Friday, September 17th, 2007

The streaming sunlight peering through her window woke her with ease. The dream she had just experienced seemed so real, almost like something from a movie. She had gone sailing, with the wind in her hair, a cool glass of lemonade in her hands, and the vast sea shimmering in the sunlight, waiting to be conquered by the sweep of her glance. A perfect dream, and she couldn't have asked for more. Yet what she didn't know was that it didn't end there.

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Writer's block wasn't something that Richard Morgan Davis experienced on a regular basis, but today it was more prevalent than ever. As he walked from his car into the coffee house, he thought about this, but was ready to blow it off with a cup of coffee and a visit with an old friend.

"Why, if it isn't Richard Davis!" exclaimed the clerk.

"Well, hello there, Jack. How are you?" Richard asked as he went to shake his hand.

Jack smiled as he reached for Richard's hand as well. "I'm hanging in there," he remarked.

As Richard sat down he thought about his old friend, almost glad to see that not much had changed. "Where have you been lately?"

"Well, my wife decided to have a baby, so I've been at home for the past few months helping out."

"That's wonderful, Jack."

"Yes, it sure is. The usual?" Jack asked.

"You got it," he replied with a smile. The friendship that was established long ago had stood the test of time, and he was now going to begin to enjoy the fruits of his labor. Just as he received his coffee, he broke out the writing pad. He stepped in the coffee house often, but seeing his old friend had given him some much-needed inspiration.

Richard often times spent hours engulfed in his writing. He always had a way with words, and ideas streamed through his mind too fast for him to retain them all. Inspiration was on his side, and his publisher was one of many to point it out. His reason for writing, he did not know, because he no longer had any family left to share it with. Many of his fiction novels were based on make believe stories that him and his playmates made up when they were young. Stories of sailing, finding buried treasure, and even mysteries of missing persons or scandals that kept you running from the FBI. These books, oddly enough, became best sellers. Even though he was 28, he looked as if he could be ten years older with all he'd been through, and all the knowledge he had obtained. Life in the fast lane was faster than it seemed, but it never abused him. It was something that he had learned to love, but was something he might soon regret.

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Life went on as usual. College grades were steady, work never demanded too much, and her social life was blossoming more than ever. Memory of the dream she had lingered in her mind throughout the week. Nevertheless, it would soon be replaced by something that would risk demanding more of her attention.

Another dream had come. A new day would have birthed a glorious sunrise, a magnificent dawning with a brilliant display of a myriad of paints upon the sky's tapestry, but this time she awoke startled, frightened to her wits end. She was relieved, however, to find she was in her own room with the door shut, and the curtains drawn. Relief, she would soon find, would generally be only seconds away, yet would become a frightening eternity that took petrifying ages to cross. It would be a blink away, only a simple nudge, a convincing, really; just something to drive away the nightmare that consumed her. That something, she would later realize, would regrettably cost her a great deal.

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