2:00 AM

night one

a static screen and
a blank document.
why did she choose
to become an author?
she thought, tap, tap,
tapping her pencil to
an unsynchronized pattern.

black coffee and empty
energy drinks lined her desk,
like the night before. a
dreariness that couldn't be
shaken engulfed her and the
air surrounding. a sense of
hopefulness seemed to seep
away as the minutes passed by.

tick. tick. tick. the clock
continued to move in it's
humdrum pattern, never once
stopping to check on the poor,
unfortunate souls who stood,
waiting for time to mean nothing,
and for their life to find meaning.

what's this? she thought,
as letters started to seep
from her calloused fingers
and find a new home
on the page before her.
she knew it! she exclaimed
solemnly once the then-letters
formed words, which became
a sentence styled similarly to:

a single petal fell from
the rose, to which she
acknowledged the end of
hope and the beginning of
war.