Chasing Zero

Five

I texted Sky the following day and asked when he wanted to meet up before class. He never responded. So I stood in the middle of the Black Box Theatre, actually glad that he wasn't there yet. I didn't care if he showed up or not. It wouldn't be the worst thing if he didn't come. I wanted to be alone in the dimly lit room. No people. No noise. Nothing. If it was possible, I wouldn't have been there either. But it was impossible to face the emptiness unless I was physically there.

Ripping the three papers in my hand into little pieces of printer paper confetti, I threw it in the air and slumped down to the ground in a heap. I laid down in my filthy writing, wanting the words to eat me alive so I no longer had to face the burn of yet another rejection.

Okay, Spencer, calm down, I kept chanting to myself. There was no need to wallow in self-pity just because another idea failed. I could make it better. I could do better. This one failed because a better one was meant to succeed. I had to keep my chin high and prosper on. One of my ideas would eventually succeed. I just needed more time to come up with something.

"What the hell happened?" Sky slowly asked as he walked into the theatre.

"Failure!" I exclaimed. Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath in hopes of restraining myself from being overly dramatic in front of him. Though it was difficult to, considering I was in the middle of the theatre laying across the torn-up pieces of my failure as though it was a reoccurring instance.

Peeking up at him, Sky began to pick up the mess I made. He noticed the words, and his confusion quickly morphed into despair. "Is this your writing?"

"Yup."

"Why did you rip it up?"

"Because it failed."

"What does that mean?"

"I have the opportunity of a lifetime," I groaned as I sat up. "If I can come up with an intriguing book idea by the end of the semester, my creative writing teacher will help me try to publish it. And if it does well, I can continue working with her publishing team. I could actually become an author for a living."

"But why would you rip up your work?"

"Because the idea failed."

"Did you say it failed?"

"No, Dakota- My teacher. She has to green light an idea to write in order to get it published."

"What are you trying to write about?"

"Anything that will get me published." With Sky staring at me, encouraging me to continue, I saw a window. After getting turned down again, I needed to vent my frustrations to anyone who was willing to listen. My next session with Johnathon was too long of a wait to sit in my depression. "I mean, I know I'm a good writer. I'm certainly not the best writer, but I'm not the worst either. I'm somewhere in the middle. I write all the time, but those are mainly short stories with themes in them that are hidden deep in the surface.

"Writing an actual book is different. It involves a complex story with lots of dialogue, following the map of climax and rising and falling action and all that shit. It's difficult, and I've done it three times before, but all those books were meant for me. They're not the types of books you'd actually publish. I need a new book idea, one that I can get excited about writing."

"Were you excited to write about this?" he questioned as he scanned the litter around us.

"No," I admitted. "I honestly haven't been excited to write about anything lately. I don't know what to do," I groaned as I buried my face in my knees. "This is a once in a lifetime opportunity for me. I can't let it go to waste."