Writer's Block

In order to write a story, he had to lose a bit of sanity.

Sora knew this.

But he did it anyways.

What else could he do?

The clicking of his keyboard was the only sound in the apartment. For every word he typed, he would delete two more. By the time he was done, half of what he wrote disappeared. When there was nowhere to go, go backwards.

He leaned back and stretched out his arms. The drapes were dim; it was early in the morning. He rubbed his bleary eyes, got up, and pulled the drapes open, allowing sunlight to fill the room.

The apartment was cramped. Furniture collided at odd angles and there was no effort to maximize space, but he wasn't worried about the terrible feng shui. Discarded shirts and pants littered the floor, and with the sun now pouring in, the place looked like a shrine to divine slovenly.

At age twenty-six, Sora was a fiction writer. He wrote a surprise hit series of novels known as The Keyblade Chronicles, a story about a hero who wields a key-shaped blade to fight against an evil called the Heartless. The novel became an instant hit and Tetsuya Nomura became an overnight sensation. It was his pen name. He didn't want two people in particular to know that he was the author, and he was never one for the spotlight.

Sora was currently working on the third book in the series, but he wasn't making much progress. The first book was a culmination of his life experiences, and the second book came about from a delirious mix of stress, pressure, and luck. Since he had exhausted all his creative resources, he had only an uncertain future to write about.

He moved away from the window and approached a mirror mounted on the wall. Blue eyes dominated with the sickly web of bloodshot stared back at him. Maturity had calmed his brown hair, which used to be a spiky mess when he was younger. A faded shirt hung loosely from his frame. Displeased by the reflection, he entered the bathroom to clean up.

A writer's block had his brain on permanent standby. Because of his previous success, the publisher granted him generous deadlines. He emerged from the bathroom, feeling refreshed, and decided to leave the apartment. It was a short trip down the stairs to the mailboxes.

He usually received fan mail, bills, and advertisements, but today, he found something different, something odd, and something too out-of-the-ordinary. It was an elegant envelope—a wedding invitation. His mind went through the possibilities for the groom and bride, but he couldn't help but dwell on the one couple that haunted him. If God had any mercy on his soul, it would be anybody but those two.

Taking out the letter, he read over the invitation:

We humbly invite you to witness the loving union of Riku and Kairi in holy matrimony.