A Sticky Exchange

Hot pink post-it, found on fridge, 7am: Stop drinking my blood

Light blue post-it, found on fridge, 9pm: Gross, I would never!

Hot pink post-it, found on fridge, 10pm: I know it was you

Light blue post-it, found on fridge, 11pm: I don’t even drink blood

Hot pink post-it, found on bedroom door, 2am: Did you invite another one in? We talked about this!!

Light blue post-it, found on bedroom door, just before dawn: I’m not stupid. Maybe you invited them in.

Slightly singed hot pink post-it, found on bedroom door, 6:45am: You know I can’t do that

Light blue post-it, found on front door, 6am: Hope you didn’t stay out too late, you’re uninvited.

Receipt found shoved under door, 6:30am: I PAID RENT, YOU CAN’T KICK ME OUT

Letter taped to door, found 9:30pm: I spent all day reading up on my rights, and you are required by law to give me at least 30 days notice of an eviction. Plus, I want my stuff back. You better let me in to get it, or else.

Letter taped to door, written in blood, found 7:45am: I know my rights, don’t make me get daddy involved.

Letter taped to door, found 9pm next day: Look, I’m sorry I accused you of drinking my blood, can I come home? It’s too sunny out here.

Letter taped to door, found 10pm next day: OMG, you’re such a drama queen, Vlad. Did you even think to try the door? Uninviting you was waaaaay too much effort.

At the age of six, Eliza was certain of two things. The first was that she had stories to tell. The second was that she had no talent for illustrating them herself. Talent or no, she still wrote and illustrated her first book, one that should be located and locked away if only to prevent her parents from embarrassing her terribly by showing it off alongside baby pictures. Now she spends her days writing stories that she isn't embarrassed to show off after a little bit of polishing.

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