I stared at the computer screen, my mind blank, willing the characters before me to write themselves. My brain pounded a rhythm against the inside of my skull, reducing my creative capacities to sawdust. If only I could meet my characters, I thought. Go into their world and talk to them. Then maybe I'd have something to write about. A sigh escaped me. I bit my lip, standing and beginning again to pace on the worn carpet of my tiny bedroom. The deadline was coming up soon. My publishers would want something. Something good, not a lousy few words typed and then deleted a thousand times over, each one over-thought and understated.
An alarm went off somewhere across the room, breaking into my muddled thoughts. I glanced up at the culprit, a glowing digital clock, its numbers flashing. 11:11. Blood gushed into my mouth as I bit my lip a little harder, my feet stalled as I stared at the glittering lights of the alarm. Make a wish. I paused, took a breath, and focused all of my energy towards the magic numbers.
"I wish I could meet my characters and go into their world," I said to the empty room. Feeling half silly as I waited for the numbers to change, I reminded myself that this had never worked before and showed no signs of ever working. But superstitions still stood in my mind. The clock rearranged itself. 11:12. Nothing happened. I sighed, turning back to my desk.
Crack. There was a flash of light from my computer, blinding me even as the noise rendered me deaf. The screen before me grew brighter, drawing me in, the letters burning into my eyes. And suddenly I was falling.