June 24th, 2006


Weird Story Drabble

"I want to make something," he said, trying to wedge himself into his desk chair. Each time he sat in it it always got smaller. Before long, it would be a shoe, not a chair. "I want to produce something."

The woman sitting on the edge of his desk shook her head, long tresses of black light cascading against the white translucent wrap that barely provided modesty. "That's not true." Her face carried a decade of sadness in that one instant, washing across him and leaving him drifting in the flood waters behind it.
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