I wrote this silly story in 2016 as a visitor to my friend Dan’s blog. After re-reading it, I thought it funny enough to share on my blog.
In the Ink
“So what happened?”
“Not so sure because everything had become pitch black. Frightening at first, the sound of my heart thumping in my ears, my throbbing head, quivering limbs and my mouth spitting up something I took for blood. But as you can see, I’m fine. It wasn’t blood.”
“Yes. And then what happened?”
“I heard the laughter of children playing outside. I dropped my pen and couldn’t see my hand. A loud mosquito buzzed my left ear. I heard the rustle of trees in the wind and the sound of water cascading over boulders. Even though I love dogs, there was a continuous and annoying barrage of bad dogs barking and filling in all the quieter moments. I heard cries and screams of sorrow. Later, I heard an ambulance and some more sobbing. Footsteps-- hectic and hurried--macabre steps scurried around with important things to do. I heard screams and squeaking wheels. I felt nothing.”
“Did you smell anything?”
“The mild smell of ink maybe—but don’t forget I’m a fiction writer.”
“Interesting. Do you buy your ink at the warehouse club store?”
“Yes, writers need to be prepared. It comes in these large vats. I go there for great deals on mayonnaise too.
“The ink--blue or black?”
“A-huh. Do you drink?”
“Mr. Johnson, please don’t be offended at my diagnosis. The hospital insisted you speak to me and the only thing I can see is that you fell into your ink.”
“What? $200 an hour and that’s the best you can come up with?”
“I’m afraid so. Get some sleep. Your characters must be keeping you awake. Be careful next time and good luck with your writing career.”