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I've been having ideas bubbling in my imagination just waiting to be freshly plucked out of my head and placed onto my eyes so that they are ready to copy on to a crisp sheet of paper whose blank surface is just waiting to be covered... but I have to finish a monstrous research paper, it has sank it's teeth into my hands, like needles they puncture and the red water of life sprays freely from them, the color changes to death as it falls to the ground... the color black. I thought of myself to be robbed of my six-teen chapters of my book, but I just type without rest, the red water makes my fingers slip on the now mutilated keyboard. Faster and faster, harder and harder my decimated hands work, bone is showing now but pain is absent by this point, I'm very flabbergasted as to how I live... I think, ponder, question and then it comes to me; my whole self is present and at work, writing pages to my book but my hands are dead... They are the ones who have left me and now Death is typing for me, helping me finish this paper, this accursed paper that has robbed my hands of positive life... and replaced it with the brittle, bony, Hellish hands of the Reaper. Why does he help me...? He knows that it's not my time to leave perhaps this is why, I look upon the computer screen and see that my whole paper is done.... and a message follows, it reads: "There you are my friend now go do something extraordinary with your life will you?" I look back down to find that my hands have returned to me. Happiness flowed with in me and I typed back "I will, thank you." Another message follows mine "You're welcome."
Kinda makes it interesting  |
