April 17th

Dan stared blankly at his old typewriter, pondering on how to form the tangle of ideas and dialogue in his mind into ink on paper. Writer's block was possibly the most infuriating thing in the world.

He reached forward slowly, placing his finger on the cool, concave keys his fingers fit so well. He rapidly typed out the first sentence.

The darkness clawed at my mind, daring me to give up and fall into its cold, dead grasp.

He stared at the words sitting on the paper, slightly hidden by the ribbon placed so carefully in the metal holder. It was incredulous really; how one minute he could sit down and type out an entire short story without even thinking about it, then other times he would stare at his blank sheet of paper for hours at a time, slowly being driven mad by his own disability to form words.

I tried to escape; to run as far as I could from the grotesque monsters lurking, where only the daftest of people dared to adventure.

Dan bit his lip, carefully analyzing the words.

That didn't sound right.

The young man tried again, erasing the previous sentence.

I tried to free myself from the hellish mental stage I had so foolishly allowed myself to fall into. But then again, even the most valiant and insolent of individuals would find themselves trapped in this horrific abyss of depression and self-loathing.

The paragraph became easier and easier to write, and Dan found himself smiling as he stared at the paper. Now he was getting somewhere.

It was as if all the will to live had been sucked out of me. I could hear whispers in the dark telling me to give up. Telling me to just pick up a gun and shoot it through my head. I tried to shove them aside, trudging unwillingly forward.

The young author continued writing, giving no thought to the small, cheap alarm clock that ticked further and further into the night.

...

Dan awoke from his deep sleep just as the sun broke its way over the horizon, casting small flecks of golden light in his hair. The man sat up, rubbing his eyes groggily. He had no idea on when he fell asleep, but he figured it didn't matter considering he woke up in time for work anyway.

Before he did anything else, Dan picked up the several papers of the story he had written last night, and quickly skimmed over them. Needless to say, he was terribly disappointed. The story was okay, he supposed, but it didn't have the mood he was hoping for.

Dan couldn't stress enough how much this story meant to him. It was his entry for a writing contest he had signed up for. Dan loved writing, it was his hobby, his passion, it was him. But his love for writing wasn't the only reason he had decided to join this competition. The winner got a cash prize of 700 pounds; and hell, Dan could use the money. He wasn't quite poor (yet), but bills were steadily getting harder and harder to pay for, and although he had a job running a small bookstore in town, business wasn't exactly booming. The average daily pay he got was only around twenty pounds, barely enough to cover his expenses. This money was just what he needed to give himself a financial boost.

Dan stood up from his desk, wincing as he felt the delayed effect of falling asleep in an old, wooden chair. His thoughts were interrupted by the ferocious growling of his stomach. Shuffling tiredly over to his fridge, he flung the door open, revealing a few beers, a bottle of vodka, and some old left-overs he forgot to throw out.

The pantry wasn't in any better condition.

The male groaned, running a hand through his curly brown locks. If he left now, he would have enough time to get a coffee and a breakfast from the local café before he opened at 9:30.

Begrudgingly, he hurried off to his room to get dressed.

...

Clad in a pair of white skinny jeans and a black, oversized sweater, Dan made his way out of his flat into the bookstore/first story part of his house. The minute he opened the door to the stairwell, he was hit with the scent of old books. Dan would never understand how someone could dislike the smell of old paper, it was one of his favorite things in the world. It gave him the nostalgic feel of when he was young and used to help his grandpa at the library. This was where Dan presumed he got his love for reading and writing.

He swung the shop door open, stepping into the streets. A gentle, cool breeze tousled his hair.

Dan smiled contently, surveying the happy little town. As he walked to the café a few blocks down, he began to mentally narrate the scene before him, something he had started doing to help himself practice writing.

The sky was a crisp, blue color with the occasional wispy cloud scattered here and there. A cool, but pleasant spring breeze swept across the town, rustling the flowers on potted plants outside of shop windows. There were a few cars here and there, but the town was just waking up, and the real traffic was yet to come.

Dan continued his mental game until he reached the coffee shop. The man swung open the door, being greeted immediately by the pleasant aromas of coffee and ornamental French pastries he had never heard of.

"Dan!" A cheerful, feminine voice called out.

Dan looked up, smiling when Louise came walking out of the kitchen, wiping flour off of her hands and onto her pink apron.

"Morning Lou!" The shop must have only just opened, seeing as he was—surprisingly-the only customer so far.

"The same as usual I presume?" She asked, preparing Dan his coffee.

He nodded before adding, "And a muffin as well please, chocolate!"

"Sure thing!" She smiled, brushing a golden blonde strand of hair out of her eyes.

The brunet took a seat down at the bar, fiddling mindlessly with a straw wrapper.

"So how's the story coming?" She asked, snapping Dan out of his thoughts.

Dan sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I don't know Lou, I mean, I liked it at first, but the more I think about it the more I feel like it's not really what I wanted it to be. My original plan was to write an inspirational-cliché type story, but it ended up turning into a horror story about depression." He groaned, hanging his head in his hands.

"Aw Dan, don't worry, I'm sure you will think of something eventually!" She gave Dan an affectionate smile. "I mean, you're the best writer in town! I don't see why you don't get something published, especially that story about the detective solving that murder case, only to find out that the killer is his own assistant! That's one of my favorites!"

Dan shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe I will someday... I just never have time." Or the money. He added mentally.

He pulled out his wallet to pay for his drink and muffin, but Louise waved her hand nonchalantly. "It's on the house."

Dan looked at his friend with fault. "No, no, Louise it's fine, really. I can pay" Dan's friends pitied him for his money troubles and took every opportunity they could to help him out. He knew they meant well, but frankly it always just made him feel rather guilty and helpless.

The man tried to argue, but Louise was having none of it. "Consider it an early birthday gift." She insisted after Dan's fifth attempt to talk her out of it.

Dan finally gave up, rolling his eyes but grinning slightly. "OK, fine. I need to get to work now, but I'll be sure to stop by for lunch." Dan waved to Louise as he turned to walk out of the café, coffee and muffin in hand

"Alrighty! See ya!" Louise called out after her friend as he walked into the cool, morning air and began walking back to work.

Dan had a slight spring in his step as he strolled down the sidewalk. He wasn't quite sure why, but he could just tell that today was going to be a good day.

A/N: I hope you guys liked it! please comment/vote!