Horrid 13. The Script for Your Last Words

I found the manila envelope on my pillow. Inside was a single sheet of parchment, typed in a font that looked like stitched skin. It wasn't a story; it was a dialogue script. My name was at the top. The other character was simply labeled "The Ending." I laughed and tossed it in the trash, but as I walked to the kitchen, I found myself saying exactly what the script dictated: "Is that coffee I smell?"

The panic set in when I tried to scream, but my throat only produced the scripted line: "I think I left the window open." I sprinted to the trash to see how much was left. There are only three lines of dialogue remaining on the page. The last one is a question I haven't asked yet. I’m staring at the front door now. Something is knocking. I don't want to say the next line, but my jaw is moving on its own, unhinging, preparing to utter the words that trigger the final stage direction: [Exit Soul, Stage Dark].