Friday, June 8, 2007

June 8

The only sounds in the room were a frantic sounding beeping from the computer and the steady sounds of soft breathing.

The cause of the noise was plain to see. At the desk, bathed in the soft glow of the light, was the writer – or more precisely, the writer’s inner wordsmith - sleeping on the keyboard. Completely unaware of the intrusion, let alone the malicious intent of it, the wordsmith slept on.

The woman’s lips twisted into a smirk. She turned and began to walk the perimeter of the writer’s den, pausing periodically to rearrange the books on the shelves.

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