Fractal Realities: Empty

Robert Quick

Where the -@!# did my muse go?

Writer, dreamer, knight, shackled by entertainment . . . and people.


When the moment came to reveal his finished product, he felt trepidation. It was time to face the reality. For better or worse, it was his alone. He had sat there by himself grunting and sweating until he was completely tapped out. His muscles quivered, spasming on their own. Sweat clung to him like a hooded cloak. He felt like he had just finished the most grueling race of his life. He had done so much work and now it was time to review it.

Unfortunately his expectation did not match reality. There was almost nothing there at all. Yet he had felt it, experienced it, and borne it with red pain. No matter how many times he checked, no matter the angle in which he craned his head, nothing changed. It was empty and so was he. This never happens. He was delirious but that thought was clear. It never happens because it could never happen and yet . . .

The anguished scream that followed in the park down the street, broke the momentum of the basketball players there, and they paused to consider its hopelessness.


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