Once upon a bad Christmas

Chapter 12

The worst part is that it was the first book I have ever written with so many plot holes that more than thirty years later the readers still bash me to death on the internet for it. I could practically hear the echo of their angry comments and reviews.

Wait!

There was a forgotten one who had given birth to nine but after two million words I dropped it. A half-baked idea that never saw the light of day.

I stared up at the ceiling and wondered dejectedly about this situation, luckily the original owner had some cash to afford a decent hospital and old family connections.

This room was all mine, spacious and though it seemed simple, one can see that it was a VIP room.

Damn it!

I just wanted to die and see what was on the other side finally in peace. Didn’t I work hard enough?

Fifty-one books, over a hundred million words, I even supported the poor and needy! I donated anonymously to several charities and volunteered at the local soup kitchen every Christmas. And what were my results? heh.

Karma, where are you when I need you?

Come and kill me off.

This is my second life and once again I had been reborn in a damn book!

Wait, is it because I dug too many plot holes for people and they collectively cursed me to death? Is that even possible?

It was a fantasy! I repeat IT WAS A FANTASY!

A dark fantasy! With some messed up themes.

I even wrote trigger warnings! At the beginning of each chapter, warning my readers about the potentially disturbing content that followed.

I understand that they were few who had suffered from anxieties but it was not my fault!

Gritting my teeth I turned my head and looked at the little parasite that made my nether regions ache to death, I swear I was torn open, it felt like my insides wanted to fall out, no joke!

Looking away from the little parasite I scanned the room, even though this character was used to death she still had a good foundation, I remember that in the unpublished parts, she was the underdog and was the heroine in the end. Unfortunately, I who replaced her wanted to beat myself to a pulp because her growth was like from zero to hell mode. How the hell was I supposed to go from zero to hero in this crazy world?

Worse I now had excess baggage. A tiny, screaming, utterly dependent little thing. I mean it was not annoying presently but still.

I laid back on the bed and stared up at the ceiling.

My back ached, my privates felt like it was torn open, my core was continuing to contract and I could feel the exhaustion pulling me under. Sleep was a siren song, promising oblivion but I could not yet.

Alright, I am an old lady in this body ok, I have experience!

I gave birth, I can raise the little parasite well, now, I wonder if I simply say: ‘fuck the lot,’ if I’ll be strangled by the rules of the world?

My dumb self had written over three thousand chapters with over five million words so the world had to have to commonly know things I am good at digging for the readers. My own creation was now my prison.

Now as the most miserable character in The book with ‘luggage’ I have to use many of the grey areas I had hidden.

Sigh, I just really cant get over the fact I died and was dragged into a book and damn hell mode at that.

Why? Just…why?

Just tell me why? I needed answers, even if they were nonsensical.

Ok, call down and recount everything I could from scratch, knowing this will help me get through this plot hole riddled book and raise my ‘excess baggage’ as small as it is. Knowledge was power, and I needed to arm myself for the challenges ahead.

Sigh. I closed my eyes, focusing on the details, the timeline, anything that could help survive.

My name is Vanity with a foreign Michaels surname, using the Mi here in the country.

I am a generational Asian with origins in the Caribbean. My fifth grandmother moved here to study with her husband, later they gave birth to their only child and that child was raised for a while in this country and was later sent to the Caribbean to further be raised until he was fifteen and brought back. Later he married a girl from the same island and gave birth to their only child a daughter. Each of them had single children marrying those from the island and birthing from the island until my grandmother and now me, my mother unfortunately was born in China. A complex heritage that felt both familiar and distant.

My father is from the island, and my mother here, with connections to a family in this country.

They were not a wealthy family but they were stable with a few connections. Middle-class, comfortable, and utterly unremarkable.

Heh, why did I have to add so much about my country I tell you?

I like this character and felt that it would be my last book, I wanted to be remembered in some way before I died even though I started it as among my first, but I had changed her name to another.

That first part was over three million words and instead of the original owners father published being from my country, but decided on Burundi because it had a similar lettering and I had found it interesting.

He was the same cheating greedy male who disliked his first daughter, the same male who allowed his damn daughter who I had always thought was the niece to take my man.

He was—

I paused, I had just given birth and must shelf such thoughts before I have complications.

To make this short, I had been writing it off and on for most my writing career. Unfortunately, I lived to regret it.

Whatever force brought me here but I smiled happily knowing I had my own secret.

Even then I could not help but to continue feeling miserable.

Now let’s further go over the memory.

The child I gave birth to, yeh the father I have no idea.

I paused for a moment trying my best to remain calm, I mean, no pressure. My original island we did not pressure our women about marriage anyway.

Even if I am pressured, I wouldn’t bow my head but the problem is that I am already shackled to some dude the body couldn’t remember and it seems that I couldn’t remember that part.

What the hell!

Why?

What stupid original was this?!

You slept with someone without knowing who they were? Ahhhhh.. What a dummy!

Was she desperate?

The memory is not even working properly.

Well, throw the original owner under the bus, anyway I am not—

Fragments flashed by, almost making me spit blood from shock. Distorted images, fleeting sensations.

In the original book I wrote I only had two characters that basically took away the original owner’s men, now it seems that more plotholes but some are beneficial to me.

Eh? I’m not eighteen?

I am actually thirty-two?

I patted my chest and smiled thinking many things were easier. I looked at the almond toned skin, I reached up and touched the thick hair which fell now to below my small breast now heavy with milk.