by R.K. Jeromin

Created on: June 02, 2008   Last Updated: May 01, 2012

Late Night

Sitting at a small computer desk, Robb punched the keys with each of his index fingers. The wall clock flashed 1 AM repeatedly at him, and at eight, he had to turn in his next book proposal. Around his desk, pages of papers were strewn about the area. The black screen blinded his identity in blackness.
Robb had not slept in over two days. His clothing smelled of old pizza and cigarettes. An ashtray overflowing with butts, and a half-full bottle of 2001 Opus One gazed back at him. At his side, the 1945 Mouton Rothschild waited for the celebratory opening of his next novel, but the darkened thirty-two inch screen is as blank as his mind.

Leaning back in his chair lighting another cigarette he looked impatiently at the screen. The cherry burned bright flaming up forming an ash tube. The exhaled smoke filled the room laying a thick blanket around Robb and his equipment.
Robb slowly waved his hands over the keyboard. His finger slid gracefully over the letter D, striking it with conviction. The screen lights up. He paused for a moment staring at the computer hoping it will fill in the rest of the word. Only problem, Robb did not know what the word should be. Taking another long drag, he grabbed the Opus One chugging from the bottle.

The thick dark bottle smacks down on the desk. His fingers follow the thought in his head letter for letter. L, O, Y, H, DLOYH meant absolutely nothing. Starting a new tab in the browser, he researched the word, but with all his effort, nothing came up.

Robb stared at the word for twenty minutes trying to figure it out. He grabbed the Opus One from the desk with force. Liquid splashed from the bottle rolling off his hand dripping on the floor. He grabbed two small white pills from the desk, and popped them in his mouth followed by a long chug.

"What do you mean?" He asked the screen.

Robb did not expect an answer; he only wanted a little more clarity. Hopefully the caffeine pills will kick his mind into overdrive. Give him some sort of reason on what the word was in the first place.

"Think deeper than the word," a voice said.

Robb shook his head and looked around the room. He took another swig from the Opus One, and then lit another cigarette. The voice came back as he stared at the screen.

"Look deeper," the voice, said again. This time it reverberated though the room in a low deep grumble. Freighting in some aspect, yet questionable.

"What the hell?" Robb said aloud.

He pushed the chair away from the computer. Rising to his

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