The overheating Macbook computer burns my thighs. Fluffy purple pillows cradle my head as my body sinks into my mattress. My fingers linger, unmoving on the keyboard. I count seventy- two times the type bar has blinked the question, “what will you write next?”, taunting me with the empty page it lives on. Heavy sand collects, grain by grain, in the bottom up my eyelids, reminding me that it is two twelve in the morning… Nothing… Still… Nothing.

I twirl the golden claddagh rings that lives, facing inward, on my right middle finger. I watch the sapphire heart turn round and round between my knuckles and think about how I might use that in my story because it relates to…Nothing…Still…Nothing.

I close my eyes. Suddenly, intriguing images dance across the back of my eyelids, performing a story that needs to be told. My hands search for the correct position, feeling for the small indicating bumps across the “F” and the “J” letter keys, as they shake across the keyboard and – “MEGAN!” – my roommate, Kaitlyn, bursts through my bedroom door to announce, “I totally just wrote the best story I’ve ever written and it only took me, like, five minutes!”


“What did you wright about?” Her beady blue eyes test me.


“What?” I catch her holding back a smile.

“Nothing.” I repeat.


“Nothing… Still… Nothing.”

“Oh” Kaitlyn creeps out of my room still fighting a smile.

A violent scream attempts to lurch out of my body. I bite down on my lips and pull on my ponytail. A steam of rage releases through my follicles but the fire continues to grow in my body and it burns through my limbs. At the mercy of my anger I lift my computer off my lap, stand up and throw it back down on my bed in an attempt to extinguish the heat. My mac makes contact with the purple flower on my duvet. The bed looks as though it might swallow the Macbook before it spits it right back out. The computer catapults into the air, the screen flies open and CRACK! It lands on the floor in two separate pieces; the keyboard by my feet and the monitor by the door.  I drop to the floor and unfold next to the decapitated keyboard. Kaitlin appears in my doorway again. She blinks as if trying to flush something out of her eyes as they scan the scene.

“Oh shit, Meg. What’re you gonna do?” She asks, smiling again, this time so wide her teeth come into view. I stand in slow motion, like a rag doll coming to life part by part. My unanimated face looks at her, blank as the document that brought me to this.




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Dr. Megan Boucher, ND

Georgetown Naturopathic Doctor

The Realistic Holistic

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I am a failed actress. New York City ate my dreams and regurgitated them all over my polka dot sundress. But I'm owning it.

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