Writers

    "Fantastic job Damien landing yet another movie deal off of your eighth story. How do you do it?" The red haired interviewer asked as Damien stared at her for a moment until a hand slammed into his right shoulder and a younger gentleman leaned forward answering, "as Damien's literary agent, Simon Margo, Damien will not be taking any more questions," Simon said pushing Damien forward to the limousine that waited for them. 

    "Damien, you have got to stop freezing in public like that. You are a successful writer; it seems a bit off when you stand there blankley not saying anything," Simon said shutting the vehicle door as he slid into his seat. 

"I get nervous in public, and I wasn't expecting to have a microphone shoved into my face, but we got another success!" Damien exclaimed excitedly. "Yes, you are correct," Simon said, "but I would like to know how you think of your stories so quickly. It seems as if you hand me one story, you have three more in the works that are almost done."

Damien chuckled as his phone began to ring and he answered, "Damien Mollens, how may I help you?"

"Good afternoon Damien Mollens, this is Wendy from St.Josephs' Hospital. I'm calling in regards to your mother Lillian Mollens. She has had a heart attack."

Damien ripped the phone away from his ear and yelled, "driver, we must get to St.Josephs' hospital now!" The limo screeched its tires as it turned the corner.

    Damien threw the door open, jumping out of the vehicle just as it slammed on the breaks at the front of the hospital doors. He ran inside and up the three flights of stairs until he came to a nurses desk and asked, "where's Lillian Mollens?" 

"Sir, I will need to get some," the nurse started to say as he interrupted, "I'm Damien Mollens, her son and I need to see her now!" 

"Damien?" A voice asked as he turned his head to the left and saw a doctor walking up to him, "come sit."

The two sat in the dark corner of the waiting room as the doctor took a deep breath and said, "I am very sorry to tell you this, but Lillian did not make it. We worked on her for over half an hour, but…"

Damien sat there, silently, as the doctor's voice echoed through his ear. 

    Six months had passed by and Damien had nothing to show Simon. 

"It has been some bit of time since your last story idea and I was just thinking that maybe you should take this time to sort some things out. You haven't been the same since your mother passed and I know when mine did not that long ago, I took at least two months off," Simon said as Damien stared out the window while Simon spoke. "Did you hear me?" Simon asked as Damien looked back at him with a frightened look on his face. 

"I… I need to tell you something as to what is going on," Damion said standing up and walking to the window looking out at the city. He took a deep breath and said, "I never came up with any story ideas, I took them from the one person I cared about more than my own life; my mother wrote the stories I brought to you. The last night I had dinner with her, I demanded she give me the rest of the stories she had written, but she refused. She informed me I would never get another story from her. I know she has a box hidden in the house somewhere filled with stories and ideas, but I could not find any such thing. I will be ruined if I don't find that box," Damion said looking back at Simon as he sat there speechless. "I must be off, I will send you a message when I have an idea," Damion walked out of the room and out the doors. 

    Damion walked into his mother's old house and grabbed a beer from the refrigerator. He took the cap off and sat on the couch taking a sip from it. He leaned his head back closing his eyes until he felt a hand cover over his mouth and nose so he could not breath. Damion struggled on the couch, trying with all his might to get the hand to let him breath until he sat motionless on the couch as someone drug his body to the bathroom and started to draw a bath.

    Once the tub was filled with water, Damion's body was placed in the tub with his head under. The burglar went into the bedroom and opened the bedside table taking everything out in the drawer and popped open the bottom of it where a golden key and a note had been laying. The burglar opened the note which had stated, "to my true son, Simon Margo whom I gave away for a better life, may this key bring you to where you need to be. May it help you to become a better person."

    The burglar took off their mask and smiled as Simon held the key up, "thank you mother helping me. I promise to write and publish your stories in your name."