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I said I'd steal some themes from this story. And I have. Pretty much just the idea of telling you the climax of the story in the title to be honest. I've got no interest in the mind control and non-consensual aspects of that piece. And a quick chat from the author before you start doesn't really count as forth wall breaking right? I'm not a character. I'm real and in the same universe as you. So my prompt is "She wets herself at the end." The first idea that came to my mind was to tell a shaggy dog tale. Something completely off topic that makes you completely forget the prompt. And then make the main character wet herself completely out of nowhere at the end. Shocking right? But the more I thought about it the more I started to think, "Everyone is just going to think I'm telling a story I've wanted to tell for ages, maybe even pre-wrote, and then tacked on the prompt like a vestigial appendix." So I won't be doing that. Instead I'm going to tell a story that totally embraces the prompt. I hope you all enjoy it! ---The girl didn't pee before she left the pub. Even though she had been drinking copious amounts of cider. Even though her stagger home would take at least twenty minutes. This was in those days before rapists lurked behind every hedge and a girl could comfortably, however inebriated, wander the suburbs alone in the dark without fear; without even a phone to lose. Before we all learned to be afraid of shadows. Before fears sneak up on you. She was still young is what I'm saying. She didn't need to pee before she left. But outside, away from the stimulation of her friends and the too loud music she did need to pee. The sudden urgency of a full bladder you've been too busy to notice. The kind that sneaks up on you. She considered going back to the pub. But at this time of night their toilets are absolutely disgusting. First one girl drinks a few glasses of wine, hovers, misses the bowl but finds the seat. Then the next girl has to hover because the seat is covered in pee and she is hammered so she mostly ends up getting the floor and it just escalates from there. Also, it would be embarrassing to go back, "oh I forgot to pee and I can't wait till I get home even though it's only twenty minutes because I'm four years old." Embarrassing. She couldn't wait till she got home even though it was only twenty minutes. Even though it has been fifteen years since she had been four years old. This was in suburbia. One of those leafy suburbs with an Aboriginal name and winding streets that suggest something natural about tarmac. There are no bathrooms in this kind of suburbia that aren't in peoples homes. And you can't, as much as you might like to, stand on someone's doorstep, dress pressed between double crossed legs, and beg to use their toilet in the middle of the night. And she couldn't wait till she got home. Images of her bladder exploding came to mind. A concussive waterfall. A pulling tide. If she kept walking doggedly in the direction of home she was without any shadow of a doubt going to wet herself at the end. So she stopped next to an Audi parked sightly out from the curb, dropped her undies to her knees, squatted in the way that young knees and thighs can, held the loose folds of her dress in a wadded knot by her hip, and peed a cataract down the gutter. --- Do you think I cheated? That I broke the prompt by my character, who certainly wasn't a younger me, perish the thought, not wetting herself at the end. Well you'd be almost right if you were thinking that. Except of course, and I can here from the gasps that some of you have just realized that I haven't cheated, because I'm peeing right now. "She wets herself at the end." Hypodiegesis is a delightfully named narrative technique that describes a story within a story. I rather like the sound of the word. Anyway, I liked the idea of using Hypodiesesis to set up a twist, a surprise ending. The title makes you expect a pretty specific something from the ending so it was a little bit of a challenge getting a twist in there. Rather than just a fourth wall breaking gimmick. Speaking of a twist; I'm freaking busting for a pee. I've increasingly needed to as I wrote this story, and now I'm straight-up desperate. Or I was when I wrote this sentence. As I write this sentence I'm peeing in my pants. Right now. Because "She wets herself at the end."