I look up from my keyboard and sigh.
Yes, it’s still there—that single black line flashing on the empty white screen.
The clock on the wall above my desk beats a steady rhythm, counting away the minutes I waste while I sit with my fingers poised over the keys, waiting for inspiration to strike.
A high-pitched ping shrieks from beneath a pile of papers. “Oh!” I reach out and grab my phone. My lips purse when my works colleague’s group message app opens. This is my day off! I’m trying to write. Leave me alone, please.
The phone lands on the paper-strewn desk with a thud. I should tidy up. Nope—today is a writing day. I should write. My desk can wait.
My wrists settle on the gel-filled pad that abuts my keyboard. I let my fingers dance and hover over the buttons.
I grab the glass next to the computer mouse and examine the empty vessel. A blob of clear liquid rolls around the bottom. I should refill it. It’s important to stay hydrated when working.
The wheels on my ergonomic chair squeak as I push away from the desk and then head downstairs.
I run the tap, letting the water spew from the faucet. In the window above the sink, my garden sprawls into the distance. When I say garden, I mean lawn. It’s just a sprawl of green grass, with a swing set in the centre and a miniature football goal net at the far end.
A pair of robins flutter and chase each other from fence to fence. One perches on the edge of the bird feeder to peck at our offerings in the metal cage cylinder. The pale pork fat balls, mixed with breadcrumbs and birdseed, shrink before the red-breasted bird then flutters off, followed by its companion.
Water gurgles down the drain, bringing me back to the task at hand. I fill my glass, then head back to my office.
The door clicks behind me, and I set my brimming glass of clear liquid on the cork coaster, decorated with a crude image of a unicorn. Well, I think it’s a unicorn if the rainbow mane and tail are anything to go by.
“Anyway, back to work.” Squeezing my shoulder blades, I pull back my arms and stretch my pecs. What did I plan to do today? The drawer of my desk squeals when I pull it back and dig out my diary.
“Today’s top jobs are: add two thousand words to my manuscript—check; write a piece of flash fiction—oh, yeah.” I click my tongue against the roof of my mouth, the rhythm of my clicks increasing in pace until I grumble under my breath. The single black line in an otherwise empty page flashes back at me.
“Hmmm.” I flip the planner shut and drop it back in the drawer. Perhaps I could swap tasks and do something else. I pull out another notebook. The frayed ribbon bookmark lifts the pages and flips them open to this month.
My to-do list fills the page. No, I need to do this today. The notebook lands back in the drawer and I slam it shut.
“Come on. Let’s not get distracted. I need to get this done.”
My phone pings, and I grab it. Yay! A like for this morning’s post. I flick my thumb up the screen and open the bird app. My forefinger taps the little bell icon at the bottom of the screen—two likes in five hours. Urgh! The symbols at the bottom of my post do nothing to lift my spirit—no comments, no retweets, and the views stat only serves to remind me how unpopular I am.
My thumb stabs at the birdhouse icon and a flurry of text and images flies down the screen. I rest my phone on the gel pad and my finger casually swipes up. “Like that. Like that.” I tap the heart, turning it from an outline to a solid red.
The village church bells toll in the distance. What the…? I gape at the clock. I’ve wasted thirty minutes. After closing the app, I toss my phone in the top drawer.
“Come on!” I tuck my chair tighter beneath the desktop. “No more distractions! Let’s get this flash fiction written!”
I blow out my cheeks and let my lips ripple with the force of the air leaving my lungs. The flashing black line on the bright screen taunts me.
On a wail of misery, I rest my forehead against the back of my hands on the desktop. “Come on—think—what can I write about?”
My mind remains blank. I open my eyes. Flecks of burnished orange, dark brown, and pale cream make up what is, at first glance, a beige carpet. I should re-decorate my office. The magnolia on the walls is hardly inspiring. I pull out my planner again and add it to my to-do list.
Now, back to work. No more distractions—I will write this today.
My stomach clenches and gurgles. I chew on the inside of my lip. Maybe I should eat first.
Very good