A Second’s Inspiration

And so, time ticks on ever-slowly, tapping the strands of open air like a spider web, its vibrations tickling the spines of each one who cares to take any notice of it.

A splash of color surged as the prismatic air reverberated, glancing of Trui’s mirror, which was ever watchful of the world as it hung, looking directly out the second-story window. Trui just nearly touched the black ink pen to the blank page of his journal when the technicolor cloudburst erupted in his room, leaving shimmering remnants of polished, chromatic splotches on the sheet of paper. He fell over the back of his chair as if blown back by an explosion, startled by the world’s colorful upheaval. He sprawled away from the desk for a moment, cautiously awaiting another spastic phenomenon. After a few moments, he poked his head over the window sill next to his desk to see if mayhaps an alien spaceship had caused the commotion, then turned around and looked at the mirror. After his heart stopped thumping, Trui pushed himself up off the ground and paced his room for a moment, ensuring nothing in his room had exploded or caused the silent shock.

He finally walked slowly back to his desk, the soft carpet forming to his foot and squishing between his toes with each step. He approached timidly, hoping he hadn’t ripped the page by accident. The journal had snapped closed, the leather jacket still relatively stiff and accustomed to hugging its pages firmly. The journal crackled and creaked in protest as he gingerly separated the pages. Flipping each sheet one by one, he noticed a sparkle from the page he had been working on, which now appeared to be gilded on the edge as well. His eyes widened as he revealed the page, which appeared to be covered in oil-slick except for an outline where his hand and pen had been, which was now a silhouette of plain, off-white paper with a dot of smudged black where the ink had dripped. It bled into the slick and swirled into a mesmerizing, spiraling pattern.

He dabbed the page with the paper towel he had been using to clean off his pen to see if the page was wet, but even after smearing and rubbing for a few seconds, the page seemed to be dry as a piece of plain paper could be.

Still puzzled and pondering, Trui signed and dated the hand silhouette, then flipped the page to start writing the next unforeseen incident…

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