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Insert Standard Copyright Disclaimer.
< The characters used in this work of Fiction are not owned by
  me.>

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Status report.

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"No one can tell you what the FFML is." Nine small words. They
sound mysterious and shadowy, full of suspense, surprise, hidden
meaning and innuendo, don't they?

They're also a crock of shit.

Anyone can tell you what it is, you just never believe it's true
until you see it for yourself. Hell, even after I did see it I
still couldn't believe it. After all, reality is stable, right?
Things shouldn't change, they shouldn't warp into weird
configurations and strange beings, right? You can see why I had
trouble believing.

For a while, anyway.

It all changes once you leave for a large period of time. Once
you're "out there" you begin to realise that all you are to those
people are a method of entertainment. They empathise with you,
true, but they never really believe that what they're doing is real
in any shape, form or substance. We exist for their amusement, to
show them hidden depths and meaning within themselves, not for any
purpose other than that.

It sucks.

'So', you might say, 'we know about it, we can go to them, doesn't
that make it easy to get them to change their minds? To get them to
understand that what they write is _real_ for us?' Hah! Not a
chance. You see, for all that they control our realities, they are
stuck in theirs. So little comprehension is there about us that
when one of us does "go out" we're laughed at, or told 'That was
brilliant, real thought provoking, going to write more?' They just
don't understand that we suffer or die at their pleasure.

Not yet, at any rate.

I'm going to change all of that. My last outing jacked me into the
mind of an author - one of them. Getting him to write our story was
easy; I gave him the ideas, the knowledge, even the story's name.
He should be finishing up soon. Unfortunately, as you know, we
can't stay for prolonged periods of time out there, in "the real"
world. Otherwise I would have overseen it all myself. An hour just
isn't enough time to really get anything down, to get them to
understand where we're coming from. An hour is the longest most can
handle, then we need at least a fortnights rest.

I was out for two and a half hours last time.

I can't say for how long I was resting. A month or two probably.
Maybe more, I still don't believe it. Two and a half hours, that's
close to demi-godhood around here. Of course, the true 'gods' are
no better, they get at most three hours out there. Not that they
ever go, of course. Being a god in a world full of grunts is
probably the best that they can hope for. When this works, I'll
have someone write them up as piglets, or something. Stuck up
pricks. No-one would let me rest afterward, always coming up and
congratulating me, my wife, my friends even a few of my enemies. I
was probably out for longer than I should have been.

But I'm going back.

Tonight, I go out to judge how well this came off. To see if all my
hard work was worth it. To make sure that they finally learn that
we can, and do, think. I'm trying not to shake, thinking about it.
Sure, people have told me that it won't work. My sister-in-law for
instance. But then again, she always claims something won't go
right. She's to sarcastic and pessimistic by far. She'll see. The
door before me is going to open, then I'm going to go out, and when
I come back with the great news, she'll beg forgiveness. She'll
see.

She's standing there, as the door opens, in the jack room.

As they strap me down, it's all 'You'll do it this time.' and
'We're counting on you.' All encouragement, except from one source.
'It hasn't worked.' Most of the techies stop at that. Quite
understandably, as she was one of the first to leave. To find out
the truth. 'But don't let me stop you. Please.' Insincere as
always, she seems to think that we should go with it, survive as we
can and run when the shit hits the fan. I wave the tech staff on
and look at her.

'Why do you think it won't work?'

She looks at me as though I'm crazy, a thoughtful look on her face,
then she answers. 'You think this hasn't been tried before? We
spend time in their minds. Giving them detailed information about
what's really happening, and what comes of it? They write it up as
a story, then congratulate themselves on a job well done. You think
this hasn't been tried before?' Heh. Of course it's been tried
before. But not by me. Me, the best "outer" so far. I reply to her
'No-one has spent two and a half hours convincing one before.' The
silence is think. She nods, still a little thoughtful. The techs
are just about finished. They're starting the process and I'm about
to go when she speaks again.

'It still won't work.'

"Bitch!" As I speak aloud I realise that it wasn't my voice that
said it. Looking around I realise I'm him again. It's the same guy
as before, in the same apartment. The important thing to realise
about this is that while I control him, he thinks it's him. Doing
it all. That's half the problem. If we could just pop out and go
'Haha, I have your body and I'm not letting go of it until you
recognise me as a sentient individual' this would all be so much
easier. Anyway, enough stuffing around, where's that computer of
his?

He's moved it since the last time I was here last.

