Midnight Caller

In celebration of being too tired to actually post anything of substance, I give to you a story I wrote one night after suffering from a long bout of writer's block. Writer's block is hell like no other; it's like you have so much to say, but everything you produce is just plain awful. Feeling that a little tired right now - lots of stuff happened, but just don't have the will to blog about it. Reading this story makes me feel hopeful, knowing that I've gone down this sort of path before and I've managed to pull myself through. The story is written a bit strangely - mostly, it takes place in the mind of the protagonist, except for the parts in bold. That's stuff that happens outside.

Midnight Caller, by SupremeAnna

Ring, ring.

What the…?
 
Ring, RING.

Did that thing get louder?

RING, RING.

All right already! I'm up, I'm up. Okay, see, I'm stumbling out of bed…

RING, RING, RING!

Lumbering towards the phone…Tripping over the many empty cartons of rum raisin ice cream on the floor…Nursing my bruised chin…Screeching obscenities…

RINGRINGRING!

Hurling obscenities at the phone…Answering the phone…

"H'lo?" This better be good. It's midnight!

"You the so-called writer?"

That rum raisin must have had way more rum than raisin.

"I think you have the wrong number."

"No, I most certainly don't."

Creepy much? "Uh, do I know you?"

Snort. "Do you know me. I'm the protagonist of that short story you've been batting around your thick skull this past month."

Wow. I'm never having rum raisin ice cream before bed again.

"Or I would be. Except I'm stuck in here."

EVER.

"I can't stand it here anymore. Some broad named Ms. Joanne keeps coming around…"

"Hey! That's my tenth-grade English teacher you're talking about! She's one of my greatest inspirations!"

Snort. "Looks nice enough, but some inspiration she was. The only stuff you've written that ever got an ending was fanfiction."

"Fanfiction is a legitimate genre!"

"How about giving up on how many ways Mulder and Scully can get their freak on and hurrying up and writing me out of this joint?"

The nerve of this obnoxious chick…Oh my God, I'm off my rocker.

"Uh, I'm going to hang up now."

"And go write?" Hopeful.

"No. I'm going to hang up because A, I don't enjoy talking to a figment of my imagination, as B, that would mean I'm talking to myself and therefore the only conclusion would be C, I'm a few cents shy of a dollar. So I'm going to hang up, crawl back into bed, wake up some time later and hopefully, have repressed all of this. Oh, and I'm giving up rum raisin. And midnight snacks in general. I'd like to end with a cordial 'nice talking to you', except it hasn't been, and I'd say good-bye, only this conversation has gone on much longer than I've intended and I'm just getting nuttier by the minute, so…uh…" ;

"If you don't get me out of here, I'll just keep coming back."

BANG! How'd you like being hung up on, figment of my imagination? Okay, so that's settled, now what? Too wired to sleep now. Ah ha. Get online and check for symptoms of food poisoning.

Ring, ring.

Ha, like I'd fall for that. Food poisoning, then my fanfic…

You have mail.

Email. Clickclickclick.
 
"I warned you."

Ugh! Delete, delete. Oh, instant message.

"Didn't I say I'd be back?"

UGH!

You have mail. Ring, ring. Instant message.

I give up! "I give up! What do you want me to do?" Silence.

Hey, where'd you go? Come on…okay, I'll check this IM then.

"Write."

That simple, huh? Okay…

'The telephone was ringing…'

Final thought: Light at the end of the tunnel. Useful for life and writing.