The editor and his writer?!

000. The writer and his editor.

In a room in a apartment on the third floor in a house by a road a few kilometers apart from the town it led to, a man sat, staring at the single window facing the back of the street just mentioned. The window was closed and covered though, so it wasn’t facing anything at all at the moment, and it wasn’t as if the man was looking at the window trying to look through it. No, he was just looking in general. Staring at the dark cloth covering it’s glass and hiding the light from outside. The man himself sat in a armchair by a desk in dark wood with a lot of space covered in half read books and papers and notebooks laying wide open. He had a lamp, standing hidden behind a tower of books on the left side of the desk, but it wasn’t on. The room was then dark because no one had taken their time to light even a candle to scare the deep darkness out of the walls of the big room. The only light came from the closed computer resting between his hands’s edges, but it didn’t do much; it didn’t give much light not that much happiness. If anything, the man who held it in his lap became even more sad and tired inside as it’s light shone over the stripes of his two days old shirt. He looked at the window so he didn’t have to look at the computer or the rest of the room or anything at all for that mater. The window was at that moment working as his own personal void. He knew it wouldn’t for long, but he was given a tiny bit pleasure in not caring at all about that near-futuristic event. Then he heard someone in the stairs and the feelings of “barely holding on” fell like a stone inside of him and turned into sheer annoyance.
“Don’t come in!” he yelled as he footsteps of the person outside came closer. He hurried to shove some books of the table to leave space for the vibrating computer before he jumped over the arms of the chair and crouched somewhere behind it, almost as if he was playing hide and seek and the seeker was already in the room, looking right at him even if he tried his best not to be seen. The door opened and a young light-haired man walked in with a sour look on his face.
“Get out of there” he said and meant the hiding place behind the chair; putting one hand on his hip and his head leaning to the side. The man looked at him, but did not move so the other did the same.
The man behind the chair was called Marvin and he was around thirty-five… maybe thirty-six years old. He was originally from a pretty wealthy family who in early stages had big thoughts about him and his two siblings, but in the end only one of them stayed in the house long enough to grow tired of the life their parents chose for them , while the other two both pursued their individual dreams. Marvin; became a writer. He had a bad habit of never finishing anything and a lot of his novels ended in exiting cliffhangers with no continuation following; a lot of his readers both loved and hated those books so much they’d read them over and over just to try to understand them.
The boy in the doorway was only twenty-something and had just been released from a three year long literature course in some fancy school, only to be hired as this lazy writer’s home-editor and was daly working his butt of to make him write even a single page of practically Anything. His name was Rick. He had five younger siblings and came from a home with a single father. He once read a book written by Marvin himself to his siblings and when they all jumped and screamed in anguish as he closed the book and yelled “HOW DOES IT END?! HOW DOES IT END?!” And when he told this to Marvin, he saw for the first time how the other smiled, shadowed by his shoulders and facing away, but Rick knew that was a smile. Since then he always got one extra copy of each book he released and sent it to his home, asking for a letter of thoughts in return. Then he red them out loud to Marvin when he didn’t want to work, then soon; the job was done as smoothly as ever. Rick was used to these kinds of things: Marvin playing hooky instead of doing his work. It often were something like, using his working hours to draw or eat or watch cartoons or anything instead of writing.
“It’s still a half an hour left” he now said staring at Marvin’s back hiding behind the chair.
“Get out and get up and do your work”.
But he didn’t get any response but Marvin doing a misplaced sound of annoyance before moving closer to the desk’s legs. The fact that Marvin couldn’t do even what he loved the most if he had pressure laying upon him, were constant and there was nothing to do about it.
“Get up!” Rick now shouted and he stomped through the room and up behind him.
Then if you only left him as he were, whatever he was working on wouldn’t be done but days after the deadline.
“Up!” Rick said and grabbed Marvin’s shoulders and pulled him up from underneath the desk. Then he practically threw him back down on the chair and pushed him close to the desk almost forced him to lean over the closed computer upon it. Then he walked over to the window.
“Wait no!!!” Marvin suddenly shouted. But too late. Rick had already yanked the cloth of it’s handles, opening the room to the bright rays of midday-sun from outside and letting them shine over the pale-green walls and dusty bookshelfs around them both. Marvin squealed and covered his eyes.
“Wuss” Rick said with a jaunty snort. Marvin wined and moaned as if he was in grate pain, but stopped to look cross as Rick slapped his head like he was a child and walked to the back of the room.
“Stop that!” He said but then shut up and put his knees to the table edge.
“Where is the envelope from yesterday?” Rick asked, roaming through a pile of books and papers somewhere near the door.
“The shelf” Marvin said without looking. Rick stopped searching and went over to a row shelfs not too far away and stood on his tiptoes to look upon them. He tiptoed, even if he didn’t have to; when he by now was tall enough to nudge the roof with his middle finger if he wanted to.
“To the right” Marvin said and it sounded almost like a grunt. Rick just moved a little to the right and quickly found it without caring for Marvin’s tone.
“Do you want me to read it, or will you read it to me?” Rick asked as he came back to the desk with a red envelope filled to the brim with printed text and opened it to flip thought the first two or three arcs.
“I don’t really care, you read it…” Marvin said as he opened up the computer, only to close it again with a face filled with disgust.
“Okay then; I’ll read it, do you want me to read it out loud?”
“NO! I do not want you to read it out loud! Geez, what is your head up to when I’m not looking after it!” Marvin turned quickly away and grunted, once again face colored in some kind of disgust towards the stupidness of his partner.
Rick didn’t really see this face though, so he just thought he was embarrassed and smiled. Marvin guessed this and turned around to stare at him so he could see just how grossed out he actually were at his previous suggestion. Rick waved it of and pulled up a chair from the window to the other side of the desk and sat down so he could see Marvin’s face clearly.
“Well then, I’ll just read it quiet and tell you when I have questions, right? As we always do”
“As we always do” Marvin mimicked him with a silly voice “why do you even ask if you already know?!”
Rick smiled, flipped the papers over on the table and held up the first one to read.

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