SNAP!
Lead broke into fragments on as of then- blank paper. Curses cut against white grain when tip touched sheet, and danced. Brows furrowed in thought, fingers dropped each twisted, stranded wood, shattered pencil, before covering head under cover that masked shame.
Muse fled.
Stories stopped singing.
Author wrote no more.
But- Hark- end is near.
Light filtered through unseen windows. Creeks crept from just opened doors. Smile lifted tattered lips because passion flowed without lack.
Creativity had not left affront trepidation, merely for a moment’s rest.
With writing tool sharpened following brief scratches beneath knife, the writer writes again.