If I Must
I sat there in the black computer chair, it's thin material growing old and started to fray near the arms. In fron of me was a blank word processor screen, the cursor flashing at the top of the page. Not a single line had been typed. And if it had been, it was erased due to the lack of talent coming from the fingers that punched the keys.
Writer's block sucks, I thought with a sigh. I couldn't even come up with a good plot. Damn, what kind of writer am I? Not a very good one. I hadn't written anything worth reading in the past two months. Gosh, it was so frusterating.
I love writing. It's my passion, and has been for as long as I can remember. I always excelled in english class at school. I've writting some amazing stories in the past, some of which had gotten published in magazines and books. I had one many awards as well. I was good. I was very good. But not at the moment. Right now I was ready to take my fist and drive it full force through the computer screen, which seemed to be mocking me. Stupid computer.
I pushed the chair backwards and stood up to stretch my legs, which had fallen asleep. Yawning, I looked outside and saw that it was just starting to spit rain from the overcast sky. Maybe I should take a walk, get some fresh air. Inspiration comes from strange places. At least mine did, anyways. I walked out of the computer room and into the front hallway, which was dimly lit by an overhead lightbulb. I grabbed my black windbreaker from the closet and my mom's black umbrella and opened the thick wooden front door.
It was warm outside despite the rain. There was a slight breeze that felt cool as it brushed through my hair and rustled my jacket. Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath in and slowly exhaled, then, opening my eyes, began my walk.
The neighbourhood was a nice one, full of younger kids and old people. They didn't bother me much, something I was quite thankful for. Most little kids yelled and screamed and threw tantrums. Most old people would stop you on your way and begin to chat up a storm. Annoying much? Very. I didn't have time to talk. I was a writer. Writing was what I did best. Although not at the moment. Not for a few months now. Shut up, brain.
Sometimes I really hated the things I'd think about. I'd drift off into space, not realizing it, and spend hours thinking about the most random things. Which did come first, the chicken or the egg? It's hard to say. I wonder what would happen if the sky really did fall. See? Random. Every bit of nonsense occured in the world that is my head. Full of creativity and mystery. You never knew what I was going to come out with next. Although half of the time I didn't, either.
Growing bored of the sound of the raindrops falling on top of my umbrella, then dribbling off and splattering the pavement, I pulled out my MP3 player and turned up the volume. The sound of Coheed and Cambria filled my ears. I just loved when Claudio Sanchez would tell me about the House Atlantic, or the happenings on the Velorium Camper. Coheed and Cambria were my favourite band, my inspiration. They were actually the reason I became a writer in the first place. Some people call me The Writing Writer, after the character in the story. The Writing Writer. It suits you perfectly.
After about half an hour I decided to head back home. My parents would probably be home by now. It was strange to have the whole house to myself in the daytime. Ever since school ended I've had all this free time to myself. And how do I spend it? Sitting in front of a blank computer screen. My neighbours think I'm absolutely insane. They pick me off as one of those crazy writers who doesn't have a life but has some kind of mental problem. Occasionally I get some pretty weird looks my way, but I've gotten used to it. I say they're just jealous. It does get annoying, though.
As I turned the corner of my street, a few of my neighbours were sitting outside of their porches reading newspapers or magazines, or just watching the rain. As I passed them, they all looked up and stared at me. "There goes that crazy writer girl again, heading back to her dark gloomy cave" they'd probably be thinking. I stared back, an annoyed glare in my eyes, and I saw them look away. Yet as I passed, I could see them stare at me again out of the corner of my eye.
When I got inside, I greeting in female voice called out to me from in the kitchen. Mom's home. I entered the kitchen to say hello, the aroma of sweet potatoes and chicken filling the air. What a pleasant smell it was, for I was starving. Oops, forgot to eat lunch. I was too busy doing nothing. I started towards the computer room when my mom stopped me.
"Cat, I know you've been on that thing all day. Why don't you give it a break?" She said as she checked on the chicken.
"Not all day," I replied. "I went out for a walk."
"Not a very long one. You were gone, what, twenty minutes, half an hour?" She said, looking at me and raising an eyebrow. "What about setting the table?" I got to work on that, placing the forks and knives on the correct sides of the placemats.
"How'd you know how long I've been gone?" I inquired.
"I was talking to Mr and Mrs Eliss. They told me you'd just gone out not ten minutes after I got home. They said they hadn't seen you all day, but the computer room light was on since about nine this morning." I rolled my eyes as I turned my back to her.
