The plain 20 lbs letter-sized paper was making faces at him. The paper sensed the frustration in the writer and was enjoying its victory in remaining white and untouched. The white kingdom had been challenging and beckoning the writer for quite some time. The writer concentrated hard and tried to form his soldiers with words. He wanted to subjugate this kingdom of pure whiteness with his curved hieroglyphics. He sent few soldiers of words in the realm of whiteness, thinking words would multiply and create its own army of ideas and messages. Much to his chagrin, there was no harmony among the words and words started strangling each other. Ideas got suffocated and messages started fading.
“Try hard…..you can do it……”, the writer was motivating himself.
The writer felt an idea forming in his mind and slowly he tried to shape it into words. Like an old rusty sword of the king, he swung his pen on the paper. Few words landed on the page and bounced off its surface…….lost in oblivion. Frustrated, he took a long look at the white kingdom which lay in front of him……inviting and mocking.
“No one makes fun of me……..no one…..”, he was furious at his inability to write anything. He took a swig of the cheap whiskey……raised his old cross pen and sliced the white body of the paper. Paper was still mocking at the helplessness of the writer. He stabbed the paper innumerable times with his pen and in the process he incised his palm with the metal holder of the pen. Blood started dripping from his palm to the paper. The white kingdom of the paper was soaking blood of the writer and laughed hysterically at the writer for his defeat. This sent the chill of paranoia across writer’s body. He tore the paper and crumbled it in his bloody palm…….chewed it slowly……savouring the pride of the paper and his blood of frustration on his tongue…….gulped it down his throat with another swig of the whiskey.