing and he put his uninjured arm out to stop me. “Note to self: don’t insult the author,” he laughed, yanking the arrow from his shoulder.
A piece of parchment was pinned to it that read, “I worked hard on this story you bastards! You had to ruin it?”
“Oh please, we didn’t ruin it,” I said. “A brown blur? Hasn’t that been used 10,000 times already?” A heavy rock fell on my foot. I swore loudly, but continued. “Just stick to writing poems with Kindergarten rhymes. Seriously, ‘Mad and bad’? ‘Cry and die’? Think of something original.” I was still laughing as my arm swung out and slapped my own face until it was raw and red.
The clouds gathered in the sky and formed the words, “That creative enough for you?”
I smiled, rubbing my foot. “Touche.”
“I’m not done,” Stephen said. “You said you wanted to write Writing Prompt Wednesdays to ‘expand your horizons’. So why are they still a bunch of poems?”
“Yeah, and why do you care so much about a blog where your mom is your only fan?” I asked, laughing.
A lightning bolt came down from the clear skies and smited us both. It didn’t matter, we wouldn’t have the scars in our new story.