Preisha Writes

Mr Cand, a middle aged, grey man, sat at the desk he had designated for writing. The paper in front of him was lined with pencil writing crossed out, ideas tossed aside and buried in graphite. His last book had sold seven copies, which was such an exciting aspect to him that he never went back to an office job ever again, looking down on “ordinary people” who never had the imagination or creativity to make something of themselves.

Mr Cand lived alone, only the maid visiting to dust furniture despite the sign on his door reading:

P. C. Cand- Author of Ropes and Knots . Open for autographs

The ordinary people Mr Cand despised seemed to understand what kind of man he was, and never offered him any favours. To all others, the ordinary people of the small town were happy to give their lives for.

Mr Cand continued his grey life, waiting for those ordinary people to come beg him for autographs, sneering at those who bustled out of offices at five o’clock and turning back to his failed ideas crossed out in graphite.