“Unoriginal.” You sighed. “Unoriginal.” You had a writer’s block. You were in your room in the bunker, on the floor. The bed was too comfortable, it was making you want to lay down and not write. But you wanted to write. So. Bad.
You had a perfect book idea in your head, but you couldn’t get the plot right. Something about a depressed artist with no motivation.
“Like yourself?” Castiel, your angel friend, was suddenly beside you, looking down at your laptop.
“Oh my gosh Castiel.” You tried to brush off how frightened you were with a laugh.
“I didn’t mean to frighten you.” He offered a smile.
“You didn’t… Never mind. What are you talking about?” You were confused as to what he meant when he came in.
“You’re writing about a ‘depressed artist’.” He was bloody quoting you.
“Yeah… But I’m not depressed.” Lies. You knew you were, everyone