At the Beginning

There is a voice burrowed inside, telling me to begin. “Just start,” it echoes. I close my eyes and listen to the birds outside my window. Listen to the soft gurgle of the computer. Sunlight filters in, a blurred fan breathes on me. I usually enjoy beginnings but this is unlike the others. There is a sense of terror. A plane soars. Buses spew exhaust on commuters, waiting in the relentless afternoon. The erratic schedules, the congested streets, the joggers like leopards, running. No one will ensure my writing becomes fruitful. If I succeed or fail it won’t matter to anyone. The universe is indifferent. “Just start,” it grumbles. Patience wears thin. I’ve already begun.