Ugly Things
an excerpt

The moonlight caught on the blinds, filling the small room with its glow. Things took on a zebra striped appearance, giving everything a sense of being shot in black and white. Aaron sat at his desk and attempted to channel his muses.

He had so little left to his story. The handsome male lead was just pages away from defeating his demons, not to mention the demons that had been his main adversaries. The writer could feel it in his bones, the feeling of something coming to a close. He needed only get some more lines down on paper, write a schmaltzy scene involving the hero’s love interest, tie up a few dangling metaphors, and he’d be done with that god forsaken novel. His fingers were primed, hovering just over the keys of the keyboard. He waited for inspiration to hit him like a bag of rocks. He slumped over onto the desk when it didn’t.

He felt like he wanted to weep. The failed experiment of a novel was such a dead end; he had known that since chapter five, when it had started devolving into something so much more mainstream and less artsy than he wanted his brainchild to be, something that sounded “a bit like Harry Potter”. What he wanted to do most, more than actually finishing the damned thing, was to burn it. A huge bonfire, burning on the cement pad out back of the apartments. Every single paper he had of The Adventures of Pete McGill, dissolving in a pit of flames, a few charred sheets floating idly by in the wind. He probably would only have a few minutes until the fire brigade arrived, all hoses and heroics, putting out the creative outburst else it ham some unnamed person or persons. That would be enough to say goodbye to the monster for good. It would certainly warm things up. Aaron was so very sick of being cold.

It wouldn’t be a good idea, though. The publishers of his first book, his baby and masterpiece, had insisted on a two book deal. They had paid him a hefty advance. They were expecting a copy of his manuscript by New Year’s Day. That was only 12 days away. He needed to get the bloody thing done and in the mail, he told himself, but inspiration chose stubbornly not to listen to him. In any event, burning his writing would only lead to more sorrow.

Why had he not listened to the old adage, write what you know? He had no magic. He had no spawn of hell attacking him, ripping his body to shreds. He didn’t even have an elderly mentor or a tragically flawed damsel in distress. All he had was his typewriter, his beer, and a lighter that wanted what it wanted.

Aaron lifted his head up quickly, as if struck by an idea. If only. He threw back his chair roughly, barely hearing it clamor to the ground. Next to him were stacks upon stacks of paper, all neatly printed upon and crisp with ink. He stacked one on top of another on top of another until it was almost too heavy to lift. Once they were in order, he dove to the ground, searching for escaped deleted scenes. He didn’t want to miss anything of the project, not a thing. Having memories of the endeavor was going to be bad enough. Fuck the publishers. He was going to torch his manuscript.

He might even torch the building while he was at it. The place had never provided anything but bad memories. He regretted ever having moved there. Everything was tainted by its association with the Pleasantview Apartments. It was like a black hole: it drew everything it could in, sucked all the light out of it that it could, and trapped it for all eternity. He should have seen that, he told himself. He should have known to stay away. Perhaps he should burn himself into oblivion as well, so that his ill actions didn’t corrupt anyone else.

In his madness, his complete disregard of logic, Aaron hadn’t heard the front door’s lock click open quietly. He hadn’t even heard the door itself slam shut. All he heard were the impulses in his head. Someone had entered the apartment, and was headed right towards him.

The door flew open with a gust of air that rattled the blinds and scattered some papers on the stack. It fell off the flimsy rusted hinges and clattered to the floor. That was enough to get Aaron to look up.