**EPISODE EIGHTY-THREE**
**THE DOOR INSIDE MILO**
**Part Twenty-Four: THE AUTHOR WHO WAS NEVER WRITTEN**
---
The door...
opened.
Not outside Milo.
Not behind him.
Inside him.
Milo couldn't breathe.
He couldn't move.
He could only feel...
something opening...
where no door should exist.
Diana stood frozen.
Tarzan stared.
The writer's pen fell from his hand.
The other Milo...
the crying Milo...
looked terrified.
He whispered...
"Close it."
Milo swallowed.
"How?"
The other Milo shook his head.
"You don't."
"Then who does?"
The other Milo looked behind him.
"No one."
The door opened wider.
A thin line of light appeared inside Milo's chest.
Not white.
Not gold.
Not darkness.
Something between all three.
Milo heard a sound.
A heartbeat.
His heartbeat.
Then another.
Then another.
Thousands.
Millions.
Every heartbeat...
belonged to him.
Diana stepped toward him.
"Milo..."
He looked at her.
"Do you hear that?"
She nodded.
"Yes."
"What is it?"
Diana whispered...
"Everyone you've ever been."
The other Milo closed his eyes.
"No."
Milo looked at him.
"What?"
He opened his eyes.
"It's worse."
The door opened another inch.
The heartbeat stopped.
Silence.
Then...
a voice came from inside Milo.
"Finally."
Milo stepped backward.
The voice continued.
"You found the door."
Milo whispered...
"Who are you?"
The voice laughed softly.
"You keep asking."
Milo's face tightened.
"Answer me."
"I already did."
"When?"
"Before you were born."
Milo froze.
Diana whispered...
"Don't listen."
The voice answered immediately.
"She always says that."
Diana went pale.
Milo turned toward her.
"You know this voice."
She didn't answer.
"Diana."
Still nothing.
"Diana!"
She finally whispered...
"Yes."
Milo stared.
"How?"
Diana looked at the door inside his chest.
"Because I heard it..."
She swallowed.
"...the first time I died."
1. THE FIRST DEATH
Milo's blood ran cold.
"The first time?"
Diana nodded.
"There were deaths before you remembered them."
"How many?"
"Too many."
"Mine?"
"Yours."
Milo stared at her.
"And yours?"
Diana looked away.
"Mine too."
Tarzan slowly raised his hand.
"Excuse me."
Everyone looked at him.
Tarzan pointed toward Milo.
"Does this mean he has a door inside him?"
Milo nodded.
Tarzan frowned.
"That's terrible."
A pause.
Then Tarzan added...
"Can we put a banana in it?"
"No!"
Everyone shouted together.
For one second...
Milo almost laughed.
Then...
the door moved.
And laughter disappeared.
Something stepped through.
Not a person.
Not a creature.
A memory.
Milo saw himself standing in a room.
He was younger.
Much younger.
Diana was beside him.
But neither of them noticed the other.
Milo watched.
"What is this?"
The writer whispered...
"Your first memory."
Milo stared.
"But I don't remember it."
"You weren't supposed to."
The younger Milo suddenly looked toward them.
His eyes widened.
He could see them.
The older Milo stepped backward.
"No."
The younger Milo whispered...
"Why are you watching me?"
Milo froze.
The memory was speaking.
The writer grabbed Milo's shoulder.
"Don't answer."
The younger Milo smiled.
"You always answer."
The room disappeared.
The memory changed.
Milo saw another room.
Another version of himself.
Another Diana.
Another beginning.
Then another.
And another.
Each one...
different.
Each one...
familiar.
Milo whispered...
"These aren't memories."
The other Milo shook his head.
"No."
"Then what?"
"Drafts."
Milo stared.
"Drafts of what?"
The other Milo looked at him.
"Us."
2. THE DRAFTS
The darkness filled with pages.
Thousands.
Millions.
They floated around Milo.
Each page showed a different Milo.
Milo as a child.
Milo as an old man.
Milo as a king.
Milo as a prisoner.
Milo as a writer.
Milo as a reader.
Milo as a monster.
Milo as a father.
Milo as a stranger.
Milo who never met Diana.
Milo who killed Diana.
Milo who saved Diana.
Milo who never existed.
Milo who created everything.
Milo who destroyed everything.
Milo whispered...
"How many?"
The writer answered...
"Every time someone asked what you could become..."
A page passed through Milo.
"...the story created an answer."
Another page.
"And every answer..."
Another.
"...became you."
Milo grabbed a page.
It burned his fingers.
He dropped it.
"What happens to the ones that aren't chosen?"
