Ink-Splashed Pages

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A dark haired girl sat by the large glass windows of her room, looking out over the expansive gardens. They were usually so full of bird songs and sunshine, but now, echoing the girl’s feelings, it seemed cold and cloudy. Ebony felt so miserable, and the rain drops crying outside did nothing but make her feel like crying too. 2

Ebony gazed over the wet flowerbeds and hedges, and absent-mindedly patted the notebook in her lap as each rain drop fell from the edge of the gutter. She found herself dreaming again. It was the only way. Dreaming of all her characters and creatures, her friends she knew existed somewhere, if not in this world. It was the answer to all her dreams, if only they’d make sense on paper. Ebony wanted to have the whole world lost beneath her own bewitching words. She wanted to tell everyone about the enchanting world only she knew of. But how to do this? The great writers made it seem so easy, the way their sentences filled millions of books and millions of libraries.3

She looked down to her hands, cradling her ridiculous little notebook full of ink-splashed pages. Despondency rippled through her once again. Her absurd ideas, half finished sentences and crossed out words, who ever would call her a writer? Perhaps the very idea of her wanting to write a story was puerile. Yet deep down, Ebony knew her life would always be an empty page until she’d written the story. With a heavy sigh she placed the notebook on the floor beside her. 4

For a while Ebony sat there, hugging herself and breathing heavily, but soon her face contorted with a wave of overwhelming despair. Revolted with her reflection, Ebony turned away from the rain-sprinkled glass. She squeezed her eyes shut and let a curtain of dark hair ripple over her eyes. 'Why can’t I do it? Why am I so hopeless?' Her thoughts screamed over and over. 5

She pulled her legs up and wrapped her arms around them, crushing herself into a ball. And there Ebony hummed and moaned to herself, gently rocking with each breath as though she were a baby, free of all complicated feelings. Blocking out the sense of time and any thought of the future, Ebony didn’t feel the need to cry. She simply buried herself in her arms and listened to each rise and fall of her chest. With each breath she took, her hair softly stroked her cheeks, not quite tickling her.6

After some time, Ebony realised a bird was singing. She sighed, as though it were the bird’s fault she was feeling so annoyed at everything. A muscle in her arm twitched. Although she knew she would rather stay hidden in that blissfull non-existence, Ebony opened her eyes.
There was a gap in the clouds. Was that sunshine? After wallowing in self-pity and shadows for so long she’d almost forgotten the way sunshine reaches down from the sky. The sunshine seemed to beckon her from the seclusion of the house. 'Come dance with me,' Ebony could have sworn she heard it whisper. She stood up, and by habit more than anything she picked up the notebook and a pen with her. Brushing away the almost-tears she reached for the door. 7

Outside, there was something magical about the way the sunshine touched her, patted her on the back, and told her everything was going to be okay. Ebony half walked, half skipped across to the middle of the lawn and happiness seemed to flutter about her like butterflies. In the last minute she felt she’d become a completely different person. Somehow everything was a whole lot clearer. Sitting down on the grass, she opened her notebook, and felt a rush of love for it. Everything was going to be okay.8

She turned to a new page, a clean white page, and began to write. Once again, all that mattered was her story. But now, her pen skipping backwards and forwards through her notebook, Ebony wasn’t thinking of her book being published or anyone else reading it. Ebony had forgotten everything else, there was no thought of the future. 9

The only thing that mattered was the story itself as it played itself before her eyes. She had to write down every detail. Every feeling. Every sound and taste.10

Ebony didn’t notice when it started raining again, the light droplets decorating each page before she turned it. She didn’t notice the tears of joy dancing down her face. Her pen wrote on, enchanted. Perhaps she spent an hour there, or maybe it was only a minute. Ebony was numb to all around her, time meant nothing, the bird songs meant nothing. Even now the sunshine meant nothing. It had started her off, it had helped her up, and sparked a fire deep within for her. Now she was right to go on without its help, she had her own star burning bright inside.11

Even when the magic began to crumble, and Ebony’s sentences began to taper, she felt happier than ever. Ebony looked up from the paper, feeling dazed and unusual, as though she was in the wrong place. She touched her eyes. On the damp hedge a wren was hopping, cheerfully chattering away, sometimes looking over. Realising the rain was gently falling on her hair, Ebony moved to brush the water away, but stood up instead, and began walking towards the house. She tucked the pen in her pocket, and held her notebook open in two hands.12

Her mouth stayed slightly open as she read over the pages, with no recollection of writing them. Ebony took one last look at the wren and the sky before walking inside, and she smiled. 'At least it’s a happy ending,' she thought. 'I like it. No, better than that. I love it. Perhaps it would be just right to let a reader dip their toes in the world of my thoughts. Just perhaps.'13

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