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This story was written mainly out of a lack of inspiration... the subsequent story may or may not be posted later... I haven't decided yet.

The Blank Page

She stared at the sheet of paper. It was 8 ½ by 11 inches. White. College ruled with thin blue lines. She bought it at OfficeMax, Staples or some other office supply store. Much like most of her writing supplies. It was just much cheaper to do it that way.

A thick white candle burned nearby. French vanilla flavored. She always described scents in terms of flavor. It was part of her particular style. She stared at the flame as if praying for inspiration. The soft, subtle scent of the vanilla cloacked the room. Next to the candle was a wine glass full of Welch's grape juice with a touch of vodka. Her fingers caressed the gentle stem of the glass as she thought.

She used to be able to weave a great tapestry from the many threads of life. She was a Free Bard, master of spinning tales from the great loom of her imagination. But today the colors were less vivid. The threads more fragile. The words have lost their meaning. At one time she was enraptured in the esctacy of the written word. She was able to marvel at the intricate beauty and power of words. But somehow they lost that awe.

Her vision was not the same as it used to be. The world at one time held so many endless secrets for her. Now she just stared at the paper. The candle burns...

"Tell me your story!" she demanded from the dull lifeless paper. Suddenly there was a spark. She heard something few others could hear. A faint melody. She listened harder and heard the rest of the symphony. The paper was telling her the story.

The work was once again full of life and color. The candle's flame seemed for some reason brighter. Everything at last made sense. She picked up the pen in a swith fluid motion. With a barely audible tap the pen met the paper. The ink flowed evenly spelling the words.

    We begin...