"Trevor! Trevor, are you okay in there?"

     "Huh? What? " Trevor came out of what could only be described as a self-induced trance to get a look around. It was dark. When did it get dark?

     "It's been a long time since I've seen you like this," Helen said. "The writing bug really got to you, huh?"

     Trevor looked at the laptop in front of him like it belonged to someone else. His shoulders and lower back barked at him due to him being slightly bent over for hours and hours.

     "I guess you could say that," he replied. "I began the day with a total writer's block, and I used one of my kickstart methods to get rolling. I put myself in the middle of the story, see if that would give me a different perspective, and shit just started coming out."

     "Any of it usable?"

     "Not a word. It's not actually part of the novel I'm writing right now. It's...I'll let it sit for the night, but I imagine I'll be deleting it first thing tomorrow morning."

     "Can I read it?"

     "I'd prefer it if you didn't."

     "Did it help? Are you still blocked?"

     "We'll see tomorrow."

     "You've got to be starving."

​     "I've got a roaring headache, too. What time is it?"

     "After nine."

     "What?! Where are the kids?"

     "They're fine. Everyone's fine."

     "What did we have for dinner?"

     "Leftovers. Yours just needs to be heated up. Are you all right?"

     "I'm fine."

     "You look a little green."

     "I love you, Helen."

     "I love you too, darling. Go sit in the living room. I've been waiting for you to finish so we could watch the news together."

     "Th-That sounds good."

     "Grab a beer, too. It looks like you could use one. You might think of taking a couple aspirin too, while you're at it."

     "I...I...sure."

     Beer in hand, Trevor sat in his living room in the dark and waited for the aspirin to kick in while Helen heated up his dinner. He couldn't hear them, but he knew his children were upstairs, either asleep or leaning that way. He teared up at the thought of how much he loved them, how much he loved Helen, how much he loved his life, how much he loved the whole ​idea of life.

     He began to cry, and then he openly sobbed.

     He'd wiped the tears from his eyes and had blown his nose by the time Helen called out, "Trevor? You want to grab your plate? It's hot."

     "On my way," Dann O'Keefe replied as he rose from his chair to, as they say in the fairy tales, live happily ever after. 

                                               THE END

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