Writer's Block by Thisisnotanalt
He sat on his desk, lightly cradling his aching head in his hands. A pen and paper lay beside him, lined with sentences that have been scribbled out. He had been trying to write another story for days; all attempts to start a new novel had been met with agonizing writer's block. He was a triple-A author; having written two Pulitzer novels, and four other that had been honored. His publishing agency was expecting another soon; but he just couldn't think of a single thing. Now matter how many titles he started, now matter how many openings and dialogs he wrote, he just couldn't find another story to sculpt.
He had tried everything; he had walked all day, waiting somewhat impassively for inspiration to strike. Yet none came. He would stare at something, with a steely glint in his eye; studying it intently. He would brainstorm various things. He would write questions. But no matter how much he did to call inspiration back to him, she would not smile upon him again. He had lost her; he had left all of his creativity in a final opus that was intended to be the opening into a whole new series. All traces of her had left him; not a single snippet had remained inside of him.
He had become used to this; living without inspiration was the common thing for him now. Inspiration was but an old flame; doused by the flood of his laziness, a forgotten memory, an ephemeral image of what was. He had been stricken with the heaviest grief; with separation anxiety. But now, his drab life had become the paradigm of his existence. He had sunk into a routine. A routine. A vicious repetition of the day behind it; with nothing new. Every day, after day after day, he just did the same things. He would wake up and fix coffee. He would read the newspaper. He would eat breakfast. He would watch TV. He would take a walk. He would get home. He would eat dinner. Then, he would rinse and repeat the same process thousands of times; with nothing at all interrupting his unstoppable grind forward. He lived like this for many years, each one progressively more mundane and painful.
He died a tortured soul; the colors of his personality faded by the washing machine of his inspirationless life, the once-magnificent structure of his literary mind rusted and broken from the pounding rain of his mundane aspirations. He had grown reclusive in his later years, and he had his groceries delivered. He knew not a single person anymore; the only thought of humanity was of that sweet little girl, inspiration. Left as but a single, washed-away footprint on a beach. His epitaph read but this: "Lost was his inspiration. Lost was his life."
Gone Blind by Samdawghomie
Nicholas Packard was an outstanding artist. Nobody's art was even close to his superlative, and extravagant art. Some people say that his repainting of the Mona Lisa was better than Leonardo Da Vinci's. He was so rich from selling his paintings that he could buy the White House, or buy out Wal-Mart, or McDonald's, but he wasn't the kind of person to spend all of it on his own personal needs. He loves to help the poor families that couldn't even support themselves. Nor was he the secluded type that stayed in there home with all there money in privacy. Nick liked to be out with the people, and enjoy the world and appreciate all that nature has to offer.
Nature, it's so beautiful. This is the reason Nick started his painting journey. Ever since he was a kid his love for the outdoors and painting increased. Each of his paintings has to do with nature, animals, etc. This is how he got so successful, painting. He loved his art, and if any thing happened to him that rendered his art making abilities he'd kill himself.
One day after he was done painting a beautiful deer, he went to go to bed for the night. As usual his dream was about being out in the wild painting pictures. Every night this was his exact dream, of course the things he painted changed. But he never got tired of it. Some people say that if there was no such thing as art he would have had never been born.
When he started to wake up something didn't feel right, like he was awake with his eye's open but he couldn't see. At first he thought it was a nightmare, but he still wasn't seeing anything yet. He started to get up and then he realized something, he wasn't asleep, he was indeed awake. He had gone blind. "Rebecca!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" Nick screamed.
"What? What is it honey?" She asked
"I've gone blind!!!!"
"Oh, your just acting silly, Nick."
"I'm not kidding, I can't see anything! What am I going to do, my art, my fans, all of my life is ruined." Nick said sobbing.
"Ok, don't panic, panic is the enemy. Alright, we need to take you to the hospital, pronto." She helped him up and around the house. It was quite difficult trying to tug around a two hundred and fifteen pound man down the stairs and out the door into the Lamborghini.
It was an exhausting one hour drive to the hospital. For Nick it felt like three years. Once they got there everybody tried greeting him but security kept them away. When they got inside the doctor said nothing could be done because they had never seen anything like this before and it could take years to find a cure. This was devastating news to him. When they got home he started to interpret all that had just happened in the past two hours or so.
"I'm ruined, what am I supposed to do now?" He asked.
