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Short story: <i>Siren Song</i>

A siren wails in the dark, summoning those who are susceptible to her charms.

Inviting them to rivalry, to scramble into dark suits and brush the lines of tired from under their eyes and to run, heedlessly, towards the siren’s call. To be the first there, when the headlights shatter like crystal and the fire blossoms lustily from a warm exploding petrol tank and the tow-truck drivers stand around in their bearded bulk. To be the first there, to stand in the red and blue lights of the wreckage and seek out the injured party and press a warm business card into his/her shaking hand... that’s the stuff that dreams are made of.

This is the result of a fifteen minute writing exercise. The only constrictions were the time limit and five randomly selected words from the dictionary. Today the words were: siren, rivalry, crystal, blossom, and bulk.

Image courtesy of Autistic Psycho.

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