The blinking cursor gave way to thoughts in crumbled pages scattered all over the mind. An emotion that was left hanging, a feeling that was never allowed to be felt, an inhibition that was too deep to be shared, a secret too dark to be told, mindless thoughts that rampaged the pleasant streets of the inhabited complicated mind, the unsaid words locked up deep under, stories that was too scarred to be narrated. Amidst all this chaos, it blinked. The cursor kept blinking, for a long time. The mind agitated in agony for the words left unsaid haunted the stillness of the restless thoughts.
The backspace knew them all. Each and every thought, emotion, feeling, stories and whatnot. Beneath the facade of happy smiles and cheerful greetings, it knew the underlying truth. It knew that one day the mask will come off and that day will be the god damn best day one has ever had. But the backspace got it’s job back, the mask stayed and cursor continued to blink.
There was a voice, the one that always made sense, that voice shouting loudly but faintly audible, to let go off the inhibitions, to let go off the fear, to not worry about the consequences and just let the words take over and let them control the very fragment of the face behind the mask. And it stopped. The cursor that taunted the mind, that provoked and which always the last laugh felt powerless. Key stroke after keystroke, words kept the ego of the blinking cursor down. There was a train of words, an army and they kept following the trail. And like a tsunami it swept across the silent corners of the restless mind. The words spoke volumes, of everything and then there it was – the light at the horizon. The silent gaze of the refined words enlightened the much darker corners, diving through the cracks of every broken emotion thought, scratched off thought on the crumbled pages that lay still in the mind.
The sun was brighter that day, the grass a little greener and birds a little chirpier. It was not the accomplishment, but more of the peace, that mind has seen for the first time in decades.
This impromptu rambling is written for the prompt: Stranger than fiction.
PS : The question of what is this just might creep in your mind. You try to brush it off, but it just stays there. I haven’t written in a while, like in a really really long time. Perhaps, I thought I should write about what I am not able to write. Also comes under #BackspaceTales – I might as well write a series on writer’s block.