“Overthinking is the surest way to kill the free flow of a new idea,” he thought confidently. “I know exactly how to do this, I just have to start typing and then not stop!”
The rapid staccato of his keys click-clacking against his mechanical keyboard gave him something to write about for a moment, but then, before he’d even finished beginning, time was running out. “Think of something, brain!” he implored, but his mind was running in treacle, furious treading moving nowhere.
Those damn fingers. They moved so very fast, why had he trained them so well? He had played piano for almost a decade, but had never considered himself very good at it. Typing though, that he had been doing since he was five. It was second nature, and, at a time like this, where he was desperately trying to produce more bullshit from his mind than his fingers could keep up with, it was a bet he couldn’t promise to win.
He always knew it would end up in this way. Brain versus digits. Mano-a-fingero. He never trusted those fingers. Never really knew what they would do. That’s why he slept with sunglasses on, to trick them, so they’d never know if he was really asleep. Just in case.
Just in case they tried choking him.