Devolve

I'm starting to feel myself slip into creative mediocrity. I find so little rewarding and I don't have the drive or motivation to accomplish even the most minor of tasks. I feel completely burnt out and though I'm surrounded by books, music and I have more than enough outlets for creative energy, I just don't want to.

Returning to a punishing martial art seems to be the only thing I can focus on for an extended period of time. I'm surrounded by notepads, brand new books, instruments and anything else I need for a creative outlet, but the will and inspiration to do anything at all is gone. Everything bores me and nothing can thrill me.

Almost everything.

The Fly and the Light

My light flickers slightly. I assume my body is reminding my mind it needs to rest. I look towards the ceiling. The light causes my eyes to water and narrow. I can see movement.

It's a fly.

I squint, to restrict the light. It's a juvenile. It crawls, takes to air for only a second, then lands. I look around for something, anything to catch the mess. I've already decided it will die. It is not harming, bothering or even near me. I don't need to think, it should not be here.

I move towards the fly. My eyes watering from the intensity of the light.

I lose focus.

I turn my head, cursing quietly and blink back tears. I take a few steps backward. It is now at the side of the light. Moving slowly.

Slowly.

I know it doesn't have the capacity to make such mocking movements, but I hate it just a little more.

I lean against the door, watching the fly's oblivious march from the sanctuary of light into inevitable death. I see a tiny garden spider run across the wall to my right. I slam the side of a clenched fist into it... hard. I wipe the mess on my pants and lean back on the door. The fly hasn't moved. It has stopped. I feel it's compound eyes studying me. It can't be thinking. It can't.

The light still hurts my eyes. They start to feel heavy.

I it off and lie in bed. The darkness engulfs me and I slip away.