Ink Flowers (Ferard)

Brain Dead

I tore yet another paper out of my sketchbook in frustration, making it even thinner than it was already. I was beyond frustrated- I couldn't draw a single goddamn line without hitting that mental wall again, the same wall that had held firmly in place for months and months now, stifling any sense of creativity.

No inspiration. None. None anywhere at all.

I could produce nothing except crumpled up wads of paper, now scattered on the floor in my bedroom, as a mark of my various failures.

Eventually I decided to give myself a break ( another way to say I was quitting) and take a shower, since I hadn't for about.... Since Monday? Shit, today was Friday. That's four days. I probably smelled like hell.

I looked like it too, I'd noticed as I stripped down in front of the bathroom mirror. I was one greasy motherfucker. My hair especially, so dirty that it clung to my fave and the back of my neck in clumps. Three day old eyeliner was smudged under my eyes, and my pale skin served to make me look like a corpse, a corpse with possibly the world's worst hygiene. Prince Charming himself.

I had just stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel around my waist when the landline rang.
"Goddamnit-one moment!" I yelled at it, out of habit since of course whoever was calling couldn't hear me.

I picked up. "Hello?" I said. To which Ray's voice responded, "You're going out tonight."
"Excuse me? No. I don't care where you're trying to drag me to, I'm not going. I don't like being out in public- you know that. It's full of people that give me anxiety. No. Fuck that."
"What if I told you to be bar were going to has open mic night tonight?" Ray said coaxingly.
"I don't wanna sing, Ray."
"Okay, but what if I also told you the guy who plays every Friday night is really cute?"
"How would you know? You're straight."
"Doesn't mean I'm blind." He said. "He has lots of tattoos and he screams."
"Why did I ever tell you my type? Fine, I'll go."