My weak-end...

.....slavishly he wrote, each vitriolic word bleeding onto the computer screen as his tired, blistered fingers stabbed them out. This would be his crowning glory, his legacy. Never before had he written with such dedication and enthusiasm - passion, even. Not even once in his life had he previously unleashed this demon, allowed the Kraken that slumbered inside to awaken.

Second followed second, minute followed minute, but this mattered not to The Author. Feverishly he willed his fingers to keep pace with the torrent of thoughts cascading from his mind, thoughts regarding the injustices, the crimes, the agonies of the world. One moment crying at the inhumanity propelling his ravings, the next cackling manically as an argument fell into place as neatly as a tetris block. He grinned and gurned insanely at the witticisms that leapt like static electricity from human mind to hard-drive - not mere innuendo or sarcastic put-down but something... alive!

Evening fell, darkness came, and still The Author wrote - nay, wrought his opus, until finally... Peace descended on that battered keyboard. Barely a sound, nothing but the delicate, pained breaths struggling past his lips. Breaths that slowed until shuddering to a stop, cut down by an almost inaudible utterance...

"It is done."

Slowly, but with purpose, The Author's hand reached the comforting bulb of the mouse and stroked it along its mat, carefully aligning the innocent cursor with it's ominous partner, that which bears the name 'Publish Post'. And with one gentle press, an alien feeling to those fingers more used to hammering, it was done indeed.

CLICK

MESSAGE #3105 - UNABLE TO COMPLETE YOUR REQUEST. PLEASE REFRESH BROWSER.

"Nnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"