the mira hour

this the intro to a book i am contemplating writing, please tell me what you think!


I was never a brave man, or rather I had enough sense to be a coward. I thought that it whole protect me, and to some extent it did. I never got in trouble, I sat in the back of a class room, and most of all I never, ever talked to Mira three. But in the end it did not matter at all, Mira talked to me.
Lets start with an introduction. I am annoyingly short with brown hair and dull eyes, just an average drone going about his business. I am a well respected man, or was one short hour ago. I had a good, albite monotones job in teach support and a plastic plack on my desk that proudly stated my name as phill R miller. Everyday I drove the two miles to work in my freshly ironed suite. On this particular day however I was running late because of a traffic jam and so was a bit frazzled, hair no longer combed to perfection, but sticking up in strange gravity deifying feats. I had just retrieved a warm cup of english tea from the employees lounge at work, yes tea not coffee, I have a refined palette unlike you caffeine lusting savages! On any account the day started out fine with me typing away at my computer and it continued that way until exactly 2 in afternoon, that was when Mira three arrived…


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