Prismatic

Imagine the horror I faced when I stared at my blank journal-screen and found I had: nothing to say. Half-a-day's silence produces a mind, not full of words, but--white noise.

Of course, I would have keeled-over half dead, had I not realized that the silence of the mind entitled me to the first line: "Imagine the horror" dot, dot, dot. I should have left it as is and let you all worry around your rooms, wondering what possible horror I could be referencing. Perhaps--the bear's unwelcome invasion of my kitchen as I pull the pizza from the oven. In my ignorance, I had maybe left the door open to waft out the smells from the gas oven--I am always worried of asphyxiation by carbon monoxide. Awakened by the strange aroma, the bear lifts himself from hibernation, shakes off his cave of snow, and comes lopping into my kitchen, wondering if I might share with him the treat I've just pulled from the stove.

No, I tell him, I am very sorry Sir. I have a very limited supply of food and, should I share but a little, my stores might run out before my family comes to liberate me from my asylum of snow.

The bear nods heavily--one of those big, heavy nods like the ones you give children when they're telling a very very important story about how their teacher made them sit in the corner today for eating glue.

...

Hm.

For the confused portion of my Reader: I was able to consume my pizza sans-Bear-interruption.