This is kinda similar to "An Awkward Meeting on the Sidewalk," I think, but I figured what the hey.

[U]The Writer[/U]

The writer sat on a park bench, admiring the view. It was a green and sunny day, just like he had written it to be. There were no birds singing, and no people walking along the park’s many trails. That was good. He liked to be alone.

A light breeze blew through the tree leaves and across the back of the writer’s neck. He shivered and frowned. It wasn’t quite warm enough outside to justify a cool breeze. He made note of this, and the wind died away as gently as it had arrived.

He smiled. That was much better. It was a real bestseller of a day.

The writer heard footsteps approaching. Footsteps? Oh. A plot twist. Sometimes he wrote things before realizing it. He’d just have to see how this turned out.

A young woman was walking briskly – yes, he liked that – down the trail. She was very pretty, almost unrealistically so. Typical of his work.

As she passed the bench, she smiled at the writer. He didn’t like that.

‘I’m going to kill you,’ he thought to himself.

The woman stopped and took a couple steps back. “Pardon me?”

The writer blinked several times. He must have spoken aloud. He rummaged through his brain for some sort of cover-up, but could find nothing. Oh well. It didn’t matter. He was the writer. He swallowed the lump in his throat.

“I’m going to kill you,” he said.

She didn’t seem phased by this. “You’re gonna kill me?”

He hadn’t expected that. Maybe he should let her live after all. It might be interesting….no. Too late now.

“Yes,” he said. “I think I am.”

She cocked her head to one side with a playful grin on her face. Obviously she didn’t believe him.

“May I ask why?”

The writer thought for a second. “This is my story, and I liked it more without you in it.”

Now he was standing over her lifeless body. He couldn’t remember getting up, but he must have done so. He’d have to come back and edit that little inconsistency later.