He Lives Between Two Worlds

He lives between two worlds. One that an average, or sane person, finds him or herself living day to day, and that of a fictional writer, who allows his creative side to pull him into the dark spaces of his mind filled with fantasies and mysteries. Artist capture these visions in these inner journeys and put them to canvas, Writers enter this illusionary world searching for a tale their creative side bangs out in millisecond bursts. He withdraws from the creative chamber only to scribe to paper his understanding of these flashing insane hallucinations. In deep thought, he ponders, and molds words, and picks adjectives that best describes what this illusive world has flung at him. Sentence by sentence he works, and reworks and once satisfied he re-enters this dark chamber again to do battle with his mind's eye, beating it to death day after day, night after night, until the his imagination has run dry. Exhausted, he now knows it is done, it is over, he can do no more. But, he now wonders, did he interpret it right ? Does it make sense? Is it the best it can be? He re-reads it time and time again. Will the reader understand what he tried to say? Will they clinch their fist in anger at the right moment? Will they laugh or cry? Can their mind’s eye visualize what unfolded in his head? So, what is left for this creative writer who has finished his work. Dose he stack it in a closet on top of so many others, or does he deal with the other world; the one he hates. The world of the common public that accepts their monochromatic existence. He is not a salesman. He is not comfortable with this part, and would rather return to the chamber, and let others sell his works, but the more he returns, the more it seems these encounters are taking over his life. He’s now hearing voices, whispers, barely audible, but they are there. He begins to fluctuate between sleep, fever, delirium and reality. Till one day the chamber closes its escape hatch behind him and he is trapped there forever. No one will hear him, for his cries bounce off the walls of this dark chamber echoing on top of his previous cries. He has found true hell. The hell that awaits all mystery writers who will allow themselves to find too much comfort with the voices within.