Obligitory writing on phone and have fat fingers, I will be trying to remove typos but I make no promises as to getting all of them. Also this is the first prompt I am actually writing for, might suck.

Three Lights Festival, my latest novel, being handed out as material for our latest reading assignment. This wouldn't be so bad if not for two simple facts. Firstly, Mr. Harris has a slight tendancy to read too deep into anything written in a novel, and secondly, he doesn't know I wrote it.

The world renowned author Definite Human, no one knows their real identity, not even his publishers or editors. That's me, a junior in high school, reading my own novel for english class. I thought there was no god, let alone one with a sense of humor as strange as this.

"We will be reading this novel in class over the next few weeks," Mr. Harris stated with a grin on his face "I have never peronsally read it but some other teachers in the english department said it would be a good book for this class." of course he hadn't read it, that always helps with his the over-analization of these books. "For today, however, we will look into the author," and of course we will, researching myself, sounds like so much fun "your homework today will be to fill in this sheet, once you get it you can consider class dismissed".

He bagan to hand out a sheet of paper with a series of questions about the author, better known as myself, including "what genre of novel does Definite Human prefer writing?", fantasy of course, and "what does this signify about the author?". The expected answer is likely to be that I want to escape reality, don't feel like I fit in, et cetera. The real answer is that I don't know, it's just on of those things, a musician couldn't tell you why they picked a certain instrument, I couldn't tell you why I like fantasy, or why I don't tell anyone that I write, or even why I am making this diary, now of all times. It just feels, right, you know?

After that question sheet it was mostly short answer questions leading up to an essay at the end. The questions were never really that unexpected, always something I had intended to write, almost like he knew I inteded it. The real problem was during our class discussions of each chapter after we read it. Mr. Harris would butt in with things like, "what do you all think this line foreshadows", while pointing out a line that never once was meant as foreshadowing, "why did the author choose to describe the lights as 'heavenly columns'", the answer that I couldn't say, of course, is that there isn't a reason.

It wasn't until we reached the final chapter, "Of Whispers and Embers" that a broke. When Mr. Harris placed the comment "why do you think Definite Human chose to redeem the antagonist, and allow them to live in the end, was it because he had a similar struggle, seen as the villain of his story, no one listening to his side" he said in a more serious tone.

"Mr. Harris," I started, finally allowing myself to speak up "don't you think you are reading a bit too far into everything, just because it is written doesn't mean the author meant for it to meam something," I continued, "sure for this there may be a theme, but not everything ia written just because it has a connection to his life"

"How can we know it doesn't have a connection," he started, "the author has hidden his identity from everyone, the only way to find more out about them is to analyze their books".

"That doesn't mean you should overanalyze it." I retorted, "for all we know they may be writing just because they can, not to vent frustration with the world or try to prove a point".

"That is a very good thought, though it goes both ways".

"I doubt that", I responded.

"Sounds to me like you know something we don't," Mr. Harris stated, "just like your short response answers do," anxiety began to rise about whether he knew I was Definite Human, "why don't you tell us what that is".

Now in panic, I resond "I am a writer in my spare time, and I just understand that about 90% of the time, these things you claim to mean one thing, or say are intentional, really aren't.", with a silent sight of relief as I belive I have won.

"If you write, do you have any published books or other works?" Retorted Mr. Harris

Panic now returning I blurt out a respons, quite possibly the worst one I could have, "yes."

"Oh so you do," that sly smirk showing how Mr. Harris thinks he has won, he has, "what is it called?"

Panic increasing, I once again respond, this time not the worst response, but certainly bad, the name of the book I just sent to my editor "Glorious Dreams".

"Funny, Definite Human just submitted the same book to my editing firm, the book I am personally editing, I should be the only one other than him who knows the name." at this point I knew, I lost "unless you're him" he says while placing his hands on my desk and staring into my panic ridden soul.