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FIRST PLACE
I Am A Writer
By K.I.M.
Burbank, California
"I am a writer," she murmurs
in her sleep.
Her lips tremble. Her eyelids shudder. She moans. Her brow beads sweat.
"I am a writer," she gasps, as demons grasp and demands claw.
Customers want more coffee and they want it now. The Drip-O-Matic only drips
so fast. Mr. Johnson wants non-dairy creamer and his eggs weren't over easy.
The cook keeps sneezing in the food. The hostess is still hung over and her register
is out of ones. The restrooms are out of paper. The bagels are in the freezer
and the manager lost the keys. A pack of rowdy hoodlums just came in and the
phone keeps ringing and ringing but nobody's home and she feels one coming on
...
She can't breathe.
She can't breathe.
She can't scream.
She can't move.
Move. Move. Move.
Something breaks --
breaks
-- and she runs through the door.
Through the door and across the lot and through the field and over the fence
and through the bush and to the cliff ...
to the edge of the cliff and she can't stop. She runs right off and --
and
-- becomes a seagull:
Soaring peaceful.
Soaring free.
Soaring forever grateful across the endless sea.
"Thank God," she sighs in her sleep, "I am a writer."
Copyright (c) 2004 for the
author, all rights reserved.
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