The Horror of Writer's Block

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They're there, somewhere in my head. I know they're there! I hear them breathing, the short, rapid breaths of terror. I can smell the rank sweat of their fear at being found. Sometimes, for a moment, I think I can hear their teeth chatter. And I want to kick down the doors and rip out the walls to find them.

I stare into the mirror and wonder what I can do to get past the barriers they've erected to keep me out. I need some kind of explosive to blow out the walls so they come pouring out in bloody heaps like the innards of a gutted pig. Or perhaps pipe some kind of gas in until it forces them out of hiding into the fresh air, choking, gasping, and clawing at their throats.

Yeah. They're in there. I know. I close my eyes and I can see their shadows darting past the windows of my soul, hoping I won't catch sight of them. I know the words are in there. I just can't make them out.

But I will.

Oh yes, I will.