# 8/22/07 | Fly on the Wall



## valeca (Aug 22, 2007)

It finally begins!  

By popular vote, you have been given the challenge of writing a story on the following topic:

*Shoo fly, don't bother me*
Have you ever wanted to be a fly on someone's wall during a particularly just-out-of-earshot conversation? What exactly _is_ going on in the next room? In *500* words, write what you, or a third-person fly can see & hear.
Submitted by Speakerphone2

*Submissions may only be posted in* *this thread* *or in the* *thread provided in the *Writers' Workshop (you must provide a link to your submission in this thread if you opt to use the Writers' Workshop).  

Submissions will be accepted until August 29, 2007.

Good luck to everyone!


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## vangoghsear (Aug 23, 2007)

off topic said:
			
		

> 457 words this time.



*Great Set of Ears
*By Vangoghsear

She overheard the manager say, “The promotion is between Jean and Robert.”

“Meet me in my office in two minutes and we will discuss it,” the boss said. “I just want to get some coffee.”

When the voices had gone, Jean poked her head up from her cubical like a huge prairie dog and looked to see if she could get close enough to the boss’ office to hear their meeting.  No way.  Too many office drones milling about.  

_If only I could be a fly on the wall,_ she thought.

Bink, bink, bink.  There was a sound like someone tapping on a glass jar.

_What is that?_  She wondered, looking around.  She looked down at her computer screen.  _Oh, it’s that annoying animated paper-clip guy. I could have sworn I turned that feature off?_

“Zipper, or the insect?” _

Huh? Oh. It wanted to know w__hat kind of fly.  __Fly-zipper.  Ha, ha, very funny.  The clip guy always did have a weird sense of humor.  _“The insect.” _You stupid...
_ 
Bink, bink, bink.  

_What now?_

“The common house fly can’t hear,” was written on the screen.

_Huh.  Wow.  Who knew?_

“Search the web?  Okay or Cancel”

She pressed “Okay.”

A website flashed up on the screen, with an article about flies.  _What do you know?  They can’t hear.  All they can do is sense low frequency vibrations with the hairs on their legs.  That won’t do me any good._  She read on.  _Ah, what’s this?
_
"The parasitoid fly Ormia ochracea has ears on its chest to allow the animal to locate crickets, where they will deposit larva ..."

_Yuck!  The reason for that is kind of disgusting, but it says here they have “excellent, directional high-frequency hearing.”
_
Bink, bink, bink.

“Yes?” she asked, more patiently this time.  

“To become an Ormia fly, press the Logo button and F7”

_Why not!_  She pressed the two buttons.

Five minutes later, she was sitting back in her cubical, happily humming.  The web had been right!  Ormia flies have excellent hearing through those two ears on their chest.  She had flown to the meeting and heard every single word.  She liked what she had heard.  Then she simply flew back, landed on the Escape key and – Poof – back to normal.

“Congratulations, Jean.”  Robert was standing at the cubical opening.  “They are giving you the promotion.  They said that you have some talents that just edged me out.    Oops, you probably didn’t know yet.   I hope I didn’t spill the beans.”

“No, no.  I already  knew.” She was so excited that, without thinking, she pointed at her boobs and said, “I heard them talking in the boss’ office with these.”

“Oh my gosh,” Robert said. “That certainly is a talent I don’t have!”

The End



			
				Off Topic said:
			
		

> *Changes after posting, for Mike's review:*
> 
> “Meet me in my office in two minutes and we will discuss it,” the boss said. “I just want to get some coffee.” (Changed from a comma to a period after 'the boss said'.)
> _If only I could be a fly on the wall,_ she thought.  (Separated these two phrases with a comma instead of a period.)
> ...


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## strangedaze (Aug 23, 2007)

*Feaver*

Feaver used to be in the army. A shell exploded next to him and after he couldn't hear shit. The newspapers said he stormed Ypres. They ran his picture on the front page, grinning so wide you could see the space between his gums and the dentures. 

Feaver lived next door and rarely left his apartment. My cousin Franky delivered his groceries. 

'Feaver tips shit,' Franky said bitterly. 

'He’s no Donald Trump.'

Me and Franky were smoking a joint in my bedroom when the idea hit us. The walls, they were paper thin. You could tap a fingernail and it would come out sounding like Morse code.

We'd seen it done in movies. High school kids trying to get a peek in the girl's changeroom.

'But Feaver's not a chick,' I pointed out.

'Yeah, but he could be a fucken serial killer or something.'

I took another puff. 'The quiet ones are always nutzo.'

'Exactly.'

We drilled right through using two-foot bit that Franky stole from my uncle's garage. The drill's spinning head spat the dust back at us. The hole was shin-high, a little tunnel from our world to his. 

Franky looked first.

'What's it look like?' I asked.

'No dead bodies, if that's what you mean.'

'Huh. Lemme look.'

There wasn't much to see. It was obviously Feaver's bedroom, only there wasn't a bed. Just a plain old mattress on the floor. No furniture, no nothing. 

'Creepy.'

All that buildup for so little payoff. 

'You want to play pool at Lou's?' Franky said, yawning.

I shrugged. 

'Guess so.'

I plugged the hole with a wad of gum and swept away the dust. My parents came home an hour later, but nobody noticed.

That night, I took the chewing gum out. A small ray of light shone from Feaver's apartment. Down on my hands and knees, it was like peering into a little TV screen. 

A set of slippered feet moved past by my eyes. Wrinkled ankles, wiry purple veins. Feaver shuffled to the mattress, lowering himself slowly, like a freight elevator. His robe parted and I could see nothing. Just shadows and the gray hairs on Feaver's body. 

Then another pair of ankles walked by, another pair of old legs. Another man. His robe fell slowly, the way a snake’s skin sheds. Feaver welcomed him with leathery arms.

I thought about the one fag at our school, Hal Gruberman. We had math together. One time a bunch of jocks got together and gave him the pole. The soccer posts hummed for at least a minute after. 

‘Try fucking with that now, faggot,’ someone said. 

He had to go to the hospital. Ruptured nuts. Sounds funny but I guess his underwear dripped red before he even got off the field.