"Yeah, I know. I was trying to write, mom, you know how it is," I said. She just have a loud sigh as I headed into the computer room.
I sat back down in the black, fraying computer chair once again and tried to let my imagine take the best of me. No luck. Nosey neighbours, I thought. Can't they mind their own damn business for a change? Sighing heavily, I leaned back in the chair and looked about the room. It was a large room, with the computer desk and cabinet on the wall opposite the door, a TV to the left of the desk, a black leather couch opposite the TV, with pleanty of space left over. A narrower hall was just to the right of the desk, along the same wall as the couch, that led to the side door. The only thing in there was a pair of my old sneakers.
Fifteen minutes had gone by with me knowing, and all I heard was my father calling me for dinner, snapping me back into reality. I didn't even hear him come home. Again, I pushed the chair back and stretched, then walked lazily into the kitchen. I ate silently while my parents talked about work. I barely spoke at dinner time, or at any time for that matter. I wasn't a real talkative person, and my parents quickly learned that. I was moody, and when I wasn't happy with something, or I didn't want to talk, I'd let anyone know, no two ways about it.
Finishing dinner, I set to work on getting the dishes washed and dried. That, along with setting the table, was the one chore I was expected to do. It wasn't so bad, I guess. I blasted my music on the speakers while my parents went downstairs to talk. When I was about halfway done the dishes, my parents came up and told me that they were going out for a bit and would be back later. I mummbled an "Okay", and didn't even hear them leave. When I was finally done the dishes, I headed yet again to my home that was the computer room.
Sitting comfortably in my friend who was the black computer chair, I tapped my fingers continuosly on the wooden desk. Writer's block is the spawn of Satan. So are my neighbours, I thought as I got up to turn the light off, remembering that the old people next door had been spying on me all day. Can't they just get a life? God, I wish they'd just die. I know, it's a horrible thought. But they interfere with my life all the time.
"Then why not just do it yourself?" said a sinister voice, making me jump clear out of my skin. The voice was hoarse and strong and of a medium tone. And it sounded somewhat familiar. Suddenly the room got really warm.
"W-who are you?" I asked, looking towards the narrow hall leading to the back door. It was brightly lit as though on fire, and I heard the voice speak again.
"You know who I am," he said, and then I heard a loud noise as if something was being rolled across the floor. Then, to my shock and amazement, there, standing before me, was a giant demonic ten speed bicycle. Where handles should be there were giant curving horns, and he had a skull face and a bone spine where the bar leading to the seat should be. I knew instantly who he was.
"Ten Speed," I whispered. My favourite character from the Coheed and Cambria story. But how could this be? Surely he couldn't be real.
"Yes, I am real. I'm here to help you," Ten Speed said, his eye sockets ablaze with fire. "So you can't write a story? We'll soon fix that. You know what you must do." I couldn't help but stare at him as he spoke, as he stood there not five feet away from me.
"But I haven't a story to write, there's nothing left," I explained to the bicycle. As he stared at me, he was even more intimidating than I had imagined him, or from what I'd seen in the vignette clips from the Coheed and Cambria DVD.
"Well then, you'll have to make it happen then, won't you?" Ten Speed answered, a sly grin crossing his skull face. "Think of what they put you through, all the times they've annoyed you. Don't let them see you." Instantly I knew what he was talking about.
"I could never pull that off," I started.
"Silence!" Ten Speed roared. "You can and you will. Kill them all. Don't let them scare you, bastard." Ten Speed was right. If I killed them, they'd never be on my case again. And I could write a story about the experience. It would become such a famous book, and no one would ever know that I did it.
"You're right, Ten Speed," I said, standing up. "But how will I do it? I need to make it look like an accident, right?" Ten Speed grinned again, a devious grin so sinister that I knew exactly what he was thinking.
"You must do it," he said. "You'll feel much better. Don't think of them as real people, think of them as just characters. I say kill them off." I smile played at the corner of my lips as I grabbed a pain of black leather gloves from the closet at the side of the hall. Then I faced the demonic bicycle.
"Ten Speed, if I must, then I must," I said, grinning, and the bicycle grinned back. Then, we both turned and headed out the door.
It was around nine o'clock now, and I knew for sure that my neighbours would be asleep. They always went to bed early on a Friday night, mostly because they both woke up early to play golf the next day. I hated golf, it was like watching paint dry; boring as hell. It wouldn't be a problem smeaking into their house now. All their lights were off, so the time was perfect.
