Posted in Stories, Uncategorized, Writing

The Other Side of the Page

“Wow… what a beautiful morning!” This is my first thought as I rise from the moist grass. My eyes scan the valley before me. The beauty is breathtaking.

While ice and snow cover the landscape at home, here it is spring. Wildflowers sway in the gentle, warm breeze. The sun is shining and the sky is blue.

I shed my sweater and leave it on the ground. To my left is a small lake.  I walk in that direction.

Under a large Red Maple tree is a bench with soft, fluffy cushions. The bench faces the lake. Beside the bench is a table with a pot of tea and a cup and saucer. As I approach the bench, I can see that the tea is hot. Steam is rising from the spout.

I sit on the bench and I look beside me. There is a stack of books there. I think about putting my feet up and a plush foot stool appears.

I’ve poured my tea and I’m just starting to browse the stack of books beside me when I hear it. “No!” I think to myself.

I pull a book from the stack and start to read the jacket. I feel a brief chill. As I look up, I hear it again. A whisper, calling my name. “NO! Dammit! Not Yet!”

Now I’m hearing something else. A clicking sound and a ringing. After moment, that call again. “Penny! Time to come back!” This time the voice is much louder.

I try to block it out, but now that clicking sound is louder too.

I know it’s inevitable. With a groan, I rise and start walking toward the sound. The voice becomes more insistent; booming in my ears. “Penny! It’s time! Come back!” Ringing; something’s ringing. My steps quicken.

I stoop to pick up my sweater as I approach the doorway.  That clicking sound is almost deafening now; the ringing, louder.

Just as I pass through the doorway, I see her. She’s hunched over the keys, her focus only on her fingers as they fly across the keyboard. The clicking of the keys is all I can hear. She looks mad; this woman. Her hair hangs down in front of her face, she sees nothing but the keys and the screen before her. The world beyond this is forgotten.

Then, nothing but white.

On the other side of the page I sit up and look around me. I’m in my little office at home. My phone is ringing. I stare at it for a moment before picking it up. A solicitor.  I hang up and rise from my desk.

I pull my sweater tighter around me.  I rub my hands together as I shuffle across the room to turn up the thermostat.

I walk into the kitchen to make a pot of tea. At the sink I look out the window at a frozen landscape. The show is swirling and my car is buried.  I shake my head as I place the kettle on the stove.

“It sure was warmer on the other side of the page.” I mutter to myself as I pull a teacup from the cupboard.

Copyright (C) 2017 Penny Wilson



Penny Wilson is a freelance writer who writes in several genres. She has written articles for WOW Women on Writing. Her poetry has been published in online journals, such as Ariel Chart, Spill Words Press and the Poppy Road Review. Penny is a member of the Austin Poetry Society. Her poetry has been featured in the publication America's Emerging Poets 2018 & 2019 by Z Publishing, Poets Quarterly and Dual Coast Magazine published by Prolific Press. You can find more of her writings on her blog at and follow her on Twitter @pennywilson123.

10 thoughts on “The Other Side of the Page

  1. This is so amazingly written! Followed 🙂
    I’m just starting out in poetry and it would be amazing if you could give my page a follow too 🙂
    (only if you like my stuff of course!)


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