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The Green Light Of Control.

A Writer Can't Write, Until He Finds Himself Controlled by Robots.

By Carol TownendPublished 3 years ago Updated 3 years ago 5 min read
The Green Light Of Control.
Photo by Manuel Cortina on Unsplash

I'm sitting at my desk. I have sat here for hours with my pen, paper and laptop in front of me. I am stuck, hopeless and out of ideas. I just sit there, staring at my blank paper, pen in hand wondering what to write. My mind is blank.

"Stupid writers block!" I say to myself, kicking my desk. I wish I had never done that as my ankle now really hurts.

I start to scribble anything and everything, just to stop me going insane! I have dimmed the lights, shut the curtains and placed a glass of Whiskey on my desk. This usually helps me to write, but today my brain is dead and is not having any of it. I feel hopeless. The night is drawing in, and the day has gone too fast. I still have nothing useful on my paper and everything that I have written makes no sense.

I breathe and take a big swig of Whiskey, enjoying the feeling of the cool, sharp taste in my throat. I feel calmer, but light headed. I can usually write in this calm state. It usually clears my head and puts all my thoughts back in. I proceed to pick up my pen, but no! The thoughts just will not come to me.

"Fuck it!" I shout, throwing my pen across the room. I am feel pissed off with myself, as I have been trying to find the words I need all day and night. My eyes are worn out, and my brain feels like Spaghetti Junction.

I breathe, calm down and try again.

I stare at the wall above me. Green neon letters appear on the wall with a message on it.


I think maybe it must be the Whiskey, though I've only had one swig. I look again and it disappears. I shrug it off and put it down to the fact I am tired. I no longer see the point in burning the midnight oil so I take myself to bed. The green lit letters appear again, with a different message:

"You can do it!"

I don't know where these messages are coming from, but I feel like someone is watching me as I try to write. I shake my head, telling myself that if I can't do this now, there is no point in trying. I try to sleep, but I am disturbed as I feel like an unproductive whittle-head. After an hour, I get up and decide to try again.

In bare feet and nothing but my dressing gown, I tiptoe to the kitchen and make a large Coffee. I then sit back at my desk and bang out some more ideas. I come up with about fifty ideas, but none of them seem to satisfy me. I read the ideas over and over again. The green neon-lit letters appear again.

"Where there's a will, there's always a way."

I think about these words and I decide to let them fill my senses with the power I need to write. I think about the previous words that were lit, "hope!" I suddenly feel a curse of energy run through my brain, and I then sit and come up with more ideas. It is almost as if somebody turned a light-bulb on inside my head. Whilst I am writing and thinking, a bigger neon-green lit sign appears on my wall with bigger letters, it reads


I feel excited, then I have a brainwave moment. What if I write a story encompassing all fifty ideas I have come up with. I think some more. Most of my ideas are about aliens and supernatural life form, and I am not sure I can pull this off. The neon-green lit light starts to flash wildly, with a longer statement that gets me thinking harder.


I feel controlled, but at the same time; I feel a big compulsion just to write. The words are coming out faster than I want them to, and I feel that my writing makes no sense. However, I don't proofread or edit. The force inside me gives me no time for that. I just write on automatic. I am unaware of anything that is going on around me. I do not see that the light has gotten brighter and bolder, nor do I see the robots in my room that are projecting the messages that are controlling my mind. I just write.

I need a break, but my mind does not let me. It is almost like there are batteries in my brain that keep it switched on. I feel my eyes starting to shut, but as soon as they do they open again, and I can't control it. I can feel my body being taken over, my hands are moving beyond my control. I don't care, I just want to get it done.

I am almost at the finish line, and I try to force myself to take a break.


The green-neon lit words flashing above my head startle me back into writing. My hands are on fire, there is no time to think or stop. I start writing again. At this point, I have filled both sides of at least ten pages, but I just can not stop. I have a mission and I have to finish it.

The birds are singing outside, and I notice it is morning. My work is now complete. I breathe a sigh of relief. My hands hurt, and my eyes hurt. This is when I notice the 6 robots in my office.

"WELL DONE. CHALLENGE COMPLETE." The Chief robot speaks to me, then all the robots leave.

Six months later, I get an unexpected message in the post.

Dear sir,

Thank you for taking part in the 30,0000word story challenge. Your story has been chosen and you have won £10000,0000. We will deposit this into your bank account within 6 days.


The Robotic Writing Company

I had no idea I had entered the challenge. I realised I was assigned, may be chosen for this mission by the robots. I did receive the money, and I realised the words:


These words meant that I had to say yes to challenging myself and using all my ideas in order to create my story. The robots had given me the power to complete my mission. However, to this day, I have no idea how they ended up in my room, nor why I was entered into the challenge.

Short Story

About the Creator

Carol Townend

Fiction, Horror, Sex, Love, Mental Health, Children's fiction and more. You'll find many stories in my profile. I don't believe in sticking with one Niche! I write, but I also read a lot too.

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