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Writer's Block

There was only one man on the bridge. He sat with his legs dangling over the stream, staring between his knees. He had a coffee-stained napkin look about him, too windblown and stale brown. A small gravel path wound up to the subtle bridge, so old nature’s antibodies had finally accepted it as her own. Normally the path would be swarming, but it was silent, silent, empty empty. A woman approached, winding the path. Her arms were clenched at her side, as she snapped her legs deliberately, trying to walk slower slower s-l-o-w-e-r. she musn’t run, musn’t run. The feet walked the line, an Indian step that emerged from ancient genes whenever adrenaline coursed through her. Words words words. Her eyes had lifted from the line, a magnet drawn into the gyre of his gaze. Words words words. She drank in the blue ink that covered his face and forearms where the white oxford was rolled up. Words words words. Frantic splatters. Words words words. Tracing his pock marked nose. Words words words. Joining his mopped brows. Words words words. Framed by the square black lenses. Words words words. Slipped between dirty flaxen strands until they were neon engravements into his flesh. The pen had smudged his features, but she looked again just the same. He remained fixated on her too, but his eyes didn’t shift as she drew closer.
“I’m sorry.”
“No. Don’t ever say that. You aren’t.”
“Look…”
“I can feel the waves of pity. It’s not gratifying it’s sickening.” He tossed his red briefcase from beside him and watched it float under the bridge and away.
“What’s WRONG with you?”
“Nothing was ever right.” laugh laugh laugh. His eyes didn’t quite change shape. “No Thalia, you are too dysfunctional to notice. You never stop laughing at the world.” His gold watch scraped into his open palm and he held it aloft. Plunk.
“I can change you. I can inspire you.”
“Melpomene has already taken care of that. You’re too late.” He broke, animal whites showing from his dead gaze. fear. “I NEEDED YOU. My pen was dry.” His face was screwed into a mask that resembled Mel’s, a perfect tragic grimace.
Her hand dropped from its course, so close to his cheek.
Resigned resigned resigned.
With tempest eyes he turned away. Forearms tensed an isotonic contraction against the impasse of the bridge’s ledge. Words Words Words. curt exhale. Words words words. Straightening the tie. WORDS WORDS WORDS.
She didn’t see it, she had begun to walk away in muteness. But she heard it. Breaking glass breaking glass. The water jumped to meet him. Ink was dripping in cerulean beads. Slide Slide Slide. Into his eyes and mouth and down his arm until they collected, drifting like smoke in the water around his fingertips. Words words words. As his floating eyes met the clouds.



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