Flash Fiction July – Write a Sad Ending

Ivernash Gordon strolled into his boss’ office. “Well. I’m here.”

“Yes. So, you are. Please have a seat. Oh, before you do, please remove your weapons.”

Ivernash frowned. “Why?”

“It’s a safety precaution.”

“Safety? You sound like you’re worried that I’ll do something to you.”

“hahaha…Uhh, well. Anyway, I’d just feel better if your weapons were out of your easy reach.”


“Oh, for cryin’ out loud, Ivernash! Could you just do as I say?”

“Not without good reason.”

“Okay. Fine. I have information that I must tell you and I don’t want you to chop my head off about it.”

“Why would I do that?”

“Stop asking why!”

“Answer my question with a proper answer and I’ll stop asking why.”

“Fine. You want a proper answer? Fine. I am terminating your contract.”

Ivernash pulled out his sword. “You’re doing what?”

“Don’t be dense, man. I am going to kill you.”

“You can’t do that.”

“I certainly can. I am your creator!”

“No. You can’t. I have things that I still need to do. Quests that remain unfulfilled. A love that remains unrequited. I can’t die yet. I’m not ready.”


Ivernash pointed his sword at his boss’ throat. “Do not ‘Psh’ me. I haven’t the patience for it.”

“You don’t seem to understand. You must die. The story demands it.”

Ivernash thwacked the sword against the desk top, splitting the desk in half. Pens and papers slid to the center. The boss rescued his computer before it could join them. “I don’t care what the story demands.”

The boss set his computer on a nearby counter. He stood and dusted wood dust and shards off his lap. “See? That’s why I wanted you to remove your weapons. Darn. I really liked this desk too. Anyway, I have the scene all written in my head down to the exact punctuation marks. If it makes you feel any better, your death scene is glorious. People will talk about it and weep over it for years to come. Your death scene will make you immortal.”

“Immortal? Hoo. I like the sounds of that. But what about the rest of my team?”

“Oh, they’ll all live happily ever after.”

“And Zinshauaya?”

“She’ll turn to General Vizmark for comfort and they’ll get married and have a whole bunch of kids.”

Ivernash frowned. “General Vizmark? Why him? He’s five steps down from me on the looks and personality scale.”

“Oh, they’ll find that they have a lot in common or something. I haven’t really worked that detail out yet. But don’t worry! I will.”

“And she’ll be happy with him?”

“Gloriously happy.”

He shook his head. “I don’t see how that is possible.”

“Neither do I really, but I will make it happen.”

Ivernash returned his sword to its scabbard and sat down.

“So? What do you say?”

“I demand a bonus.”


“And, if I’m going to go all immortal as you say, a retirement fund.”

“A retirement—”

“And I want Zinshauaya to remain single.”

“But that isn’t—”

“If I can’t have her, I certainly don’t want someone like General Vizmark to have her.”

“But if I don’t pair her up with someone, people will complain.”

“I’ll complain if you do. Make her find peace with herself and something along the lines of she doesn’t need a man to make her whole or no one else can compare to me. Make something up and make it something that sounds true to her.”

“But…I like the idea of General Vizmark and her. It makes sense to me.”

“He’s a bore. Do not match my unrequited love with a bore.”

The boss returned to his seat and contemplated his smashed in desk. “Do you have any other demands?”

“Don’t kill me.”

He flailed his hands into the air. “Oh, for cryin’ out loud. I thought we resolved this. Look. If you die, you’ll be—”

“Immortal. I know that.” He grinned. “I was just testing you.”


“Now, is there anything else we need to discuss?”

The boss shook his head.

“Good. Be sure to keep your end of the bargain and I will die happily.” Ivernash stood. “I’m so glad we had this little talk. See you in the black and white.”

He walked out the door, leaving behind a befuddled boss.


Flash Fiction July – Irresistible You

It’s over. That’s what I told them. The words were surprisingly easy to say.




See? Just three small and easy words. Even a child could say them with the right amount of prompting.

I told them that you and I are no longer together. We’ve split. Ended. It’s all over.

I told them all a lie.

It was true for maybe half a day, but I can’t resist you.

I tried to try, but I want to be with you.

That’s why I’m here.

Outside your home.

I’m watching.

I’m waiting.

You’ll come out soon.

And then we’ll be together again.

This is the truth.

I’m not lying to anyone right now.

You’ll see me and you’ll realize what you let go of. You’ll know what you’ve lost.

You’ll want me back.

And, darling, I’ll come back.

I’m waiting.

You’ll come out soon.

I’m watching for you.

For dear, sweet, irresistible you.


Flash Fiction July – And I’ll Say Good-bye To You


Dear John,

I know your name isn’t John. You smiled and lied about your name. I know this now and it hurts me.

I know you’ve lied about everything.

You aren’t John.

You aren’t naturally blonde.

You aren’t a banker from Nebraska.

You aren’t single.

You aren’t…

You aren’t.

You aren’t so many things. I wonder what you actually are. Who are you? What is your truth?

But it doesn’t matter.

Oh, yes. It hurts, but none of it matters.

