The Author

Chapter 1

He sits at his mahogany desk - pen in hand - ready to jot down notes. His computer screen stares blankly back at him as he rattles his brain for ideas.

Beside his computer lays a small pen pot. Nothing resides in it, as his only pen is resting in his palm. Drawers with black metal rungs for handles are settled perfectly into the side of the desk, but they lie empty. Paper is simply blank under his hand, and the black bin next to his office chair is almost overflowing with crumpled pieces of paper which have been carelessly discarded. Reaching down, he opens one. Blank. Another. Also blank.

Heaving himself up from his chair, he sighs and stumbles over to the window. White panels line the side of it, and the pale walls offer a neutral colour scheme for his writing.

Looking out, he sees the small, ageing fountain just before his front door, with the gravel driveway circling around it, which then stretches through the gardens to the front gate of the house. Rose beds line it, and the neatly trimmed grass has been carefully mowed to satisfaction by the gardener.

Suddenly, the door knob turns behind him and creaks open. Turning around, he gestures to the maid where to place down the tea tray, and she rests it down onto the coffee table. Turning back to face the window once again, he no longer sees the entrance to his large estate. This time, he sees himself. Looking at his greying hair, he touches it, glad to still have it. His dark green eyes, once energetic and full of enthusiasm, stare back weary and strained. His wrinkled cheeks are crinkly and his skin looks rough. Feeling it, he finds it course and cracked. As for his beard, it's bushy and matches his hair's grey colour. Faded as well, it covers his cheeks, chin, and between his nose and mouth, and it is carefully trimmed. A small double chin is forming under his face, and it is beginning to appear baggy. Another sigh brings him back to his desk, and he once again attempts to type a single word.