This is my entry for Contests Weekly Wattpad Contest #36

Eliza sighed, glaring at the screen of her computer. It stared insolently back at her, absolutely refusing to work. She just didn't get why she had thought having a 'writing laptop' would work. It was old, slow and had no internet connection. Summary: Complete and utter trash.

Around her, the low hubbub of the early morning cafe filled up the silence, and she was grateful for that. She didn't write with music, because it would make her too emotional and probably mess up the story. She didn't write in silence, because silence was too loud. She had no idea what she meant, but it worked out in her mind.

Outside, it looked like a gale was coming on, and Eliza was grateful for the warmth of the cafe. Her fondant lay, untouched, beside her notebook. For some reason, she could never bring herself to destroy the iced flowers on top. It was absolutely horrible. It just sat there, waiting for her to take a bite but every. Single. Time. And then her phone rang, and she had to get to class, so she ate it all in one go. Torture in beautiful icing. However, her coffee was almost finished - Eight o'clock classes meant she needed a caffeine boost.

Her laptop had just unfrozen- and then Satan arrived in the form of an alarm. Eliza groaned, leaning back into her chair. She was just so warm, and then her bloody phone had to ring.  It was like she hated being happy. Except she wasn't happy. She was being tortured by the icing and her laptop. So, as she did every Thursday, Eliza got up and jammed her laptop, notebook and phone into her bag (which was already splitting at the seams) and grabbed the fondant fancy.

It was grinning at her, she could feel it.

Eliza glared down at the icing.

And it stared back up at her, with those perfect. Violet. Flowers. She glared, and looked around the cafe, thinking she should go outside before she started talking to the fondant. Pulling her coat on, she swung her satchel onto her shoulder and stumbled forward slightly, before readying herself. Her bag felt like it was slicing into her shoulder and she groaned, glaring at it, too. Eliza wrapped her scarf around her neck and slipped through the table, making her way to the door. She looked mournfully around the cosy interior, before pushing open the door. She was immediately hit by a blast of icy wind.

Just for me... she sighed, and started to walk to the bus stop.