You see, I’m leaving you.

You with your sixteen wives and fifty-five mistresses.

You with your police record.

You with all of your lies.

If you were here in front of me, I’d smile and kiss you. I’d thank you for making this so easy for me.

For making it easy to say good-bye to you.


Flash Fiction July – Outline of You

I drew an outline of your face today – I remember it so well.

The slope of your forehead.

The shape of your nose.

The curve of your lips.

The size of your chin.

It was all there. An outline waiting for its features.

But when I drew your eyes, the shape was wrong.

The expressions was bare.

Where was your spark?

Where was that fire?

I set my pen down.

When did it leave?

That spark.

That fire.

That zest for life that we shared.

I thought it would last forever.

I thought it was a flame that would never die.

It could never die.

As long as I was I and you were you and we were us.

But where is it now?

Where does such fire go when one ceases to be?

Does it fade into the sunset sky?

Does it exist on another plane of existence?

Somewhere deep in another dimension?

Or buried inside a slumbering volcano?

Can it be renewed?

Can it burn inside someone else?

Can I find it again?

Can you forgive me if I do?


Flash Fiction July – Incongruous

“I’m sorry, darling. I love you, but our love is simply too incongruous. We simply can’t be together.”

That’s what her Dear John letter informed me. Incongruous. What the heck does that even mean? Is that even a real word? I doubt it. I look it up in the dictionary. Sure enough, there it is. A real word. Fancy that.

It means, “Lacking in harmony; incompatible.”

Lacking in harmony.


I don’t get it.

Which one are we?

If we’re lacking in harmony, well. Sorry. I can’t help it if I can’t sing a note in tune. It’s not my fault. Blame nature. Blame my tone-deaf parents. Heck! Blame the whole nature vs. nurture thing. While we’re at it, blame Mozart.

As for incompatible…Well. That word mystifies me. Always has. Always will. In this case, it just makes me wonder what we’re incompatible at. Is this because I like to use Energizer batteries in our flashlights and she likes Duracell? That can’t be a good enough reason to break up with a guy like me. I’m decent. I’m clean. I brush my teeth at least once a week. Besides, Energizer is clearly the superior product.


Maybe I should call her and get a explanation. Only thing is, do I really want to find out why we’re incongruous? What if it’s something so deeply personal it will throw me into bleak, black depression? I don’t want to be depressed.


I really should find out before I get into another relationship. Don’t want to scare away any other girlfriends with my incongruousness. Whatever it may mean.

I should call her right now.

Yeah! I’m gonna do it. I’m gonna pick up the phone and I’m gonna call her.

Right now.


Or maybe I’ll wait till later.



Flash Fiction July – Wharf


The wharf was abandoned that day. No boats in the harbor. No feet slapping across the wharf’s uneven planks. It stood alone, but hopeful that people would come to enjoy the view, that friendly voices would ring out in the air.

No one came.

So, it sat. Solid and alone.

The sun shone bright and warm and the wharf soaked up the heat. Seagulls soared and circled and the wharf felt a little less lonely. A family of soft brown seals pushed the water in smooth rippled lines.

The youngest one broke from the group and hopped up onto the wharf. It turned its head from side to side, admiring the grayed-brown wood.

The wharf would have smiled if only it had a mouth. It groaned a friendly greeting.

The young seal barked in surprise and hop-hobbled towards the edge. He jumped back into the water and spun in uncertain circles.

The mother called to him in her husky alto.

He turned slowly to look at her. Looked at the wharf. Back at her. He thought about it before barking back his response.

The wharf watched this all with a wharf’s steady gaze and simple patience. Yet, it hoped deep inside its wood and nails that the little seal would come back.

The mother barked a sharp command at her mate and children. She swam over to her wayward child.

He looked up at her with his liquid black-brown eyes and made a soft, childish sound.

She glided over to the wharf and sniffed it with a mother’s studied care. Her long whiskers whispered and tickled its planks. She exhaled a sharp k sound as she sniffed.

The wharf rather liked it.

She sniffled and snorted and shook her head.

The little one head-bumped her throat and made that childish sound again.

She stared long and undecided at the wharf, who tried its utmost best to look respectable and sound.

Time stood still as she deliberated.

They were a frozen tableau. Mother and child in the water facing the wharf. Smooth skin, wet fur, hard wood. They were a nature scene waiting to be painted.


The timer buzzed, signaling the end of my writing hour. I had to shut down my computer and get back to the real world of loading the dishwasher, doing laundry, and dealing with three antagonistic children under five years of age.

It was our special arrangement so I could get some writing done without interruption. They’ve miraculously stuck to their end of the bargain and I’ve stuck to mine.


I looked at that last line. So full of promise.

I wanted to keep going. I wanted to find our for myself if the mother would let the baby stay and play on the wharf. I thought I knew the answer, but stories and characters have their own way of changing an author’s mind.

Maybe she will let him stay.

Maybe she won’t.

It was all up to me to find out the truth and write it down.

But it would have to wait until tomorrow between two and three o’clock.

I had to keep my end of the deal to my children.

And I would keep it.

Until tomorrow.