She could see it in her head; everything always started out as stuck in her head. Somehow she had come to understand this routine. Everyone and everything had to give her trouble, even down to her damn toast toasting the wrong way.

Life seemed bent on showing her a preview of her future in the afterlife.

Sighing, she popped a CD in her stereo. She didn't care which song played. They were almost all the same. After pressing the skip button once or twice she let the electric whirrs softly purr out the saddening vocals. With a decisive groan Elle lay her head in her hands as the ever-throbbing headache called her name.

"Why can't I show them?" Gently she closed her eyes, the vision fixating against the back of her lids. A church window, stained glass pouring liquid color onto a stone floor. Someone was singing, the light and airy voice of a child. She was sweeping the room clean of the dust that normally settled. No one really came so the sweeping was merely a distraction. A tool to help ignore....

"Ignore WHAT?!" Of course Elle knew what, it was her character and her story line. Everything down to the creaking oak pew had been created within her mind. It was clear as crystal, a reoccurring thought that performed its dead-man-float whenever she was alone. So why couldn't she write down her thoughts?

"Why?" Guitar riffs washed into her mind as the music flowed steadily throughout her. For a brief, crisp moment all was forgotten. Only the music that crooned understanding existed, echoing in the empty places within her that creativity should have been filling.

Elle, unwillingly, remembered the rush. She remembered the light clicking of her fingers breezing against keyboard letters. Most of them were faded away now from use, from her repetitive spurts of ingenuity. People had complemented her, told her how well she was doing. She hadn't wanted to let those people down, hadn't wanted to disappoint them.

That's when the emptiness had hit. Kami, it felt so WRONG! She could see the setting in her mind, saw the emotions flickering like candle flames in the characters' minds. Elle, however, had been totally unable to describe them.

She couldn't tell them about how persistent the anger had been when the boyfriends had left their lovers. Couldn't begin to show them the aching loneliness that seemed to broil in the very air of the bar where whiskey and sorrow seemed to unite people in an invisible pact. But she had forced herself to because of the compliments.

Elle knew that she was not someone who lived her life in what other people wanted her to be. She hated labels. However when those people had told her how wonderful her style was, how complex and thought out her characters and setting were and how IMPRESSED they were with her she was blinded by the joy. Because all she was doing was being herself and showing them. She showed them the visions through words.

But slowly the black seething loneliness had spread. The more ideas she spilled onto the monitor the greater the emptiness. And now here she was. She didn't know what to do. She had a vision in her head, a perfect visage of sorrow and contempt that she knew was the climax of her writing. But it was too big a leap, and she needed to fill the readers in what would happen from where she was to where she wanted to be.

She simply couldn't.

The music churned mournfully, a complying mix of anger, sorrow and energy that wiped Elle's mind clear. Everything seemed so simple, so carefree when there was only music. Why did she start this? Why did she ever think she could do what so many people had done before her?

The music ended with no crescendos, with no softly receding notes but rather a blunt and piercing note that bit into Elle's mind. "This is impossible," she reasoned. "I'm trying to show them my dreams, show them my thoughts. But they won't settle. They just keep brewing emptiness into all the maybes."

Another song came on; this one was a low and throaty jazz tune. Saxophones played cord after cord of emotion, pouring out Elle's thoughts perfectly. This only infuriated her further. "Well if they can say what I think, then why bother?" She brought up a window for the Internet. With speed and great accuracy she typed in the address to her hosting site.

"This is too difficult. I can't do it." Opening a few links and typing in a password she came to her database of fiction. The music suddenly swooped in climax, pent up frustration and agony seemingly flowing out of Elle's mind as vocals and instruments agreed. 'Why bother?" they crooned. 'Just let all the stress ebb out of you. You shouldn't have to worry so much out on a hobby.'

Elle unconsciously nodded. The reviewers. so demanding. Always wanting more immediately. Goddamn it she was only human, she could only do so much with one idea before she wrung it dry! One final window popped up on the screen, blue light spreading soft shadow across Elle's face. There it was- the file!

All the hard work and stress Elle had put into this would be deleted with the press of a key. She only need lay a finger's weight on the "Delete" button. It would vanish, POOF! Gone..