Stepping on Writer’s Block

56-year-old Daniel Schaft analyzed if any dirt was still left under his very short nails. Unfortunately, the man’s fingers were so wide that he would commonly hit the wrong letters on the greasy keyboard. Daniel’s slender stomach was sticking out of the stained blue jeans from drinking a full bottle of Coke Cherry. He stared at the nearly blank Word document with “Hjskalhjkh” typed in dark green Times New Roman. Then there was the realization that he needed to relieve himself.

On the desk’s middle shelf was a phone in the shape of Garfield with its cord cut, next to other black cables of numerous origins. All of the DVDs’ covers were bluish, especially The Matrix. The man stared at his desk that resembled a thrift store’s discount section. On the very upper shelf was a fake, dusty white rose. Schaft began intensely typing, The woman coldy looked at me. Those words were deleted. 

Schaft glanced at the water-stained bathroom reflection when business was taken care of. That stomach of his was still bloated; his rough chin was beginning to swell too. On top of that virgin scalp, the thinning grey hair would appear and stay until death. Heavenly beings with hundreds of faces, he whispered. When the man left the yellowed tiles, water kept on dripping from the pipes.

Windows 98 shut down a second time that day. Schaft’s eyes were filling with tears. “I really have nothing.” He slowly began approaching his window. Just two years prior the system worked more smoothly. Technology might in fact age faster than small children. Beyond the messy desk and cracked wooden chair, nothing else could be found inside that white room. Outside, a street vender continued to agressively negotiate with a female client about grapes that were allegedly from sunny Greece, which was repeated numerous times. She screamed, “ You sir, are a scammer! You didn’t get anwhere in life!”

You didn’t get anywhere in life. Schaft sat on his chair and covered his eyes. Just four years ago, the man lived an acceptable life with an acceptable income. Achieving a decent position at a life insurance company didn’t come easy especially with child support payments. When the job was lost for complex reasons and it all felt so surreal. How he even managed to maintain an apartment is quite mysterious. 

The Word document was back up. Blank. Schaft said out loud. “Maybe I will be the one to make it big? Maybe I am the chosen one?” He typed it down, looking at the stained blue jeans. 

“There may be people out there who doubt that. An old guy such as myself did not achieve anything meaningful, yet. Maybe they will be in shock when they find out that I have in fact been chosen? The heavenly beings with hundreds of faces will speak to me and I will have nothing to fear, but fear itself. I will one day publish a novel that will cause the screaming women in the street to never tell me that I didn’t get anywhere in life!” 

The aspiring writer was extremely proud of the words that were typed down. He was, in fact, no longer silent. He finally had a voice.

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