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by Kevin Neylon
Originally published by on 23/12/2016

The pen sped across the page as she tried to get all the ideas out of her head down on paper to refer to later, knowing full well she wouldn’t remember half of it when it really mattered.

So quickly the pen moved it wasn’t leaving ink so much, as scorch marks on the page.

And then it stopped, the ideas having come to an end, nothing more flowed from the pen.

She took a breath and looked at the page below, and cried.

There were no words on the page at all.

The pen still had its lid on.

Kevin Neylon Merits

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