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Author's Notes & Things:

Did I make an account just to start posting stories on here? Yes, I think I did.

Did I choose a meme character with absolutely no story to focus a story around, just because I found out a few suggested possible themes that could be explored with him?

Yes. I rather think I did that too.

Here's this silly thing. Good Guy, by Toa Sozonis. Enjoy.


I'm a good guy, or so they say.

They bring me out on stage and I see the ones who look like me, but they're complete where I am not, and they point to me and still wish to become like me.

I'm missing my hands and I have no face, where they have all of those things and more. I've never known what it's like to throw a kanoka disk or play kohli, and I might never know those things, and yet they choose me to represent them — and all they could be, and all they might want to be.


I am a warrior in a shadow play of ancient history. I am their symbol of the way they fight against the shadows and their own darkness, and the darkness they believe might haunt the universe.

What am I to know of such things? My life has been spent in the closets and luggage of their stageshow productions, a nothing beyond nothing; although they use me to portray tales of the lands far away, I have never been to those lands and will never be to those lands.

Why am I the one they trust?

Why am I the one who portrays their good guy?

What if I'm the one they shouldn't believe in at all?


I have no flesh, so I cannot be corrupted. I cannot be real, I cannot feel.

I'm not like them. Where they have organic material in between the shifting mechanical parts, I am entirely mechanical, and yet entirely manual. I have gears, but no engines; wires, but no strings. I am all they could be, and all they might want to, but I cannot move and I cannot speak.

Would I if I could? What would I say?

If your life is a stageshow and your body not real, why bother to say anything at all, even if you knew your voice would work in order to say it?


They don't play their stageshows as much anymore. The city has been crumbling, or so they say, and the Vahki are gone and now all the world is their stage — a stage for their drama, a stage for their lives, their futures, their destinies, and what of their good guy?

I am in the closet of the stage where they left me, and I am silent, and I cannot move.

I have no strings, but I am their good guy.

I have no hands, and I cannot knock.

I'm a good guy, or so they say.

And now, with the ones who choose me gone, I have been left behind — I am alone — I am forgotten — and all the world's a stage, and the stage is crumbling, and I will never know their eyes upon my silent body again.

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