I munch on my chips as I draw the little outline of a skirt. It flips out just barely- enough to make it look like its floating. I love silk skirts that look like they jumped out of a tampon commerical. I stand up and all of a sudden I'm hit with an idea, hurriedly I gather my fabric box and I run to the sewing machine only to realize that using a traditional sewing machine is just silly. I grab my wand and in a flick I have basic cotton cami together and then in a stroke of brilliance it's cutting and sewing a traditional box jacket.

Ah! It'll be just the thing I need when I go to work tomorrow. A flippy silver silky skirt and a harsh wool mustard box jacket. The contrast is just fabulous enough to make my beige walls feel even more insignificant. Even my throw pillow looks a little envious of it. And that's saying something considering that my throw pillow is terribly proud and rather condescending to the other pillows. I tend to go through certain phases with my hobbies. For the last week I've been designing like a mad woman.

What I wear to work really does not matter of course. I'm a librarian. I'll never need any man but Plato and the occasional dip into the fiction section. That's what's great about books. You can live with them and then go live with another book and they'll never ever complain or act offended or call you woman or anything. This of course leaves little time for people who will complain if you go running off with a prince or pirate to fall in love in Barbados.

I check my watch to see the time and realize I'm practically an hour ahead of schedule. Probably from all the time I saved from waiting on the dreadful phone. If only I'd fixed that table leg. With a flick of my wand I do. My wand's very light- in fact most of those who see it would call it pink. It's a rather rosy purplish sort of color- very much so like the candle on my dresser. A light flowery candle- called Brown sugar and fig. That I've already explained to you.

With a pop I apparate into the store- It might just give me time to look around Diagon Alley for a bit. I've only been there for a week, you see I own the bookstore now, against my family's desires. I bought it almost a month ago, and it re-opened a few days ago. Something dreadful happened to the last owner- but we won't talk about it. My throw pillows are very sensitive about things like that.

I've never walked all the way through the alley. I know I know- I should have and I sound as though I'm joking as my feet clack on the cobblestone drive. No one's out at five am and it's just me really and the stores. A few lights on here and there to show someone's home.

Otherwise though the stores loom past me tall and brick with charming little wooden signs hanging out on thick cast iron rods. The signs advertise what the store sells and in the windows people on broomsticks and children with ice cream cones run by in the pictures. It's only too bad my own windows are still naked. Poor things.

I continue to walk and people begin to appear. Oh no. It's just as I thought. A joke shop. Right across from my dear charming bookstore. Ghastly just ghastly! If only I had thought ahead and checked out the stores.

Oh it was such a great offer for such a great place I had just assumed. Well, you know what they say when you assume. You make a donkeys rear out of you and me. If this is across from my dear charming bookstore children will never choose to come to mine. They'll lose out on experiencing literature. I cannot win against a joke store.

Probably just an extension of some huge chain run by really old men who want to feel young I assure myself. It's probably just some mild blood chocolate candy store that wants to deceive you into believing it's a joke shop. Yes. I breathe heavily. And I put my hand to my forehead very melodramatically.

I hate pranks. Haha. It sounds as if I'm making a joke but my brother loves to pull pranks. Gah. I hate them now. At first they were fabulous. A hurling hex here, a color charm there- but going on your first date with lips the size of a quill and the color of pidgeons, is not as humorous as you might think.

Now don't misinterpret me- I love a good laugh and I love to joke around with people. But pranks- oh bother. Oh no- my stomach grumbles sickeningly- I forgot to eat breakfast and the handful of chips an hour ago has left me feeling queasy and lightheaded. As I start to walk across the street my vision begins to get blotchy and the next thing I know I'm tumbling down and blacked out. Bam. Everythings black. Terribly black. Memories start to rush back of childhood visits to graves and black tunnels. Always running away. Always in danger. Always terribly dark. Terribly dark.

Black.

TTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT

REVIEW PLEASE!!!!