The Writer: Why are you hovering at my desk?
IR*: You’re fifteen minutes late.
The Writer: And? How did you know I was coming back today —
IR: — You’re late is all. Where’ve you been?
The Writer: You’ve never heard of a thing called privacy? Huh?
IR (blank stare)
The Writer (sigh, plops down laptop on desk): I’ve been on a dig.
IR (shrugs, then understanding): Ohhh, like archeology? Did you, like, find any good treasures or bones?
The Writer (waves IR away from the chair and sits): I found a body. Except it was alive. Crazy right?
IR (sits on the desk edge): You mean like a zombie?
The Writer: I mean, like, breathing, sort of sleeping like a pupa or something. Then the eyes popped open. Looked right at me. Scared the s%^& out of me!
IR: Then what happened?
The Writer (opens laptop): Gotcha!
Notes: IR = Ideal Reader
Copyright © 2015, Ilana Hulsey Rea. All rights reserved.