It came as an attack on my mind. It forced the pen into my hand, and the movements began involuntarily at first. My will to fight it was waning.

It was less painful to simply let it take control and move whichever way it lead. I did not know the ending, for I could not see that far ahead.

My vision was limited to only a few words into the future. It feared I could not keep up if more unfolded too quickly and we both knew it was true. For my hands ached from the pressure already.

The sheer joy of seeing the conclusion was all that kept me going. My curiosity led me to stay the course.

Some words were painful and took all I had to give to allow them to delivered into the light. Others made me smile and laugh even. I never knew which one was ahead of me, but I had to go around the next bend. I had to keep moving forward.

Eventually, the story would conclude, or I would have to stop from sheer exhaustion. There was no other ending. Then, my imagination would leave me alone for a time. I would not know when or even if the next attack would come. I was both saddened and joyful at this fact.