Watching these two old men wrapped up together, doing nothing but holding, made me think of Hal, the way he looked, bent, like he was a jigsaw piece looking for its match.


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## ClancyBoy (Aug 24, 2007)

*"Baby?"  436 words*

.
.
.



“Baby?”

  “Hm?”

“You awake?”

“What is it?”

“I can’t sleep.”

“Work?”

“Nah.  It’s the boy.”

“Hm?”

“I’m a little worried about him.”

“Doctor says there’s a good chance he’s fine.  Go back to sleep.”

“He doesn’t _do_ anything though.  Have you noticed him move in a while?  I don’t think that’s normal.”

“He kicks me sometimes.  That’s something.  What do you want him to do?”

“He needs to go get a job.”

“Ha _ha_.”

“I’m serious.  I’m tired of supporting his deadbeat ass.”

“I’m still only seven months pregnant.  In a few years, _after_ he's been born and can walk and talk normally we can give him a list of simple chores to do.  Ok?”

“Have it your way honey.  I still think he’s taking advantage of you.”

“You’re such a dumbass.”

“Heh”

“It’s 2 AM, you can work on your comedy routine in the morning.“

“Ok.  Night.”

…

…

…
_
Poot._
_
…_
_
…_

“Oh God, was that you?”

“That was Dogger.”

“Dogger is on the balcony.  It _was_ you.”

“It’s part of my comedy routine.  You like it?”

“Would you like to go use the bathroom?”

“Ha ha, no.  But you might want to.”

“Why?”

“Because this room _stiiiiiinks_.”

“I hate you so much Brian, Jesus God!”

“Aw…”

“There’s milk in the fridge if you can’t sleep.”

“Ok.”

“Stay out of here until you’ve moved your bowels.”

“Ha ha, ‘bowels.’  You sound like your mom.”

“Hee hee.”

“Now all you have to do is learn how to foam at the mouth when you talk.”

“Ha ha, shut up.”

“I’m serious.  After she’s talked for an hour or so it looks like she has toothpaste suds all over her face.”

“Yes, my mother is a loud moron.  That’s why I didn’t want to invite her here.  But nooooo, you had to have us all together as a family.”

“Don’t you want her here when the boy is born?”

“Maybe.  Not living in the house though.”

“So your dad can stay but she can’t.”

“Right.”

“Why?”

“I told you already.”

“Remind me.  I don’t think you can make her stay in a hotel if your dad is in the guest room.”

“Because.  We can’t let her find out there’s anything wrong with her first grandchild.  Dad is smart enough to understand.  She isn’t.”

“You think you can hide it?”

“As long as I can."

"But..."

"I don’t want to talk about this anymore.  Go to sleep.”

“The doctor said there’s only a sixty percent chance.  He _could_ be fine.”

“Go to sleep.”

“Anyway, we decided we were going to love him no matter what.  Right baby?”

…

…

…

“Baby?”


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## kenewbie (Aug 24, 2007)

*The secret. 500 words.*

The plaque above the entrance said "Masonic Lodge", but the building was screaming former state penitentiary. Anonymous walls of gray concrete, every window clad in bars. The doors were locked and the windows shut; it was initiation night, and security was paramount. It was hermetically sealed, nothing could come in or out. Nothing that is, but radio waves.

The audio was crystal; you could all but smell a lifetime of cigarettes and brown liquor in the rasp voice that began.

"So, Jim. It's time to step up and herd, huh?"

"Yes sir."

"Curious?"

"Hell yeah Dick, I didn't sleep for a minute last night. So neither did the wife!"

A short duet of courteous laughter broke out, followed by a throat clearing.

"Well, what do you already know?"

"Just what everyone knows, I guess. The grandmaster holds a secret which he passes on to the next. The secret of omniscience."

The last word was stressed in playful exaggeration, but the voice was nervous.

"Yeah..Well, that's a big word, Jim. It's more of a way to always be right."

"Isn't that the same thing?"

"No. No, not really. The.. The important thing is not the secret itself, but that everyone knows we have one."

"What are you saying? There is no secret?"

"Oh heavens yes, there is, there is. I just remember what it was like to be standing where you are now. The secret is profound, in it's way. I want you to understand the context. Everyone knows there are masonic secrets, that's the beauty of it. Nothing inspire mystery and interest like a public enigma."

"Why don't you try me?"

There was silence, the click of a lighter, then silence again. You had to imagine the close-up sound of a cigarette burning crisply on the first drag.

"Do you know any magician's secrets, Jim?"

"Excuse me?"

"You know -- how a woman is sawn in two, how they change liquid into paper confetti or pull coins out your ear? Do you know how any such tricks are performed?"

"Umm -- guess I know a couple of card-tricks."

"Yeah, that's good, that'll work. What did you feel when the tricks were exposed to you?"

The response came quickly; the nervous voice was gaining an air of irritation.

"Cheated."

"Ah! The thing is, you were not cheated. You knew it was a trick, you don't believe in magic. When it was exposed to you, you discovered that the illusion was holding all the power, not the knowledge of how to perform it. That's why you felt suckered."

"You are really lowering my expectations here."

Hoarse laughter disolved into violent coughing. A hawk, then the rasp voice again.

"That's good, Jim. That's good. So, the secret is two-part. It contains the power to always be correct in everything you say or write. If you take it to heart, you'll never have to be wrong again."

"Yes?"

"Never lie, and always admit when you don't know."


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## Johnna (Aug 24, 2007)

The door slammed shut behind me, and all I could hear when I pressed my ear to it was muffled arguing. My mother had sent me out of the room while she and my father "talked".

I always did what my mom told me to, but I was fed up; I was part of the family, too. Luckily, Mom and Dad didn't know what I could do.

It was time to put my powers to use. I closed my eyes and concentrated. The feeling was like being on Vikodin and Xanax for a split second.

When I opened my eyes, I was much smaller and I sported tiny wings. I zipped under the door. My flight was loopy and I crashed into the wall more than once, but I managed well enough. Luckily, my parents didn't notice me, intent on each other as they were.

I looked around after landing behind a book on the shelf. My mom sat on the bed, and my dad sat behind his desk.

