The Writer – Part 1 – A Short Story By Lucas Durelle

As he sat in his Burgundy cloth high back chair, sipping on lukewarm coffee, taking small drags off his cigarette, he stares at the flickering white screen in front of him, wordless. He wipes his brow and takes another puff. The sound of smooth jazz playing on the radio behind him adds to the tension as he struggles to begin his sentence.

Extinguishing his cigarette in the over flowed ashtray, he stood up and stretched and heads upstairs to re-warm his coffee. As he began climbing the staircase, the sound of soft creeks echo under his foot. Reaching for the door knob, the door is stuck. Puzzled, he tried again with a little added force but was unable to even wedge the door open.

“This is ridiculous” He muttered to himself as he placed the coffee down on the step next to him. Gripping the old, rusty doorknob, he pressed his shoulder into the door and slammed his body against the door. Thwack! the booming sound echoed throughout the cold basement. He quickly shifted his body towards the right to catch himself from falling off the narrow staircase, causing his coffee cup to tumble and shatter at the platform below.

Looking down at the coffee spilled mess and shards of ceramic glass laying everywhere, he placed his finger tips on his temples and began gently messaging his head. “OK, this is foolish now”  turning around and walking back down the staircase and carefully stepping over the shards of glass, making sure his barefoot was not damaged, he made his way into his office on the other side of the dark, damp basement and found a bottle of WD-40. Smiling to himself, he grabbed the bottle and made his way back up the staircase, once again carefully stepping over the glass to prevent injury.

As he made his way up the staircase, shaking the can of WD-40 in his hand, he approached the door once more and carefully sprayed the chemical around the rusty door hinges and door knob. Placing the can down next to him, he quickly grabbed the door knob and gave a shove into the door but his hand slipped on the greasy doorknob, causing him to lose his footing and come crashing down the staircase, hitting his head against the staircase and landing on the ceramic shards of broken glass that laid on the floor.


As he attempted to regain his vision, he propped himself against the wall and waited to realign himself. Looking at his hands, covered in blood, he felt a sharp, rushing pain shooting up his leg. Looking down, he notices a piece of shattered glass sticking 3 inches out of his leg, and feeling almost faint, he attempted to inspect the wounded area. He noticed he was slowly loosing blood.  Afraid, he attempted to pull at the shard, when he was over-come by an intense buzzing, tingling and excruciating pain covering his entire body, as if he was shocked by a high-powered taser. He screamed and began breathing heavier.

Panicking, he began screaming for help in the old broken down 2 story house with nobody in it. His screams fell on deaf ears as he stuttered to himself “this is bad!”

Knowing that if he doesn’t act quick, he would be in serious trouble, he made his way back to his office, crawling on his hands and knees on the cold, dirty, grey concrete floor while dragging his injured leg behind him. He slowly made his way back to his office leaving a trail of blood smeared on the concrete floor.

While laying on the ground, he searched for his cellphone… that was laying on his office desk. Feeling a sense of panic, as his hands searched in place of his eyes, he realized that he had left his cellphone upstairs, as it was a distraction previously to him while he was writing. His life line was behind a door that could not be opened. His eyes widened in fear as he stared at his wound. Quickly pulling himself up on his burgundy cloth chair, he attempted to open his Internet browser and contact someone who could help.

As the page loaded, he was greeted by a dinosaur standing next to a cactus stating “Unable to connect to the internet” Frustrated he screamed “Fuck!” burying his face in his hands and began crying, pleading to god for help but god did not come, nobody did.


Sitting in the chair, feeling faint, he stared at the shard of ceramic glass sticking out of his leg. With the gentle touch of a single finger, he touched the tip of the shard and felt an immediate buzz run through his body, pain like he had never felt before, knowing the only way to survive this was to remove the shard and apply pressure on the wound.

Staring at the serrated obstacle in his leg, he took off his button shirt and ripped a piece of cloth from the shirt and carefully tied the bandage around his wound, as he staggered from the immense pain he felt while to trying to slow the blood.

He let out a simple sigh and reached for his cigarettes. As he placed the white filter tip against his quivering lips, he sunk back into his chair while his eyes fixated on this piece of glass. Grabbing his lighter, he lit his cigarette, inhaled than exhaled very calmly as he knew what he had to do. Staring in pure agony and overcome by fear, the writer knew he had to take that shard out, no matter the pain.

He took another puff from his cigarette as his free hand wrapped his fingers around the shard. Immediate buzzing and excruciating pain rushed through his body with every slight wiggle and tug on the shard. His body  began trembling and the pain could be felt in the root of his teeth. He had to push through. But could he?

To Be Continued….

Part two can be found Here

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