#FridayFlash 42: Truth or Fiction?

Do you create your stories or do they come to you? Let me know what you think :) --------- I stared at the blank page having absolutely no idea what my character would do next. I was enjoying the story, as it came to me, and like my readers I looked forward to reading the next chapter. The problem was, whatever part of my brain it was where the stories lived, was silent. I had not the slightest idea how the psychological thriller would end and I knew from bitter experience that if I tried to make it up, to "just write something" as my oh-so-helpful spouse suggested, it would be garbage. Completely unworth reading and therefore completely unworth writing. I was contemplating the silence in my mind when it was shattered by the scream of a passing police car. Only the car didn't pass -- it stopped, right outside my house. Followed in quick succession by several others. Interested now, I left my rather hopeless task to stare unabashedly out the front window at the scene unfolding. There was no stealth or subtlety to the affront, but somehow there was finesse, as a significant number of cops -- my mind saw dozens, but in reality it was probably less than ten, stormed the house. I continued to stare out the window, knowing it was none of my business and that I should look away and discretely pretend nothing interesting was going on, but deciding I didn't particularly care about that page of the etiquette book. Quickly it was over. Or seemed to be anyways. And when two officers crossed the street and approached my house, I met them at the door. No point in making them wait when I knew they knew I'd been watching. They quickly ascertained that I knew nothing of use -- I almost wished I did, just so I could be important -- if only for a moment. Although the rational side of me realized that wasn't the kind of importance I really wanted. I continued to watch the scene through my window as nothing much happened -- but really, what else did I have to do? It was when I saw them bring the body bag out that I knew. I knew exactly what my character had been up to and how the next chapter would go. It would be brilliant. My editor would be thrilled. And I would be forever grateful that the cops has already decided that I knew nothing of interest.