Kitty —Earstelle City

Kitty stares at the “L” key of her typewriter without blinking.

The fly sitting on the “L” key of her typewriter stares back,

“Get. Off. My. Typewriter.” she growls under her breath. The fly starts cleaning one of its legs. Slowly.

Kitty waves her hand over the fly. It doesn’t even flinch. The paper with half of her latest story stamped into it rests in the tray, one rogue “L” from being ruined.

She sits back and tries to pretend like she doesn’t care. It’s not like she wanted to finish her story or anything. There’s a rolled up paper that was ruined by an ink blot in her fist and she’s not afraid to murder with it.

As long as it gets off the “L” key.

She yells at the fly, “Why won’t you let me write!” It’s been hard enough to find the motivation to get writing after she quit every amateur writer’s dream job. But she was doing it so she could do more writing for herself, not just other people. And she hasn’t been able to complete a single story.

But Kitty was finally on a roll. She was this close. Until this dratted fly decided invade her writing room. First it was buzzing around her head, distracting her with ever dive and buzz. Then it was landing on her arm, threatening to bite. That’s when she got out the rolled up paper of death.

And that’s when it pulled the ultimate move, landing on her “L” key.

Save her text from an explosion of ink, but let the fly win? Or destroy it in a glorious thwack, ink flying everywhere, keys tossed around her.

Kitty decides to wait, keeping deadly serious eye contact with the insect, awaiting its next move.

She can always write later. She has plenty of time. What's just one more day without writing?

Excuses, excuses, excuses.