A short story.
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For almost two hours the page remained blank. Tomorrow would be the deadline for the submission of the manuscripts for a poetry contest in a national magazine. Even up to the last hour I could not bring out whatever was left in my creative mind, if I had a mind at all. I tried once more. I scribbled a word, and then a phrase, whatever it is that came to my mind. I was giving my mind something to bite—nothing coming of it. The pen I was using began to run out of ink. Frustrated, I got up and threw the useless pen into the wastebasket. I went out of the room, feeling like a second-rate, trying hard, good-for-nothing writer.
What a waste of time, I thought, as I went downstairs. It was about 7 p.m. and my ten-years-old brother Mike was watching TV in the living room. I sat beside him.
“Will you buy me a soft drink and junk food?”
“What if I don’t buy?”
“I won’t help you in your homework.”
“Where’s the money?”
“On top of the fridge.”
This had been going on for two years. The same excuses, the same dialogue. What a monotonous, unproductive life! No doubt, the drinks and junk foods made me cheerful, but that would be followed by an empty, unproductive feeling.
The last time I had my articles published was two years ago. What a feeling! I thought that would never end. That was also the time I started to get addicted to soft drinks and junk food. Unfortunately, subsequent submissions never saw the light of day.
Now I had my one liter bottle of soft drink and a big canister of potato chips. I hurriedly turned the cap counterclockwise, poured all its bubbly content into the glass and took a sip. I was about to devour the potato chips when I noticed that Mike was holding a shiny, silver pen.
“Where did you get it? You stole it?” I asked.
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