John W. Howell asked me to write a story about an author in pain writing his latest manuscript with a crazed fan having him at gunpoint. I put a different twist on it and went rather evil and super dark. I mean, I really went to the shadows of my mind for this one. Read beyond the picture if you dare and I apologize in advance. Seriously, this pain must be drawing out my villains instead of my heroes.
“You’re insane!” Dan yells as the gun shakes in his hand. “Just finish writing your book, so I know what happens. That’s all I want, Mr. Raklin.”
The young man stares down the sight at the middle-aged author, who is holding his back and cringing in pain. A laptop glows in front of him, a blinking cursor in the middle of a sentence for the author’s latest manuscript. Mr. Raklin coughs and winces in pain before dragging himself into a nearby recliner.
“I told you that I’m in too much pain,” Mr. Raklin says in a weak voice. His body spasms and he clenches his teeth with all his might. “Do you have any idea what a muscle spasm is? They make it impossible to concentrate, much less write. I’ve been suffering with these for over a year, which is why I announced the delay of my book.”
“I can’t wait!” Dan childishly shouts. “You swore you wouldn’t let more than six months pass between books. You didn’t want to be like the other ones that make us wait for years. Now, keep writing!”
Mr. Raklin grins and leans forward, enjoying the slight pop from his back. “I told you that I can’t go any further. Your only option is to kill me.”
“The series ends if you die,” Dan replies with a nervous chuckle. He can feel his mind begin to unravel, the stress tearing at his sanity. “This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. You were supposed to be scared and push through your pain. That was the plan. I was told that the plan would work.”
“Of course you were told that, kid,” Mr. Raklin states, yawning and stretching. He whimpers at the feel of his protesting muscles. “The truth is that I’m in too much pain to focus, so you have to make good on your threat.”
Dan’s face twitches and he aims the gun at the author he adores. The memories of reading his books fill his eyes with tears when he realizes that he will never read another. He takes a deep breath while Mr. Raklin closes his eyes and prepares for death. The gunshot rings out and stays in the air for several seconds.
“Well, fuck,” Mr. Raklin swears as he reaches for his phone. He takes a final look at Dan’s body and the mess that he has to hire someone to clean up. “I’m too old and in too much pain for this shit.”
He dials the phone with touch of a single button and the other person picks up after the first ring. “Hello, John? This is Gary Raklin. Can you tell those psychopaths at the publishing company to stop sending these people? I’m trying my best considering the pain, so I don’t need a parade of crazed fans with no balls littering my home with their bodies. I will not calm down! This is the third time this month! Get them to stop this stupid shit, John. Thank you.” Gary turns off the phone and rubs his eyes. “Fucking impatient bastards.”
