Scene change. Dissolve. Cut to. Fade in.

The world crumbles around me. Walls are built, broken down, lamps shine and flicker in the light and darkness, people materialise, emotions surge and disappear. Things change in the blink of an eye. I do what I’m told. I enter doors, exit lives, all in a matter of a second.

Sometimes, I don’t like it. This person seems interesting. Why can’t I speak to him longer? But I wonder if he is being directed by the quill, too. What would he do without the quill? He seems nice enough.

Maybe I should say something. ‘Hello?’ The quill stops scratching furiously. I’m dumbstruck, I didn’t really expect it to stop. I splutter bits of un-dried ink from the page. I hadn’t thought this through.

The quill looms over me ominously. I try to say something quickly before it comes back down on me again. But I find I can’t speak. I have no words in my mouth. I have no words in my mind. I feel what I want to say, but I can’t find a way to say it.

Then it dawns on me. I can’t speak unless I have the words in me. The words that come from the quill, the words that it wants me to say. Words that I have no control over, actions that I cannot stop. I can feel what I am feeling. But I can say only what I am made do.

It all makes sense. But I still drown.