He hatched the new wizard, and he wrote him into existence. The new Wizard's name was Clevan. Clevan was a sharp sort of fellow, and that's where he got his name. Jeremy was the boy who wrote about Clevan. Jeremy didn't know that he was a wizard. It was against The Law for him to know. He had already repealed The Law for himself, but he'd been obeying it all his life and didn't know of any other way. So, he just continued to act like he didn't know. He spoke carelessly and recklessly, speaking garbage and traps into his path. He spoke poison into his thoughts, and frustration into his work. He kept himself on a hamster wheel, and he kept himself miserable. Opportunities came and went. The chance to be rich, prosperous, loved, and fulfilled knocked on his door many times, and he didn't answer. Instead, he took to the streets and begged for scraps. He needed, he pleaded, and he cried for people's pity. His plight was not pitied, except by the few who felt his plight the way he did. All the while, his magic wand lay rotting in the corner. He had new worlds to create, and he left them in the unseen.
But during this time, he journeyed in his journal. He wrote his autobiography day by day, in code, the way he would have loved to write it were he being truthful. He wrote about the life he would have loved to live in another time. He wrote about the things he would have loved to create. He felt the warmth in his mind as he wrote them, and his double, Clevan, began to explore these new worlds without him. He soon became jealous of Clevan. How dare this wizard create a life that his author would never get to have? So, he wrote Clevan into a prison, and slammed the book shut, vowing never to write again. But soon, he began to have nightmares. He refused to sleep until he couldn't stay awake. He would wake in the dream, the Angry Moon staring at him. Soon, he began to see reflections of the Angry Moon over and over, down the surface of the waterfront. He would wake up screaming in the middle of the night, with no one to hear him in his isolated, tiny apartment.
He soon began to believe he was in prison. He saw the book, and he had to hide it from his sight. The Angry Moon lived in that book. He couldn't dare look at it. He needed to forget the Angry Moon before he fell asleep again, lest he have another of those terrifying dreams.
He grew up, one day to become a mediocre man of societal success. He had a wife he didn't love, children he didn't want, and a house that he pretended to be grateful for. He drove a car that he made his only Love, even though it didn't handle very well. He didn't like to drive at night. When he got old, his children didn't write or call. They just put him in the home. The guards heard him screaming at night when the Angry Moon returned. He knew that he was bound for Hell. In fact, he was already there. Clevan never got away. They both returned to the void.
