The famous man got out of the red Lexus and looked around him. He was in front of his four hundred million dollar mansion. He was happy. He checked the time on his Rolex watch and adjusted his diamond encrusted medallion. The door opened for him and he stepped into his hallway.
“What will it be today?” his butler, Childs asked.
“I wish to indulge myself,” the famous man replied.
“Again?” Childs asked, “and how would one like to indulge oneself today?”
“I’ll need three elephants, an entourage of young men in gimp masks, a barrel of oil, two fencing instructors and a bag of walnuts.”
“And the usual caviar filled bath?”
“That goes without saying. First though, I must write.”
Childs handed him an open bottle of champagne and watched as the famous man walked down the tiled hallway, swigging. When he reached the end of the hall, he threw the bottle to the ground and smiled delightful when it shattered on the floor.
The famous man turned on his state of the art PC. He opened up a word document. He stared at the empty screen.
Not a paragraph, not a sentence, not a word, not a letter. Not even a misplaced comma.
The famous man leant in close to the computer, “What do you want from me?”
The computer did not respond. Instead, the cursor winked, on and off, teasing him. He held his fingers over the keyboard. He could feel a word trying to force itself out. He wanted to write, but he knew what he would end up writing. Nothing else was coming. Nothing else would come. He had to get it out. He had to write it.
‘I’M A FRAUD.’ He typed. Over and over again. ‘I’M A FRAUD. I’M A FRAUD.’ Until it filled fifty pages of the document. He began to cry. Tears flooded the keyboard. He kept typing. He would never stop.
He would never stop.