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The teacher took two long strides and stood beside Parker’s desk. Before the boy could speak, Mr. Earl threw the desktop open. For a second, he stared into it. A white glow reflected off his face.“ What is this?” he said, as he reached toward the brightness. “Careful, Mr. Earl, ” Parker started to say, but it was too late. The teacher screeched before lurching against the desk. He went down quickly, his feet vanishing into the desk last.James Van Pelt
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Writing fiction feels like an adventurous act, nudging aside reality a word at a time.James Van Pelt