"...what's best for her," my mom snapped.

"You never knew what was best," Dad replied. "You spoiled her! Why do you think she turned out the way she did?" 

"She turned out to be a bitch following your example," Mom shot back. "All you ever taught her was how to complain, how to bitch and whine and moan, just like you."

"You're the one that taught her to be a slut!" Dad yelled, one fist pounding his desk. "Why do you think she's having sex at fifteen? Because of all those stories you told her of fucking some guy when you were twelve."

"How dare you?" Mom hissed. "You don't know anything about what I did when I was young."

"Maybe you'd be better off raising her by yourself," Dad said.

"Are you saying you want a divorce?"

The word hung heavy in the air as silence permeated the room. I held my breath, my tiny body tensing, wings and all.

"Do you?" he finally asked. His voice was soft and not angry anymore.

"I..." My mom turned her head away, eyes closed.

"I don't want to stay with you if you're only with me for her," my dad stated calmly. Despite my eyes, which couldn't quite make him out so far away, I knew his lip was quivering, his cheeks hollow as he bit them to keep himself calm.

"We don't even have sex anymore," Mom said softly. "It's like you don't even see me."

It was then that I realized that I really didn't want to be there. I jumped into the air, falling a few inches before getting my wings moving. I looped around for a moment to get my bearings, and then flew out under the door.

There in the hallway, I landed and turned back into a normal-sized girl. Running my hands down my arms, I decided I didn't much like being the "fly on the wall".

Some conversations are just not for my ears.


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## Pete_C (Aug 24, 2007)

*The man with a plan (499 words)*

The man with the beard grabbed a sheaf of papers from the table and swiped at the fly. He missed, and seeing it settle on the wall out of reach, he threw the papers back on the table and continued speaking to the other two men.

"I dreamed of it as a boy, I fantasised about it. Imagine that, ultimate power! I wanted to make everyone walk backwards, paint the roads purple, make fat ladies carry dogs, big ones like labradors. But what happens? No one wants a man with ultimate power to have a sense of humour."

The other two nodded, and the one with the blue tie and the American accent said: "I know. All I wanted was ultimate power, and now I kind of have it, all I want is to be called Felicity and to dance the can-can in Paris."

The other two laughed, but seeing the solemn look on the speaker’s face, they choked it back. The man with the red tie said: “Well, that can never happen.”

Blue Tie winked and said: “I have a plan, very soon I’m getting myself out of all this for good, you see if I don’t. When it happens, you’ll know it about. I want to make sure everyone remembers it.”
“Good luck” said the Beard.

Red Tie asked: “Okay then, gibbon and a snake, in a fight, who wins?”
“Gibbon” snapped Blue Tie.
“Snake” snapped the Beard.
“Never the snake” cried Blue Tie. “The gibbon is fast and furious; the snake is stuck on its belly.”
“Beware the beast on its belly” taunted the Beard, “for it can strike unseen.”
“Unseen, apart from by the mighty gibbon” bellowed Blue Tie.

Again, all three men laughed loudly; too loudly almost and Blue Tie gestured with his hands that they should keep the volume down. Once the mirth subsided, he spoke again.

“Now gentlemen, to business, because I don’t want to be late for lunch. About those missiles?”
The Beard laughed and said: “They don’t exist, we made them up!”
Blue Tie raised his eyebrows and said: “Really?”
Red Tie laughed out loud and slapped his thighs with both hands, and agreed: “Really! The ships are filled with turnips!”

The three laughed, but the Beard cut it short and said: “And your missiles?”
Blue Tie shrugged and said: “There’s nothing in them. They’re empty cases. We can’t afford to build real ones, we’re bankrupt.”
“Morally” added Red Tie.
“Now children, play nicely” chipped in the Beard as all three laughed again.

A gong sounded from outside and Blue Tie said: “Lunchtime! Today is spam fritter day! That’s it, it’s a deal, we’ll come up with some story and call it quits, agreed?”

The three men stood and shook hands before heading out through individual doors. As they left they bid one another farewell.
“Goodbye Fidel!”
“Goodbye Nikita!”
“Goodbye John F, and good luck with the plan!”
Blue Tie winked and said: “It’ll be a day that everyone remembers!”


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## sixlivesdown (Aug 24, 2007)

*Apartment** 667 (385 words)
*

  “Why are you trying to do this?

  “I don’t have a choice. You know I don’t.” 

  “It’s not going to work, Bill.”

  “It’s the only thing I have left. If I don’t do it…” The voice trailed off. Desperation. A man with absolutely nothing left to lose. 

  “It’s not the answer.” The calm, reassuring voice of an older woman. The kind trained over decades to talking people down from this or that. The one who knew every nuance to bringing back people from the edge. Exactly what this guy needed, by the sound of it.

  “Then tell me what is.” The voice rising now, a high-pitched plea for help. Begging.  “Tell me what the answer is because if I don’t get a better one, I’m not going to have another choice. No choice in the world. All I have is right here, right now and I want to be the one to decide something, for once. Something at all.  This is the only choice I have left now and I want to be the one to make it.” Now he was babbling, words to fill the empty space in his life. 

  “I’ll tell you what you’re going to do. Give me that…yes, that’s right, just like that. Thank you. Now, you’re going to sit down, yes, over there and you’re going to keep your hands right there on your lap, right where I can see them. Good. That’s good. Just like that.” 

  The voice was back to a whisper now. Sounded like he was nearly in tears. Nearly, but with that last vestige of manly pride to hold the tears back. “Now what?” The words were harsh, grating, the closed threat of someone desperately trying to maintain control. 

  “Now we talk.”

  “About what? There’s nothing to talk about. All I do is talk and talk and talk and do you know what? Nothing ever happens. Nothing ever changes. All it does is make noise. Talking doesn’t work. It never has, it never will. It’s just talk.” 

  Sounds of movement. _These eyes of mine can’t see too well, though._ 

  A gasp, from her or him. _Gasps all sound pretty much the same to me._

  A scream, this time from her. _Only a woman could scream that high._

  Then two gunshots. _Those I hear just fine._

  Silence.


