I walked past the window of the bookshop. Perhaps I could get some inspiration there. It would help me finish the story that I had been writing onto Wattpad, but somehow had been unable to finish. I was stuck on the last few chapters. Whatever I wrote it just seemed to look like total shit. My readers were starting to notice as well. They had stopped asking me for updates. Probably a good thing because if they were as uninterested in the boring plot and dull characters as I was, I wouldn't feel such a sense of guilt in just walking away.

I started to peruse the crime section. Perhaps it would spur me on to finish the damn thing, get some fresh ideas about it. Perhaps I could lose myself in a good book and forget my own, terrible attempts at being an author. That was the great thing about books. They could help you forget that your life was a load of crap.

As I stared at the shelves a title caught my eye. The Dark Window. What was unusual about it was that it was the same title as my book on Wattpad, but with a much fancier cover than the photo I had uploaded of the window in my bedroom. On a sudden impulse I picked it out from the shelf.

'One day, a woman's body is discovered in a small town in the south of England,' I read. It was a similar plot to my book. Perhaps it would inspire me. The author was published after all, so they would probably be better than I was. A thousand Wattpad votes didn't count for much in terms of the quality of the writing did it? It was Wattpad after all. All sorts of crap was popular there, such as One Direction fan fiction. I suspected that half of my readers were only reading it so their own dire efforts would get a viewing.

I went to the counter and paid. On the way home curiosity overtook me and I began reading.

The first page was very familiar.

Very familiar indeed.

Panic rose in my throat as I continued reading the pages I knew so well. I had not just read it before. I had written it. How could this happen?

I almost missed my stop as I pored through the awful tome. Almost every word was the same. With shaking hands I carried the thing back to my house and unlocked the door. Perhaps I was imagining things. This couldn't be happening.

I sunk back into my armchair and took out my phone. I opened Wattpad. I opened the first chapter. Barring a few extraneous 'that's' it was exactly the same. Word for word. Not even the names of the characters were different. I did the same for Chapter 2. And Chapter 3. Exactly the same. All the way up to Chapter 16. That was as far as I had got before writer's block had set in.

I turned the page to Chapter 17. To my horror an unbelievable plot twist that I had written and hastily deleted had made its way to the printed page. From this point on there was a marked deterioration in the quality of the writing, and I found myself becoming almost more enraged at the terrible, contrived ending as from the original act of plagiarism.

'One of the best books in years', said the blurb at the back. 'Redefines the genre'. It wasn't even his bloody book!

I phoned the publisher in a fury.

'I would like to report an act of plagiarism,' I said. 'My book, The Dark Window, has been copied off Wattpad and published by someone else! With a terrible ending I would never have included!'

'Hold on,' said the woman at the other end of the line. 'I will just put you through to the right person.'

'Hello?'

'My book, The Dark Window has been plagiarised,' I said. 'I have been writing it on Wattpad. I last updated it over two months ago. And it has been published! I didn't publish it, did I, in fact I did not even finish it!'

There was silence at the end of the phone. 'I'm just going to put you on hold,' a high pitched voice said in the end.

'Hello and how can I help you Ms...?'

'Winters,' I said.

'You are through to the legal department, how can I help? I understand that you believe your book has been copied illegitimately?'

'It has!' I insisted.

'That's impossible,' the voice at the other end said sternly. 'You posted it to Wattpad which is known to be full of bad writing. Why would anyone, let alone a famous author copy anything from there? Chase Somerset is one of the most renowned authors on our payroll. I would advise you that slander is a punishable offence.'

'Well, whoever he is, he copied my book!'

'It's not your book any more,' the voice at the other end said. 'If it ever was. You sound mentally disturbed. And if it really is as similar as you said we could sue you for plagiarism.'

They had hung up on me! I went to Wattpad. Surely someone would have some advice there? I looked through my book again, trying to make sure that I was not imagining things. It wouldn't be the first time. I had been in a mental hospital before, another point that would surely count against me. Bollocks.

I glanced through the comments on my prologue. Publishers were always saying they hated prologues but it didn't seem to stop Chase Somerset, I thought bitterly. As I scrolled down one caught my eye. It was from Mr Somerset himself. It had been made six months ago, when I started.

'What a great start,' it said. 'Keep going! This is sure to be a hit and will make someone a lot of money!'