“I wrote,” I said. “Swear to god, I just finished writing.”

“Really?” The guy said sarcastically. “And how far along are you?”

“Far enough,” I replied. 

“Mike, if you don’t meet quota, you—,” he scoffed. “I can’t do shit if you don’t finish in time even if I wanted to.” I leaned my head against the wall behind me. I knew he couldn’t.

“I know,” I said. 

“And I know you haven’t been feeling this one, but you can’t give up on it like you did the last few ideas. Time is money and you’re wasting theirs— ours, I mean.”

“It’s just a subjectively bad story.”

“Brother, objectively. You’re the object. It’s not bad. Come on man,” the guy replied. I closed my eyes and pinched the bridge of my nose. 

“Michael,” he went on. 

“Don’t call me that.”

“Don’t call your work bad.”

“Tell them I’ll have it done, nothing to worry about.” I looked at the ceiling, at my red lamp. A souvenir from Jessica.

“Mike, I love you, I really do, but you’re the only thing I worry about.” I put the phone on speaker and flipped mindlessly trough a photography magazine. 

“Quite a boring life, then,” I said, stopping to look at a picture of a woman dancing in a red dress. Flamingo? Flamenco? Flaming hot. 

I could almost taste the hopeless moment of silence the guy at the other side of the phone brought into the room. I sighed and threw down the magazine.

“I’ll pull something out of my ass.”

“You better pull quick.”

“Yeah, yeah. You’ve got my word. Say hi to them from me.”

“Your word doesn’t mean anything to them, if you don’t deliver at least a first draft of the full story they’ll fire you, man,” the guy said. 

“I know, and I will.” It was silent for a few seconds.

“How are you, anyway?” He asked. 

“I’m alright,” I said. 

“That’s good, that’s good.” I nodded though I knew no one could see. 

“You think you can deliver the first draft by next week?” He asked. Fuck no.

“Yeah, sure. It’s basically done, I just need to add an end to it.”

“As long as it’s just an end, not a middle and a start too.” The beeping of my phone signaled the conversation was over. 

My publishers office was a bit of a pain in the ass lately. Nothing new, they told me to work and I didn’t. I used to pump out books like a gold-shitting donkey when I first started working with them, most of them getting successful right away. I was over a decade younger then, I don’t have the same inspiration anymore. 

You know how it goes, I set a standard back then and I can’t reach it anymore. Don’t have the same inspiration or motivation. When donkeys get nothing to eat, can you really expect them to be pushing out logs of gold every day? No, they fucking die. 

I can’t find an ending because the story doesn’t make any fucking sense. I started without a plot, didn’t even know the killer. Still don’t. I started really stretching the scenes out really quickly just to fill the page count. I wasn’t lying about having a beginning and a middle part, it was right there in front of me, in the opened document on my laptop. The letters on it mocked me, the last date of edit over three weeks ago. I slammed it shut and threw it besides the magazine on the small table. I won’t lie, I hadn’t read it for a few weeks. 

I swung my legs on the desk and stared out of the window in front of it. I just sat there, not doing anything. Paralyzed, almost frozen. I didn’t want to keep writing. It felt like I’d just hit a dead end, pun intended. It being a murder mystery and all, if you catch my train of thought. This shit always happened when I tried to make money off of things. It would just feel useless and I almost always lost interest real quick. I wasn’t against making money, because I was doing that for a while already. My brain just didn’t want to keep doing that shit. It didn’t find it fun anymore.

My head fell to the right, neck muscles just not bothering anymore. I stared out into the night. Didn’t see a single star, it seemed semi light out even when it was night around here. Light pollution.

I put up a middle finger to my laptop and plopped down on my couch. My cat brushed against the doorpost and walked into the room. 

“So you’re still alive,” I said. The cat let out a meow of acknowledgement. 

“As you can see, so am I,” I continued. “You’ll have food for yet another day.” The cat walked up to me and started brushing against my leg. 

“Not now though, wanker, it’s the middle of the night. Are you crazy?” The cat started purring. Power move, he learned I couldn’t resist if he did that shit.

