Breinded Uther stared blankly across the way, resigned. The bridge to his path to freedom, and escape was blocked. Armed with several energy drinks, two pilot pens and an inspirational quote, he was unable to muster his energies to fight the most vicious of foes ahead of him, the Enemy of Creation, the Eater of Inspiration, the Wryters Bloch.
Breinded looked behind him, the streets of paved text behind him, a testament to his good works, but he could not see a path behind the Wryters Bloch to get to the promised land of Dedlein.
“Please…. I just want to pass.”
The Wryters Bloch merely stared back, placid, unmoving, but unsurpassable. There would be nothing to fear, no attack, no derision, aside from the plague of self doubt that is spawned from your inaction in the face of it.
Breinded slumped a little harder. “Someone, someone please help me.”
Like a blast of lightning shot from a cannon that was modified to shoot lightning thanks to rubber and other things, Frank Dieselwang, arms flexed as tight as olympic swimmers in the most tensed part of a butterfly stroke, burst in, wearing a Muse shirt because he just left a Muse concert, which was not at all some kind of reference to writing. With a roar and swing, he blasted the Wryters Bloch, Bane of Beauty, the Warden against Wordcount, into dissipating nothingness.
Breinded looked up, and Frank turned back, eyes firm and manly, hand held out. “I won’t carry you to Dedlein, but I believe you can get there with your own two feet. Will you get there?”
Breinded took Frank’s hand and looked up with thanks, “Thank you, I think I’ll be able to make it.”