by Aidan Wong
A formidable blank page looms in front of me, like a wall stopping my progress.
I reluctantly pick up my pencil, and desperately search my brain for any ideas, any ideas at all, but none can be found. The wall of white stands strong ahead as tall as ever, grinning in the face of my defeat.
Bored, I begin drumming my pencil on my desk. My eraser still shone white, not seeing much use. I look around and see that my peers are having much of the same trouble, bordering kingdoms fighting the same war on white. The white, smooth paper won’t seem to let any of my words get a hold on its’ slippery surface. And then I get an idea.
Why not write about this enemy of mine? And my pencil tip dances across the page, letters appear on the page, and sentences eat across the blank space. Several piled together, and a paragraph was born. And another. Letters marched proudly, but with haste across the hills of white, and my eraser finally gets to work.
When my hands finally halt, I sit back up straight and notice that I unconsciously leaned forward in my seat during my writing spree. The page of white that had once stood tall had finally been conquered by the might of words, in the war on white.
And that’s how this story was born.