The lights twinkle. Clean-cut tiles criss-cross the walls, espresso machines gleaming in the filtered sunshine. Subtle acoustic music fades in and out, guitar gently weeping in the background.
It’s peaceful. But it is a lie.
The barista smiles at me, unaware of the danger we’re all in. I order my usual, so as not to start a panic, and retreat to my corner, ready to once again defeat the demons I swore to slay every day.
A steaming cup unravels at the counter before I can wield my WiFi weapon. I gratefully accept the offering, clasping the caffeine with both hands as I walk back to my battle station. With a war going on, coffee is a much needed ally.
Powered up from the first few sips of latte and caramel, I launch into combat, unafraid. I stab with tabs, I lash with dashes, I disembowel with semi-colons (too much?). Every click, every clack a definitive strike at my opponent, the dastardly demons I fight from 9 AM to 12 PM each day of the week.
I don’t have a cape — it would only drag me down. I do wear spandex, but that’s because I warm up with a jump rope routine before my battles. I have no mask, I have nothing to hide; I am a warrior — a proud one — not caring who sees my true identity.
The contest carries on, word after word, the villain shrinking at each sentence I hurl. Sometimes my strategy is refined, carefully moving like a chess player, waiting for opportunities to penetrate the devil’s armor. Other times I create with reckless abandon, moving in such a way my arch-nemesis can’t predict my next move.
It’s different no matter what, but nowadays the outcome is the same: I emerge victorious, standing up proudly from my spot in the cafe. My demons are tucked away in my backpack, licking their wounds and preparing for the next round. I wish they knew it was futile, they should give up. I am too powerful, I am sheer force when it comes to putting pages together like a symphony.
I stroll out of the shop, waving goodbye to the baristas, who are ever thankful for my efforts to defeat the demons. (Or they more likely enjoy my loyalty and wallet.) I never look for praise or recognition. My duty is to keep everyone safe from my lack of work.
But there is another reason why I do it. I do it because I love it.
Though the day is done and the enemy vanquished, I know it will be there bright and not-so-early tomorrow morning.
And I will be there, ready, willing, fearless, writing.
“You only fail if you stop writing.”
— Ray Bradbury —