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## smilinghelps (Aug 25, 2007)

*Dirty Laundry
*
"Are you _sure_?" he whispered loudly from the laundry room.  

Our neighbor, Mr McNeil came to look at the dryer for Mommy.  He's nice that way, he helps my Mommy when Daddy is working.  He's always over all the time.

Dressing my Barbie I notice her hair is funny and she has two different shoes on but I don't care.  I used my glittery markers to make her look even more pretty. 

"Did you take two?" Mr McNeil slammed the door.  Startled, I dropped Barbie into her dreamhouse elevator and the string went through the hole.  The elevator won't work without the string and Barbie has to get ready for her date, I can't let Barbie walk up the stairs.

"Mommy?" I said quietly

"Yes... keep your voice down", I heard Mommy say.  "I took two.  They're positive, I don't know what to tell you.  I haven't been with him in over 2 months, I told you that.  It's yours.  What do you want me to do?"

"Get _rid_ of it! That's what I want you to do!" a loud bang came from behind the dark brown door. 

"Ssshh'', Mommy hushed.

"Mommy?"

"It's ok JJ, I'll be right there", Mommy said reassuringly. "I won't _do_ _that_!" Mommy hollered, I could hear the anger in her voice.

"Mommy!" I cried, startled again, Mommy never yells.

"Don't worry honey", Mommy called, her voice was strange not reassuring and calming like usual. "I'll be right out to play with you. Me and Mr McNeil are just trying to figure out how to get this dryer to work, ok baby?"

"ok", I said quietly.  It's really not ok.  Mommy sounds stressed out.  She says its hard to be a Mommy and a wife and to take care of everyone all the time.  I don't ever want to be a Mommy, I want to be like Barbie.  She is always happy, her smile is bright pink because I painted it on real thick.

"Goddammit Rose!" Mr McNeil yelled again slamming his tool belt on the counter,  "What exactly do you want me to do?  Tell Patti?  How 'bout that?  While we're at it, let's tell Bruce.  We'll all be one big happy _fuckin'_ family!  This was supposed to be fun.  _Fun! _ That was it.  Not a commitment, _not with you_.  Friends with benefits, that's what we said!  _That's all!_"

"What do you mean, _not with me_?  What the_ fuck _does that mean?  Oh, I'm good enough for a good lay, you love me when my ankles are at my ears but now? I didn't do this by myself, remember, or did lose your memory as quickly as your hard-on?"

Mommy coughed, short quick coughs like she drank soda too quickly, I heard little shuffling, scraping sounds like when I drag my shoes. 

Then the dryer started.  Yeah, its fixed! 

"G'night JJ," Mr McNeil said closing the brown door behind him, "Your Mom said to go upstairs and watch t.v., she's got some laundry to do."


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## RainBeau (Aug 25, 2007)

*Origins*

467 words
_____________________________________________“Umm…Where’s vial 487b?”

  “Ah, isn’t it in the kit?”

  “Why would I be asking you about it if it was here? You didn’t, by chance, _leave_ it on that last place, _did you_?”

  “No….I mean, why would I?”

  “Yes, why would you even _need_ to take it _out_?”

  “Let’s see, I was getting a tube ready and that little piece of preservative fell out and landed right next to a vial. With those damned gloves on I couldn’t get at the piece so I took out a vial and put it on the…oh, my…”

  "So, you_ did_ leave it there?”

  “I didn’t mean to…should we go back and get it?”

  “What and throw the whole project off schedule? It would take at least three quoroors to get back there, find the thing and get to the rendezvous point. Last time that happen was to Leptar and Kweller.”

  “Who’re _they_?”

  “They’re the ones who aren’t here now because the Captain was so pissed he had them vaporized on the spot!”

  “Ohhh.”

  “I’m checking now what was in 487b. Damned quantum computer is slowing down. Ah, there it is. We’re in luck, 487b was a _segment_ of a retrovirus. If it had been a whole retrovirus we would have had to fill out 20 million forms about what happened and _why_”.

  “But won’t they notice it’s missing?”

  “Once we’re back on board I’ll go to Morot in molecular engineering, he owes me a favor, I’ll have him replicate what was in 487b from, let’s see, vial 2241 that has something that is close enough that it won’t make a difference.”

  “But what about vial 487b?”

  “What about it?”

  “What will happen to it?”

  “I don’t care, _our_ butts are covered.”

  “But what if it should break or leak?”

  “_Who cares_? It was a dead hunk of rock anyways. Look, did you find any long chain carbons there?”

  “No.”

  “You see, it’ll be fine! A retrovirus needs living things to hijack to make more copies of itself. If there isn’t any life there then even if it _should_ escape the vial, it'll _probably _break down into it’s constituent  parts, no harm done!”

  “But..”

  “Shush! Not a word about this to anyone! Just relax and enjoy the ride. Come to the window.”

  “What am I looking for?”

  “See that moon there? It’s breaking apart in the tidal forces. In a few million years it’ll be all spread out in a disc, it’ll look like a ring around the planet!”

  “Which one is this?”

  “Let me check. It’s the sixth planet.”

  “Beautiful!”

  “Yeah. And kid…”

  “Yeah?”

  “Don’t sweat it. What’s the worst thing that could happen?”

  “What?”

  “The  planet blooms with life!”

  “_Really_?”

  “Ah, probably not, but even if it does, it’ll mean job security for your grandson!”

  “Ha, yeah, I guess.”​


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## dwellerofthedeep (Aug 25, 2007)

*I’ve Heard About Me (492 Words)*

“Well, he’s not his normal self,” she said.

That’s all it took for me to figure out who they were talking about.  I always felt I was different, myself.  It was still a surprise to hear I was right though.

“He is who he is,” he said.  “Maybe I just haven’t gotten used to him being around all the time.”

“Are you going to say we can’t hold it against him?”

“He’s your…  What are you two exactly?”

“Friends.”

“Oh, just friends?”

“Yeah.”

I sagged inside.  I don’t know why I didn’t just walk away from the door right then.  Of course, being that I was leaning against frame with a leg covered in my own hour-old dried blood, I don’t think moving was such a great option.  I think the truth hurt me more though.   

“So, why do we have to keep sneaking around?” he asked.  

