The Last Dinner, a flash fiction.

"You don't know shit."

"Yes, I do! Look at it! The Chinese made those things for lonely sailors, I tell you!"

Jim shook his head in disbelief at Steve's idiocy. It was the rare ocassion they broke bread, an annual tradition to celebrate being the last of their friends alive. Jim pounded his weathered hand on the ornate table to shatter the cookie between them, rattling the grease-stained beaker of soy sauce and startling Steve in the process.

"You dumb bastard. Fortune cookies are an American invention. Immigrants made them to draw in customers. It's like that "Ancient chinese secret" shit from the idiot box years ago. It's marketing."

Steve ran his hand over his scalp. "I don't know, pal-mine... If that's true, then why the hell does it look like a damn cooter? Tell me that, mister smart-guy!"

Jim rolled his dark eyes to the ceiling. They'd had this conversation many times over the years, and every time he'd failed to convince Steve. He had hoped to avoid this conversation this time, even going so far as to inform the waitress not to bring the wretched things to the table. Apparently, she hadn't heard a damn word he'd said. Dammit.

"I'm sorry, buddy."

Steve's abrupt change of tone caught Jim's attention at once. He knew that sound. As if on cue, he watched Steve's hand rise, frame-by-frame, to clutch his shoulder, saliva framing the corners of his mouth.

"Oh god, Steve-- Help! Somebody help!" Jim's hands moved of their own accord, patting down the pockets of his tweed jacket for the phone he knew, on an almost instinctual level, he would never find. Giving up the search after a few futile moments, Jim stood, throwing back the comforting chair he had taken up an hour before, and strode to Steve's side, putting his arm around his friend's sliding shoulders, watching the spark of life recede as he had when Joanne passed ten years ago--

"Help! For the love of Christ, help!"

"Check, sir?" The waitress appeared from thin air, smiling upon the scene with an aire of pure serenity. It was disquieting, Jim noted with a hint of disgust.

"I don't want the damn check, I want a got-damn ambulance! My friend's having a heart attack! Can't you see that?"

Her smile grew. "Of course he is."

"What are you--?" Jim's angry grimace slid from his face to be replaced with one of perplexity. "Did you do this?"

Her smile, widening still, gave it away. "What the hell did you do, you damned whore?" The anger in Jim's face returned, stronger than ever, eyes flying wide with a hatred he hadn't shown since Korea. "What the hell did you DO?"

The slip of paper formerly inside the cookie on the table flew, seemingly of its own accord, to rest on Jim's hand over Steve's shoulder. The waitress motioned to it with a slight nod of the head, tinkling laughter joining the sounds of astonished guests just now starting to take note of the situation. Jim flicked his eyes over to take in the damning words: YOU ARE SCREWED.

"Ancient Chinese secret, sir."

Elliot and Mister Jeff, a children's story.

Elliot was a goldfish. He stayed in his bowl all day, like a good goldfish does, never trying to escape. He was happy with his life, except for one thing: He hated his fish food. Every day his owner, Mister Jeff, would feed him those fish flakes, which he thought tasted nasty. Elliot would watch, fascinated, as Jeff would cook amazing meals over the stove, lavish dinners full of meat and vegetables and spices. Elliot wanted that, too.

One day, when Jeff went to feed Elliot, Elliot decided to tell Jeff how much he hated that bad-tasting food.

Poking his head out of the water, he said, "Mister Jeff? Can I ask you something?"

"Of course you can, Elliot!"

"Why do you feed me these nasty flakes while you cook those wonderful meals in the kitchen? Am I not good enough to get any of the good food?"

Mister Jeff thought about Elliot's question for a minute, then said, "Well, if I tried to give you what I eat, you'd die. Fish can't eat the spices I put in my food."

Elliot felt bad. "Oh. Okay."

"But," Mister Jeff said, "I can give you some before I cook it! How would you like that?"

"Oh, yes! That would make me very happy, Mister Jeff!" Elliot was very pleased. Mister Jeff picked up Elliot's bowl and carried it into the kitchen, placing it on the counter near the stove.

"Now just wait right here, and I'll go get the meat." Elliot nodded. Mister Jeff stepped away to the refrigerator, and pulled out something wrapped in plastic. Elliot could not see Mister Jeff open the package, but watched as he grabbed a big knife and chopped at something hard, making a loud crunch.

Mister Jeff turned around and smiled big at Elliot, and placed something in the tank. It looked familiar, Elliot thought, and he swam up to the thing.

He tried a nibble.

It was just as amazing as he thought it would be! Elliot nibbled, again and again, and Mister Jeff watched, until Elliot was so full his tummy felt like it would burst.

"Did you like that, Elliot?" Mister Jeff asked when he saw Elliot had finished eating.

"Oh, yes! I liked it very, very much!" Elliot had never been so happy in his life.

"Good! I'll leave the rest of that there for when you get hungry later."

"Thank you, Mister Jeff!" Elliot said with a big smile.

"You're very welcome! Now, I'm going to bed. Good night, Elliot."

"Good night, Mister Jeff! Sweet dreams!"

Later that night, Elliot woke up, tummy grumbling. He decided to have more of the thing Mister Jeff left in his bowl for him. He ate until he was full again, and noticed that all that was now left of the thing Mister Jeff gave him was a few big white sticks. Elliot didn't know what they were, and decided to fall back asleep.

The next morning, when Elliot woke up, he noticed something strange: the water in his bowl was now red! Elliot loved the new color, as it was very pretty. He waited for Mister Jeff to wake up and give him some more food, but nothing happened. Eventually, some men that Elliot had never seen before came to the house and took away the sticks from his bowl, and one of them took Elliot home with him.

Mister Jeff never came back. Elliot missed him for the rest of his life.

WE'RE BACK, BABY!

WE'RE BACK, guys/gals/(insert choice here)!!!

Well, it's the first new post of the revitalized blog. What should it be? An announcement regarding the release of a new book? A fresh short story? A poem, perhaps?

Nope!

I just wanted to say "Hi!". And I wanted to say THANK YOU to my followers and readers. You lot make me do what I do, every day. THANK YOU, so, so, sooooo much. You lot are fucking awesome!

So, to celebrate the blog being back (Hooray for alliteration!), I'm doing a new Video Q&A! Between my Facebook page and here, the first five questions posed to me (no matter what they are) will get answered in by me in a video. Got a question you want to ask? Status of a project? Timeline of next release? Personal question? GO AHEAD AND ASK AWAY!

Okay, back to the world of writing! Cheers!
-C. Priest Brumley
-9 July 2013