Is this a question? Mr. Andrew Wilander is my very least favorite to write. Why? Because he will elude me. He will hide in the tiny corners of my mind, amongst all the dusty plots and old stories, and refuse to see the light of day. He'd rather sit back there and I read, I assume.
Because I'd hate to think it all stemmed from a deeply rooted dislike of me.
Though that's probably true. He and I would get along awfully, were we ever to meet outside my crazy mind. We'd end up, after conversing just a short time, each angry at the other--though the both of us would never stoop to arguing. I would unknowingly wound his pride, he would shoot a dart through my sensitivity, and we'd part, shaking both with indignation of very different kinds, quiet content never to see the other again.
... Little wonder I find it so hard to write him. STILL, I'll have to find a way to break through his bitterness, because he is an integral part of Lara's Story and he cannot stay hidden forever. Do you hear this, Mr. Wilander? Are you heading my words? You cannot pretend you are so immersed in that book you are rendered deaf. I know what you are reading back there in that dusty corner. I know because I wrote it. When I was thirteen. And it is not all that interesting and very badly written. But you're not really reading it all, are you? You're just ignoring me. Alright. Have it your way. I have better things to do. Cheerio, old boy. You cannot elude me forever.
By the way, I am not really insane. I may or may not have these conversations with my imaginary friends on a daily basis, but that hardly constitutes insanity. Right? Of course right. Now I must head off; I've some business with the window seat to attend.