by Michael Seese
Janet surprised us. Noting, "You have an extra hour on Sunday to write! How about you spend them on a flash fiction entry?" she hit us with a contest Saturday morning, instead of Friday, as is her custom.
I made a concerted effort to embed the words, or split them up, as one of my fellow authors Steve Forti is fond of doing.
The result is "Decisions..."
“His afterlife is hell. Or so I'm told.”
Yes. An eternity cleaning the litter box of Schrödinger's cat.
So it began. I’d grown weary of their battailous bickering. One acts like he knows everything. The other, like he doesn't give a damn.
“We offer tranquility.”
“Most people are happy to see me.”
Most are high on angel dust.
You'll hand him a harp. He studied piano.
“See what he's doing?” He's trying to…”
The bitch war between God and Satan faded out. As it always did. I put away the gun, and decided to try again tomorrow.
As always, I'd love to hear your thoughts.