"I need a better title." He simply said.

"You..what?" I replied, bewildered.

With a sigh he continued, "Look man, the publishing game is getting hard. New books on every subject are coming out at an ever-increasing rate. How many books do you think there are that are exactly like yours? Hundreds, if not thousands of carbon copies of your book. What you need is to be set apart from the rest. What you need is a better title."

"My title is fine." I responded defensively. "It works well, fits the theme. Like when have you seen a p-"

"It needs a BETTER title. Just listen to me. Your book is fine, it's obvious you're a good writer. Surely you can think of something else. Something...unique."

I paused in thought for a while, beforeI spoke again, "I had thought about using Growing Pains as a title. Maybe I can use that."

"It needs a better title! What are you writing about, pregnancy? Think of something good!"

"I don't know. Why does it need a good title anyways? The book is jus-"

"EVERY book needs a good title! I'm trying to help you here! A good title is the make or break moment in a book. The first thing a consumer sees! And you want to squander that opportunity with a mediocre title. I will not accept that!" My publisher yelled at me.

"Alright, alright. Well how about The Day the Starch Stopped Flowing?" I asked.

"What the hell are you thinking? Better than that!"

"Uhh...do you like, How to cripple a country in three easy step?"

"BETTER THEN THAT."

I started just saying what ever came to my mind first."Dinner will never be the same."

"IT NEEDS TO BE BETTER"

"1845: Tater-less and afraid."

"What the hell does that even mean? Honestly, I had high hopes for you. It seems to me that I cannot continue to be your publisher." He slowly said, while standing up from his chair.

Angry and upset I gave him one final title. "How about The silence of the yams?"

A look of shock, then awe appeared on his face. "Its...it's perfect. The pacing...the theming...the pun! Oh...this is amazing. I can envision it now. Millions of these books flying off the shelves. You...you, my good friend have found a better title."

He got up and shook my hand vigorously. And the deal was struck. I would have a published book, and my publisher would have a good title.

Drifting through the cosmos was to me, my sole purpose.

I could not do anything else after all, because there was nothing to do. I had long ago reasoned that there must be an end. For I had a beginning, and logic assumes that I must end.

But what pained me was the fact that I was here.

Why exist, if my life is devoid? Why did I occur? Why am I? These thoughts plagued my mind for eons, until I settled on an answer. Albeit, roundabout in nature. I was here to be. That is all. If the only reason that I am here, is to be here, then I am happy.

And so to fulfil my purpose, I wait.

My ending will come soon, and my purpose will be fulfilled. To have lived, and to eventually not. That is who I am.

But.

What if there is more? What if there are others? What if I'm not alone? What if my purpose is to discover another's purpose? If I exist like this, I can assume I am not unique in my situation. Others may be cursed to endure like me.

And so I drift. Past dying stars and lifeless asteroids. With a purpose. With a hope.

To be more than I am.

(I'm not OP, but this sounds interesting. Gonna hijack)

​

I screamed and cried.

I calmed down in my mother's embrace.

I wriggled, happy to see new things.

I crawled. I reached for my toys and my parents.

I spoke. My parents were delighted.

I toddled, with help from father.

I walked. I moved myself without help.

I ran. I ran and played with friends.

I learned. Letters and numbers, skills and talents.

I loved.

I was hurt.

I loved again, despite the hurt. Despite the fear of more hurt.

I started a family.

I worked. I supported my family.

I saw my child, screaming and crying.

I saw them wiggling, crawling, walking, and running.

I helped them learn letters and numbers, skills and talents.

I grew tired, and stopped working.

I couldn't run anymore.

I couldn't walk without help.

I couldn't move anymore.

I couldn't speak for very long.

I watched as long as I could.

I felt my mother's embrace.

I left in silence.

-Matt Smith. Interview 006-

"And so you followed him?"

Yeah. He was acting kind of suspicious. I was just trying to do my civic duty. I didn't want to get into all this mess, that's for sure.

"Where was Miss Finch during this time?"

Cindy was with me. Scared out of her mind, the poor gal. Had to hold her hand even. Anyways, as I mentioned, I thought I saw him conceal a gun in his cloak. And so I gave chase. We followed him for a couple of minutes to some sort of a warehouse down by the docks. The guy slipped in somehow, and I could hear more voices. Seemed to me like there was a whole [Expletive] gang in there.

"What did you do after that?"

Well Cindy had the willy-nillies, wanted to go home and all that. James was telling me that we should call the cops. I agreed with him there, even if it amounted to nothing, see something say something, y'know? Cindy was as pale as a ghost, this place must have spooked her bad. I don't know what they were doing, but I didn't like it one bit, no sir.

"And so we received a call from Mr Gardiner at 10:19 that night"

Was that the time? Well, yeah, yeah that's what happened.

" Is there anything else that you would like to mention?"

I don't know, I don't even remember seeing much of anything at all. Stuff like that happens like a blur, y'know?

"Thank you, Mr Smith, for your time."

You're welcome, officer.

-James Gardiner. Interview 003-

"You want to remind me what you were doing?"

