His Secret


“Do you hear that?” she whispered.

“No,” I answered.

“Sounds like a ‘clickity-clack.’”

“Must be coming from the neighbors. How long have you been awake?”

“A couple of minutes.”

“Was it the sound that woke you?”

“No. I had a strange dream. That’s what woke me.”

“Wanna tell me about it?”

“I was dreaming that the old manual typewriter in the other room, the one your friend gave you, was working all by itself, writing a story.”

“I wish it worked like that,” I said, knowing what tomorrows story would be.

“Shh,” she urged, “Did you hear a ‘ding?”

“No.”

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