The Campfire

Ran out of town… yet again. Just another marvelous day of being the author of the Havor’s Journal. Scrap would have been used to it by now, but it just never gets better. The resets aren’t enough… Some folks still retain memories of the happenings. His landlord happens to be one of the lucky few who remembered his partake in the entries. Forced out of his crummy apartment… didn’t want to bother Barnes or Rial, though he knew they would gladly offer him a room. Still no sign of Mrs. Jenner, and Masson… is another story. He does have his other home. No one has ever bothered him there.
His writing arm still cringed after today’s entry. Scrap should have bandage it up, but it was a small pain he can deal with. Only a few more hours till the reset happens. He just needed to survive the night… the cold night. The abandoned van will do nicely.
“Damn… its so cold…” He said and slapped his ear. A small pitched rose in his ear. It only told him one thing. “Oh come on…” Frantically, the mutt struggled to open his satchel but ended up dumping everything out till the “famous” journal flopped out. He tossed his satchel aside and grabbed the book, opened it up to find what he expected. An entry…
“Spring is done. Summer and fall had passed... Now starts a long-lasting winter. May the lands have over a blanket of snow and ice.”
“Who the hell wrote this… a penguin?” He said and shivered. The cold was coming quicker than he expected. He had to make it to the van. He growled and rubbed his aching arm. The cold was making his pain worse. He thought about using the journal… maybe heat up the place just a little. No, that a bad idea… Probably will end with half the forest (maybe even town) burning up. “Avoid using the journal. You don’t need it.” He gathered the logs but now struggled to light the fire. He couldn’t seem to lit the fire. “Y-Y-You can d-d-d-do it” He said as he strike the matched.
He did it! a little cinder appeared. He grabbed his journal and starts ripping up the pages. “At least this thing is good for something.” He said and tossed the crumbled page into the fire pit. Thankfully, the quickly lit. Tore another page and added to the fuel. Strike another match and tossed it in. Flames were rising, but the cold was eating it up. “Come on…” he mumbled, but to no avail. The flames died. “ARGH—”
Boom! The flames burst into a big bonfire. Scrap jumped back and tripped over the log. The fire rose up, but slowly calmed down to a perfect size. But someone was sitting on the other log. It looked exactly like him, but a complete shadow with glowing purple eyes. “I don’t appreciate you using my pages like that, Mutt,” he said. “It is not a tinder box!” he growled, soon his body morphed into shape. The backside ripped apart revealing two large blue wings. Paper shot out everywhere. The rest of his shirt was showing off his muscles and blue skin. His body thickens, though surprisingly half his pants remained on. Though now they looked like shorts. His hair turned white and spiked. Went down his back like quills.
“You again… Sidor.”
He nodded, “Sit down. Mutt” he ordered and crossed his arms. Scrap felt compelled. He got up and limped over. Sidor watched the mutt walked over to the van. “I said sit down!”
“At least let me get a cover. If I’m getting a lecture today. At least let me shield myself from the cold you brought.”
“You mean authors like brought." He said. “I have nothing to with this.”
“You allow it to happen. Don’t care who it affects.”
“It isn’t my concern about who it affects. It is the author task to handle all entry that is unleashed. If you can’t handle the power, you shouldn’t have taken ownership.”
“You know better than me. That I didn’t choose this job.” Scrap flick it around the dragon gaze. “I don’t need another reason to make people think I’m Pariah.” He tossed the book away. Sidor held out his hand and it reappeared.
“I so hate that bad habit.”
“Feelings are mutual.” He said and took a seat on the other log. The snow kept coming down. Scrap huddled under his blanket, but Sidor doesn’t seem to be affected. It wasn’t getting any better. His arm kept stiffening up. He ducked into the covers hoping it will help. “So… You’re here now. Means I must have messed up pretty bad.”
“Authors are prone to mess things on their own.” He waved his hand, the flames flickered and swirled, forming a clock. “Authors must learn not to rely on the reset. Sooner or later you’ll come to a time where the reset won’t fix everything. And live with the consequences of your entry.” The clock struck midnight and vanished back into the fire.
Scrap gasped, felt a wave of relief rushed over his body. The pain in his arm was gone as if they weren’t even there. The tears in his clothes returned. He was a brand-new person. “Thank god, it's over. I lived another day.” The storm was still going. The snow was thickening, all around things were becoming white. “Why hasn’t this one left?”
“New Entry…Mutt. Hope your town enjoys the sheer cold”

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Scrap and Sidor belongs to me  Scrapbook
Art was done by  BeezlebumAwoken