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WRITERS BLOCK

The main ballroom was filled with whirling couples, their faces alight with the romance and gaiety of the evening. Constance stood by the punchbowl, fanning herself as she glanced around the hall, trying to catch a glimpse of her beloved.

"Constance!" a voice called to her from across the room. Before she knew it, John had whisked her out the double doors and across the manicured lawns to the cliffs overlooking a tumultuous moonlit sea.

"What is it, my love?" she said, looking into his eyes.

"Oh Constance, I have so much to tell you. I don't know where to begin."

"Oh, John! I worried so. All that time in prison. You seem different now."

John pressed his fingers against her lips. "Hush, my love."

He took Constance in his arms and she swooned, her long, golden tresses tossed by a capricious breeze.

"The time for talk is past!" she whispered breathlessly. "Prove your love for me!"

John looked at her, fire in his eyes.

"You want proof?' he stammered, his voice suddenly rising. "I'LL give you proof, you skinny witch!"

John wrapped his trembling hands around her smooth neck, thumbs crushing her windpipe, his head thrown back in maniacal laughter.

"How's that, Constance? Are you satisfied now?", he screamed, shaking her like a rag doll.

"BWAH-HA-HA-HA-HA!"

Derek looked at the lines and slammed his pen on the table.

"Two frigging weeks and this is the best I can do?" he yelled at the apartment walls.

Wiping moisture off the window pane, he looked down at the street where pedestrians and cars passed by.

At least they know where they're going.

He unlocked the apartment door and walked downstairs to get the mail. No unemployment check yet, just the usual love notes from his creditors.

Trudging up the stairs reminded him of how long he had been in this town- how little he'd accomplished.

And now he had writer's block.

He'd scraped together barely enough to rent this dump of an apartment. And a real gem it was too. Even if he did have a girl, this is the last place he'd bring her.

Hot and cold running rats.

Sanity-challenged boarders.

He shuddered to think what had gone on in this room before he'd arrived. If these walls could talkthey'd need a breath mint.

But things were looking up. Now the cockroaches only came out at night. Maybe they couldn't stand to look at this mess in the daylight either.


Derek scanned the ads.

ACME WRITING INSTITUTE
STOP WRITER'S BLOCK NOW!
GUARANTEED!
MONEY BACK IF NOT SATISFIED!
FINANCING AVAILABLE!

Shaking

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