I try to write, I really do, but the words will not obey me. As I write, they leap about, the unruly words. They won’t listen, not at all. I put a period at the end of a sentence, and it simply swaps places with its good friend, the comma.
The graphite marks on the lined paper are taunting me, teasing me. They won’t do what I want. They giggle and run away whenever my eraser gets close. I try to rip out the page, and throw it away, and the disobedient words along with it, but they simply jump to a new page. I curse at my situation, but those words run away from me as well.
I get out a pen; perhaps it will be more cooperative. But when I try to drag it across the paper, the ink has retreated up the plastic tube, refusing to touch the paper. The words laugh at me.
I slam my pen down, and shut my notebook in a huff. I hear the muffled, surprised cries of my disobedient words.
I decide to focus on something else for a while. I pick my favorite book off of the shelf. I sit back on my comfy chair and relax, turning to my favorite part. But much to my surprise, the words of chapter five are not there! Upon further inspection, I find them scattered about chapter twelve, while a stray paragraph joined the sentences in chapter three to have a quick laugh. I cannot even find out where chapter one has disappeared to.
No matter what page I turn to, the words move around, to a different page, a different chapter. I think a few even went to hang out with the title. They’re avoiding me, and I don’t know why. I see a Q chasing an M across page seventy. God knows what they’re doing.
I groan and put the book back on the shelf.
I next pick up the dictionary, to expand my vocabulary for the next time the words obey me when I write, whenever that might be. The words in the dictionary are always very proper, disciplined; I’ve never seen them misbehave.
But when I turn to the D section, I find a group of G words there. I should have known. They didn’t even bring their definitions with them. I think I saw ‘good’ chatting up ‘bad’s’ definition. There’s gonna be some trouble there for sure. I also find a bunch of words in the Z section, which surprised me. When did Z get so popular?
I drop the dictionary on the ground; I’m so frustrated. I hear a bunch of J’s mumble in protest; I think the book landed on their page.
I storm out of my room and down to the kitchen to pour myself a glass of milk. I open the fridge and pick up the carton, I don’t even bother looking at the label, I’m pretty sure I won’t like what I see.
I drink the milk; my head is propped up on my hand, my elbow resting against the counter. I look in the living room, for just a second. Something catches my eye. A black square is propped up against the wall, surrounded by a shiny black frame. The square is actually a box. And the box has buttons on the side.
I grin as an idea pops into my head.
I finish my milk and throw my cup into the sink, I made it, a beautiful three pointer, and then I run back up to my room, taking the steps two or three at a time.
I barge into my room; an aura of confidence surrounds me.
“Listen up!” I say, “If you all don’t pull it together… I’m going to leave you all… for the TV.”
There is a collective gasp as the words take in what I say. Quickly, they scramble about, trying to get back into their proper places.
I grab my notebook and sit at my desk, I open it and turn to my page, and the words are now still, as they should be. I touch my pencil to paper and… I have nothing to write.