The Writer's Block

The Writer's Block - Chapter 5

                When Joe got home he noticed a blinking one on his answering machine and was immediately drawn back into reality.  He was most definitely getting fired.  He couldn’t figure for the life of him why he had allowed Mrs. Woo to talk him into not going back to work.  He began to panic as he thought about paying his bills and having to find a new job.  He could always go crawling in on Monday begging for his position back, making up some elaborate excuse about an Asian lady with magical pendulous breasts.  Or he could just be homeless…

 

                He looked down at the alphabet block and shook his head.  He went into his bedroom and set it on his end table next to his alarm clock, and, though it was only 6:30 pm, disrobed and fell into a fitful slumber on his bedcovers. 

 

*             *             *

 

                He awoke in a cold sweat at midnight.  He’d had a terrible dream about a man who had been having an affair with his secretary.  The secretary was helping him embezzle money from the construction company he managed.  He was married and had twin three year olds with large life insurance policies.  Together he and his secretary murdered his wife and children, cementing their bodies into the foundation of a home he was building.

 

                Joe sat up in bed panting, his brain stuck on the vividness of the dream.  He jumped out of bed and ran into his office, flipped open his laptop and clicked on his word processor, fretting and groaning over how long it was taking to open.  Once it did the words flew out of him.  He hardly had time to take a seat.  He wrote uninterrupted for six days, stopping only to order in food and nap occasionally.  Finally on the seventh day he had finished his novel.  He sat there and stared at his computer, his finger hovering over the mouse, uncertain if he should could print or go look for a job.  His bedroom clock clicked over to five o’clock and the alphabet block glowed faintly. 

 

                Click.

 

*             *             *

 

                The door chime welcomed Joe into Mrs. Woo’s store that same day he printed his novel.  He carried it into the store proudly, the manuscript wrapped in a red ribbon and tucked under his arm.  He also carried with him a dozen red roses as a gift for Mrs. Woo.  The store was silent with the exception of the ticking of the ugly grandfather clock.  On the table were two steaming cups of tea and Joe could make out the subtle odor of jasmine.

 

                He set his manuscript on the table and began looking around the shop as he waited for Mrs. Woo to appear.  In one corner was a bucket filled with antique swords.  Joe had always wanted to own a sword.  He pulled one out of the bucket, it was unsheathed.  He ran a finger down the blade, testing the edge, it was completely dull but the weight of it in his hand was reassuring.  He looked about himself cautiously before taking a step back into a clear area.  He slashed the sword in the air.  It was exhilarating, a smile snuck onto his face.  He sliced it in an arc and laughed aloud, managing to stifle the outburst somewhat, not wanting to sully the serene silence of the shop.

 

                But another sound caught his attention.  A chirping, sing-song sound.  There were some whicker cages stacked against a wall with ornate tattled blankets covering them.