Writer's Block

I stood, somewhat mesmerized, at the page of paper. The words that were coming slowly, right from my mind, right from my hands. Right from my writing. I couldn’t believe it. I absolutely couldn’t...          I was never a writer. My parents didn’t have any relatives who were literate; in fact they were quite illiterate, if anything. Continuing to write, I watched my rainbow-bracelet adorned hand write carefully, in perfect cursive, a story. A beautiful story. Love, loss, happiness, depression. Every day I went to write my never ending story.                      One day however, all the words… All the magic… All the tragedy… And all the hope… It was all gone. All of it. I couldn’t write. It was gone. All the inspiration was completely lost.  I came to realization this might just be the bullying, the depression, the loneliness. Being gay was not accepted- it just simply was not.  Not in this world.              And snap, after thinking that, I realized it quickly. I needed to rid of the sadness. I needed to simply leave it on the path of life and  move on. However, it was not that simple. My parents continued to think that it was ‘just a phase’, that I’d be perfectly normal and straight later in life. That I would be the perfect child they wanted. That I would be able to quit the writing, the singing, the awkward smiling.     Their dream was coming true. “Will I be able to find love?” I asked myself, feeling foolish for saying it aloud. Of course I would. I was a teenager after all, wasn’t an easy thing to fall in and out of love? I smiled to myself, with a feeling of accomplishment. Before I could finish the thought, however, I heard a crash from behind, and felt an odd presence. I turned.          “Don’t be so cheery now, kiddo,” said a dark, low voice from behind of me. I thought for a moment, before actual common sense kicked in. I was struck with fear. Who was that? What the hell were they doing in my house?!   “Now calm down, calm down. I’m the man in control of your inspiration. And I kind of just decided you didn’t deserve all of my power…” he said, a vain air surrounding him. He looked straight at me, blue soulless eyes staring straight through me.  “Hm? How am I reading your thoughts, you ask? How do you think I give you your feelings, your hope, everything?! Just by magically importing it into your… What do humans call it? Oh yes, heart. Well, no. I involve mind, not life and the thing pumping blood. Stupid humans, you all are…”                        I stared. Couldn’t even think… Screw screaming. I took a few deep breaths, calming myself down. I stared for a few more minutes, before deciding to respond.  “Okay then,” I said with a voice as light and quiet as it’s ever been “What’s your name, err...?” he looked at me impatiently, as if expecting me just to know that automatically. “It’s Pierce. “ He said, with a scoff and narrow of uninterested eyes. “I would expect you’d know.”                       I gave him a look of confusion. Already know? How was I supposed to already know? Ridiculous, all of it. I was so lost. He saids he’s my inspiration, but honestly… Who the heck is this guy, exactly?“I won’t believe that crap,” I decided in my head. “He must be some sort of mental help patient or something, it’s impossible.”    “Mental patient or something? That’s the best you could come up with, my writer friend?”                      I quickly identified the voice as Peirce. I could practically hear his smirk. Why was he… Why was he the way he was? I would think a job as interesting and odd as being someone’s inspiration personified would be a bit choosier, you know? It’s just odd. Why?                  I wondered this for another few minutes, before coming to realization that… In fact… He was most likely was hearing me think at the moment.     And he heard all of my recent thoughts about his choice in career.      “Shit,” I murmured, laying my head on the desk. Quickly, though, another face interrupted my privacy.              He smirked at my surprised reaction. “Thank you for such kind compliments, Hun,” he said. “But honestly, you need to get used to the ‘me reading your mind’ thing, or else I won’t be as friendly.”I looked up, glaring. “You. I will not be able to live with you. At all. You are to annoying and narcissistic to be constantly invading my life….!”     “Oh, 'that so, darling?” He asked. “I could come around less if you’d say please.”       “Please.” I asked, exhaustion taking over. “Just leave me alone for a while.”                       He grinned. “Oh, that’s not very polite! Now say it nicely.”       “Please, oh-so-generous, wonderful, great, fantastic, handsome Peirce…” I said, choking on my words. “Will you please just leave me alone?” 

And he was gone.

            A few minutes later, I fell asleep on the couch. Without even trying I had been knocked out cold.  "So much for getting writing done this evening," I thought. 

I woke up early again the next morning, feeling as uninspired as I had the day before. Despite it being Summer Vacation, I had woken up at five in the morning, even though my alarm would have gone off at nine. Worse, during the school year, I still only got up at six. This writer’s block was even affecting how I slept now, in a very drastic way. It was such a horrible time to wake up, especially at my house. You have to sneak downstairs, and even then everything you do downstairs has to be absolutely soundless. ‘It's just too early for me,’ I thought. ‘Too early for anyone, that's for sure.’ ‘Even that, I bet....’ thinking of what I'm now referring to in my mind as “last night’s dream”.I tiptoed quietly downstairs, after combing my brown hair carefully to the side and messing with the style of it. I had also slipped on a large, plain t-shirt over my frail body, putting on some of my newer skinny jeans with a bit of struggle- after all, they weren't really something I was used to. I wasn't really aiming to please today, so at least my shirt was comfortable. I made myself a bowl of cereal, while rubbing at my tired eyes. In the midst of this, a familiar, smirking face appeared from behind me. "Pierce," I practically growled with my morning-rough voice. "What are you doing here? I'm awake." "Awake?" He said, with a questioning expression that quickly changed to a more amused one, "Oh my, does the writer here really think it was all a dream? Ridiculous. Haven't you ever read sci-fi?"I stood there, cereal box in hand, milk on the side. "I'm crazy," I said with a somewhat surprised reaction, "I don't know when I became that way, though, I never seemed insane before you..." He laughed. "You're not insane in the slightest aspect. Let me explain this a bit more to you. I'm Pierce, a small creation and part of your inspiration. You released me to the human world, which is a reason for that oh-so-horrible writing slump you have on your hands. And if you can't figure out how to get me back to you, you'll probably never write again. If more of us are let out by you, such a careless writer, who knows..." He sighed dramatically, "Though you can probably figure out a way to use me- or others-to help. I won’t reveal that though."