((Hey guys... I know I've been a bit behind schedule on this story, and I REALLY am sorry! It's just that I had started another long chapter, but got writer's block halfway through it. I'd be working on finishing it now, since I know what I want to write to get the story to move along, but finals are coming up this week. So instead, to break my little hiatus, I present you something I wrote about a year ago. I hope you don't get too confused! ^^;))
A brief intermission
It starts with an idea.
Just a simple little thought that is so very soon blown out of proportion that up and down no longer exist but are trapped within the blindingly fast twisting and twirling and sinking of a pencil or pen that flies across the paper with no regard to the sanity of the words or proper punctuation or even the most simple of grammatical laws and rules that would otherwise be glued to the mind of the writer but no now all that exists is the clicking of a pen or perhaps depending on whose mind conceived the idea that started this whole entire convoluted mess the scratching of a pencil or perhaps even the clacking of a keyboard being smashed and crushed by punishing fingers that no longer remember that they are a part of a larger being which controls them but it matters not what type of body this bloated conception has taken hold of because no more is there an up or a down which was mentioned before this thing twisted and contorted into this entire mess that cannot be called a sentence any longer but instead a deformed and miserable beast which takes up more than its fair share of space in a world that would be no different had it never made its deformed appearance at all but would have stayed exactly the same and spinning on precisely the same axis at directly the speed it would have no matter how fast the pencil disposes of its lead or the pen stains the paper or the fingers punish the keys for a crime that they did not commit and the world is still spinning because it cannot hear or think or feel and so has no regard for the happiness or madness or depression or sanity of the things that live upon it and act like parasite gnawing and biting and chopping and crushing the very soil and water beneath their feet as buttons keep being pressed and pens keep being refilled and pencils keep being sharpened down to nubs as one person continues to silently scream at paper.
All because of an idea.