Serial Communication

He uselessly dips the pen again. Uselessly because lack of ink is not his problem. Again because its all he can do with the courage he has.

The another drop hits the page, his right hand reaches up, one motion, dispenses the flawed paper to the waste basket. The pen begins to collect another tear, spurred by the relentless force of gravity. That which brings all things down.

The hurricane of memories, thoughts, emotions whips through his mind, fighting desperately to slow down the winds, find a way out, the path that must be took. There is no place like home.

Moments of clarity, the eye of the storm show him his answer, in fear he lets it go back to the winds, not ready to embrace it.

The hardest thing is starting.

A sharp intake of breath and the pen hits the paper with a small explosion of ink. Quickly he scratches the pen across the page, the tear of ink chases after the pen, laying out the lessons of life, love, anger.

The hurricane in his mind begins to ease, the funnel cloud emptying through his arm to his fingertips. As the ink flows from the pen, the river of thoughts become constant, ordered. He sees everything as a time line, logical. Reasons upon reasons, cause and effect, the thoughts become an equation. An equation he does not want to solve, he already knows the answer.

The pen drops to the paper, empty, the last stroke results in only an invisible mark, the tears of ink spent, he has nothing more to say. The storm is gone, replaced by a calm resolve, he reads the last word.

Goodbye


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Cray