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Old June 2nd, 2013 (08:06 PM). Edited June 21st, 2013 by Hermione Granger.
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Hermione Granger Hermione Granger is online now
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Join Date: Apr 2009
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Age: 18
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A/N - I haven't written something in such a long time. I apologize if this isn't even remotely good but I thought the Flash Fiction challenge would help me rekindle my forgotten (probably non-existent) writing skills. Oh, and uhh, this is PG just in-case there are children who aren't familiar of swearing in day-to-day conversation lol

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The Man Behind the Desk

“You had me waiting, Mr. Regan,” said the man behind the desk, accompanied by a stern look that hurts whoever looks at him directly.

“Something as brilliant as this doesn’t develop overnight, you know,” the man in the white shirt confidently replied, holding up a thick, dirty-white folder.

The man behind the desk eloquently motioned the white shirt man to sit. His facial expression hasn’t changed at all. It seems as if a certain ‘stern look’ has found home in his face. A paper made to look like a Toblerone-case in his desk reads, “Mr. Charlemagne Dognap, Copyreader.”

“Brilliance doesn’t enter this room Mr. Regan, worthless s*** does.”

The white t-shirt man didn’t mind the insult, he was used to it. Eight years in his job proved that Charlemagne is a condescending jerk, but a much respected one.

“You see, it is my job to make sure that worthless s*** doesn’t leave this room,” Charlemagne continued. “Now, aren’t you supposed to give me that worthless s***, Mr. Connor Regan?”

The white shirt man, Connor, sighed. He placed the folder on Charlemagne’s table and said, “There you are, Charles.”

Charlemagne, or as everyone calls him, Charles, picked up the thick folder and skimmed through the pages. Connor was trembling inside, he has to get this approved or else he will again have no life for the next three months. He started to drift off into his imagination, parties every night and sleeping in the morning. He needed that life back. By the time he was finished daydreaming, Charles had finished skimming through Connor’s work. He was staring at Connor throughout his daydream, the look in his face still as hurtful as before.

“Connor,”

“Yes?”

Charles reached for a stamp beside him. There were three, and everyone knows what those three stamps are for. The way the stamps were placed made it impossible to see what is written on them. Charles soaked the stamp in indelible ink and stamped the front of the folder. He pressed it hard to make sure that it would print. He handed the folder to Connor and said, “There you are Connor.”

Connor quickly looked at the stamp in front of the folder. His heart sank when he saw what was written.

“Rewrite”
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