Peri sat at her computer and stared at the blinking curser. Deadlines loomed and a story was jumping up and down at the back of her subconscious yelling "Pick me, pick me!"
She was afraid that giving the story a voice would destroy her; yet, she'd learned that suppressing a voice could kill her.
Instead of writing, she designed a new journal out of CD inserts. Album art. She used every piece of double-stick tape in her apartment and watched terrible television.
The voice would come in the middle of the night. Waking her at midnight and tearing across the pages of a small notebook usually tucked under a pillow.
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