In the bowels of the government office building, intrepid copy editor Devon Taylor chased down a lead on a cabal so intent on twisting and bloating the writing in public reports as to make them dense and unintelligible.
“I must foil their dastardly plan to pervert the idea of freedom of information,” Devon thought as the pinprick from the pen light showed the way.
Soon the hallway opened up into a large storage area, dimly lit by flashlights in the raised hands of hooded, cloaked, chanting figures.
“Jargon is king!”
“Perfection is reached by passive voice.”
“All hail wordiness!”
The mysterious figures slowly circled a huge vat of what, from the smell, could only be lead-based ink.
Mobile device at the ready, Devon was just about to get the evidence needed to expose the cabal to the world when hands reached out and grasped Devon’s arms and legs. The captors lifted a struggling, yelling Devon and tossed the copy editor into the vat.
Sinking, sinking into the blackness, all Devon could think was, “This is it. This is the end. My quest for quality writing is thwarted!”
Then the pain came. The chemicals and lead caused an explosion of agonizing transformation to Devon’s body. Head, arms, torso, legs – all were converted into something much more, something destined to rid the world of obtuse writing.
Devon Taylor no longer existed. Shooting up from the roiling, ebony liquid surged The Nib – Champion of Clear Writing.
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[…] (destined to become The Nib) couldn’t really blame them. Commas were notoriously slippery creatures. But there was something […]