An unnamed author sat, a blank expression plastered on his countenance, as his fingers flew with grace over each key. Each tap resulted in a quick, calming click.Every few keys, he tapped the space bar which contains the potential of a louder, thud-like click. Each key brought a new character on the screen that shone light brighter than his mind.

A simple yet soothing waltz echoed throughout the small room, accompanied by the peaceful raindrops thudding onto the roof of the home. The waltz maintained a ¾ count that he repeatedly noted for each measure, and a sweet, sorrow melody followed the beat.

The room, littered with garbage and dirty laundry, comforted him, despite its worrying appearance. This bedroom, although cold, felt warm in contrast with him. Memories laid forgotten where the poor man worked on each piece of art. Each candy wrapper, musical instrument, and slip of paper, contained its own story untold to the world. Each wrapper came from either boredom or loneliness, each instrument led its own path of frustration and self-expression, and each slip of paper was a note to his later self or another.

Suddenly, as the pained writer typed, he applied more pressure onto the keys, his hands moving even quicker than before. The melody and beat of the waltz sped rapidly. Each beat one of the measure grew even closer to the next measure's beat one. His eyes widened, and his posture straightened. The story grew like a passionate fire. He drew the story closer and more personal with his chain of control. His soul grew five times in the span of one second. His blood rushed through his veins, as he finally smiled softly. He seemingly ignored the room's clutter and each legend along with it. On the contrary, their legends added to his struggles, which in turn was added into the words he created upon the screen.

However, just as the rush began, it also ended in an instant. The writer's fingers slowed, unsure of what to do, and with it, his brain blocked the passageway of all the feel-good chemicals. The melody dragged back to its original pace,adding more length to each beat. His eyes lowered, as the climax disappeared. Thousands of words were written in only a mere second,it seemed to him. The story he told drifted from him; however, the climax stood beside him, awaiting the story's continuation. His slight grin disappeared fully, as it returned to its blank state.

 One tiny, salty tear flew down his cheek, as the author saved the finished project onto his computer,never to be found by another soul. Not another man in the world would even hear of the characters or their pains, aspirations, and conflicts.