It was late. The sky blue quilt that lay kicked and crumpled at the foot of the bed glowed in the dim blue light from the digital numbers. 12:59. Depending on the accuracy of the clock's atomic guarantee, it may or may not be Monday in the next time zone. It certainly was, here. He counted back the hours from his wife's early departure for work. Five and a half hours still remained before diapers would need changing or eggs scrambling. To most this would be a regrettably late bedtime, but he knew he could easily spend the next 90 minutes tapping away at the keyboard. Or, admittedly, staring into space for indeterminate lengths of time as his mind scribbled and erased madly. The words had been coming easily but what did he have to show but some autobiographical musings and thinly guised Star Trek fan fiction? Was he getting anywhere? Where was he even going? So far, he'd let inspiration take the wheel, ignoring the terror of the blank white page for long e...
Just practicing writing. Feel free to comment.