Catalyst
© Trish
"Who is it?" a voice answered.
"It's Shannon and Niceole! From [email protected]! We've got to talk to you!"
"Wait!"
The door opened. They found Trish sitting in front of her computer desk, red notebooks scattered in front of her, and she was tearing paper after paper out of them and tossing them into a wastebasket. A cup of hot tea sat on the table behind her. She looked tired, discouraged, her eyes wild, dark circles underneath, her cheeks pale, and her hair uncombed and snarled.
"What is it?" she said, "What do you want?"
"The stories you've written for us," Shannon started, but got no further, for the older woman put her hands over her ears and shook her head uncontrollably.
"Don't! I wish I'd never began them! I wish I'd never written a single story in my life!"
"Listen to me!" Niceole said, "Don't wallow in speculation, whatever happens to the show happens, but you've got to finish the stories! How is it that one of the readers signs her email- One day at a time."
"Why! How!" Trish moaned, and put her hands over her face.
"Moaning won't help, " Shannon intoned.
"You've got to finish the stories properly. What happens next? It's important for all of us to know?" Niceole stated.
"I don't know!" Trish cried, "I dreamed them and it was so strange and wonderful that I had to write them down. . .pretending they were mine. . .but I can't think of anymore!"
"And the next parts?"
"Make them up of course. I've done it before. It's a risk. . .telling a story with no idea what's going to happen at the end. . .so I make it up. Hell it's often better than writing it down first. I thought I could do it with these. But the doubt, the uncertainty of where the show is going, I panicked. . .damn, I wish I never started! I'll never write a story again. . ."
"You have to end them, its not fair or right. . .the readers, the characters. . .we've gotten too attached. . .you've got too!"
"I can't!"
"You must. You have too!"
"I need to refocus, regain control and right now I'm floundering."
You're a coward," a voice from the darkened doorway, hissed.
"Parker," Trish whispered as the others turned to where Trish's eyes were staring," I'm not a coward."
"Then finish them, don't leave it unfinished. And whatever happens, we're still around in your head and heart," a small smile played upon the woman's lips.