On the dancefloor there exists nothing but bodies crowding together as they try to imitate the beat given by the music. The only thing that falls on the vinyl dancefloor are sweat and people's feet as they come crashing back down from a few inches up. An odd glass may fall causing a stir, but it was nothing compared to the drop of a man. His head falls to the solid floor, blood escapes his head and his mouth. Screams form around him and the dancefloor is more frantic than it could ever be. Chaos ensues on the dancefloor as blood continues to flow. A shadow walks up to the dead man and it scoffs. The scene ends there.
On a cold winter's night, a man named Conroy Knowles sat on his desk, his left hand gently on his keyboard and his right idle on the touchpad. He was twenty-six but looked fresh off high school. Eight lines were all he had written on the screen in front of him and he isn't happy with any; he deletes everything for the fifth time this night. The irk that came from the now blank white screen in front of him led to the rifling of his jet-black considerably long hair. The window he opened merely twenty-five minutes and fifty-nine seconds ago had caused the cold breeze to come in. Though considerably chilled, his green hoodie and grey sweatpants warmed him to some degree; so did the heater. He sat there, with all the frustration and disappointment that plagued him for the last seventy-nine days. Conroy did not have much; a one-bedroom apartment sufficed but it couldn't fit a lot. He looks around his apartment -- a tiny kitchen, the tiny communal space he is currently in and the door to his medium-sized bedroom. An urge to laugh comes as he thinks about how his shoddy apartment has such an odd design to come along with it. He then realises that he's had that thought many times since he's arrived; the smile that could have crept up has now gone.
Conroy looks back to the blank white screen in front of him. The flickering of the black line is quite noticeable now. He remembers the warnings people have given him if he were to look too much at a screen such a long amount of time. It's been so long since he saw them -- his family. His left arm has now moved to pick up the phone beside his keyboard. He unlocks it and opens his messages where he types for a few seconds before erasing the message entirely. It continues like that for a minute or two as Conroy repeatedly types and deletes what he's had in mind, eventually he puts the phone down altogether. The blank white screen is now not as jarring as he once believed it to be. The stare has been going on for what seems to be eternity as the effort to type something has been gone the moment he stared at the blank white screen.
A month past two years ago was when Conroy was feeling anything but disconsolate. He considers that 'Wunderkind' may very well be his magnum opus as nothing has come out since the debut book. 'Has-been' has been thrown around as a joke towards him; those jokes were months ago. No one calls him that anymore and he questions why on late nights.
Nothing -- absolutely nothing. He had nothing to show for the past seventy-nine days. Only the book title and its synopsis; something that could be rendered useless as nothing has been used.
After finding out that God is not real, and nothing exists beyond earth and life today a man decides to live life to the fullest and hopes to find meaning in anything that could get him any sort of ecstasy.
That small line has been ingrained onto his mind, and he types it onto the header of the document. Apart from the thirty-nine words written on the document, there was nothing. He had no idea how to make the thirty-nine words into something other than just a synopsis waiting to be written. Moments later he removes the thirty-nine words entirely.
The cold winter breeze is now nearing unbearable. Conroy stands up and walks over to the window before closing it. He stares at the park outside his uninspiring apartment. It's approximately four hundred and fifty-nine steps away from his apartment and is now filled to the brim with people. The ice skating and the snowman building seem like a joy. A small smile came to his face as he found a little bit of solace from watching the park visitors. The moon that shined upon them seemed brighter than the past few days. It looked resplendent as it glistened through the sky.
