How Can You Ease The Pain

Chatty Cathy

Kris being alone in his apartment, well, it wasn't necessarily good for him.

Actually, it wasn't good at all, it was messing with his head and right now, it was doing a disservice to his heart. Kris had, for all intent and purposes, always wanted to be a writer. It was just something that popped into his head while writing his theme for his 3rd grade class. He'd always been good with words, teachers praising his short stories. He was always given accolades on how good a boy he was for being able to express himself on paper. He was thankful then, that his parents always encouraged him in this aspect of his life as he got older, only stating that he should at least have a degree to fall back on, just in case the writing didn't pan out. His parents didn't push him into some Chinese son ritual, as he'd come to call it. He was thankful for that. He remembers when he submitted his first manuscript, waiting with baited breath, waxing poetic with his best friend and getting drunk in the process. It was a done deal when he received the acceptance letter along with a check for his first advance. Writing would be his only way of life and he'd gratefully accepted that he'd die with his drafts and his books.

He was most certainly okay with that.

But then...

Life really begun to happen and Kris was in full swing, appreciating all and everything associated with being a world renowned writer and author. He earned it, as much, and prided himself on being capable of reaching his readers, of all ages. How else could he have succeeded in the fashion that he did? He'd been in his self-imposed exile for close to two years now and while he'd put out a book prior to his incident, he'd not made a public appearance since then. He managed little video uploads to his website, keeping his fans abreast of some work, providing short stories here and there, but no full book was on the horizon. He'd spent too many hours, too many days, agonizing slowly over of what he'd become.

He didn't like it.

He wasn't quite sure how he had come to this point.

Not once did he ever encounter what they called Writer's Block. The words had always flown like a river from him, he was always quick to express his thoughts, having an opinion, either way. Words were his thing, just as natural as his skin attached to his body. But now? There was absolute Silence. The minimal sound of his keyboard was limited to a few short blurbs. Suffice it to say, Kris knew, at least he'd come to acknowledge his mental blockage and knew why he was feeling so bombarded with the dull ache. His hand flew to this mouth to prevent himself from sounding utterly stupid, even to himself considering he was alone so he remained quiet. This sort of childish behavior, tricked his mind, leading him to concede to his daily breakdowns, he tried again and again, to no avail.

"I..." Kris decides to open his mouth, but the struggle is so real for him, he can't possibly finish the sentence. There was some unknown encouragement and Kris opened his mouth again, hands rubbing furiously on his muscled thighs, "I need to talk to him."

Feeling as if the weight of the world had been ceremoniously lifted from his shoulders, Kris heaved a heavy sigh and pulled his hair, completely exasperated. It was several weeks since he'd laid his eyes on the beautiful man designated to deliver his food. Kris was rude, he'd admitted it and put that sentence down on a paper, giving it to the concierge for the young man. In essence, begging for forgiveness for his lack of civility. Kris realizes that it was hardly uncommon for a person like him, someone who'd written many books, to find themselves in a hole. Kris usually drew inspiration from varied sources but not being a part of polite society for close to two years he'd remained imprisoned in his own mind, well, there wasn't any inspiration to be had. He wanted so desperately to go back to the way things were before.

Before his life was practically sliced and diced into oblivion.

He'd been able to write then.

Love was and had been his constant.