All he wanted was to regain the former glory, the ink had other plans…
There was a time when Andrew lived like the world was on fire—friends, parties, and strangers’ beds. But now his days end alone in bed, staring at the ceiling, wondering if this is all there is to life—begging for his thoughts to subside and sleep to take over.
Andrew is a writer who hardly writes anything these days. His pen seems to have run dry while his brain stews in an alcohol‑induced fog. After his debut novel became a runaway hit, he thought that was it—he’d made it. Then, just like that, the spark that lit his world abandoned him, and so did his friends. Now he spends his time wishing this phase to end before it ends him.
Then, one day he found himself at one of those rare late-night parties where booze flowed and rooms filled with so much smoke and bodies that it’s a wonder people can even recognize each other. It’s hard to say where one’s body ended and another’s limbs started. Andrew particularly liked such parties as they afforded him to let loose without being questioned about his current state of affairs.
The party was on full roll when he walked in. He didn’t bother much with the pleasantries and introductions instead grabbed a bottle of vodka from the bar when no one was paying any attention, then grabbed a few sliders and a few assorted cheeses before barricading himself to a corner of a room behind some old book cases.
As it so happened that very corner was popular with the crowd seeking some quiet privacy, especially for those who would rather not be amongst the tangle of bodies. As Andrew sipped his vodka and munched on the food that he sequestered, he heard a few grumblings from the people who were sneaking in for privacy and hastily retreating after noticing him, which was fine by him. He was barely into his second drink when a couple snuck in and amidst their giggling and kissing they almost knocked his bottle.
“Watch your fucking selves,” he hissed.
The couple paused whatever they were doing, before the guy took a good look and said — “Oh wow, the devil himself”, while his hands remained firmly under the blouse of the woman he had been snuggling with.
“Do you know him?” asked the lady.
“I am surprised a woman of such exquisite tastes did not know the award winning author—Andrew Ashenbalm. Hello, Andrew”
“Hey Todd, Now leave.” Andrew resumed his sipping.
Her eyes went to saucers. mockery or real Andrew didn’t care— “The Andrew Ashenbalm?”
“Yes the very man himself. Although what we have here seems like a shadow of his former self,” he exclaimed.
“Shut up asshole and take your show to some other corner” Andrew wondered if he sounded too sullen.
“Chill bro, I have not seen you in months… wait, years. It had been two years since I was at your party. The Andrew I remembered was full of life, vodka and girls on all sides. Don’t tell me you are on the block.”
Andrew Shrugged. A block is too mild a term for his state of mind.
“Fine, join us in the fun. For old times. I am sure Jessica wouldn’t mind.” He lifted her blouse flashing one of her very firm assets. Jessica giggled extending the invitation.
“Maybe next time. Right now, I need some peace and space. Now go.”
“All other corners are taken. The place is practically flooded.” It seemed they have no intention of stopping whatever they were doing.
“Weren’t you supposed to be in Canada?” Andrew asked.
“You remembered! Well, I had to come for some supplies.” Don lifted his head briefly from Jessica’s chest to give the answer.
“Supplies?” Andrew’s eyebrow raised in mild curiosity.
Todd didn’t answer, he had gotten busy and the result was one very loud Jessica.
“May be I will go find another place,” Andrew got up.
“Chill man.” Todd grabbed the vodka from Andrews hands and took swig from the bottle then spilled some on Jessica’s breasts resulting more uncontrollable giggles and moans.
“You really won’t join?” As he slurped vodka from the lady.
Andrew slumped back resigning himself to the unavoidable scene that was unfolding. In the past he would have been an eager participant. His history with Todd went back to all the way to his college. They were in on some pretty nasty stuff.
Todd gave a wink to Jessica, who without another prompt grabbed Andrew’s hand and placed it on her left breast. Andrew left it stay there for moment, then lazily drew circles around her areola before going back to his glass.
Jessica looked at Todd, then with a shrug reached into his pants. Todd looked at Andrew for a long moment with mild concern, then he stopped Jessica from pulling his pants any further down and got up from her.
