I pant in exhaustion, my legs are almost giving out. I walked uphill for quite a while now, and it's freaking killing me!
I sometimes ponder to myself why I chose the stupid choice to live uphill just for an apartment that is small. But I always had to remind myself it was the cheapest option available at the time. Even before this city became a mess-up place.
It wasn't long before I approached the large, story building with many cheap apartments. Most of the lights were off in the apartment, and on the ground floor, it was a mess, with broken infrastructure and interior design.
I walked past an old security booth and gazed at it. It was empty, but the lights were still on. The security guard is likely on his break right now. Now that I think about it, he was quite old and looked like he had worked here for quite a long time.
Nonetheless, I walked into the complex and sighed as I approached the elevator door and pressed the call button.
...
I was puzzled because I hadn't heard the elevator, and I glanced at the door to see something, and my jaw dropped in horror.
'Out of Service!'
"You...gotta be kidding me!"
I lived on the 15th story in this complex, and neither elevator was working. And I stared in disbelief. Was today really my unluckiest day?! I had no choice, really, so I took the stairs and climbed up to the 15th floor.
It took a while for me to be exhausted and realize I was on the 7th floor; I let out a frustrated sigh and continued walking up. Why, of all days, was the elevator not working today?! There was nothing I could do about it, regardless.
After a few more minutes of walking, I arrived at the 15th floor and let out an exhausted breath of relief. I walked into the hallway of the story building and gazed at some apartment conditions. Some apartments were ruined due to a lack of maintenance: old paint jobs on the walls fading, cracked window glass barely hanging on the frames, and mostly just dust. As a result, most residents left the apartment and the city overall.
However, some resident choose to stay here and await their time to go, mostly the old folks, as they lived here all their lives before it became this one hell of a mess. And some young resident chose to stay because it's to honor their family who lived here and never wanted to forget the home they used to live in.
I approached my apartment, and I looked at the door. I saw a nameplate.
'Filure Writs'
"Seems like they added a nameplate now, huh?"
I muttered to myself, took out my key, and opened the door as I removed my shoe and entered the apartment.
It was small, quite small. Only 2 rooms. A living room and a bedroom. And on the other side was a kitchen. When I first came here, it was dusty and dirty, like it hadn't been cleaned in 7 years. So I spent a lot of time cleaning and renovating the house quite a lot. And even in most cases, I had to repair things myself by watching videos on the internet, as I didn't even have enough money! And I did pretty much injure myself quite a lot.
I entered my room, and it was pretty much also empty, except for a desk and a laptop, but it was quite comforting with its simplicity. And I noticed my laptop was still on. Had I forgotten to close it before I left for work today?
I placed down the plastic bag and removed the feathered pen on a quill pen stand and placed it neatly on the table. It looked pretty nice.
There was also a paper beside the laptop which had rough sketches of what I wanted to write. Something to do with forest, jungle, and stuff.
I looked back at my laptop and noticed the hate comments on my novels. It seems they keep coming out one after another. And unfortunately, that's my reputation now. In the webnovel community, I am considered the 'Plagarist Author' with my style of writing and often gaining inspiration from other works, when I had no intention of plagiarism at all.
It had been 6 years since I had been in the community, and I'd say it's pretty brutal with how much attention I gain in a bad way, making myself infamous rather than famous. I closed my laptop and got rid of the thought of the negative comment. Today was at least a happy night before I go back into the cycle of doing the same thing every day.
The next thing I did was head into the bathroom to get myself cleaned up. I went to the sink, and I looked at myself in the mirror. An average-looking guy with a bowl cut and a pair of glasses, and that's just who I am.
...
After taking a bath. I exited the shower and took a glance at my table once more, looking at the engraved signature on the quill pen stand. I had seen the works of many authors, from trash books to an actually good book that is written by a once-in-a-century author.
Time was sacrificed. Learning, failing, criticism, and improving to shape a book and a story of a fictional character. But what is it that really makes a good story?
I question myself all the time when writing. I spent 6 years writing, and yet, I still can't write something good. Heck, even something decent.
Was it that I lack creativity? Or was my story not that compelling? Was it generic? Was it unoriginal? I still couldn't find an answer to my question. All I just wanted to do was write something I really did enjoy. A story that I can convey. But who would want to receive that story?
I just tossed the question aside and put on a new outfit, and lay on my bed. My bed and pillow were brand new as I had to changed it numerous times because, often, somehow, insects invaded my bedroom and I had to get it checked out.
I looked towards my desk, taking one last glance at the feather pen and the quill pen stand before looking at my ceiling and closing my eyes, and soon falling into a sleep.
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...
"Writing a story is unbelievable sometimes, you know? Whenever I think about it, it continues to amaze me how we humans managed to get this far. Just simply by writing a story, we're writing something that we experienced in our lives that we normally can't tell others!
...
I snored quite a bit before waking up. I got from and yawned. Such a nice dream, his voice sounded familiar, but where did I hear it from?
Nonetheless, I suddenly felt grass prickling my elbow as I raised it, which caused me to swipe it away as it felt uncomfortable.
"Huh? Grass?"
I said to myself as I opened my eyes and found that there was indeed grass. But why was there grass? Was I dreaming?
The sun shone on me, blinding my eyes for quite a few seconds. I looked around once more and noticed trees surrounding me. Birds were chirping, and the grass was swaying in the wind. Other animals, such as chipmunks and insects, roamed the forest grass or branches.
"Well, this is an interesting dream."
I looked around for a bit before slapping myself in the face again, scrubbed my eyes, and blinked numerous times.
...
"Oh, so this isn't a dream."
I said calmly.
For a few seconds, nothing happened.
...
"THIS ISN'T A DREAM?!"
I exclaimed loudly, which spooked a few birds. Just where the hell did I end up?!