I gritted my teeth.  _Sneaking around, _I wondered,_ how long? _There was not way I was going to let them do this to me.  I don’t deserve that.  I didn’t want to get up though.  My leg had something to do with it, but the blood was already drying and the cuts weren’t too deep.

She sighed.

“I don’t know,” she said.  “He may have thought there was more.”

“God, Karen, you didn’t lead him on did you?”

“Of course not. He’s crazy,”

_Ouch._

“He just thought that there was more between us.  But I never-

“Well that’s good,” he said.  “I’ve heard he saw some pretty bad stuff over there.  I’m glad it’s him making the mistake and not me.”

_Damn it, you bastard, _I thought, _you won’t be glad when I’m done with you.  _I felt the cut on my leg.  It didn’t hurt so much.  I ran my hand down my leg and silently pulled off my ragged boot.  

She hummed to herself for a moment. I heard a swishing sound from within the room.  I scowled.

He laughed.

“Right now?”

“Why not?” she crooned.  

I lifted the boot in my hands.  Someone in the room was giggling. _Careful now.  _I heaved the boot down the hallway.  It landed with a thump. The giggling stopped.

“What was that?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” he said.

“You think it could be him?”

“God no.  What’ll-

“Quiet.  Do you hear anything?”

She must have shaken that pretty head of hers for him, because when he next spoke he sounded relieved.

“Good,” he said.  “We’d better be careful though.”

“Did you,” she sounded nervous.  “Did you hear why he was sent home?”

“From the front lines?”

“Yeah.”

“No, what-

“He’s not safe to be around, that’s the official word.  They can’t let him hold a gun.”

“Jesus! How crazy is this guy?”

_Not crazy enough to sit here and listen to this, _I decided.  I reared to my feet.  I remember what happened next, but if I tell you, you’ll just think I’m crazy too.


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## virtugirl333 (Aug 25, 2007)

*You Sholdn't Kiss Her Like That*

(Quck note: Dolls of Celste & Vernca can be fond on The Doll Palce. Celste is Doll ID #7354 & Vernca is #3625. I didn't make them, so I can't take credt.)

Celeste’s POV:

I cold not believe what I was about to do. Eva made a cute little fly robot, which she made so she would be, literally, a fly on the wall. She needed somebody to test it out, so we hid it in Nate’s room when I went over there last night.

He’s been kind of strange lately. When we started dating, we’d lay on the bed, playing with each other, kissing each other, but never the full 9 yards. But he’s changed. Do sparks fade once you date somebody for a while?

I had gotten ready for my date early. So now, I had at lest two hors to watch Nate & tell myself nothing’s wrong.

For a while, all I saw was him. Then a knock came at his door. I should have known then that something was up, because his parents weren’t home yet.

“Hey there sweets.” Nate said. He stepped back to revel Veronica, a girl who was in our history class.

“I was just stopping by to see if you wanted to have dinner with me tonight.” The little tramp! How dare she?! She knows that I’m dating Nate!

“I can’t. I’ve already made plans with Celeste.” Go Nate! He must like really like me!

“You have to make a choice, baby. Didn’t you tell me that you didn’t love her anymore?” Ok, that’s BS. Tell her, Nate.

“You know that’s true…” Say WHAT?!?!?!? “…but she’s a good friend. I don’t want to hurt her…”

I quickly closed out of the program. I picked up my cell & called Nate, ending everything. I should have given him a piece of my mind, but I didn’t. After I hung up, I cried, letting everything out.

Robots stink.


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## Lost in Some Story (Aug 25, 2007)

_*Let’s Burn that Bridge When We Cross It*_

“Let’s just talk about something else, please.” Jamie stretches across the bus stop, her feet in Mike’s lap.

“Like what, the weather?” Mike picks a piece of gravel out of her boot. 

“Like the fact that I don’t want to live with my mom.” 

“What, you don’t want hot dogs for dinner every night?” 

“She’s manipulative.”

“She’s not that bad.”

“Oh please, you can’t stand her.”

“I never said that.”

She frowns.

“What? I never said that.”

“So then you go live with her.”

“Believe me, I’d rather live with her than inside Joliet.”

“I thought we weren’t going to talk about that.” She looks down at her hands and shivers. Wet patches of snow stick to the ground.

“Maybe I’ll move back to Minnesota.”  

“What? Are you serious?”

“It does make sense.” Her face is framed by snow spackled black hair. “Don’t you think?”

“I don’t like the idea at all.”

“I really loved it when I lived there, listening to the loons, waking up to the rooster.”

“I heard roosters are mean.”

She laughs and brushes snow from her hair.

“Are you seriously thinking about moving back to Minnesota?”

“Yeah, I am. I don’t think I can take an entire year of this.”

Mike looks up. Millions of snowflakes tumble around them, onto the sidewalk and into the street.“What about after?”

“What do you mean?”

“Will you come back to Illinois when I’m out?”

“Let’s burn that bridge when we cross it.”

Mike laughs. “I don’t think that’s how it goes.” 

“What?” She sits up, her cheeks red.

“It’s ‘Let’s cross that bridge when we come to it.’”

The bus arrives, yellow lights glaring through the snow.

“Whatever, you know what I mean.” She frowns and looks up at the falling snow.  

“Jamie?” 

“Yeah?”

“Please stay.”  

As the bus doors open, Jamie offers Mike a kiss. “I can’t.”


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## SammyMJ (Aug 27, 2007)

*Police Force (481 words). *

  ‘Sally, get Chief inspector Harris in here, quick!’

  ‘Yes Sir,’ Sally ran across the room and opened the office door and closed it behind her.

  Chief Constable Porter strode up towards the window looking at his brand new Mercedes, parked in _his_ space. He smiled to himself.

  ‘He’s here sir,’

  ‘Thank you Sally, now please leave us,’

  ‘Sir, is everything OK?’

  ‘No it’s not Harris,’

  ‘What’s gone wrong? I thought it had all gone to plan Sir,’

  ‘No it hasn’t, Harris. Where is Worrall at this precise moment, Harris?’