“Sweetheart, can you please excuse us for a few minutes. I need to have chat with this idiot and when I’m done I will come find you.”
“You are kidding, right?” she couldn’t believe what was happening.
“I promise I will find you and we will talk about your publication.”
“Fine!” With a huff she left.
“You don’t have to do that, you know?” Andrew said from over his vodka.
“Give me that,” Todd grabbed the vodka bottle and poured himself a drink before lighting his cigarette.
“What happened to you. I know you haven’t written in a while, but still?”
“Why do you care?” Andrew sounding sullen.
“Don’t be a dick. I may be away and out of contact now. We had some good times together.”
“I guess you can say that.” Said Andrew.
Todd raised an eyebrow.
“What can you do if I tell you?” Asked Andrew.
“Maybe nothing, or may be something.”
“There is not much to tell anyway. I am on borrowed time, if I can’t come up with something soon I will be in trouble. My publisher will drop me. I already used up my advance for next book and there is no book to give. Now satisfied?”
“Not really, but gods you are in neck deep shit”
“I didn’t know,” Andrew snorted dryly.
“I thought you made it.”
“Everybody did and there’s no need to rub it in.”
“I am not.” Todd raised his hands in protest.
“Well, there it is. What are you doing here anyway? I heard your sixth book is out last month.” Asked Andrew.
“So, you do keep tabs”
Andrew shrugged staring into his glass. “There is enough jealousy to go around.”
“Did you read any of my books?” Asked Todd.
“Not really.”
“You know, you are such an asshole. I read your book. At least twice.”
“Fine, I read one of yours.”
“Which one?”
“Your first — The broken Lillies.”
“How did you like it?”
“It was good.”
“Thats it? No further comment?”
“Fine. It was great. Unexpected.”
“Unexpected?”
“Yes, I didn’t know you had it in you. Especially the kind of book it was.”
Todd was silent for long moment. Andrew looked up and noticed the Todd staring into his glass with pursed lips.
“What?” Andrew asked.
“Nothing. I gotta go.” Todd got up.
Andrew looked at him quizzically and started to say something, then thought better of it and said— “OK”.
Todd took a couple of steps then turned around and looked at the Andrew staring again into his glass intently.
“Damn! Alright, I am going to share you some information and you need to promise me that you can keep this between us.”
“What now?” Andrew surprised not knowing where this conversation is headed suddenly.
“Remember I said I am here for some writing supplies.”
“Well, you said supplies didn’t quite say it was for writing. Go on, for what kind of writing supplies you would come all the way from Canda?”
Todd hesitated for a moment as they stared at each other. “Its an ink. A special kind of ink.”
“Ink? Whats so special about it?”
Todd raised his hand. “Now shut up and listen. There is a store here in the old town that sells a special ink. Let me just say the novel writes for itself.”
Andrew looked incredulous. “You saying, if one were to use that ink, the novel would write for itself?”
“Yes.”
“And anyone can write? No need for ideas, craft or anything as such?”
“In theory, yes. But no.”
“Yes, or no.
“Well, I don’t know. I only knew one another person who used.”
“Who?”
“That will remain a secret. What I mean is it may still be your ideas, your craft, may be the ink just enables or enhances. I am uncertain. What I know is that the writing happens, the outcome is much more than what you can produce normally. At least it was in my case.”
No kidding. Andrew thought. He read Todd’s manuscripts prior to his success. They were all crap.
“Are you sure that you are not pulling a fast one on me?”
“May be…” Todd laughed. “It’s your choice. Take it or leave.” He shrugged.
“I know I am desperate. But this is batshit crazy.”
“Is it? What do you got to lose? One trip to shop and a few dollars.”
Andrew started at his friend for a long minute. “Fine tell me where do I find this Ink.”
Todd looked around for something to write on. Then he pulled a random book from the book shelf, ripped the last page and wrote an address. He then folded it and stuffed into Andrew’s pocket.
