The Enemy Within By Barry Denson

The Enemy Within

By Barry Denson

Emily sat in her small, cluttered apartment, surrounded by overflowing bookshelves and scattered notebooks. Her wooden desk in the corner was barely visible under the sea of paper, and her laptop sat open in front of her, a blank page mocking her with its emptiness. She sighed, her fingers hovering over the keyboard, but unable to type a single word.

A familiar voice echoed in her mind; one she had heard far too often.

"You'll never get it right, you know."

Emily's shoulders tensed. "Maybe this time will be different," she muttered, more to herself than to the voice.

"Different? You've been saying that for years. What's changed?"

"I'm trying," she said, frustration creeping into her voice. "I sit here every day, trying to write something meaningful."

The voice scoffed. "And yet, here you are, staring at a blank screen. How many days has it been now? Weeks? Months?"

Emily clenched her fists. "I have ideas. They're just... hard to put into words."

"Ideas are worthless if they stay in your head. You need to face the truth. You're not good enough."

"Stop it!" Emily shouted, her eyes welling up with tears. "I'm tired of listening to you. I want to believe in myself for once."

"Believe in what? Your endless stream of unfinished drafts? The rejections from publishers? Face it, Emily. You're chasing a dream that's beyond your reach."

Emily's voice dropped to a whisper. "You’re wrong! I have so much to say to the world"

"Then why can't you say it? Your words are so pretentious, who do you think you are? The next Iris Murdoch or something?  You're afraid, Emily. Afraid of failure. Afraid of success. It's easier to listen to me than to risk everything."

"I don't want to be afraid anymore," Emily said, her determination growing. "I want to write. I want to create something beautiful, something that matters."

"And what if you can't? What if you're just not meant to be a writer?"

"Then I'll keep trying until I know for sure. I'll write every day, even if it's terrible. Even if no one ever reads it. I have to try."

The voice sighed, a hint of reluctance in its tone. "You're stubborn, I'll give you that. But don't say I didn't warn you."

"I won't," Emily replied, a small smile breaking through her tears. "Because even if I fail, at least I tried. And that's more than I can say for listening to you."

Taking a deep breath, Emily began typing. The clacking of the keys filled the room, a small but significant victory. The inner voice grew quieter, though it never completely disappeared. Emily knew it would always be there, lurking in the shadows, but for now, she'd found the strength to push past it. She wrote, and in that moment, it was enough.