And you know what’s fucked-up about it? A pause. It’s that you wanna write, yes, but there are days that you just can’t. It’s not that you forgot how to put one word after another on the page, paper, word processor, notes app, whatever, no. It’s that no matter how much you push yourself, nothing wants to come to you to tell their story.
No characters itching around inside your skull, first rambling madly to themselves, and then to you, taking you by the arms and purring into your ears, “Write about us. Write our stories.”
No inanimate object buzzing about, bumping wildly into the other inanimate objects inside the multi-storeyed warehouse tucked away in a crevice inside your brain, forming whatever, sweetly whispering and murmuring into the warm, moist tubules of your blood vessels, “Come on, you can do it. Write about us. Write how we’ve come to have minds and wills of our own.”
And certainly no odd creatures reappearing under the sepia tone of an abandoned theatre house decades past its prime, eagerly watching the current scene unfolding on the empty stage.
No, nothing at all.
|Originally written: January 13, 2023
YOU ARE READING
Choice Cuts
Short StorySweetest Decay, Series 1 A collection of my short stories I first published in my writing blog, Sweet Decay.
