talking and scheming and countering perceived evil. They live, breath, act their parts, playing games
with fear and power, one man growing ever paranoid and powerless himself. This room, a nexus of paths.
Staring blankly, glued to the chair, free in theory, bound in practice. You cannot leave. You cannot
escape. This must be done. It is time.
And the only sound in the room, a constant release of a single consonant.
ffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffff
And the curse repeats itself again and again.
That is the writing process. Forcing yourself to put words on the page, while fighting the urge to print the damn thing off so you can crumple it up and devour it, or throw it in the air, preferably down the stairs and estimate how many will end up in unreachable places. Then you stop yourself from continuing the story with your forehead against the keyboard. And the entire time, that constant ffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffff followed by every curse you can think of.
And then you go get tea and play video games instead.
Chapter 12 still isn't done.
