SmackDown: MadMike's Revenge!

Round 5: The Writer - @AngusEcrivain

The Writer

by AngusEcrivain

The Writer watched as the otherwise blank screen was slowly filled with the magic of his words, as before his very eyes worlds were built and creatures and men were killed in equal, unbiased numbers.

Outside the planet might well have been dying thanks in no small part to the hitherto unprecedented expansion of the Sol star, the Sun having already claimed Mercury, but in his fully air-conditioned bedsit, the Writer did not care.

Other than the fact one of his grandparents had mined Mercury for a period, the former planet held no meaning to him at all.

Nor did he care for the ever-expanding Sun that would destroy every trace of life upon Earth within a decade, long before it engulfed the planet itself.

All the Writer cared about was his words...

***

As he sat there, scratching his testicles through the hand-sized hole in the crotch of his jeans and knocking back his seventh can of triple strength lager, Brian really could not help but think how low the standard of viewing material had dropped. He was fairly certain, in fact, as he watched season three episode four, A Small Family Hatchback & A Packet of Jelly Babies, of the number one streamed show for the last two years, Things I Can Fit In My Anus, starring none other than Academy Award winning actress, humanitarian and alleged superhero, Ade-Laide, that it was not possible for it to reach a lower point, until he remembered the trailer for the upcoming show, Two Camels, a Girl and a Pizza Place, a remake, apparently, of a popular show from the late 1990s, some two hundred years prior.

The show ended after Ade-Laide shat out the last of the jelly babies and Brian drained the can, got to his feet and made his way over to the window.

Most of the city was in darkness thanks to the rolling blackouts, a direct result of there being far too many people, all of whom possessed countless electronic devices, and power being produced at too slow a rate to be able to cope.

He checked his watch. Three hours until the blackout reached the district in which he lived but Brian was sleepy and yawned loudly to accentuate that fact, probably due to the small amount of blood in his triple strength lager stream, so he quickly made his way power box situated upon the wall outside his bathroom and set it to send three hours worth of power back to the grid, thus adding to his ever-maturing end of year bonus.

***

The Writer screwed up his face in disgust, wondering for a brief moment where some of his ideas, where many of the things about which he wrote, came from. It was a familiar feeling for him, as his words often appeared random and nonsensical.

He was, however, a firm believer in the fact that one needed to get rid of the crap in one's mind before one could write anything half-decent and the vast majority of the words he wrote, he figured fell into that category.

The Writer got to his feet and stretched satisfactorily, then rubbed his stubbled chin. What he really needed was a coffee but a glance towards his 101 Coffeemate told him there was nowhere near enough water for such a thing and he cursed, silently.

It was his own fault, of course, for after several years of water rationing he had still not managed to get to grips with having enough H20 for only two cups of coffee every twenty-four hours.

Coffee would have to wait.

***

I remember that day like it was yesterday but the fact is I honestly couldn't tell you how long ago it happened.