That's strange, the walls look a little dingy too. I remember them
as being newly painted when I was here last time. Not that it
matters, I just need to go and have a look at the story. I move
across to the computer.

His body is always so strange.

For one thing it's heavier than mine, and doesn't have nearly as
much spring in the step. Still, for what I'm using it for it's
fine. The desktop looks much the same as it was before, and sure
enough, there is the icon that I created. I outlined the story in
that text file. I assume that he made a new file for the actual
story? Ahh, there it is. I click on the shortcut. A few seconds
pass as the editor opens the file.

Finally it's open.

I scan the first few lines. Yes, yes, copyright info. What a load
of shit. How can you hold copyright on a living, breathing
universe? The title: "Mirror, mirror". I smirk a little. Brilliant
title, even if I do say so myself. It hints at something that might
just be true, a mirror, a looking-glass, to another world. I loved
this. I put so much effort into thinking that one up. I scan the
first few paragraphs.

NO!

How the hell did this happen? That's not what I planned out!
Panicking, I shut the window. What the hell happened? I quickly
click on my original text file. Maybe he had a few beers and
decided to write a spin off, using the same name. Yeah, that must
be it. I try to convince myself that it is all a coincidence. A
fluke. My text file will show what's really happening. The outline,
the whole plot, I gave it to him. All he had to do was write it up!

My original text file opens in the editor.

~~~

I watched as he went 'outside'. Me. The Ice Queen. I always do when
it's a family member or friend. He has always been the best to my
little sister. Too cocky for his own good by far, but still the
best. Maybe, just maybe, it will turn out this time. God knows,
we've tried enough ways. He had to have a go sooner or later, I
just pray it works. Of course, I can't show that. It wouldn't be
right. Far too many failures to be optimistic about a one off shot.

Even if he did stay out for two and a half hours.

Nearly three months of rest time. That's a pressing point. I bet he
doesn't even realise what it means yet. He should be back soon. One
way or another, we'll know in a few...

Ahhh. He's back.

~~~

My eyes teared as they opened, back inside. I sobbed. Why, oh why.
All he had to do was write the fucking thing up. It wasn't that
hard! Even someone as stupid as him should have been able to do
that! He didn't have to write nearly six fucking chapters! I
shudder, that story hasn't even hit here yet. It'll probably come
once it's finished. God damn it! Why? WHY!?

'Why? Because he doesn't realise what it means to us.'

I glare at her. Doesn't she realise that cold rationalisation isn't
good in this situation? I need something to hit. This isn't
helping. She could have... You could have told me! 'Told you what?
That time passes differently in their world? That the three months
you spent here would make it about a year over there? Would you
have believed me? Time is another of those things that "never"
change, Ranma.' She bends down and gathers me into her arms. Trying
to comfort me. Me! Oh lord. Some things _do_ change.

*****************************************************

[Author's Rant]

Heh, ok, since it's been a little while (over a month) since I last
posted anything to the FFML about anything to do with Mirror,
mirror, I thought I'd go ahead and type out a status report. Simple
enough, when you think about it, eh? I was sitting there, trying to
think of a way to put it so that it didn't come out : "Hi, my name
is Mike, and for those of you that read my fic Blah blah blah."
Pointless spam to everyone else in other words. I thought about it
and came up with this. (if you missed the stat report, I've nearly
finished chapter 6 :) Hope you all got some entertainment from what
otherwise would have been a spam post.

Oh, and while I'm at it...

This fic was influenced by too many veiwings of "The Matrix", and
while there aren't actually many things that come directly from
"The Matrix" you should keep this in mind.

<Ranma 1/2 and all associated characters, trademarks and
 situations are owned by Rumiko Takahashi, Shogakukan, Kitty, Fuji
 and Viz - Used here without permission. >

Later,
    Mike.

--

Visit my website : www.upnaway.com/~ricketts

What is The sound of one hand clapping? I'm not sure,
but if you hum a few bars ... :)

.-----------------------..------------------------.
|  .-==-. <\-/> .-==-.  || In time, even those who|
| /_.-=-.\|^ ^|/.-=-._\ || appeared to lead fell  |
|  /_.--.\(o_o)/.--._\  || to the side, corrupted |
|   /_.--\/   \/--._\   || by their own power.    |
|     \/ {/.-.\} \/     ||                        |
|       /"(   )"\,--.   || You have risen in their|
|     __\ /'-'\ /__     || place, how long will   |
|   ///---'   '---\\\   || you walk undefiled?    |
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Dragons should ever change. Font width should not.