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Untitled Introduction

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The first step to every article, document, story, opinion, creation, and idea. You create a blank document with no title. It is then your job to fill the pages and name your creation. I'm sure many people have experienced this. It's always tough to fill in the blank spots, isn't it?

"Yeah," he stared blankly at the intimidating lines, tapping his pencil on the desk.

Stagnant air furthered his anxiety, as it skyrocketed through the ceiling, and sweat beads dripped down his skin. The silence, thick enough to drown in; the night, devoid of life jackets. The moonlight shined through the windows. Those who sought freedom from silence sought it in the darkness. The boy shuddered as chill air swept through the edges of the windows, and the loneliness crept around the edges of the room. He got out of his seat rapidly, the chair being pushed back with a loud thud. An owl glared at him through the clear glass. It's feathers gently resting on its body, a mysterious coat to a strange creature.

The owl flew away.

Finally, after the blackness of the night had stopped entrancing this boy, he shook off the beautiful feeling of the owl's magnificent mystery.

That night, he had written a story about an owl who searched the darkness for sound and company. Titled Void. He fell asleep comfortably that night, confident and proud of his creation. As he dreamt, a thought wandered through his mind. Who may read this? After he stayed on that one questioned for a while, it led a trail to another question. Will they like it? The thoughts kept him quiet and lulled him into the calm waves of sleep.

Hold on, Milo!

Giggles echoed through the forest. Mel grasped onto Milo's arm, slightly tightening with the sound of his heartbeat. They sprinted, dodging trees and leaping over rocks. The vast, bright green depths of the greenery enveloped them in a comforting coldness. Sounds of birds fluttered through the back of their minds, emphasizing the lively strength of happiness. Mel's dark hair flailed the back of her, trailing behind like a million strands of cloth waving off of her. Marsh yelped on the occasional trip, as the sudden race had ensued. He climbed rocks, launched himself over logs, and avoided the occasional puddle of poison ivy.

"You're slow!" Mel's teasing only pushed Milo further, until he slowed down to a stop, resting on the boulder.

"No... fair," He said through short breaths. Mel's playful grin just made Milo happier, rather than upsetting him.

Waking up isn't that great. You have to unexpectedly leave your blissful dreams for reality, a less joyful experience. Sometimes, people get mad at themselves for waking up at all. It seems the world our minds can create is happier than the ones our hands can create. The boy moaned before lifting his weary eyelids and getting up out of bed. He glanced across the near-empty room, his eyes darting from corner to corner, shadow to shadow until finally resting at the window to his left. He began to get ready for his day, and as he went through the mindless motions of it all, he thought of more ideas for stories he could create. Different names for current ones. Improvements, extra chapters, sequel ideas. Different settings, characters. Once he was ready to leave the house, he strolled out the door, humming to himself.

The sun's bright radiance stunned the boy, as he shielded himself from the attacking onslaught of blinding sunlight. He wandered through the streets, his mind more active than his body. Void was pretty nice. I should continue it. Maybe I should grab a dictionary or thesaurus on my way back. Am I out of eggs? Where did that owl come from? I wonder what stories I should do next. I feel cold. Am I out of eggs? What if I got the owl as a pet? Am I experiencing Deja Vu? Am I out of eggs? Upon reaching the grocery store, he climbed over the smashed windows, cutting his thumb. He seethed in pain, and carefully brought the thumb up to his mouth. It tasted particularly coppery today. As though he was drinking liquid metal itself. As the boy went past the fallen, destroyed isles, he finally reached the eggs. Grabbing a carton, he had completely forgotten of the books he was to pick up. Before leaving, the boy reached for some milk, bread, pasta, and some water. As he crawled back to the window, he hesitated. The boy ate California rolls that night for dinner.