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Out of Ideas
Mr. B was pacing back and forth in his room, he had to write a story of at least 350 words for the day after tomorrow and he simply didn’t know what to write about. He thought of fantasy stories, but ditched them because he couldn’t come up with a fun main character or a compelling villain, and even then, seven hundred and fifty words weren’t enough to develop the setting enough. He thought of writing a crime mystery drama, but he didn’t know how to write good twists that would surprise the reader. Maybe he could write a science fiction story. He had read the software tetralogy a few days before, so he kind of could come up with a cool futuristic concept. He decided not to though, since he wanted his story to be original, and felt he would be too influenced by the story he had read.
Thoughts like that came to his mind throughout the day. He fell asleep, still without a story in his head. He couldn’t even sleep comfortably, since he couldn’t take the task out of his mind. He woke up, ate breakfast, and went to university. He didn’t concentrate at all during his classes, that damn story was still hunting his mind. He was worried sick, he had only a day to write the story, and he didn’t even have an idea to work with.
He asked his friends for help during his break. Unfortunately, they had their own tasks at hand, and only made half assed suggestions.
“What about the world coming to an end and mankind having to survive at all costs?”
“Like The Road?” Mr. B replied, and so that idea was rejected.
“You could make a damsel in distress story in a fantasy setting.”
“That would be to cliché, I want to write something original.”
“Well, you do you buddy.”
With that Mr. B stood up and went to his final class for the day. After his classes were over he went back to his house, where he continued his thinking process. He just stood in his room the whole day. Thinking.
The next day came, and the word sheet in his computer was still completely empty. There were only a few hours left for him to turn in his story. The pressure was unbearable, 10 points in his final exam were on the line, and he didn’t have the intention of letting them go. Suddenly he had what he thought was a brilliant idea. He didn’t know if it would be a valid thing to write about, but “screw it” he said. “I no longer have time to ask these questions to myself”. With that he started writing:
Mr. V was pacing back and forth in his room…
