My name is Kevin Gill Hilt and I'm a goddamn writer or something along those lines. I sat in the small office of my good friend and partner in crime Mr. Brandon J. He plays some crazy entertainment system with his trusty dog Mr. Muffin by his side. I quickly take a look around the room, pictures of comic book people all over the wall and one very menacing pumpkin with a cigar. "Oh God" I moaned as I looked up from the book I was flipping through. "What is it?" Mr. Brandon J. asked not even looking away from his game. I replied nothing and went back to my book. Then again I looked up from my book and my eyes locked with the small white dog Mr. Muffin. We played a game of stare down for a little bit before the laughs of my partner broke my concentration. I asked him what was so funny and it had something to do with Niggers, I didn't care too much. Mr. Muffin began to move wildly through the office my partner yelled for him to calm down and wait a minute. He then got up and let the dog out the office door and into the empty hallway of the building we were located in. It was around six so most of the people if not all of them had gone home for the day but we had important work to do.
I turned on the old slow computer that sat on his dirty white desk, the time for play was over it was time to work. I had to come up with something a story of some sorts I hadn't written anything in months and I could feel my head was going to explode. I sat there staring at the blank pages on the computer screen my hands placed right over the keyboard ready to go at any second but I couldn't start. I was straining my brain trying to pull a story from it while my partner bitched about his game. My head was in so much pain I decided to lean back and watch my partner play his game for a bit. Mr. Brandon J. was quickly becoming more infuriated as he played and I could do nothing but laugh. I decided to go back to the computer to work I thought I felt a spark and if I jerked it the right way I could milk a story out of it. I began typing and much to my surprise words were coming out, I was doing it I was writing for the first time in what seemed like forever. I typed half a page of what turned out to be pure shit but I've learned never to trust my own opinion when it comes to my own work. "Come read this" I said hoping to get the opinion of Mr. Brandon J. "Is it finished?" He asked "Not even close" I replied. "I'll read it when it's done" he said not wanting to leave his game. I asked him again to read it after a few minutes had gone by but he still refused to leave that damn game. I took a glance at the wall next to me and a picture of a half naked woman caught my eye. I took a long good look at it 'til I had my fill then it was back to staring at the screen. I began to rub the cigarette burns that ran up my arm actually there was only about two on my arm the bulk of them were on my hand witch I kept heavily wrapped. I started to play with the radio looking for the on switch but damn thing didn't have one "What kind of shity radio is this!?" I yelled "There's no goddamn on switch." Mr. Brandon J. leaned over and flipped a switch on the other side of the damn machine. The music came on nice and loud, the way true music is meant to be played, but I didn't stick around to listen to it.
I went to take a leak and then followed Mr. Brandon into the kitchen area. "Are you still hungry?" He asked me as he stuffed his face with beans. "Yes" I replied "but not right now" I then quickly headed back to the office to write. When Mr. Brandon came back in I finally got him to sit down and read what I had and in doing so do the job he was paid to do witch was to correct my spelling mistakes. When he was done he said nothing just went back to his game he had said something but he had not said if it was good or bad. I started to unwrap my bandage revealing the cigarette burns on my hand; it was time to rub the aloe on them. I pulled the small piece of the aloe plant from my bag and cracked it open then I began to run the gel with in all over my lovely burns. As I finished up I made a comment about that being service but I'm not too sure why. "Well now time to delete it." I said my partner looked at me like I was a mad man "Why?" he then asked. "What's the point of keeping it" I replies "What was the point of writing it" he snapped back. In the end I decided to save the story to a disk I figured it might come in handy somewhere down the road.
The night had pressed on and no more work had been done. My partner Mr. Brandon J. and I had spent the better part of our night watching cartoons on the television. He then set himself up on the office bed to watch a movie while I on the other hand had work to do. For me it was back to staring at the computer screen trying to force a story out of my dried up imagination. The 2002 remake of Planet of the Apes played on the TV as I attempted to work. "What the hell is that?" Mr. Brandon J. yelled out "Humans can talk?" I glanced over at the screen to see what was happening and I decided to take a seat and watch.