THE WRITER

I: Troubles Come As They May

"In a breath of a second, there you are, your eyes holding me captive. Are you real or are you just a figment of my fantasy?"

-Fate, Allie Santos

ALLIE

The world around me dissolves and the busy street before me turns to a meadow. People walking to and from where I sit vanishes into thin air leaving nothing but small and faint traces of their footsteps. I am transported back in time. The trees are much greener in here, I thought. I can feel the breezy air touching my cheeks as if softly kissing me, like little butterflies fluttering on top of my skin.

The sky above me is a familiar shade of blue with white puffs of clouds scattered carelessly. I reach out my hand trying to touch them possibly wanting to relieve my youthful self, that little girl who immediately sees a rabbit among the clouds.

I feel the softness of grass in my bare feet...

I let the words hang for a moment and tried brushing my feet on my carpeted floor. It did not tickle me like I imagined it to. I blink in sync with the black horizontal line after the word feet hoping that I can write some more about it. No words came. Nothing. Nothing came except sleep.

I yawned and tried stretching my body; the world I created a while back vanishes on cue after I close Microsoft Word. I stand up as I try to reach the empty glass beside me only to stumble upon the rejected manuscripts that remained lying on the floor.

I shake my head trying to clear off the negativities and I sigh realizing that it is all there is. I am now a part of the unemployed. I know that. I knew that ever since I abandoned my studies in order to write. There is no one to blame but me, I know. If only I stayed in college I could have been working somewhere, like in a hospital, doing rounds while the doctors keep on scolding me. It must have been okay, it will surely be okay compared to what I have now, which is basically nothing.

I inhaled slowly through my nose and breathe out through my mouth. Ten times. Ten deep, long breaths to calm me and maybe I can write again. But ten is not enough. Nowadays, ten deep, long breaths have never been enough.

I walk to the sofa that serves as my bed for the last two years and push aside the empty cans of coke and Korean beer. I listen to the noise it made hoping for inspiration to hit me but the only thing that's been hitting me for the past few hours is sleep. Might as well surrender, I thought.

I let my computer open, the monitor serving as my lampshade. Two reasons why I did that: first is because maybe inspiration will finally come and I do not need to open it and wait for it to buffer, second, and mostly is the reason, is that I do not want darkness to consume me. Especially at this time that I am vulnerable and almost breaking apart. Nothing hurts more than allowing yourself to be left in the dark when you feel at your lowest.

I was about to lie down when I heard my phone ring. My heart skip a beat thinking it might be a phone call or at least a text message. But I am smart enough to know that I am lonely enough to have someone call me. Maybe it is from a publisher? I inched closer to where I carelessly drop my phone awhile back only to be disappointed that it was just a reminder I set probably months ago. I wonder what I set in my alarm this time.