“I don’t know what you want from me!”

The man was already gone from the room. Every day, he comes in and screams the same thing; “I told you to write my epic! Get to it!” For the fourth day in a row, he’s come in the room, at some point in the day and said the same exact thing. Marcus was trying to remember how he got into this predicament.

Four days ago, he’d just published his first novel, called “The Modern Epic.” He was out celebrating his achievement, and was entering his fourth bar. His entourage was taking care of drinks, so there was zero cost, and zero responsibility. His protege, William, had been designated as the sober one for the evening, so Marcus was free to celebrate as long as the drinks were being poured.

The celebration went into the late hours, and around 1 AM things got fuzzy. The last thing he remembers before blacking out was taking a shot someone had handed him. The next thing that is clear in any way is waking up in this damp basement. Chained to a chair in front of a computer with Word open.

After screaming and calling for help for what seemed like hours, a large man entered the room, wearing what you’d expect a homeless man to wear, and for the first of many times, screamed “I told you to write my epic! Get to it!”

The little light that gets into the basement has allowed Marcus the painful awareness of how long he’s been chained up. He lost the strength to call for help after two days, conceding that no one would hear him. Now he sits in front of the computer, staring blankly at a blank document.

Upstairs, the large man takes off his ragged poncho, revealing a clean t-shirt and pressed jeans. He walks into the kitchen and pours two cups of coffee, as the doorbell rings. He walks to the door, and opens it. He smiles at his visitor “Right on time. He’s drained, and desperate. I hope you’ve got something good in store for him.”