The Blood a Pen Bleeds.

The Sweat of a Writer

                The young writer stood at the door of the publishing firm. Little did he know, what he held in his hands was a collection of 243 pieces of paper that were worth a fortune; possibly millions of dollars. In these pages were scribed some of the finest words ever to eek from a pen onto paper. He stood with confidence at the building which was soon to become his home away from home. But alas, this was quite a ways

Still a nervous boy, the writer pushed opens the swivel doors, and stepped in greeted by a blast of air from inside the building. He greeted the desk lady with a smile, but there was still a hint of nervousness in his voice.

"Hello, I had an appointment with, uh, Mr. Lendl?" He asked. She searched through her computer, typing a few things.

"You are a few minutes late, but I suppose we could squeeze you in" She said in a scolding voice, pointing him towards the door to her left. He entered the door into another lobby room. It was smaller than the previous one. There was a snack machine on one side, and a plant which may have been a fake on the other. There seemed to be too many people in this room, and he immediately felt claustrophobic.

Where were they going? Certainly they had somewhere to go. Everyone has somewhere to go. Anything else is pointless.

The light turned green and the elevator door slid open with a loud ding but there were already so many people there. He didn't get a chance to get in before it filled up. So he waited another five or so minutes only for the same scenario to unfold. There seemed to be so many people, and with each elevator trip, more people seemed to fill in. He simply couldn't give up, but there was never a chance to get on the elevator. The room became more and more crowded, and the writers anxiety rose quickly. Then he saw it, so simple, a door to his left, next to the snack machine. A sign was plastered on simply saying "UP" He ran and embraced the handle with his palm, and pushed it open. There was a set of stairs, and as felt nothing but determination, he started to climb them.

Very quickly he began to climb the stairs, almost at an alarming rate. He was sure he would tire out but he didn't. Flight after flight after flight, they came. He swallowed them with his long strides. He never even broke a sweat but instead gathered more confidence.

Then the stairs began to melt.

It took him a solid 10 seconds to realize the walls, and then the handles of the stairs, and finally his feet. They were sticking to the ground, making each step tougher and tougher. He didn't event take the time to absorb the abnormality of the situation. He simply thought that he needed to outrun it. So he ran faster and faster, trying to pick up his feet and gallop the stairs. It was impossible for him to return to his original speed, but he ran as fast as he could. He could see the top and he kept running but then he slipped.

He started to slide and slide, the stairs forming to more of a slippery slide that took him down to the bottom. He watched all of his progress pass him, flying upwards as he flew down. He accepted his fate, and leaned his head back. He wanted it to be over, he wanted this to be finished. He wished that he had never come. He slipped into an almost coma like state, and for a moment it was peaceful. Then the slide started to burn him. As he fell it became hotter and hotter, and he was in an unimaginable pain. He never slowed down, and he felt it was impossible that he had raised that high before falling.

As he continued his rapid descent, watching the world spin around him, he simply waited for the death that he was sure awaited him at the bottom. Where was he going? Why was this happening? He could not bear to ponder these thoughts. Instead he gave his body to the fall, and hung freely, accepting gravity as his master, and acknowledging the certainty of death.