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She stared at the screen, her fingers hovering over the keyboard, waiting for It. She kept trying new words, new scenarios, but nothing had It. Ideas coming and going, all in the sake of finding It. She turned her head, looking around the room, looking for It. But the grey curtains were void of It, so was the grey carpet, and the bare walls. It seemed like a hopeless mission for her; finding It. But did great scientists ever give up on finding It? No. Did Shakespeare give up on his first attempt on finding It? No. She was no quitter, and finding It was not an option anymore, she had to.
She heard a sound, could it be It? No, it was only the wind shaking the corner window, the only one in the room. She sighed, maybe she wasn't meant to find It. Maybe somebody greater, somebody worthy of It, would find It. She withdrew her fingers from the keyboard, her shoulders slouching. This is a mission she couldn't complete. Maybe someday she'll tell her grandchildren about the day she decided to find It. But how could she tell them she had failed?
If anyone had come in that room that night, they would've clearly seen that It was right in front of her. But no-one came in that room that night, and if she had given up that night, perhaps It would have been lost forever, galaxies away from her awaiting mind. She turned her chair around and stared at the room, analyzing the black carpet, the dusty bookshelves, the tasteless vase hidden in the corner, but still she couldn't find It.
Some say It was about the journey, not the destination. But the long, frosty way towards the peak of her expedition was not like what she thought looking for It would be. She had imagined it to be more enjoyable than this, more exciting, full of the hope and determination she truly needed at that moment. She closed her eyes and imagined what it would be like to find It. She imagined the rush the discovery would give her. The way her fingers would race across the keyboard, channelling It into those words that would take readers down the path of finding It. Towards many different worlds, each unique to the mind of its beholder, where the grass truly is greener.
She imagined her heart racing, aching her to do it faster, to quickly document It before it is too late. She imagined how everything would suddenly be full of It, how her eyes would catch It everywhere she looked, how It would glow in front of her wherever she walked. She smiled at the thought, her journey started to look a little less bleak than the steep voyage that she thought was ahead.
Silence rang through her ears, and for the first time in years, it truly was music to her ears. She was finally at peace, ready to return to her mission. And then it all goes away, when she hears the oh-so-dreary knock on the door. Abruptly she opened her eyes, and to her dismay, the room looked colder than ever. She didn't have to say come in, for the knocker took no time for such luxury.
' I thought I'd find you here, what are you doing? '
' Looking for It. '
' Aha, well that's quite a mystery, what is It? '
' I don't know, I haven't found It yet. '
' Oh, okay then. I'll leave you to it. Good luck finding .. errr .. It'
' Yes, thank you '
She turned back around towards her computer and went back to staring at her empty screen, the blinking cursor taunting her. Her jaws tightening, her fingers burning to touch the soft white keys, aching to put down those words, to create those worlds that waited before her. She closed her eyes again, and she saw her journey again, but this time, she looked from the outside looking in, and suddenly, she found It.
It was not what she thought It would be, It did not feel what she imagined it would feel like. It was magnificent. Something any ordinary person would describe as out of this world. But she was no ordinary person. She had found It. Many a great people have once strived to find It, and like those great before her, she also, found It.
She felt the rush, the adrenaline shooting through her blood at the weight of her discovery. She knew she would find It one day, and she did. Her fingers quickly typed, challenging light itself to go as fast. It was all a blur, that moment where It was finally put down to words. All she could see were the words on her screen, weaving worlds out of Its threads, opening gates that offered no return. Her eyes glowed as she smiled at the screen, the birthplace of the many galaxies It has created.
Hour after hour, minute after minute, she typed with no stop, ruthlessly taking the core of It and splashing her writing with it. To her, the world had forever changed. Letters spoke to her, words sparkled with the essence of It, sentences sang a sweet melody, for her and only her. It may have taken her days to finish, or perhaps weeks, maybe even months, but to this day, no-one knows how long. But she did finish, and when she did, the entire world shook under the weight of what she was searching for, what she had finally found, and the worlds of splendor and glory she had created with It.
It was her inspiration. It was simply It. To every person, It was different. With It, a black carpet would be as mysterious as the space above us. With It, the bare walls of that room held memories and images only It can reveal. With It, that very vase in the corner was the peak of elegance. That was the effect of It.
It was the one reason our world still exists, It was in the deepest caves and highest mountains. It was in the ant and the elephant, the grasshopper and the cricket. It was in the innocence of a child and tired eyes of the elders. It was in the laziness of a summer afternoon and the rush of a Monday morning.
It was inspiration. And It was in her that night. And perhaps one day, someone else might find It yet again, and again, our world would shake, and change.