SparklyHorn's Short Stories Shelf

An Interest

[Written: August 2020]

Isn't it a wonderful thing, to let your pen carve out your imagination right before your very eyes? Just to let creativity flow freely out onto your paper?

There is nothing better in the world then seeing your creation slowly take shape before your very eyes. The longing for that process of one word followings another and for those words to create phrases... Those phrases becoming part of sentences. Just a few sentences per paragraph. Before you even know it, ink has flown out and fluttered onto your page, with dozens of paragraphs that are all your own.

It is so satisfactory to make the decision to wrap up your paragraphs, having pages now that flow together into a story that is all your own. You wish to hug those words without crumpling their precious papers. But, the paper is just too fragile to do such a thing to.

Resting your pen, you rush to show your family, you friends, and your pets this wonderful thing that you created. A story that is all your own.

The day turns into night, everyone you know has read and congratulated you upon your accomplishment. But, you lay awake wishing that more could feel the joy of reading your work. Perhaps sharing your papers to people that you don't know. If you did that, the papers would get destroyed. The ink could get smudged. Paper is just too fragile.

You wish for another way to share your writing. A safer way that wouldn't destroy the papers that house the words so dear to your heart. It hits you! That tablet... That device. It may have a way to share this information!

You whip over to grab it and type "sharing writing" into your browser search. That should do the trick. A humble website about sharing your stories appeals to you. And with the morning sunrise, each word from your pen has been stuffed into a blue-light screen. This version could not be harmed like the paper, and was easily shareable.

Working through the morning, you share that little link anywhere and everywhere that you can. Satisfaction finds you later, so you go omg to find something else to do.

Returning that evening, you rush to view the stats on your story. You fantasized all afternoon about that the story would become web-famous while you were away, and a publishing company would already be waiting for you when you got back to make prints of your book!

Instead, you are faced with one view. The automatic view that you get when viewing your own story. Disappointment trembles in your body, you want to cry... You want to scream. You wanted more then your own view.

A plan devises in your brain. More stories would bring more readers, right? And those readers would read all of your stories! With this as your goal, you work vigorously over the coming months to write down anything and everything that you could possibly share on the internet. Each of these stories you can hug without ruining your device.

A few views came. One or two here or there, it never satisfied you. Not one view brings you any joy. You long for more and more and-

Nothing comes to you. Typing brings you no satisfaction. You have lost your creativity and ability to write stories. You quit in a fit of rage, vowing that you will never write again. You toss that paper story in the trash can.

After a few weeks of refusing to write, your grandmother comes over to visit. She was one of the family members you shared your original paper story with. Was that a whole year ago? She asks if she could see any other of your writings, and you sheepishly deny her request. But your mother is on your back, and you get your device to show off the writing that you hate.

Your grandmother squints, attempting to read off the screen. But her old eyes are not able to make sense of any of it. She asks if you have anything on paper, but you have to tell her that you don't. Not any that she hadn't read, anyway.

You apologies and go to your room. Your old pen is dusty under some school assignments. The disappointment in your grandmothers eyes hits you deeper then the grief about your lack of internet views.

With this, your hand breaks free of the creativity chains that you had locked it behind. Ink flows freely, and before you realize it you have written a quick story that you found entertaining.

Excitements bubbles up inside you, and you race downstairs to show off the work to your grandmother. Her smile is so bright, and she happily reads the story out to everyone.

This feeling... Of your story being shared with those that you care about. It is nothing like you had ever felt through the internet. It is fresh and relaxing, you don't want that moment to ever end.

But it has to. Your grandmother leaves and again you are left alone with your story, and a choice. Pen and paper, or keyboard and screen?

The decision of your lifetime comes true with your pen in your hand, and a story in your heart. You fill the papers with your words, being able to share them with the people that you care about. A creative story all your own.