Instalment One Hundred and Nineteen

Instalment One Hundred and Nineteen?

Following a slothful period of many months, 200 Word Stories received correspondence neatly typed, folded and mailed. It was anonymous. And so is the word, anonymous.

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He stared at the lifeless screen. No longer a blank canvass inviting beauty, but a cold glass field of indifference. Was it even glass? He googled it. Another mindless distraction from the task at hand.

Sixty months. One hundred and eighteen stories. Then ten months of nothing.

He just needed a little something to jolt him back into action. Just a couple hundred words to get the juices flowing again.

But nothing came. Nothing.


Could he subcontract to a drought breaker? No, that would be cheating. Like paying someone to do your homework.


But what if he didn’t pay them? If he didn’t even ask them? If he simply willed a ghostwriter into existence by sheer subconscious willpower, summoning a guardian angel to draft a little something and drop it into his lap?


An anonymous ghostwriter waiving all rights and declining all credit. No one would ever have to know.


And if it worked one time, then why not another? Ghostwriter after ghostwriter tagging in to slap down a couple hundred words at a time in an invisible orgy of prolificy.


No. Just one should do the trick. Shame him into knocking out a couple hundred words of his own.

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