Unfinished.

I've had this in my "drafts" folder in my email since 2003. (That's 6 years, for everyone who doesn't want to do the math.) It was a story I was writing for my friend Annie. Well it's too late for that now, so here it is . . .



It was a day like any other. Only this day, was different. It was late Friday night. I was keeping shop with my partner, Annie. It was about time to close. See, we run a little side business when cases aren't cropping up like they should be. We run a bakery, and part of the duties of running a bakery is ensuring that the customer always has fresh, sour lemon slices to put in their drinks. That was my job. Well, like I said, it was about time to close. I went to go check on the lemon slices, but to my horror I found that there were six, instead of the original eight. Could this be the work of some innocent customer, who wanted to add zest to their drink with the bright, tangy taste of lemon juice? I doubted it. I had a different culprit in mind, one so heinous that he added the proverbial insult to injury by replacing the ice cubes that kept the lemon slices fresh with a warm, tepid water. There was only one person so diabolical, so utterly feindish as to accomplish such a thing: Mr. Sunson, or, as they call him, Mr. Golden Sun.