I gasped for air.
“And I really think we should throw out a snippet of the material used from chapter 3. It feels a bit bloated Jake, what about you?” Sarah asked. The unexpected turn of events made me jolt in my seat, almost losing my balance. As I looked around, I realized I was in a different location, and the brightness of it immediately caught my attention. “Excuse me, Jake, were you paying attention? This could expand the target audience of the book, even if by a modest number, as any slight improvement can contribute to generating more momentum upon its release... Jake, are you paying attention?”
Now, being from the book, this scene took place at Starbucks a couple of streets from my place. It was about a month and a half before the launch of my novel. This was surreal. Before the book had launched, my agent had scheduled a meeting to increase sales for the book, trying to squeeze enough readers before it was out. “Yeah…sorry, I…Um…haven’t been sleeping much lately. I am just distracted.” I muttered, “Well, it makes sense. Your book is only weeks away and if we can rope in just a few more readers, it’s possible that this book will explode in popularity.” I chuckled a little. Sarah didn’t know the half of it.
It has been three years working on this project with my agent, Sarah. In her forties, Sarah proved to be the best agent I could have hoped for, her unwavering passion for books outshining even my own. Sarah worked tirelessly finding me trustworthy publishers, going through every option with meticulous care. Never got scammed and was always like that soccer mom watching for her child. It made sense I was 23, so about five years older than her eldest kid. With her professional attitude, she sported shoulder-length blonde hair and applied a subtle 20% of makeup. She always dressed in a manner that was professional, yet comfortable for our meetings.
 When it came down to business, she was a completely different woman. It’s like the numbers ran through her head. Of course, with the twenty years of experience under her belt, Sarah could pinpoint a good deal from a mile away. Also providing any little feedback on each publishing company we went through, she had a strong relationship with most of these companies. Sarah entered each building, with her 5 foot tall frame disappearing into the entrance, only to emerge as a towering figure 6 feet taller.
“Sarah, doesn’t this feel like déjà vu? I swear we’ve had this conversation before.” I asked. Puzzled, Sarah glanced at me with a mix of bewilderment and concern. I understood her reaction; the increasingly bizarre circumstances were taking a toll on me as well.
“No Jake, it’s been about four weeks since we’ve last seen each other, but don’t worry the launch of a new book stresses out every new author, we’ve just got to push through these last few weeks and then it’s vacation time.”
“Alright then, I’ll play along. I’m guessing for my first book it’s expected to be nervous.” I nervously chuckled. But Sarah just looked at me, confused, as if she didn’t grasp the nature of the joke. “Jake, maybe you should get some rest. This second book might’ve taken a bigger toll on you.” Wait.. did she say a second book? What did she mean by that? The draft for the second novel was still years away from being completed. It wasn’t even enough to call it a first draft. I hesitated for a moment before admitting, “Um, I haven’t written,” I squeamishly said, my mind devoid of any further ideas. It’s frustrating that none of the words I write seem to stay on the paper. As the young waitress refilled our glasses, Sarah pulled out a thick novel with a blurry cover and a scratched up title. Shock washed over me, mixed with confusion, as I reached for the novel and flipped through the pages. Pages sprayed haphazardly with a jumble of nonsensical words, creating a confusing sight. My eye’s gawking back at Sarah to explain what this was, as she took a sip of her water, but still had this puzzled look as if I was the one not making sense. “Um.. Sarah, have you read any of this?” I questioned. She chuckled, “Of course, just because I’m an agent doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy a good thriller.” She finished before taking another sip of water. “This might be your best work so far. Well then, again, that first novel was like lightning in a bottle.” Her grin got even wider.
Bringing my gaze back to the page, was met with a jumble of text that I couldn’t make sense of. “You know what can you um… can you read out your favorite chapter for me?” I Pleaded. “Are you sure you're okay, jake? You're acting weird today? How much have you been cooped up in your house?, you really should take some time too…” Before finishing I abruptly said, “Yes.. yes I’m fine but please I just want to hear your opinion on it. At least before we talk about the marketing for it.” Next, I placed the book near her glass. A puzzled look turned into excitement, flipping over to the middle of the book.
As she clears her throat, the sound reverberates through the air, signaling the start of her narration. “The man takes a moment to straighten his fancy suit, wanting to present himself in the best possible light. A book I had not written or had not remembered reading. As the lights dimmed, the audience covered with fancy attire settled into their plush seats, ready for the show to begin. Anxious thoughts consumed my mind, making me fidget in my seat. Even if I couldn’t read a word back at the cafe, now that I’m in front of thousands, I must come up with something. I couldn’t lie my way as I did at the high school.” She finished. “Wait.. wait, wait.” I muttered …no was this a part of the story or was it something that would soon happen? “What…am I narrating it wrong? I will be honest. I don’t do as much justice as your writing does, but wow, you are literally blowing my mind with this one, Jake.” She finished and then sat the book down and widened her eyes. “I mean, this might surpass your first book. It appears we have a prodigy in our midst,” she remarked, astounded.
