'First things first, this needs a title... How about... Layers. That works.'

You sit at the work desk in your home, staring at a piece of paper. Twirling a pencil in your hand, you wonder to yourself how you should begin this story. To fill your time lately, you've been trying to write interesting pieces of literature for Twilight to read and comment on. Sometimes she found your ideas intriguing, but most of the time what you're trying to accomplish was way too weird for your writing level. Then it just came out like a jumbled mess of text.

You begin to write an outline to the idea you had in your head. First bullet point: Main character tries to write a story. You nod your head.

'Perfect. The main character... let's call him Andrew, tries to write a story on his typewriter.'

You continue to jot down the details as more ideas come to mind.

'Then... then he manages to get some progress done before he gets interrupted. That advances the plot. Andrew's trying to write a second person story when-'

Your door bell rings. With a groan, you set down your pencil and rise from your desk.

"God damn it. A second time today?"

Approaching the front door, you open the door to Fluttershy, who holds a stack of papers in her hooves. She has her usual determined smile and carefree attitude as she opens her mouth.

"Hi, Anon. Are fourth-wall breaks your fetish?" she asks.

An exhale of air leaves your lips as you shake your head.

"No, Fluttershy. It isn't."

Fluttershy looks down to her papers and flips through them.

"Uhm. But this script for the story says-"

"Listen. Back on Earth we had a saying. 'Tits or Get the Fuck Out.'"

Fluttershy stares at you carefully, as if she suddenly smelled rotten cheese from inside your home.

"O-oh. O-okay," she mutters.

You slam the door in her face and stomp back to your desk.

'Now then, where was I?' you think to yourself. 'Oh, right. Andrew is trying to write his story when he gets interrupted.'

Silence fills the room as you stare at the page.

"Oh, hell with it."

You begin to scribble down the rest of your thoughts. 'He gets interrupted by his next door neighbor asking for a cup of sugar.'

"Great job, Anon. Real riveting story you got here," you mutter under your breath.

'But instead he gives her salt. Then, no more than ten minutes later, there's a knock at-'

There's a knock at the door. You stare down at your paper.

"Do I have a magic ability or something?"

"Is everything okay, Anon?" Fluttershy calls from the other side.

"Shut up, I'll deal with you in a sec."

You look under the piece of paper, but it's still your normal desk. Taking the pencil in your hands, you examine it carefully. It's a normal pencil. You break it in half. It's still a normal pencil on the inside too. You back up in your chair.

How in the world was your story coming to life? This doesn't make any sense? Is everything in this world pre-determined by some godly third-party who's doing all of this for a laugh?

"A-anon?"

"SHUT UP. I'M BEING EXISTENTIAL."

"N-no. It just seems pretentious."

"YOU DON'T KNOW WHAT I'M THINKING!"

"U-uhm. It's in my script."

You jog to the door and open it wide. Fluttershy has two blue birds sitting on top of her head. Her ears wiggle gently, motioning to the little critters.

"I brought tits."

"Yeah, we get it."

"Who's we?"

You stare at Fluttershy.

"I... I don't actually know."

"Are you okay, Anon?"

"Show me this script."

Fluttershy holds out her stack of papers and you swipe it away from her. You open to the first page and begin to read.

"Layers, by Flutterpriest. 'First things first, this needs a title... How about... Layers."

You drop the script on the ground.

"I. Uhm-"

You look out behind Fluttershy and the birds gently chirp.

"I need to... go."

You close the door slowly and head upstairs to your bedroom. Climbing under the covers, you wrap yourself in a safety cocoon.

There's no escape.