by Stuart Mckellar
My fingers dance over the keys with all the fluid grace of ballerinas, words and sentences flowing into one another like perfectly choreographed moves, practiced and perfected over years and years. I lean back and stretch my neck at the interval because every one of us needs a break, and crack my knuckles before staring back at the screen. My fingers barely miss a beat, as if the break never happened, whilst I watch on, an audience of one witness to this beautiful ballet. But the screen stops responding, recoiling in shock at what was about to appear upon it's surface. I wince and hold my breath, frantically mousing over the save key and bashing it in panic. But it's no use and I know the show is over, as the lights go down and no one remembers a truly great performance.
Stuart Mckellar, 26, lives in the North East of England. He's currently working on what he hopes will be the first of many successful novels, having been an avid reader and writer for as long as he can remember.