The other Milo answered...
"They wait."
"Where?"
The pages stopped moving.
The other Milo pointed downward.
"Inside you."
Milo looked at his chest.
The door was still there.
Open.
A little wider now.
He could see something beyond it.
A hallway.
A very long hallway.
At the end...
stood a chair.
On the chair...
was someone sitting.
Milo squinted.
"Who is that?"
The writer whispered...
"Don't look."
Milo looked anyway.
The person slowly raised his head.
Milo's heart stopped.
It was...
the writer.
But not the writer standing beside him.
This writer was older.
Much older.
His hair was white.
His face was covered in scars.
And he was holding...
a blank page.
Milo whispered...
"There's another writer."
The old writer smiled.
"No."
Milo stared.
"Then who?"
The old writer lifted the blank page.
"I am the one who writes the writer."
3. THE WRITER BEHIND THE WRITER
The world shook.
The writer beside Milo stumbled backward.
"No."
The old writer stood.
The hallway inside Milo's chest stretched endlessly.
The old writer began walking toward them.
Step.
Step.
Step.
Every step created a new sentence in the air.
THE WRITER IS AFRAID.
The writer shouted...
"Don't write that!"
The sentence changed.
THE WRITER TRIES TO STOP THE SENTENCE.
The writer dropped to his knees.
"No..."
Milo stared.
"What's happening?"
The other Milo whispered...
"The hierarchy is collapsing."
"What hierarchy?"
"Reader."
A page appeared.
"Character."
Another.
"Writer."
Another.
"Author."
Another.
"Reader."
Milo frowned.
"It loops."
The other Milo nodded.
"Yes."
"Then who's at the top?"
The other Milo looked at him.
"No one."
The old writer stopped.
He was now standing directly before Milo.
He looked into Milo's eyes.
"You've been searching for the author."
Milo nodded.
"Yes."
"You thought the author created you."
"Didn't he?"
The old writer smiled.
"No."
"Then who did?"
"You did."
Milo froze.
"Me?"
"You created the author."
The writer beside him whispered...
"That's impossible."
The old writer turned toward him.
"Impossible..."
The word appeared in the air.
Then changed.
IMPOSSIBLE IS ONLY A WORD WRITTEN BY SOMEONE.
The writer disappeared.
Milo shouted...
"Where did he go?"
The old writer answered...
"Where all writers go when their characters stop believing in them."
"Where?"
The old writer pointed toward the door.
"Inside the story."
4. THE ROOM WHERE WRITERS WAIT
Milo stepped through the door.
Diana grabbed his hand.
"I'm coming."
Milo looked at her.
"You shouldn't."
She smiled.
"I know."
They entered.
The door closed behind them.
The hallway was gone.
They stood inside a room.
A huge room.
No walls.
No ceiling.
No floor.
Only desks.
Thousands of desks.
At every desk...
someone was writing.
Milo walked between them.
Some were children.
Some were old.
Some were creatures.
Some had no faces.
Some had no hands.
Yet all were writing.
Diana whispered...
"What is this?"
Milo looked around.
"The authors."
A writer at the nearest desk suddenly stopped.
He looked at Milo.
Then smiled.
"You came back."
Milo stopped.
"Do I know you?"
The writer laughed.
"You wrote me."
Milo shook his head.
"I never wrote you."
The writer pointed at Milo.
"You don't remember."
Another writer turned.
"You never remember."
Another.
"That's the point."
Another.
"Memory would end the story."
Milo felt dizzy.
"Why?"
All the writers answered together.
"Because if you remembered everything..."
They stopped.
Silence.
Then one writer whispered...
"...you would know what to do."
Milo stared.
"Do what?"
No one answered.
Diana stepped closer.
"Do what, Milo?"
Milo looked at her.
"I don't know."
A writer laughed.
"Exactly."
5. THE BOOK THAT HAD NO READER
At the center of the room...
stood a pedestal.
On it...
was a book.
Milo approached.
The cover was black.
No title.
No author.
No number.
He touched it.
The book opened.
The first page was blank.
Then...
letters appeared.
MILO WILL OPEN THE BOOK.
Milo froze.
He looked at Diana.
She shook her head.
"Don't."
Milo didn't move.
The page changed.
MILO WILL IGNORE DIANA.
Milo stepped away.
The page changed again.
MILO WILL BECOME ANGRY.
Milo closed his eyes.
The page changed.
MILO WILL CLOSE HIS EYES.
He opened them.
The page changed.
MILO WILL OPEN HIS EYES.
Milo whispered...