“There. It’s not cheap, but it works. Carry a bit of cash. It’s up to you now and good luck.”
“How much cash?”
“Enough, a few thousand maybe. Depends on how much ink you are going to buy.”
“Is one not enough?”
Todd shrugged, “It’s up to you. I am going to go find Jessica. Call me if you need.”
“Do you think you can fish her out now?” Andrew snickered.
Todd flipped a bird before walking out of the nook they were in.
—
In a hidden gully downtown, “Books n’ Inks” stood like a best‑kept secret. The front of the store was filled with aisles of books from popular to forgotten genres. The rear was sectioned off for stationery, writing utensils, and inks.
There, in a corner, Andrew found a rather unassuming shelf—small, unlabeled, filled with inks that were rarely touched in the age of fine‑tip pens and computers. Yet there they were — inviting, ready to spill stories to those willing to pay a price. The bottles were arranged neatly, six per row, except for one missing in the second rack from the top.
“Hello!” the storekeeper greeted as he passed, carrying a handful of books.
“Hi,” Andrew replied, then turned to the shelf.
He opened the door and picked up a bottle. A shiver went through his spine. He dismissed it as anticipation. He inspected the bottles—matte glass, gray labels, each bearing a single word. One read sonnet, another read discover, another dreams, and so on. A few had a small sheet tucked underneath. Each one bore a number starting with one at the top left. There seemed to be about sixty of them.
His eyes widened at the sight of number 12. That was empty just minutes ago, but now there is a bottle.
Andrew picked up bottle 12 labeled Unresolved. There was a sheet underneath that read: Secrets, desires, perils, and ends unknown! A pencil note added—Trash it. He felt something disquieting. He returned the bottle back, then picked again. Should he pick something else? He chided himself for getting spooked and being carried away. There is now an allure he couldn’t resist. It wasn’t much, yet it was more than enough not to put the bottle back on the shelf.
At the counter in the front of the store, the storekeeper greeted him with a smile.
“Have you found everything you need?”
“Yes, I think so.” He placed the bottle on the counter.
“That’ll be twelve. Cash only.”
He was surprised — Todd had said it would be expensive. Andrew pulled twelve dollars from his wallet and held out for the storekeeper.
“Twelve hundred,” the storekeeper said, voice a little cold this time.
Andrew pushed the cash back into wallet and started counting larger denominations.
As he was about to pack the bottle, the storekeeper paused. He looked at it, brow furrowed.
“Is this number 12?”
“Yes.”
“Sorry, this ink is not meant for sale. I swear I put it away. Someone must have restocked it. Please pick another one.” His eyes and tone turned even more colder.
“Why?”
“This one… a mistake. Why don’t you buy another? You will probably return it even if I sold it.”
“Is it okay if I give it a shot anyway? I won’t return it.”
“Sorry, this is off the table.” The storekeeper put it on the far side of the counter, indicating that the conversation was over.
Andrew reluctantly walked back to the shelf, muttering to himself. He looked at the shelf trying to check out the rest of the stock, but his mind was still stuck on the forbidden ink that had just slipped out of his hand. Just then the storekeeper walked by; Andrew nodded at him.
He nodded back. “Please let me know if you need any help.”
“Sure.”
Andrew opened the shelf again, browsed the selection one more time. He couldn’t pick another, having still stuck on the one sitting on the counter upfront. Andrew glanced toward the front of the store, where the bottle sat on the far side, inviting. He looked at the storekeeper, who was momentarily distracted with a chore at hand.
Should he? He hesitated for a moment.
Of course. His heart raced. His palms sweated with anticipation.
He glanced at the storekeeper one more time, walked quickly to the counter, pulled his wallet, picked a few bills and dropped them on the counter, stretched across the counter, grabbed the ink, and walked out.
He could change his profession if this doesn’t work, he thought with a smile, trying to calm his racing heart.
The clock in the store rang twelve times like a warning.
To be continued…