THOUGHTS...

He stared at the blank page and the blank page stared back at him. Neither of them liked what they were looking at but they continued to stare at each other, transfixed.

He was a writer although people who had read his works begged to differ. For him, the worst kind of a nightmare was a blank page though others told him that a blank page could symbolize a womb where words were waiting to come alive; it fuels your imagination, coaxes ideas out of you and nurses them till they are able to fend for themselves.

He stared at the page with palpable anxiety. His fingers trembled with trepidation as he cursed with vehemence. The page continued to stare back at him, taunting him, jeering at him and quite possibly rejoicing at his hesitance.

He closed his eyes as the fans whirred with silent ferocity. Think, he told himself. Think fool, think. He stayed motionless for a whole half hour, his breathing mirroring his mental prowess; ragged and coming out in bursts. His temples throbbed and his heart fluttered like a caged bird. He opened his eyes and stared.

At the blank page.

He made up his mind as his eyes flickered over the page, which were pregnant with thoughts, one last time; a harsh reminder of his impotency.

So long sucker, he told himself as his fingers did his bidding.

An Alt+F4 later all that remained of his failure was a flickering desktop.