A Witty Title.

The following is a work of fiction. The views and opinions expressed in therein are those of the individual speakers and do not represent the views or opinions of Matthew.

Blink, Blink, Blink, Blink. The cursor mocks me. Blink. It denies my ability to produce. Blink. It denies my creativity. Blink. My competence. Blink. Confidence. Blink. Blink. Blink. The silence is deafening. I sit enclosed in a shell of my own making. Separated from the world by a barrier of my own making. Alone, And blind. Empty. Blink. I have nothing, No Idea. No Motivation, and no inputs, nothing breaks through my concentration. Nothing motivates me, inspires me. Blink. For there is nothing. Nothing but me, my laptop, and the Cursor. Blink. Mocking me. Blink. Taunting me. Blink.

I am immersed in a featureless world. The features are mine to create. To mould however I deem fit. Blink. Blink. And yet I do not do so. I can not. Blink.

I give in. I close the laptop. The world crashes back in to place, through the shattered shell of my barriers. Leaving me once again immersed in a cacophony of sounds. Noises. Sensations. No longer faced with just the Blink of the cursor, no longer mocked, but instead immersed in a real world. A complicated world. A plane flies overhead, descending carrying flocks of travellers to their destination. They are fully immersed in the complicated world. They are so used to it, and yet still they imagine, desire something simpler, something more pure.

They, and I, feel the pull of fiction, of words written about worlds which do not contain the complications of this one. Worlds of simplicity where there are no loose ends, where everything is wrapped up into a neat bundle. Worlds that makes sense. We want to live in that world, I want to write about it. A world populated by heroes and villains, a world where there is no grey. But I cannot.

The cursor's mocking is because I know that world is not real. I know that the world I want to write of is a fiction, and I cannot bring myself to perpetuate it. People use it to escape. Like I use my writing. They use it to hide themselves from the grey, the noise, the complication. They use it to be a member of a simple, logical, easy world for a while.

No longer will I aid this escape. No longer will I be the source of their barriers. They need to accept this world. They need to seek no longer an escape that fills them with comfort.

I now know better.

I turn back to the laptop. To the cursor that still attempts to mock me. Blink. Blink. Blink. But I am resolved. The story can continue no more. Blink.

Now is the time for reality.

End.

# posted by ChinDoGu @ 10:23