Mo wished to be beautiful like his muse siblings. He came from a long line of great ideas. Artists battled to take his siblings home; not Mo. He was short, squat, fanged, and covered in barnacles, but he knew he was the idea of a century.
Door to door, he went, pitching himself.
An old woman slammed her door, stating Mo was too much work.
A middle-aged man spat at Mo, calling him a horrible idea.
It was the teen girl who welcomed Mo in and gave him a home. With Mo’s help, she wrote the idea of a century.