here to choose again.”
William fidgeted in the chair. Life was not a story. His life was not a story.
“So, what will it be, Mr. Further?” the clerk asked, pushing up his glasses once
more.
William couldn’t speak. The thought of being dead and being told his life was
pretty much just a story was too much to process.
The clerk began tapping the pen on the wooden desk.
“You can choose to complete your story or you can hope the next draft turns out
better.”
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.