You know it’s always fascinating to have a roommate at least once in your life. You get to live with someone much different from yourself and experience either the incredibly exciting or the incredibly boring. Mine was just………interesting.
Drake Stroker came from Europe to live here in America. So why not Miami? I got dibbs on a nice apartment and realized I had enough space for another bloke. So why not be generous and have someone live here along with me? That’s were Drake came in. The dude was 6’2 and had a bit of muscle, but enough to balance on a average Joe appearance. He had simple black hair and it was short, but he was quite pale. It was as if he never stepped outside for any reason whatsoever. It was the first thing I immediately noticed about the man.
And for a European he had no accent. It was an average voice. It all seemed a bit odd but he was a kind man. Very polite and quite humorous. He always wore sunglasses during the day and was always hanging out during the night. I once hung with him and he’s always with a different woman. Like he enjoys one night stands instead of an actual relationship, mostly because I never hear from the women ever again. Whenever I open our fridge I noticed glasses of cranberry juices dominating the bridge. I never try them out of respect but it seems like that’s all he consumes, I never see him consume anything at all except those drinks.
He’s an odd one isn’t he? His routines always gave me suspicion about him. Well tonight he’s invites me to a party where some of his European friends are going to. Supposedly I’m the guest of honor! Man I can’t wait!
Saturday night at around 11:50 PM, no progress what so ever. No mark, no letter, not even an attempt at hitting a space bar. Famous novelist Scott Muller did not produce anything at all. This would be his fourth book. His other three earlier books were critically acclaimed for each was different in terms of genre. One would be romantic for the mainstream while another would be have horror influence for the underground. Muller’s writings had something for everyone and his advance vocabulary has proved this time and time again. But on this night it seems as though no spark has been produced. No mojo, no strike, no goal, no hard-on, no nothing! Pacing back and forth between his beautifully decorated condo that he recently bought thanks to book number three while a storm was starting, Scott realized he was facing his worst nightmare………….Writer’s Block. Yes, the thing that terrorizes talented and thoughtful thinkers has finally reached him. Perhaps a quick glance at his library could muse him to at least a sentence or a word. He closed his eyes and randomly takes out a book, “The Divine Comedy”, well he never entered into the topic of religion in order to avoid controversy but maybe a little heat wouldn’t hurt anybody. He placed the book on his table near his laptop and went back for another muse. Eyes closed again and picked out……….The Notebook? Who had the audacity to give him this god awful piece of horse shi-oh wait his younger sister who’s still in High School gave it to him as a birthday present, false alarm. He sat back in his chair and pushed it up to his table to face what he was facing for a quite awhile. A laptop with an empty word document on waiting to be typed on. He takes a sip of coffee and- oh dear lord the bastard spilled it on his laptop. BOOP. The power is off and laptop is officially deceased and unable to work. Scott panicked and quickly got up and made a desperate search to find a piece of paper. It was time to create writing the old fashion way, by actually writing down a story. Now for a pen, where’s that pen? Ah, he found one but lady lucky pulled a mean one as for the pen has no ink at it’s disposal. Now Scott was really scared, he has deadline and he’s going to have to write something damn it, even if it means writing a short story. He’s found a pencil, a bit stubby but it’ll last for a while, long enough for at least half a page. Scott takes deep breaths to calm himself down so he won’t rush his progress. Okay, he’s ready. “Into the fores”-SNAP. That was not the snap of the finger or a snap of someone cracking a knuckle as Scot had hoped. The pencil point had broke earlier then expected with no sharpener in sight. The only sound produced that night was that of a mad man screaming in pain.