What the Writer said to his Character

No one liked you. No one thought you were a believable character. I guess we gave it a shot. I don’t know what it was about you. Of course it was my fault. You’re not real. But I still have one last chapter to write. It’s the one where you are hermetically sealed in a room for an entire year with only water and a minimal amount of food. After one year, spikes emerge from the ceiling and begin moving down. They move down a few inches every day and, after ten days, the spikes pierce your brain. For hours, all you can do is scream. And then you slowly expire. I won’t bother to make your last thoughts realistic. It would be out of character.