They’re sitting atop a shattered pile of words, so high that he can see them only dimly and can’t make out their numbers. One sprouts a bushel of curly hair, another a tremendous beard. There are more.
“I just finished a hundred stories,” says Greg. He hopes he’s loud enough.
“A hundred!” There’s a dry chuckle. “Ooo, big man. What’s that, ten thousand words?”
“Be nice,” says another.
Greg slumps. “Can I come up there yet?”
More laughter, and the second voice: “You’ve a long way to go, son.”
“Well, what next?”
“Keep going,” they say. “Finish what you start.”