His life was a joke. It had to be. All around him, the world projected who he was in mocking. August was brunette, dressed in orange and brown, surrounded by orange and brown falling leaves. When he lived in the southern states, he would be sweating at this point in the year wearing long sleeves; now he was keeping warm in a coffee shop wearing long sleeves in the early Autumn weather.
He was sitting in a corner of the shop with his laptop open, typing up a new manuscript. He paused his writing and lowered the page in front of him to reveal the background of the screen to reveal a clip from season one of the ABC Once Upon a Time television show. The scene was the protagonist, Emma, claiming the character August, otherwise known as Pinocchio, as suspicious and the text on the clip read “sitting here, out in the open, drinking coffee. I wonder what kind of hell I would’ve raised had I ordered a donut.”
August, not the character from the show, chuckled to himself at the words on his screen, and then proceeded to pull the manuscript back up to work on. He put his fingers back to the keys and wrote as his mind wandered. He had always been fond of his Once Upon a Time namesake and had connected to the character in an uncanny way. He, like the character, was a writer and believer in many magical things. He was not a fictional character brought to life and cursed to make a woman believe in magic lest he turn back into wood, himself, but sometimes he felt like he was in a similar situation.
August continued to write his manuscript as a blonde woman walked into the coffee shop. He spared her a glance as she walked to the counter to order a drink, then returned his attention to his manuscript. He would not be distracted by the woman, who just so happened to resemble the Once Upon a Time protagonist, or anyone else in the shop. He was determined of that.
He was distracted by knuckles rapping against the table next to his elbow. August looked up to see the blonde woman who had just walked in, smiling down at him.
“Are you really going to pretend you didn’t see me, August?” she asked.
“Maybe,” he replied and looked back at his manuscript.
“I see,” she said as she sat down next to him with her coffee. “You’re in one of your character developing moods again. Who are you pretending to be this time?”
“I’m not pretending to be anyone,” August replied, shooting a quick glare at her and returning his attention to the manuscript, reading over what he had just written to find his place.
“Sure, you are,” the blonde replied with a smirk. “You always get that look on your face when you’re trying to pretend to be a character that you’re developing.”
August shot her a glance, then returned to searching for his place with a huff. The blonde smirked and took a sip of her coffee.
“So, what’s his name?” she asked after a moment of silence. “What’s his backstory? Who is he based on?”
August looked up and held her gaze.
“Guess.”