The Muse

Under the sterile, white, neon lights, everything seemed to jump out at the young man.  Under the sun, with the movement between light and shade, there were depths and dimensions.  Here, however, in the store, it was more like a single plane; only the loudest colors, the most garish statements, had any chance of standing out.  Buy One, Get One Free! (it had yellow, serrated edges); 20% Off This Entire Shelf! (the green background made the red letters appear to shimmer).

The man dragged himself down the flatness of the aisle, eyes catching on sign and display, until he reached the notebooks.  Spiral ring, college ruled; 1 subject, 3 subject, 6 subject; 3 pack, 6 pack, 10 pack, each wrapped in cellophane.  The man thought about his uncle.  He had always said that he was a writer, though he didn’t seem to write very much.  The man was a boy, flipping through his uncle’s notebook, 6 subject.  His uncle coughed while he spoke.  “What a waste (cough), all those pages (cough), all empty.”  Writing filled part of the first subject area, but the rest was blank.  “(cough) No need to buy more space than you gonna’ fill.  A writer should know how much he has to say!”

The man’s eyes scanned the shelf of notebooks again.  Single subject notebooks, sold individually, were jammed together at the end.  There was no discount, but he bought one anyway.