Written World by Annie Welton

My eyes come into focus on each blue line that runs across the blank page. I stare at it and it blinks back at me. My senses gather like the clouds before the storm. The sharp lead tip gently rests on the first blue line, and hesitates for only a moment. The curve of the first letter begins, and suddenly the first work appears. Before I know it, a sentence fills the line and my arm drags across the lead, smearing it to return to the beginning of a new line. The pencil gathers speed and energy as it viscously races across the paper, thoughts trip over themselves to reach the paper first. Sentences turn to paragraphs, paragraphs to pages. The world outside of that page ceases to exist, and I am lost in my own realms I create. An escape from unforgiving reality, bending of the rules and restrictions this world sets. I explore beyond limits, roaming wherever imagination takes me. Magic flows from my fingertips, my heart pounds faster. I dream while I’m awake, making every thought and idea my own. I hold the entire universe in my grasp, I compose what I want to. My heart pours out on page after page, exaggerating my emotions and turning visions into reality. I am alone, I work in secret, free from punitive judgment of others. For just a moment, I can ignore the world around me and live within my own. At last my pencil begins to slow, my thoughts are spent. The concluding paragraph is generated, the completion, the end. Only a sentence is left to give, and the arc of the last letter appears. The pencil swerves to a stop with a terminating period. Yet, this period is only a pause, an interruption of my work. Because everybody knows that after, “The End” begins, “Once upon a time”.