The Writer is Apalled

The only sound that I can hear is the ticking of the clock. Frankly, it’s getting quite annoying. But what if he’s going through shock? What if there’s something wrong with him, and I’ll wind up with the blame in the end? What if—

Good fiddlesticks…look at what I’ve been writing. ‘What if, what if’. Ha! If he drops dead because of spontaneous salmonella poisoning, it’ll be no skin off of my nose.

Ugh, what a disgusting phrase!

A laugh made me look up quickly, nearly causing myself to get an instant crick in the neck. I could feel my face turn red. Of all the gall in the world! He actually was laughing at me!

“You should have seen your face while you were writing,” he said, running a hand through his tar colored hair.

I pursed my lips angrily, and picked up Scooter. I placed him on the table, and immediately, the kitty I knew so well spat at the stranger, making his laughter cease.

I smirked.

“You should speak more.”

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