Staring At The Blank Page Before You Novels & Stories

In a space with nothing but white except for a certain part that looks like something you'd see from a startty night with 11 planets rotating and a being with black hair and eyes as dark as night themselves save for a silver star shaped pentagram in them sat down with two people standing behind him and his legs crossed as he looked at these worlds . "How boring" the entity said causally, though it may have been a simple statement but it seemed to make the air heavier as he spoke after which he stared at the planets for a while then sighed .

I stared at the blinking cursor, the empty box where my answer should go. And then—slowly, without really deciding—I started to type.

Not an ending, but a continuation. But before I can decide, I try one more. The fourth version is silence. I stop typing midway. I leave the sentence unfinished: “He knelt, and I looked at him, and…” That’s it. Nothing else. I let the cursor blink like a heartbeat, like a question I don’t know how to answer. And in its own way, that feels the most true. Because that’s where I am; stuck in the blank space between wanting to leap and being too afraid to.

So, I changed to my old overalls for painting and start laying out my tubes and set up a fresh canvas. Looking at the blank canvas, my mind wandered aimlessly. Again, I still felt nothing, minutes went by. I grabbed a cold beer then back to staring at the blank canvas. An hour into staring at the canvas it hits me, I quickly open the tubes and start puting colors onto the palette.

Somber and calm was the room for the 'Big Reveal' was on course. She leaned in closer to the eyepiece, taking a peep with eyes both open on the telescope to meet the barren sky. Nothing but a certain shade of blue confined in a black orb. That was all she saw.

Aria stared at the blank page until it blurred. The room was too quiet. The kind of quiet that rang in your ears, that made every breath feel too loud. Allen slept fitfully on the narrow hospital bed beside her, his small chest rising unevenly, lips pale against the white sheets. A machine hummed. Soft. Unforgiving. She pressed the pen harder than necessary against the paper. Nothing came. Her hand shook. She curled her fingers into a fist, then forced them open again. Write, she told herself. If you don’t write now, you’ll never do it.

Inside, the sticks were arranged in neat rows were soft black that would smear like smoke, medium for definition, hard for sharp lines I already knew I wouldn’t use today. My fingers closed around the softest one first, and the dust immediately coated my fingertips, black and velvety yet familiar in a way that fucking hurt. I opened the pad to the first blank page and for several long seconds I simply stared at the white canvas, my heart thudding so hard I could feel it in my throat. Blank pages used to feel like possibilities; now they felt like… I couldn’t even find the words to describe the feeling but I definitely felt like what right did I have to make anything beautiful when everything

I could do my homework peacefully. The detention teacher was scrolling on her phone today. It didn’t seem like she cared much about what the detention students did, for as long as they were there. I opened my diary again. I was itching to write but I was still blank. The more I stared at the blank page of the diary, It looked like I was imagining the lines melt out of the pages. Should I start with my mother? Should I start with Hector? Derrick? Ken? Should I start with what I remembered of my past? Or was it not good to look back?

“You make me want to write right now.” “Then do it,” he said, his eyes glowing as though igniting my spirit. “I can wait.” I glanced at the small table in the corner of the room, where an old notebook still lay. Its cover was worn, the pen tucked inside nearly out of ink. I rose slowly, walking toward it. Xavier said nothing, only followed me with a gaze full of support. I sat down, opening a blank page. The pen felt cold in my hand. For a long time, I just stared at the white sheet. My hand trembled, as though afraid of making a mistake.

But I just can’t help it. I got out the shower and blow dried my hair. I then let my self fall in my bed. I’m just staring at the ceiling, waiting my eyes to close and sleep. But even if I already close my eyes, Amira’s image is there. I chuckled at my self. I’m crazy.