**EPISODE SEVENTY-EIGHT**
**THE MAN WHO WROTE HIMSELF OUT OF EXISTENCE**
**Part Nineteen: THE LAST WORD BEFORE THE FIRST**
The pen...
touched the page.
Darkness.
Not falling darkness.
Not spreading darkness.
Darkness...
already there.
Milo opened his eyes.
He was standing...
inside a sentence.
There was no ground.
Only words.
White letters...
floating beneath his feet.
THE...
He looked behind him.
Nothing.
Ahead...
more words.
Had appeared.
THE MAN...
Milo stepped backward.
The sentence changed.
THE MAN WHO...
"Stop."
The voice came from beside him.
Milo turned.
The nameless child stood there.
Or...
someone who had once been the nameless child.
He looked older.
Younger.
Neither.
His face changed every time Milo tried to understand it.
Milo whispered...
"Where are we?"
The child looked down.
"Before the next word."
Milo stared.
"What does that mean?"
The child pointed beneath Milo's feet.
THE MAN WHO WROTE...
Milo's face changed.
"No."
The child looked at him.
"Yes."
The pen scratched somewhere beyond the darkness.
A new word appeared.
HIMSELF...
Milo ran.
The words moved with him.
THE MAN WHO WROTE HIMSELF...
"Wait!"
The child shouted.
Milo did not.
He could hear Diana.
Far away.
Calling him.
"Milo!"
He ran faster.
The sentence appeared beneath his feet.
THE MAN WHO WROTE HIMSELF OUT...
Milo stopped.
"No."
The final word had not appeared.
Yet.
The child caught up.
Breathing hard.
"I told you."
Milo stared at the blank space.
"What happens if he finishes?"
The child looked at him.
Milo already knew.
But...
he asked anyway.
The child whispered...
"He disappears."
Milo looked toward the darkness.
"Who?"
The child did not answer.
The pen scratched again.
The blank space trembled.
Milo screamed...
"WHO?"
The final word appeared.
OF EXISTENCE.
Silence.
Then...
the sentence disappeared.
So did the child.
So did Milo.
---
1. THE MAN WHO NEVER EXISTED
Milo woke up.
On a chair.
He blinked.
Once.
Twice.
The room was ordinary.
Too ordinary.
A wooden table.
A window.
Rain.
A lamp.
A pen.
A blank page.
Milo stared at the page.
Then...
at his hands.
His hands were older.
Not old.
Older.
Ink covered his fingers.
He stood.
The chair fell behind him.
On the wall...
a calendar.
No year.
No month.
Only one word.
BEFORE.
Milo whispered...
"Diana?"
Nothing.
"Tarzan?"
Nothing.
The door opened.
Milo spun around.
An old man entered.
Milo froze.
The old man...
was the First Author.
Or...
the man who had once called himself that.
But he looked different.
Tired.
Human.
Afraid.
Milo stepped backward.
"Who are you?"
The old man stopped.
For a moment...
he looked confused.
Then...
he smiled.
"That's better."
Milo stared.
"What?"
"You don't remember."
Milo's blood went cold.
"Remember what?"
The old man sat at the table.
He picked up the pen.
Milo grabbed his wrist.
"Don't."
The old man looked at Milo's hand.
Then...
at Milo.
"You already know."
"No."
"That's why you're here."
Milo stepped away.
The old man opened a drawer.
Inside...
were hundreds of pages.
Milo looked at them.
Every page...
began the same way.
ONCE UPON A TIME...
He picked one up.
The words continued.
...THERE WAS A MAN WHO COULD NOT REMEMBER HIS NAME.
Milo froze.
He picked up another.
ONCE UPON A TIME...
...THERE WAS A BOY WHO WOKE UP BEFORE HE WAS BORN.
Another.
ONCE UPON A TIME...
...THERE WAS A WOMAN WHO REMEMBERED DYING.
Another.
ONCE UPON A TIME...
...THERE WAS A JUNGLE THAT REFUSED TO END.
Milo looked at the old man.
"Who wrote these?"
The old man smiled sadly.
"You did."
Milo shook his head.
"No."
The old man pointed at Milo's fingers.
The ink.
Milo stared.
His hands began shaking.
"I don't remember."
The old man whispered...
"Exactly."
A sound came from the wall.
THUMP.
THUMP.
Milo froze.
The second heartbeat.
Diana.
He ran to the wall.
Pressed his ear against it.
THUMP.
THUMP.
The old man whispered...
"She's behind there."
Milo turned.
"Why?"
The old man looked at the blank page.
