Writer’s Block

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What a day. You reach inside your pockets and search for your keys. There. Found them. You single out the one you need and slide it into the lock. You hear the tumbler click and open the door slowly. You just need to grab those things and be on your way. The room is covered in darkness with the exception of the slither of light illuminating your searching shadow.

Where are they? They were here a few hours ago. Your hands fumble blindly across the paper covered surface of the desk. Where could they be?

Suddenly, you see orbs. Glowing menacing orbs in the midst of the black. He has them. He snatched them again.

“You! Give me those back! They are mine.”

He laughs at your fury and you hear a swift heart wrenching rip.

He has destroyed them.

“Those were my ideas! I was going to use those! How could you do that?”

You see his figure shrug as he disappears into the depths. He never has cared and nor will he ever. Your work is only scribbles on scrap sheets. He loves taking what isn’t his.

You slowly bend down and pick up what is left of your treasure. Some pieces manage to slip out of your careful hands and float to the cold floor. All of the pieces are covered with your script. You gently cradle them and place them on the desk. You sit in the dusty chair and wait for a sliver of inspiration.

He may have gotten away with it this time, but next time he won’t be so lucky.

Just wait.

It’s coming.

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