(Â @disgracedcommander)
The writers block was strong this past week; and oh, how it pushed him to the brink of insanity. A few chapters more was all the young man asked for to complete the next installment in his series. A story of a cyberpunk sniper in an unusual an unfortunate series of events. Perhaps it was too bland for his tastes - but his new pen name went for those sorts of genre stories, he had decided. And the story sold with his publisher, so who was he to care what people thought of it as long as he was paid?
The young man's posture bristled in the crowded shopping district; although it was barely even so. It was just enough for Osamu to feel the tendril's of heat dance under his skin, however. People were never something he could get on with. It was as though he was claustrophobic, only with people. Avoid people, and it meant less worries of his unbarable powers spiraling out of control.
It was at least what he told himself often.
Osamu bit his lip, grabbing the bag of food he'd ordered. "Maybe after a hot meal, I can get back to work," he murmured as he turned to walk down to the nearest olitary area--
Only to find the place had become more contagious with the name Shepard repeating over and over. His anxiety began to rise at the thought of the spectre doing her shopping here as well. It meant even more people.
