Deadline looms.
I'll never leave it this late again.
Seconds tick away; tiny drops of blood from time killed.
Try something else. What about that idea that you had earlier?
Remember? You know, the one about... No, that won't do. What else?
Aaron finished this weeks ago. You could have been out with him right now. Wait, is Aaron spelled with two A's or one?
Come on, focus. You can do this. How about this... yes, this whole part sounds perfect - then talk about... Yes, this is excellent! Just another...
Typical! Of all the times to call, why now? I told her I was busy; what could be so important? She had better be sick or dying or she'll never hear the end of this.
I'll be right back.
O
N
About the Creator
Charlie Sumner
A teacher and musician from Northampton, UK.
Keep reading
More stories from Charlie Sumner and writers in Poets and other communities.
Woodsman
November 29th, 1997 – Goodsprings, Virginia It was already dark by the time we got into town. I can’t recall the time exactly, but our flight had been delayed and so too had our ride out of Richmond; naturally, we found the nearest place that might serve a half-decent drink.
By Charlie Sumner11 months ago in Horror
Comments
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.