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from The Owl Mug by Jack Wolfe Frost

Chapter 1
The Owl Act I

I hate it. Plain, white and featureless, with just a hint of an owl. It’s a mug – a giant teacup. And I hate it. ‘She’ owns three owl mugs; two I like – though not this one. It’s big and fat; it must of greed take upmost of a gallon to fill – leaving me with nothing for my cup of tea. It knows this. Doesn’t matter how much water I put in the kettle. It feeds as a leech.

It reads my mind, and watches me, my every move...


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