Woman Writes at Her Desk as the World Burns

She missed the headline in the local paper,
her focus on the broken pieces of graphite
smudging her manuscript
like a dark cloud.

The characters were so close to life
that she could imagine them walking around
and she hoped at least one of them
had a working pencil.

This was writer’s block,
and it had to be
the worst thing in the world.

She groaned and pressed her palm
against the graphite,
letting it mark her scribbles
like creative divination
because she didn’t know
what came next.

Someone knocked on the door
but it wasn’t in her current chapter
and she ignored it, instead brainstorming
exactly how the hero
would rescue the princess.