Clicking

by Nikolas Campos

The clicking of the keyboard never ceased.

Up and down, up and down, pressing and releasing continuously, to no end.

A stroke forms a word, a word creates a phrase and finally into a statement;

a phrase into a question; or a phrase into an answer.

These fingers knew as little as the hands and the arms attached to them did — nothing.

All motion driven by signals from the brain, desperate to ink a digital document created for the author’s enjoyment.

Or whatever emotion they are sent at the moment.

The clicking of the keyboard never ceased — until now.

The fingers freeze in place, awaiting the next set of orders.

The hands shake, soon tensing from the halted movement.

The arms are getting tired now from holding up the hands in a less than ergonomic position straining and bringing pain into the lower back.

Lips purse.

A slow sigh escapes.