"It knows everything."
Diana shook her head.
"No."
"What?"
"It knows what it wrote."
Milo stared.
"That's different?"
"Very."
She touched the page.
"The story isn't predicting you."
Milo looked at her.
"Then what is it doing?"
Diana whispered...
"Remembering the future."
Milo's blood ran cold.
"The future hasn't happened."
Diana looked at the book.
"Not for us."
The page turned.
A new sentence appeared.
THE FUTURE HAS ALREADY HAPPENED.
Milo stepped backward.
"No."
Another sentence.
YOU JUST HAVEN'T REACHED IT YET.
Another.
AND YOU WILL.
Milo grabbed the book.
The pages began turning rapidly.
Hundreds.
Thousands.
Every page showed the same thing.
Milo walking.
Milo running.
Milo dying.
Milo returning.
Milo opening the door.
Milo closing the door.
Milo meeting Diana.
Milo losing Diana.
Milo becoming the writer.
Milo becoming the reader.
Milo becoming...
nothing.
Then...
one final page.
A single sentence.
MILO WILL READ THIS SENTENCE.
Milo stared.
He whispered...
"No."
The sentence changed.
MILO WILL REFUSE TO READ THIS SENTENCE.
Milo laughed nervously.
"You can't control me."
The book remained still.
Then...
the page changed.
MILO THINKS HE IS FREE.
Milo's smile vanished.
6. DIANA'S SECRET
Diana suddenly stepped away.
Milo noticed.
"What?"
She didn't answer.
"Diana."
She looked at him.
"I lied."
Milo's heart tightened.
"About what?"
"Everything."
The room became silent.
Milo stared.
"Everything?"
Diana nodded.
"How we met."
"Why?"
"Why I remembered you."
"Why?"
"Why I kept finding you."
"Why?"
Diana closed her eyes.
"Because I wasn't looking for you."
Milo stopped breathing.
"You were looking for me."
"No."
She opened her eyes.
"I was looking for the first Milo."
Milo stepped backward.
"And I'm not him?"
"No."
"Then who am I?"
Diana whispered...
"The replacement."
The word echoed.
REPLACEMENT.
Milo shook his head.
"No."
Diana cried.
"I'm sorry."
"No."
"Milo..."
"You're lying."
"I wish I was."
Milo looked at the other Milo.
He was standing across the room.
Crying again.
Milo pointed at him.
"Then what is he?"
Diana answered...
"The first."
Milo stared.
The other Milo slowly nodded.
"I was the first one."
Milo's voice broke.
"Then why am I here?"
The first Milo answered...
"Because I failed."
"Failed at what?"
He looked at Diana.
"Saving her."
Diana looked away.
Milo's chest tightened.
"So I was created..."
The first Milo nodded.
"...to do what you couldn't."
Milo whispered...
"Save Diana."
The first Milo shook his head.
"No."
Milo frowned.
"Then what?"
The first Milo answered...
"Choose differently."
7. THE CHOICE
A door appeared.
This time...
it stood in the middle of the room.
Two handles.
Two sides.
Two possibilities.
Milo approached.
A sentence appeared above it.
ONE DOOR SAVES DIANA.
Another sentence.
ONE DOOR SAVES MILO.
Milo stared.
Diana whispered...
"Don't choose."
Milo turned.
"Why?"
"Because that's what the story wants."
"What does it want?"
"For you to believe there are only two choices."
Milo looked at the doors.
"Then what's the third?"
Diana stepped beside him.
"There isn't one."
Milo frowned.
"Then why did you say that?"
"Because..."
She looked at him.
"...you always search for a third."
Milo stared.
The first Milo suddenly shouted...
"That's why they chose you!"
Milo turned.
"Who?"
The first Milo pointed upward.
"The readers."
The ceiling appeared.
Thousands of eyes opened.
Milo froze.
Every eye...
was watching him.
The readers whispered...
"Choose."
Milo looked at Diana.
Then at the doors.
Then at the eyes.
He smiled.
"No."
The whispers stopped.
Milo stepped away.
"I won't."
A sentence appeared.
MILO REFUSES TO CHOOSE.
Milo smiled.
"Good."
Another sentence.
THE STORY HAS A PROBLEM.
Diana looked at him.
"What?"
Milo answered...
"If it needs me to choose..."
He turned toward the blank space between the doors.
"...then it needs me."
The first Milo smiled.
"Finally."
The story shook.
The readers screamed.
The doors disappeared.
And for the first time...
the page had no idea what came next.
8. THE SENTENCE THAT COULDN'T BE WRITTEN
Silence.
