See, I was just sitting there minding my own business...
From out of nowhere they came, the Words, screaming like vicious banshees wailing into the night, axes held high above their heads. They charged at me and I could do nothing - I was paralysed in fear. But as they reached me they stopped.
The howling stopped.
The heat from their enraged bodies dropped.
And they looked at me...
"Why isn't it finished?" the centre one asked, looking accusedly at me.
"What?" I replied.
He tossed a pile of papers onto the desk in front of me.
"What is it?" I asked, as the pages of the manuscript spilled open.
"It is what you began."
I looked at it. The Words were right. It was my novel. It had laid untouched for several sessions, gone for a few days - only a few days - and not forgotten.
But the Words, the Words took it personally.
"You have left us, for what?"
"Shorts," I answered.
"Why? Why do you betray us, so?"
"Because they make me feel safe." I withdrew from them, now more afraid of what I had just said, than of the horror that stood before me.
"Why do they make you feel safe?"
I pushed at the manuscript with a single finger, as if it might bite me. "Because," I said, "I am scared of this..."