As I sit and watch in the dark, the moths are fluttering. Into and out of the light from my computer screen they spin. They bang against the LCD screen, attracted to the bright light from a browser page that I left open.
I contemplate for a moment how alike we are. A blank page fascinates me as well. I flit and hover ever closer, waiting for the bug-zapper of inspiration to strike or the crash against the glass that warns me to change directions.
Immolation is my distant fluttering hope, to burn in the bright, hot fire of recognition.
100 words. Inspired by this week’s Friday Fictioneers prompt:
ParkInkSpot 
This is a great piece of writing! (However, I personally do not want to burn). LOL !
“I got something to say. It’s better to burn out than to fade away.” (Hush up, Kurgan)
Haha! You are probably right about that. Fading away leaves no trail (legacy) like burning out does.
Kurgan got his head chopped off at the end of the movie. So…guess the value of his paintings suddenly increased??
I’m sorry Dave, your comment went right over my head. I didn’t see the movie you are referring to. That is terrible he was decapitated! Yes, I would think his paintings became very valuable after that.
Chuckle, I sometimes forget that not everyone saw Highlander a gazillion times like me and my nerd friends. Kurgan was the big nasty bad guy that our hero had to defeat.
Joke falls flat, situation normal 😛
Haha! So you saw this movie a zillion times. Hmm, the Highlander, I’ll have to remember that and if I ever get a chance to see it, I will.
I feel like this everyday when I sit here at this university and read, waiting to be inspired by something…as is required by my classes. XD
Well done!
Inspiration is either simple or just impossible, it’s a binary switch.
Very good, a great piece.
Thanks. Now that I have time, I should read more of the others.
I can think of happier ways to shake off my mortal coil.
Not for a moth!
Dear Dave,
Quite the comparisons. I’m not sure if I’m self-sacrificing when I write, although I’ve been known to lose myself for hours. Well done.
Shalom,
Rochelle
The ‘suffering artiste’ is just an act, most days. Unless I can’t think of a good idea, than I suffer a little 😛
Not willing to die for my art, I’m afraid. 😉 Recognition be damned.
Picasso says he’ll accept an ear? What the hell does that mean, Pablo?
Pablo always was a strange one.
The attraction is not always safe – great writing.
Just stay away from those Bohemians, they love the suffering-for-my-art act.
That’s a very passionate artist who sacrifices everything for the art and the drive for recognition. I like the comparison with the moths. Great writing.
He talks the talk, but dun walk de walk 😛
Those moths are like a muse I think.
But, but, but– Muses wear roller skates! I saw it in Xanadu!
Moths with rollerskates?
And foofy Farrah hair. Or something–it was 1980, a lot of inexplicable stuff was happening.
Nice analogy. A writer, a muse, and a blank page, okay, computer screen.
Blank page, blank screen. Same thang.
Nice take on the prompt
Thank you.
I like how you did this. I could relate.
Most writers have felt it… Stare at the screen, ready to start. Then: “I got nothin’, what the hell was I gonna write?”
waiting for the bug-zapper of inspiration Wish I’d thought up this line.
Well, you know, sort of obvious development from the moth metaphor.
Better to “burn” steady than die like a moth…or hope like a moth. …Okay, I get the piece, but I just can’t write comments, let’s just leave it at that.
That’s ok, I can’t either.
Excellent bit of writing, this, and I feel your pain.
Naw, drama llamas get all that angsty existential pain. I just think for a minute, and start writing soooomething (even if the idea is–often–complete crap).