A petite female by the name of Oriel sits perched at the propped table of a small cafe. Pitter patter trappings of her fingers against her keyboard, brought small disturbances of the silent peace.
Others had entered the cafe as well, although the night had gone over head while the wild ones were about. Oriel wasn't wild, but her writing could be described as such. The dim lights of the hanging lamps, illuminated the individual tables and booths. Tonight the participants were mere college kids, escaping from their well-known environment for new inspiration for their essays. In fact, Oriel had come for a similar reason. Instead of having a paper to write, she had some poems, and a few pages of a "free hand story".
An attending waitress approaches the woman, requesting any refreshments. Nothing was more pleasing that a steaming cup of hot chocolate on a blizzard chilled February night.
Soon the speedy taps of the keyboard grew steady and immediately slower. So THIS is the infamous writers block. Her thoughts admit with an exhausted sigh. Resting a hand to her temple, her hues scan the piece of digital writing vigilantly. Perhaps she needed another mind, to aid her own.
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