Super short original tales to snack on
by Rebekah Postupak
The End of the Problem of the End
A Tale for Her Majesty(Wanna write one too? #DFQWBS rules here.)
“We have a problem,” said Dashing Rogue, “and I would like to remind everyone firstly that I am very, very good-looking; and secondly, that I had no part in creating it. I couldn’t have, as I was somewhere else at the time, whatever time that was.”
Brooding Millionaire mumbled something.
“Speak up!” said Overbearing Mother, who was busy trimming a bonsai plant, transcribing her neighbor’s comings and goings, and organizing a local horse race. “No one’s going to marry you if they can’t understand you, and that’s on top of your physical defect that is alluded to frequently in order to garner sympathy.”
“Don’t talk to him like that,” said Spunky Sister. “He’ll marry whenever the time is right, just as I will, in a most unexpected yet heartwarming way that leaves no loose ends but allows for the possibility of a sequel. Pray continue, Rogue. What is our problem?”
“I wanted to ask that but was too shy,” said Shrinking Violet. “I am counting on my dark eyes and secret charitable work to bring me to the forefront, though this will shock me greatly.”
Dashing Rogue leaned back and cupped his stubble-covered chin in his hands. “Kindly ignore the discomfort I am experiencing while in this pose,” he said, “and admire my Grecian profile. The problem is we have run out of happy endings. You may all gasp in horror now.”
Everyone gasped in horror.
“I’m pretty sure a happy ending was reserved for me,” said Pure-hearted Loner Who Has Suffered A Tragedy But Gotten Over It Admirably.
Spunky Sister nodded. “It’s in our contracts,” she said. “It has to be; we’re American.”
“That’s just it. We’ve all been promised happy endings, but the caterer says they’re fresh out.” (This from Rogue.)
“I suddenly produce a relevant scientific study I coincidentally undertook while secretly adopting a street-smart but heart-of-gold foreign orphan who has broken down my defense mechanisms,” said Brooding Millionaire, producing a thick manila envelope and laying it on the conference table.
Couldn’t the caterer call backup? Shrinking Violet wondered.
Overbearing Mother frowned. “Violet! We don’t want your thoughts; this is a third person distant point of view.”
“I stand up to you, Mother, at last, to defend Shrinking Violet!” said Brooding Millionaire.
“Nice work, Brooding!” Still Rogue, despite increased difficulty maintaining his Grecian profile pose, what with the charley horse in his left calf. “And the caterer says there’s no backup.”
“Then what’s the point of this meeting?” said Pure-hearted Loner Who Has Suffered A Tragedy But Gotten Over It Admirably miserably.
Spunky Sister pounded her agreement on the table. “Hear, hear! We want our happy endings! Even though I’ve counted and we’ve three marriageable women and only two men, making it mathematically unlikely!”
Dashing Rogue and Brooding Millionaire eyed each other suspiciously. “One of us has the solution,” said one of them.
“It could be me,” whispered Shrinking Violet.
“More likely me,” said Spunky Sister cheerfully, “or poor Loner, who’s only been given two lines.”
“No! It’s I!” shouted Deus Ex Machina, striding into the room and flinging gigantic happy endings every which way.
Dashing Rogue ducked a particularly flashy one. “Didn’t see that coming! Ah well. Marry me, Shrinking Violet!”
“All right,” said Shrinking Violet in shock.
“Marry me, please, dear Loner,” said Brooding Millionaire. “I’ve heaps of money, as well as the little orphan who won your heart when I mentioned him earlier.”
“Okay,” said Pure-hearted Loner Who Has Suffered A Tragedy But Gotten Over It Admirably. “But I—”
“YOU ONLY GET TWO LINES,” shouted Overbearing Mother, only slightly before Deus Ex Machina knocked her over with a small but gratifying happy ending of her own.
“Marry me, Machina?” said Spunky Sister. “I think we’d get along just fine.”
“Absolutely!” said Deus ex Machina, proffering his arm.
“Golly,” said the caterer, surveying the mess after everyone had gone, “am I out of happy endings again?”
One which had worked itself into the ceiling tiles now worked itself back out and floated down to land on her head.
“Ahhh, yes, that’s right,” sighed the caterer contentedly. “I forgot. There’s always one to be found when one remembers to stop looking.”
THE (happy) END (happy)