Writer’s Block
Bay, 6th grade
“Good God, why can’t I think of anything to write about?!” Cassie groaned, clutching one her pigtails. She stared blankly at the snow white paper, the only thing written on it being ‘My Story: By Cassie’. Her fingers hovered over the typewriter’s keys, hoping that an idea would hit her like a lightning strike. She grabbed the coffee mug next to her, causing the now cold brown liquid to slosh around in the mug that read, ‘Save the Environment’. It splattered on her shirt, and she gave another groan. “God!!” She gritted her teeth, and closed her eyes. “Why can’t I get an idea?!” She pounded the table with one of her fists, causing the open window to rattle dangerously. She opened her brown eyes, grabbing some nearby paper and crumpling it. She took a deep breath. “Okay… calm down, Cassie… just type what comes to mind.” Her fingers hovered over the ancient keys, and soon began to create a random pattern of words. On the paper, it read:
Once upon a time, there was a boy named Myron. He had messy black hair, and green eyes.
She waited for about 10 minutes before she stood up, causing the wooden chair to fall behind her. “Ugh! I can’t think anymore!” She screamed. She clutched the typewriter with two hands, and in her rage, tossed it out the open window. “OW!!!” She heard someone scream. She gave a gasp, and hurried downstairs. “Oh my God, are you alright??” She gushed. The large, metal object had hit a teenage boy on the head. She rushed over, and kneeled next to him. “Is your head okay?” She asked again. He rubbed his head, and looked at his hand, examining for blood. “Yeah, I guess… I’m not bleeding or anything.” “Well, that’s a relief… Sorry, I just got so mad that I didn’t have an idea to write ab-“ She stopped in mid-sentence. The boy looked at her. “You alright?” It wasn’t until now that Cassie realized that this boy had messy black hair and green eyes. “What’s your name?” She asked, but her eyes seemed to be staring off into a world of their own. “Uhh, Myron… what’s yours?” Cassie fought a gasp. “Cassie…” She said. Even though her voice sounded normal, her head was spinning with thoughts. This had to be a coincidence… But she had to test it. “S-sorry, I just got an idea for my story…” She said, and knelt down to the amazingly intact typewriter. Her fingers twitched slightly as she typed:
Myron had a dog named Max. He was a Black Lab.
“Woof!” Cassie turned, and saw a large Black Lab jumping up on two paws in front of Myron. “Hey, Max!” Myron said, petting the dog on the head. “Cassie, this is my dog, Max.” Cassie’s eyes widened. One more time…
Myron also had a pet ferret named Milky. Milky liked to jump on people’s shoulders and squeak.
“Ahh!!” Cassie yelped, jumping up. She felt something warm and furry crawling on her back. “Milky, get off of Cassie!” Myron ordered, and the furry blob leapt to the ground and rushed on top of Max’s head. Cassie began to shake slightly. This typewriter must be magic… she thought. Whatever I type on it comes true.
“Sorry about Milky…” Myron apologized. “He’s a goof.” “It’s okay…” Cassie said, and stood up. Myron looked at his watch and jumped. “Woah! It’s 10 ‘o clock! I gotta get home!” He said, and took off at a run. “Bye, Cassie!” The boy gave a wave, his dog and ferret following him. Cassie weakly returned the wave, and knelt down to the typewriter again. She made a new paragraph, and began to think. After a few moments, she got an idea, and began to type.
Once upon a time, there was a girl named Cassie. She lived in a mansion on Elm Street, and she had a billion dollars. She had a pool and a mountain of chocolate in her backyard.
Cassie smiled, and closed her eyes. After 10 seconds, she opened them again. Her house was the same; rickety and old. “CANNONBALL!” She heard someone scream, and turned around. Across the street, there was a HUGE mansion. Above the roof, she could see the tip of a huge mountain… of chocolate?! SPLASH! “Wow, Cassie! That was a giant splash you made!” “Thanks!” Cassie growled, and stomped her foot. She must have been too vague. She should have said Cassie Jacobson instead of just Cassie. She tore out the paper, and crumpled it. She expected the mansion to disappear, but it didn’t.
Her eyes widened. She couldn’t destroy what she created. That other Cassie would live across the street forever. She kicked the typewriter, and it jumped. I really need to control this anger of mine… she thought as ink spurted out onto the ground. She rushed upstairs, and snatched another piece of paper from her desk. Going back to the front yard, she sat down at the typewriter again, and decided to make things more specific.
Once upon a time, there was a wonderful girl named Cassie Jacobson. She lived on 384 Elm Street, in the city of Nashville, Tennessee. She was the most beautiful girl in the world, with long blonde hair and green eyes. Her house was the best house in the universe. It had 100 rooms, each big enough to fit a football field. There was a humongous garden out front, and in the backyard there was a pool, a mountain of chocolate, and an awesome forest. Inside, there was a kitchen that had 500 chefs, which would cook anything Cassie desired. She earned a billion dollars a day just by being alive. She had friends everywhere, and life was perfect.
“There.” Cassie said, and stood, placing her hands on her hips. She closed her eyes, and waited. After about 30 seconds, she opened her eyes. But she wished she hadn’t.
In front of her, was the most decrepit old shack she had ever seen. It was about as big as an outhouse, and in front of it, was a rusty, old metal fence covered in barbed wire. The gate had fallen off long ago. There was no sidewalk, only dirt. The grass was dead and brown. The windows of the house were shattered. There was no door. She rushed inside. On a small side table, there were the remains of what appeared to be a rotten banana. The whole place stunk madly. Tears stung her eyes. She saw an old, brown toilet in the corner, next to it a broken sink that was spurting water. She rushed over, and looked in the shattered mirror, and screamed. She was not even human. Her head was like that of a destroyed doll, and her body a twisted dog-like shape. She tried to close her eyes, tried to will the terrible image of herself out of her head, but she was a life form without eyelids.
Cassie rushed out of the house, and fell to her knees next to the typewriter. It appeared to be unaffected, and the white paper seemed to stare back at her with beady black eyes. There was a pool of ink on the ground, staining the brown grass black. She began to cry, clutching her face in her hands. The effects of the typewriter must have been reversed when she kicked it earlier. And she couldn’t destroy what she had created.
Stupid writer’s block.