an enemy

he held a pen in his hand. a white sheet of paper waited languidly. for breathing life. but there was something twirling all around him. taunting him. torturing him. even to the point of haunting him. he tried to shoo it away but it kept coming back. swirling round and round, and round. words, things that he had once enslaved, now eluded him, mocked into his face with a sardonic smile. he couldnt stand it anymore. quietly, very quietly he dropped the pen. and with one loud smack the mosquito sank down to the floor. the paper was watching.