Writer’s Block-A Short Story

Collin furrowed his eyebrows and pressed a finger to his temple as he tapped the beer bottle, waiting for inspiration to grace him.
“How am I going to start this?” He asked himself quietly before taking a swig. He hadn’t written anything since he’d finished his personal statement for grad school.
As satisfied as he was with it, he felt a yawning void gradually expanding within his chest, the accompanying distress that came with it compressing him further and further into the singularity his inaction had created.
“Do I start with the title or does that come last? How’ve I done this before?” The door creaked open and his roommate, Thomas, entered.
“Working on another one?” He asked, dropping to the bed.
“Nah, McGill was the last one. I’m sure you’d remember that,” Collin replied.
“Oh, I do. So whatcha working on this time?”
“I dunno,  man. I haven’t written for a couple weeks and I feel kinda shitty about it,” Collin took another sip from his beer, scratched his head, and continued,
“What’s worse is that I don’t even know where to start! Plus I’m too tired to take a walk, it’s been a long day.”
“Well, my friend,” Thomas began with a grin as he reached for the stash in his desk drawer. “It sounds to me like you could use some inspiration!” He swiftly proceeded to grind up the bud and prepare a roach.
Hell, it’s been a while since I had some fun, Collin thought. Might as well!
He grabbed a notebook and pen and sat down on the bed.
“Think you could get some music going from my laptop, Tom?” He requested.
“Whaddya wanna hear?”
“Something bluesy, trippy, I dunno. Aardvark?”
Thomas’ grin widened at those words.
“Thought you’d never ask!” He replied cheerfully, taking the now-rolled joint with him to Collin’s desk to fulfill his roommate’s request.
How high is this guy? Collin asked himself for the umpteenth time. It didn’t matter;
Thomas’ good nature seemed to be amplified by the influence of cannabis, making him the perfect roommate for the often irate Collin.
Aardvark’s delicate, cosmic melodies wafted from the computer’s speakers into the ears of the two young men, preparing them for the mind-bending journey that was to follow. Maybe Collin would find his inspiration nestled somewhere between the clouds of smoke and imaginary lines of music filling the air.
Thomas propped himself up against his own bed post and took the first few hits before passing the joint to Collin.
“So what were you gonna write about at first?” Thomas inquired.
Collin smiled. He imagined himself running across a staff of music, leaping from note to note until he finally latched on to something.
“Well, it starts out with this guy taking a walk…”

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About optimistthepessimist

Always in transit.
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