Paperclip in hand, I unfolded it and proceeded to unlock the door. It was easy as pie, and the door swung open with a slight creek. With Ten Speed of God's Blood and Burial behind me, we made our way into the hall and shut the door as quietly as we could. It would have been impossible to see in here had it not been for Ten Speed's firey glow. The tiles on the floor were a beige and brown pattern, and the wallpaper was not much prettier. The stairs, lucky for us, were a few feet in front of the door, so we wouldn't have to creep around on the main floor as much.
Wondering how the bicycle would get up the stairs, I watched as he lifted one giant wheel off the ground and let it fall gently on the bottom few stairs, then sped forward up the winding staircase until he reached the flat landing of the hall. I followed him, careful not to make any loud noises, and joined him seconds later. The old couple's bedroom was right in front of us, and i crept towards it with Ten Speed at my side. I placed my hand firmly around the brass doorhandle and turned it slowly, then pressed the door so it opened just a crack. As I peered in, I heard the soft intake of breaths, then louder exhales.
My heart pounded within my chest, growing more anxious by the second. This was the most thrilling thing I had ever done. And yet a part of me was afraid, because I didn't want to get caught. Ten Speed assured me that everything would be fine, and that if I followed his plan things would work our smoothly.
I opened the door wide enough so that I could enter, and Ten Speed stayed close behind. Approaching the old couple, I bent over them just to make sure they weren't even the slightest bit conscious. Luckily they weren't, and all was well. I looked at the end table and saw an ashtray sitting there, a bonus to the plan. Everyone knew that the old couple smoked. I picked up two half-smoked cigarettes and brought them close to Ten Speed. Igniting them again with his fire, I put one on the table, right near the edge, and the other I dropped on the floor. An accident, I thought, and Ten Speed nodded.
It happened quicker than I had expected. The lit cigarette caught on the bed sheets, and a tiny flame began to trace the edge of it. Within moments the flames spread and began to lick the corners of the sheets. Higher and higher the flames rose, filling the air with a thick grey fog. I coughed once, then decided that it was time to head out. Closing the doors behind me, Ten Speed and I walked down to the main floor, but decided to use the back door to get out. I locked the front door and walked around to the back, opening the already unlocked sliding glass doors and stepping out into the warm night air. We headed towards the side of the house and exited through the gate, then walked back to my house. To my luck, my parents weren't home yet.
Once safely inside, having entered through the side door of my house, I sat comfortably on the leather couch with Ten Speed in front of me. He grinned at me, and I grinned back.
"You did it," Ten Speed said. "Just like I knew you would. Doesn't it feel better?"
"Yes, it does," I said, and laughed a bit. "It feels great." Getting up, I walked over to the computer chair and sat down.
"Do you know what you're going to write now?" Ten Speed asked. I smiled.
"Yes," I replied. "Yes I do." And with that, I began to write my story. Ten Speed, looking on with me, stayed by my side and watched me type.
I didn't even hear my parents come home. I didn't hear both of them shout there "Hello"'s and "Sorry we're late"'s. I didn't even hear my mother approach the computer room. As of that moment I was talking to Ten Speed, enjoying going over the night's events. Finally when my mom yelled my name, I snapped out of it, my fingers stopped typing, I stopped talking and I turned around.
"Oh, hi mom," I said. "I didn't even hear you come in." She gave me a sarcastic smile, then looked suddenly shocked. I glanced over and stared at Ten Speed, who was, obviously, in plain view. "I can explain-" I started, but my mom cut me off.
"Who are you talking to?" She asked, a quizzical look about her aging yet still pretty face. This was odd; didn't she see the giant bicycle standing beside me? "And why is it so hot in here?" She looked around the room as if something in here would explain the amount of heat. Something could, but it was clear that she couldn't see him.
"Oh, I was just talking to myself," I said casually. "And I don't feel too hot." She still looked puzzled, but left things at that. She disappeared from the threshold of the room and out of sight. I turned to Ten Speed and laughed. Then continued writing.
About an hour later I was done my story. I was just about to get a snack when the phone rang. Who could be calling at eleven o'clock at night? I picked up the phone, puzzled, and said hello. To my suprise it was the neighbours from across the street, screaming into the phone like a maniac. They told me to look outside, and asked how I couldn't have noticed the enormous flames devouring the house beside me. I hung up the phone, then wandered over to the window and stared out at the old house now completely ablaze.
"You know, those neighbours that just called. They have no right to disturb me so late at night. Don't they realize I'm working?" I said caually to Ten Speed, not removing my eyes from the fire.
"Then you know what must be done," Ten Speed replied. I smiled and turned to my new friend.
"Ten Speed, if I must, then I must."