“Why,” he asked, “do you write me into these tiny little stories? I mean, a hundred words – c’mon!”
The writer exhaled. It was an old complaint that was wearisome at best. At worst – well, slow torture came to mind.
“I’ve already told you,” the writer said. “Those are the rules.”
“But I can’t spread my wings,” the character continued. “I need to fly. To expand.”
“It’s all I have,” the writer replied.
The whining continued.
Finally, the writer had enough. He placed his finger over the Delete key.
The whining stopped.