Writer’s Block

It all began at a desk. I sat there, sword in hand, ready to take on the dragon before me. The blank scenery stretched out before me in an endless landscape of white depthlessness. All was nothing.
The emptiness was blinding. Absolute torment to my mind as it reached out and filled my mind with its nothing. My hand hesitated, hovering unsteadily over the canvas. It awaited my order, but I had none to give.
Fear gave in to rage, and I slashed at the beast with a fury I did not know I possessed. Black blood poured out from the gashes I created, spilling over the blank landscape like so much water. I stabbed, puncturing the monster with all my might until the darkness oozed all around the wound.
Hacks and lunges and cuts all combine in a mad flurry of stains, until more black remains than white.
“That’s going a little overboard, don’t you think?” A voice brings me back to myself, sitting at my desk with a pen dripping ink in my hand. “What did that poor page ever do to you? I have to say, though, that’s quite the monster you’ve created.”
I look down at the paper sitting on the desk. A dark creature looms across the parchment, dark and hungry, ready to swallow me into its terrible maw.
“What will you call it?”
I look up to the voice and smile. “Writer’s Block.”


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