The Blank Screen

A Blank Screen

 I've always had something to write about. I've always had someone telling me what to write about. I've always had at least a faint idea in my head  about what I want to write about, but I don't have any ideas, or any prompts.

I opened my laptop, hoping that it would help then just writing on paper. I can never think well when I'm writing on paper. I powered it on, only to stare at a blank white screen, an opposite of a black hole-sucking everything I didn't have away, not everything I already had-, with a cursor blinking up at me, ready for it's job. Ready for me to type. 

I pushed down the buttons one by one, slowly forming a sentence.  He pushed his hair out of his sweaty face.. then clicked backspace, and held it down, all the letters disappearing as I held that one button down.

I tore my eyes away from the keyboard, such an easy thing to do when you don't know what to do, and looked up at the white screen. I usually couldn't wait to type, couldn't wait to write a whole new story, create new people, and have those new people go out find themselves, and have adventures. That was how I wrote. Ideas pulsing through me, like blood, like something I would always have. Until I didn't.

I looked back down, desperate to get away from the blank screen.

So many different things could happen, good or bad. So many different things could be created, good or evil. So many different things could be made, for better or for worse. So many things...

Sometimes it's good to just write, the letters flowing out of you as if you're talking yourself. It happens to me. but sometimes it doesn't.

Then something popped into my brain, lurching my head up, forcing me to look at the blank screen in front of me. I pounded at the keyboard, desperate to get my idea out before it was to late.

My story started with the one sentence that described exactly how I did. "I've always had something to write about."