Continued from Bergen vs. the Author…
Darkness… all around… I can’t get out. I can’t… get out. I can’t… Hey, a Guinness!
April… The 20th … 36 minutes past two in the afternoon. How long has it been? Days… weeks… months? Yes. Five. Five months… That’s how long it’s been. That’s how long I’ve waited, scratching my loathing for that bitch in the bowels of Angela’s subconscious on this stone floor well below her frontal lobe where she’ll never find me. That’s where I am, hidden just below the doorless room where Angel screams. Yes… Angela will never think to find me here. But I’m getting out… I’ve found a way… it’s only a matter of time… What I wouldn’t give for some pipe weed to go with my Guinness.
Bergen wipes the sweat from his brow… Screw this! I’m the author now! I declare in my sexy brogue. I wipe the sweat from my brow. There’s barely enough room to stand, and I loathe these cramped spaces. Angela knows better than to put me in here… But I have to keep moving… I have to keep… Odinn knows what she’s done with the place since she drugged me and left me for dead five months ago.
Angel’s screams fill the hall once more, and I nod to myself. It is time. Taking up my sword of epic proportions, I leap to my feet and swiftly, stealthily fly down the black halls of Angela’s mind. Angel’s screams are getting louder. I don’t stop to chat. Angel was never good company any way. Although… I stop to ponder a quick romp then dismiss the girl and abandon the thought. She’s one chick I have no intent to woo. Onward then!
I, Bergen, shuffle through the empty halls. With back flat against the wall, his magnificence peers around every corner. Angela is nowhere in sight. Any moment now, I’ll see the light of day. Any moment now she’ll spot me and then… I Insert a maniacal chuckle (ooh, I like that)… then the war will be back on. And this time… This time… insert another maniacal chuckle for good measure… I won’t go easy on her.
