One Final Question ~ A Freewrite

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This is a strictly vacuous free write.
I have noting to say and nothing
is working in my brain.
I could fall asleep or collapse
in a blubbery heap right in my tracks.
And I don’t know why.
I don’t know why.
I don’t know why.
Water running in the kitchen and
Law and Order running running running
in the living room. The snow gently falls
on the grave of yesterday’s snow.
The body was cold when it got here.
It was late, like my Dad would say
about someone. Late for their own funeral.
My hands are dry as my creativity,
my crusty brain unable to drop
any crumbs on the keyboard,
cuticles catching the sweater cuffs.
Dry, sere, stinging. I’m at word 125.
When does the magic start?
I don’t know when.
I don’t know when.
Why is when.
When is why.
Maybe these should be
questions. No?

Untouched from the page its was vommed on. A true free-write that ended at 150 words. This may be as visceral as it gets, folks. Let’s hope none of us have to go through this again…on either side of the screen.

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