“Come on, Sarah...please,” I pleaded, my voice now filled with desperation. “Jake, you’re being too humble,” Sarah insisted, her voice brimming with admiration. As she attempted to return the book to me, a mysterious goo dripped from its pages, causing me to react and collide with the man standing behind me. “Shit Sorry about that Sir”. I nervously said. With a bewildered expression, the man stood silently, his lips sealed, lost in his thoughts. “Your…Jake…the writer Jake.” He questioned. “Uh yeah, that’s me.” I replied. “Wait, did someone say Jake Anderson was here” A lady pleaded from the next table, with her husband now recording me with his iPhone. Twenty more eager fans popped up. “What are your thoughts on your next book? How did you write it so fast? Will this become a trilogy?”. They questioned. More people lined up surrounding me. “Umm, uh I don’t know,” was all that came out. As the crowd grew larger, I glanced back at Sarah, who engrossed herself in flipping through the book, smearing ink on her arms with each turn of the page. Her face lit up with joy and amazement, completely oblivious to my presence.
Sweat started pouring down my face as I attempted to hide from view, but my efforts were in vain. The swarm of fans had already encircled me. The air was getting thicker with the heat. Sweat was blocking my vision, but what I could tell it was also effecting the crowd too. But no one seemed to notice. Turning back to the table, the sight of our glass cups steaming frightened me.
“Isn’t anyone else alarmed by the sudden spike in heat?” I questioned, looking around. They were relentless, like a hungry pack of wolves on the hunt, completely unfazed by anything I said and unaffected by the scorching heat. Piles of people swarming around each other, increasing. The ink from the book was spreading across my agent’s arm, creating a disturbing sight. Talking to these people was useless. My voice drowned out by hundreds of hungry customers. Melting wasn’t an overstatement. The air was getting heavier and my vision was out of focus. Any second I would pass out and these people would have mauled my corpse. It seems they were suffering more than me without realizing it. Their movements were slow, clothes drenched, and some passed out. Trying to voice reason into these people was hopeless.
“Please everyone, enough,” I pleaded repeatedly, but my words fell on unresponsive ears.
 “Listen up, everyone. I didn’t write the second book. Writing has become impossible for me. The first book was a fluke, and I’m ashamed of it. Please, let’s just move on and forget about the second book. Maybe someone else wrote it, because it certainly wasn’t me.”
We both pause for a minute. Maybe it worked. They stood still for a minute or two, thinking, and then just laughed it off. This was a joke to them.
With a snarky tone, the man scoffed, “Come on, who are you fooling?”. “Yeah, the imagery sounds exactly like the first book, even the metaphors,” a mother observed, her skepticism. I can’t get over how incredible the cover artwork is. How did you even create something so unique and otherworldly? The older man posed a question. From horror to frustration, my gears changed. “You people are mental. I did not touch this book. I had no hand in making this. This is not my book. I don't know where it came from.”
Again they paused and looked at each other then continued laughing. They were still praising each little detail of the book, the cover, the words, the grammar, even the placement of the periods. It was ridiculous. They were so infatuated with the book that they disregarded anything I said about it, even the smallest details like the number of pages it had. These people were too far gone. They would praise anything that came from me. These memories were all wrong.
Now, as the heat intensified, I started getting dizzy, and I noticed that objects on the tables were melting. The scorching heat made the kids’ shoes melt, clinging towards the ground, a sign of the unnatural temperature. Finding shelter indoors was a necessity, but easier said than done. The crowd of people blocked my way to the entrance. They all now had copies of the book in their hand and we're all asking for autographs. Feeling trapped, I yearned for an exit. My attempts to maneuver through the crowd by squeezing through small gaps proved futile. Growing increasingly desperate, my actions became more aggressive. Pushing my way through the crowd was a challenging task, as their combined strength proved formidable. The sheer number of people felt overwhelming, like an unstoppable tide crashing against me. Both head and vision were fading fast, I couldn’t tell if more people were gathering or if my vision was doubling the amount but it didn’t matter the door was closer now, if I didn’t reach it within a few minutes the heat would consume me. The door was only a few steps away, but the oppressive heat made it feel like a never-ending journey.
The empty praises reverberated in my mind, amplifying the throbbing pain of a growing migraine. Every writer craves genuine praise for their work, but this empty praise feels like a haunting nightmare.
Crowd to people talking 
Their voices grew increasingly muffled, making it difficult to discern their words, but it hardly mattered. I was getting closer, and the crowd jostled me from side to side until I finally tumbled and collided with the ground. Waves of open books and pens were being stretched towards me. I crawled to the cafe entrance. As the crowd erupted in loud cheers and applause, I felt hands grabbing at my shirt, eager to drag me along. No matter how heavy I felt, the door was still within my reach.
Distorted crowd’s voices
Was this the actual weight of expectation that I felt about my book? Doesn’t matter, just a little closer now.
Distorted laughter
An opening finally, a bolt of adrenaline hit as I pushed the asphalt away from my chest and flung my body through the door. My eye’s closed, praying this chance would help me escape.
A large thud
I hit the ground hard…but it was quiet and the air was about room temperature. I opened my eyes and was in complete darkness.