The Lost Writer

It’s dark and gloomy outside. The winter air is crisp. I’m cold; I’ve been for some time now. As a writer, I often go for long, and prolific journeys. I've traveled long and far looking for my next great book, or even just an idea. In the clutch of my hand I carry with me my trusty notebook. I’ve named my notebook Earl; Earl is not the best name for a book. Tonight the sky is full of stars, and I can see my breath in the air. My family thinks I am a lost soul; a damned fool for trying to support myself with this rubbish. They don’t understand the creative power of words. Today I took the long way home. I crossed the bridge and entered the park. Most people avoid this park at night; once the stars come out this park is for the derelict members of society. Maybe that’s why I feel comfortable here; maybe I’m at home within the confines of the park. The winter air stings my cheeks and hands. My lips are hurting, and starting to crack open. I think I’m alone here, just me and my thoughts. The path I took in life is all but a stable one. Other men have a trade or even a profession, but not me. I have a hobby. The snow that falls from the sky has covered up the path I seek. It reminds me of the way my fears have held me back from following my own path in life. I no longer recognize where I am. I have lost my way, and the blowing winds have hidden my footpath. It appears that I am lost.

“Ahhh..."

What is that I heard, a loud outburst from what I think is a woman in distress? I can’t see much anymore; the blowing snow is blurring my vision. I must find her; I must find the damsel in distress. Maybe she could be my link to clearing this cloud that has invaded my mind, this writer’s block.


The snow is getting deeper as I travel towards the scream I heard. Each step forward towards the unknown brings me further from my path. I have to do this; I have to know. The storm is intensifying; the wind and snow are constant. I’m squinting trying not to let the cold snow enter my eyes, but it’s not working. I’m so lost and this park is huge. How could I find a single sound in this? I look down and realize that I am still clutching Earl in my right hand. My fingers are frozen, it’s hard for me to pry them apart from the book. I can’t afford to hold this book any longer, so I loosen up my jacket and place the book in my breast pocket. My hand hurts so much as I close the buttons on my jacket.

“Help!”

The call out into the darkness is much closer than it was before. I am reenergized; the agony in her voice is all I needed to hear. She needs help. She sounds like she is in considerable pain by the sound of her tone. I raced toward where I think I heard her. I look down, and notice the snow beneath my feet. It’s saturated with blood, lots of blood. I followed this blood trail with no avail. The trail just ends. I can no longer find a footprint or a drop. This is crazy, I’m lost and now this.


With the blood stains deeply seeded in my memory banks, I trudge on. Always forward, never backwards. I see something in the distance. It must be her. I run over to the large object lying on the ground. I found her, I found her corpse. Here she lies at my feet, frozen, bloody and dead. She was beautiful for a dead girl. Very proportionate, but something was missing. A vital part of her anatomy had been ripped out. Her heart was cut clean out of her chest. It was missing, that explains the blood. Who could possibly be capable, of such a violent act? I reached down to take a closer look at the damage to her chest. And I notice something peculiar, her chest is still moving up and down. I realized too late that the whole thing was a mere fabrication. It was a trick. A fool I was, the girl was not dead! I had just fallen into a trap. The blood on her chest wasn’t real, it was fake. The torn out chest cavity was a simple Halloween costume. The girl opened her eyes and pulled out a gun.

“You bitch!"

I yelled, but she just smiled and pulled the trigger; lights out. The pain was unbearable. I laid there in the snow paralyzed as she searched through my pockets looking for wealth. She found very little, ten or so dollars. Is that what a life is worth now, ten bucks? I close my eyes and wait to meet my creator. Nothing happened, just darkness. I open my eyes to find that the storm is starting to lighten up. Could this be? I’m still here. I reach around to feel for the bullet wound. I found pain, but no blood. I even found the point of entry. It was my breast pocket.

“Ha ha ha.”

It seems as if writing has saved my life after all. I found Earl with the bullet stuck half way though him. I pulled him out and kissed him.

“Thanks, buddy, I owe you one.”