  ‘In the cells, you know this sir, that’s where we planned for him to be,’

  ‘No we didn’t. You know what he has done for us and what he knows, Harris, so he should be in the ground by now’

  ‘Sir, in the ground?’

  ‘Dead, Harris’

  ‘What? We…we can’t do that sir, its-’

  ‘-illegal, yes Harris, but so is everything else we have done to get where we are’

  ‘The only reason I’ve helped you and kept my mouth shut sir, is because you threatened to fire me,’

  ‘Oh stop trying to be such a martyr. I want him dead by this afternoon,’

  ‘No I’m not taking part in this,’


  ‘Do you want your job Harris?’ Harris stood silently, not looking at his superior in his eye.

  ‘Hmm, thought so. Go now and tell Worrall he is free, give him my thanks for helping us, offer him a lift home, then use the firearm I’ve placed in your car to finish this job,’

  ‘You’ve placed a firearm in my car?’

  ‘Yes, a licensed firearm that will trace back to Smith,’ 

  ‘Oh it’s not bad enough that I have to murder someone, but I also have to frame Smith! Why? I’m saying no Porter. I came in to this job to arrest people like you, not to work for them,’

  ‘Don’t be silly now Harris, you know what will happen if you disobey your orders. It won’t just be Worrall that will be in the ground,’

  ‘Why Smith? He ran around all over the country doing your dirty work.’

  ‘Exactly, he knows too much’

  ‘I know just as much as him maybe more, I’m not stupid Porter, who have you got to finish me huh?’

  ‘Why would I want to kill you Harris? You haven’t got a back bone, you take orders not give them.’ Porter walked and came face to face with Harris. He whispered in his ear,
  ‘Now be a good Chief Inspector please.’ Harris pushed him away.

  ‘Don’t come near me Porter. I’m not doing anything else for you. You can forget it; god only knows how you became Chief Constable.’

  Porter laughed,

  ‘You know exactly how I became Chief Constable, you helped me. Now please run along now Harris, it’s nearly the afternoon.’
  Harris opened the door to leave,

  ‘It’s over Porter,’ the door slammed behind him.


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## DamionAlexander (Aug 27, 2007)

*Our Little Secret...*

I took this as "fly on the wall" giving a third person account of an event no one would ever know about (except of course the people involved). Sorry about the double post (I put an extended version of this in the Short Story conference earlier because my rough draft was nearing 1000 words). Any way, I hope this isn't to racy for the judges, enjoy. (It's my first try, be nice)

“Good luck Lizzy.” Her mother smiled reassuringly.

“Eliza, don’t forget to mention all of your community service work, they like to see that their applicants have heart; it’ll put you above the rest.”

“Got it Daddy” 

He kissed her on the forehead, “Good luck.” 

“Follow me please.” The Director’s secretary walked out of the lobby, down a narrow hallway. Eliza followed timidly.

“This is the room. It’ll be nice and quite for you.”

Eliza nodded and thanked her as she left.

Before Eliza could sit down, the Director of Admissions entered. He was a sixty something, with soft blue eyes, bearing his warmest paternal smile. “Eliza Barrett,” he read from the file he’d brought with him.

“Yes sir.” She smiled and, without meeting his eyes, shook his hand softly.

“Please, have a seat.” He gestured to a couch across the room.

Eliza sat with her purse on her lap, staring at her shoes; it was a nervous habit.

“So Eliza,”

“Call me Lizzy.”

“Well Lizzy, tell me about yourself.”

As he spoke she removed her overcoat, revealing a low cut top which caught the Director’s eye as she continued to lean forward, staring at her shoes. 

Lizzy drew a deep breath and looked straight into the Director’s eyes, snapping his gaze from her chest.  

“No, why don’t we talk about you?”

The Director’s smile was replaced with a confused grimace, but she continued before he could interject. 

“As the Director of Admissions, you get a handful of picks for acceptance, no questions asked.” 

She smiled, re-crossed her legs, and hiked up her skirt, giving him more than a glimpse of her thigh.

“What are you saying?” He asked coyly, catching the hint.

“What I’m saying, George, is that if you make me one of those picks, I’ll make it very worth your while…” 

She smiled again, uncrossed her legs and leaned forward, affording him all the best views, perched her elbow on her thigh and slowly slid her index finder between her lips. She slid her other hand into her purse, 

“Just tell me what you want.”

The Director smiled and licked his lower lip, eyes seething. “If you sleep with me, I’ll let you in…no questions asked.”

“Perfect.” She removed her hand from her purse, threw on her overcoat, and stood.

“I meant right now.” 

“Oh, I heard you.” She smiled, pulling the tape recorder from her purse. “Would you like to hear it again?” 

The Director was stricken, fear frozen in his eyes. 

“I read your wife almost divorced you, found out just how many students you’d been sleeping with…I knew you’d bite…. It must have been hard for you to find another job after a scandal like that. I’d hate to see what this tape would do…. So, you’re going to let me in, no questions asked, and this tape will stay our little secret.”

He nodded gravely.

“Perfect” she smiled cheerily, and headed for the lobby to meet her parents.



“How’d it go Lizzy?” her mother asked anxiously.

“It went perfectly,” she responded, in a soft sweet voice.









Edit:
Line 2: you're changed to your
Line 6-7: devided 1 sentence into 2
Line 10: comma added
Line 11: comma added
Line 15: semicolon added
Line 20: word removed ("quickly")
Line 22: word capitalized ("Director")
Line 22: elipsis replaced with coma
Line 27: coma added
Line 29: word changed ("said" to "asked")
Line 36: two periods added
Line 44: period added
Line 45: period added
Last Line: word order changed ("sweet soft" to "soft sweet")


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## eggo (Aug 27, 2007)

Hey guys,

The link to my story over in WW,

"That Creepy Guy"-500 words


Good prompt


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## IrishLad (Aug 28, 2007)

