Catatonia (catatonic) wrote in the1st100words,
Catatonia
catatonic
the1st100words

Hello everyone!

 

I’m new to this community.

 

 I just really need some feedback on this really short creative piece I’m working on.

 

I’m thinking of abandoning it and starting over on a different topic, but before I do I just want to know if there is any potential. Also, I need some suggesting for a closing paragraph. I somehow don’t know how to end. Would be great if someone had a suggestion!

I flick the lid open and power it up. Slowly, the machine comes to life. It jolts and jerks as the electricity begins to pass through. Then I hear the soothing hum of the fan and the blue glow of the screen illuminates my face. I open Microsoft Word. That familiar white screen opens up in front of me. For a brief moment I halt. My hands hover over the keyboard as I stare at the black, flashing dash in the corner of the screen. Then they begin to move.

At first, they move slowly, timidly. They stumble and falter as the words struggle to escape my head. Elabaorate Sometimes they even pause altogether. In moments like that, writing seems like a monumental task to be conquered, a war to be fought, or a torture to be endured.

I pause to reread what I have written. Then I press delete and start anew.

And all of a sudden my hands don’t stumble anymore. They fly across the keys like Rachmaninoff on a good day. The adjectives and metaphors ascend like four-note chords. My head, reacting with creativity, is about to explode. The ideas, they are coming faster and faster. My hands are moving faster and faster. My fingers are pecking at the keys like a sandpiper’s beak. Tap, Tap, Tap, like beaks stabbing the words. I can’t breath. I can’t stop. I fuse with those words. Me and them, we become one.

What am I writing? Why am I writing? All of a sudden it doesn’t seem to matter anymore. Now, there is just me and the screen; me and the keys; me and the thoughts, waiting to be banished onto paper. There are no obligations anymore, no deadlines to be met, or professors to please. There are no ramifications, no rules. If I chose, I can suspend the laws of grammar. If I chose I can recreate the rules of language. I embrace that feeling. I let my fingers do the walking, let them wonder. Words just tumble out. I recreate the world, shape it, mould it, make it mine.

Eventually I pause and look at time. It’s 2 o’clock in the morning. I realise that I have been typing for hours.

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