Everything is out to disrupt flow, she thought.

Indeed, something had been putting her off reading. Flies bounced. And crawled, and buzzed about ears, hairs along forearm, and lips. Music blasted from speakers until they too buzzed, piercing through tranquility.

Sunlight beamed through her, warmed her. Sunglasses sat and peered out and around. There were trees bending and sighing over bench, brick and barking dogs.
Ink and pen scratched and rushed messages and reminders, poems and thoughts, fears and annoyances. Why and what if interrupted and refused to quieten. She decided to address them so that work could continue. Wheels spun and sparked like fireworks.

Then she paused.

Aches shot up from beneath her. Everything screamed in agony without relief. Muscles tightened and spasmed. She froze in place as time stretched itself like a cassette. She recalled watching films and pausing them without caring about damage or longevity. Repeating this delighted her and life was without worry, wear, or tear.
Still, she trembled through it. She willed body and soul to lean into suffering. She wrote and wrote until joints swelled and flared, and tears boiled over.

She stopped.

She breathed.

She had finished.