Charles, 28, Sci-Fi Author

They ask why I write what I write

'Does Science Fiction make you more money?'

Well...it can

It doesn't

Not in my case

But in other cases, yes

But that's not why I write it

I write it because...

Okay, well...

When I was seven

I got beat up everyday at school

By Marshall McClintock

The meanest and dumbest kid
At Park Allen Elementary

Marshall would beat me up
For absolutely no reason
And then the day would continue on

And I didn't really mind the beatings
Because after awhile, you get used to anything
And once it became part of the routine
I didn't really want it to stop
Because I'm a creature of habit

I was, even then...

...uh...

Sorry, I've drifted...

Oh right, well...

One day Marshall died

He had a food allergy
His lungs closed up
He died

I was...

It was very strange

He was the only person at school
That ever interacted with me

I came from a very weird family
And they would dress me
WIth whatever was lying around
And everyone was terrified to touch me
Including my family

--No hugs, none of that--

But Marshall would
Marshall would...

...And then he was gone...

And I remember coming into school that day
And hearing what had happened
And...

I went to this place

This really different place

In my head, of course
I was aware that I was going there
In my head

The teacher had a moment of silence
And then cried
And then, sort of just said--

'Well, on with the day'

--And we went into fractions

And I saw a blue light force
Swallow up the teacher

I saw naked waves of energy
Delete the surface I was standing on
And then there was gray tiles
Black and gray tiles

And there was Marshall
Suspended in mid-air
Telling me to come on
Saying I could live here

I could stay and watch the four suns
Illuminate four different parts
Of the different sections
Of the world I was on

It was a world without a name

But it was all about connection
I felt connected there

I felt touched

And Marshall grabbed my hand
And we went up four flights
And drifted over an ocean
Where there were giant fish
That you could stand on
And dive into the water
Breathing the whole time

And there were trees
That gave shades of warmth

And even though the entire floor of the planet
Was black and gray
The black and gray
Is the brightest kind of black and gray
And even the darkness explains things to you

It's the lightest kind of dark
You can imagine

And when I woke up
I was sitting at my desk in school
And the lights were off

Everyone had gone home without me
And it was past five

I walked home
And I wrote my first story
About that place
With the black and gray tile

That's what I wrote
And that's what I've been writing since

I write to create the world
I'd like to live in

I mean...

Isn't that why everyone...

...writes?