Writer’s Nightmare

     “Baroness, PLEASE!” the Author pleaded.

     The Baroness was seated on a small love seat in the middle of an elegant Regency period London townhouse. “So typical of men. Use you and abandon you.”

     “I’ve told you, I did not abandon you.”

     Leaning forward, the Baroness continued her accusations. “Then why have you left me in the Godforsaken North Country. And almost had me murdered. Thank God Esther was there.”

     A young and well-dressed young woman who was seated next to the Baroness interrupted. “My Lady, since we have an ending, can we not assume that he will eventually write the rest of our story?”

     Turning to her companion, “My dear Esther. Always seeing the good. Besides, you just like that you finally get it on with the Wolf.”

     The young woman turned quite red. “MY LADY! That is between me and Harry.”

     “My dear, if he ever finishes our book then whoever is insane enough to read it will know you two are lovers.”

     A third woman appeared. She is short, blonde and dressed in jeans and a sweater. “I don’t know what you two are worried about. We’re his first family and he abandoned us.”

     The Author addressed this new individual. “Cat, I did not abandon the Michaels. The story is over. Walt died, Carrie gets married and you have two kids. End of story.”

     “Yeah, what about Beth?”

     “What about Beth? She’s not even part of the story. She was just an idle.” He pleaded.

     A much younger brunette butted in. “Wait a minute. You’re abandoning me? But I just got my life together.”

     “Beth, you were never part of the story.” The Author was getting exasperated.

     Beth starts to cry. Marty, an attractive middle-aged woman, put an arm around her, “That’s okay dear. We know that you are part of the family, even if the Author has abandoned you.” Turning to the author. “AFTER he killed my husband.”

     The Author took a more conciliatory tone with his reply. “Marty, I’ve explained. Walt’s death let me talk about death and what it meant to live a good life.”

     Marty turned on The Author. “No, it was because you got bored.”

     “Tell him, Lady.” A new woman with brownish blonde hair and dressed in a waitress’s uniform showed up.

     “Claire, what are you doing here? Your story got published.”

     “So, what! You left me and Gerrie hanging there. I don’t even know if I got laid that afternoon.”

     The Author answered. “You did, okay? Satisfied?”

     “I don’t know. Does it work for us? Do we get married? Have kids? By the way, I think it sucks that you made Marty sterile. Talk about hating women.”

      At this point, the Author was beating his head on the desk. “I DO NOT HATE WOMEN! All my stories focus on them.”

     “Wait a minute. You forgot about us.” Two men appeared. One dressed in a WWII field uniform and the other in a dark three-piece suit carrying a cane. The man in the uniform spoke. “You left me in the middle of a war zone. I have no idea what I do after the war? Do I go back to the states? Do I stay in Germany? I got nothing.”

     The man in the three-piece suit tapped his cane to get attention. “We are all being too hard on the Author. For myself, I am quite satisfied.”

     The Baroness snapped her. “Of course, you would be, Hugo. You ended up as a hero and the President of Germany. The rest of us … well, we’re abandoned, except when he gets bored. Now to my position …”

     The writer woke and stared at the computer screen with its blank open document. Removing his glasses, he rubbed his eyes and then took a sip of his coffee.

     “Now I know why they say kill your characters.”

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