Behind the man was a woman. Behind the woman was a younger woman. The younger woman looked behind her and saw no one. All this younger, teenaged young lady could see was a setting sun. Pink light mixed with eye fluid that continued to gaze.
Assignment for tomorrow. It was due. And no ideas emerged. In fact, the rays of light were folding in on themselves. Morning. Maybe morning would bring an idea or a phrase for the person who said they wanted it. Who were they? What was the subject? Who was the topic. No statement to be made. Where to begin was the place to start. At least that was the thought, but what comes before that?
Turning back the page of the abandoned introduction revealed a blank preface. Turning back the page revealed a dedication to someone whose bedaubed name eluded acknowledgement. Close the front cover. The book is already completed.
- Max Stoltenberg