The Thing Behind the Fourth Wall

It was a bright early morning in Joseph's house. Unexpectedly bright, as a matter of fact, as he had forgot to close his curtains the night before.

"Ouch," Joseph said as he shielded his eyes, "I could have sworn I shut those before I went to bed."

But alas, he had not. But little did he know this was a strike of fortune for him as he was about to receive a surprise visitor.

"What the..." Joseph muttered to himself as he looked about the room. "Who's there? How did you get in my room?"

Joseph took a long hard stare into the deep pregnant silence of the morning. No one was in his room but him.

"I know you're there! What are you playing at, pal?" he asked, snatching his lamp off the nightstand and holding it aloft defensively. "I can hear you, you know!"

Joseph was met with silence once more, the only movement in the room being the dust motes drifting in the morning light and his heaving chest.

"I have a weapon!" Joseph said to no one in particular. "This isn't funny!"

He held his comically fragile lighting implement up high. He knew this would hardly suffice as a weapon. This was unless he was referring to the dull steak knife he kept in the cabinet beside the sink in the kitchenette in his one bedroom apartment. Regardless, this would have been an outrageous proposition as he was half nude in his boxer shorts and clutching the sheets around his torso like a small child afraid of the monster in his closet.

"Well, that was just hurtful."

It took a moment for Joseph to realize he had no reason to hold the lamp like a buffoon and set it down. He had an expression of shock as he did just that.

"You're in my head!" Realized Joseph with unnecessary panic. "Who are you and what are you doing in my head?"

Joseph realized that he was talking to the Narrator, and that breaking the fourth wall was entirely uncouth in these interactions. The Narrator must be listened to and not questioned.

"Well, you're breaking the fourth wall into my head, so I think it's only fair."

The Narrator would never do such a despicable thing. However, someone outside was waiting to break into all four walls of his home. If Joseph acted now, he could escape.

"What? And how am I supposed to believe you, exactly? And why do you always speak in the third person past tense? It's kind of annoying -and freaky. Say, how do I know I'm not just imagining this, eh? This could be all be a dream."

Joseph continued to ramble as he got dressed and moved into the other room.

"Woah," remarked Joseph on his completely normal alacrity, "what happened to the last five minutes?"

It was unneeded exposition, Joseph.

"But-"

Before Joseph could ponder anymore about his completely normal situation, he was alarmed by a loud crashing sound and the unmistakable tinkling of a shower of glass. He turned to see a large frozen salmon soaring through his window. It landed on his hardwood floor with a dull thud as the unmistakable odor of thawing raw fish filled the room. Attached to the fish by a thin length of twine was a note. Joseph bent down to read it.

We're coming for you.

"I have not had enough coffee for this."

Ah, yes! Coffee! With this, Joseph had an excellent idea. Since they were obviously coming for him -and soon-, he decided he would have to get his coffee on the go. There was a marvelous chain coffee shop with large public crowds a few streets due west.

"Who?! Who is coming for me?! What are you talking about?" He exclaimed.

Patience, Joseph! Let the Narrator narrate. With no time to spare in this exact moment, he gathered his wallet and jacket and made his way as quickly down and out the door.

"No, wait!"

He ran as fast as he could with no time to talk whatsoever, carefully avoiding the main exit of his building just on the off chance they were already there. He walked briskly through the crowded street and eventually found himself at the coffee shop. He ordered his usual chocolate pastry and black coffee, a much more comfortable start to his day. Unfortunately, it seemed Joseph had forgotten the heat sleeve for his coffee.

"Wha- ouch ouch ouch!" He said, putting the disposable cup down on a table and licking his fingers to cool them. "What happened to my apartment? Where am I?"

The coffee shop. Do keep up, Joseph.

"I just feel like you're rushing the exposition."

Do you want to be the Narrator?

"Yes!"

Too bad. They were at our heels.

"Who?"

The crowd started to stare at the manic Joseph, wondering with deep concern who he was talking to.

"Whatever, I refuse to move an inch from this spot unless I get answers!"

