As I stare up at the ceiling tonight, I lie in anticipation. My eyes search through the inky black veil that darkness is, and set themselves on the ceiling. They run over the seemingly smooth surface and watch it expand across the top of my room. Although it’s hard to see in the dark, if I peer hard enough, I can make out the little bumps that stick out, like little white and gray mountains on the rough terrain of my ceiling. The more I stare at its shadowy appearance, the closer it seems to get, as if I could reach my hand out and scarcely graze it with the tips of my fingers.
I try not to focus too much on the softness of the bed or the warmth of my blanket, but at that swelling ceiling looming over me, acting as a shield against all that may be lurking outside. Shifting into a comfortable position, I rummage through my mind for all my most recent memories or interesting circumstances. Then, as a bulb lights up above my head, I formulate an idea, just another average idea on another average night. I close my eyes and see the idea through, picturing every part of it, every scene, then quickly, I pick up the notepad and pencil on the tiny desk beside me and scribble.
The page soon fills up with my idea and when I’m done, I close my eyes a final time and drift off to sleep.
The next morning I follow through with the regular routine; doing my stretches after eating breakfast, then meeting up with Mira at the library for our shift. I take one last look at the ceiling before I go, remembering to write another story to add to my collection of short stories, stories that are stored on my computer to never be published.
***
Somehow my worn clothes end up on the floor again. I don’t bother to pick them up and fold them once I’m in my pyjamas and lying underneath my blanket furs. As I snuggle, images of the library I work at course through my mind. I see Mira stacking shelves beside me, I see her sneaking glances at the pages of the books she’s supposed to keep preserved for customers. I see the customers themselves, making vague demands, needing to be satisfied with specificity. I see them skinning me alive with their gaze, already putting me in shackles and chains before their feet. I can’t blush in front of them, I can only smile.
All I’ve ever wanted is both before me and behind me; in placing myself right in the hub of my imagination I’ve managed to intertwine myself with fiction and yet get trapped by reality again and again. And just as the masses lash out at me, my own mind does nothing to atone for the losses I face in my body.
I surrender myself to the darkness again and sink underneath it for what I thought would be a few hours of silence and solitude. But the colours that visit me that night sear themselves in my memory.
I wake up amidst the black of my room, still enveloped in shadow from the middle of night and I formulate my grandest idea. Until tomorrow.
***
I call in sick at the library and spend the day slouching on various chairs and sofas. Scratching paper, tapping keys; whatever gets me forward. It’s not exactly a short story but not a lengthy one either. I don’t finish it by the end of the day but the idea creeps in my mind for months until the final word is written and the room is filled with silence again.
***
When my story is unleashed into the world, the hordes devour it. They barge into my life and demand more from me, which I’m willing to give. Soon, I see myself on the shelves I inhabit; I am plucked from among the spines and flaps and paid for at the cash register. I am stolen away and kept awake at night as eyes interpret every word I have to show. They still want more of me.
***
I stifle a sigh as I plop down onto my bed and get ready to succumb to blank. Ten years of travelling the word through pages and they demand more. They keep expecting me to get up from bed and give them what they want. I keep closing my eyes every night and waiting to see colour again. And I keep waking up knowing that I have not and never will. I close my eyes now and give myself what is now ten years and one day. But the paper, as always, remains blank.
Best Idea Ever Had