Dante laid on his back on his bed in the dark. One tucked hand supported his head. The fingers of the other drummed on his chest. He stared at the ceiling as though anticipating a film to begin.
A voice said, "Write what you know, about an experience you have had or someone you once met."
"I don't know anything; can't recall anyone interesting."
"Then write what I tell you."
Instantly the room was lit by the light of his computer screen. The cursor pulsed with the rhythm of a tapping foot of a parent or teacher waiting for a directive to be followed.
"Shall we begin?"
Dante rose from the bed and placed his hands on the keyboard like a concert pianist. Music began to play and words flowed. The clicking of the keys under his fingers charmed the story out of his being and onto the monitor. When the story was finished he struck the SAVE button. The story had been exorcised to haunt and torture him no more. The man had not realized he had been holding his breath until he sighed with relief.
Dante returned to his bed in the dark and awaited the arrival of another verbose demon with yet another story to be told. The next one was sure to be stronger; any effort to resist would be met with more torture until the computer screen was filled with words. The writer also realized the cursor would never be sated. Here was his eternity.
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