The Unquiet Whispers

They have come again. The unquiet whispers of other worlds that rise up in my head from time to time, demanding to be heard. Stories of fantastic happenings in realms far removed from our own dull reality. They want to be shared, experienced by others, made real by the alchemy of language and prose. It is up to me to release them from their prison of vague and shapeless walls. But I can't. I don't know why, but the gate is locked and barred. Rusted shut perhaps from disuse as I run here and there on errands of mundane necessity. I want to heed their cries for freedom. To put pen to paper or fingers to keyboard and let the stories come running helter-skelter into glorious existence. They deserve to be told and the pressure of them rises to an almost painful crescendo now. But the whispers will subside again, I know. Drowned out by other concerns, other interests, other obligations. I'll let them fade, sadly. It is the story of my life.