Project Pen (first draft)

Chapter Three

     I woke up with a sigh of relief the next morning. It must have been a dream, a really vivid dream, a horrific nightmare. I probably spent too much time looking at the plot and dreamt of myself in my main character's position.

     I stretched and made my bed, ate my morning breakfast, and got dressed to leave for my morning run, but when I reached for my keys, I saw it... A blood smear on the self-defense tool dangling from my keychain. I shook my head in disbelief and ran to the living room where my laptop was sitting on the floor. I opened it, and saw that it was all there. The full six thousand word detailed account That means it had to be real. I'd actually attacked someone last night.

     No... He attacked me, or, he was going to. That means it was self-defense, right? I was just protecting myself! I had to... right? At least I got something out of it. At least I finally have a good start for my plot. I didn't do anything wrong, and no one knows I was there. I didn't do anything wrong... I should just go about my day like normal.

     I left and went to the gym, completing my light exercise routine. It's not very vigorous, as it's for simple health's sake and not for aesthetics, but it's important that I keep at it regularly, and it's a good opportunity for me to get my mind off of recent events.

     I was approaching the 3rd mile of my treadmill run by the time I had allowed myself to think about the attack. Was he really planning on hurting me? He had to be. I highly doubt Kevin Walsh would ever lower his ego enough to actually ask a woman of all people for help. Especially one he would consider to be a heinous bitch.

     

But that's not really possible... Though I don't remember much of the night, the look on his face won't leave my eyes. But I can't dwell on the past. That's not who I am.

    My thoughts were cut by my melodic ringtone, Sabrina was calling. I answered.

"Hey girl!" her plastic voice chimed through the phone, "I have good news and bad news, what do you wanna hear first?"

I rolled my eyes at the question. I've never understood why people ask which to hear first, the order of the message won't minimize the negative effects. "Good news."

"Okay, so the good news is you're officially a finalist! It was a close call but lucky for you, I'm great at my job." As excited as I was, I held off on any celebration. I still have to hear the bad news.

"Bad news is, the girl you're up against is good. Really good, I've read her selected excerpts and I won't lie, as of right now, she's putting out better work than you are." I felt myself exhale, it's not over yet. I still have a chance.

"What do I have to do?"

     "You have to write," she said as if it was obvious, "You need to put your life and your soul into this and you need to write the absolute best you can. I'm doing my part, and I'm trying to sell this as hard as I can, but I can't do it all alone. I need you to give me more to work with. I need more like what you sent me last night. That was really good Edith. That was the raw, untapped, female rage that I'm trying to market." I nodded, knowing what she was saying was true. I haven't been doing my best work. I could do better, I have to do better, and I know what I have to do.

     I got to work immediately. I started to work on baking a batch of fresh cookies, a recipe Tiffany taught me, it's not too sweet, but still traditional. While they were baking, I picked my dress. If murder gives me the inspiration to write, I know exactly who needs to go. Some men don't exactly deserve life. I received a low mark on Mr. Martin's socratic seminar last week. I'll use that as an excuse to have a meeting with him in private, and I'll ambush him. He's a sorry excuse of a human and a stain on this school's reputation. I honestly believe that no one will actually miss him.