It pretends it’s not real, not a threat, sneaking up so with the stealth of a jungle cat. One pounce. One strike. Down you go, head first into the mud, with nothing to cushion your fall – no nothing whatsoever.
Confused. Why is it here? Where did it come from? Even when you stand the mud sticks to your clothes, your arms, your face. It doesn’t wipe off. For a moment you stand, hurt, bewildered, betrayed that this has happened.
But you can stand. You can wipe the mud from your eyes.
Collecting wits. Collecting strength. Staring at the world all around as you try to understand, try to process, try to move on. And then, slowly, you can. Word by word, you crawl forward until you stand up and run. You bolt. You fly across the world with only the wind in your face, the light in your eyes, the inspiration rolling from your fingertips. For a while, freedom. For a while, joy. For a while, the ability to fly.
And then it’s back. Striking hard and fast, subtly, just when you close your eyes and relax. Imagination dissolves. Will disappears. There are no words. There are no ideas. There are just empty, blank pages.
But you know the secret this time.
Stand. Walk. Run. Fly.
Here are the Rules…