The Tease

There is a blank white page staring me in the face.

It's three in the morning and I can't sleep. I know Alan and Marla have to get on the boat to the Azores. I know that Rodriguez is waiting for them with six big angry guys. I know that the message they left with Colonel Shebaz is never going to reach Phil in time.

I know all this.

Why, now that I know where everything is, can I not see how to get everyone where they need to be? Why is it, here in the dark of night, is my mind filled with ideas that I think are nonsense, puerile, hackneyed?

Where are you now? You gave me the idea for this fucking story. Film noir meets pulp adventure. Singing detective meets The Shadow meets Tarzan. You filled my mind with the scenes, the dialogue. You set everything up.

And I'm supposed to figure it out on my own now? You set everything up and you're not going to see it through to the end? Fucking tease.

What am I supposed to do? The blank white page. Like a snow storm at that Antarctic Base. A white out, they call it. You can't see anything but white, every direction, just white. And the hollow empty howling wind that used to be my imagination teeming with the noise of countless conversations desperate for release onto the page. Each word carving meaning from the blank white emptiness.

I used to hate it. The blank white. The enemy. Kill or be killed.

Then for a while I loved it. It called to me, a siren begging to be filled with the essence of my imagination. Seducing me with pristine white virginity. The Virgin Slut.

When I used a typewriter it was easy. I'd rip that fucking white sheet out of the roller and crush it mercilessly into a ball, toss it angrily at the trash bin. It didn't matter if it went in, all that mattered was the act of destruction, the absolute rejection, the banishment to the cylindrical filing cabinet.

Computers have made it much harder to eviscerate the blank white. I can shut down the program, wait for Microsoft's permission to turn off my own fucking computer, and leave the room. Not a rejection but a retreat.

But it's still there. Waiting. Lurking in the depths of my hard drive. Bitch.

The blank white page.

Four ayem. Fuck. I'll be a mess at work tomorrow. Fuck it. I'm going to bed. Alan and Marla can find their own fucking way to the Azores. I don't care any more. Phil gets the message and they don't get hijacked by Rodriguez and they all live happily ever fucking after.

Unless.

Hold on.

Wait.

Wait.

Just fucking wait a fucking second here.

Phil gets the message.

Phil fucking gets the message.

They are hijacked, only Phil is with them.

There you are, you cockteasing bitch. There you are.

Blank fucking page my ass.