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The Griffinkeeper

Griffinkeeper · 2006-03-17T07:52:02Z

Grif sat quietly in his room. His room was large: it held several book cases, a dresser, his desk, and his bed with enough room to do any number of exercises. He sat in his computer chair, facing his computer. It sat on a desk, along with several books, papers, clothing, and some other electronic amenities. At the moment his attention was focused completely on the computer, his fingers crossed the keyboard rapidly as he typed. He had the computer playing some music in the background: he was in the process of learning to enjoy the Beatles. The clock read 11:23 in the evening. He had a busy day tomorrow, but this didn't matter to him at the moment. He was writing. He felt rather weird as he typed. Most of his posts were reviews or conversation. This thread wasn't either; it was a story. His hands went faster and faster as he got deeper into the story. He faced the problem that all writers have; that of having millions of ideas and not enough fingers to write them fast enough. The pace quickened, before suddenly dwindling off. His brow furrowed as the frown crossed his face; he had just gotten stuck. He deleted a sentence and tried again. It didn't help. He repeated the process, with the same result. The frown deepened. He knew that every second he spent working on the sentence was time that prevented him from continuing (even finishing!) the story. Nothing bugs a writer more than not being to express what is crammed inside his mind and Grif was no exception. With each moment, the story faded into obscurity. It didn't take much time for frustration to set in. He finally wrote it down, only to stop as he looked at the story. He had written complete garbage. Disgusted, he selected all the text and deleted it angrily. Nothing was worse than wasting half an hour of effort for no apparent gain. He closed his web browser and initiated the shut down procedure. He then proceeded to do some exercises (this was a part of a physical fitness project) before shutting off the light and going to bed. He had barely fallen asleep, when he heard it. "Nothing's gonna change my world Nothing's gonna change my world..." He groaned. The Beatles were still playing over his computer. Muttering, he got up and turned on the monitor. It hadn't shut down after all. He quickly stopped the music and shut the computer down, this time making sure that it worked. After this, he retreated to bed. He didn't notice the amber egg below the monitor. Nor did he hear it moving as he snuggled into the covers.

brix_strat

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Points 890

Reviews 20

Thu Apr 19, 2007 2:41 am

brix_strat says... · Thu Apr 19, 2007 2:41 am

I'm addicted....addicted i tell you! TEll me what happened next! I loved it...i think there might be a better way to transition to the egg part though...
I'm not sure how you would do it though...maybe do more descriptions....
just an idea...
keep writing though! i love it!

Once there was a boy named Jimmy....then there wasn't.

Quote

I think the best thing about making it into the quote generator is when nobody tells you, so one day you're just scrolling and voila, some phenomenally inane thing that crawled out of your dying synapses and immediately regretted being born the second it made contact with the air has been archived for all time. Or worse, a remark of only average inanity. Never tell me when you've put me in the generator. Pride-tinged regret just doesn't taste the same without the spice of surprise.
— SirenCymbaline

The Griffinkeeper

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