writer’s block 1: starting block

Directive 451 was passed to halt the dissemination of ideas in print. There was still a small enclave of people, so it was rumoured, who could pick up a pen and knock out a story, but most of the writers had been gathered up and dumped in one place: Block I, or Writer’s Block as it became known.

Persiflage Interlocutor had been held there for what he thought was three weeks. there were no books to read, obviously, there was no paper to write with, and the drug they took knocked out their speech centres. What could a writer do? Well, if he was blessed with an eidetic memory and an imagination that could help God out if he had to repopulate the universe, there was a fair amount you could spend your time doing.

Pers sat in the corner of the communal room watching all the inhabitants move about in their daily bubbles of boredom. He watched JJ, the renowned linguistic acrobat banging his head against the wall. Floris, the attractive romance novelist rocked back and forward in an attempt to find comfort. Countless others circumnavigated normal behaviour as their minds deteriorated through prolonged lack of use. They had been here much longer.

They didn’t need any guards. The automated system sufficed. Writer’s Block caused the symptom it was named after in most and the creative block seemed to extend to escape attempts. Persiflage wasn’t exactly keeping quiet about his different situation: how exactly could he talk? But had he thought about escaping? No, he needed some peace and quiet and this place was perfect: he would think of it as a writer’s retreat.

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