Elliott sat alone in his shack, hunched over his writing desk. no matter what he wrote, it never seemed to come out right... the story was bland, the characters lacking dimension... it was late at night and the roar of the sea could be heard outside... Elliott sighed and decided that perhaps it was time for a break...

he stood up and poured himself some whine and stood by the small window, looking out at the beach and the shore just outside, when he saw something unusual... a figure on the beach at this hour? perhaps he was seeing things because of the wine?...