Writer's Block

She burst angrily through the door and into her room and began to mumble to herself. That two faced little shit, she thought, who does-… why?… ahh!. She couldn't even complete a thought. She threw down her now empty backpack onto her couch and picked up a sweatshirt to put on. She wasn't cold, but merely felt a sense of comfort and security while wearing the heavy grey garment. She pulled the hood up over her head and pulled the strings tightly.

She began to pace back and forth and look around, looking for something, anything, that she could take her anger out on. Teddy? No, to dear to her. Her pillow? No, that never seemed to help. Finally she turned to her computer. She remembered how her friend had once told her that writing was a form of therapy, that it always helped to relieve stress. She turned on the computer and cleared her clothes off the chair so she could have a seat.

It felt good to sit down, but she had trouble sitting still. She kept reliving it over and over. The scene in the hall, the anger that she felt. She took in and let out a deep breath. She was almost crying by now, she felt the tears starting in her face and tried to swallow, but couldn't. She tried to stop herself from sobbing, she hated to cry, it made her feel weak, even when no one else was around.

She shook it off and placed her fingers on the keyboard. She stared at the blank screen, but nothing came. How, she though, how can this be? She wondered how she could feel so much emotion, yet not be able to even make one word. The energy was now pulsing through her veins, she felt as if it would come pouring out of her at any moment, out of her fingertips and onto the keys, the clicking sounding almost like music in its rhymthic patterns, a's and f's and t's, all making a beautiful, heartfelt poem that would bring tears to the eyes of all its readers, but nothing came. She sat, staring at the letters. Words seemed to be her enemy. She wondered how to make sense out of her feelings, how could she make someone truly understand how she felt, with letters, nothing more than lines and circles.

She again took in a deep breath. She looked around her room, seeking some form of inspiration. She looked up, at the picture on her wall. You, she thought, you're the one who is causing me all this. She remembered the day clearly. Last summer, at the beach. They had gone down with all their friends and spent the night. It was then, that night that it all began. They had stayed up all night talking, talking about everything, God, life, relationships, even food, and ever since that night they had shared a special bond. Now, today, it had all come crashing down. Neither one of them meant what they had said, and they both knew that the other one was simply speaking out of anger.

She was standing now, she couldn't stand sitting. She tried to walk away from the screen, but the dull glow kept drawing her back, she couldn't leave this undone. She knew that the words were inside of her somewhere, but where? She continued to walk around her small room. She placed her hands on her CDs, lined up in alphabetical order, of course, and came across the one she was unconsciously looking for. She looked at the writing on the front cover "Rock-Out Mix", it said. She knew who had made her the CD, but ignored her anger and put in her CD player and pressed play. The loud bassline nearly shook her frames off the shelf.

Suddenly, she knew what she had to write. The words began to flow inside of her head and she typed as fast as she could to try and keep up. She barely blinked as her fingers raced to keep up with her head. The words formed flawlessly on the screen, and as she read it over, she knew that she had reached her goal. She smiled as she read the last line.

Just then, the lights flickered and the screen went blank. She sat in darkness for five minutes, in disbelief, hoping that this was some mistake. The lights came back on and she gasped, almost thinking that the events she had just witnessed were merely part of a cruel dream. She turned to see the 12:00 blinking on her clock and heard her mother's voice, "Sorry dear, I should have warned you, your father needed to reset the power, but it's dinnertime anyway, come on downstairs."

She looked at her screen, black, and saw only her own reflection staring back at her. She looked into her eyes, and finally understood. Ignoring her mother's words, she picked up the phone and began to dial. She immediately recognized the voice on the other end. She swallowed