By the rate Ms. Whimbrel was chirping off names -- Dowitcher, Flemming, Gadwall, Jaeger, Kestrel -- the leaves on the trees would yellow and he'd be ready to fly from this freshly waxed floored roost. P. Martin. Why not Peter or, even, Preston? But P. Martin?
He glanced at the clock: tick . . . tick . . . tick. And, all he could think of was itch . . . itch . . . itch.
Welcome to MarMooWorks Story Line, where I encourage you to become a Muse of MarMooWorks. Each week, I will begin a story, using one sentence, and I invite you, the readers, to add to the story. Be on the lookout for fun and unusual words, images, and literary devices. Be sure to keep in mind that once a character has been introduced, he/she/it remains in the story and has a purpose.
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