I like the twist in this story in response to writing prompt #541.
When the rack of bells jingled behind him, signaling that someone had entered the shop, Zeke didn’t look around. Business usually picked up on Friday afternoons as people realized the random parts they needed for their home improvement attempts. A steady stream of people had been flowing through the shop since about lunchtime. That was four hours ago now, and the hum of conversation and the occasional dissatisfied customer had faded to the background of Zeke’s consciousness. With every flick of his knife against the wood, a sliver of his problems seemed to fall away. By now, with the head of the raven steadily forming under his blade, he wasn’t worrying. When the shop fell silent, and when that silence cracked with his mother’s yelp of horror, he took him a moment or two to return to the present.
“I understand that you sell many things here, Mrs. Hammer.”…
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