It threatens  you with its huge white ego, inviting you to failure.
Its deadly pallor. Its molt offense.Its wicked smile.

Prompting to challenge you in a contest to which it is host and winner.
It is the champion among nations, prodigious for attacking the wisest men in the most unfair hours.
Between its trophies it presumes the loses of the best men; those brave  fools that dared to defy it, to soak in ink its only enemy, its Kryptonite.

"Come on", it seems to whisper to you provocatively.
"Dare to take the pen. Try to save it from drowning in my whiteness".
It laughs, it mocks.
"¡Come on!" It yells more agitated.
"Catch those ideas that float outside of you, so close!" (And yet, unreachable...)
"Try.The human race does never give up".
Does it?

Suddenly, an enormous mass approaches. Its five tentacles find the lethal object. They lift it with strong determination; they soak it, and the black moves and yells, crazy with anticipation.
It comes closer.
More
And more
And more.

It touches it. It destroys it.

Like a great teacher once said to me:
"The only way to confront a blank page, is to start writing"