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Microfiction: I Am Providence

I am Providence For a third subsequent day, he sat down to write and ended up staring at an unfortunate, stark white, blank page. Like a vortex, it sucked at his temples as he looked at it spitefully, the clear expanse promising everything and delivering nothing. Pouring over it until his vision blurred, a trace-like state overtook him and his gaze shifted to beyond the empty, nothing world. Resolving to rise up, he pushed his heels on the floor to move the chair back, but something stopped him. Thoughtlessly, he put his head pack down to the page, reached for his pen, lifted it from the pot and began to write. He knew not where the compulsion came from, and on some level, his consciousness, aware of the strangeness of the impulse, put up barriers to the rest of his mind, lest the spell be broken.  He wrote flawlessly, and endlessly, vaguely aware of the content and character of his work. Something tugging at his leg created a passing fancy, however the compulsion to write was intoxica

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