Click. Click.

November 3, 2017

Click. Clack. Clickity-clack-click. Click. The room was filled with the rhythmic pushing of keys, the walls echoing words feverously being typed into a screen. Students peered deeply into these bright screens that illuminated bright fluorescent light into their faces. I sat at my desk and stared at the blank page in front of me. I just couldn’t think. I couldn’t process. I did not understand what was going on. This wasn’t like me, I was not lazy or stubborn, not wanting to write. Just for some reason today, I just felt drained. I didn’t know why, writing had never been a problem for me, I always had a plot line, a name, a place, even an opening line in my back pocket, but today was different. My senses were awake, they commanded me to just sit, breathe, and relax, to just let go. So I did just that. I leaned back in my stiff plastic chair, closed my eyes and listened.

You know, I had never really paid attention to the orchestrated sound that each computer made. I had never noticed how each click seemed to have its own frequency, it's one unique little “tap” and how when placed along with other keys it made up a melody, a harmony, which intertwined its way into a story. I never thought how every time a key was pressed, it spun into the computer and coded itself into its own row on the line standing at attention, awaiting any given order from its conductor. A word’s entire fate resting in a single click, its very own unique personality was being placed on trail, being determined if it would remain, if it had earned its place.

I opened my eyes and looked around the room. Everyone was hunched over their screen, furiously clicking away at their keys. Some would stop, sit up and mouth the line they had before them, analysing every melody, every beat, every feeling. Others would close their eyes and allow their mind to play the next scene before transferring it into the computer. I imagined all of the stories, the ideas, characters, feelings and experiences that were slowly flowing from each fingertip. Were humans just that creative? I had never stopped and actually thought about that. Every person’s story was their own, something that no one else would be able to understand as well as they did. Their very own portal into a place where their mind could explore every crevice, every nook and very feeling.

I suddenly knew what I was going to write about. I logged back into my computer, placed my fingers on the keys, and began to write.

Click. Clack. Clickity-clack-click.

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