Complete silence.
Milo stood still.
Nothing happened.
No sentence.
No prediction.
No voice.
No page.
Diana slowly approached him.
"Milo..."
He smiled.
"It stopped."
The first Milo shook his head.
"No."
Milo looked at him.
"What?"
"It didn't stop."
"Then what?"
The first Milo pointed behind Milo.
Milo turned.
A single sentence was appearing.
Slowly.
Painfully.
As though something was struggling to write it.
MILO...
The pen stopped.
Milo waited.
The next word appeared.
DOES...
Stopped.
Then...
NOT...
Stopped.
Then...
KNOW...
Stopped.
The sentence remained incomplete.
Milo stared.
"What does it mean?"
The first Milo whispered...
"The story doesn't know what you know."
Milo looked at Diana.
She smiled through her tears.
"That's dangerous."
"Why?"
"Because now..."
She touched his chest.
"...you're unpredictable."
The door inside Milo opened again.
This time...
something came through.
A hand.
Human.
Pale.
Shaking.
It reached toward Milo.
Milo stepped backward.
"Who are you?"
The hand stopped.
Then...
a voice answered.
"Someone you haven't remembered yet."
Milo stared.
The hand withdrew.
The door began closing.
Milo reached toward it.
"Wait!"
The voice whispered...
"Too late."
The door slammed shut.
Milo's chest burned.
A mark appeared on his skin.
A single word.
REMEMBER.
Diana stared at it.
"No..."
Milo looked at her.
"What?"
She whispered...
"I've seen that word before."
"Where?"
Diana looked terrified.
"On your grave."
9. THE GRAVE THAT REMEMBERED MILO
The room vanished.
Milo stood beneath a gray sky.
Rain fell.
There was no city.
No people.
No pages.
Only...
a cemetery.
Diana stood beside him.
Tarzan appeared behind them.
The writer appeared.
The old man.
The children.
The first Milo.
Everyone.
All staring forward.
Milo followed their eyes.
One grave stood alone.
A name was carved into it.
MILO FINCH.
Milo couldn't breathe.
"When?"
The old man whispered...
"Tomorrow."
Milo stared.
"Tomorrow?"
The writer shook his head.
"Not our tomorrow."
Milo stepped closer.
"What does that mean?"
The grave changed.
The name disappeared.
Another appeared.
DIANA.
Diana froze.
Then...
another.
TARZAN.
Tarzan dropped his banana.
"Absolutely not."
Another.
THE WRITER.
Another.
THE OLD MAN.
Another.
THE CHILDREN.
Then...
the entire cemetery filled with names.
Every name...
someone Milo knew.
Every person...
someone who had existed in one of the stories.
Milo whispered...
"The story is killing everyone."
Diana shook her head.
"No."
"What?"
"It's remembering everyone who died."
Milo looked at the graves.
"What's the difference?"
Diana pointed at the final grave.
It had no name.
Only one sentence.
THE ONE WHO REMEMBERS THEM.
Milo stepped backward.
The ground cracked.
The grave opened.
Inside...
was a mirror.
Milo looked down.
His reflection stared back.
But it wasn't moving.
Milo raised his hand.
The reflection didn't.
Instead...
it smiled.
Milo froze.
The reflection whispered...
"Hello, Milo."
Milo stepped backward.
"Who are you?"
The reflection answered...
"You."
"No."
"Yes."
"Which version?"
The reflection smiled.
"The one after the ending."
10. AFTER THE ENDING
Milo stared into the mirror.
"The ending already happened?"
The reflection nodded.
"Every ending already happened."
"Then what are we doing?"
"Reading."
"Reading what?"
"Each other."
Milo touched the mirror.
The reflection touched it too.
But its hand was colder.
Milo whispered...
"Are you the future me?"
"No."
"The author?"
"No."
"The reader?"
"No."
"Then what?"
The reflection leaned closer.
"I am what remains..."
A pause.
"...when the story forgets to end."
Milo's blood ran cold.
The reflection continued.
"You are not trapped in a story, Milo."
Milo stared.
"Then where am I?"
The reflection smiled.
"You are trapped in the question."
Milo's eyes widened.
"Which question?"
The reflection whispered...
"Why should the story continue?"
Silence.
Milo looked at Diana.
She was crying.
The first Milo was gone.
The writer was gone.
Tarzan was gone.
Everyone...
was gone.
Only Milo.
Only the mirror.
Only the question.
Milo whispered...
"Because someone is still reading."
The reflection shook its head.
"No."
"Then why?"
The reflection smiled.
