White Blank Page

He looked down at the paper, and where others might have seen just a white blank page, he saw a myriad of possibilities. Where others might have seen a scrap from a pad, he saw a plethora of dreams. This page could say anything, he thought, with just a touch.

From his mind sprang the idea of a towering castle, he could write of how it was supported by a great army of warrior knights, an army vaster than any known to man. The army fought valiantly against the only force that could match it, to protect their Lords and Ladies from the dragon blight that swirled the skies, filling the clouds with billowing fire, crimsons and mangos and golds. Down below, the gates were battered by trolls and ogres, giants and goblins. But they were met by warlocks, magic crackled in great oaken staffs and lightening crashed down from the skies at their very whim.

From his mind sprang the idea of a great crusade through the stars, he could write of entire fleets of a dozen alien races, coming together for the mass exodus of the universe. United under a single banner, spaceships of all shapes and sizes, warping with colossal jump-drives from planet to planet, collecting more, swelling their numbers, bringing sentience to the skies. They were armed and armoured with lasers and turrets and shield generators, but every Admiral hoped never to use them, for this was a time of great peace throughout the cosmos.

From his mind sprang the great world of the Gods, he could write of how they sat amongst the clouds on massive thrones of solid gold and looked down over everything they had created, and everything they would create. They debated the course of time over immense meals fit only for the deities, a thousand different cultures all laid out before the great creators in their omniscient globes, as they bent reality at their very whim, shaping the stars simply because they could. The only threat in the world of the Gods was their own machinations, but as simply as it came to be it was undone, and dispute and quarrel was something left to Man down below, and his compatriots across the stars.

From his mind sprang unimaginable places where the elephants were yellow and the llamas delightful, and where the people moved only by skipping.

But when he picked up the pen, and placed it to the paper, he didn’t write any of these wonderful things, for something else stood alone in his mind. So instead, he wrote your name.