Creatures of the Heart

Ghostwriting

Ben stared at the ceiling as the alarm went off. He reached for his smartphone and shut off the beeping tune. For five days in a row, he had awakened before the alarm. His throbbing head screamed for sleep, but his body itched to get away from the sheets damped with sweat.

He usually slept comfortably at any time of the day until the air conditioner in his room bailed on him since the heat wave began two weeks ago. A self-reminder to get someone to fix the air conditioner always got lost in his chaotic mind. He also forgot about the water rationing in Selangor - it started two days ago. Unprepared, the water in his little blue drum diminished to half in less than a day. No shower until the water supply returned.

The urgency to call the air conditioner technician floated away when he spotted the blinking white light at the corner of his phone. Ben slid his finger in reflex across the touchscreen to open the messages even though he already knew whom they were from.

Three missed calls and one voice message – all from his editor, Shirley.

He knew what Shirley wanted, but he opened the message anyway.

"Hi Ben, your deadline is one week away and I only received two chapters so far. You are not answering my calls and you are not at your apartment. Where are you? I can help you if you have a writer's block. We can always work things out with the publisher. Call me, okay. Bye."

Despite what Shirley had said, Ben knew the publisher would not extend the submission deadline for his second book after three extensions. Then what? He would be branded a one-book wonder because he couldn't write a book good enough to follow up his best-selling debut mystery novel?

I am not a one-book wonder!

He refused to be branded a failure, as his father had labelled him his entire life. His chest tightened at the thought, and he struggled to breathe.

He drew the curtains apart, and squinted at the sunlight. His head spun. Quickly, he headed to the only toilet in his studio apartment. The small toilet was always dark no matter what time of the day. He flicked the light on and stood before the basin.

A tired man with old eyes stared back at him in the mirror. His skin shimmered with sweat, making it paler than it already was. Three layers of eye bags hung like dead weights under his bloodshot eyes. Stubbles around his mouth and under his chin grew like mold on a neglected wall. His body sagged on its bones as he slouched, something his father would be quick to reprimand with pleasure if he saw him then.

I can do this! I just need coffee and something to eat.

A quick splash of water on his face followed by a change of clothes and Ben was out of his apartment. Once on the ground floor, he walked briskly towards a row of coffee shops nearby. He ducked into the mamak shop at the first corner and chose a small table at the back of the shop. From where he sat, he spied dirty plates piled high at the back lane. Flies partied above the mess. He shifted sideways and trained his sight to the front of the shop.

A couple and a lone old man were the only other customers. Most people avoided eating at coffee shops in the water rationing zone for hygienic reasons. Ben had been having his meals in that shop for the past two months. Hygiene was the least of his concerns. He came, he ate, but never spoke to anyone except the waiter. He wanted to stay under the radar.

Despite his best efforts to ignore phone calls and pretend that no one was home, he had not made any headway in crafting his second bestseller. Everything he wrote, he read, deleted and started all over again. Each time he tried to make sense of his plot, he would have a migraine.