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Writing Resources from Fifteen Minutes of Fiction

The following is a piece of writing submitted by Douglas on September 22, 2007
"At the time of the writing of this post, it is entirely fictional. Unfortunately, however, it probably won't be long before it comes true..."

Jake's Dark and Stormy Night of the Soul

It was a dark and stormy night, and Jake was feeling particularly dark and stormy in his soul. No one understood the troubles of his angst ridden, tortured life.

Tonight, while the storms raged both inside and out, Jake sat down at the computer, and went to one of his favorite sites: Fifteen Minutes Of Fiction.

But tonight was different. Tonight his writing fit his mood. Tonight his writing was filled with elements that - he knew - didn't fit the terms of use for the site. But that's just the kind of mood he was in.

Angrily, and with expletives in his heart and on his keyboard, he pounded away for ten minutes, and then clicked submit. With a seething but satisfied smile he watched his new piece of writing appear on the screen.

About ten minutes later, while he was browsing through his Neighborhood's posts, he suddenly found himself logged out of his account. That's &%$! odd, he thought. He went to the login page and re-entered his login information.

And a message, something like this, appeared on the screen.

"What the %$&*?" he shouted at the computer.

The computer didn't say anything in response.

In his anger, Jake began composing a nasty email to the site administrator. In that email he explained how unfair it was for the site administrator to suspend his account, just because he didn't follow the site's terms of use.

It was an utterly irrational email; poor Jake somehow thought that he could break contract with the site's owner, and yet not face any repercussions. But then, that's the kind of society Jake lived in.

Furthermore, Jake had somehow fallen into the trap of believing that since the site's owner had permitted him to use space on the site, the site now belonged to him, and the site owner owed him something. Oh, what a peculiar world Jake lives in.

Far away, in his quiet little rural home town, Doug - who wasn't feeling particularly angst ridden or tortured at all, received the email. An eyebrow raised. Not fair? he thought. What an odd idea.

Then after a moment, he thought, Huh. This doesn't look like postal mail to me.

Doug reached out his right index finger to his keyboard, and pressed one single key...

I'll give you a hint. It wasn't Insert.

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