He sat staring at a blank computer screen. The words bounced around in his head, begging for release. It was a release that wouldn’t come. No matter how hard he tried, the words remained trapped inside of his mind. His foot began tapping on the ground, as if that would help his situation.
Cold steel pressed against the back of his skull. A threatening voice demanded, “What are you waiting for?”
“It was just a figure of speech,” he pleaded.
“It’s not anymore.”
His fingers hovered over the keyboard. He needed to start typing something, anything. It didn’t matter what it was. All it needed to be was words. Still, he was greeted with a zero in the word count.
He turned his head to try to beg for mercy, but stopped when he felt the barrel of the gun start to dig in deeper. “Please,” he groveled.
“All I need are the words.”
“I can’t do it when you have that gun pointed at my head.”
“You have five seconds to start typing.”
Panic seized him. He could see the words swimming in his vision, but they refused to travel down to his fingers. Tears streamed down his face. His eyes closed when his internal clock registered five seconds.
The gun erupted, sending its projectile forward. Cracks spiderwebbed out from the bullet hole that appeared in the screen. Drops of blood mingled in with the cracks, running down towards the bottom of the monitor.
“I guess he really couldn’t write a story if his life depended on it.”