Emptiness. This was the one and only word out of the whole English dictionary that he could think of. His mind was empty. It was like a fifty foot brick wall stood between him, pen in hand, and his notebook. There was only one way to conquer this seemingly unsurpassable wall, and unfortunately he, at the moment, could not do it. Tap, tap, tap; the pen hit the paper creating a noise to break the silence of the room. Click, click, click; he became mesmerized by the fact that his pen could make more than one sound. Click, tap, click, tap. Snnappp.
“Oooo, another one,” He thought as he explored the new sound his pen had made. Following this entertainment was the soft thud of the pen falling onto the paper… He needed to focus. Writing a simple story was much harder than he thought it would be. Just then, as if God himself had wished to distract him, the clouds parted and the gleaming sun appeared for the first time that day. Rich, green leaves danced in the breeze and played in the sun’s streaming light. “Man, I wish I was outside,” he thought. “Maybe I’ll just go out for a bit.” But looking back down at the blank paper, he knew that he had to stay in his room and work. He pulled down the shades.
Leaning back in his chair, he continued to tap on the notebook. The brick wall blocking him from writing must have been getting bigger, because he was even more clueless about what to write than before. “How about I just do this tomorrow,” he attempted to persuade himself. “That’s perfect! It’s much easier to write on Thursdays anyway.” Procrastination had apparently won this battle. He jumped up from the uncomfortable chair and headed downstairs.
He could practically smell the fresh new leaves that come with spring, almost hear excited birds singing pleasantly to one another, and nearly feel the sunlight warming his anxious body as its rays seeped into the earth. The welcoming weather of spring had convinced him to go outside, and he had one foot out the door when he suddenly came to an abrupt halt. At that moment he remembered that the paper was due tomorrow, so he trudged back to the prison that his parents called a bedroom.
“How can I think of a story to write?” He wondered. For no particular reason, he glanced down at a book lying on the floor. On the cover was a picture of a camera; and that was it.
As empty as his mind had been a second ago, it now began filling quickly with ideas. Memories of old family pictures flew into his head. Then photos of friends appeared as well. His eyes began to widen as the stream of memories rapidly flowed. Into his racing mind came flashes of colors, lines, shapes, bodies, clothing, athletes playing sports, musicians performing, artists painting pictures, people laughing together, clouds lazily passing through a careless summer sky, and suns slowly setting.
With this rush of thoughts a character began to take shape. Legs appeared; long, but strong. Then a body materialized, as well built shoulders sprouted from a narrow waist, and thin arms emerged as well. A long, tan face grew from the neck, and dark brown hair streamed out from the top of her head. Green eyes formed, along with a tiny nose, mouth, and a pair of ears. She would have many friends, and live a modest life, but would have a secret lying within her. What made this secret special was that not even she knew what it was, but she would eventually need to discover it. Thoughts were coming so fast that he had to write them all down. The brick wall had been smashed, and there was no turning back. His previously deadlocked mind had found the key to open itself to the possibilities of a world worth exploring. He jotted down this explosion of ideas, finally creating another sound in the room besides the clicking and tapping of a pen.
