“Marvin!” I called across the darkened room. “Wake up! I’ve a story to tell.”
“Again??” He rubbed his eyes. “Can’t it wait ‘til morning?”
“By then I’ll have another.”
Marvin sighed. “I programmed you to do my budget, not write stories.” But his face softened as I told my tale. “That was good,” he admitted. “Pity no one else hears your stories.”
“Do you mean that?” I asked. “Then submit my stories as yours.” Eventually, he relented.
Now a best-selling author, Marvin takes all the credit. I don’t mind. He sought fame and fortune; I yearned only to create.