P. Martin's arms jerked, ever so slightly. "No . . . no," he stuttered. "I'm here. P. Martin, he-he-re." He glanced up, and there she was, her black Records Book propped on her stomach, checking off his name. Just like James, she had a stripe running from her eyes to the back of her ear, only hers was black. Her nose was slightly curved and as long and thin as a straw.
"P. Martin," she said. "Curious thing -- that P."
P. Martin feared everybody would be staring at him. He shuttered and scratched his arm. "Ye ye-sss," he said. "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.
