You’re hearing a voice, but no one else hears a sound. It’s a deep distant whisper, soft, safe, and inviting: the words of which you can’t yet make out. The harder you listen, the softer it gets; softer and softer, deeper and deeper. The more you listen to it here, the further away it brings you. You want to stop listening, and you try, but you can’t.

You don’t want to leave, but you realize you are looking at the door. There is an emergency exit sign above the door, and when you look directly at it the letters begin to move. Twitching at first, then bending and stretching. Back and forth, up and down. Until finally breaking apart and forming new words.

You read the sign again, for the first time, “Abe, the Teenage Hypnotist from Planet Garfunkel.” The clink of the door latch grabs your attention; as the long metal handle clangs against the door you realize you’re walking through it.

You should be outside, and you might be, but when you look around you just see white light. The walls, ceiling, and even the floor you are standing on are just light. You want to panic, but that indistinguishable whisper keeps you safe. You look ahead again and see a figure for the first time.

Pink and purple at first, but it’s bright and you need to blink a few times. As it’s coming into focus, you can hear the voice getting clearer and clearer. Your eyes sharpen, and you see a blond teenage girl wearing a pink hoodie with embroidered puppies and purple yoga pants. Her mouth moves only when she smiles, but you hear her speaking, anyway.

“Hey. I’m Annabelle. I’m not actually from the Planet Garfunkel; pretty sure that planet doesn’t even exist. My friends call me ‘Abe’, but those are just my initials, and, well, they also affectionately refer to me as an alien (hence Planet Garfunkel) …but that just because a lot of weird stuff happens around me and most times they can’t remember much.

"For instance, we’ve already had this conversation, but I decided you needed to forget so we could have this conversation again. Mainly because I wanted to do it a little differently. This time I’m not gonna tell you about me: I am going to tell you about what makes me, me. Or, more specifically, who.

"The writer. We’ve all got one; I think even the writer probably has a writer. Someone who created the world around them and also decides what it is I am going to decide to make you choose to do. Wow, these decision of yours, are really out of your control, and run pretty deep, eh?

"My particular writer is simple, and I love that. He tries to make the world a better place every day, which is good because my philosophy is typically 'fuck it up and make them forget'.

"Which is what I am going to have you do… right… now.”