Void

He opened his eyes, and the world appeared as if buried under shattered glass.

He shuddered as his body was slammed by a spasm of pain. He was hit immediately and with equal force by the realisation that he had eaten an entire pizza on his own in roughly seven minutes.

Blinking away tears he resolved to achieve something. Anything.
"I must achieve," he thought to himself, "lest this night be remembered solely as the night I ate an entire pizza and suffered the gastronomic consequences".
"The internet!" He exclaimed, although the sound of it was lost amongst a painful rumble from his abdomen which made him swell with the relief of being alone and unheard.
He had long sought the internet as a destination wherein a mote of achievement could be found. He opened his browser and keyed the address. The keys clacked as he typed his own name.
He took a swig of coffee and immediately regretted it as the viscous liquid joined the hellish maelstrom already occupying his midsection.

A small digital representation of his own face stared out at him from the monitor before him. He pressed a button. He typed his email address. He typed his password. He pressed a button.

Time felt sticky and thick. Enourmous effort seemed a requirement for the completion of even the most basic of tasks.
Finally, he found the screen he needed.


He stared at the large, blank rectangle of space. It was like a sheet hanging to dry on a windless day. It made his eyes droop. Unlike many sheets this one longed to be marked, to be covered in black lines and scratches. Unlike many sheets, he wondered if he could leave his mark upon this one.


It seemed to have limitless depth. Any words would disappear upon its surface, falling forever into an invisible plane of underspace, trailing a thin, gunmetal grey cord of his imagination along behind it, falling farther and farther and drawing the cord thinner and thinner until it snapped, and he would be nothing.


Cut off from his imagination - his thoughts - he would wander the streets as a husk. He would be experimented upon as he emotionlessly spouted listless, factual statements. Robbed of self-deprecation and pop culture references he would be nothing.




He worried deeply about the possibility, and the concern that such a thing had already come to pass, as he could think of nothing to write at all.






Bollocks.