Fugue #151

Gene hates this class. He asks himself how he let Emily talk him into taking it? He’s just not creative, so creative writing is outside his comfort zone. Maybe that’s why she asked him, and why he said yes. He’s having second thoughts.

And writer’s block. He taps his pen against his left thumb, then tosses it down. He stares at the blank paper on his desk.

(If white is the ground, are the blue lines the figure?)

This is stupid.
What am I supposed to say?
Does it have to rhyme?
Maybe?

Gene starts, and the words don’t flow, but kind of trip out of his mouth, one by one onto the paper. He whispers them as he writes them:

I hear
that the measure of things are motion and wheels
that the vessel of time is a train.

Vessel? That’s not bad.