angliterario

Clack , clack, clack His keyboard keeps typing the words. He is unaware of what he is writing, he feels awake, yet his fingers seem to move on their own accord. The computer keeps spewing words. Words Words Words He doesn’t understand what they mean. His eyes kept following the words. Words Words Words A hand suddenly shoots out of the pages. The words were not without meaning, his brains just cannot process what they were. Some ancient language perhaps. Or an unknown incantation. Whatever it is, something is happening. And it is not something good. Not for him at least. He tries to move his fingers. Stop the clacking. He can’t. He couldn’t. Help! His mind screams, but no sound comes out of his mouth. The hand is turning into an arm. Then an elbow. Someone, something is coming out of the words. Words Words Words He tries to wiggle his typing fingers again. No response. It’s as if they weren’t his. Whose is it? I’m here, am I? He asks. No one really. There’s nobody to ask, nobody who c

 I did not mean to stop writing. I thought I loved writing. I thought it was my oxygen.  But then small people came into my life, who suddenly took over everything and became the most precious beings in my universe.  I no longer needed to write. I was finally complete.