The Scene, Outside:
Thick snow is falling fast, 5 inches already on the ground and 4 more inches predicted. Wind is blowing hard, sending the temperature nose-diving below zero.
The Scene, Inside:
A one bedroom apartment, bookshelves lining the walls and the hum of the furnace running in the background. A young woman sits curled up on the sofa, slipper-clad feet peeking out from beneath the blanket she’s wrapped in. On her lap is a small laptop computer; on the table beside her is a steaming mug of hot chocolate. A stack of paper, just scraps with hastily scribbled notes, rest within reach on the sofa cushion.
She smiles to herself and places her hands on the keyboard, typing a handful of words so fast that her fingers on the keys sound like machine gun fire, only to stop abruptly. She frowns, sips from her cup, and frowns again.
She places one finger on the delete button and presses until she erases all she just wrote.
She begins again, and the process repeats itself a dozen times, her frown gradually deepening and the pressing of the delete key morphing into slamming.
“SON OF A BITCH!”
She jumps up, nearly knocking over her hot chocolate, and stomps out of the room to take a nap instead.
Focus on the computer screen where the cursor blinks on the blank page. Lights fade to black.