Writer’s Block (Short Story)

Faded white room, the stinking of old cigar and cheap wine. What a way to spend my vacation. It’s the middle of December and my wife kicks me out of the house and sends me to Big Bear to clear my “writer’s block.” What I need is a drink. I haven’t written a single word since I got here. What I did do was sit and slouch on the bed. Why didn’t she come along? I guess she’d just be a distraction.

I need to get out of bed. Can’t go home without anything to show. I opened up my laptop; still on, probably since Friday. Now type a word.

What happens when­­-

No, no, no. A sentence, not a tagline.

I remember the time-

No, no, no. A novel, not an essay.

I close my laptop and step outside. I hate this. Can’t get anything done when I’m like this. I should take a walk; let the environment and its inhabitants inspire me.

The place is more of a cabin than a traditional motel. The wood it was built with is starting to feel old and rough. It’s snowing again. Hope I don’t slip going down the stairs like I did this morning.

There’s that woman again, leaving her door and window’s curtain wide open. I can see her dancing in her nightgown. B cup; not bad. I think the song is Dancing With Myself by Billy Idol; how fitting.

I find myself drawn to this beautiful girl the more I stare at her. Just a peek, won’t hurt anyone. I’ll just say I was there to close her door. Real smooth, Casanova; you’re married and still peeping at young girls.

Redhead, early 20s. College girl, no doubt; or just another spoiled teen on her little vacation. I’m standing about a foot from the door and she still hasn’t noticed. What if I was a burglar or serial killer? She’d been dead by now.

“Excuse me, miss?” I yell.

Ginger here doesn’t hear a thing. I step inside the room.

“Miss, hello? You left your-”

The girl freaks out, screams, and falls backward, hitting her head against the drawer, which causes the stereo to fall and crush her skull. Bloods… everywhere.

OH. MY. GOD. The girl’s dead, and I’m the only one that saw her. I need to call the police. But wait, what if the neighbor heard her scream and thought I killed her? I’ll be labeled as a prime suspect for sure. Maybe I can just leave. No one saw me here. I can just go back to my room and pretend nothing happened.

I turned around and froze in place. Someone is coming up the stairs. I rushed to the door and swung it close; leap to the window and close the curtain, almost ripping it down. The stranger passes by without pausing.

I need to clean this mess.

I pull the stereo out of the girl's skull. A bloody mess, can’t even make an eye from a nose anymore. I grab the girl by the angle and start to drag her into the bathroom. The puke green wall is making me sick. I flip the girl into the bathtub and begin to find anything to scrub the blood off the carpet.

Two hours pass by and the floor is starting to look like someone had pissed out red wine and rubbed his or her feces all over it. I should have cleaned up the gunk first before scrubbing the carpet. The smell starts to die down now and is replaced with cheap soap and Airwick.

Now we deal with the body. I grab the bedsheet and approach the bathtub with my eyes shut and my breath held tight. I don’t think I could look at that face again. I threw down the bedsheet and ran out, gasping for air. I step into the bathroom once more, slowly pushing the bed sheet down to find the edge of this dead girl’s body.

Nothing. The body's gone.

I pull the blanket out and find the bathtub white and clean as if there wasn’t ever a body there at all. I step out into the room and see the stereo on top of the drawer and the carpet pink and clean. The door was open and the curtains were drawn. I see myself standing behind that window.

“Honey, Dinner’s ready” Yell Susan, my wife.

“Alright, I’ll be there in a minute” I yell back from my home office.

I was struck with sudden inspiration. I need to write this down. I opened up my laptop; still on, probably since Friday. I begin to type. 

Faded white room, the stink of old cigar and cheap wine. What a way to spend my vacation.