Micro Story #3

Whatever

She sat there. Just there. Typing. Staring. Pretending to type. Copy. Cut. Paste. Undo. Redo. Undo Again. Redo Again. Cut. Cut. Cut. Select All. Delete. Undo. Redo. Once again, a blank screen. No foundation, only floating ideas. "Writer's block", she thought. She sat with one leg on the chair next to hers and one on the floor. "How're you sitting", someone asked her. She dismissed the question with a nod. In five seconds she even forgot someone spoke to her. She was still thinking, "Writer's block".

She saw her sister. Reading out loud. What she really wanted at that time was to pack her in a bag and dump her down the balcony. The sister was after all - nothing more than - in the words of Douglas Adams "a carbon-based bipedal life form descended from an ape", and to carry on in the same vein with due respect to the original author - more specifically she was 14, hyperactive, over curious and down right irritating.

Yeah, Whatever.