Sunday

The story returns to you late at night, after you've exhausted every option for escape, after the quiet has dragged your fears from their hiding places deep in your chest and run them along your line of vision for hours, it seems cruel to punish before the reward but you'll take it, you'll take any sadistic tricks from the Universe for those pages to be written. You go to sleep with a smile on your face and wake ten pounds lighter at the memory, but every day starts the cycle anew. You sit in front of the blank page again and wonder what drives you to such madness.

The answer, of course, is that it was never up to you to begin with.

It is, in fact, the madness that drives you.