“Hustler. Fine, come on. Let’s get you a midnight snack,” I said and stood up. 

I closed my eyes for a second against the lightheadedness and started walking, relying fully on my other senses. My hands, mainly. My vision quickly came back, luckily. There might’ve been no stars outside but I had some in my eye sockets every time I stood up. 

“You feel like meat or nah?” I asked the tiny beast. I shuffled towards the kitchen and opened up some cabinets. The cat meowed loudly and did a little jump to show his clear anticipation. 

“Calm down dude, don’t be too eager.” I took the box of cat food out of the cabinet and shook it. No sound. I frowned like an idiot and looked inside it. No food. 

“Guess I was wrong. I’m alive but you get no food.” I sighed loudly and the cat seemed to sigh a just as dramatic sigh. Metaphorically, all he did was meow very angrily. 

“Dude, it’s fate. The universe doesn’t want you getting fat. Take that sign. I’ll get food tomorrow.” I threw the empty box in the direction of the trashcan. I missed, but the cat jumped straight to it.

“There’s no — never mind, good luck.” 

I sat my ass back on the couch and put on the tv. I didn’t even like tv, I just put it on for the sound. Like a background sound for my thoughts. Or lack thereof. The red bottle of vodka on the ground next to me caught my attention. It matched my red lamp. I tilted my head and kept my gaze on it. It was half empty already, didn’t remember how it got like that. I could guess, though. Probably drank it. Wouldn’t have been the cat, he’d be dead. 

“Do you feel like life has slowed down?” A voice on the tv said. My gaze got sucked to the ad.

“Blow new life into your sex life with OtherLove dot com. Consensual adventure!”

“Consensual cheating,” I mumbled. I grabbed the bottle of vodka and put it to my mouth. I hesitated, but that moment passed almost immediately. The burn ran down my throat and into my stomach. I barely even felt it anymore, it was like when you’re lactose intolerant but keep eating cheese, you’ll eventually get used to the pain. 

It was a bottle with a handle, I tried balancing the handle on two fingers. It felt pretty fucking pointless. Not it, to be fair. I. I didn’t feel like I did anything anymore. I was just there. I was moving but I wasn’t making any movements forward. Not even backwards, though the writers block wasn’t something I was happy with. 

I chugged another double-shot worth of vodka. I heard my cat still attacking the food box. Wasn’t any use as far as I could hear, but respect for the effort. Without much effort I put my head on the couch and closed my eyes. I could barely feel a buzz coming in. I took another sip of the vodka and with a limp arm let it rest beside me on the couch. 

Out of breath I woke up and tried sitting up. The cat fell off of my face into my lap and put his claws in me. 

“Fuck!” I yelled, sprung up and instinctively grabbed my legs, dropping something on the ground that used to be in my hand. Glass shattered and spread across the entire floor. The cat jumped back up on the couch and hissed. 

“Motherfucker,” I let out and rubbed my legs. “Piece of shit, fuck.” I turned around to the cat.

“Didn’t mean that. God damn does it hurt though.” Only a little bit of blood came from the scratches the cat made. I sighed and looked at the pieces of glass. It was impressive how much small pieces came from just one bottle. The floor was filled with tiny red shards. No alcohol, I probably drank it all. The light from the window reflected in the pieces of glass, making the entire room shimmer red. A bit like a slasher or some shit. Looked like blood was dripping from the walls. 

I stood there for a couple of minutes, procrastinating the cleanup. My cat yelled at me, which was fair. I would yell if I almost got killed by a bottle. I yelled when he put his nails in me, so I got it. 

“Why the fuck were you on my face dude?”

My feet brushed the sidewalk as I walked past prospect park. I didn't usually walk to the store. To be honest, I didn't go there that much at all. I usually just ordered online. Figured I might as well today, it was early and I felt weirdly motivated. Might’ve been the alcohol still in my system, but it was a while since I felt any at all. Was cheaper than ordering online too. Online service is a blessing and a curse all in one. Hadn’t talked to someone in person for a long, long time, aside from delivery boys. Most people I talked to was over the phone or via face calls. The last one I saw might’ve been my ex when I dropped her shit off at her place. Was a couple months ago. Jesus, I’d become a hermit.  