"Because someone is still being read."
The mirror cracked.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Behind the cracks...
Milo saw a room.
A real room.
A chair.
A table.
A lamp.
And someone sitting there.
Reading.
Milo stepped closer.
The reader slowly lowered the book.
Milo couldn't see the face.
The reader looked directly at him.
Then...
removed the book from their lap.
Milo's heart stopped.
Because the cover of the book...
had his name on it.
MILO FINCH.
The reader opened it.
Turned to the final page.
And began writing.
Milo whispered...
"What are you writing?"
The reader lifted the pen.
A sentence appeared in Milo's world.
THE CHARACTER HAS FINALLY FOUND THE READER.
Milo stared.
Then another sentence appeared.
THE READER HAS FINALLY FOUND THE CHARACTER.
Milo smiled.
"Then it's over."
The reader shook their head.
One final sentence appeared.
NO.
Milo's smile disappeared.
The reader turned the page.
Behind it...
was another world.
Another room.
Another reader.
Another book.
Another Milo.
Another Diana.
Another story.
Milo whispered...
"Not again."
The reader looked at him.
And for the first time...
Milo saw the reader's face.
It was ordinary.
Human.
Afraid.
And somehow...
familiar.
Milo stepped backward.
"No."
The reader smiled.
"You know me."
Milo shook his head.
"I don't."
The reader whispered...
"You will."
The book slammed shut.
Darkness.
Milo opened his eyes.
He was standing in the same hallway.
The white door was in front of him.
The boy with the bleeding knee stood beside it.
Diana was nowhere.
Milo looked at the boy.
"Where is she?"
The boy didn't answer.
Milo grabbed him.
"Where is Diana?"
The boy pointed at the door.
"She's inside."
Milo reached for the handle.
The boy stopped him.
"Don't."
"Why?"
The boy's eyes filled with tears.
"Because this time..."
He swallowed.
"...the person behind the door isn't Diana."
Milo stared.
"Then who is it?"
The boy whispered...
"The person who wrote her."
Milo's hand froze.
Behind the door...
someone knocked.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Then a woman's voice whispered...
"Milo."
His heart stopped.
It was Diana's voice.
But the boy was crying.
"Don't answer."
Milo whispered...
"Why?"
The boy looked directly into his eyes.
"Because..."
A fourth knock.
"...Diana is on the other side of me."
Milo slowly turned.
The boy's face began changing.
His bleeding knee disappeared.
His skin aged.
His hair became white.
His eyes became familiar.
Milo stared in horror.
The boy...
was becoming Diana.
But not the Diana he knew.
The first Diana.
The Diana before Diana.
She smiled.
And whispered...
"You finally came back."
Milo stepped backward.
"Back from where?"
She raised one hand.
Behind her...
the hallway opened into infinite darkness.
Then she said...
"From the beginning."
A page appeared in the air.
One sentence.
THE FIRST DIANA WAS WAITING FOR THE FIRST MILO.
Another sentence appeared.
BUT MILO WAS NOT THE FIRST ANYMORE.
Then...
the page turned black.
A final sentence appeared.
SO SOMETHING ELSE HAD TO BECOME HIM.
Milo stared.
His chest began burning.
The door inside him...
opened again.
And from within...
a voice whispered...
"Hello, replacement."
Milo looked down.
A second heartbeat began.
Not his.
Someone else's.
Diana screamed from somewhere beyond the door...
"MILO, RUN!"
The boy smiled.
The other Milo appeared behind him.
The writer appeared beside him.
Tarzan appeared holding a banana.
The old man appeared beside the fire.
The children appeared.
Everyone...
everyone he had ever known...
was suddenly standing there.
But none of them...
had shadows.
Milo stared.
"What's happening?"
The writer whispered...
"The story is starting over."
Milo shook his head.
"No."
The writer looked at him.
"This time..."
He pointed toward Milo's chest.
"...it's starting from inside you."
The second heartbeat grew louder.
BOOM.
BOOM.
BOOM.
Milo fell to his knees.
The door inside his chest opened completely.
And something stepped out.
Something that looked like Milo...
but had never been Milo.
It looked at everyone.
Then looked at Milo.
And smiled.
"I remember everything."
Milo whispered...
"Who are you?"
The thing leaned closer.
And answered...
"The version of you..."
A pause.
"...that remembers why you were created."
The world went silent.
Then the thing whispered...
"And now..."
It looked toward the reader.
"...I am going to read you."
**TO BE CONTINUED...**
Written By,
Ivan Edwin
Pen Name :Maximus.
©All Rights Reserved