Writer’s Block is a terrible menace. A foul beast, one might say.
I’m by no means an extraordinary wordsmith, so I have to admit that when Writer’s Block kicked down my door, frothing from the mouth as it fixated it’s piercing black eyes on me, I froze. Silence filled the room, interrupted only by the heavy and wheezy breaths of the monster standing before me. The ensuing seconds felt like hours, but the only thing I managed to accomplish with that time was the saturation of my underpants.
Writer’s Block lunged towards me, leaving beneath itself a trail of saliva as it glided across the room with a rapacious look in its eyes. I’ll never forget that thing’s guttural roar, or the sight of its blood-drenched claws bearing down upon me.
My heart raced as I pressed my feet against my desk and threw myself backwards. The tumbling only stopped upon my hitting the wall. Writer’s Block clamped its ferocious jaws around my oak desk and reduced it to sawdust. By the time it was done devouring my computer, there was nothing left of it, save for a few scattered pieces of the motherboard.
Having extracted little sustenance from my desk, Writer’s Block turned its attention back to me. It dug its hind legs into my flooring, poising itself to pounce on me, though it did so without the grace of a tiger or the deliberateness of a hawk, for Writer’s Block didn’t have the bearings of an animal. It was much more of an angry, otherworldly thing.
I leapt to my feet and sprinted for the living room, with Writer’s Block giving frenzied chase. My sick parkour moves, which enabled me to traverse my house with the swiftness of a particularly nimble cheetah, did little to distance me from Writer’s Block. It tore through the furniture like it was made of butter.
As Writer’s Block crashed through the wall of my living room while letting out a blood-chilling howl, I grabbed the mat sitting between my couch and the TV and threw it across the room. I kicked open the small compartment built into the floorboards and retrieved my broadsword, which had been in my family for over a millennium. It glistened under the fluorescent lights dangling above us. One may argue it bore a mesmerising aura.
Alas, Writer’s Block was not mesmerised. Seizing the opportunity to strike, it took me by the leg and flung me into the TV. Shattered glass rained down upon my battered body as I picked myself up from the floor. Writer’s Block snarled as it pummelled the ground, punching clean through the floorboards. When I finally got to my feet, I charged towards Writer’s Block, swinging my broadsword over my head before bringing it down atop the beast’s. I managed to penetrate its leathery grey skin and wedge my sword into its skull, but that wasn’t enough to kill it. The beast continued swiping at me. It’s claws nearly tore through my chest several times as I desperately fought to pry my blade from its head. With one last firm tug, I drew my sword from the skull of Writer’s Block and a volley of blood was splashed across my walls. The monster shrieked as it lurched back and forth, wrought with rage and deliriousness.
I gripped my sword with both hands and pointed the blade at Writer’s Block’s chest. Sucking in a deep breath through clenched teeth, I charged the foul beast, screaming at the top of my lungs. Before I could fully comprehend the course of action I had just committed to, I came to a halt. My sword was poking through the beast’s back, soaked in its entrails. Writer’s Block crumbled before me, gargling on its own blood as it hit the floor.
Though the beast known as Writer’s Block was strong, ferocious, and determined, whether due to luck of skill, I ultimately prevailed.
And so you see, Miss Smith, I was far too busy slaying Writer’s Block this weekend to finish my book report.