Write Me A Love Story

02:

In the morning, my empty Word document reminded me that I was still the old me.

Sitting at my small kitchen table, I held my coffee as it got cold. Francesca and her royal feline authority weaved under my chair, meowing softly. She could've been motivating me; Francesca was a friendly cat. But the motivation didn't translate.

I reached down and scratched her head, never taking my eyes off the laptop screen. The first line and the only line I wrote sighed at me:

Chapter One: The Beginning

The beginning? The beginning of what?

"Maybe I could write about what that old woman was talking about yesterday." Leaning against the palm of my hand, I tapped my nails against my coffee cup. "She mentioned the machines and the end of the world, then I was like..."

I was talking to myself. I'd read somewhere that speaking your ideas out loud could bring them to fruition. I wasn't sure if it was working. "Okay," I cleared my throat, "this could be the beginning of the end, right?"

Putting down my coffee mug, I hovered my hands over the keyboard. Francesca hopped on the chair opposite me, then elegantly made her way onto the table. She purred as she rubbed her head on the side of the laptop's screen.

"I know, I know," I glanced at her and scratched under her chin, "I can do this, it's just hard."

Francesca meowed.

"Well, it's hard because the ideas are in my head, floating around, screaming to be written." Dramatically moving back, I extended my arms and straightened my fingers to point at my laptop. "But I can't do the things. I can't do words. Do you understand?"

Maybe Francesca did. Maybe she didn't. She sat down, made herself comfortable, and proceeded to clean her front paw.

I groaned. "I wish I could be carefree like you."

Francesca lifted her gaze and looked at me, stopping mid-lick.

I raised my hands. "Okay, sorry. I guess it's hard being a cat."

My cell phone buzzed beside my laptop. Glancing at the Caller ID, Nancy's face was clear. I took a quick sip of my cooled-down coffee before reaching for my cell, sliding my thumb over the answer button, and saying "Yes?" as I pressed it to my ear.

"Yes?" Nancy scoffed on the other line. "Girl, what are you doing?"

My brows lifted. I looked at Francesca, then around at my tiny kitchen. The small window above the sink allowed the wind to come inside, blowing at my lilac curtains. I smiled before looking back at my laptop. The blank document cried. Tears of unwritten words.

I couldn't tell Nancy that I had been sitting in front of an empty Word document.

"Hello?" Nancy hissed.

I bit my lip. Bringing my foot on top of my seat, I played with my fuzzy socks. "I'm just here, writing. You know, it's for that contest and stuff."

"Writing?" Nancy asked quietly. "You've been writing?"

Biting my lip, I nodded, even though she couldn't see. "Yup."

"Do you know what time it is?"

I pursed my lips. I didn't. "No, I—" I squinted at the tiny digital clock on the corner of the laptop's screen. Then I blinked.

9:32 A.M.

I was late.

"Girl," Nancy sucked her teeth. "You're late."