The Dig

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.

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