Distractions of the present

He was still confused by the site, but John wanted to get involved. There was something about writing he just needed. A craving to share his ideas was there, but never to pick up the pen or press down the keys.

Already, his unstyled hair and itchy beard were urging him to lose focus. They promised that as soon as they were dealt with, he could plough his mind into the work and get to it. But John knew that too many temptations lay in that direction. So with half a mind in turmoil over procrastination pleas, he started writing the only thing he knew; what he had experienced in the past few seconds.

The 'h' key was a little stiff, the 'e' a satisfying timbre, but releasing the space bar let out a faint (but painfully present) stickiness. Almost wet. That was going to get to him. He hated the fact that little things like that could get to him. They just dug in, especially when writing, so much thathewoulddoanythingtostopitandgethisfocusback.

195 words wasn't a lot for a chapter, but he had at least made a step forward. He made another. This time towards the kettle.

The End

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