flutter

The whole world revolves quietly, forming a sharp edged image behind the retinas. The brain shifts, and the image softens, dulls, becomes more colorful and vibrant. Hues mixing and deepening in time with the eyelids, a quick step to the tha-thump tha-thump of a drum. A click, and the sharp edges flow back, melding into the soppy color pools, blending. The nerve endings explode immediately, the hand pauses-- then shifts, hesitantly at first. A faint breath. Paper after paper is crushed miserably. Idea after idea mashed and discarded. It never comes out right. Again the nerves twitch, the brain flutters like a trapped bird. The idea bumps around between the sensory cortex and the optic lens, worryingly shifting through colors and forms. Did we get it right this time? Are you sure we got it right? The fingers tremble as the nervous system rages, unable to send the spark that will make them work again. As the beating becomes more frantic, hopelessness settles back into the base of the skull. Smug. Frustration seeps slowly into joints and tendons; the vehemence increases rapidly and the idea begins to weep and fade. Encompassed back into the sub-conciousness to drift endlessly through the mind. Remorse begins to flood into the chest cavity. Unwearyingly, the hands find the paper again, un-crumple the ideas again, and sigh. Little half peices of thought, dismayingly fragile, end up as nothing but waste.