Paul's Return
1
They say elephants never forget so what did that make star writer Paul Sheldon? Five years after his encounter with psycho murderer Annie Wilkes Paul had not stopped having visions. Sleepless nights of nightmares and waking up soaked in sweat. Though his book, Misery's Return, which the ever thoughtful Annie forced him to write was selling like no other book he had ever written. A short while after the scaring experience he had begun writing a new book, the kind of book he wanted to write, but this he believed had only sold well because of who he was and of what had happened to him.
Paul opened his eyes, yawned, then blinked the tears form his eyes. His bed was wet from sweat and his throat was dry from talking in his sleep. Paul propped himself up on his elbows and closed his eyes again. He had the small trace of a hangover from the drinks he had had the night before, his head swam and his mind raced. He continued to get calls trying to convince him to write a book about his experiences with Annie and as he sat there with his eyes closed he began to think he might do it. He had considered doing it for a while and though it would be painful he thought it may be best.
But how did he think it would be best? Did he think that he needed the money? No. Did he think that the additional interviews would distract his mind from the visions he continued to have? Maybe. Paul opened his eyes once more and after a few moments stood up and walked across his hotel room to his bathroom. To many visions of Annie had caused him to finally leave his apartment to stay at a local hotel. Once he reached the bathroom he walked to the sink, made a cup with his hands and filled it with cold water. He looked at himself in the mirror for a few moments then splashed the water on his face. His head hurt, he was tired but he had made his decision.
2
Once he shaved, showered, and got dressed he sat at his chair in front of his desk and booted up his laptop. Once it was on and ready he stared at the blinking cursor, just thinking. He began typing, stopped, erased what he had and stood back up. He needed a drink.
Writing was easy. He had done it all his adult life. His imagination (so vivid) was the one thing about him he knew the most. But writing about this was different