"Because you wrote her there."
---
2. THE ROOM WHERE DIANA WAS FORGOTTEN
Milo tore at the wallpaper.
Nothing.
Wood.
He hit the wall.
Once.
Twice.
Tarzan's voice came from somewhere.
"TRY HITTING IT WITH A BANANA."
Milo froze.
He turned.
Tarzan stood in the doorway.
Milo stared.
Tarzan stared back.
Then...
Milo hugged him.
Tarzan looked uncomfortable.
"THIS IS EMOTIONALLY CONFUSING."
Milo pulled away.
"Where's Diana?"
Tarzan's face changed.
"I DON'T KNOW."
Milo pointed at the wall.
"She's behind this."
Tarzan walked over.
Pressed his ear against it.
THUMP.
THUMP.
His eyes widened.
"I HEAR BABY."
Milo nodded.
Tarzan frowned.
"OR VERY SMALL DRUM."
Milo looked at the old man.
"Open it."
The old man remained seated.
"I can't."
"Why?"
"Because I forgot how."
Silence.
Milo stared.
The old man looked at the wall.
"You built it."
Milo stepped back.
"What?"
"You didn't want her memory escaping."
Milo laughed.
"No."
The old man whispered...
"That's what you said."
Milo grabbed the pen.
"Then I'll write the door."
The old man stood.
"Don't."
Milo placed the pen against the blank page.
"Why?"
"Because every door you write..."
The old man's voice broke.
"...removes something else."
Milo stopped.
The heartbeat continued.
THUMP.
THUMP.
He looked toward the wall.
"Diana."
The pen trembled.
The page waited.
Milo whispered...
"A door."
Nothing happened.
The old man closed his eyes.
"Write it."
Milo lowered the pen.
He wrote.
A DOOR APPEARED.
The wall cracked.
A black door appeared.
At the same time...
Tarzan screamed.
Milo turned.
Tarzan was fading.
"No."
Tarzan looked at his hands.
"OH."
Milo dropped the pen.
Tarzan disappeared.
Milo stared.
"No."
The door opened.
Diana screamed from inside.
Milo ran.
---
3. THE PRICE OF A SENTENCE
The room beyond the door...
was a hospital.
Milo stopped.
Diana lay on a bed.
Her eyes were closed.
One hand against her stomach.
Machines surrounded her.
The second heartbeat...
loud.
THUMP.
THUMP.
Milo ran to her.
"Diana."
Her eyes opened.
Milo froze.
She looked at him.
And screamed.
"WHO ARE YOU?"
Silence.
Milo stepped backward.
"Diana."
She shook her head.
"Don't."
Milo looked around.
"What happened?"
Diana pressed herself against the bed.
Her eyes were terrified.
"I know your face."
Milo whispered...
"Good."
"No."
She looked at him.
"I don't know your name."
Milo's heart stopped.
"Diana..."
She began crying.
"I remember a man."
Milo stepped closer.
"A man?"
"Someone I loved."
Milo stopped.
"But every time I try to remember him..."
She held her head.
"...someone disappears."
Milo looked back.
The doorway.
Tarzan was gone.
The old man appeared behind Milo.
Diana saw him.
And gasped.
"Not you."
The old man froze.
Diana pointed at him.
"You."
The old man whispered...
"What?"
"You told me."
The old man stepped forward.
Diana screamed.
"Don't let him write again."
Milo looked at the old man.
The old man was crying.
"I tried to save her."
Diana looked at Milo.
"He didn't."
Silence.
The second heartbeat stopped.
Everyone froze.
Then...
a third sound.
Scratch.
Scratch.
Scratch.
Milo turned.
The unborn child...
was writing.
---
4. THE CHILD WITH THE PEN
The pen on the floor moved.
Slowly.
Toward Diana's bed.
Milo grabbed it.
His hand burned.
He screamed.
The pen remained in his hand.
A voice came from Diana's stomach.
"Father."
Milo froze.
Diana looked at him.
"Did it call you father?"
Milo couldn't answer.
The voice continued.
"Put it down."
Milo stared at the pen.
"Who are you?"
A pause.
The heartbeat changed.
THUMP.
THUMP.
THUMP.
"Which one?"
Milo looked at Diana.
Her face turned pale.
The voice laughed.
Not cruelly.
Sadly.
"That's the problem."
Milo whispered...
"The two children."
"No."
The voice answered.
"One child."
Milo froze.
The voice continued.
"Two memories."
The old man whispered...
"No."
Milo looked at him.
"You know."