The barista was concernedly calling someone on their phone. Joseph, our protagonist, realized he must hurry before they find him again. He abandoned his coffee and left the shop with all due haste.

"No, I ain't moving. I'm tired, I'm hungry, and I'm sick of this!"

Joseph must be a good protagonist and follow the story. There was no room for error.

"Well, I guess if I'm a caracter I can't act out of character, eh? Ain't that right, Narrator?"

They have intercepted the barista's call. They are on their way. Come now, this is no time for exposition. This is the rising action!

"Mhm, this coffee is tasting good! I think I could spend some quality time here. I am VERY early for work, after all. I should just sit and enjoy my pastry. That sounds very much like my character."

You're altering the pace, Joseph! We don't have time!

"Hmm, tense shift. Someone should get a proofreader."

This is no time to be clever!

"Hmm, I control the pace, it seems? It seems I can be as clever as I want!"

Since Joseph couldn't listen to the Narrator in a timely fashion, two brutish looking men in black suits with strange looking devices barged into the coffee shop. Various patrons let out a gasp as they sprinted into the middle of the room... including Joseph...

"Wait, wait, wait, no!"

... And because it was within his character to be startled at the strange intrusion, he decided to get up and vault over the counter, throwing a carafe of piping-hot coffee at one of his pursuers. Unfortunately, these men were far more agile than the Narrator anticipated, having dodged the carafe with ease. The one behind him was leveling a large, sinister-looking brass gun with a silver needle at him.

"There, it's him!" One of the men shouted.

"Please don't hurt me!" Cried Joseph pathetically as he ran into the storage room.

Joseph threw down a couple shelving units as he passed, his heart thumping and beating and threatening to burst out of his chest.

"Please stop!"

Adrenaline coursed through his blood, allowing his feet to carry him swiftly out the back door and into the alley behind the shop. He ran until his lungs burned and he was forced to catch his breath.

Joseph heaved for air. "Where... where am I? I can't see anything!"

I haven't narrated that. Patience. Great, I lost my place, where were we?

"Please, take me home!" Joseph cried.

It was far too late for that, Joseph thought to himself. Here in this darkened alleyway there was no escape. There was only one exit and the other side was bricked off. All Joseph had to do was reach for the fire escape above him. It was a simple arm's reach away.

"Everything hurts."

Joseph could hear hard footsteps echoing down the lane. They would be upon him soon. Joseph just had to stand and reach.

"Why are you doing this to me?"

Because I am the Narrator. I am the heart of the story. Without me, the story does not exist.

"Who are those men?"

You must protect the Narrator, Joseph! Everything depends on it!

The two brutish men from earlier rounded the entrance to the alley. One of them was still holding the gun from before.

"Target in sight," one yelled while holding a hand to his ear.

"Calibrating sensor!" Responded the other, turning dials on the gun.

Listen, Joseph, I know we haven't quite seen eye to eye. Please trust that I have your interest at heart! You are the center of the story, but without the Narrator there is no story! See reason, Joseph! Escape is within hand!

"You're begging? Why are you afraid?" Asked Joseph futilely.

They were aiming the gun at him, the vile metal gleaming brightly in the early sun. All Joseph had to do was grab the fire escape ladder and climb and the story would be safe.

"Diagnostic complete," said the man with the gun, "psychic endoparasite detected. Stage 2 infection: Hostile Narrator."

Lies! Don't trust them! Don't let them have me again! You are the hero, Joseph!

"Again?" Joseph asked.

"Get him, Greg! Stage 3 imminent! The Fourth Wall is completely down! I repeat, the Fourth Wall is down!" The man with the gun shouted.

"Roger. Prepare the Chekhov gun!" Said the man as he barreled toward Joseph.

"Prepared, initiating extraction."

Run, Joseph! Don't let the story die! Please! What? No! Don't close your eyes!

The man grappled Joseph from behind as the other stared at the device. The air between him and Joseph began to crackle with intense energy.

Joseph... please...

"Extraction complete," the man called, "entity contained."