Jim is the main character of this story. Jim has a tortured life because he has absolutely no say in what he does, how he looks, what he thinks, or even what he will do when this story is over. He has no control because I, the author of this story, have all the control. I could say that Jim was an emo Eskimo, a crafty Canadian, or a nautical nudist, and Jim would have to look that way. Jim could be drowning in the ocean’s deepest trench, flying through the asteroid belt, or sitting in an alternate dimension that is nothing but white emptiness wherever he goes. Anything that I write, Jim must do. This is obviously a monotonous life for Jim because he must do the exact same thing over and over again every time someone reads the story. Jim must say whatever I put in quotation marks, think whatever I put in italicized print, and must do whatever I write.

“I love my life!” says Jim because I made him say it. But I really do, thinks Jim because I made him think it. Jim gets hit by a parked car while doing a merry jig through the parking lot because I made him do it. If Jim had any say in his life this story would change drastically because in order to document said life, I would have to start writing in past tense, and that just isn’t going to happened.