Fandango’s Flash Fiction Challenge

Where had he put it?
Was he reading the news?
He couldn’t find it, his missing muse.
It was tragic, the poor writer was frozen in time He’d been sitting there dead, since ‘99!
No one had found him,
he always kept to himself,
a writer ‘s dilemma, never thinking of self.
It was only the story, only the words,
but now looking at him
I think that absurd.
He wasted away,
always alone
with his stale cup of coffee
amid papers and bones.



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