X-Factor (short fiction)

 

There just aren't anymore good xylophone stories out there anymore.
There just aren’t anymore good xylophone stories out there anymore.

Daily Prompt: Fearful Symmetry

Pick a letter, any letter. Now, write a story, poem, or post in which every line starts with that letter. (I went the extra mile and had every line end with the same letter it started.)

Xavier said, “What time is it, Max?”

“Xylophone lessons are later. Don’t be stressed. It’s not time for your xylophone lessons!” said Max.

Xavier said confused. “It’s not time for my lessons. I just got up. It has to be at least twenty till six!”

“Xavier,” he said. “I changed the time of you’re lesson. So at six I will be taking my lessons on the sax.”

“X-rated words and nothing but contempt I have for you!” he shouted at Max.”

“Xanadu, think of Xanadu,” said Max.

“Xenophobic rage is what I have,” Xavier shouted. “Your sax will meet up with the ax.”

“Xmas, try thinking of friends and family and good times. It will calm you. That’s better. Now to make you feel all better I rescheduled your lessons for quarter till X.”

“X?” Xavier said calmly. “Was it to relax?”

“X, because I needed it to end in an X.”

“X-rays at ten! You forget! You idiot! My x-rays are then!” Xavier screamed at Max.

“X-rays,” Max smiled. “I took care of everything, they’re at IX.”

 

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