The Rewrite Fog

“Revision is not an act of correction. It is the deliberate erasure of doubt.”

The bell tolled again. Closer this time. I looked out the window and saw the fog approaching. It did not flow like any fog I had ever seen. It pivoted from place to place like an eye trying to decide what to focus on. It moved with purpose. In front of the fog was a lone figure that I couldn’t quite make out. Around him things were changing. Some things were improved or repaired, others were erased.

“It sees me,” I whispered.

“No,” Ashen replied. “It sees what you could be. That is worse.”

Ashen stood next to me, lost in thought for what seemed like ages. He was like an actor that forgot his lines. No, more accurately, he was like an actor that showed up to opening night to find that the script had been changed.

He turned to me with uncertainty in his eyes. With a firm but calm voice, he said, “Get your things. We need to go.”

I did not have much to gather, only that funny burnt book that I took from the Scriptorium. I don’t even know why I took it. Most of the pages either have jumbled words or are blank, but I couldn’t let it go. A voice in my head tells me I need it.

We made our way down the stairs of the tower. We ran past a plot hole and across the bridge. We ran through the fields heading to the forest. The fog consumed everything behind us. I saw the fog dismantle the bridge into the words that described it and then erase it from existence. The plot hole was turned into an area of grass. As it moved, some things it improved others it destroyed. It left nothing unchanged.

The fog never was chasing us, but kept moving in our general direction. We slowed down when we thought we had put enough distance between us and the fog. We thought we had time to rest. We were wrong.

The air around us became deathly still and charged with electricity. The Proofreader didn’t approach by foot, but snapped into place like a corrupted animation directly in front of us. The ghostly, faceless figure was nearly seven feet tall and had an aura that steamed authority. It wore the long flowing, blue and silver robes that were the uniform of the Proofreaders. Where its face should have been was a single blank piece of paper with shifting red ink on it.

It spoke with a voice that sounded like thunder. Its words were written across its face in typed dialogue boxes using a red courier font.

[UNSTABLE CHARACTER PROFILE DETECTED.]
[REVISION IN PROGRESS.]

Ashen drew his sword. It was evident that he had fought these beings before. A slash of his sword tore into the Proofreader like metal through paper. The impact sent out a narrative distortion; a tree was overwritten into a perfect statue mid-strike. The proofreader wrapped his sword in words, and quickly pushed ashen away.

It ignored him and returned to its original task of turning ragged stone to marble and trees into stone pillars. It had no interest in hurting or editing Ashen, but turned its attention on me.

[REVISION PROTOCOL: REDACTION IN PROGRESS.]

I wanted to speak in protest, “I… I don’t…”

No words came out of my mouth. I couldn’t finish a sentence. I was on the ground unable to move my legs. I couldn’t run. Using my finger, I tried to write my name in the dirt only to see it vanish before my eyes.

[FRAGMENT DETECTED. REWRITING...]

My thoughts were simplifying. I could not focus on anything. The spiral scar on the palm of my hand pulsed with red hot, almost unbearable, pain. I clutched the burned book tightly.

The words came. I spoke, not with certainty, but with defiance. “wasn’t finished. You don’t get to decide that.”

My words ignited into letters in the air. The rewrite could not change them. The proofreader stopped as if it was considering the situation.

[AMBIGUITY DETECTED.]
[REVISION DELAYED.]

It turned and continued with its work, no longer interested in me.

Ashen grabbed my arm pulling me to my feet. “That won’t stop it forever,” he said.

We fled through the fields. The Proofreader did not pursue

* * *

We set up camp in a small grotto near the river. Ashen had made a small fire. We cooked some food and settled in for the evening.

I noticed that there was a small red ink spot on the back of my hand. I had tried to scrub it off in the river, but without success. It was as permanent as a tattoo. Touching the spot filled my brain with the words: “Pending Edit: Clarify Character Purpose.”

I explained what I discovered to Ashen. He just looked at me amused, but for the first time since we met, he began to open up to me.

“You are lucky,” he said. “The first time I met with a Proofreader, they took my role, leaving only the shape you see now. He lifted his shirt showing a scar from where his name had been cut out of him.

He further explained to me that some characters do not get erased completely because they have some sort of extrinsic value. They fit without all the details. On the other hand, I do not fit anywhere.

“You’re not a villain. You’re not a savior. You’re a question with no answer.”

The proof readers can’t handle that. They are here to make sure that everything has its place. If it doesn’t it is either rewritten or erased. It is their job to bring order to the world.

We were silent for a while. Unlike earlier, there was actually comfort in the silence. I felt I was getting to know him a little, but I could not understand why he was here. Why would he risk his own life for a stranger he just met. I couldn’t let that thought leave my mind, so I broke the silence.

“Why did you come to the Scriptorium?”

He looked at me like I had asked the most personal question anyone could ask. I could see that he was weighing the options of what to tell me. He bent over and put another piece of wood on the fire. He took a breath and answered carefully

“Because I remembered a line. Something I never heard… but still knew.”

I looked at him, not quite understanding what he was trying to say. Ashen sensed my confusion.He took my hand into his, and looked me in the eyes.

“You will fall into silence. But the silence will speak back.”

* * *

Later that night, Ashen was asleep next to me by the fire. I sat there clutching the book that felt so familiar to me, unable to find sleep. I resolved to watch Ashen sleep and reflect on the day's events. I had memories older than this morning, but it felt like something was trying to speak with me. I just needed to remember.

I opened the book more on impulse than a desire to read it. Where it once told me that I was not supposed to be here, it now was written, "You are under revision.”

I closed the book, setting it down next to me. The book had a knack for stating the obvious. I looked down at Ashen one more time, and words came to my head. They were not my words, but I had no idea who they belonged to.

“Then I will write something they can’t fix.”