Not sure if I missed the mark on this, but I believe it falls within the parameters.​*Author's Note:*​Harsh language​*Special Delivery*​
*(497 words)*​
“It’s open,” the man mouthed, waving me in from the other side of the massive glass door.​I stepped into the foyer.​“Important call,” he whispered, cupping his cell phone, “my wife will be with you in a minute. Set it on the table and have a seat.” ​He disappeared down the hallway bitching out some poor bastard on the other end, yelling that six weeks just wasn’t acceptable, something must be done. ​Standing in the sunken living room, I heard a woman talking—probably on the house line discussing the latest sale at Bloomingdale’s—just the other side of a set of oak doors, which I guessed led to the den. I set the pizza down on the marble coffee table, and sank into the sofa. I felt like a hobo waiting for an audience with a queen, my torn jeans a sinful contrast against the expensive white leather.​I looked around the room. Streamlined sculptures abounded, screaming fragile from their pedestals and threatening to tip over at the slightest touch. Now that I’d stopped moving, I could make out the woman’s conversation.​“You have to keep up with your things, sweetie. Oh, don’t cry, we’ll get another one this weekend, Mommy promises. I’ll help you download your music again.” ​Nope, not on the phone, just tending her spoiled offspring. My son was home, probably watching something with a parental advisory. I couldn’t really jump in his shit. He spent his nights alone until my shift ended. Even so, he sure as fuck didn’t get rewarded for losing the few belongings he did have. ​Anger began to well in my chest, my blood carrying contempt to every cell in my body. Forty-five, busting my hump sixty hours a week to make in a year what just one of this rich bitch’s crystal artwork cost?​“But, I had my songs in the order I liked,” said the child.​_Give me a fucking break, kid._ _Jesus, a new iPod’s not enough for this little prick._ 

My son would have given his left nut just to have a goddamn cheap CD player. I suddenly wanted to push one of the sculptures over.​“Ma’am,” I shouted, “I have other deliveries.” ​It was a lie; this was my last. _Fuck her_. My time was just as valuable as hers, or little Rockefeller’s.​“Who’s that?” the kid asked.​“I think it’s the … pizza man! You want to pay him?”​_What, now I’m this little shit’s entertainment?_​I was leaving, had my hand on the doorknob, when the double doors opened and she wheeled the child in. Bald and skeletal, smiling and holding a fifty, I recognized end-stage cancer. It had taken my wife, years earlier.​“Wait,” said the woman, “We’re sorry to have kept you.”​“It’s on me, ma’am,” I said.​I cried on the way home, for my wife, my son … for that poor family. But mostly, I cried for myself.​


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## Foxee (Aug 28, 2007)

My submission, Twitch is in the Writer's Workshop.

I'm looking forward to the comments (as always) and I'll be on deck for helping to judge the next LM if needed.


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## FrankBlissett (Aug 28, 2007)

Fly On The Wall submission (461 words)
ps: Some of the lines are meant to be italicised, but it's not showing up too distinctly (IMHO) in the preview. *shrug*

+++

Her plastic-glazed eyes gazed up at the fly on the wall. It twitched a bit now and then, cleaning its wings. So long as she didn't move too suddenly, it seemed content to sit there and do its thing. From the kitchen, her father staggered into the room, stiff jointed.


"Daddy?", asked a distant voice - somewhat uncertain. Sometimes it was hard to tell for sure.


"It's me sweetie - don't worry. He won't hurt you again." And with that her fear melted away.


He approached, arms slightly akimbo, and they embraced rather awkwardly. His touch did not feel as genuine as she wanted, but that didn't matter. She could remember when his embrace had been warmer. She could remember brushes of his butterfly kisses on her cheek and whispered "I-love-you"s. She could remember all that, and be warmed throughout by her father's hug even now.


"I'm sorry that he hurt you sweetie. How about we make some pancakes? Will that make you feel better?"


"Yea - pancakes! Can I crack the eggs?"


"Sure you can. Anything for my little baby doll. And after that we'll watch a DVD together."


Pancakes were her favorite. Her father made them for the family every single Saturday morning, during cartoons. But this was a school-day afternoon so it would be extra special to have pancakes. Pancakes with strawberry jam, all rolled up and eaten like giant burritos. And she would do her very best not to get her hands all sticky.... A shiver traveled up her spine.


"Well, come on," her father beckoned as he staggered back into the kitchen, "Let's make some pancakes!"


_She heard the front door open downstairs - she knew it would be two more hours before mer mother returned from work. The door closed, then the clunk of shoes dropping on the tiled entryway. Maybe he didn't know she was upstairs. Maybe he was tired. Maybe he did know she was here after all but things wouldn't be bad anymore._


"Don't worry," her father whispered, "Just stay quiet and try to hide. It won't be like before."


_"Margie?!," a voice shouted from the stairs as one of the steps creaked._


Her hand shot into the doll house and the fly darted out in a panic. _Into the nightstand drawer went her Ken-doll father, atop her old diary and several plastic butterfly barrettes. The drawer slid shut, barely making a noise._


_"Margie?" He was outside her bedroom door now, "You in there?"_


_She paused for a moment. Carefully, she lifted the edge of her mattress and placed her baby-doll underneath - safe and sound, facing the floor. The fly lighted on the closet door, just above the top hinge. It began cleaning its wings once more._


_"Yes, daddy."_

+++

-Frank


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## Frabes (Aug 29, 2007)

*Another Girlfriend Story (499 words, harsh language)*

Two more weeks, then the new semester would start and Damien could finally get what he wanted. No more silent afternoons in the diner. No more making small talk with the locals. Two more weeks, and he would finally have something interesting to listen to while he sipped coffee on Court Street. 

For now, he’d have to be content to dream of pretty coeds sunbathing in the early September sun and endless nights at the bustling little coffee shop. As he sat at his favorite table against the wall, lost in thought, he failed to notice the door open, didn’t see the two men walk in and sit at the table near the window. It was only when one of them spoke that he realized he had company for the first time in months.

“Hey, buddy, can you pass me some napkins, we’re out.”

“Sure.”

Damien pulled a fistful of napkins out of the small rectangular box on his table and passed them to the man who’d spoken. He was tall, with short dark hair and small, green eyes. The other, shorter and blonde, stared through the backwards lettering at the street.
  The waitress walked over to their table, and Damien heard them order two cups of coffee, one black, the other with just cream. _Surprising, _he thought_, how much you can tell about a person just by knowing how they take their coffee_.

