SummonedMy fingers flew over the keyboard, the story evolving in front of my eyes. I’d like to have been able to take credit for it, but the truth was I wasn’t sure where the words came from. Not from me, or my conscious mind at least. I was just a conduit, a helpful vessel with ten fingers and a trusty laptop.
My phone beeped beside me, interrupting my flow. I paused, staring at the screen, the half constructed sentence that now refused to finish itself.
“Damnit.”
Already annoyed with whoever had interrupted me – though they couldn’t have known they were bulldozing into my first productive writing session in a week – I snatched up the phone and flicked on the screen.
Sir, I saw at the top. My anger abated somewhat. Or at least, my willingness to show it. I opened the message.
What ar
