“Writing something new is an effective way to get rid of writer’s block. Or you can observe the people around you and fantasize like I do.”
― B.A. Gabrielle
I haven’t written since June 14th … and … I didn’t want to write today. But I couldn’t NOT say something.
I went in search of writers block quotes and the one above caught my eye. Hmmm… there might be something I can work with there.
I was driving home from work when the skies opened and a torrent of rain crashed onto the windshield of my car. I turned on the wipers and once they’d swiped across, I could see a man in a raincoat riding his bicycle. I’ll call him Jim, because Jim seems to be the name I always think of when I don’t know a man’s name.
He’d been sitting in his living room when the phone rang. He had an old-fashioned landline and its trill jolted him from his easy chair. He walked across the room to answer.
“Is this Jim? Oh, of course it is. Who else would it be?” She laughed, deep and throaty.
He hated her laugh. It always seemed to mock him.
“What do you want, Lorna?” he asked with a sigh. He knew what she wanted and he didn’t feel like giving it to her. Not right then. Not ever.
“Oh, you know,” she said, with a seductive edge to her voice.
Jim pictured her in his mind… dyed, jet-black hair piled on her head in a nest, in stark contrast to her translucent skin with a roadmap of red and blue veins travelling from her head to her toes.
“You’re insatiable. You know that, don’t you?” he said, shaking his head.
“You know me so well,” she said. “So, will you be coming with my treat?”
“I can’t. It’s raining.”
“Uh huh. I knew you’d say that. Raining or not, I need it. From you. You’re my hunny-bunny.”
Jim stepped back and leaned against the wall. Originally painted white when he’d moved in years before, it now had a golden hue from the years of nicotine from a thousand cigarettes.
He walked over to the kitchen table, sat down, and reached for a pack along with his ashtray. He tapped the package on his leg and a cigarette edged out. He put it between his lips, lit a match and held it to the end of the cigarette. He inhaled deeply.
“Look. I’m tired. Too tired to get over there today. I told you.”
“I know what you said. But I need my treat. I’m desperate. Just get here. And don’t forget my treat!”
She slammed the phone in his ear.
He finished his cigarette, put his elbows on the table and his head dropped into his hands. She was always bullying him around. He hated it.
He looked around the apartment. Filled with secondhand furniture and photos of his deceased mother, the only thing welcoming was “The Price is Right” on the television, an older model with a 13″ screen that sat atop an empty bookcase.
Twenty minutes later, Jim pulled his bike from the little porch with a gate, next to his bedroom window. He ran his fingers through his yellowing, grey hair. The rain had stopped, momentarily, but he put on his raincoat, just in case.
He hopped on his bike and rode to the main street. It was then that the rain began again. He put his head down and peddled harder. Luck’s Chocolates was within sight.
It was just at this point that Jim came into my view. I wonder if he was able to get to Luck’s… and if he made it safely to Lorna’s? Want to help me finish the story? Or should we leave them here… forever in limbo?
Ha! That was actually … FUN! I do believe I’ve gotten over my writers block. We shall see!