Quite often, (especially when all the envelopes and stamps have been mysteriously eaten) a writer’s stories may end up hibernating in a special bottom drawer somewhere. (In her or his own house, obviously). This is essential to their well-being. Otherwise, loose stories will fly up and head south for the winter, or follow the writer from home to work to stationary shop, attacking their creator’s head in droves.
Unable to take the padlock off my drawer due to fear of impending attacks, I composed a little something that takes the Mickey, in a fond way, of Tolkien’s bad guy in a science-fictional way.
Was it going to attack me? No way, not this time. This time its doom was sealed, not mine. Sealed in a big envelope marked Doom.
Joking aside, here is the story.