The gentle sensation of an autumn chill stroked against her cheeks, but Evangeline kept her eyes closed, and threw the duvet over her face. She tried to force herself to go back to sleep. She was sure that if she chose to rise from the comfort of her linens, she would see the mid-fall and winter frost dancing across her window pane. She could very well imagine herself settling for a warm cup of coffee at her usual cafe and take in the scenery for inspiration.
However, a cloak of numbness had wrapped itself around her soul, managed to keep her sullen, and not wanting to move. A vicious case of writer’s block had taken wake in her spirit, and was haunting her body like a disease.
“I need to check my phone…”
Evangeline let a sigh escape as she agonizingly roll beneath the covers onto her stomach and reached for her phone. These last few months had proven to be a struggle. Sleepless nights, trashed character concepts, and story board papers strewn about on the usually well kept floor. The life of a writer was shining at it’s darkest upon her. Sliding her fingers on the screen of her work phone, she saw multiple newsletters and amass of emails from her editor.
She groaned, knowing full well that her editor was going to hunt her down if she didn’t get back to him today, “I’ve gotta get up.”
With the vigor of an old decrepit 90 year old body, Evangeline’s feet touched the hard floors as she practically dragged herself towards the shower. The familiar hiss of hot water raining down from her shower head, her pajamas sluiced down to the floor. Her thoughts of hope also falling along with it.
Slipping into the spray of liquid heat, she washed, and scrubbed the grime of her sleepless escapade. Lately, Evangeline had been dreaming random oddities, she was seeing visions of unknown origins, while this should of been something to use as inspiration for her writing. The dreams made no linear sense nor did it strike passion, what it did do, plant a seed of wariness and perhaps… fear.
Evangeline shook her head, maybe being an author had finally taken a toll on her sanity. Causing her to frequently hallucinate more than live properly in the real conforms of reality.
“And that’s why I’m a writer…”