It’s the sound of the long creak after the pause.
The door is rust, perhaps, or the oiling needs to be re-done.
Faint hustles make way as the door creaks wide open and lets the reader witness the havoc inside.
Words were flying hither tither. A few stale sentences lie on the couch with huge beer bellies bulging through the bar. Lack of activity took a heavy toll on their health, it seems. They need to shape up, maybe cut a few inches short. That protruding belly needs to get rid off, it’s putting others off.
A little Thesaurus sips tea, at one dim, dusty corner of the room. He seems to be in company but the clouds of dust makes the partner unseen. We’ll have to come back to them later, it seems.
There was a loud noise somewhere at the back of the house. Few words got into quarrel and the Grammarian thumped its feet. The thunder hopes to make the word fall in its order, but chaos seems to be the taste of the day. An argument is heard. Verbs seem to be the egotist lot. They never want to let the Noun to do the talking alone. Adverbs seem cranky. There is too little space for them in a story. Writers don’t consider them their friend. Nouns rule the Subjects and the Objects yet everyone hates the Adjectives. They are the royalty. They go to the fanciest parties and get to experiment the most Gothic creations.
They all implore the Grammarian to lay out a new rule. We should better let them have the room.
There’s ink drying near the Verandah, waiting for someone to save its last breath. There’s paper lying as bed sheets; white as snow, silent as death.
The words are in delirium, no one remembers them anymore.
There’s an old guy reaching for the lavatory. Oh look, it’s the Dictionary! Thesaurus follows him. Perhaps, he was in his company.
Raided the entire house, alas, the writer was nowhere to be found. The house seems abandoned, left to its fate. He no longer lives here, perhaps. There’s no point waiting for him here.
Oh wait! It looks like someone is snoring. The table shrieked a little due to heavy breathing. Someone is under the table, a man, perhaps; daydreaming. It’s the writer, smiling.
Wonder what makes him smile in this discord!
Looks like he has found his muse. Looks like it’s the beginning of another story.
Rejoice, fellows! The writer is smiling.
The reader hopes ink will no longer be drying.