(It's fabulous Friday again. And you thought I'd forgotten.)
The Quill and the Quotation
The quill scratched out its discontent. “Look. You tore me out of my host, whom you may have murdered beforehand. Then you carved me up and dunked me into this vile liquid. I’d understand if you’d have some original thoughts to put down. But I consider the entire process in vain if all you’re going to do is repeat what others have written before.” And, just as the scrivener was about to open the quotation marks, the quill snapped and splattered ink all over the document.