1000 Words from Me to You

Short Fiction by E Kraft

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The hum of the ceiling fan above me provided a steady rhythm as I sat at my desk, surrounded by the hush of anticipation, staring, staring at the blank screen of my laptop, fingers poised over the keyboard. The cursor on the screen blinked relentlessly, as if mocking my inability to coax out the words that danced just beyond my reach. Each blink echoed in the silence of the room ever so tauntingly, a reminder of the vast expanse of white space waiting to be filled with words–yes, words that would hopefully weave a tale worthy of capturing hearts and minds, a tale that could transport readers to worlds unknown and stir emotions long dormant…

But nothing. Yes, nothing. Nada, but the stupid cursor. I felt the weight of time pressing down on me, the minutes slipping away like sand through my fingers. Tick, tock, tick, tock—the clock on the wall seemed to patronize me with its relentless march forward. It was now or never, the moment to breathe life into the stories that had been simmering in the depths of my imagination.  Shut up, shut up. My heart raced. Do it, do it.  This, this was it.  It was my chance to unleash the stories that had been swirling in my mind for weeks, so many weeks, begging, begging to be released.

Please. I took a deep breath and closed my eyes. Hush now, try to quiet the cacophony of thoughts clamoring for attention in my mind. I needed to focus. Hush, find the thread that would lead me through the lost labyrinth of my imagination and into the heart of my story. With a deeper breath still, I willed myself to silence the chaos of doubts that threatened to overwhelm me. I needed to find my center, to tap into the wellspring of creativity that lay dormant within me. I needed to believe. 

Slowly, tentatively, I began to type, the sound of the keys echoing softly in the stillness of the room. With each word, each sentence, the story began to take the shape of a tapestry woven from the threads of my imagination. The words flowed from my fingertips, each keystroke bringing me one step closer and ever more confidently to the world I was creating. Characters emerged from the shadows, their voices growing louder with each passing moment, feverishly revealing their secrets, their hopes and fears, their dreams and desires, urging me to tell their story. 

I lost myself in the world unfolding on the screen before me, the boundaries between reality and fiction blurring with each stroke of the keys. The outside world faded into the background, replaced by the vibrant landscapes of my mind—the sights, the sounds, the sensations of a world that existed only in the realm of my creation.

But as the story unfurled, doubts crept in with long shadows through the night. Was my writing good enough? Would anyone care about my tale? The questions hung in the air. The voices of insecurity whispered harshly, abusively in the corners of my mind, mercilessly threatening to extinguish the spark of creativity that burned within me.  The cursor blinked at me, silently challenging me with the face of adversity. You’re nobody. Nobody cares. But I refused to be deterred, my mind racing to the beat of my heart.  I knew who I was—I was a storyteller, a dreamer, a seeker of truths hidden in the depths of imagination. And it was enough.

With each word, I fought back against the doubts, pushing forward with a determination born of passion and purpose. My fingers flew across the keyboard, ignoring the angry voices, standing up for myself, for once and for all. This was my passion and purpose, to breathe life into words and set them free to roam in others’ minds. I couldn't let fear hold me back from pursuing my dreams.  This was my story, my voice, and I refused to let anyone—or anything—diminish its power.

With each keystroke, I reaffirmed my belief in myself and the stories I had to tell. I was enough. My voice mattered. And as the final paragraphs took shape, a sense of exhilaration washed over me, almost a feeling of triumph in the face of doubt.  I had done it.  I had written a story, a piece of myself poured onto the page, albeit imperfectly. Yes, I know it wasn't perfect but it was still mine, all mine—a testament to my creativity, my resilience, my unwavering belief in the power of storytelling, the power of my dreams, the power of me.

With trembling hands, I saved the document and clicked submit, sending my words out into the world with a mixture of hope and apprehension. The journey was far from over, but in that moment, I knew that I had taken the first step on a path filled with endless possibilities. Now all I could do was wait—to wait for the judges to weigh my words, to wait for the verdict that would determine the fate of my story.

Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes as I realized the magnitude of what I had accomplished. It meant possible validation and even possible recognition. My voice, my story, might just touch someone else's heart. And in that moment, I knew that all the doubts, fears, insecurities, everything had been worth it.

For I had found my voice. I had found the courage to believe in myself and the stories I had to tell. And as I sat there, basking in the glow of my newfound strength, I knew that this was only the beginning of my journey as a writer—a journey filled with endless possibilities, endless stories, and endless dreams, just waiting to be told. Thank you so much, my dear reader, for allowing me to start my path here and for allowing me to share it with you. You have touched my heart. And I know we will meet again someday, someday, hopefully very soon.

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E Kraft is a poet who enjoys creating origami art and coding for a non-profit organization. Her poems have been published by The Inlandia Institute, The Hanging Loose Press, The National Poetry Quarterly, and others.