The Blank Page
The blank page looms before her, challenging her with its empty lines. Her fingers tremble as they clutch the pen. Heart tripping to a manic rhythm, her grip tightens and she forces ink to page.
One line. One loop. One word.
The sound of the ball point gliding across the page ignites a fire in her chest. Her breath grows heavy as her mind races, ideas pouring through her head. Hand unable to keep up with the flood rushing down her arm, cresting in her pen.
The words fly almost too fast for her to comprehend, but it only matters that they are here and that she captures them before they slip away on the tide. Her palm aches. Pain stabs through her wrist, yet she clutches harder, writes faster, fearful of losing momentum before the wave crashes and is sucked out to sea, leaving nothing but barren land in its wake.
Eyes slipping nearly shut, her hand finds its way, scratching out the last few lines. She is lost in the movement of the pen, in the swirl of phrases, in the blur of ideas. A frenzy of words flood the page. One after another they rise up and push her on to the next until she is left breathless and empty, sated and satisfied, with just enough strength to scrawl out…