I look around my room, desperately hoping
for something to give me inspiration. It is the second to last day of vacation,
the second to last day of freedom before school crushes down on us. Bleak light
floats in through the four large windows. Outside, there is nothing to write
about. My room is drab, nothing exiting, and the hundred and twenty three books
all neatly lined up on the shelves do not have their usual charm. What was the
prompt again? Life is good. Okay. I sit down at the computer screen and start
to write.
The only times that I have really been happy
are when I am home with my cousins and family, or alone in the woods…
No.
No way. Where did that come from? Backspace. I hate writer’s block. Whenever I
am not writing, ideas swirl around in my head, stories, not fully formed, poems
bursting with light and color, but then I sit down at the computer to try and
put my ideas on paper, the fountain of ideas slows to barely a trickle and I
can’t remember anything that I have been dreaming about.
Outside,
the sun peaks through the clouds, illuminating the worn out carpet with a ray
of golden light…
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