It was a cold and stormy night…
“Scratch that.”
CLASH! The thunder roared…
“No, no. That just doesn’t do.”
Once upon a time?
“Dammit! No.”
The sound of the typewriter clicking away and the backspace making white marks on the not-so-immaculate sheet of paper echoed around the room. If it were possible, sweat pooled around our frustrated writer and marks of perspiration stained the back and front of his shirt. He pulled at his head and titled his head back in preparation of an anguished cry. However, all that came out from his lips were the silent screams of a man with writer’s block.
“Why can’t I think of anything?” he said to himself out loud, glaring daggers toward the typewriter as if it were the cause of the man’s dilemma. “Dammit!”
He pushed away from the desk in front of him, causing his chair to screeched in pain as it slid across the wooden floorboards. His elbows fell against his knees and his head sank into his large and trembling hands. “This used to be so easy…” he told himself aloud, reminiscing on old times long ago.
Suddenly a knock came to his door and he stared at the manmade ‘people-stopper’ for a moment. The knock came again, but louder, and he had no choice but to rise from his seat and answer the call.
“What?” he said immediately, even before the door was fully open and he could see the owner of the knock.
“What a way to greet a girlfriend,” came a woman’s soft, but stern voice.
Our troubled writer instantly felt like jumping away and diving behind an object for protection of his beauty’s wrath. He smiled sheepishly and moved to the side, allowing the young woman room to enter. “I um, sorry,” he stuttered, watching the woman with a wary eye.
“You should be sorry,” she said, keeping her back toward him. “What the hell have you been doing these passed four days? This place is a pigsty!”
Her eyes roamed around the room, her lips upturning into a disgusted frown. There were leftovers from the last time she had visited all over the floor and couch. Fruit flies fly around like small vultures over the garbage can that held everything but the garbage. “It reeks in here! Don’t you know how to at least open a window?” she scolded, turning around and glaring at him.
“I’ve been busy!” he retorted, trying to defend himself from the storm he knew to be coming.
“Busy writing? Jason, please! Give it up! It’s over! If you’re going to continue then at least having some sort of other job to take care of yourself!” she yelled as she took a step toward him and away from the cluttered mess she was once glaring at.
“I never asked you to!” he roared.
Her jaw dropped from the shock of his words directed only for her. “Well, sorry for trying to help you!” she shouted back, anger pulling away from the mess and heading toward the man standing across from her.
“You could at least be more supportive of this! All that ever comes out from that mouth of yours is nagging and complaints!” he paused for a moment, only realizing what he had just said seconds later. His eyes widened and he just stared at her, bracing himself for her words.
“You want me to be supportive?” she asked, a bitter tone in her voice. “You want me to be supportive?” she repeated. “I have been! For five years, Jason! Five whole fucking years! What do I get for taking care of you, making sure you don’t choke on your own misery? Nothing! That’s what I get! Nothing!”
“I’m sorry Amy, I didn’t mean to…” he stopped himself when the girl’s evil glare intensified and all he wanted to do at that moment was to cower and hide.
