November 17, 2013

• The Success of Gerald Watswigger

  Gerald Watswigger looked down the steep stairs, stepped down onto the high seawater and sun bleached wooden planks. He attached the end of the short rope to the old mooring cleat and silently stepped off of the pier. With only a few twitches of his legs and feet, Gerald swung silently by his neck just a few inches above the morning tide.

  It was 1982 when Gerald first started to write incessantly. Letters to loved ones, poems he shared with his family and friends, short stories filled his lead pencil stained yellow dog tablets. It seemed words and phrases poured from is head. He began writing for a small local paper and his lust to write was mostly satisfied by his twice weekly column. Being published regionally, the feedback he received was very rewarding. He felt he could add “Gerald Watswigger, Freelance Writer” to his business card and he was not exaggerating. After a few successful magazine submissions, one to Rolling Stone, his first novel emerged. It was nationally accepted and reached five on the New York Times best seller list. He had reached what he thought was the pinnacle of writing success. Then his second was published and then his third. Both equally received and he now felt his career was firmly set both financially and creatively. He was living the dream.

  But this day began as usual, with a quick shower and masturbate, an electric shave, deodorant, tooth paste and hair cream. He pulled on his shorts and struggled into his t-shirt. Still barefoot, Wiggs shuffled into the kitchen, grabbed a cup and using both hands, carefully poured his first cup of black coffee. Gerald, leaning on the kitchen counter with a tremendous headache, wondered if he would ever again be able to write just one more. Just one more story, just one more short flash fiction, or just one more paragraph. He felt the cold writer’s block setting in on his mind and he was feeling the freeze as surely as a cold block of ice. The more he tried to create an original thought the further the dark freezing vail dropped down encasing his brain.

  It was just two days before that he had met her, a young vibrant beautiful Brazilian woman. Long dark hair, deep tan skin and slimmest of bikini lined sun tanned hips, he was so stricken by her low voiced accent. And now a couple days after their passion filled affair he realized he had met her years before in 1982.

  What goes on in a man’s mind, what deal will he bargain when he is confronted with a choice between keeping his creativity, talent and livelihood or to trade it all for just 20 years of success and only a few nights in the arms of a beautiful woman? What disguise will the devil wear and how does he know what a man will trade for his deepest worldly desires? That fog laden morning on that high ocean pier, many years after making that deal, Gerald Watswigger found out the cost.

  DSS

  ( Some of you may recognize this man from other flash fictions I have written about him. I try to create a different but similar demise for him in each tale.)

   

  • 9:19 am
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