Motivation

They call me Cypher, I am a blank page. I desire to become a piece of art. Yesterday night Comrade Niut, Raca, Zero, and I, for fear of never being used to create art, were having a sleepless night. We decided to visit a library.

As we entered the library, I placed forward to pick a copy of The Old Man and the Sea. After turning a few leaves of the book I started praising the simplicity of the text and the imagery in it. I paused to visualise the sun rays dip in the sea water... when I noticed the others were held captive by their choices of the books too.

All of us were dreaming of becoming pieces of genius, when we heard the strides of John Steinbeck's journal.

"You all there, you dream to be art?" It said.
"Yes" we all replied in unison. "But our master does not write on us. When he does, he just scribbles excuses for not writing."

On hearing this, the journal smiled an old smile revealing its wrinkles. Turned its pages violently, as though by a storm, then stopped on a page. In a quivering voice, it read: "my many weaknesses are beginning to show their heads. I simply must get this thing out of my system. I'm not a writer. I've been fooling myself and other people."

Before we could say anything the journal turned pages and read another snippet: "this is the longest diary I ever kept. If a day is skipped it will show glaringly on this record and there will be some reason given for the slip."

We discerned what the journal was doing.

"It wants us to trust our master," thought I.

When the journal closed itself and left to where it came, we left the room and slid ourselves into the journals we came from.

I am Cypher. I am a blank page. I trust my master will make me a masterpiece.