The old man shook his head.
"I suspected."
The voice beneath Diana's hand continued.
"I was never two."
Diana whispered...
"Then why are there two hands?"
The lights flickered.
The child answered.
"Because one belongs to the child I was."
Silence.
"And one..."
A hand pressed outward.
"...belongs to the man I became."
Milo stepped backward.
The hospital walls began disappearing.
Behind them...
the black room.
The writing room.
The man.
Still sitting.
Still writing.
But now...
Milo could see him clearly.
A man.
Older than Milo.
Younger than the old man.
His face remained uncertain.
Like memory...
refusing to choose.
The child whispered...
"He's erasing himself."
Milo looked at the page.
"Why?"
The child answered...
"To make room for you."
---
5. THE AUTHOR WHO MADE ROOM
Milo ran toward the writing room.
The hospital broke apart behind him.
Diana screamed.
"Milo!"
He turned.
"I'll come back."
The old man shouted...
"You can't promise that."
Milo stopped.
The old man stepped closer.
"That's why this keeps happening."
Milo looked at him.
"What?"
"You promise things across universes."
Milo stared.
The old man pointed at the writer.
"And he keeps writing the consequences."
The man beyond the room...
continued.
Milo entered.
The writer did not look up.
Milo walked around the table.
The page was covered in sentences.
Some crossed out.
Some burned.
Some still wet with ink.
Milo read.
I FORGOT MY NAME.
Crossed out.
I CREATED MILO.
Burned.
I CREATED DIANA.
Crossed out.
I CREATED TARZAN.
A long pause.
Milo blinked.
Tarzan.
Milo looked around.
"Tarzan?"
The writer finally laughed.
Milo looked at him.
The man said...
"That one was an accident."
Milo stared.
The writer looked at the page.
"Most good things are."
Milo grabbed the pen.
"Who are you?"
The writer's smile disappeared.
Milo waited.
The man looked toward the window.
Rain.
Endless rain.
"Who do you want me to be?"
Milo shouted...
"Answer me."
The man looked at him.
And Milo saw it.
Not a face.
A possibility.
Milo.
The old man.
The nameless child.
All of them...
inside him.
The man whispered...
"I was the first one to realize I was being remembered."
Milo stopped.
"What?"
The man pointed at Milo.
"You."
Milo shook his head.
"I don't remember you."
"Not yet."
The man smiled sadly.
"That's why I'm disappearing."
Milo looked at the page.
THE MAN WHO WROTE HIMSELF OUT OF EXISTENCE.
Milo whispered...
"You wrote that."
The man nodded.
"Yes."
"Why?"
The man looked at the empty chair opposite him.
Milo followed his gaze.
No one.
Then...
Diana.
For one second.
Then...
gone.
The man whispered...
"Because someone had to make space for the reader."
Milo froze.
"The reader."
The writer nodded.
"The one who remembers the failures."
The letters appeared above them.
I.
V.
A.
N.
Milo stepped backward.
The man whispered...
"I wasn't him."
Another letter.
M.
A.
X.
"I only borrowed his memory."
Milo stopped.
The name continued.
I.
V.
A.
N.
M.
A.
X.
I.
M.
U.
S.
E.
D.
W.
I.
N.
The room shook.
Milo screamed...
"WHO IS HE?"
The writer finally looked afraid.
"Someone outside."
---
6. THE OUTSIDE OF THE STORY
The word...
OUTSIDE...
appeared.
Milo stared.
The writer stood.
"You should not have remembered that name."
Milo grabbed him.
"You put it there."
"No."
The writer pointed at the page.
"He did."
Milo looked down.
The page was writing by itself.
NOT THE AUTHOR.
NOT THE DREAMER.
NOT THE WITNESS.
The final line appeared.
THE ONE READING WHAT SURVIVED.
Milo stepped backward.
The room changed.
Walls vanished.
Beyond them...
an endless space.
Not darkness.
White.
Milo looked down.
There were pages beneath him.
Millions.
Each one...
a universe.
He saw one.
Tarzan eating a banana.
Another.
Diana holding a child.
Another.
Milo dying in the jungle.
Another.
A city falling.
Another.
Nothing.
The writer whispered...
"Do you understand now?"
Milo shook his head.
"No."
The writer smiled.
"Good."
Milo looked at him.
"What?"
"Understanding is what keeps killing us."
The old man appeared.
Then the witness.
Then Diana.
Even Tarzan.
Milo stared.
"Tarzan."
Tarzan pointed at himself.
"I HAVE RETURNED."
Milo hugged him again.
