Ottawa's Festival of Ideas Since 1997

Writing Stories

Seconds, then minutes, then hours pass by,

As I scribble across the blank white page

My pencil soon took over,
The dark lead covers the white paper

Like an invasion of all my thoughts and imagination,

All on one paper
It all turned to a big scribble,
All from one single pencil,

At rst it was an empty page
But soon after it started to crowd with words,
It looked like a waterfall of words and my ideas
It spilled all over the blank page
With some of the ideas that came across my mind,

Some were written down
But some were forever lost,
Then I heard a voice
It was a familiar voice,
It was my mom yelling at me to go to bed
Her voice was an anxious yell
Considering I was in my room for the whole day
And that it was getting late,
Eventually I climbed in my bed and turned off the lights

The room quickly lled with darkness
With only a little light coming from the outside
It looked like the light at the end of a tunnel,
I shut my eyes and drifted off to sleep
But my mind was still lled with so many ideas,
My head was spinning out of control
With all of my ideas,
Flowing through my crowded mind