“Thought you said you weren’t coming back,” said a reader scratching their head, rolling leery eyes.
“Uh… right. Forgot about that. Thoughts keep popping in my head. Stories clamoring to be told.” The mindless writer blushed, and averted his stare to the mirror on the wall. He loved admiring himself.
Most writers do, or so he thought.
The reader shook their head, a bored frown crept across an unamused face.
“Holy shit. Can’t you give it up for even one day? We’re sick of your never ending supply of… flashes. That what you call them? They keep getting weirder and weirder, just like you.”
“Dayum! You know how to stab a guy deep don’tcha.” The writer grit his teeth, and shook a fist at the bold reader.
“Speaking the truth. That’s all. Gotta go. Good luck with your phony hiatus. Will admit. You are a damn good liar.
Bye Hemingway.” The reader snickers, and trots out of the mysterious room with surrealistic pictures of Kafka and his giant bug plastered on the walls.
“Friggin stupid readers. I’ve spoiled the brats. Go read your boring novels crammed with purple prose, and crappy stories. Jealous, that’s what you are. Oh well, back to my tall tales. Being a genius isn’t easy. Sometimes I wish I was a moron like all the other writers. Bye…”
Seymour curled up on the satin sheets. Strange thoughts streamed through his mind.
“It was a dark and stormy
night. Nah… Been done before.”
The troubled man shuddered. He spotted what appeared to be a dark blood stain on his bedroom wall.
“What? That wasn’t there yesterday. Something bad happened here. I can feel it." A chill swept through his naked body. Three clowns, and a ballerina danced into the room. He closed his eyes tight.
“Go away! Can’t you see? I’m trying to sleep. Rude characters. Go bother King. He likes clowns. And, you Miss Ballerina, isn't there a Swan Lake going on somewhere?"
Being a writer is sometimes a pain. Jesus… another migraine.
Wish I had some Percodan. And, no, I’m not a drug addict. Not Poe, you know. Although, maybe, someday... The thoughts press on.
Steem on