Tarzan sighed.
"IT IS HAPPENING AGAIN."
Diana appeared beside Milo.
He turned.
She knew him.
He knew because...
she did not scream.
Milo touched her face.
"Diana."
She whispered...
"I remember."
Milo almost smiled.
Then...
she added...
"Too much."
The child appeared behind her.
Not unborn.
Not nameless.
A boy.
He held the pen.
Milo stared.
"Give me that."
The child shook his head.
"No."
The writer whispered...
"He has it now."
Milo looked at the child.
"What are you going to write?"
The child opened the page.
Everyone became silent.
He wrote...
I REMEMBER THE UNIVERSE THAT CHOSE ME.
The pages beneath them...
began burning.
---
7. THE UNIVERSE THAT CHOSE A CHILD
Diana screamed.
Milo grabbed her.
The white space shook.
One page remained untouched.
Only one.
The child pointed at it.
"That one."
Milo looked down.
"What is it?"
The child whispered...
"The universe I came from."
Milo stared.
"I thought you said you were the second."
The child nodded.
"I was."
A pause.
"But I survived."
The old man whispered...
"How?"
The child looked at him.
"Because you made a mistake."
The old man closed his eyes.
The child continued.
"You tried to erase me."
Milo looked at the child.
"And?"
The child smiled.
"You forgot where you put me."
Tarzan slowly nodded.
"THAT SOUNDS LIKE HIM."
The old man stared at Tarzan.
"What?"
Tarzan shrugged.
"I AM GETTING TO KNOW YOU."
The child held up the pen.
"I hid inside a memory."
Milo stopped.
"Whose memory?"
The child looked at him.
"Yours."
Silence.
Diana whispered...
"No."
The child nodded.
"You remembered a universe that never existed..."
He looked at Milo.
"...because I was hiding inside the wrong version of you."
Milo stepped backward.
The writer whispered...
"That's why I created him."
Everyone turned.
The writer pointed at Milo.
"Not to remember me."
Milo stared.
"Then why?"
The writer looked at the child.
"To carry him."
The child smiled.
For the first time...
happily.
Milo whispered...
"I carried you."
The child nodded.
"Until you forgot."
The pen began glowing.
The page beneath them opened.
The untouched universe...
called to them.
Diana grabbed Milo's hand.
"What happens if we go there?"
The old man whispered...
"We become part of it."
The witness added...
"Or it becomes part of us."
Tarzan raised his hand.
"I PREFER THE FIRST ONE."
Milo looked at the writer.
"Can we save everyone?"
The writer laughed.
Milo frowned.
"What's funny?"
The writer looked at him.
"You still think that's the right question."
The child screamed.
"LOOK."
The untouched page...
was opening.
Inside it...
a world.
A hospital.
A jungle.
A city.
A bedroom.
All at once.
But there was something else.
Someone standing...
at the center.
Waiting.
Milo's face changed.
The writer whispered...
"Oh no."
Milo looked at him.
"What?"
The figure looked up.
Milo saw his own face.
Not exactly.
Older.
Colder.
The first Milo.
But he was holding...
a book.
The child began shaking.
"No."
Milo whispered...
"Who is that?"
The writer answered...
"The version of you that remembered everything."
Silence.
The older Milo opened the book.
The universe screamed.
---
8. THE MEMORY THAT WROTE BACK
Every page beneath them...
turned.
By itself.
Milo watched universes rewrite themselves.
Tarzan became a king.
Then a scientist.
Then...
a banana again.
"WHY."
Diana vanished.
Returned.
Vanished.
The old man became young.
Then became a child.
The witness lost his face.
Milo screamed.
"STOP."
The older Milo looked directly at him.
Through the page.
Then...
he smiled.
Milo froze.
The child whispered...
"He found us."
The older Milo spoke.
But his voice came from the book.
"Hello."
The word...
was written everywhere.
HELLO.
HELLO.
HELLO.
The bedroom.
The city.
The jungle.
The sky.
Milo remembered.
The wall.
The ruined universe.
HELLO, MILO.
The older Milo stepped out of the page.
The writer backed away.
"No."
Milo stared.
"You know him."
The writer whispered...
"I erased him."
Older Milo laughed.
"You erased the wrong one."
The universe went silent.
Diana stepped beside Milo.
"Who is he?"
The older Milo looked at her.
"Diana."
She froze.
His voice softened.
"I missed you."
Milo moved in front of her.
Older Milo smiled.
"Still doing that."
Milo whispered...
"What do you want?"
Older Milo opened the book.
