Brian stood on the street corner and sighed heavily, looking out into the traffic.

"You won't beat me this time," he muttered, "I am strong now."

Brian took a deep breath. Closing his eyes. . .

You know what? I've got nothing. Forget it. I'm gonna go get a 3 Musketeers.

"What are you doing!?"

Huh?

"You can't stop! What about my inner battle about whatever on the street corner!?"

It's going nowhere. I thought if I just tried sitting down and writing something would come to me, but no, no ideas are coming up. It's not going to work. You can't understand. . . you're just a figment of my imagination.

"Come on! I wait around forever to be created, then you do it, wtite three and a half friggin' sentences, and give up!? What kind of existence is that for me!?"

Don't make me come in there.

"Bring it on byotch!"

You know what? Brian took another breath,

"Don't you dare!"

stepped out into the street,

"I swear to God, if you even think about-"

and was promptly hit by a car. There. See what happens when fictional characters try to mess with me!? I need some chocolate.