Writers Mockery Of Themselves

"Congratulations for winning the grand championship for on-the-spot-writing!"

It's still fresh in my thoughts the very first award I have received which pushed me through to realize I am writer.




Slow motion. Cameras flashing. People applauding. Red Carpet. Time traveling.



I turned around and saw myself the time I was writing the masterpiece. I was surrounded with exquisite writers; representatives of each prestigious academies. Most of them behold intelligence; the humongous the spectacles are sitting on their nostril, the smarter they seem to appear more. Some ask for another sheet of paper to satisfy the pouring ideas that outburst carelessly.

And then me. Me?! HER!

I watched myself.



Hands with a furry pen were like the ballerina gracefully twirling in the music box. The words scribbled on my sheet, were like rainbow L.E.D. engraving shadows that dances like fireworks on galaxy bed. It was a magical moment, transcending, manifesting on every strokes:

Ballpoint making love with the paper.



I stood up holding up my masterpiece. The lights cast my reflection on the paper...

Then I realized, once you write, you just sculpt the person within you. The words used, constructed sentences and arrangement of thoughts were displayed to be criticized, judged, adored and believed.



Handwritten can conceal who you are but once the period was stamped, you have just unlocked the mystery in you...

Writers hands bleed; each line cries or smiles.



Our hands were the chances the voice couldn't have.



Readers taste their ways with a pen in our hand.



PINKYGLOWDUST