Six years.

It had been, roughly, six years since the writer had sat down one night, the spirits of vineyards and cannabis driving his mind forth. Six years since the desire to create and explore had blossomed on the screen in front of him. Six years since he created an avatar, of a sorts. An accidental personality that, little did he know, would mold and craft his digital persona into a dream all its own.

Time has passed. And, here he sits again...wondering. Writing. Wondering about writing. Wondering if he still has that itch. Wondering if the block that binds his fingers is merely a self-imposed sentence, born of life's responsibility and erratic schedules. Wondering if he could do it again. If he could find that freedom of flow and glee, allowing the old familiar sear of burning neurons to dance as gracefully as they so effortlessly did....six years ago.

Or, could the deadness in his imagination be true? Had he said all he could possibly say? Was there nothing left to explore? Was the regime of centered and focused writing too much of a hassle now? Was it too much trouble? And...even worse...could it be that what he once was...what he could once do without pause...was it all just too easy? Was actual truth in writing and sincerity to the craft much more of a struggle...much harder work, than he had ever realized?

Is this what it's really like to be a writer? Is it actual....effort? Work?

But, then, as he would type these words, a spark of realization jumps into his mind between breaths. What if he had plenty more to say? What if he had infant ideas that could be nurtured into something proud and strong? What if he had characters and stories just waiting ever-so-patiently, in the back of his mind? Waiting to burst the dam of denial and flood the streams of his veins with excitement and a nervous energy?

What if he had new foundations to build.... but, was using the wrong tools?

Old tools. Old toys. Old men, with old ideas. Bald heads and cigarettes, and immortal words spoken through mortal lips. You can only go back to the well so many times. And, try as he might, the writer never could resist swinging the old bat. Hitting the old tunes. Saying familiar things.

You can never go home again. How true.

So. What if this writer...six years into the game...decided he needed to put the old toys down, and play with new ones? New characters. New ideas. New tools.

Forever my favorite, and always my temptation. But, if I respect you, and honor what I loved about you to begin with, then I have to let you go. You name will live on. But, your character will not.

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"Gooz..." Pro began, pausing to take a deep drag from his smoke. ".....time to move on."

Gooz cocked his eye at this familiar man sitting next to him.

"Time to let go." the neo-godling said, coming to a stand. "I've done all I can with who I am. I've said all I can say. I've created and destroyed all I ever could. And, more still."

"What are you saying?" Gooz asked, somewhat perplexed at this sudden change. "You're leaving us?"

"I am, yes." Pro nodded. "Not the writer. Not Devin. But, me...Prometheus...yeah. It's time."

Gooz did not speak, for to do so would be presumptious of the writer. If he had any thoughts or feelings on the matter, it would be his own to express.

Prometheus slid his old familiar coat off. He stared at it for a minute or so, as if trying to see every memory he had ever made wearing it. Lifting the worn material to his face, he took a long, deep inhale...savoring this final moment with an old friend.

"You old thing..." he smiled. "...I think I'll miss you most..."

After another moment, he finally turned and dropped it into Gooz's lap.

"Do with it as you will." he said. "You, above all others, deserve it."

As Gooz studied the coat with a wary expression, Pro looked down at the pack of cigs and silver-embossed lighter in his palm.

"But...I won't miss YOU at all!" he suddenly hissed, raring back and throwing the items as hard as he could. They insignificant character props floated off into the nothingness from whence they came.

Pro watched them fade. Finally, satified they were gone, he took a deep breath, exhaling loudly.

"Yep." he nodded, hands on his hips. "That about does it."

He turned to Gooz, who stood to face him.

"Before I go...let me do you a favor..." Pro stated. He suddenly snapped his fingers.

Nothing happened.

"There. Done. Our shared history was always fun...but confusing." he explained. "I've just relieved you of that burden. You are now, and forever more, your own character with your own history."

"Well..." Gooz opened his mouth finally. "...what if I liked the shared history?"

"Hey, if you like it, you like it. Keep it. Fine. Whatever." Pro shrugged. "I'm just saying...if you...we...are going to create a new universe to play in, you may want to start with a clean slate. That's all. Less mess to deal with. But, it's your call. I'm just saying this is an 'out' for you."

"Okay.....thank you.....I guess." Gooz nodded.

Prometheus smiled.

"No, Gooz....thank you." he stated very firmly. "You are the very first friend I ever made on the internet....well, that my writer ever made. Of anyone, you actually helped me with this character in more ways than you know. I've always enjoyed bouncing ideas off of you and playing with this dual-character idea. It was a hell of a lot of fun."

"You....you are still going to write with us, right?" Gooz asked, eyes narrow. "There's an awful finality to the way you're talking..."

"New characters. New ideas. But, hell, what do you expect?" Pro asked, furrowing his brow. "I've poured my heart and soul into this character. I am sincerely going to miss him. Not writing him, mind you. Just going to miss him."

Gooz nodded. They both stared at each other in silence for a moment. It was almost like a great joke about them kissing should be written at this moment. But, in all fairness, Pro gave the man a well-deserved hug, and, turned towards the edge of the patio.

"You know, the funny thing is...for the last six years...I've actually had hair in real life. I've just recently shaved my head bald..."

Palamedius Lokai Xalivaryn smiled rather broadly, and, simply stepped off into...


....nothing....


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Good-bye Prometheus.