“Alright,” Brandon Scott said, sitting down at his desk, “what am I going to blog about today?”
His laptop turns on with a flash of light, and he clicks away a few pop-ups. After a moment, he reaches for his phone and pulls up his favorite playlist.
“Well…I haven’t done a micro fiction in a while.”
The fedora on his head is too small, and he keeps adjusting it. The music already blaring in his ears, he stares at the empty page.
His eyes snap shut and a few half-murmured lines of the song play across his lips.
It almost looks like he’s asleep. Except for his fingers. They keep tapping against the desk, the nails leaving little chips in the paint. He likes to think it looks like he’s playing a piano.
It really doesn’t.
This lasts a few seconds. A minute perhaps.
A grin spreads across his mouth as he opens his eyes.
“Yeah, that’ll work.”
The typing is slow at first, he’s getting a feel for it. There’s a couple long pauses, a few skipped songs on the playlist.
And then the creation. He can’t hear the songs anymore. He can’t hear anything anymore. The words are eating up every bit of his concentration.
If he stops, he reads from the beginning again. He’ll read it many times, no matter how short it is. Each time through surges more words, more ideas. Completion usually happens as an accident. He blinks a few times, reading that last sentence, judging it.
Satisfied, he sits back and makes sure to save the story. He’ll edit it tomorrow.
He smiles. How could he not? He just made art.
And that’s pretty fucking cool.
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