Hans rolled from one side of his bed to the other phone in hand. He couldn't come up with anything, not a single sentence, phrase, or word, his head was totally blank. Normally he'd be writing on his Laptop, but it had some issues and it had to be repaired. He had blamed his writer's block on not having his laptop, but deep down he knew that wasn't the cause. He stared at his blank notepad for a while before standing up to get a cup of coffee.
He stepped out of his room and walked through the living room to the kitchen. He reached into his cabinet and picked out his favorite mug. Drinking from it always seemed to fill him with ideas, but it seemed to have lost its touch in recent weeks. He filled his kettle with tap water and plugged it in to boil.
While he waited he began to reminisce about all the bestsellers he'd written in the past. He'd Won various literary awards including the Franz Kafka prize.
His phone rang, snapping him out of his reverie. He rushed to pick it up from the table he'd unconsciously dropped it when he walked in.
"Shit it's Otto" he muttered under his breath. He paused for a few seconds before finally picking the call.
"Hey Hans, please tell me you've come up with something"
Hans knew he couldn't tell him the truth,or at least the full truth.
"I'm working on it" He said
"What do you mean you're working on it, your manuscript should be ready by now." Otto said, he was clearly frustrated
"I know, I know, I've just been really busy these last few days, and my laptop has an issue, so everything is just all muddled up right now. But I assure you I'll get everything done before the meeting tomorrow."
Otto gasped
"Okay, but remember I'm putting my reputation on the line, so don't disgrace me. Also do not be late no matter what. And please come with something that will wow us, not something like that thrash you wrote the last time."
"I will, thanks for doing this."
He hung up.
"From winning literary awards to struggling to land an average publisher." he said to himself
"How fast the world moves on. I mean, just one bad book."
"One bad book and everyone has forgotten who you are." He exclaimed
His water had begun boiling so he proceeded to prepare his coffee.
By 12 pm he had only written a few hundred words. He sat down on his table, slowly coming to grips with the fact that his writing career might actually be over.
"Well, I'm still young, yet to get married so a change of career and lifestyle won't be too hard." he thought
He decided to take a walk. He got dressed in his favorite blue t-shirt and a pair of black jeans. Over his t-shirt he wore a Jean jacket. He stood by the doorway for a few minutes, unsure whether this was actually what he wanted. He locked the doors and as he walked down the front step he tripped and fell.
Next thing he knew, he was in his bed. He picked up his phone to check the time, lo and behold it was his day of reckoning. He put it on airplane mode and went back to bed.
He arose, but this time he wasn't in his bed, he was on a park bench. He checked his pockets for his phone but they were empty. He sat up, shocked at the realization that he was wearing rags. A woman passed by.
"Ma'am, Ma'am, please can you help me." he shouted
The woman increased her pace as he approached. He let her be.
Tears began dropping from his eyes.
"What have I done? What have I done with my life?"
He arose once more, but this time he was back in familiar clothes.
" Argh, my head." he said, placing his right hand on his head.
He stood up, walked back in, grabbed his phone, and began writing, he kept writing all night. By the morning he had written something tangible.
Two years later Hans went to the park with his pregnant wife. They sat down on a very familiar bench. Hans smiles
"If I hadn't written the manuscript."