"Practice will never make you perfect. Why should it? What fun would that be?" — Stephen King
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
"What's your name?"
"Mason,"
His grip on the pen froze and Ben slowly glanced up, having a face in mind, however, was disappointed when he saw the man was an entirely different person, neither was he possessed.
"Mason, then," Ben scribbled his signature on the front pages of the book the man placed on his table, "Thanks for your support, Mason," He handed the book back to him.
The man named Mason simply smiled at him, accepted the book, and left, the next person in line coming right up.
Ben sighed, it's been two months since the death of Mason and he has never forgiven himself for it. Although he was not the one that killed Mason, he was indirectly responsible for it.
