their cries were left unheard,
but still did they yearn to be
with them.
A MINECRAFT YOUTUBER ONESHOT BOOK.
RANKINGS
trio #6 || 1.3.2021
thetrio #2 || 8.27.2021
george #222 || 1.1.2021
minecraft #280 || 1.1.2021
dream #284 || 12.20...
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THE CLACKING OF CAREFULLY MANICURED FINGERS AGAINST THE KEYBOARD FILLED THE SILENCE, your fingertips pressing on the letters repeatedly, pausing every once in a while to let your eyes dart around the coffee shop, searching for some random sight or scene that would help you move past what was an extremely irritating bout of writer's block.
A sigh of annoyance slipped past your lips as you scanned the first draft before you, nose scrunching in distaste at the bland opening to your new book.
It had been two months since you'd published your first novel, Reborn, and apparently dystopian books had once again become popular, as the sales had skyrocketed. You'd been getting ping after ping of notifications, as well as email after email, both flooding your computer with two-or rather, a hundred-too many offers and reviews. The confines of what had once been your cozy, comfortable home had turned hot and suffocating overnight, with the obnoxious ringing of your phone echoing in your empty apartment, and it wasn't very long before walls had started to feel like they'd been closing in on you and you couldn't breathe.
You were ecstatic, of course. For any writer, for your first novel to be receiving so much publicity and so many positive reviews was a dream. ( haha geddit im so FUNNY ) But eventually the constant pinging got overwhelming, and you weren't a bot who could read emails twenty-four / seven.
Which was why you were currently seated inside your favourite coffee shop ( a decently sized café with a certain charm to it hidden behind the big billboards businesses like Starbucks put up everywhere ), your fingers resting on your keyboard, foot tapping impatiently on the wooden flooring as you glanced around for inspiration.
Music blasted up to nearly full volume in your headphones, head bobbing to the beat of the music, you reached over to the mug of chocolate frappe you'd ordered earlier that afternoon and found, to your displeasure, that it had been drained of its delicious, chocolatey contents. The corners of your chocolate stained lips curved downwards in a frown at this revelation, and clasping the handle in one of your hand, you got up, reaching forward a second later to cover your writing in case someone looked over and read it.
Your free hand pulled down your headphones, leaving them to rest around your neck.
"Hi, uhm," hesitantly, you tried for the attention of one of the new workers, someone who looked to be in his early twenties ( or maybe late teens? You never had been a good judge of age ), "hello?"
