So when I have writers block – I step away from the novel editing/writing and I write a random scene, that has nothing to do with my story. I’ve done this a few times. Sometimes scenes make sense… MOST of the time they don’t. Here is some weird thing I just came up with to get the blood flowing and the brain cells to wake up. Don’t expect any sort of good writing. The blogs for the journey, and this is apart of it. 

He was on a serious mission. He rapidly clicked away at his keyboard; there was nothing that could disturb his concentration. There were deadlines to meet, and he was running out of time. If he didn’t meet this deadline again, he would surely be out of the job. First things first; priorities, priorities, priorities.

His cell phone that sat right beside him started to vibrate. Without moving his head, his eyes quickly glanced down and then back up to the screen. He didn’t recognize the number, so he ignored it.

That five second distraction shattered his focus and he slammed his hand down on his desk at the words that scrolled across his screen:MISSION FAILED…GAME OVER.

He leaned back in his chair. He studied the pile of paper that was stacked on his desk and then looked back at his computer. Screw it, one more game.

Before he could click TRY AGAIN, his cell phone vibrated and it was the same number. This time he picked it up.

That five minute conversation was not what he expected. Maybe I should leave early? He thought about it for a second, but his thought process was interrupted.

“Wil, I put something on your desk two days ago, did you have a chance to go over it?”

“Oh hey Tom, what was it again?”

“The Birchwood Project.”

“Let me look, I’m little catch-up.”

“I need an ETA on it within a half-hour.”

Wil sat up straight, and gave him an army salute. Tom walked away shaking his head.

Wil opened his bottom desk drawer. Right there sitting in plain view was some documents labeled, The Birchwood Project. Wil held it in his hands and fanned through the pages. Maybe I should go home.
Wil rose from his seat and walked towards Tom’s desk. On his way he stopped at the paper shredder. He took the pile of paper and jammed it in, and pressed the button. Oops.

He approached Tom’s desk. “Hey Tom, I didn’t see it, are you sure you put it on my desk?”

“Yes I’m sure I put it on your desk. You must have missed it in that mess.”

“Nope sure didn’t. Just get me another copy.” Wil began to walk away.

“Wil! Those papers were the original, notarized copies! It will take days to get that together again!”

Wil turned around, “hmmm, yeah, that’s too bad. You should really try to be more careful. Anyways, let me know when you have it, and I’ll get right on it.” Wil lifted a finger gun in the air, made a clicking noise with his mouth and winked; he again walked away.

“What the F…Wil!” Tom yelled in the background, “Wil!”

Wil knocked on the office of Mr. Bradley. Shielding the light reflection on the window with his hands at the side of his head, he put his face against the glass. Mr. Bradley waved him in.

“Hi Sir.”

“What do you need Wil?” Mr. Bradley lifted his hand and directed him to take a seat.

Wil now sitting said, “You think I could take off early?”

“You’re kidding me right?”

“Something just came up that I probably should attend to.”

“What came up?”

“Oh right, my wife just got killed…But if you need me to stick around I can always deal with it later.”

Mr. Bradley sat there speechless. His eyes were saucers and he was like a statue. “Is this a sick joke?”

“I assure you it’s not. I’m not insensitive like that. I just got a call from the hospital.”

“Wil, I don’t know what…”

“They didn’t want to tell me over the phone. But I got it out of them. I suppose that’s why I am so good at my job…perrrrrsistence!”

“Wil? I’m not getting this.”

“Apparently, she was putting groceries in the car, and the brakes failed on a bus that was stopped behind her…Then SPLAT!”

Mr. Bradley eyes fell to the ground and then back up again to study Wil. Clearly in shock he said, “Wil…how are…I mean…are you ok?”

“Oh sir, I am an absolute mess. My poor, poor, pookie-shmookie. You see this stain here on my shirt?” Wil pointed to the stain on his white dress shirt. “This is a coffee stain. When they told me, I drooled some coffee out of the side of my mouth. That’s how devastating it was for me. So whatya say?”


“So can I check out? I mean I’ll tie up a few loose ends and such first, before I go.”

“Wil, just leave. Don’t tie up anything, just leave.”

“Okie dokie, I’ll see you bright and early tomorrow morning.”

“Wil, take time off. I’ll get Tom to cover for you.”

“Whatya think? Like a day or two?” Will said.

“As much time as you need.”

“Yeah? Sweet!”


Wil arrived at the hospital. He was carrying a grocery bag in his right hand with a big bag of Doritos and in his left he was chowing down on a cheeseburger.
He entered the Intensive Care Unit, and approached the front desk. “Hey there, my name is Wil Foley. I’m here about my wife.”

The nurse slanted her head to the side, and gave a sympathetic, partial smile. “Yes Mister Foley, come have a seat.”

They sat down on two chairs that were in a more isolated part of the unit. She looked at Wil as he opened his bag of Doritos.

“I am so, so sorry Mister Foley.”

“Call me Wil.”

“Ok Wil, we have an onsite psychiatrist that I think you should see.”

Wil took about five or six Doritos and shoveled them into his mouth. Speaking with his mouth full he said, “So, what was the cause of death? I mean besides the whole bus thing and all.”

“It is best that you discuss that with the psychiatrist.”

“Oh come on. Just tell me…please?”

The nurse refused to discuss the details with him at first, but Wil’s persistence, which he prided himself in, prevailed.

“Ok look, I will briefly tell you. She was bending down at the time. And her head was caught in between the vehicles.”

“The bus crushed her head?” Wil said. The nurse looks away from Wil, and he continues, “Can I see her?”

Her head darted back in his direction, and she looked at him stunned. “That is not a good idea.”

“Oh come on. She’s my wife I want to see her.”

“Absolutely not!”

“Booooooooooo! I just want to touch her one last time. I promise, her crushed head won’t bother me!”

“You need help. The Psychiatrist will be here in an hour.”

The nurse got up to leave and Wil signalled for her attention again. “Hey nurse, do you guys have a public computer I can use?”

“There’s an internet café on the main floor.”

“Sweet! Call me on my cell when the shrink arrives.”

Wil rushed to the elevator and arrived on the main floor. He ran over to the café and found himself a computer.

He paused for a second. I really did love my wife.