A short story about a writer and a boy
|Crud. So I came here to this little Italian bakery in search of inspiration. Sipping on my espresso, watching the suites fly in and out, grabbing their early morning coffee, some rushing to their cubicles while others sit next to me chatting about memos and deadlines.
Maybe I should write about them.
Son of gun writer’s block, mixed in with this shitty case of “I don’t give a damn” attitude this morning. It’s really making this hard for me to write anything at all, let alone another award wining novel. I need ideas. I need something to get me going. But all I got is this picture of this kid in a straw hat wearing suspenders, a white dress shirt, and peering off into the horizon implanted directly into my mind. I assume he’s looking at something or waiting for someone.
I can’t tell, he isn’t saying much he’s just staring off into the wild blue yonder. Is my mind subconsciously telling me I’m strapped for ideas and I’m looking at nothing trying to find something? Is he saying that I got nothing to write about? Is he there just to annoy me? Possibly even distract me from my goals? Something deeper maybe, that little son of gun won’t leave my head!
Well at least it’s a bright beautiful morning today.
It’s almost as if I can see him in front of me now. Why won’t you go away? Let me be I need to think I need to get this job done, The world may be my office but I to am still a slave to time.
Look I daydreamed up an X-box 360 with a 40 inch plasma, with all the top games go play please.
Son of a.
I yell in my mind for the child to leave. I am utterly frustrated now. He doesn’t even flinch. Still their with that stare of his. Kid didn’t even blink.
Frustrated in almost all aspects of my life I sit and sip my coffee never leaving a hint of frustration to the gofers that run to and fro.
I try to scratch his image from my head. I try to erase him from my existence.
Relentless little bugger just won’t go away.
I shut my notepad, pad, place my pen firmly on the coffee table and light a cigarette. A good five minuets pass and I think I’ve managed to Finally place the kid out of my mind, hopefully in some deep dark prison in the farthest recesses of my brain.
I breathe in deeply in triumphant, reach for my pen, open my note pad. And exhale in defeat. There he sat on the front page of my notepad. In the same exact pose, with that same exact expression, waiting.
Son of a gun still won’t blink.
This is going to be the worlds shortest epic novel. How can I write with this kid reeking havoc on my brain. I still can’t think of a reason why he’s here. I cant find a way to dispose of him.
A thought peered into my head. “Idiot there’s a story write in front of you.” Eureka, that’s it this kid will be new story. I pick up my pen and begin furiously jotting down plots and sub plots, plotting out time beginnings, middles, and endings, Hours fly by and before I realize it, my hand cramps up.
I take a minute to gaze upon my scribbles. Astounded to see that I managed to do so much in such a short period of time.
I bring the kid up in to the front of my brain. Still their, I whisper in his ear a thank you. He tilts his hat smiles and vanishes into my treasure box of ideas.
Total word count 628.