Arthur Wells was suddenly overflowing with emotion, most of them bad. Fear rose up and joined hands with depression, and then cleared the way for terror and self pity. Somewhere in there was also joy, and a feeling that at least Arthur had found his real role in life. That was squashed by doubt.
Arthur had suddenly come up with a theory. He devised his thesis while in the shower. This was what it was, "I am an extra in some story."
To back up this thesis were many different items of proof, or at least, to Arthur, they were proof.
He had lived a rather plain life, beginning with a plain and boring childhood and maturing into a plain and boring career life. He had a job, a job that had no chance of promotion. He would never be recognized for what he did, no one would be proud of anything he did, he didn't do anything that was worth talking about. He was the type of person who would walk past the main characters as they did something. He would just go to work and then come home. Perhaps he would enter the story again. He might be the guy on the bus that passes the heroine. That guy in the park reading the newspaper. The man in the suit. The blad guy next to the fat woman. The man at the next table. All those roles he had most likely been created to play.
If more proof was necessary (it wasn't to Arthur, but still, he had it, just in case) then there was his personality. He had none. To be honest, he did have a personality, but not much of one. Not one that had been developed in any sort of way. He had one of those makeshift personalities. One of those types of personalities that was just shoved together quickly, to give the image of realism. He had a facade like personality.
He had few friends. Just enough friends, like his personality, to give a tiny hint of realism. His friends were basically cut outs of himself. Everyone he associated with was like a chain of paper dolls, all cut from the same sheet of paper. They were fodder to fill up the city scene. To put it blankly, they were nobodies and would remain so.
He then decided that since no one would ever be able to enter his mind and find out what he was thinking, he was allowed to think the thought that he had just thought. It wouldn't sound right if the main character in a story suddenly said "Wait a second, this is just somesilly piece of fiction." But a extra could at least think it.
Arthur suddenly began to think about all the people he had ever seen. "Who could be the main character," he asked. Its hard to tell really. Its easier to know that one is an extra, then to know who is the main character, at least, its hard for an extra to be able to figure it all out. A minor character might be able to figure it out, but an extra? No. Never.
Arthur now knew his whole purpose in life. He felt glad, relieved, suddenly. But then he became depressed. "Is this all I am?" he said. "Is it even worth it? Do I need to live a boring life just so that I can be the guy three seats ahead? The man in the bank line? Would anyone miss me if I just suddenly vanished?"
Then he thought for a second. Maybe he was meant to end his life. Maybe he was meant to commit suicide and therefore just be another extra, just another suicide in a large city.
If he didn't, however, then he would be cheating whoever is in charge. He'd be giving the finger to the writer. "Ha ha," said Arthur.
Arthur suddenly came up with an idea. He would try his hardest to become a main character, or at the very least, a minor one.
All major characters, thought Arthur, were minor ones to begin with. What made them major characters is that they did something to warrant some sort of character development. If others managed to become major characters, then I could to.
He decided to wait until he was out of the shower first.
Once he was all clean and fresh, he decided to make a list of how he would become a major character. The steps he would need to take to evolve.
First off, he would have to become interesting. He would have to shed his plain boring life and do at least something that might be considered interesting by someone else. Either interesting physical feats, or interesting mental feats. He might have to dress interestingly or say interesting things. No more: "Hi, George, how are you today? Oh fine. How's your wife. Oh fine." He might have to do things that could get him killed. He thought about becoming a famous explorer, or adventurer and then cast that from his mind, calling himself "Silly" as he did so. He was obviously not an adventurer or an explorer. Not all main characters were. He would have to be the kind of character that was a thinker. That was a sure way of becoming a main character. Because, for a thinker to be of any use, the story would have to enter his brain and wander in there for a while. The only people who had their thoughts exposed like that were main characters.
He decided that he was going to stop thinking embarrassing thoughts. He was already turning red as he remembered some of the thoughts he thought in the past. He didn't want thousands of people reading over them.
Second, he would need to get rid of all his friends. They were just other extras. One could never become a major character with friends like them. He would need to search out and meet people who he thought might be main characters. All he would need to do is meet one main character and become that main character's friend and he would suddenly become a major extra, at the very least. How could he help but evolve with a friend like that. He might be invited over to a dinner party and get a line here and there. Nothing that would involve the plot, but still, a line never the less. Of course, he might say something that involves the plot, one could never know.
Depression sunk in again. The thought that caused it repeated itself for his view: "One could never know." It seems that's it. How could he ever know if he had indeed met a main character at all. He might have only met a minor character, or a major extra or something of that sort.
"Oh this is pointless," cried Arthur and became an extra again.