Summary: Dedicated to all those writers out there who have ever felt the pull of the pen before? This is for us! Whoo! *laughs*
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?Fireworks?
Not having written in quite a while, all the stories tucked into the recesses of her mind threatened to spill out, flowing out of her ears, eyes, and mouth, demanding her to finish the narratives that she gave so much passion to keep alive. And she knew that they waited in the shadows.
Waiting for that opportune moment to seep down to her fingertips and play to the rhythm of the typing keys that poured forth the tales of her imagination. It was music. It was magic.
And ?-------? would be one of those brain-child ideas that came from the soul to be put on page, enlightening all those who read it- according to the main character- and to show them another way of life through her legend, or what she made this fairy-tale life to be.
Then again, such fanciful thoughts only occurred in her head and emerged as a bare whisper on her lips. This was her secret.
Oh, of course there were the odd people who knew the existence of this story, but never really knew what the tale held; guessing remotely that it had something to do with love.
She laughs.
Of course it?s about love, what else would she write about?
And deep inside, she knows that they don?t know. Not sure whether they?ve felt the pounding, burning desire to write that story down on page, computer or otherwise, forsaking sleep and rest until the brain-child has told her to stop.
For hours on end she would lie in bed, stare at the ceiling and sigh, the ideas and plots all intertwining with each other until it became tangible. Only then would the young writer realize that she had slipped out from under the covers, tiptoe to her desk, and pull out that black ball-pen and the white pad of unlined paper.
And she?d write.
And write she did, until her hand cramped from the forced pressure of pen to paper, eyes watering under the muted light of the hour-glass shaped lamp she had for years, her breath shallow as she silently cries in triumph over her latest invention. A new chapter has been done.
Then, she lovingly puts the materials under her pillow, too exhausted to move from the bed, and smacked her head accidentally on the headboard. It hurt, but not much.
She smiles despite her slightly-pinkish-rimmed eyes and dreams a dreamless sleep.
It has been accomplished; the people who live in the story have stopped asking for their chapter, murmuring instead words of praise and bravado for her love of their story.
It?s their story. And the voices fall asleep, giving her company as their tiny faerie-like ethereal bodies rest on the downy blankets, sharing her pillow, hugging strands of her hair, snuggling under the blankets. Everywhere.
And they appreciate what she?s done for them.
The tiniest faerie flies up to the lamp and turns off the lamp with her small magicks.
Who says there?s no such thing?
It?s her imagination; she?ll believe whatever she wants.
The morning will come soon enough.
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A/N: This is for all the guy and girls here on BI. Long live fanfiction!!!! *laughs*
Calla. :razz:
WOW! WOW! WOW!
That truly is inspirational 