Alcatraz Versus the Scrivener's Bones

  "You were so young,” I said. "Too young to be taken from us. Why did it have to happen to you, of all people, when you are so young? Too young to die, I mean."

  I pricked her finger to make sure she wasn't just faking, but she didn't even flinch. I pinched her, then slapped her face. Nothing worked.

  How many times do I have to explain that she was dead? I looked down at her body, her face turning blue from death, and I wept some more.

  She was so dead that I didn't even realize that this section is in the book for two reasons. First, so that I could have Bastille die somewhere, just like I promised. (See, I wasn't lying about this! Ha!)

  The second reason is, of course, so that if anyone skips forward to the end to read the last page – one of the most putrid and unholy things any reader can do – they will be shocked and annoyed to read that Bastille is dead.

  The rest of you can ignore these pages. (Did I mention that Bastille is dead?)

  The end.

  About the Author

  Brandon Sanderson is not, obviously, the real author of this book. Alcatraz Smedry wrote it. Because this book must be published in the Hushlands as a "fantasy" novel in order to confuse and distract Librarian agents, an arrangement has been reached with Mr. Sanderson to use his name on the cover.

  Alcatraz has met Brandon Sanderson, and he was not impressed. Sanderson writes actual fantasy books – silly things that are nowhere near as factual and real as this text. He's the president of his local chapter of THCoFWWBAWTL, and he has been known to bring swords to weddings.

  He's been imprisoned for improper use of puns on three separate occasions.