Autumn tale in Dublin III

-¿Y el cepillo de dientes?

-En la ventana. ¿A qué hora es la entrevista?

-Dentro de una hora.

-Quiero dormir. Para no pensar.

-Es hora de marchar. No hay nada que pensar. Hay que hacer.

-No hay nada que hacer.

Ésos no somos nosotros, narrador. ¿Por qué crees que la historia sigue así? No tienes ni idea, vives en tu mundo de letras invisibles.

Es mi historia y vosotros mis personajes.

Es nuestra historia y tú no eres nuestro narrador. Pretendes ser un escritor. Pretendes pensar por los demás. ¿Qué eres tú? Nosotros somos personajes. Pero tú ni siquiera. Me cojo el cepillo y me voy. He de empezar a trabajar. Para convertirme en otro personaje.

Del mismo autor.

Tal vez.

-My toothbrush?

-By the window. What time is your interview?

-In an hour.

-I want to sleep. I don't want to think.

-Time to leave. Nothing to think about. Just do it.

-Nothing to be done.

Not those chaps, narrator, we are not. Why do you think the story goes on like that? You have no idea, while living in your invisible words' world.

It's my story and you are my chararacters.

It's our story and you are not our narrator. You are trying to be a writer, to get into others' minds and think inside. What are you? We are characters. But you aren't at all. Off I dash, ah, my toohbrush is coming with me. I must start to work. To become another character.

By the same author.

Maybe.