One night, in the spring of 2015, a sentence popped into my head: "There's a fish on my desk and it's weirding me out." It was a strange sentence indeed. I still don't know what led to its existence.
Grace stumbled into the dark bedroom, shutting the door behind her and fell face down onto the bed. The rumpled sheets twisted around her body as she leaned to her side and scrunched into the fetal position. As she was beginning to drift off, her bedroom door creaked open at an eerily slow pace.
- Do you ever stare at a blank page?
- Do you ever save the document even though you haven’t made any changes?
- Do you spend too much time formatting the document and organizing notes?
- Do you ever finish a sentence, paragraph, page, erase half of it, then start over again?
- Do you ever get tired and tell yourself you’ll finish it later?
- Do you ever motivate yourself to finish something only to recognize why you left it behind in the first place?
I sit on old concrete steps, the Moon’s gold visage highlighted in the winter sky. Wisps of clouds move across the Moon, giving illusion that it grows closer. My eyes focus in, and I think about how far away it is. The light envelops me. My muscles tense, my shoulders rise. I press my bare feet against the steps, feeling every crack and darkened crater. It’s a wasted effort. Any moment the Moon will suck me up towards its surface.