Well, we were drinking. Too much probably. It was me, Matt and his girlfriend. Anyways Matt mentions that he think he saw someone with a gun go down a side alley. He's all riled up, saying we should go after him. Cindy is yelling at him not to go, but he's not listening and rushes off to find the guy. So, of course, me and Cindy start to follow Matt, who's following the guy.

"Why did you follow?"

Well...uhh...I suppose I thought one-on-three would be fine, even if he did have a gun.

"And what happened next?"

Well we followed him, until they went down to the docks. Cindy was getting scared, y'know saying we shouldn't be here and all that. By this time we had caught up to Matt, who said the guy went into a building, and he points to one over by the end of the dock. We heard people inside, and ended up calling the police.

"And so we received a call from you at 10:19 that night."

Yep.

"Is there anything else that you would like to mention?"

Yeah. Why did you arrest Cindy?

"...Mr Gardiner, thank you for your time."

Hmph.

-Cindy Finch. Interview 009-

"What were you doing at the time of the incident, Miss Finch?"

I was drinking with Matt and his friend.

"And why did you start following Ernest?"

Who are you talking about?

"Playing dumb isn't going to help Miss Finch."

I saw Ernest, and I screamed. Matt probably followed my gaze and saw the gun in his pocket. He was drunk and tried to get it away from him. Ernest ran away, and Matt started to follow him. I grabbed Matt's hand to try to get him to stop, but he wouldn't. Matt starts making a mad dash to Ernest, and James says we should all go follow. I don't want to, but I reluctantly go with him.

"And you end up at the docks?"

Yeah.

"What did you do there?"

We called the police.

"But what did you do there?

We...smuggled coke. I suppose you know all about now anyways.

"Please tell me, Miss Finch."

We imported it from various sources, Ernest, Peter and I. Made a lot of money too. Ernest came to tell me about something, saw I was with Matt, and ran off to tell Peter. I never liked Ernest, he always wanted to drive a wedge between Peter and I, and now he had the perfect ammunition. Matt saw Ernest's gun, and the rest is history, I guess.

"Is there anything else that you would like to mention?"

No.

"Well, thank you for your time."

A pleasure.

You expect me to write prose on a whim?

To expertly use all manner of verbatim?

Alas, your challenge,

Has made me cringe,

In matters of limericks I am quite dim.

"With our all-new product you can harness the power of electromagentic energy right in your own homes! Our leading technicians have even informed us, that it is relatively safe to stand next to it!

Do you hate food that is either too hot or too cold? Well why not have both? Our product uses ingenious methods to make the outside of the food boiling hot, while keeping the inside a nice freezing temperature.

Experience a flavour party in your mouth like never before!

Our newest model even includes a clock! It won't work, but now you always have something to blame if your ever late!

Our product comes in an exciting shape! Why own a boring circle when you can have a rectangle in your own home! You can look at it in wonder for hours on end! ^(on a side note- I am legally required to tell you not to look at it when active.)

Try the newest craze to hit the market since we brought you a hole that can store all your mess!

Isabel was folding her laundry again.

She carefully flattened each piece of clothing, before delicately and gingerly moving her hands to create the desired shape. First a shirt, then a towel. She had a job to do, and would finish it whether she liked it or not.

If you observed her closely you would notice the soft and subtle jiggles of the tiniest amount of baby fat on her chin, which some would describe as being flawless. Her chin was the perfect shape, not to bony, yet not too round either.

Others would notice the voluminous lengths of wavy hair that went across her face. Her absolutely stunning eyebrows. Like a caterpillar on a delicate leaf, her eyebrows managed to frame her face in a most picturesque manner.

When Isabel had to bend down to pick up a stray sock that had fallen on the ground, her perfectly symmetrical and prominent spine came into view. Arched like a cat, it had the most appealing number of bumps and ridges. Enough, I daresay, that her spine was enough to make most men faint.

Isobel was stunning, in her own way.

The harmonious beeps of my alarm clock rang out over the thoughtful silence of the beautiful, early morning. I eagerly rolled around and slammed the snooze button. Another new, wonderful day! The calendar on my bedside table had today’s date circled, which meant an extra exciting day! I laughed. (Well, actually, all of the days were circled, but, well, that means MORE EXCITEMENT EVERY DAY, am I right?) I skipped down the stairs two by two, slid into the kitchen, and began belting a happy song at the top of my voice while hearing the oil dance and flicker across the pan (mm, that bacon smell!). The TV blared with news on joyful, endorphin-inducing topics. The perfect day. (Well, this was every day, but that means every day is the perfect day.) I hopped in my black Toyota Sienna 2011 and danced to happy songs on the radio (almost running a red light while doing it, but at least it was still orange when I reached the intersection). Arriving at my workplace, I got out of my car, still belting happy songs at max volume. The perfect day.

(Note: From an objective perspective, no. He got out of bed, cooked bacon for breakfast, and drove to work. No music was playing. His TV was off. He didn’t have a bedside table, let alone a calendar or an alarm clock. He lived in a gray apartment with trash lining the floor.)

After discovering time travel you go back in time to study Neanderthals only to discover that speak your language perfectly.

The rule is you can't use the word "will"