Prescription for Inspiration

Gary’s arm really hurt, a broken humerus will do that. He popped another painkiller, an hour early. He washed it down with an ice-cold beer, also too early, but what the hell. He sat for a while, enjoying the light-headed buzz that swept through him, leaving him nicely numb.

Among his many regrets was the near-forgotten wish to be a writer.

Inspiration struck: a brilliant story, tight, neat and complete. He scribbled for moments, getting it all down. This would surely make his fortune, yes it would!

In the morning he read it over. It was shit.