The Writer

(See description for prompt)

The water washes over my feet as I sit on a flat rock, legs dangling down to lower my toes into the ocean. It feels delightfully cool and refreshing after my hot, aching self has been trailing around coastal paths for hours.

It was David's choice for us to come here. I would have been much happier at home in my study, trying to write at my laptop and giving up after an hour or so. I would have too many tabs open of course, telling myself I needed references and inspiration and just find myself aimlessly strolling through the internet, not accomplishing much of anything.

I would pour myself perhaps my fifth (?) glass of wine and maybe help myself to some chocolates from the box I kept in my desk drawer for "emergencies". It was a bloody emergency, as far as I was concerned. I'd barely been able to write a paragraph in the past few months.

Everyone was more than happy to offer words of encouragement of course and the oddest advice. "Leave a blank diary open on your desk overnight on a full moon." One friend had told her, "The moon will charge the energy of your inspiration and as soon as you touch the book, words will begin pouring out of you until you have your next bestseller!"

Getting to this point though, I had actually tried it in desperation. Not a single thing. Luckily I wasn't enough of a major successful writer to warrant any crappy stories about me "losing my mojo" in the media.

David waved at me from further over on the beach, where he was playing with our dog on the sand. I smiled and held my hand up in response. As the sun started to sink behind a patch of clouds, I could feel a vibrating in my pocket. Sighing, I pulled my phone out. I really hoped it wasnt my editor Jodie. She had been nagging me about my writers block persistently over the past week, which didn't make me feel any more able to produce some decent work.

I checked the number but the caller ID was hidden. It wasn't unusual, sometimes parcel companies would show up the same way. "Louise Baker", I answered. I felt eager to get the call over with. The weather was turning and I wanted to go home and curl up on the sofa, watching some reruns of some boring TV to fall asleep to. The line crackled and I could hear some fuzzy words but not enough to make out what they were saying. "Hello?" I called out to the person on the other end of the phone. I pulled away to check the signal bars just as the world went black.

I awoke to a killer headache and a beeping sound, every beep ringing in my skull. I tried to open my eyes but everything was blurry. There was bright, white light and I guessed I was hooked up to some sort of machine. My whole body felt heavy and I felt extreme nausea trying to move any part of my body.

"Heh!" I croaked, my mouth feeling dry and gravelly. I shut my eyes again, willing my fingers to move, to do anything. They moved about an inch. I could feel some sort of coarse sheet underneath me. The beeping noise sped up as I tried to open my eyes again and sit up. Hospital, right? My vision was blurry but improved. The walls were a dark blue. Like the ocean? Ocean! That was familiar? I had been near the ocean I think?

My brain felt stuck in a thick fog and I felt hopelessly lost. I blinked a few times slowly. Wooden floorboards? Not in a hospital surely? No, it looked like some sort of bedroom. My heart began to race, what was I doing here? What had happened to me? There was nobody in here with me, I was utterly alone.

Summoning up courage like one of the brave heroines from my books, I knew I was in an odd situation. Perhaps dangerous even. But I would do what it took to get me out of it. To survive . . .