Gone With the Draft
Getting back into the flow of writing, mostly with wordplay and poems. I'm a creative soul, from childhood to middle age, and my joy is to produce new things the world has never seen before. I'm an educator from the USA working as a college professor of lit and music. I'm learning to love myself little by little.
Tonia saw the tiny robotic bug skitter underneath the sealed metal door and into the Writing Room. Xe knew that there remained less than a minute before the fuse it carried would reach the bomb and tear the room to flinders, and Grace along with it. Tonia's only hope was to blow the fuse out--with the bug on the other side of the door.
Frantically, xe tapped a four-number combination into the door's keypad. After several frustrating seconds, a beep sounded and a voice sounded: Wrong number. Three attempts left. Xe tried once more, to no avail. In an instant of panic xe dropped bodily to the floor, face pressed to the marble floor.
Xe could see it. Hir eyes followed the red glow as the bug jittered about. Nearer.
Xe pucked up and blew.
Nothing. The glow got closer.
Xe blew, huffed and puffed. Xe could see the fuse with but a millimeter of space left, and Grace's feet close by.
One last breath. Please.
The room spoke.
Post failed. Would you like to save as a draft?
Then, a blue scream of death.
No prequels yet. Why not write one?
No sequels yet. Why not write one?
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