When I got home from school that afternoon, the rabbit was in the yard. It was a nothing-special sort of rabbit, plain brownish-grey in color and nibbling contentedly on Mom’s peonies. I didn’t give it a second thought and headed inside.

I could see the flowerbed from my room; as I sat at my desk to start my homework, I noticed the rabbit watching my window. Watching me? I wasn’t sure – it was just there, nibbling at the flowers and staring at my window with brown eyes. I shrugged and reached for my science notebook, only to find myself turning on my laptop instead as a story idea formed in my mind. Nothing much, just a little Harry Potter slash, and I shrugged, flipping through my homework as Word loaded…

The rabbit was still staring at me at dawn, and I glared back even as I continued typing furiously, exhausted and unable to stop. What was supposed to have been one tiny ficlet was now eight epic narratives.

“Have you slept at all?” Mom asked as she looked into my room.

“No, I’m busy writing.”

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