Imagination

Imagination

Chapter 8

Writers Block

Ideas.... To write a story they are essential, but I was all burnt out. A week ago my cousin had died from sudden heart failure, and I was just now beginning to start mourning him. He had been one of the few members of my family that I actually got along with, and now he was gone forever...

In an attempt to distract myself, I had grabbed my Laptop and gone downstairs to the balcony. The Internet connection there was not too reliable, but I didn't need that to write. I even had an idea in mind. A story about a young Pegasus who found her purpose in life, by helping others find theirs. The only problem with that was, that once I had written the first paragraph, I had run out of ideas. Everything seemed to drain out of me like someone was “drinking” my ideas with a straw...

I scrapped the story, and instead sat down and watched a movie I didn't really want to see. It was so bad, that I emptied a whole bottle of Vodka, just to bear it. Something I hadn't done in quite some time. Not since... Silk had visited me...

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The next morning I woke up with a terrible hangover, in a bed that was definitely not my own. The sheets were made of silk, instead of fluffy plush, and the walls were painted a dark orange, instead of white. I soon found out that I had wandered around while I had been drunk beyond imagination, and my sister had found me passed out in the street. A broken six pack of beer had lain next to me. Because her apartment had been closer, she had taken me to her place to spend the night. She was not amused by this, but agreed not to tell our father. After washing myself, I made my way home, since she refused to provide me with breakfast after my disgraceful display in the street.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Six weeks, six stories. Six stories that would never see completion. I had scrapped all of them, after reading what I had written. All of them had been written under the influence of one drug or another. May it be tobacco, alcohol or cannabis... My father was seriously starting to worry about me, but I didn't care. Nor did I care that the few shorts that I had published in my drunken stupor got the worst possible ratings. Some even called them worse then the things their seven year old children had been able to come up with... I didn't care... All I wanted to do was to write, but I seemed to have lost the knack for it.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Eighth week, and yet another four story ideas scrapped. A few chapters on my ongoing stories published, but they were so bad that I, even in my drunken state, felt bad about the people who actually enjoyed the stories. They were disappointed by my most recent works, and I couldn't even blame them. At least I knew that I couldn't do that deep inside. On the outside I started to rage at my readers, and every damn critic who wrote something negative about my work.

“Do it better Asshole!”, was the general census of what I told them...

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Week twelve... I had given up writing all together a few days ago, after noticing that I was so stoned, that I was unable to bring a coherent sentence on paper. Even the updates on my YouTube Channel, of which I was more than proud,  had been put on hold. I just didn't have the energy to narrate anything anymore.

It was one Wednesday morning... I had run out of smokes and cursed under my breaths as I rolled off my bed and fell into a pile of empty booze bottles. My gaze drifted upwards towards the showcase above my desk. The items I had brought back from my “adventures”. I began to laugh maniacally. I was so loud that soon my dad banged on my door and asked if I was all right. I told him to fuck off and drew myself off of the floor.

I hadn't shaved since the funeral, and my last shower had been at least a week before. I was stinking, but even that fact only made me laugh harder at myself. My hands were shaking, and I took a swig from one of the bottles that surrounded my bed. Pure rum first thing in the morning. Oh how great I felt. I could almost imagine myself as some pirate waking up on his ship to the gentle sound of the waves.

Then I noticed that I didn't even have any more booze left. So off to the supermarket it was. I put on my shoes and checked my wallet. Fifty bucks left. That would bet me three packs of tobacco, papers and a bottle of Vodka or two.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

I was walking down the street, steadying myself occasionally on the walls of nearby buildings. Passers by gave me a wide berth. I remember yelling at a few of them, but none of them reacted to me in any way. I felt so awesome, that it should have been illegal.

Then I made a mistake.

