Mrs. Whimbrel checked off James Vireo's name. P. Martin glanced at James, who seemed perched on his seat. His small, round eyes reminded him of the black pearls his mother wore on special occasions. A white line ran across the side of his face straight back to his ear. This could only mean one thing: his mother forced him to wear sunglasses -- all summer long.
When James had said, "Here," his voice almost warbled. He-er, he-er. P. Martin wondered if he had bubbles in the back of his throat. Now, that would be a trick, just like the time he had partially swallowed jello and brought it back up; it was still jello, only juicier. He-er, he-er.
Mrs. Whimbrel coughed. "P. Martin?"
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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