Ladies and gentlemen, I bring you:
A writer’s greatest fear, the black hole of death and oblivion, the destroyer of novels.
It’s me, Daniela, once again bored out of my mind and 3000 words behind. Just swell.
I mean, I should so be writing right now. I want to, what with being behind and all, but it’s annoying. I know what I want to write, but as for how to phrase it in a sentence…I swear, I am going mad. But then again, we’re all mad here.
I’m doomed. Doomed, I tell you. For all eternity. My soul will break into three pieces and those pieces will fly with the wind, separate until in time they meet their ends, one piece accidentally falling into a shredder, one into an upside down bicycle turned chicken killer, another into Hephaestus’s fire.
And I will DIE.
Help. I need help. I am crouching in a ball in the corner of a cold, empty room, rocking back and forth on the balls of my feet and counting, one two three four five six seven eight nine ten one two three four five six seven eight nine ten….Deeeep breath…I’m rocking, I’m rocking, I’m rocking-
I need to hurry, I need to do it, but I can’t, I can’t, I just can’t. It’s coming. I can almost feel its hot, rancid breathe on my neck. Its cold, sharp claws poking into my arm as it crawls up me and wraps itself around my neck. I can feel it smiling, but its not a pleasant smile; it’s a Cheshire Cat smile. It’s a crazy, demented, evil, uncaring desperate frustrated angry waiting hungry unpleasant smile.
A smile that brings chills down my back and down my arm, shocking my hand into writing on the paper hurriedly. Maybe if I hurry, maybe if I can go just the tiniest bit faster…But it’s not perfect, oh no, it needs- needs– to be perfect, or else-
A splotch of ink lands on my paper. My hand freezes, hovering over the space in between my paper and the inkwell, because that isn’t my drop of ink. I look up, slowly, to the creature around my neck, to it’s smile.
It’s wide smile.
And then I look up past that to its eyes, oh god its eyes, it’s eyes, its eyes, help me. Its eyes, dripping ink and empty and lifeless and cold, then back down to it’s smile, then it coils tighter around my neck and I feel the cold
“I’m not crazy,” it says, “my reality is just different from yours.”