I cannot explain what follows. The premise occurred to me at lunch today.
***
As I sat in the booth at the diner, awaiting the delivery of my lunch order, I had the sudden sensation that I was nothing more than a figment of someone's imagination, created at that very instant and placed in that situation for reasons unknown to me by forces beyond my comprehension. I quickly, furtively glanced around in every direction for any sign of impending unusual activity. As a writer myself, I knew one of the basic rules of storytelling was to start off as close to the first significant event as possible. So, if something was about to happen, I knew it had to be soon.

Nothing. Oh, crap. I was struck with the terrible realization that I might be the avatar of a hack who doesn't know the first thing about laying out a good tale and intended to use me to work out his own deep-seated psychological issues. Which meant I would be sitting here for the rest of the day and all night, drinking coffee and sinking further into depression over the lost opoortunities of my life until I either (a) committed suicide in the toilet with a steak knife or (b) decided to put the past behind me, walked out into the night with a new sense of purpose and hope, and got stabbed by a mugger.

Well, fuck that.

As suddenly as it came, the feeling passed. It was as if whatever it was, if indeed it had ever been anything, lost interest or decided I was too much trouble to deal with. The waitress arrived with the blue plate special and refilled my coffee cup. Nothing much else happened.