Blank Pages

BY : DragonLadyLiz
Category: Original - Misc > General
Dragon prints: 202
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction and any resemblance to any person, living or dead, is purely coincidental. I am making no money off this work.

The page remained blank.

She sat, curled in a beige armchair that had seen better days. Her two cats, one tabby the other white as snow and currently curled on the back of the chair behind her, had obviously been using it as a scratching post. The sharp tang of cigarette smoke stung the air as she blew out a stream of smoke, typing as well as she could with two fingers occupied and her keys a sticky mess after an unfortunate incident with her three year old nephew and a glass of lemonade. She groaned and deleted the entire section she'd been working on. A black laptop sat open on one thigh, the page as blank as her mind.

Her hair, more brown than red these days, was pulled back in a ponytail that rarely came down, coming to a stop between her shoulders. Earphones securely in her ears, she had hoped the music would help inspire her, but it wasn't helping. The page remained stubbornly blank. Nothing, she growled to herself. Nothing seems to flow right anymore. Before, she could sit for hours, not noticing how much her back hurt or how little blood her legs were getting, typing away at the worlds and characters she created with ease. Now, nothing came from her mind except badly written smut scenes. She often toyed with keeping her characters as flat as cardboard, the only highlight of the story the sex scenes, but her artist's soul would wither and die if she left them that way for more than a day.

The page remained blank.

Angrily stubbing out the cigarette, she rolled her neck on her shoulders and wondered, not for the first time, if she should just give up on the whole mess. None of her stories had been worked on in over five years, her novel no longer met her exacting standards but the thought of deleting over nine years worth of work made her feel empty inside. Every attempt to rewrite it has been met with abject failure. Her characters waited to move from the limbo this long lasting writer's block had forced them into, but she could find no impetus to break it. No sudden inspiration came in the dead of night like it used to, nor did the ideas suddenly strike while driving or at work.

Work was another problem. She'd been out of work since just after the New Year, and while she'd had a few prospects, nothing had ever panned out. Two interviews, one actual day of work, and no one had called her back, or offered to refer her to someone else. No one seemed willing to give her a chance that could lead to either finding something that fulfilled or even something temporary that could potentially springboard her into something even better. Dog training school had been the one good thing she'd looked forward to, but even that was denied her for now. The two migraines that had seemingly struck from nowhere and with no immediate cure had cost her the internship she adored.

Life certainly seemed to spiraling downhill for her, and she couldn't help but be affected by it. Her husband, God love him, refused to give up on her, pushing her to get out and walk with him, keeping up with a job he hated just to keep them afloat. If it wasn't for him, she probably would have given up months ago. It didn't help that his own psychological problems were choosing now to flare up, affecting his performance at work, and now, without medication, he could be as jobless as she is.

The page remained blank.

Scrubbing her face with both hands, she wonders if this suck cycle will ever end. Her husband still has hope that it will, but for her, it's rapidly fading. With each application that is either rejected or with no contact from those she applies with, the spark of hope that had carried her this far dimmed just that much more.

More than that, though, is the thought that perhaps she just isn't meant to have children. Every month, despite being more aware of her fertile days, her period arrives early or on schedule, dashing her hopes once again. Despite her love of kids, and knowing she wants one, maybe two, of her own, so far there was nothing. Her window is closing, a little more every day, but there seems to be nothing she can do. Unable to afford in vitro, a surrogate or adoption, she seems destined to live her life with only her husband and a revolving door of stray cats and the occasional dog.

The page remained blank.

Battling tears now, born of frustration and a growing sense of depression, she hopes things will look better in the morning. Two new opportunities to investigate, and with luck, at least one will bear fruit. Unable to drum up the energy to fan the spark of hope just that much brighter, she closes the laptop and goes to bed, snuggling with the man that has never deserted her, even when she wasn't sure what she wanted. Even if she didn't find a job, or have a child, she would always have him. He knew her better than she did, and would always be her biggest cheerleader and pain in the ass when she needed it.

The page remained blank.

But there was still hope, no matter how small, that tomorrow would better than today. That tomorrow, somehow, could be the start of something new. Blank pages were always waiting to be filled, even if what went on them was crap, at least it was something.

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