"Nothing, I guess." She said. It was late that night and he was dead asleep when he started to wake up. He needed a nice, cold, refreshing, glass of water to forget his nightmare of going blind. There's only one thing wrong about this, it wasn't a nightmare, it was real, it actually happened. He knew his own house enough to get to the stairs. That's when trouble happened. He took one step down, slipped, and fell down the stairs making an earth rattling sound. BOOM! BANG! POW! SNAP! Unfortunately for Nick that snapping sound was his precious neck. He had just died. Now, he said that if anything rendered his painting abilities he'd kill himself. I don't think this is what he meant. Rebecca came running down the stairs and saw his dead corpse and yelled at the top of her lungs, "NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO"
The Impossible..... by Jaza m
.....Vison...Is something i have none of.I was born without it.From what i've heard.It is a magical thing.Things...that i shall never know of.Like the rainbows of a garden, filled with roses and tulips.Or the sight of a vast ocean,with the sun going to sleep at its feet.
These are things that i will never be able to witness.But even if i can not see.I can still go down what ever path i want.Whether it be an architect or a constructor, to a singer or a musician.
But,I never wanted to be one of these.I wanted to be an artist.Just to feel that I'm connected to sight in any way possible.To be able to know i have created something.That even I, could not create.
Every day since the moment i chose to be an artist,I learnt to draw.It was quite hard to learn how to do of course.But i did it.After this i learnt many other artistic things, Like how to build things out of clay, and i also became a carpenter.
At first people laughed at me.But as the years went by.I got better and better.I got so good i even surpassed the person who created my sanctuary.
As i was getting older, i thought i should create my finest piece of work..
After a while i thought about what i would make, and it came to me.I would make my own sanctuary.
So the next day i got my molding equipment.And built a sphere.It was not perfect,it had some lumps and cracks.But it would do.I then went to the bathroom and filled the lumps up with water.As i was walking back to the art room i accidentally spilled salt in it.But some areas that weren't as bumpy didn't get any.In the parts that weren't watery i put sand there.I then put the smallest plants i could find on there....There where so many i couldnt count them all.During the day i would keep it in sunlight, for everything to grow, and at night i would bring it in.I loved this sanctuary.Because it proved that something so impossible....was so possible.
As i got old so did my sanctuary.I'm worried, that like me, it will wither away.
Now that i am dead.I thought it would be appropriate that i give it a name..So i named it....Earth.
The Blind's sight in the Eyes of Another by Snake
John was a regular guy walking his dog or the other way around like he usually did but this time it seemed strange. His vision was slightly blurry and his dog wasn't even their. He wasn't even walking. He was imagining he was walking a dog but yet he awoke from it and then called for Jen, his nurse that was their almost all the time. He told her that he was thinking of Buddy most of the time like he usually did. Jen lead him through the hallway to do his anual cleaning but then it came to him that he didn't know where he was why this lady was cleaning him. Was it a woman? How he get here? John Z. Dover was losing his mind. He already lost his sight and his nerves. But yet he was perfectly calm and ignored the fact that he couldn't hear what was going on. He also didn't know about his "accident". He was just trying to figure out what was going on. He was starting to run but he couldn't because he was strapped to something. He was being moved around a lot. Where was he going? What was happening? He just decided to fall asleep. He did. He awoke and opened his eyes to see the docter. "How's it going John?" " I'm fine" "DO you know what happened?" "No" "Do you want to know?" "No" "Are you sure?" "NO" "calm down You just were in a dead man's body." "What?"
Ok...
First Place is awarded to Thisisnotanalt. Dude, great story.... I loved it. But work a bit on your endings.
Second Place goes to Jaza M. Ignore it right? I loved it, and it just, just fell short of first.
Third is Samdawghomie. You had a great story, and a great idea of a person, but the end kind of dropped off....
This leaves Snake. Dude, your story was one I would get stuck into, but it lacked the flowing grace of some of the others. Like First and Second, Third and Fourth were so close.
Finally, the theme.... This is the 5th theme, and I was thinking of doing a whatever-you-want theme. Very hard to judge, and you have to break down the story a lot. A lot of work, so that will be theme 10.
So, the theme is Nature....
Now, I don't care how much it has to do with nature, as long as one tiny fragment is like nature. I would except Jaza, and Sams stories...
