I was a zombie at work. I think people are starting to notice. My days at this place are numbered. Normally I wouldn’t care, but I can’t think clearly or function well enough to get another job after this one.
Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all. Why did I think another move would make any difference? I haven’t slept in weeks. I can barely think straight. It’s the same as the last place I lived – and the three before that. I just want a good night sleep. I want to write.
It’s been a slow few months. The day job’s been busy. I’ve had to move a few times, which is unfortunate. Just unpacking my things in my new flat now. It’s small, but that works for me in more ways than one. This place is comfortable. It will feed my imagination. I can’t wait to start writing again and get my first book out into the world.
I was a struggling writer – working a normal job by day and writing by night. But I had a secret. I was being watched, followed by someone who never left any evidence of their presence. I never saw them, but I knew they were there. And there was nothing I could do about it. I moved. I changed jobs. It made no difference.
Everything changed when I discovered my stalker was connected to the worlds and characters I was writing about. They weren’t as fictional or as imaginary as I’d thought. And they did not want me writing about them.
I can’t show you my face. I can’t tell you where I am. I’ve been moving from place to place. I wouldn’t say I was running away – not yet anyway. But I have to be prepared for the day when I need to disappear without anyone knowing who I am or where I am going. I know that day is coming.
My name is Jason Rybak. I am the Writer on the Run.