FOURTH WALL

Knife had a choice to make and it wasn't going to be easy. He paced, his Birkenstocks clomping in echoes of dinosaur feet. His blood raced as he picked up the bag, fingered the contents through its plastic bubble. Scared to even want what he wanted.

He wished someone could tell him what to do but his friends had all deserted him. His family was dead. He walked to the window, imagining it as a portal to heaven. he turned and faced out and asked you, the reader, for help.

"Flip to the back freakin' page," he asked you. "Tell me quick what it says."

You don't know what to say, but you flip to the back of the book anyway.

"Am I still on it?" he whispers.