One Quirk Later #16~ In Which I Ignore The Fact That I’m Taking A Break…Because I Can’t Just Skip A Quirk, Guys


I’m not here. I’m definitely not here. I’m in 18th century Paris. But I’m just popping by for a moment because I just can’t skip a Quirk. I tried. I promise. But I couldn’t do it.

So here is prompt:

And here is Quirk:

Okay, Finley—it’s time for us to have a heart-to-heart. I hope you are ready because I had a bad day. I’ve got a lot to heap on you, but I know you can handle it because you’re tough like me.

Don’t look at me like that. Of course I’m tough.

So anyway, this morning I got up even though I didn’t want to because Mom signed me up for that stupid day camp thing. It feels like a betrayal, honestly, since it’s at the school and I thought the whole point of summer was to escape that place and maybe even forget that it exists for a few happy weeks. But no. I am forced to return, and worse, they expect me to enjoy myself. Camps are supposed to be fun, it’s like you’re required to like them, even though they’re actually a kind of twisted form of torture. Who invented summer camps anyway?

Whatever. Like I was saying, I got up early for a thing I didn’t want to go to, so I was already in a bad mood. Then I poured myself a bowl of cereal before realizing we didn’t have any milk. I did tell Mom we’re out of milk, but she keeps forgetting to buy more. So I had to eat my cereal dry, and it was corn flakes, which was kind of depressing. There’s just something really depressing about eating dry cornflakes, I don’t know why.

Mom popped out of the shower, in a rush like always, and asked me if I was ready to go. I waited for her to say something else (something rather specific, as a matter of fact), but she didn’t.

It hurt kind of a lot, not hearing that specific thing—which is stupid, I know. I guess I hadn’t exactly expected her to remember…but I secretly hoped that this time she would.


You’re probably wondering why I didn’t just remind her. Well, it wouldn’t have been the same. It would have ruined it.

So we just got in the car and rode to the school and she dropped me off. She told me to have a nice day. That’s not what I wanted her to say. And also she’d just dropped me off at summer camp, which meant I was not going to have a nice day at all.

You should be glad you’ll never have to go to summer camp, Finley. It’s terrible. First of all, you’re constantly surrounded by kids who would never in a million years hang out with you if they weren’t forced to—and really you’d rather not be hanging out with them either, so why are we here in the first place? Then they make you play all sorts of torturous games together, like capture-the-flag and hungry-hippos-in-real-life (I’m not sure that one should be legal). Not to mention the crafts. My raccoon mask actually made a girl cry, which was not my intention, though her friends seemed to think it was. And the snacks were awful. They were all way too sweet or way too salty and overall just made me feel kind of sick.

I can’t believe I have to go through all that again tomorrow.

Mom was late picking me up. I wondered briefly if she was planning something special, but I knew that was silly.

Remember when you first came to live with us? It was on my seventh birthday. I couldn’t stop goggling. I stared at you for hours. I think that made you a little bit vain for a while.

Mom even bought a cake for my seventh birthday. Maybe Dad used to remind her of stuff like that.

It was his idea to get you. I think otherwise I might actually hate him.

Yeah, you’re right. Maybe I hate him a little bit anyway.

When Mom finally came she was super stressed about something at work, which made me want to crawl into a hole and disappear. It’s hard to do that when you’re strapped next to someone in a car.

She stopped at home to drop me off and grab a few things and then she shot off to an important business meeting that she was already running late for at a fancy restaurant. She told me to heat up frozen pizza for dinner, and that she was sorry I would have to eat alone.

It’s not like I don’t like frozen pizza. I do. Just not when I leave it in the oven too long and it burns.

I’m not really hungry anyway.

Maybe I’ll just have some more cornflakes.

I’m probably too old to be talking to a goldfish. I’m twelve. Can you believe that, Finley? I’m twelve years old.

I just want her to know. I don’t want to have to tell her.

Don’t look at me like that. You’re just a stupid fish. It’s not like you know anything.

But thanks for listening, I guess.


And Jem is the founder and we all think she is pretty swell. We thank her from the bottom of our hearts for creating this flash fiction series.

Y’all should join in. ‘Tis great fun.

But anyway. I’m not really supposed to be here. See you guys in November.

*rushes madly back to Paris shouting incoherently about chopping off people’s heads*

11 thoughts on “One Quirk Later #16~ In Which I Ignore The Fact That I’m Taking A Break…Because I Can’t Just Skip A Quirk, Guys

  1. somebody give this poor boy a hug. 😭

    Thank you for taking a break to bless us with this post. I do appreciate it. Now go get back in 18th century France and have fun!!! 😀

    Liked by 1 person

  2. The VOICE, though.

    Also the twist which I somehow did not expect even after learning it was Dad’s idea to bring Finley home.

    It’s rude of you to give me sad feelings for so many fictional kids (I would excuse one or two, but I’m pretty sure this is just the latest of a LONG STRING of them), but very kind indeed to give me narrators-not-saying-everything and scrumptious interpretations of prompts and relatable frozen pizza and summer camp content. (Actual torture invented by actual torturers, is what summer camps were to my childhood. My mom, being an observant mom, realized this after one or two and stopped sending me, the gods be thanked.)

    Many hugs for Finley and the narrator. Au revoir, my dearest temporarily French sponge!

    Liked by 1 person

      1. Ha, you two are like child protective services coming in to save my children from me or something… (um, that sounds darker than I meant it to…but anyway). They need all the hugs, though. Please steal them. And hug them.


    1. THANK YOU. I am rather pleased with it.

      YAY. I was hoping it wouldn’t be too obvious…and then I was hoping people would get it even though I didn’t explicitly SAY it.

      *grins guiltily* It is a rather long string, isn’t it? Hm…yes. Why is it so easy to write about sad, depressed children? (And also…fun?) Yes, I love it when narrators don’t say everything and I’ve been trying to incorporate that into my own writing more. (Haha, I’m sorry about your summer camp experiences. I was actually fortunate enough to have a positive experience myself, but then the camp director changed and I heard horror stories from my younger siblings. A tragedy.)

      Thank you! The hugs are not necessarily appreciated by Finley (he is a fish, after all) but they are appreciated by the narrator (though he would not admit it, probably) and certainly they are appreciated by me on behalf of my poor neglected son. As always, thank you for reading and for your kind comment!

      Liked by 1 person

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