These pages were evil.

I threw my manuscript down on the ground, scattering unbound white pages across the room. I put my head in my hands. I'd have to reorganize this now.

"But why?" Something inside of me wondered, "Why not give up? Why not live life in the dark? Why not forget the things, the horrid truths written on these pages? Live a life of solace, Simon, but do not finish and especially do not publish this manuscript."

I was taken aback by the forcefulness with which that part of me spoke inside my mind, but I tried to ignore it, picking the ninety-five or so pages back up and beginning to rifle through them until they were in an order more to my satisfaction.

I began to type the next chapter of the novel on my keyboard:

Chapter 12: Absolution

Or... no. That wasn't the word I wanted.

Google Search: Definition of Absolution.

Result: The act of absolving or the state of being absolved.

"Hmm," I thought, "Perhaps I'd use that title for a later chapter down the line.

Hands went back to keyboard:

Chapter 12: Absolute Truth

Too on the nose.

Chapter 12: The Book of Truth

Too fantastical.

Chapter 12: The Face of Evil

I liked it, but wasn't that the name of a "Doctor Who" episode. Never mind...

Drawing a blank for titles, I decided to begin writing the chapter:

The intense throbbing seemed to worsen as [protagonist] stood. His legs ached and his vision swam, as he walked through the dark monochrome room. Where was he again?

No, really. Where was he? I referred back to the last chapter. Right, I remembered, my unnamed protagonist had just been knocked unconscious by someone who had come up behind him and jumped him. What a trope.

I stood up and paced my room; back and forth, back and forth. Then, decidedly, I slammed my laptop shut, listening to the dubious part of me, and went into the living room to watch a movie.

I'd write some other time.