Penance
an excerpt

“There is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so...”
– William Shakespeare

Prologue

Blank.
Only a single dark line flashed on and off on the screen, winking at her as though to say ‘Yes, you haven’t written a single word, aren’t you an awful writer?’
Alicia Rosewood sighed heavily and pressed her palms to her eyes, as though hoping to strain out a single thought that would send her tumbling through the rabbit hole. She hadn’t written a single word – the thought reverberated and echoed through the dull confines of her brain. It was all that echoed in there recently; for the past few weeks, she hadn’t written more than ‘I can’t do this, I can’t fucking do this.’
She sighed again. The writers block was tormenting her, despite what her old university lecturers used to say – that writer’s block was a myth; that it only existed in the minds of procrastinating writers. Well, she thought, I’m hardly procrastinating – I have nothing else to do but stare at a screen for hours. She reached across the desk and picked up her coffee, sipping it gingerly and closing her eyes again. She hadn’t had this problem before – not until a few weeks ago, and now she couldn’t work it out. She was usually able to write without trouble, and now something had changed inside her – something that had locked up her imagination and wasn’t setting it free.
She opened her eyes and looked about the sunset bathed room, hoping for some flash of inspiration. The crimson reds glimmered off the dark woods of her bed, casting the room into deep and foreboding shadows. No shred of inspiration lurked there, just the feeling that something wasn’t quite right – like somebody was sitting in the corner of the room, staring into her soul with malevolent eyes. Outside, the soft call of a bird echoed through the air, the wind rustled the leaves quietly. All served to distract her from the glowing laptop screen in front of her.
She drained the last of her coffee and got to her feet, pushing her chair back and walking slowly across the darkened bedroom. Perhaps more coffee would help her to concentrate, she thought, although the cup she had just finished was her fifth of the day. A whisper in the back of her head told her she was merely procrastinating, but she ignored it. Coffee did help her think – even if it didn’t help her right now. She had gotten through university living off it, so there was no reason why it couldn’t still help her.
As she got to the top of the stairs though, she stopped. A picture was glowing silently in the setting light – one of two happy people, taken only a year before. Before she knew what she was doing, she set her coffee mug and picked it off its table. The girl in the picture was with her boyfriend – a beaming smile across her lips, her long dusky gold hair falling around her shoulders in soft waves, her azure eyes glimmering like crystals. She gazed deeply into the picture, into the world she had once inhabited, feeling no connection to the girl smiling at her now.
Her eyes began to drift to the man standing beside her; his short dark hair and dark eyes, his smile radiating next to hers. She felt a pang deep inside her, something stirring that she tried to repress. She felt his eyes burrow deep into her, take over and control her, until the hallway she stood in was lost and all that existed was her and -
The sharp ring brought her back, making her jump; the glass frame falling to the wooden floor with a smash. Shards exploded over her feet, and in the confusion, she barely registered the ring coming from the bedroom. Cursing herself for being so edgy, she startled back to avoid the wreckage and looked down at the glass. For a second, she thought she saw blood covering the picture and broken frame, but when she blinked, she saw nothing but the fading crimson light.
Realising the phone was ringing, her attention turned to the bedroom door. She ran down the hall and back inside, finding the cordless phone sitting next to her whirring laptop and picking it up.
‘Hello?’ she sighed, finding the annoyance in her voice palpable.
‘Alicia? It’s Jack’ the concerned voice said. Alicia’s heart sank – it was her editor.
‘Alicia,’ he continued, ‘How are you? I’ve been trying to call for weeks but I haven’t heard anything. I’ve been worried sick here –‘
‘Jack,’ Alicia replied, ‘I’m sorry, I’ve just been...’ She paused, trying to find the words, ‘I’ve been really busy, trying to get things sorted, you know –‘
‘So the novel is coming along fine then?’ he interrupted. Alicia couldn’t help but feel he wasn’t worried at all, but cared more about her getting the novel finished – or even started, as her case may be. She fought for a way to tell him how badly it was going, and resounded to just telling the truth.
‘Actually, it’s not going too well’ she said, ‘What I had written has fallen apart, and I’m finding it difficult to get started again.’
Jack audibly sighed on the other end. As he did, Alicia felt more and more like she was being used.
‘Alicia, what’s the matter with you lately? You were always so proficient, now, you’re-‘
Jack paused. Obviously, he was trying to find the words too.
‘You’re not working to your potential’ he continued, evidently trying to sound casual.
Alicia’s concentration wandered. She was looking about the room, thinking about what he was saying – thinking about how true it was. She was never this bad before –she would fight off any writers block in a day or so. But this had been going on for three weeks. As her eyes wandered, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirrored wardrobe doors. Standing in the dusk light, her white shirt buttoned almost to the top, her autumn gold hair tied back into a ponytail, her face without makeup or adornment. A completely different person to the girl in the photograph, she thought.
‘Alicia?’ the voice on the phone said, bringing her back.
‘Sorry, Jack’ she said, sighing heavily and rubbing her forehead. ‘I just – I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’ll keep in touch, okay?’
In that moment, she wanted nothing more than just to be left alone – to not have to bother with Jack or anybody else. Perhaps Jack realised this, because all she heard was, ‘Okay...just, keep in touch, wont you? I’ve been worried about you.’
Alicia forced a smile, hoping Jack would hear it. She barely believed what he was saying. ‘Of course Jack. I’m fine. Talk to you later, okay?’
‘Okay. Bye, Alicia’ he said, and she bade him a casual goodbye before hanging up the phone.
She collapsed backwards onto the bed, laying the phone beside her and rubbing both palms against her eyes. What had thrown her? What was wrong with her? She tried to think it over but her mind throbbed in defiance. A brick wall was placed there – whenever she tried to write, or to approach what was going through her mind, the wall was all that she saw. Now, she felt it looming in again, and with it, the tides of sleep. Perhaps tomorrow, she reasoned, she would be able to write better. It had been the reasoning she was giving herself for the past few weeks, but she believed it all over again. As the tides came in and washed over her, she found her body growing weak. Trying to fight off the approaching sea, she turned onto her side and saw, once more, the blinking light of the computer screen – winking at her, teasing her.
‘You haven’t written a single thing.’ It whispered, as darkness closed in. It winked inside her mind’s eye, teasing her over and over again.
‘Not a single thing.’