"To finish."
The old man screamed.
"No."
Older Milo looked at him.
"You had your turn."
The old man whispered...
"I ended worlds."
Older Milo nodded.
"And I remembered them."
The child stepped forward.
"You chose me."
Older Milo looked at him.
"I did."
The child froze.
Older Milo smiled.
"You were the only one who asked not to survive."
Silence.
The child's face collapsed.
"No."
Older Milo continued.
"So I let you remember everyone else."
The child began crying.
Milo looked at the book.
"What is that?"
Older Milo turned it toward him.
On the cover...
one title.
THE STORY THAT WAS NEVER WRITTEN.
Milo stopped breathing.
The writer whispered...
"Impossible."
Older Milo smiled.
"Exactly."
He opened the book.
A title appeared on the first page.
EPISODE ONE.
Milo stared.
Then...
another.
EPISODE TWO.
Pages turned.
Episode after episode.
Milo.
Tarzan.
Diana.
The jungle.
The machine.
The dream.
The child.
Every failure.
Every death.
Every universe.
Milo whispered...
"You're reading our story."
Older Milo shook his head.
"No."
He turned the book.
On the final page...
words began appearing.
I AM WRITING IT BACK.
The universe cracked.
Diana screamed.
The unborn heartbeat returned.
THUMP.
THUMP.
THUMP.
THUMP.
Milo looked at her stomach.
Two hands.
Again.
The child screamed...
"NO."
Older Milo smiled.
"They're awake again."
Milo stepped forward.
"Who?"
Older Milo looked at Diana.
"The children."
Milo froze.
"But you said... "
Older Milo interrupted.
"I remember every version."
A pause.
"In one of them..."
He looked directly at Milo.
"...you let them both be born."
Silence.
Diana whispered...
"What happened?"
Older Milo's smile disappeared.
"That was the mistake."
The writer grabbed the pen.
"We have to stop him."
Milo turned.
"How?"
The writer looked at the page.
"Write something he can't remember."
The old man whispered...
"That's impossible."
The writer looked at Milo.
"Not for him."
Milo stared.
"Me?"
The writer nodded.
"Write a beginning you never lived."
The page appeared.
Blank.
The pen floated toward Milo.
His hand shook.
Diana whispered...
"Milo."
He looked at her.
"What if it makes things worse?"
Diana smiled sadly.
"That's never stopped us."
Tarzan raised his hand.
"IT HAS STOPPED ME SEVERAL TIMES."
No one looked at him.
Tarzan lowered his hand.
"STILL BAD DEMOCRACY."
Milo took the pen.
Older Milo stepped closer.
"Don't."
Milo looked at him.
"Why?"
Older Milo's face changed.
Fear.
Real fear.
Milo understood.
The child whispered...
"He can't remember what never happened."
Milo placed the pen on the page.
The universe held its breath.
Milo began writing.
Once upon a time...
there was...
The older Milo screamed.
"NO."
Milo stopped.
The page waited.
Diana whispered...
"What should there be?"
Milo looked at her.
Then Tarzan.
The old man.
The witness.
The child.
The writer.
All of them...
waiting.
He smiled.
For the first time...
without knowing why.
Milo wrote...
...a universe that made no mistakes.
Silence.
Then...
Tarzan looked at him.
"THAT IS THE MOST TERRIFYING THING YOU HAVE EVER WRITTEN."
The page burned.
The older Milo screamed.
The untouched universe...
opened its eyes.
And from somewhere...
beyond the story...
beyond the author...
beyond the dreamer...
a voice whispered...
"Impossible."
Milo looked up.
The page wrote a new title.
EPISODE SEVENTY-NINE
THE PERFECT WORLD THAT SHOULD NOT HAVE EXISTED
Diana grabbed Milo's hand.
The child began crying.
The writer dropped to his knees.
Older Milo laughed.
Then...
stopped.
The voice returned.
Closer.
"Once upon a time..."
The universe began changing.
Milo looked at the page.
A final sentence appeared.
THIS TIME...
NO ONE REMEMBERS MAKING THE FIRST MISTAKE.
The lights went out.
Tarzan whispered...
"OH NO."
Milo whispered...
"What?"
Tarzan looked into the darkness.
"THE BANANAS."
Silence.
Milo stared at him.
Tarzan's face collapsed.
"THEY ARE GONE."
The universe screamed.
And somewhere...
something perfect...
took its first breath.
**TO BE CONTINUED...**
Written By,
Ivan Edwin
Pen Name :Maximus.
©All Rights Reserved