Writer's Block

A detested blank page, white and crisp, unmarred by graphite. The white abyss saps away all the ideas and thoughts, blurred by the endless sheet of white. Like unblinking eyes it stares ahead, daring for the first line to appear. A strange hypnosis settles over, and all one can do is stare back. What should be the first word? What should be the first mark, a break in the infinite whiteness? Thoughts begin to lose focus, drained and sucked away by the daunting paper.

The outside air seems fresh and sweet, the sounds of the city rides on the wind, and the clouds twists and churns, flowing high above deforming and reforming. The laughter from anonymous passersby floats through the window and harmonizes with the constant hum of a computer.

Bright ideas flashes through an empty mind, like silver fish in a charming lake, evasive yet so obvious. A sentence appears on the paper, slowly and deliberately the pencil moves. The period marks the end, and the first line is done. Staring beneath the lonely words, all blood rushes out of the face at the task to fill the rest. Rubbing a forehead, two more sentences appears, only for them all to be erased, the shavings litter across the page. A few more words, then erase, like an unbroken pattern. The page, now scarred with blurred out lines laugh a sinister laugh. Filled with malice, it refuses to be filled.

Reaching out for a phone, scrolling through empty notification bars as an excuse to look at the time. Shutting off the screen and putting it aside, a drawn out sigh echoes through the room. The sun makes its lazy journey across the summer sky. Pleasant musings fill the head, as drawn out scenes seem to dance across the page. Touching the phone again, unlocking the screen only to be locked again.

Frustrated taps of the pencil leaves tiny dot marks on the page. Words seem to form in the head only to dissolve on the page. Looking around the room, trying to think of that one elusive, impalpable, vexing, irksome, impish, necessary word. Searching online, searching the thesaurus, the dictionary and suddenly an eureka moment occurs.

Like a dam overflowing, ideas crash through and suddenly the pencil jumps to life. Repeating them in the mind to retain these precious thoughts. The page fills to the halfway point and once again, the colorful, vibrant, bright ideas pool away.

The dots on the paper seem to have a sudden shape, the lines of the parchment are suddenly touched by imagination. Doodles and sketches blossom around the margins and tabs and windows of much more captivating subjects litter the computer screen.

Peeking at the time, a instant panic clenches the throat. Hastily erasing evidence of the wandering mind, the pencil hurries to scribble down the conclusion. A bright horizon looms ahead, freedom lingers in every breath. The last paragraph, the last sentence and as if the Gates of Heaven were open, a sudden peace settles as the last dot marks the end. Sweet liberty grasps the hand and with the head tossed back, the page is filled. A small smile flits across the face as the vile, discouraging, empty, crisp sheet is at last tamed.

City Lights

Under the shadows of the moon and the quiet lullabies of a thousand stars, the silence of a sleeping neighbourhood is almost deafening. Almost. It long way from the hustle-bustle of the heart of the city but the tired wail of a lone car is never far from people. The silhouettes of towering buildings and structures line up the horizon, it’s lights only a faint memory of the day. Another day gone. Another day come. The stock market just dropped. The gas price climbed yet again. But for now, in the safety of the night, the promise of tomorrow is enough to sing the anxious hearts to sleep. 

And when they do, all the worries from the day fade away. After all, no one determines what’s important other than yourself. They sleep and they dream, but in every dream, there is a killer. When morning comes once again, kids jump mechanically into a school bus and parents robotically drive into the glass city for another day of work.

But the lights from the city are not just another fading lullaby. While small neighbourhoods are leaving behind the eventful day, the city is wide and awake. Under the blessing of the moon and the quiet laughter of a thousand stars, the proudly shining lights border the coastline. The shops and stores are far from closing while people come and go, passing through the doors while their bodies dance across the streets. Waving spotlights beckon for a night of movie marathoning while flashing signs lure carefree people to a night of feasting. 

Arms leaning to the ground, straining against the weight of the many bags from the countless malls, their laughter bounces off the roads. The night is still young. The beaming glow entrap the wild youth, no time for sleep and no place to hide. Where crying is not a sign of weakness but of strength, there is no time for tears. In the safety of metal cars, young life drive through intersections, away from regrets, until there was no telling where the streets began and where they ended.

As the cars drive aimlessly through the dark, they head back, searching for home. Wrapped in the warmth of the city life, they know that they have already found it. While we may gaze longingly beyond the clouds, the universe is gazing longingly back down at the vibrant city and its unforgettable tunes sung by the people.

While the neighbourhoods are quiet - doctors taking prescribed sleeps and businessmen shaking hands with their dreams, the metropolis hums with life. The glass buildings are far from perfect, but what really is perfect? The wrongs from the day and the constant worries are nothing as they are blinded by the city lights.