You are what you write

  'Look at this guy!' Harry elbowed Rob, nodding towards the fellow walking out the front of parliament house.

Surrounded by the Supreme court on one side, parliament house across the road, and many specialists swarmed around Sydney Hospital. Having just ducked out of the office, they ordered a coffee and took a seat at their usual table. It was a table that allowed them to watch all the goings-on from the high street.

It was a great place. You'd get protests and marches on parliament. High fa looting barristers in their wigs and gown, followed by the odd villain or two that you see spread over your screen on the evening news.

Today though, Harry, a writer at heart, was affixed on the fellow wearing a billboard front and back that read 'You are what you eat on one side, the flip side, 'As it is with what you write.'

Looking in the direction, Rob scanned the area momentarily, trying to spy what was Mitchell pointing out, lawyer, villain, or otherwise. Landing his eye on and reading the billboard, 'What do you think that means?'

'Spooky, isn't it.'

'What do you mean?'

'Well, you know I write for a bit of a hobby. You know, get, keep work out of my head.'

'Yeah'

'Well, I've written two bits I'm none too proud of. The first one was about a bike race I was doing once. Actually, the truth is it was a ride, nothing more. I wrote a race report for want of a better word. Narrative observations about the person I was racing, unfair, and all for many reasons.  

Namely, they didn't know they were in a race, and also they were new to riding.'

'So?'

'Well then, there was another piece. I was at a funeral for a friend's mum. Late in the day, you know, after the service and burial, this fellow turns up at the wake. Huge guy wearing nothing but shorts, a singlet, and thongs. I didn't recognise him at first, then did after a while.  

I wrote an observational piece on him, nothing wrong or otherwise, simply a piece of writing. He'd come from a person, tall and robust in the past to the poor fellow who looked particularly unwell.

He passed away a year later.'

'So?'

'Well,' Harry paused.

'I think there's something in that 'You are what you write.' Look at me, multiple pushbike accidents later, a few bad life decisions, and look at me. I've become that fellow in the singlet.'

'Rubbish!'

'No, I have. Seriously, I wish I could unwrite it, unwrite anything like that. Never write an observation on the life or performance of another. I'm going to stick with Science fiction and fantasy now. Surely that will be safe.'

'You reckon? You looked about you lately. We're living science fiction today.'

'So.' Harry looked at his friend, still thinking about the realisation he'd just come to.

'Well, don't go writing anything drastic about science fiction cause with what you've just said, it'll bloody well come true.'