The leaves on the sidewalk stuck to my shoes. There weren't that many people around, which wasn't surprising for the time of day. The store had probably barely opened, the sun was barely up. It was the first time in a while that I was awake at this time. Hadn’t seen the sun come up in even longer than when I saw my ex. The sunrise was nice, but it was cold. I hated fall. Couldn’t wait until spring started. Lost in thought I walked on, almost hypnotized by the cars that passed by. 

“Watch where you’re going, mate,” I heard and looked up. I almost walked into this dude with his girlfriend. His coat was one of those wool ones that are so unnecessarily long they reach your knees. Big coat to make up for something else. His girl had blond hair, it was dancing in the wind. It was put up in a ponytail, a high one. My head jerked as I looked back at them. 

“Jessica!” I said, more out of surprise than anything else. Fucking hell, the last thing I wanted was to talk to her. Why the hell did I do that? I turned back around as quick as I could, hoping she didn’t hear. To my horror I heard her turn around, two coats rustling against each other. I kept walking. I wasn’t in the mood for whatever the fuck they had going on. 

“Mike!” I heard. Footsteps came running after me. I felt a soft hand grab my arm, stopping me from walking away. It didn’t work, I kept walking.

“Is that you?”

I turned to her, faking a smile. Didn’t stop walking, hoping she would get the hint. She didn’t.

“Hey, how’ve you been?” She asked. 

“As you would expect,” I said. Jason caught up to us, looking just as happy as I did. 

“Michael,” he said with a short nod, then turned to Jess. “We need to go, honey. We can’t be late.” He put his hand on her shoulder and nodded his head towards wherever they were going. 

“I’m sure they can wait one minute,” she said. I didn’t hate them, I just strongly disliked them. Especially Jason, he’s the kinda guy that gets everything handed to him. 

“Yes, they could, but why would we let them?” he said.

“Sounds important, think you shouldn’t let them wait,” I said. I dodged Jessica’s gaze, instead stared at the reflective windows of a building on the other side of the street. Her blue eyes pierced my soul even though I didn’t look directly at them. 

“How is your book coming along?” she asked, like she didn’t hear either of us. I couldn’t tell if she was genuinely curious or mocking me. She probably knew I hit a writer’s block by lack of, frankly, her. 

I stopped walking, causing Jason to walk into me. He sent me a pissed look. I couldn’t care less.

“It’s alright,” I just said. I didn’t feel like talking to her, especially about my book.

“Let me know when it’s done,” Jess continued. Definitely mocking me. 

“Sure,” I replied sarcastically.

“I’m sure your life is exhilarating and I would love to stay and chat, mate, but we’ve got somewhere to be,” Jason said and gently guided Jessica in the direction they were first going. 

“How’s life with a tiny dick?” I asked Jason, after which I turned away and started walking away from both them and wherever it was they were going. 

“Seems to me like it’s preferred over yours,” Jason said. I heard them walking away. Fucking asshole.

I don’t know when I came home. I just came in, poured the cat a bowl of food and now sat on the couch with another bottle of vodka. It was half empty. Or full, depending on how you look at it. Drunk no matter which. I wasn’t sobered up from last night, but at least I wouldn’t be hungover today. Can’t be when you’re constantly drunk. Fucking pathetic.

The bottle felt cold in my hand, the rounding of the glass uneven. I couldn’t see it that well. Maybe because my room was dark, maybe because I was half a bottle of vodka away from a night in the hospital with a pump in my stomach. I took another sip. Glad I mixed vodka with vodka though, could’ve been worse if I mixed it with another type of alcohol. 

I noticed my laptop as I put the bottle of vodka beside me on the floor. I stared at it for a good five minutes, trying to focus my blurry vision.

