The Table

I dedicate this story for Lance. ^_^


There is something strange with the table. No, it isn’t the legs; they are all straight and sturdy. It isn’t the tabletop either because it is flat and wide. When you sit down against it, the table does act like any table would: keep plates, glasses, and utensils off the floor; place books, pens, and paper on it; cradle a weary head when the bed is just too far. Yet, there is still something off with the table. It is within its grains, within the wood. If you press your ear against it – softly, ever softly, it will say…


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