Writer's Block

Hey, Stranger

He lead her into the room -- her hand in his left one, and a gun in his right

'No, he can't be the bad guy, it's too obvious,' Eliza thought to herself, deleting the entire sentence before she hung her head in frustration. "Argh, I've been stuck on this stupid chapter for weeks now," she exclaimed as she slammed her laptop closed. "This was supposed to be the big reveal," she continued, burying her face into her palms, "but I don't even know who the villain is." She let out a sigh and stood up from her desk desperately needing time away from her story.

Eliza was a quite famous author, at least online. She began writing fictional stories online a few years ago. At her first, her works only consisted of Harry Potter and boy-band fanfiction, but as she grew older, she expanded into her own original work. As it turned out, people enjoyed her writing and brought her story, A Strange Twist, to the top of its charts. Eliza appreciated the attention, and it drove her even further to keep writing, that is until a few weeks ago when she moved away from everything she's ever known to a small suburb in Massachusetts where she developed a bad case of writer's block.

She made her way out of the house and wandered mindlessly to nowhere in particular. Although it had been a few weeks, she still wasn't very familiar with the neighborhood. After a few minutes, she ended up in a playground, now void of children who were making their way home for dinner. The playground was at the end of the block, resting at the top of a small hill, high enough to see the sun dip behind the silhouette of the distant mountain range. Eliza plopped down on a swing, lost in her thoughts. "Wow, the sunset somehow looks better here," she marveled to herself.

"Yeah, it really is something," a deep and unfamiliar voice agreed. Taking in a shaky breath, she turned herself around, meeting the blue eyes of a stranger. The fear that she initially had was somehow reduced when he greeted her with a kind, yet playful smile. "Mind if I take the other swing?" he asked. Eliza didn't know how long she stared at him before she finally snapped back to reality, the "stranger danger" alarms in her head from kindergarten making themselves useful after 12 years.

"That depends, are you here to murder me?" she asked, the question coming out with a strange bravado.

The tall stranger let out a small chuckle. "Don't you think it would've been smarter to do that before I had you turn around?" he retorted, proceeding to sit himself in the adjacent swing no longer looking for her permission. "No, I'm actually here to watch the sunset too," he replied, looking over to Eliza. "And didn't your parents teach you not to talk to strangers?" He teased, a smug look playing on his face.

"For the record, you talked to me first, creep." Eliza responded, a small smile creeping its way onto her face, despite the alarms.

"Actually you talked first, if I remember correctly," he said, feigning innocence. "You said the sunset was beautiful." It was clear from the glint in his eyes and the mischief laced in his voice that he enjoyed whatever game the two were playing. He ran a hand through his hair, a messy quiff of warm brown laced with tinges of the sun reflected in gold tufts at the tips.

"That doesn't count," Eliza protested. "I was talking to myself." The end of her sentence trailed off as she realized she wasn't helping her case. The boy laughed a resounding and hearty laugh and she glared at him in return, fighting the urge to give in and laugh along at the ridiculousness of her argument.

"How is that any better?" he asked as he settled down. "My name's Casen." Eliza studied him briefly. The name suited him well, she thought, not really knowing how. "I figure, if you know my name, I'm not a stranger anymore."

She paused for a beat, still somewhat cautious, before finally responding. "I'm Eliza."

"Eliza," he repeated. "I've never met an Eliza before."