I never thought of myself as a savior…

He gasped for air, swallowing salvation in husky, rapid breaths. It almost hurt to breathe.

“Two months? It’s been two months, and now you get here? I’m sorry, were we not worth saving, did you not see us dying over there-”
“Calm down, stop. He wrote it, okay? He brought us here. He brought us back.”
“Do you know what happens to stories that don’t get read? Nothing. Nothing at all. Do you know what happens to stories that don’t get written? We’re less than nothing. We cease to exist the second you cease to type, and you people are playing with our lives for what? Some sociology test? We have feelings, we have dreams, we have themes and sentiments. You should know that, because they were yours long before you gave them to us.”
“No one wants a sermon.”
“I don’t care what they want, I want to feel, I want to breathe, I need to be written. You know that inspiration button? This is it. It’s been worked on. Don’t let us die.”
“No one going’s to care-”
“Someone will.”