"H-how?...What?!" Ron was confusedly walking back and forth in the depths of nothingness trying to grasp the whole situation. "HOW? How did we get here? How did we end up hovering at the edge of the universe?!"
"You don't remember?" said Klarenc looking at him, "It all started when we tried to die my hair purple..." he pointed at his long blond hair covering most of his face.
"WHAT DOES THAT HAVE TO DO ANYTHING WITH THIS?!" Ron was too tired of all of this nonsense. The past 24 hours were the most questionable 24 hours that he ever has lived during his seventeen years of teen Latino life and he definitely wanted them to end already.
"Everything," said someone with an incredibly deep voice.
"And what the heck are you?!" Ron shouted at the weird marshmallow looking, green thing, that was wearing a tutu skirt.
"That's Bill, he was here with us the whole time. Didn't you notice?" said Klarenc slightly concerned about his friend.
"OFCOURSE I DID! HE'S THE ONE RESPONSIBLE FOR ALL THIS! My question was what is he!?"
"A green marshmallow wearing a tutu skirt," replied Klarenc simply, "And I'm pretty sure the hair dye is responsible for all this, not Bill."
"I agree, it was definitely the hair dye," added the deep voice marshmallow.
"AAAAAAAAH!" Ron curled up to a ball and started sobbing, "I wanna go home."
"Hey, it's ok. We'll get home." Klarenc swam up to his friend who now looked like a floating ball of depression, he hugged him, "It's not your fault, nor mine, nor Bills. Now let's go through what happened today so that we can find a solution ok?"
Ron wiped his tears, forced a faint smile and nodded.
So how did hair dye became responsible for two teenage boys and a green marshmallow to end up at the edge of the universe? That's a good question! And I don't have an answer to it! Seriously, who came up with this writing prompt, did they knew what they were writing themselves? Yes, I used a writing prompt for this. This is what happens when your point of creativity is so low that you have to steal a sentence or a quote from someone else to at least start writing.
A lot of writers have trouble with this, I think, they get suddenly inspired by something that they saw or heard and so they run-up to their computer, laptop, or the oldfashioned notebook, but they forget their motivation in the other room and before they get there... it's already dead. Sometimes when they're lucky it's still alive so they drag it back with them and depending on what state the motivation is, they're able to write some amount of their idea.
Another problem that writers have with stories, except starting to write them, is finishing them. The plot could go forever and never end. But there has to be some solution or an ending thought, but how is the writer supposed to come up with ti when his motivation died from lack of inspiration a long time ago?... They start to write something else. And the cycle continues!
After some time writers can find themselves just floating in mids of all their own universes, plots, character backstories, too long or too short descriptions, and just so many new and old ideas. All of that then sinks the writer to a black hole of unmotivation, self-doubt, repeated mental breakdowns, and procrastination...
...Just like Ron... He's now floating at the edge of his universe troubled and confused because of what he wanted to create with his friend. He wants to give up, suddenly the galaxy purple hair dye he tried to mix seems too messy and doesn't make any sense as the idea of a green, deep-voiced marshmallow, wearing a tutu skirt. He needs to find his motivation, he needs to find a way home.
Klarenc could be compared to the reader and observer of the whole process, one of the biggest fears that writers have is the opinion of other people on their work, it's important to find someone who appreciates your work, how else are you going to be motivated to continue if nobody will read it? If you don't let them read it? You'll never find the motivation, you'll never find a way home.
So take a deep breath. That's it. And don't be afraid to get your hands dirty, cause even tho it will leave stains for a while the result will be unforgettable.
"Yeah, unforgettable indeed," said Klarenc looking at the old school photo of him with purple hair.
"Heh, heh. Those were crazy times," smiled Ron. He looked at the photo again. Something green with a tutu skirt was in the upper left corner of the photo.
"Is that Bill? What happened to him after anyway?" He asked.
"Oh, Bill? He died," replied Klarenc calmly and closed the yearbook.
"WHAT?????!!!!!!!"
