Chapter 3 – Decline

  Ten years have passed, and my creative capacity, as well as my technique, have only evolved, however, something that had not tormented me for a long time, began to disturb me again. My greatest enemy had returned, the blank page!

  Four months ago, my greatest success was released, my magnum opus, adored by critics and loved by the public. My maximum potential was expressed in the book entitled: “The Invisible Currents.” However, soon after its release, the old feeling, which I had already forgotten, returned. I feel like a driver crashing a car at high speed, the impact caused by this emotion is corrosive, and has left me once again lost in this chaotic society in which I live.

  The void once again materializes in my dreams, however, unlike the comfort I felt when I was young, now I only feel terror. How can this place still exist?

  The nights are horrendous, I remember my agreement with that being in my mind, no, no, it must be the stress, yes, it can only be the stress. I must proceed calmly, with time I know that I will be triumphant in the battle against my old enemy.

  A year has passed since the release of my masterpiece, and now my publisher's demands are a daily occurrence. Their insistence that I create something new reminds me of the time when I worked as an attendant. The feeling of being trapped returned. Could it be that in my quest to escape that prison, I ended up entering another one? This question disturbs me.

  The nightmares are constant and life becomes increasingly deplorable. Perhaps there is no escape? Maybe our destiny as humans is to remain trapped, forever, confined in our own minds? The writer of this century, as they call me, what would they think if they saw me in person? I know that I am just a stagnant person, with my creativity exhausted, with resentment for the life I have, with reluctance for the path I have followed. Every night, I am tormented by my mortal enemy, the blank page. I hate her, I abhor her with all my strength, and even though I detest her, she is always the last image I see before the night nightmares.

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  Tonight I lie down, once again defeated by my enemy.

  The last thought that passes through my mind, before the emptiness consumes me, is that my interpretation of what dream and survival were was wrong. The two ideas are like Siamese twins, one merges with the other, uniting into a single entity, which we call life.

  The dream is different tonight. Something is wrong! Instead of floating in the void, I find myself tied to the ancient wooden chair. I feel extremely terrified, as if I am drowning. Little by little, the creature from my past begins to manifest itself. Panic increases as the being emerges from the darkness, but when it is fully materialized in front of me, I feel my blood heat up, I feel terror turn into hatred. I had been deceived by this being, the pact had not been fulfilled. This wretch with his cynical smile had deceived me. I will expel him from my mind, I will annihilate him!

  — You big son of a bitch! You tricked me! For ten years I felt free. Finally, I had managed to express myself in an understandable way, but now, now, it's back, the blank page, it's back! — I tell the being, shouting with all the strength I have.

  — Vincent, you shouldn't curse your mother like that. — Says this bastard, widening his macabre yellow smile. — The pact we made turns the dream into survival, making the dream the means by which the individual can survive. Ten years is all you have, it's the maximum your mind can create. — What is this damn thing trying to tell me, everything I've ever created during my existence lasted only ten years? I had created a hundred stories, does that mean I could only tell these one hundred? No more, no less. Lies, it has to be, lies. — It was good to do business with you, but now that creativity is gone, there's no reason for me to exist. Now all you're left with is emptiness, goodbye my friend. — The creature says, disappearing into the void. Wretch, don't run away, don't abandon me, don't leave me in the darkness.

  Now, I find myself trapped in the darkness. All I can do is stare into the abyss. Even if I want freedom, even if I want to create, I will never be able to, because creativity has abandoned me. A world where I cannot create is not the world I want to live in, not a life worth living.

  I feel my vital essence suddenly extinguishing. As a golden glow falls over my shaken being, I realize that my life has come to an end.

  The Death of the Greatest Author of this Century

  Last night, Vincent Augustus, one of the greatest authors of this century, was found dead in his bedroom. According to experts, the renowned author had an overdose. For reasons that are still unknown, Vincent took forty pills before going to bed, and died in his sleep.

  Article by Clara Lima, Newspaper: Daily News