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.”
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