“You’re a bitch,” I then told it. I stood up, turned the TV on and grabbed the bottle of vodka. 

“You want one?” I asked my cat who walked into the room. I scoffed and shook my head. I continued in my silly cat voice, the one I only use on my cat when no one’s around. 

“You don’t even know what work is, do you? You don’t have to work for your food.”

The cap of the vodka bottle disappeared into the trash and I grabbed my laptop. As I walked to the dinner table I chugged over a shot’s worth of alcohol. 

“And the worst thing is that I’m jealous,” I said to the cat. I put the laptop down on the table and stared at it again, like it’d start throwing words at me, telling me what the hell to write. I sat down on the chair and looked back at the cat, now licking himself.

“I want to just get food without working for it.” I chugged another shot of vodka that tasted like nothing. 

“And lick my ass in public.”

Slowly I started scrolling up, seeing the chapters fly by faster every time I scrolled. The brightness of the screen was rough in contrast with the darkness from outside. Probably night. Another sip. 

This story sucked. I still didn’t know who killed the old rich guy even though I was the one writing. I couldn’t decide between the long lost relative and the rich asshole. Imagine if the rich asshole did it, he’d be sent to die in jail. That’d be a happy ending for everyone. 

That asshole took my girl, he showed up to her tours in the museum and they’d fuck in front of mona lisa or Leo DaVinci or whoever. That son of a bitch explored her hidden tomb. 

I took another sip as the words rolled down the screen. Jessica was even worse, she was the one in a relationship, the one who actually did the cheating. God, Jessica. A half-cry left my throat, but right after, an embarrassed cough came out to restore the shrivel that was still left of my dignity. I met her at a party. I was just as drunk as I was now, if not drunker. My alcohol tolerance was higher now, but it was far from low back then. I barely could even see her face in the flashing, colored lights, but I immediately knew she was hot. She was, I wasn’t wrong about that, but she was like a succubus. Amazing sex but makes you slowly die the longer you go on. 

I rubbed my eyes with both my hands but it didn’t make it any less blurry. If anything, I fucked my vision up more for a couple seconds. I stopped scrolling and stared at the screen intently with a slanted jaw, trying to concentrate. 

“Joan and Jack stood in the living room of the mansion, waiting for the count to reappear to make his announcement,” I read out loud. Joan and Jack, Jessica and Jason. I felt inspired with the J names, clearly. They were a pair of bitches. I shouldn’t have put them in my story, probably didn’t help with the productivity level. I didn’t want to see them in real life, what made me think I wanted to see them on my screen? Even for the sake of fake revenge. 

There is nothing wrong with detective novels, they’re good books usually. The writers who wrote them had a good thing going, even if there was a formula. Good plot and characters. Writing them is the part that always gets me. Look, I don’t hate the idea of a parody. Parodies are great. I just hate the way I personally wrote it. I scrolled further up. 

“Nancy was preparing the drinks, every single one differently, since none of the guests had the same drink. She hurried off to the bathroom.” I could barely make out the letters anymore. I liked Nancy, though I had done what other writers had done too, made her the screaming maid. Was a bit of a waste, there was potential for a good character there. She was the only redhead in the story. Scrolling up even further. The words started moving on it’s own, leaving me to guess what the words said. I blinked a few times and tried again. 

‘Thomas t ou he bag oods.’ My eyes told me. I knew they were lying. I was at that point of no return. 

I looked around the room, trying to refocus them. I balanced my chair on it’s two back legs as I leaned slightly backwards. I rubbed my eyes again and pinched the bridge of my nose. Thomas’ face was the only clear thing in my mind, I couldn’t even see the fucking hand in front of my face that I was waving numbly around. He wasn’t even real, my hand was. I felt the balance of the chair shifting and I reached wildly for the table, making the chair even more unbalanced. 

“Fuck you,” I murmured to the innocent table. With a bang I felt my head hit something and my body probably the floor, but I couldn’t tell because the focus was completely lost. The last thing that crossed my mind was Jessica’s face, her blue eyes fixed on me.