The Barren Emptiness

The poof chair opens her mouth to gobble me up when I make way to sit on her. I pull out my note book and engage my brain in thought. The words are right there on the tip of my tongue. If I were on the show “The Magic School Bus,” I would shrink to the size of a pea and wiz around my lungs. That's how my words are acting, like that little bus. Each page tells a story, each one unique. Most of them lay there as a barren wonderland of snow would. Thoughts are ribbons that are whisked away. Ideas come and go from my white struck page, as I sit there in Kitty's mouth. Her mouth isn't dry like others of her kind. Her slobber engulfs me as if I had plunged myself into the ocean on a warm sunny day. Most of the words that swim to me are quickly locked away as if they were a tiger on a long chain in a colosseum. The wind will streak across the page and blow all the words and images away deciding that they weren't good enough of the eyes of God. My unconscious mind- the drip from a begonia creating a melancholy ripple in the vast vicinity I call my imagination. “There on a barren hillside, in the break mid-winters night…..Stood a single Thornwood, its tendrils lost from sight…” words that are not my own sing their way across my face- my page still as white struck as it could be. One little thought has been on my mind all day. My page is graced with the presence of a solitary utterance; a lone black v-shaped monstrous vulture soaring high in the sky to find its flock. A declaration of truth is spewed in front of me. As I dart my eyes towards my notebook, I read the one simple line I've tried so hard to say: All you need is friends.

-Louise Bowker

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