The Ascendant

1:31 p.m., 2005-05-30

one

She sat down with paper and glitter and glue and pens. The picture in her head was a turn of the century Valentine but the picture wouldn't let itself become real. Hours passed and still the image in her head stayed stubbornly there and her kitchen table was covered with bits of paper and shine, glitter dusting her forehead and hands. She swept it all into the litter bin and shoved the picture out of her head.

Pictures continued to frame themselves in her mind - herself sitting pregnant and feeling connected to the eternal, apple trees turning green outside her back window, words and pictures winding through a thick journal. But she was still singular in every sense, the trees withered within weeks, and the pages remained blank.

Rain stuttered down, drops sounding quietly against her window with no pattern or consistancy.

She started lists of words that sounded interesting, words she hoped might inspire stories. Capitulate. Hollow. Thresh. She thought of fog and dust and puddles and clouds and still nothing would exist outside those fragile ideas. Her fingers itched to create but her harvest was always the same: blank paper, an emptiness everywhere but the bin.

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one - 2005-05-30