“It was rejected again right?” I asked, unable to keep the impending disappointment and dread from my voice.
“I’m so sorry. Don’t you think you could change your style, make your writing different from the regular thing we read?"
“There is nothing wrong with my writing!” I snapped.
“Hey, don’t shoot the messenger. I’m just relating what they said.”
“What about you? What do you think about my writing?” I needed to hear his answer for some reason.
“Your writings are honestly good man,” Charles started. “ But..."
“So you think I’m horrible.”
“That’s not it….”
I hung up. Fighting the urge to cry, I stared at the manuscripts on the table and picked them up to read again. Okay, it was a bit clichè in some places. But so what?
Who was I kidding? I thought, flinging the manuscripts away. This was a barely average plot. I’m surprised they even read it at all.
Donning my cap and coat, I stepped out of my house to the antique store a few blocks down. It was a bit of a guilty pleasure. Picking up antiques that were more or less useless.
“Howdy there customer.” The salesman beamed at me. I eyed him warily. His eyes were practically dollar signs.
“How’s it going, Jerome?” I asked halfheartedly.
“Just great. We got new supplies today. You might want to check them out.”
“Sure,” I murmured. I’d already set my mind on a tea set I’d seen the last time but I could just take a look at the new stock."
I ambled to the back where they were kept and something caught my eye immediately. It was an antique coffee machine. It looked a bit rusty but it was nothing a good douse of hydraulic couldn’t solve.
Could I make it work?
Not bothering to check out any of the others, I went to Jerome and paid for it immediately. He beamed even harder. Greedy little man.
Back home, I took the most of two hours to clean it up and afterwards, the letterings shone.
YOUR KEY TO CREATIVE INGENUITY.
That made me laugh. People truly had all tactics for selling their products. Nevertheless, I remembered that I hadn’t had my morning fix of coffee and this was the best time to test it. Luckily, it worked and I made my cup of coffee with alacrity.
Savouring the aroma of the coffee which smelt strangely different for some reason, I took dainty sips till I finished the cup. About five minutes later, I shook my head in confusion. Was it possible to feel light-headed and energized at the same time? Because that’s how I felt. Giddy but invigorated.
Impulsively, I picked up my script and studied it. What looked average hours back was basically trash now. Like someone bespelled, I took a fresh paper and began to write. The words were flowing fast but smoothly. Like someone was whispering them to me. I don’t know how much I’d written, but when I was done, I forwarded the soft copy immediately to Charles.
Charles called back barely a day after.
“What did you do?”
“What do you mean?”
“They hated your work, and now all of a sudden, they’re asking if you have plans for another publication. What did you do James?”
I paused carefully for a moment. “Well, I’m surprised as you Charles. I guess I just took your advice. They really want more of my work.”
“Yes, they do. I’m happy for you man honestly. I just hope everything is alright.”
A fit of coughs suddenly enveloped me.” Everything is just perfect Charles.”
Like a dream in the night, after that day, my fortunes changed. I knew that it was because of the coffee machine and was so glad I’d struck a goldmine. Publishing agencies from everywhere needed more of my books. And for each manuscript, poem, article, I took more and more cups of the coffee.
Few months later, I noticed that my health was deteriorating rapidly. It was such a pain picking up anything as my whole body ached. Coughing was now a permanent part of my life. I was getting weaker and weaker. But I didn’t stop making coffee from the coffee machine and I didn’t stop writing either. Then one day, I coughed up blood and I realized in alarm that I needed answers. Fast.
I picked up the coffee machine the next day and looked at the words again. There should be more to it, I thought. Flipping it over, I saw words that made my blood run cold.
FOR EACH CUP, SOMETHING DIES IN YOU. NOTHING IS FREE, AS YOU SHOULD KNOW.
I slid boneless to the ground. I should have known that it was too good to be true. Charles called at that moment.
“Hey big man, how’s it going?”
“Great.” I answered lifelessly. Charles either didn’t notice the bleak quality of my voice or wasn’t bothered about it because he continue.
“Well, I just wanted to remind you that Vance and Harlequin need their copies of your new manuscripts before the end of tomorrow.”
Silence.
“You got them ready, right James?”
I hung up slowly and stared at the words on the machine. For every cup, something in me dies. Death by coffee. How tragically poetic. I coughed into my kerchief again and picked it up to find more blood on it.
I smiled sadly. It was already the end. But maybe I could still leave a legacy. I went to the backyard and buried the coffee machine deep into the ground after making one more cup of coffee. In between more fits of cough, I dialled Charles.'
“Come pick up the manuscripts by tomorrow.” And hung up before he could say more. Then I took the cup of coffee with shaky, achy hands and downed it in one gulp.
“That’s what you get for being greedy, James.” I heaved. “Death by coffee."