A group of teenagers who had been after me for a while, because the loudest of them was under the impression I had hit on his girlfriend once, came waking up the sidewalk. I usually evaded them, since I am not a brave man, and all I want is to live my life in peace, but today I was feeling just a little too awesome.  I approached them, and started yelling, taunting them. They just started at me, flabbergasted. Then it happened. On the edge of my mind I heard the sound of an engine. The next moment their ringleader had grabbed me by the shirt and thrust me into the street. The speeding car that came around the curve ran me over, and everything went dark.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

I awoke in a dark place. There was no light whatsoever, only coldness. I could feel that I was not alone, but I didn't see anything.

“I can save you.”, I heard a voice whisper in my ear.

“Who are you?”, I screamed into the darkness, whirling around, trying to catch whoever had been whispering into my ear, but my hand grabbed nothing but air.

“You are dying.”, the voice whispered again, this time coming from my left. Again I whirled around, and again there was nothing. I felt something icy run over my back, turned around and grabbed it. This time, my hands found it. It felt like something wet and cold, but alive. Almost like an octopus' tentacle. My blood froze in my veins as I felt the tip of it harden and slip into me as if I was made of smoke. I gaped into the darkness, feeling an icy cold running through my stomach.

“Just give in. I can save you.”, the voice whispered again. “You cannot win.” A second tentacle slithered it's way across my back. It felt it's tip start to press against my back, like the one now embedded in my stomach had done. I prepared myself to be impaled once more.

It didn't happen though. Instead a brilliant light through the darkness, severing the tentacle that was already in my stomach and the one that was about to impale me from behind. Suddenly the whole room was filled with gentle golden light, and a white figure with a multi hued mane and tail descended from above, landing in front of me, her wings spread.

“LEAVE HIM ALONE!”, Celestia bellowed at the thing that I could now see clearly. It was something like a giant mass of solid shadow. It's tentacles were innumerable, but most of them were  wrapped around giant golden doors, blocking them.

I fell to one knee, checking my stomach for the blood that would surely gush out at any moment now, but it didn't come. I was utterly unhurt. Only that cold feeling still resonated in me.

“What are you doing Celestia? Leave me alone... I'm DONE with you Ponies... I'm done with writing...”, I said pathetically. Suddenly a fist hit me straight in the face and sent me sprawling. As I looked to where it had come from, I saw... myself... Zeo... He stood tall, his face contorted in barely suppressed rage.

“GET A FUCKING GRIP ON YOURSELF!”, he shouted at me, as he raised his left arm and pointed it towards the thing that had attacked me earlier. Strands of magic shot from it, binding the tentacles that tried to shoot towards me again.

“I CAN'T WRITE ANYMORE! THERE ARE NO IDEAS LEFT IN MY STUPID HEAD!”, I shouted back, wiping the blood from my lip. Something grabbed me and I was flung through the air, landing on a Ponies back.

“Remember me?”, Shooting Star smiled at me as she turned her head, grinning at me happily.

“Of course I remember you, you crazy b...”, I started to say, but she flapped her wings, lifting off as I tried to get off her back. I already knew what was coming but falling from about a hundred feet was still not a pleasant experience.

Just before I was reduced to a bloody stain on the floor, another Alicorn caught me on her back, glaring up at Shooting Star.

“You know sister, you shouldn't pull stuff like that. Some Ponies are already thinking your batshit crazy.”, Moonsinger reprimanded her stepsister. Shooting Star just hovered up there, sticking her tongue out while winking with her left eye.

“What the bloody hell are all of you doing here?”, I asked, as I got off of Moonsingers back and noticed that her and Shooting Star were also focusing their magic on the thing.

“HE IS MINE! YOU CAN'T DO ANYTHING ABOUT IT! YOU'RE HISTORY!”, the thing screamed in agony, as their magic closed around it. Some of its tentacles moved away from the door, unhindered by Zeos magic, and raced towards me.

“I don't think so buster.”, came the voice of a mare I had visited not too long ago. Silver Cross and Frostmane shot past me, kicking and slicing at the tentacles that were trying to wrap themselves around me. Celestia turned, walking trotting towards me.

“You have been in pain. You have been doubting yourself, and sank even deeper into the pain.”, she said.