A few minutes passed, and the two men seemed content to sip from their mugs in silence. Eventually, though, the man with the dark hair cleared his throat and got the attention of his companion.

“Say something, dammit. You’re making me nervous.”

“I’m not pissed at you, ok. I’m pissed at her. That fucking cunt.”

“Little harsh, don’t you think.”

“Considering she walked out on me, got drunk, and fucked my friend—not really, no. I think I worded that perfectly.”
_
Great, _Damien thought. _Another girlfriend story. Well, at least it’s something…_

“And we can’t forget about her aborting our fucking kid without talking to me first, either.”
_
Whoa, here we go._

“Well, when you put it that way.”

“Don’t joke, asshole. It isn’t funny.”

“Fine, but I still think you dodged a bullet here.”

“Oh yeah? How do you figure that.”

“Fuck, come on, James. Do you really think you’re ready for a kid? You’ve still got another year of college. And let’s face it, with a mother like that, the kid would have to be delivered by a fucking psychiatrist.”
_
Now that was funny._

“Look forget about her. Let’s just go get hammered and throw shit off the bridge.”

“You didn’t hear? They put fences up on both sides.”

“Well, let’s just get fucked up then. We’ll probably have the bar to ourselves.”

“You paying?”

“What’s the matter, that cunt steal your wallet too?”

With that, the two left, leaving Damien alone again. He watched them walk up the street, ordered another coffee, and smiled to himself.

“It’s going to be a good year.”






man, that word count kicked my ass this time


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## Amber Leaf (Aug 29, 2007)

*dammed genies*

The musky interior of the Bedouin tent was too inviting for a knackered and thirsty raver like me. After being up all night dancing to the loudest techno and rushing off the strongest amphetamine known to the party I got angry at the sight of my best friend talking to my boyfriend.

When I confronted them about it my boyfriend alleged I had taken too much speed and his defensive stance confirmed my suppositions. He even had the nerve to tell me to ‘chill out’.

Shocked by their betrayal I went for a walk to calm my frenzied emotions. I came along an enchanting Bedouin tent. As I entered I coughed slightly from the thick smoke inside.

Arriving at a bar I asked the eastern bartender where I could sit without irritation. He showed me to the back of the tent. Lifting the heavy velvet curtain back he took me to a dark room lit by candles. There were scattered cushions and a table.

The air was clear and at long last I felt relaxed. The thirst, however, was over-whelming and spying a cup and a kettle; I decided to pour myself a drink

Amber liquid ran from the spout and the steam hit my face. The room filled with azure dust. It formed the shape of a man with a beard and a strange hat.

Wondering what was on his head I looked at his face. His stare went right through me. I asked him how he had got out of the spout and his voice boomed;

“I am Makukhen. I shall grant you three wishes.” I felt tremors as he spoke and I wondered if someone had spiked my drink.

Makukhen’s eyes were red. Why he would want to give me wishes? He seemed to read my mind;

“You shall learn.” He spoke.

I put it down to the drugs. Maybe some new type of trip I had never used before?

“I wish for a spliff that will never burn down or go out.” I asked thinking I may as well give it a shot then suddenly in my hand appeared the magical joint.

The blue, bearded man was a good companion.

Tired from the strain of the night; I made another plea;

“I wish for a rock that will never chip away.” On the table in front of me appeared a white block. I was very happy.

The dawn light seeped in through the edges of the tent and I started to worry why none of my friends had come to see me. I became suspicious again of what my boyfriend was doing and I wished I could be a fly on the wall where he was.

POOF!!!!

Loud buzzing surrounded me and I saw my best friend and my boyfriend in front of me. At first I thought I was really wasted as they were so large. As much as I tried I couldn’t hear them talk. It was then I realized the genie had turned me into a fly.


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## speakerphone2 (Aug 29, 2007)

*Bus stops are traps -- 381 words*

_______Some strong language, but I'm guessing you people are going to judge it anyways...__________


“So I was on the bus this morning, and I go sit in the back with Paige, and across from us, there’s this guy, rolling a joint.”

____“Who’s that?” 

“I have no idea, I’ve never seen him before. But it was, like, ‘Good morning to you too!’”

____“Haha, sure. You should have asked him for one.” 

“Yeah, as if I’m randomly gonna be like, ‘Yo, dude, got a dime bag?’” 

____“Shit yeah. What would he have said? I wonder.”

“Anyways, it was weird.”

A moment passed. Binders clicked shut. Paper was shuffled into various divisions entitled Vocabulary, Writing, and Literature. 

____“So guess who was at my bus stop this morning.”

“Did you take the bus, or did your mom drive you?” 

____“Driven, thank God. But as we passed my corner, lo and behold, who else is there but my ex and his new girlfriend.” 

“What the fuck? Where does she live? And since when does he take your bus?” 

____“Exactly. She lives in Chambly. And they were at my bus stop.”


“Shit. It was a trap or something.” 

____“I dunno. I’m fucking glad I got driven in, though.”

“Shit, that would have been awkward. What would have happened?”

____“I dunno. Would he have introduced me? Like ‘Uhm, hi, this is the strung-out pothead of a girlfriend I’ve replaced you with…’?”

“What a flipping introduction. What would she have said? First of all, does it talk? Can she speak?” 

____“I dunno. Her brain must be so fried, though.”

“Fuck, like Asian noodles, if she does all the crazy shit you’ve told me she does.” 

____“I’d like to hear her talk. Like, say words. Dom says all she does is mumble-swear.”


“Hahaha, mumble-swear. What is she, Ozzy Osbourne?” 

____“Maybe. I dunno. I’ve never heard her.” 

Another moment passes as useless instructions get jotted down into agendas. 

“Anyways, dear, I’m glad you dropped his sorry bald ass, and finally now you are starting to cope with school and being back on this glorious first day.” 

____“Yeah well. I don’t know if I’m completely over it.” 

“Hmm.”

____“You know what I mean? It still feels like, just below the surface.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean… not from experience, but I empathize.” 

____“Just another day in just another year, I guess.”

“And so it continues.”


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## Hawke (Aug 30, 2007)

*** SUBMISSIONS ARE NOW CLOSED ***


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