HELLO, CONSCIENCE!

It wasn’t a writer’s block, because writer’s block affected those who had a greater sense of imagination. What I liked to call it was ‘immense procrastination’. It wasn’t that I had nothing to write. I had a dozen records to complete, home assignments to look at and a blog that was left out. 

Thursday nights used to be a dream, and now a nightmare. A blog that hasn’t been updated for a while, notes that has to be submitted… and yet, every Thursday night I sat in front of a computer with Microsoft Word open; letting the cursor blink at me. ‘Time to procrastinate,’ my brain said. 

‘Oh, a new story idea. I should probably write it down,’ my mind said but all I could see was a fly dancing around in my room, buzzing in my ears. I’d try to let it go, but then it became a race between mankind and flies; and I, the only warrior. I knew it was time to get the fly-killer bat. 

Holding it in one hand and a story in my brain, I waited patiently and procrastinated, waiting for my arch enemy to arrive. “For the love of God, will you just write down the story in your head?” I heard a voice speak. I knew it wasn’t from anyone that I knew in the house because the only people that stayed up till midnight was me to watch the rerun of a TV series I have watched for so many times that I have lost count. 

“Who’s speaking?” I asked. 

“Your conscience,” the voice laughed. “Who else would have a charming voice?” 

“I thought I killed you with my sense of stupidity,” I told the voice. “What should I call you?” 

“Call me whatever you want,” the voice spoke again. “You can call me Kicha, it’s what I prefer.” 

“Okay Kicha, what can I do to get rid of you?”

“Write that story down. Stop procrastinating.” 

“You sound like an obsessive stalker. How long have you been following me around?”

“All along, dear.”

“Well, why are you talking to me now?” 

“Because I am bored up here. All you do is think about what to write and how to not write. It used to be fun here with all the cliffhangers. There is nothing new.”

“I like to think about what could happen next. That’s kind of why I never write…”

“Oh please!” Kicha yelled. “You are not writing because you are lazy twenty four hours a day, seven days a week!”

“This is starting to get annoying.”

“Well now you know how I feel up here. Really, you need to talk to someone.”

“How about I talk to you?”

“Fair enough. What do you want to talk about?”

“Getting you out of my head tops the list. Can you give me some ideas on that?”  

“Um, no. But I can give you advice on other matters that concern you. Like, your future?”

“What about it?”

“You are scared aren't you? About who you will become?”

“Everyone is scared of that!”

“But you don’t understand that someday what all you write will come to use. It is okay to get confused, but you shouldn’t let it get to you.”

“Like how I let you in?” The conscience never replied. It just left a half smile, and left. To the depth of my brain were nothing much resided. 

The cursor blinked again, so did I. My conscience was a better person than myself. Maybe it was, for everyone out there. 

The cursor blinked again. And this time, I wrote what was in my mind. A conversation with Kicha.