(I know I asked this not too long ago, but I was hoping for some more feedback. Thanks XD)

“Monsters are real, ghosts are real too.
They live inside us, and sometimes, they win.”
-Stephen King

At this particular moment, Maurie was a monster. He claws peeled back strips of woods from the desk. Her fangs left dents in her pencil, which had already been sharpened past usable length. She let out a roar of outrage.
“What was that for?” Ann asked, her eyes opening for the first time that day.
She reached for the alarm clock that sat next to her on the bedside table.“Noon already?”
Maurie was thinking the same thing. Six hours she had been sitting at that desk, spewing out word vomit. Six hours full of aggravation, persperation, and not even an ounce of inspiration.
Ann reached down next to her bed and picked up the nearest crumpled piece of paper.
“'The pregnant clouds were like dyed cotton balls-” she read, then rolled her eyes. “You're gonna pick all this up, right?”
Indeed, the floor of the sisters' bedroom had transformed into a sea of lined paper.
“I have absolutely nothing!” Maurie moaned, burying her head into her arms.
“Why do you need something? God, Maur, it's the first day of summer. Why don't you just have a bit of fun--” then, under her breath-- “for once.”
Maurie swivelled in her chair and turned to face her sister. “Do you think Shakespeare had time for fun? What about Jane Austen? Emily Bronte?”
Ann shrugged and stood to dig through her closet. “I don't know. Why don't you ask them?”
The idiocy of my sister was-- Maurie wrote, then crumpled the page and threw it, where it joined the ocean of failure.