The air in the room still hung heavy with the dead of night. Between the curtains morning hinted her arrival, a soft glow warming only to the window frame’s edge. From the kitchen came the scent she most associated with early mornings, the coffee aroma sending tendrils of energy coursing through her.
Her heart beat faster, for inspiration was not to be denied.
An inner mania sprung forth and she attacked the keyboard, her eyes wild. She was driven to uncontrolled creativity at such moments, though she knew not why. Perhaps it was an inner need, a spark passed down from preceding generations? Perhaps it was the voice within, the same voice that urged her to continue even when her own safety was at risk?
Yes, she was certain those were the reasons!
She continued at her frenzied pace in relentless determination, the cursor darting across the screen again and again, the keys clicking until their individual strikes were no longer distinguishable. She knew from experience that her time was short, that she must fulfill her need without delay, for later was always too late. When inspiration was raw and the creative fire had escaped was the time to unleash her unique talent.
Sounds came from the other room, but she ignored them. Heavy footfalls approached, but she forged on, for the moment must not be lost. When finally screaming erupted behind her she relented and abandoned the keyboard, fleeing until safety was found. She lamented another unfinished feline classic, flexed her paw, and washed her toes. After all, the keyboard and mouse hadn’t been especially clean.
©November 2011 Christina Anne Hawthorne