I've got black holes in my imagination

A micro story, written for a friend

"I've got black holes in my imagination," she whispered to no one in particular as she stared unconvinced at the page. It was filled with lines longing to be written on, half shadowed from the lamp behind her. She had been sitting there for an hour already. Long enough for the ticking of the clock to become a living thing and the discarded stories to form a makeshift landfill on her floor. Her cat, Rufus, nudged at her foot purring loudly. His tail caressing her leg in a vein attempt to draw her attention. She bounced her pencil between her fingers, tapping her lip with the eraser. She looked out the window again towards the approaching storm clouds, though her gaze was somewhere further in space. That opening sentence was all she needed. That first crucial leap into another world that she, herself controlled. She sank her head onto her desk and let out a sigh of despair. "Nothing...," she breathed. She imagined that black hole in her imagination sucking away her very soul, next it would take poor Rufus, then surely the world and the sun after that. "Wait...," she mumbled, her head suddenly lifting, "black holes aren't empty, they're filled with all that stuff." She put her pencil to the paper with newfound determination. Her mind, cleared by the black holes she had detested moments before, was suddenly able to see all of her ideas conveniently grouped into those same areas she once thought empty. She was ready to take on Hemingway.