IYOK

“This has to be a dream, right?!”, Chris yelled from the top of the stairs.

“There’s just no way”, he shouts exasperatedly.

“NO WAAY!!”

“I refuse to believe this is the end.”

“You played me after I have given my life to you, toiling and giving my very best... my all, and this is how you leave me”, Chris grunts.

“You empty soulless creation. You have ruined me. It will never be the same.”

“You know what, never mind, I will find a replacement for you, you just wait and see... you are NOTHING...NOTHING...”

Chris runs to the closet and puts on his jacket and shoes.

After a quick huff and sigh, he runs down the stairs and out the door.

He is greeted by the clouds and rain as if they were waiting for him to arrive. The kerplunk of the rain drops on the busy side street reminded him of the many nights he prayed this moment would never happen.

“And to have it end so quickly, so abruptly, so uncaringly”, he ruminated.

Everything in the world was in cahoots it seemed. “They all want me to get me, they want me to fail”, he thought.

He was buried in his thoughts while peering at the crackled cobblestone sidewalk.

Chris’ head hung low.

He was lost in a cloudy-vague, so much so, he failed to see a bicyclist rapidly pedaling towards him.

“On your left”, the bicyclist called out.

Chris didn’t move a bit.

“On YOUR LEFT!”, the bicyclist shouted.

Chris looked up but it was too late.

TWONK! CRASH! CLANG!!

He was out cold.

“I said, On. Your. Left”, the bicyclist shouted as he picked himself up off the ground.

The bicyclist looked around and since it was just, he and Christopher and since he wasn’t injured, he fled the scene.

Chris laid there as the rain drops rat-a-tat-tatted across his twistedly muddled face.

It must’ve been kismet, as one of Chris’ neighbors walked around the corner and saw him lying on sidewalk.

“Chris, Chris . wake up, wake up!”, yelled the neighbor.

(Shake shake)

Chris’ eyes began to squeak open... Chris mumbles, “Hey what are you doing here?”

The neighbor blurts, “Well look like you were involved in a scuffle and lost bad young man. I’m on was on my way to bank and I found you on the street?”

“Can you walk?”, quizzed the neighbor.

Yes, says Chris.

Grab my hand and I will help you up says the neighbor.

The neighbor helps Chris back to his home.

The neighbor realizing Chris was feeling better departs.

Chris stands up and begins inspecting himself in the mirror...

He feels a bulge in his pocket and lump on his head.

He reaches in his pocket and finds money...

Puzzled, he begins counting in a still but faint pitch, “one, two, three, ten, thirty, one hundred...”

His voice beginning to tremble with excitement, “one thousand (deep breath) five thousand…”

(gulp) He utters an excitedly rushed, “ugh”, as he swallows saying “ten thousand.”

His eyes cross into a blurry squint as a drop of cold sweat collects on his brow.

Shifting his stance, twenty thousand.... he whispers. “TWENTY THOUSAND”, he squeals, in befuddled excitement.

“This can’t be, this can’t be”, he yelps.

He ascends the stairs to his room, and mumbles “this is too much”

He looks over at his desk with a scowl scratched across his face and says, “See this is all your fault!”

The black notebook with the letters “IYOK” emblazoned on the cover sat silently, as if to mock him further.

Chris was angry all over again ... he had been on a roll penning his finest short story and bam he runs out of pages... his little black book had left him hanging and he had to go get another soon before the story left his head.

He stumbles towards the black book and as he reaches to grab it, he faints.