This week’s Indies Unlimited Flash Fiction challenge is:
He wondered if it could be true. Could some potion be the answer to all his problems? Could he capture Vanessa’s heart? Were fame and fortune within his grasp?
He forked over the wad of cash. The old woman jutted a crooked finger at him and uttered an admonition…
And my response is:
The wizened crone shoved the money into her bosom and pushed a tiny blue bottle his way. “Watch what you wish for.”
He cringed as she croaked out the words. Watch. He didn’t like looking at her. Something about her made his skin tingle and not in a good way. Not the way Vanessa did. The crone’s hands reminded him of desiccated tarantulas, and her face… Oh god, her face was enough to put the fear of God into the most hardened criminal. He wanted to get away and write about it. She’d be the perfect character for his work in progress.
A laugh emerged from her hideous visage. “I hope it’s worth it.”
* * *
Within six months, his first novel, the one he’d written during a long week of seclusion at the Motel Six after visiting Madame Marie, was the NYT #1 Bestseller. Three more had followed in quick succession. Each one longer, more complicated than the previous. He was an international sensation. His books were leaping off the shelves. The money was pouring in.
And Vanessa was his bride.
But his fingers itched only for the smoothness of the keyboard, the solid click as words formed on the virtual page. Words filled his brain, putting so much pressure on his skull that he lived off Advil. Words, sentences, dialogue, demanding they be written.
He hadn’t eaten in two day.
Hadn’t slept in three.
Hadn’t made love to Vanessa since their wedding night.
He had to write.