Remnants of the Past

My life for the story

It was boredom that brought him to this point. It was boredom that festered in his mind, like the termite boring endlessly into wood rotting in the lumber yard. Boredom drove him to madness, an end of the world kind of mania leaving an uncorked hysteria oozing forth. In his apathetic tedium, Andy could feel the slimy goo of slugs seeping through the gray matter of his brain. It itched, an unscratchable prickling sensation of claws scraping incessantly. His scalp, now balding and bleeding, displayed the results of the newly induced psychosis. The itch of boredom was a constant insufferable lunacy unveiling itself with physical manifestations.

Boredom is rendered when life's luster evaporates or the air that we breathe becomes colorless with inspiration. For six eternal weeks, Andy had felt the aches and pains of his paled existence. His Saturdays were void of newness. The lack of proof to an outside world of imagination gifted futility. His reason for being eluded the man. Does the sun truly shine, if no one is left to describe the beauty of its passion? The whimsical version of the bear s***ting in the woods is lost if the script is eliminated. Andy felt the boredom, like a knife in his gut churning his organs to mulch. He prayed for his salvation in the form of words. His deep yearning for at least two tales of inspired creativity that could end his tortuous turmoil consumed him. Daily he asked himself, where had all the writers gone, with an echo of aloneness the answer.Hopelessness and emptiness transpired leaving Andy with his mania. He was left without an option, creation of his own newness. His story would end all stories.

Sitting upright in his chair thrashing from side to side, he typed on the keyboard at a furious pace. Blood poured from his fingertips and his nails hung loosely to the fleshy remnants of the cuticles. Descriptions of the scenery emerged. Characters of extraordinary exuberance ensued. He painted gore like the Mona Lisa wore her smile. An action-packed drama of events and happenings to enthuse the reader exploded on the page. He salted and peppered the tale with a smattering of nudity and lust to entice. Dialogue, rich in colloquial depth, offered insight to each character's passing emotion. Andy's little saga ripped at the cavity of your heart's recesses puncturing it with pain and thorny sadness. At the last line written, he slumped into a spent stupor of exhaustion.

He paused his finger high above the keyboard, curved in a dramatic arch. He was eager to put an end to his boredom, filing his story, and hitting the save button.

Chose the Ending

Scenario #1 Andy accidentally pushes the escape button with the story launched into oblivion. Overcome by the loss, Andy digs further into his scalp causing the gray matter to drip onto the keyboard.

Scenario#2 Andy deems his work on the story as incredible and names himself as the winner and reigning champ of "Sceams". Six months in the future Andy is awarded a Pulitzer.

Word count 499