Conroy looks past the park and sees the bright city ahead. The numerous street alleys had always given him a sense of claustrophobia, and the possibility of standing underneath the streetlights in the winter outside was less than pleasant to him. A sense of nostalgia looms around him as the memories of first exploring the city came. Though constraint would sometimes aura the narrow streets, the decorative lights that shone above and beside him always drowned everything else. The only true drawback from the city that shone was its shadows that lurk in the alleys; something he's never wanted to see. A posh, slick-back haired baby-faced man would never think to mingle with the shadows, never mind interact with them in any sort of capacity. He remembers one path -- he's gone on it before; a terrible sight to see. The feelings of nostalgia have now been soured. It was a dirty street; it looks like it seldom gets the care and cleaning that it needs. Apartment buildings that seem to only have passed the building inspection by a scrape, chipped away granite street pavements and broken beg buttons. The decorative lights were now distasteful and out of place and the alleys were full of shadows watching path-walkers; it was even more dense than before -- more dense than it should ever be. He remembers everyone looking at the posh, slick-back haired baby-faced man for he looked out of place and he knew it. A small smile forms again as he remembers that one wrong turn could ruin a day. Conroy wonders if there are any more places like that around the city.
Looking down and Conroy sees the small local restaurant closing. A look into the clock that states nearly half-past eleven answers the question that formed in his head. He felt comfortable in his apartment, even if he had his grievances towards it. It's optimal location that is near both nature and the city gave it an attraction, with many shops around and its decently sized aforementioned park, it made the apartment worth it to him. The store that's only two hundred and fifty-nine steps away from him is filled with grocery supplies. The coffee shop that's three hundred and twenty-eight steps away has decent black coffees. The local restaurant just below his apartment has great options too if Conroy ever felt like indulging in fast food. Though rent is considerably higher than his previous apartment, everything seemed reasonable enough to him and he was content with his living situation for the time being.
A chill goes down his spine and Conroy closes the window to return to his desk. He once again sees the blank white screen and audibly sighs in dissatisfaction. The ring of the doorbell stops him from wallowing in self-pity once again. Approaching the mahogany-coloured door and looking through the door hole is the sight of a blonde twenty-five-year-old woman. On her right arm is a plastic bag nearly full and holding on her left arm is a four-year-old toddler with a bright smile on her face. Another smile comes to Conroy as he opens the door to the two.
"Oh my god it's Holly!"
"Mister Roy" the four-year-old excitedly states, "we went to the park today! It was very cold." A small nod from her mother holding Holly and Conroy picks the little girl in a giant beanie and thick jacket up. A bigger smile both come across their faces as the two look at each other.
"Did you really go to the park?"
"We went up to the park because Holly wanted to, and I needed to buy some stuff from the corner store there." The woman named Aela said as she looked at Holly.
Aela and Holly lived in apartment two hundred and fifty-seven, the apartment next to his. Aela told him that they lived there only a few months prior to his arrival. A graduate student managing the world alone with her child is something that still jarred him. The fair skinned woman is the man's only friend in this place. Having only lived in the apartment for only a few months and being a considerably closed-off person are the two reasons as to why he hasn't conversed much with anyone else. He remembers Aela being the only one to knock on his door to greet him.
"What's in the bag?"
"Medicines, some snacks and a few drinks." Aela abruptly shifts her attention from Holly to Conroy. "Oh wait, you can have the vacuum back." He forgot she had asked to borrow it a few days ago. His eyes shift from his left to his right and he finds his apartment clean enough for now. A tug on his shirt and he looks down to see Holly still smiling brightly at him; he smiles back. Conroy wonders if Aela may need to ask him to babysit Holly once again -- he wouldn't mind it at all. Holly and he have spent ample time together ever since him and her mother became friends and he's rather fond of the four-year-old.
"You can get it right now if you want."
"Oh" a ding comes from the phone on his desk, "hold on let me see this." Aela nods and Conroy puts Holly down and comes to his desk to pick up the phone. He sees an email that chastens him. He looks at the blank white screen on the desk and decides, "No thanks. I'll come get it tomorrow". He scratches his head in frustration; it seemed like Aela noticed too.
"Okay, Holly come on, it's time for bed."
He hears Holly's babbles and the eventual goodbye followed by the door softly closing. Conroy clenches his left fist and grips the chair with his right. A few seconds pass and an audible breath escapes his mouth. He sits on his desk and rests his arms before burying his face in his hands. He had twenty-four hours to submit something to his publishers and all he had was the blank white screen.