I feel the furious power surge through me. My hands move like clockwork and I cant control the actions that follow.

My mind commanding orders so rapidly that my body can not compete, like a soldier lost on the battlefield, my hand wanders, hovers, over the paper, pen placed perfectly in equilibrium in my palm.

The nib slices the crisp white sheet with a bold line of fleeting shapes, that sings to the mind. My mind dances to the tone, miming the words that are yet to come. Predicting the fortune of events not yet sung.

My eyes scan the notes of the story that my mind has told. Huming the tune, I gleefully raise the extract, of angelic purpose, above my shoulders and let out a sigh, a biblical exceptance of poise.

My sanity from the start, is greeted with the projection of pride at the end. I can feel it now, the lost recognition needed to set sail my ship, into the sea of humble stories.

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