01-Source

If I think back far enough, I know it all started that Thursday...
It was 10:06pm and I had been sitting at my desk for so long that my feet had gone numb. But I knew that if I let myself get up and take a stretch I would never sit back down again. Then I wouldn't get anything done and I would fail.
"Stupid English Assignment..." I muttered, as much out of frustration as rebellion. I started at the blank page in my Exercise book, as if willing those magical words to appear on the page and save me from the certain detention that would be mine tomorrow if I did nothing. My pen tapped against the hard wood top of the table. I scan the Assignment sheet once again, looking for any information I might have missed.


English Assignment 802.2
Write a creative piece that will demonstrate the skills learnt in the recent topic.
Due: Friday 27th August


-Not much to miss...-
Normally I was good at things like this, coming up with some Fantasy story featuring amazing, unbelievable characters with better lives than mine. I put up my pen's inked tip on the page, shivering a bit in the chilly winter air that was leaking in a slightly open window. Letting my eyes glide around my chaotic room, searching for ideas and distraction at the same time.
I stopped.
Out of the corner of my eye I could see something moving. A person? My Cat? The latter was more likely seeing as I was sure no one else had woken up. Another movement made my focus flicker and I turned.
Nothing.
It seemed as if the movement was permanently in the corner of my vision, as if a product of my imagination and not reality. This was my opportunity. I concentrated on the displacement, trying to figure out what it was and what it could be. This was always how my stories started. But then it changed. The movement became an object, and the object became a hand. A white gloved hand. I didn't dare move, scared that if I did, it would disappear. It was a decidedly male hand, twitching it's fingers experimentally as if to see if they still worked. The image blurred occasionally, as if not really there. When I took a breath it froze, then slowly reached out towards me. This close I could see that the glove wasn't made of fabric as I had first thought, but small metal plates like a suit of armor. When it finally was within distance, the hand slowly settled on my shoulder. I felt pressure.
"Is it you...?"
My curiosity itched and I turned sharply to find the owner of the quiet voice. But the room was empty. My eyes wide as open doors, brain calculating, I shook my head. -That was new.- Turning back to the page... I clicked. Then my pen flew across the blank space, filling it with the words of the character who had just visited me.


I can't believe that I doubted his reality.