I sat down at my desk reading the latest batch of rejection letters from various publishers about my
book. I have been rejected by every publisher, mocked by the public and ridiculed by my family. Yet I
continue to write because I know it’s what I’m meant to do, so every day I mail in my new story to a
publisher and pray for acceptance.
Where is my life going? I mused sadly, burying my head in my hands. I peeked out from between my
fingers, and spied a manila envelope sticking out of a pile of mail. I opened the package, my hands
trembling with anticipation, but it said that the publisher has again rejected. I just sat there, reading the
letter over and over, growing more and more dejected. I groaned and got myself two bottles of Crown
Royal, sat back in my chair and threw another rejection letter in the trash. I just sat there drowning my
sorrows; I rarely drink so it came as no surprise when I couldn't walk normally after the first bottle.
I was looking over the empty bottles of Crown Royal when I heard the phone ring in my bedroom. I
could only afford the one phone, so I had to get up to answer it. I had to sit down on the edge of my bed
after checking the caller ID, because it was my father. I haven’t talked to him since I moved to the
Colorado Mountains to get my head straight, and work one of my failed attempts at a book.
“Hello”
“Ryan, how are you?” my father said coolly.
“Hello, dad,” I answered, ignoring his question.
“Ryan, why don’t you come back home? I can teach you to be a dentist properly, far better than any
school can. You can take the test and get your license by this time in the next 8 years.”
“I don’t want to be a dentist, father! I’m born to be an author!” I shouted dramatically.
“Wake up Ryan! You’re not a writer and you will never be!”
In a fit of rage I hung up on him. I lay back on my bed; I remember when my dream began May 14, 2010 the day that Alan Wake came out. I don’t why it made me start to write but the day I finished the game I began to write. The month of May was the first time I was rejected by a publisher, sure it made me sad but i kept trying. For the next three months I worked on that one story trying to get it published ,
every publisher in America and the UK rejected my work, so I wrote another story because with
experience comes knowledge, but yet again my second story was rejected. For three years I have been
rejected by every publisher in America, Canada, and England.
After I sobered, I had to go back to work at Starbucks, where every day I was mocked by those idiots
who bring their laptops and write poetry. When I arrived I was greeted by my boss.
“Mister Shelton, where have you been!?” he yelled.
“Sorry Mr. Wilson. I've been sick.”
“I don’t care what your excuse is! I know you've been drinking, but I need you to work, and get here on
time,” he replied.
“Yes sir.”
I went to my register, and began my job, with the lovely inclusion of having to listen to idiots who bring
their laptops to write poetry.
I sat there at my register, watching my life fade away seeing people coming in and out, seeing people
write poetry and “stories” just a like normal day. when I have to take orders I would just said nothing
and have a blank emotionless face, my coworker Isaac would act like his job was something important
but if he get fired they will probably replace him in a week. The day was like normal, people would walk
order coffee and walk out. I knew I could do better with my life, I knew what I had to do. I walked in to
Mr. Wilson office and I turned in my uniform and I walked out.
~~~
With my previous actions still buzzing around my mind like an angry hive, I was surprised to realise that
the normally long journey came to a sudden halt as I reached my grey front door. Trudging through bills,
bags and littered pieces of what even I deemed unworthy for my stories, I made my way to the small
desk beside my bed. I merely glanced over the letters, pens, plain paper and even my newest story,
seeking the real reason why I found myself at the desk. I reached under to pull out a brown liquid sealed
in a glass container, and began to unscrew the cap to the last of my whiskey. All the while my mind
reminded me of my mistake.
What the hell were you thinking? Is this already better than what you had about an hour ago? This
pigsty is going to be the beginning of my already successful life? I chided to myself, reaching into my
pocket to find my wallet. Flicking over the brown flap and opening it up, I found that I had only had ten
dollars
Great... that will last me about a week.
With the ever looming, cold sensation of melancholy filling my soul, I chose to attempt to lighten my
heart with the effects of the spirit in hand. It wasn't long before I had come to the bottom of the glass,
and I could feel the burning rage build up as I scowled towards the empty glass vessel. I thought I could
obliterate my troubles by simply shattering the bottle, but first I was not going to let the last drop go to
waste. Tilting the drink back, lazily leaning backwards, I waited for the last foul taste the throat
scorching beverage. However something else took my immediate attention.
With my balance corrupted by newly found night time companion, Jack Daniels, I fell back out of the
chair. With a piercing spike of pain, followed by a constant torturous throbbing, my body decided to
slowly shut down. I could only watch as crimson life force ventured further away from my skull, pooling
on the frozen floor in a mock attempt to climb back into my gasping mouth. Paralyzed by pain and a
slowly arriving state of unconsciousness, I continued the glare at the now shattered bottle of whiskey.
It wasn't long before the darkness stole my vision, but I was certain that my problems were finally over.
~~~
I woke up in an area filled with thick grey fog which I could barely see through; the laughter of children
filled the air. The ground felt like grass, but it was dark soil. The world felt flat with no hills, the wind
doesn't make a noise, but only an almost silent voice said “come here.” I followed the voice, the more I
went north the voice got louder, but when the voice was at its the loudest. A black figure came down, a
hood and robe concealing its figure, though I could still tell that it was not humanoid.
“Oh no this is not good” the dark figure said
“Who are you, what are you and most important where am I
“We are Princess Luna, and we are an alicorn you know the wings of a Pegasus and the horn or a unicorn
she said
“And where am I again? I asked
“Yes, thou are in the dream world” she explained
“The dream world” I asked
“A place where the dreams are stored and sometimes nightmares. I guide ponies through their
nightmares to the end” She replayed
“But how did I get here” I asked
“Well thou got in an accident and after then thou got in coma and we were trying to see if other
creatures in different universe dream, but when we were looking thou came”
“Alright so send me back”“We are afraid it is a little more complicated than that universes keep moving around and until yours gets near this one we can send you back home, but until then you are stuck here”
“So what am I supposed to do?” I asked
“Well we have a student who lives in Canterlot and thou could stay with him, his name is Dawnlight he is
overall a generally a nice pony”
“ OK I will go stay with him”
“Great when thou wake up, thou will have arrived at his house”
A bright blinding flash came from her horn.
