He is standing in the middle of the street, just standing and staring at the hollow space expecting it to be filled by the piercing headlights of the night bus. He has had enough; he doesn’t want to deal with it anymore.
“Oh enchanted night of the glorious lost, come take me away. I wish not for my pride to crumble, take me away, and make me bear it no more.”
He still stands there, waiting. He wants to end his life. He has gone on for three long months without writing a single word; the writer has lost his art. He can hear the depths of his mind, singing in thankful prayer. The calm wind blows gently through his face; he can feel himself already free, free from the mortal bounds and trivial worries.
He still stands there and waits.
A lonely raven flies past him, encircles around the writer and rests itself at the pavement by the road. Curiously looks at the man in the middle of the street, almost feeling sorry for him.
The man looks at the raven, sheds a tear and shares all his grieve through the pores of his mind.
“Nevermore there shall be any burden, nevermore there shall be a me.
Oh what relief would that be! What crimes would that cease of me!
My Gods show some mercy, some kindness, some sense. Nevermore do I wish there to be a me or any notion of my creed.”
The raven flies to the man and sits on his shoulder. Feeling sorrow for the writer he decides to give him company till the end.
He still stands there, waiting, the man and his winged colleague.
And as if the Gods heard him, they appear before him, with arms wide open, welcoming to the heaven of his dreams. Release him of his sudden incapability to create.
Ramming down on him at over 80m/hr, his Gods give him a welcoming roar, giving him one last chance to think. But he is not moving, he is standing there. Opens his arms wide open to embrace the divine seed.
Just as the bus was inches away from his face, the raven took his flight with a parting word,
“Silent though your art might be, but your mind still speaks.
Alas! Your folly wins. Farewell!”