Monday, 6 June 2011
Days passed by and the paper stood blank. It wasn’t an ordinary paper, it was a paper that needed desperately to be filled. Even so, it didn’t matter, the paper stayed blank. Nights passed by and no words filled that blank. Despair started to spread.
He went for a quick run at the beach to clear his head. A group of children played pirates. The screams came from tiny happy adventurers ready to conquer the village, and steal all their gold with the simple weapon of their innocence. Their joy was catchy and soon enough he too drifted into their world of fantasy. He saw himself as a fearful pirate steering into the most beautiful beaches, with the most interesting people. He would come with his mighty ship and his mighty crew and would conquer all the great minds spread around. He would steal all the thoughts, the great ideas and all the imagination there is. He would be the biggest genius of this world and beyond its end.
Whilst in this reverie, the noon sun struck over the beach and he heard several indistinct female voices calling after their kids for lunch. The screams ended abruptly and with them the whole fantasy fell down. He was awake and back to reality. He didn’t have all the ideas of the world, he wasn’t a master of the mind and he sure was no genius. His mind was as blank as before, if not worse, and an increasingly anxiety took place.
He went back home, apathetic eyes on the ground, back to the living room, back to the old portable typewriter, back to that insolent blank paper. Waiting for the secrets of the mind. He looked around, scrutinising every corner as if the solution was hiding behind the couch or that rocking chair by the window. Nothing.
The wind blow the curtain open and the sun came. It hit the pale glass of a bottle standing over the counter spreading all over in strays of sublime lights. Lights more grandiose than those seen through the stained glass of some majestic church. The light shone upon him and a strange angelic aura surrounded him. He didn’t believe in gods or goddesses but the atmosphere felt as if sacred, a holy kind of state. He gazed around and saw the white paper on the type machine. He started to see formations of words as if written with light. He looked astonished for a wee while. Yet, after that first shock, he sat and wrote. The paper didn’t seem as frightful anymore, it was pledging to be filled, submissive, and he knew now which words were to write.
It didn’t take him long to fill pages after pages. Looking at the pile of written paper, he then leant smiling on the chair. The light was long gone but that bottle over the counter still glowed, as if hiding stolen rays of sun in the dark of the night. He went to the counter and held the bottle in his hands. It was the perfect epilogue of long hours of creation. He poured it down in a frozen glass. The fresh Absolut liquid had the transparency of clear thoughts. And the taste… the taste was like an ode to the most ideal place on Earth, the place where dreams are kings, where ideas are born and fantasy is made.
Posted by Rumble Pitch