“But I can remedy that.”, Silk Light said as she appeared in a flash of light next to Celestia.

“That's none of your business! Leave me alone! I don't wanna write anymore! I just want to die!”, I shouted at them, and the shadow thing began to laugh. “I am not a good author! I can't write SHIT! In fact, the only thing I DO produce is SHIT!”, I cried, falling down to my knees.

“That's right. You'll never be able to live of your writing, no matter how much you practice it. You will never be able to entertain...”, the thing laughed, but got cut short as Zeo put his free hand onto my shoulder.

“Mate... You may not be the best, nor will you ever be, but what you have is something wonderful. You have understood that you have to pour your heart and soul into a story. That's why I'm here...”, he said, his hand squeezing gently.

“You have seen the light that not many can see. There are not many who can shed light into the darkness of their imagination. This darkness comes when people grow up. The spark of childhood, is your light. That's my reason for being here.”, Celestia said as she stood next to me, stroking my heaving back with a wing.

“A little insanity can never hurt when you write a story.”, Star giggled as she lay down in front of me, nuzzling my cheek.

“Compassion for your creations...”, Silk said as she trotted up to me, Moonsinger right behind her, “And the willingness to make hard decisions, even if it means killing your favorite character, or putting them through hardships.”, Moonsinger added, as both of them took their positions next to me.

“The guts to publish something in the first place, even though you know that there may be other people out there who don't like what you have created. People who may even spam hate on your work. And the will to improve.”, Silver Cross said in a sultry voice as she flicked her tail under my nose before sitting down on my lap. Given our last meeting I wasn't quite comfortable with that, but my rage had completely subsided. I was weeping at this point, and my tears just didn't want to stop.

A pair of forelegs, one of them a cybernetic prosthetic, wrapped around my neck and the mare they belonged to pressed her warm, yet hard cheeks against my back. The metal under her flesh making the touch a strange sensation.

“And the will to go on, no matter what happens.”, she whispered so silently that I almost didn't hear it.

Warmth spread in my body. I could feel it. Suddenly I got ideas again. My body was starting to glow as my mind started to clear for the first time in months. I was a writer. Maybe not a big shot, nor one of the better ones, but I was proud of my work. Suddenly I started to question all the things I had done over the last twelve weeks.

“NOOOO!”, the thing shouted.

“Oh YES!”, I shouted back.

“NO ONE WILL READ WHAT YOU WRITE AFTER YOUR SLIP UPS!”, it shouted at me. “BETTER QUIT NOW, WHILE YOU STILL HAVE SOME DIGNITY!”

“Maybe... But as long as there is ONE person out there willing to read what I write, I will go on! No matter how many haters try to put me down, no matter how many people dislike what I do, as long as there is ONE person who likes it, I WILL GO ON!”, I said, unconsciously stroking Silvers mane, as she snuggled up to my chest, purring like a cat.

The doors, which the creature had held shut, started to open. They tore it apart as a bright golden light poured out of them. I suddenly had all of my imagination back. All the ideas and all the characters that I had discarded...

All those characters fell to the floor as the shadow thing fell apart. Some of them were incomplete, while others were, but all of them glared at me with utter hatred in their eyes. I lifted up Silver Cross, disentangled myself from Frostmane and stood up, walking towards them. The shadowy figures of my discarded creations tried to scurry away from me, but they couldn't. One by one, I picked them up. They were almost weightless, unsubstantial. After I had them all gathered together, I spread my arms, embracing them. One by one their glares changed to peaceful smiles...

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

I woke up in the hospital, my body broken and my system suffering from extreme withdrawal symptoms, but I was still alive. Even in my state, I was full to the brim with ideas. It was my father who was with me when I awoke. He cried and wanted to yell at me at the same time. Much of the effect was lost due to his tears however. I had been out a whole month, and the doctors hadn't been sure if I would ever wake up again.

I asked him to bring me my Netbook to the hospital as soon as he had quited down a little. Even with only one working arm, I had a story to write....