By: Rina Olsen
The laptop shut with a curt clack. He leaned back and ran a hand through his hair, pushing a sigh out from puckered lips. His hand curled around the tiny chocolate box, which screamed can you find a star-shaped chocolate inside? at consumers. He closed his eyes, emails tattooed into his frazzled retinas.
We regret to inform you…
Unfortunately, we cannot…
There was never a star-shaped chocolate. Even he knew that.
He shook the box into his palm.
A copper star materialized.
The writer stared at the star he held, then popped it into his mouth and reopened his manuscript.
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