I sat back in my desk chair and rocked onto the back legs, chewing the end of my pen. Stalemate. I went through what I knew and realized that it amounted to very little. I contemplated the ceiling and the fine web of cracks that ran all over it, noting that it was in need of redecoration. At times like these, when seemingly faced with a dead-end, I made lists. I opened up a blank page on the screen and began randomly, letting my ideas begin to flow before attempting to arrange them in something resembling order. After a page, I stopped again, rising abruptly from my chair and stomping around my room with my hands on my head, trying not to verbalize my thoughts above a whisper. I returned to the desk and reviewed what I had written: disparate facts without a pattern, which all added up to a bunch of nothing. I looked at the disjointed, jumbled mess on the screen and it mirrored the inside of my head. I wanted to go out and walk it through, but dark smothered day, and the fog had been replaced by a steady rain.
What do You think about Death Be Not Proud (2013)?
