How to Fix My Story

"I need your help... to fix my story."

For a moment, those words swirled around in my head like a spoonful of creamer lost in a cup of bad coffee. I blinked, shook my head, and blinked again, as if that would somehow make this whole thing less surreal.

"Fix your story?!"

"Yes," the voice said—as if that answers anything.

"And when you say 'your story,' which one are we talking about?" I let my hands flail around, as if I could physically catch some clarity.

"Yours," the Creator said, no further elaboration.

"Mine?!!" I could practically hear the multiple exclamation marks after that word.

"Let me get this straight," my voice dripped with skepticism. "You're telling me you have god-like powers to shape reality on a whim, and yet you need assistance from some random character to patch up plot holes in your little story?"

"You're not just a random character, though," the Creator explained. "You're Nanang, the protagonist I gifted with the power to turn your imagination into reality."

"You might've heard it before—you're the Fated Fabricator, capable of altering the very fabric of this world."

"I realize how confusing this must be," the voice responded gently. "But know that I am not truly as omnipotent as your myths depict such entities to be."

"But why...?"

"Why, indeed," the Creator mused. "You see, sometimes even a Creator has limitations. I can set the stage, create the characters, but—"

"Oh, come on. Stop the cap," I interjected. 

"W-what?"

"Why did you actually need me? Why did you make me as... this—the Fabricator thing?"

"Uh..." The Creator hesitated, its voice wavering a bit. "Well, it's a long story, really. And... I don't really have that much time. So I—"

"Oh, really?" I crossed my arms, unconvinced. "Are you some published author racing to meet a deadline? Got an editor breathing down your neck for drafts?"

"No, not quite, it's more complicated than that..."

"Just spit it out, will ya?" 

The Creator sighed. "Fine. I'm in a contest, okay? Like you, I'm still trying to achieve my dreams. I'm not some kind of best-selling author or anything."

"A... contest?"

"Yes."

"A... freaking contest?"

"You don't have to say that again."

I doubled over, clutching my stomach as laughter spilled out of me. "So basically, you're just like me—a struggling artist?! My creator is just like me! Hahahaha!"

"Shut up, Nanang!"

My laughter finally subsided, and I wiped a tear from my eye. "Alright, alright, I'm done. But seriously, a contest? That's what this is all about?"

"At least I'm still doing it. And unlike you, I wasn't run over by an airplane."

"Ouch, low blow! Okay, okay, I'll help you. What do we have to do now?"

The Creator sighed before beginning to explain. "The reason you're the Fated Fabricator is to allow you to alter reality from within the story. In layman's terms, you're my walking, talking Deus Ex Machina. But I want it to actually make sense within my story."

"Ah, so you made the rules and the system, but you want to cheat without really cheating. Is that it?"

"Correct. It's like tweaking the storyline from the inside, while still staying within the confines of the narrative."

"But you're still cheating," I pointed out.

"Yeah, whatever. Let's move on."

The Creator took a deep breath. "Look, I'll be honest. The story I've been crafting is far from perfect. I've introduced characters out of nowhere, rushed the plot, and skimmed on character development."

"I can see that," I nodded.

"The story is a hot mess, and for that, I sincerely apologize."

I let the apology sink in. An apology from the Creator themselves? It was like God saying sorry for every curveball life had thrown my way.

"But what if," the Creator continued, "the ending could be something you really want?"

"Something that I... really want?" I echoed.

"Yes."

A pause filled the air, its weight thickening like drying paint on a canvas.

"What's your wish, Nanang? I'll use your wish to conclude our story. I want to give you what you truly desire, in a manner that fits within the narrative."

"You mean, I get to decide how this... 'story' ends?"

"In a manner of speaking, yes."

My wish? I started to consider how far I could push the boundaries of this wish. Because... this was big. For the first time, I felt like an artist staring at a blank canvas with an entire palette of colors to choose from. I just needed to make sure that I wasn't inside some magical girl anime where every wish comes with a hefty price. Ah, who am I kidding? Even if that were the case, I'd probably still wish for a lifetime supply of instant ramen.

"Can I have some time to think about it?" I finally asked, the weight of the decision feeling as heavy as a full sketchbook.

"Of course," the Creator's voice sounded almost relieved. "Take all the time you need. This is your story, after all."

"Thanks."

I turned my thoughts back to that wish.

What would I wish for?

Firstly, there were the mistakes—no, let's call them what they are—the catastrophes I'd created. Putri, the villagers, the Heartstone; they were fragments of my imagination turned real. Could I rewrite their fates? Could I color over the grim outlines with shades of happiness? In essence, they were my creations, my original characters. Didn't they deserve better?

And then, my thoughts turned home.

Could I—let's give it a try.

"You know, Creator," I began, my voice tinged with doubt, "is going back to my old world out of the question?"

The Creator's voice seemed to mull it over. "Yes, unfortunately. Most characters in isekai stories end up staying in their new worlds. Besides, your body was, well, crushed by a plane. So even if I wanted to send you back, I can't do it logically."

I sighed. Figures. Life wasn't a 'choose your own adventure' book, after all.

"It was a long shot anyway," I shrugged. "But can I... visit it? Just for a bit?"

"A short visit?" The Creator paused, as if contemplating the implications. "Yes, that's feasible. I'll establish some guidelines for what you can and can't do during your time there."

My heart leapt, a pang of hope darting through me. There was something—someone—I needed to see back there. Someone whose face I wanted to imprint in my memory, like the final stroke on a masterpiece.

"So here's my wish," I started, locking eyes with the Creator—or, well, the space where I imagined their eyes would be. "I have something to accomplish, both in this world and my old one. Trust me, it'll tie up loose ends, fix those plot holes, and maybe even score you some points in that contest of yours."

"I'm all ears."

"But first, promise me it's doable. And no shady, fine-print nonsense, alright? I've had enough of life's cruel plot twists."

The Creator chuckled. "I promise. Your wish will be within the narrative and not at all shady. I'm not in the business of twisted bargains."

"Good to hear," I said, a grin curling on my lips. "Then get ready, Creator. The final chapter of our story is about to be its best one yet, and I've got just the plot twist to make it a masterpiece."

And with that, I couldn't help but feel a sense of euphoria. It was as if I'd just sketched the first line of a drawing that I knew would become my magnum opus. No more erasers, no more second guesses; it was time to let the ink flow.

And let me tell you, I was ready to make every stroke count.