The tragedy has left a scar that will never heal. The pain is so great the man can find is no relief. Can he discover a way to move on with his life; a way to bury the nightmare? Or will the nightmare bury him? Life and clouds have two sides, one dark and overflowing with anguish, the other sunlit and brilliant. Where will he come to rest?
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Maybe, the good doctor is on to something, and I will work this all out in my head if only I work through it using my trusty Toshiba. Maybe I can find some reason behind it all, maybe some reasoning if only I replay the whole thing for the millionth time but this time I punch it all into this stupid keyboard.
This is the first time I have tried to string words together in some semblance of a coherent thought, since the time I now think of as the end of my normal life. And, honestly, I find it incredibly laborious and difficult. There is no joy in it. There is no excitement. There is only pain that I can feel rushing through my body, seeming to begin in my mind and run through my hands into the keyboard of my once beloved laptop. I use to feel such a charge as the stories took shape in my mind and on the simulated page of the computer screen. The excitement that I felt as the story came to life was the greatest feeling I ever had. I don’t know if other authors know how their stories will end when they begin them, but I rarely have even a clue. I am as surprised at the twists and turns that turn up in my stories as I am when I read someone else’s work.
I look at this computer now with loathing. It was here that those first stories came to life and so here was the birth of my nightmare. I know how this story will end. I know how each moment will flow into the next. I hate it.
