The Maze and Stephen King

I thought I was in The Maze but I wasn't.

I'm looking at the entrance of it right now. I refuse to go in there. But I could feel my fingers bleeding from grabbing the thorny bushes nearby.

Whisper: Come on, come on, just one more step and our jobs are done.

The Maze was built thousands of years ago. (I know, I know. I'm exaggerating. Hey, but that's what writers do, o.k.!) I never know who build it and don't care. I just know that it usually takes me about 0.18327 sec to jump from here to there.

Whisper: 0.18327 sec in your world, but it's 18.327 hours here. So come on, girl. It's been a while and we missed you.

I: Stop barging in and let me finish my thoughts, then, I might consider coming in. Oh, by the way, where're Little Sucker and Screamer? You usually send them after me.

Whisper: Ahhh, you missed them, my friend. Shall I call them out?

I: Nope. Just asking out of courtesy ... now where was I?

I'm summoning all the writers (published and unpbulished) before me to give me strength to walk away from this evil place.

I: Ouch, ouch, ouch ... (The Little Sucker just bites off a chunk of flesh from the back of my head and my hands are still bleeding.)

Screamer: Go, go, go Little Sucker. More, more, more.

Whisper: Are we done Hybrid J? Step right in, now!

I: Nooooooo (SFX: door bell) (Hybrid J walks out of scene and comes back in to continue the dialogue) Did you know what I just got from the mail?

Whisper: Don't tell me it's one of those How-To books again? They're a waste of time. Why struggle when you could just come in and chill.

I: They might not solve the problems now but at least I could use them to ward you off!

I held the book high and made the sacred sign.

The three creatures disappeared and I'm now sitting on the dried up lawn in front of The Maze reading Stephen King's "On Writing: A Memoir of the Craft."