Writer's Block ||ON HOLD

ONE

He was amazed. 

He no longer thought of the girl who made fun of him. Nor does he remember the girl who annoyed him and drove him to the wall.

Staring at the smiling girl in front of him, Dexter cannot believe that after only a week, he'd fallen in love with the girl who'd captured his heart. Who he knew would make him happy for the rest of his life. It was inevitable. Wesley men do tend to fall for the spunky women....Nothing.

Try as he might, he cannot think of another sentence that could probably jog his creativity. He stared hopelessy at the blinking vertical line waiting for him to type down anything. Anything at all. But nothing ever came up.

Infuriated, Zachary Thornes shut down his laptop with a sigh. He gazed at the window of his apartment, desperately searching for anything, anything that might jog his imagination. He stared long and hard at the only remaining flower on the sidewalk, but as soon as creativity filled his head, a gardener cut his only hope of filling his final chapter.

He stared at the falling petals in silence, mourning his hopes of finishing his book once and for all. He glared at the unassuming gardener who destroyed his creativity thus also destroying the ending of his book. He only needed to fill the last 7 pages, right? But 7 is just too much.

Rubbing his temples, he stood up, deciding for a cup of fresh hot coffee. Perhaps his imagination might inspire to create the next scene in his novel. What happened to the last remaining weeks of relaxation and leisure? Nothing. Wasted.

It was irritating that he decided to procrastinate rather than do something progressive like, I don't know, finish the remaining 7 pages so that he won't go moping about his lack of creativity. But the past is past. No point crying over spilled milk. Or coffee in his case.

Like, literally. The fresh cup of coffee he'd worked hard for was like his dreams of finishing his novel, shattered, crushed, gone. He watched it silently drip to the floor, gone just like his dignity and pride. And his hopes of finishing his novel.

Then again, he was exaggerating. There is no way he'd compare his future to his smashed coffee cup. Just his hopes and dreams. And probably his dignity and pride.

Did he said 'his dignity and pride' twice? He blinked and then snorted about his overdramatic attitude. He briefly wondered where he got that from, when a ring resonated in the air. He chucked the broken pieces of his coffee cup in his trash bin, and hastily wiped the spilled contents with the nearest cloth he could find, that being his handkerchief.

As soon as he cleaned the floor, he carried his handkerchief (now a sopping piece of cloth), he tossed it in his laundry, because der. He rushed towards his living room, which is not that far from his washing room or something, seeing as he is living on a small condominium.

He picked up the phone lying on the couch carelessly, and promptly answered with a "Hello?"There was an eerie silence following it, and just as he decided that it was a prank call or a death threat (he hoped for the former, because no way no how is he going to die without finishing his novel) a chirpy voice percolated out of it.

"Hey Zach! Glad you're still not dead." His friend, Eadlyn joked, his mind wandering about her statement. Does that mean he was getting death threats? Possibly. He might be going out of town just in case strange things happen. Well, if he wasn't dead.

"...and Natalie told me that you and the gang were welcome if you want. But me, guessing you, well. You'll probably decline."

He mumbled a reply, still thinking of ways to avoid a possible incoming death. Er, threat. But either way, he panicked, but not in a visible sense. Sort of like a deep down inside freak-out.