Annoyed Writer

As she ran through the woods, her long white dress trailing behind her, she could see the darkshe noticed a long, dark.she looked over her shoulder

Nikita slammed the pen back down on her desk, running her hands through her long dark hair in an effort to calm herself down. She looked up at her mirror, taking in her tired, disheveled appearance before turning her bloodshot eyes to her alarm clock, which was flashing the red number 3:00 am. She cursed under her breath and picked up her empty coffee mug, dragging herself through her empty house and into the kitchen. As she scooped up ground coffee into the machine, the loud blaring of a bass player pounded into her head, forcing plot points, motifs, and characters out of her mind. She groaned in frustration looked through her window overlooking her neighbors lawn. There were bright lights going off, loud dance music blaring through the massive speakers which drowned out the drunken screaming and laughter of the college students inside. She had six hours to finish a full draft of her novel; otherwise her publisher would kill her. How the hell was she going to meet her deadline when the music next door was forcing every ounce of creativity out of her head? All the local coffee shops were closed at this time, so she couldnt escape her house to find peace and quiet elsewhere. She poured the piping hot coffee into her mug, and just as she leaned in to take a sip, there was a loud crashing noise as a football flew through the sliding glass door, and the partygoers spilled out onto the lawn, amplifying the noise even higher. The sudden noise startled Nikita, and she

dropped the mug in her hands, spraying hot coffee and broken china all over the floor. She fell backwards to avoid the steaming liquid, but her hand landed on a piece of the broken mug, slicing her palm. She yelped in pain and clutched her bleeding hand, grabbing a dish towel and wrapping it tightly around her hand to stop the blood. As she caught her breath, she glared through the window and decided she had enough. Leaving the mess on the floor, she grabbed her jacket off a chair and headed outside, cursing under her breath. The sound of the ringing doorbell was almost inaudible as the party carried on. Eventually, someone noticed the door pounding loudly, and a young man in boxers and an unbuttoned short that was stained with alcohol and food opened the door, staring with half-focused eyes at the young woman on his doorstep. Are you the owner of this house? Nikita asked him as soon as the door opened. He stared down at her with a stupid grin on his face. I am if thats what you want me to be, baby She raised her eyebrow at him in disgust, and spoke again. Well, could you turn the music down a bit? Some of us have work to do The young man slowly inched forward until she could smell the strong scent of tequila and all sorts of bodily fluids she didnt even want to think about. Well, if I do that for you, then youre gunna have to do something for me if you know what I mean He mumbled, puckering his lips and leaning onto her. She reached out as if to caress his cheek, then pinched it hard, pulling him close so he could hear her. Heres how its going to work. Turn down the music or Ill call the cops. Im sure theyll have a field day searching through all the drugs you

have stashed inside. She released him and he fell back against the doorframe, glaring at her. Ill Ill see what I can do She nodded and closed the door in his face, turning her back to them and heading back home. When she made it back upstairs to her writing desk, she picked up her pen and sat for a moment in her thoughts, waiting for the music to turn down so she could finally get back to work. However, instead of the music being lowered, the speakers had been blasted to full volume, causing her windows to vibrate ominously. Nikita threw her pen on the floor angrily, the vein in her temple pulsing as she put her head between her legs, trying to keep her cool. As she stared down at the wooden floor, she noticed something interesting. Her pen had snapped in half upon impact with the ground, and the ink that was leaking from it had formed a thing trail leading right under her bed. She looked down at the inky trail, as if it were an arrow pointing her in the right direction. Slowly, thinking carefully, she kneeled down and reached under her bed pulling out a very plain wooden box with a gold combination lock built into the opening. She rested it on her bed and fiddled with the lock until finally it clicked open. Inside the box, resting on a bed of purple satin and gleaming as though it had never been touched was a small silver pen, the jewels encrusted in the handle glittering innocently. On the inside of the wooden box, a quote by Nathaniel Hawthorne had been engraved:

Words - so innocent and powerless as they are, as standing in a dictionary, how potent for good and evil they become in the hands of one who knows how to combine them.

Considering her options very carefully, she looked over at the window where the party carried on. Finally, she made up her mind and picked up the pen. It felt strangely warm to the touch despite not having been used in over twenty years, since its last owner, her mother, had used it. But now the pen had a new master, and tonight it was going to be taken on a practice run. She sat back down at her desk, reassuring herself that she wasnt doing anything wrong. After all, her mother had told her only to use this pen in emergencies. Well, she had 6 hours left to turn in a full manuscript, and those kids regularly threw parties anyway, she was sure the other neighbors wouldnt mind if the party was cut short either. She placed the tip of the pen on the blank paper momentarily, excitement pounding through her veins, and then began to write. As the night fell on the party, loud booms of thunder were inaudible to the remaining party guests, who took no notice. Just as she ended the sentence with a period, a loud crash of thunder echoed across the night sky, but all the people at the party were oblivious, too involved in the music and drinking to notice. Nikita meanwhile, kept writing furiously, her hand flying across the paper. Finally, there was a flash of lightning that shot straight down upon the noisy house, striking the generator and cutting off all the power inside. Once again, once she dotted the end of the sentence, there came more booming crashes of thunder, and finally a bright flash of lightning which crashed down on the house. Immediately, the house was thrown into darkness, the music had violently ceased. The college students screamed and groaned in protest,

confused as to what had happened. The young man from before walked outside, pulling on a pair of jeans as he did and staring at the smoking generator, trying to comprehend through his booze-addled head what had happened. Nikitas hand, meanwhile, was a blur as she kept writing, paying no notice to the party below. Rain began to pour heavily without warning, further throwing the party guests into chaos, and to make matters worse, the cops had arrived to end the party once and for all. Police sirens blared in the distance, responding to the various complaints of the neighborhood. As they screeched to a halt outside the house, the young man gasped and yelled, RUN!! Inside, all hell broke loose. People knocked over chairs and furniture as they made a break for it. Some last minute stragglers grabbed as many bottles of leftover alcohol as they climbed through windows and sprinted through every exit in the house. The young man who owned the house turned and ran through his lawn, beginning to climb the chain-link fence separating his house from a large empty field that he would be able to hide in. The rain was making this difficult, and he kept slipping back down on the ground, the cops close on his tail. Finally, as the young man reached the top of the fence, he slipped and tore his jeans open, revealing his hidden stash of combination drugs in a secret pocket of his pants. The young man hit the ground hard and was barely conscious as the police handcuffed him. He had reached the top of the fence, but as he swung his leg over to the other side, he lost his footing and fell backwards into a large puddle of mud. On

his way down, he snagged his waistband on the fence, and tore a large hole down the side of his pants. Dozens of small plastic bags containing all sorts of drugs rained down around the semi-conscious man, and when the police caught up with him, they gathered up the plastic bags, examining them. Either you were planning to bake one really big cookie, or your ass is in a whole mess of trouble One of the cops said, examining the flour-like substance as his partner handcuffed the half-conscious man. As the cops next door began lining up the party guests who had been unlucky to escape, and silence fell around her once more, Nikita placed the pen back on its bed, and closed the box, smiling gratefully at it, and mouthing a silent thank you to it. She reached into her desk drawer and pulled out a spare, normal pen, pulled out a fresh sheet of paper, and began to write.