Five Sentence Fiction: The Biggest Mistake of His Death




By the skin of my teethy-teeth-teeth here it is, my Five Sentence Fiction for this week. Incidentally, I have a little story behind this one. Emphasis on little. Well, I had read If On a Winter’s Night a Traveler (excuse the awful fragment, it makes sense in context) by Calvino and I had read the word “book” in the title of one of the other Five Sentence Fictions so I decided to put that together with “Forgotten” and make the most annoying scenario of forgetfulness ever! When the god of a world dies, leaving his world uncompleted and his people wondering.

Except, in a much less dramatic way.



Have fun~




Word of Inspiration: Forgotten

Word Count: 181

Genre: Creative Realistic Fiction

Title: The Biggest Mistake of His Death



An international tribunal was formed within the space of a few hurried phone calls after the first complaints came in- roughly about two days after the book was first released. As somebody very eloquently put it in one letter, “I feel like I’m being fucked with by Calvino and I’m a little less enthused about that than I would have originally thought.” Fourteen-million copies of Jeremiah Tatonaphus’ final book, written even as he lay nearly catatonic on his deathbed (his sense of humour still persisted, though, as shown with the use of ‘catatonic’ as a pun no fewer than five times in the text), fittingly titled, Here’s the Last One, Now Stop Bugging Me, were printed in preparation for the onrush of readers. The printer’s mix of foresight and aggressive capitalism was not misplaced it seems, as people around the globe seemed to be unable to buy enough copies of the starry-eyed Canadian’s final work. The author had forgotten a very particular fifty pages of the novel; he had forgotten to write the ending to the last book of his life.



I actually went back just not to check that the word really was “Forgotten.” It is. But if it wasn’t, I would just pass it off as, “It all makes sense because you see I wasn’t utterly neglegent and forgetful, I intentionally forgot so I could be super self-referential and post-modernist!” Thus rendering me immune to all outside criticism. And a sudden dam-breaking influx of internal self-loathing.
But that’s all hypothetical anyway! And the spacing looks really weird on this post now for some reason and my eyes are burning like I spilled alcohol in them. Which I probably didn’t do. Most people might think this is the time to make an appointment with the lovely eye doctor. Most people don’t write forwards and endnotes longer than the body of the post though, do they?
Do they?
They do not.
Good luck, you brave writer folk!

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