He stared at his work on the bright computer monitor. For moments ago he was proud of his work, now he only felt shame. He knew his dream of being an author was dim, he had wasted his life following his dream, but never could succeed. He swallowed the bitter scotch, watered down a bit from the melted ice. He stared blankly, wishing he had the talent he once had. He bit his fist and began to delete all of today's work, to get started on the 17th draft on what was to be his life's work. More scotch filled his glass, he took the glass and immediately drank it. He made himself another glass and began typeing. This was all worthless, meaningless garbage. With every revision he lost meaning from the true work, he was slowly loseing any skill he once had. He was drinking the scotch glass by glass, this was a new bottle but it was already 2/3rds the way gone. He was never the drinking type, but now days it seemed that was all he did. He was an honor student in grade school, 3rd in his class at graduation, accepted into a few decent schools, decided on taking a few years off. Those few years became his life, he had started working for a local grocery market about ten or twelve years ago.

He squinted at the screen, this..this was his last hope for anything worthwhile in his life...