THE WRITER

The book needed to be finished. He had already drunk the entire advance he received while his wife slowly died in the hospital.

He was a famous writer, both for his published books and for his wild life; divided between beautiful and expensive women of prostitution, horse racing and drinking.

His wife, a theater actress, met him when he was still an incipient author of stand up comedies. She, giving up her career and giving up fame and fortune, started living next to him.

The first times were difficult, but they were soon overcome because she became his agent and producer, making him known in the artistic and intellectual world.

Three weeks after his wife's death, devoured by cancer, he found himself alone, helpless and without money. He didn't even have the consolation of visiting the deceased's grave; for her body was cremated and the ashes thrown into the sea.

He gazed at the unfinished text on the computer screen. No words came to mind to continue. He closed the text and opened the image file. The woman’s photos passed in sequence. In all of them, she manifested youth, joy and love. The last one seemed a little out of focus, which was strange, since she never agreed to archive photos in which she didn't think she looked good. She also did not allow herself to be photographed during her illness, so as not to leave memories of her des 

He opened the editor to improve the image and the program crashed twice; Intrigued, he insisted again and the image took up all the space on the screen. The photo began to move like a slow motion movie.

Made sure they were photos and not video. The image seemed to speak or, at least, gave the impression of moving its lips. The volume of the sound increased and the voice became clear and crystal clear.

He was petrified. He tried to turn off the computer in vain. He unplugged the electrical outlet, but the machine remained on and the woman was still talking and moving.

A hallucination, he thought.

He tried to get up, but he couldn't, he was glued to the chair.

He decided to listen to what he thought was a recording; Maybe a joke, albeit in bad taste.

The image of the woman accused him of all the troubles she had gone through when they were together, but he accepted it resignedly out of love. But she didn't intend to scare him, but rather to help him rebuild his life. The woman would continue to write the books, as she had always done, so as not to interrupt the writer's career; another proof of love that he had not reciprocated in life. Therefore, guaranteeing you success, fame and fortune, however, with one condition.

He felt dazed. The secret between them was printed on the screen.

He timidly asked what the imposed condition was. She replied that the little pot with her ashes was not destroyed but rather stuck in the rocks of the sea; he would have to retrieve the pot, take it home and place it next to the computer; and every time he wanted to write, he would have to take a little bit of the powder and put it in his mouth, but depriving himself of the alcohol, as the drink cancels the effect. Having said that, the image disappeared.

Still in shock at the unusual, he went down to the garage, got in the car and made the trip to the beach. More than a hundred kilometers traveled at night and the dirt road prevented driving at high speed.

He arrived at the village, the fishermen were already launching their boats into the sea. He managed to rent one of them and reached the rocks. To his greater surprise, the woman was sitting on one of the rocks and, with a smile, she handed him the pot, disappearing into thin air.

Barely recovered from his fright, he took the boat and car back and arrived home. He fell asleep on the couch and woke up feeling like he had dreamed, but the pot lying on the carpet was real.

He sat down at the computer, opened the file, reread the incomplete text. He was thirsty, poured himself some wine and waited in vain for sentences that would continue his interrupted thought. Anything.

He got into the shower, looked in the mirror to trim his beard and the woman's image was reflected there. She just said

- Don't drink and write! And she disappeared.

He already admitted madness, he must have been going crazy!

He returned to the computer, opened the jar and placed a pinch of ash on his tongue; Immediately the sentences appeared on the screen as if an invisible hand were typing. The book was finished.

Sent to the editor, a few months later the launch took place, sales exploded, and the ‘best seller’ occupied pages of favorable reviews in the media; the writer returned to the life of a successful man.

He received new proposals, started writing again, avoiding drinking, however, he did not avoid women.

He fired the girl and, wearing his stained shirt, went to the computer.  Soon the image of the woman appeared telling him to always wear the same shirt when writing. After that day, he never reappeared.

And today, dressed in a tattered shirt, he wrote this story.