A harmonious hum and something stares at me on my desk, but I ignore it and push it to the side as I continue to slide on over the keys and hope that the heat stays away. The rain was pleasant and it was desired and now it has gone and I don’t know what to do from here. I think I can just keep on going, but somehow there will be a pause for thinking.
I can’t stop the staring and the audience seems to grow and all I can do is try to keep on ignoring it. I push it to the side and continue my typing, but somehow it just keeps on growing and growing; not in size, but amount. There are so many eyes peering at me and I just keep on trying to ignore them, but it is increasing in difficulty to do so. That is the way of things when you try to do certain things and ignore the things that keep on doing the things that you keep on trying to ignore.
My mind is wandering away from this and now trying to pull my eyes toward the eyes that keep on staring. My audience increases, but I keep pushing them away. This is not something that I want to entertain. Nor is it something that I want to acknowledge. The moment that I do is the moment that it may be over for me, and so I need to keep my focus on this, whatever this is, and just keep working away at it and hope that the eyes stop staring and the audience shrinks away and finds something else to take the attention of.
I hope, but of course my hope is in vain and the eyes keep on staring. They seem formless, and yet they are strikingly specific in their appearance and their shape and their function. This is not something that I can avoid, but I can avoid looking back. I know that they’re there, but I refuse to relent and I refuse to give them the time of day.
However, despite my best efforts it appears as though sooner or later I will break and that will be the end of me. I don’t have much of a say or a choice in the matter, unfortunately. It is all inevitable, and so I try to finish this before I pull away, for the moment I do, then here is nothing else that I can indeed do. I cling to hope and I keep on fighting off the urge in desperation, but too weak willed am I to be able to keep on ignoring that which is surrounding me and doing its best to fill my own vision.
I keep on trying, but this really is where I must finally give up and let loose and let what is to happen happen. I’ve struggled and tried, but now I have no choice and so I look at the eyes.
The time it took to write five-hundred words: 04:46:90
Well, here’s a bit of writing that implies some sort of tension, or dread, but delivers on none of that implication.
Written at home.