A Case of Writer’s Block
He covered his eyes from the vacuous stare of the screen. How long would this emptiness last? Sitting static for an age and a bit he’d scanned for thoughts in the air above his head. Invisible butterflies that could be trapped, pinned down and displayed forever. He knew they were there, dancing silently out of reach to evade his grasp. The keyboard offered no inspiration; it just remained inert, quiet and indifferent. For all the words in the world it was of no use whatsoever. Uncovering his face the monitor’s blazing glower struck him, constricting his pupils to full stops. He began to type. He was without purpose or plan but anything was better than this mass of nothing. It was like being trapped inside a ping-pong ball, blank white space wherever he looked. He would fill the page with something. Anything. He stopped and read back what he had just written.