Shorts: A Collection of Short Fiction

The Manuscript

"I'm sorry, Bess. It's no good." The editor slammed the manuscript down on his mahogany desktop and lit up a cigarette, aiming the smoke out the open window.

"What part didn't you like?" Her voice was quiet, morose. The slightest bit of bad news might destroy her, and her writing, forever.

"Do you really have to ask? I was on your side, until that new scene." The editor crushed out the hardly smoked cigarette and rifled through the manuscript. "Here. This is all wrong."

Bess grasped the dog-eared pages and studied the heavily marked areas. Her husband suggested this edit, and deep down she knew it didn't fit, but it had made him so happy...

"Look. I like the changes to the husband character. He's real. I like him. But the part about him winning the lottery, and leaving his wife...I just...I don't know. Why not take the wife with him, you know? I mean, do real people do that?"

Bess nodded. "Yes, I guess you're right. I'll change it. She scooped the manuscript off the desk and placed it in her bag. Relief flooded her like refreshing spring rain. She had feared he would tell her the whole book was garbage. All she had to do was take Steve's changes out, and maybe rub it in his face a little how much the editor hated it. She smiled at the thought. Mr. Know-It-All might get knocked down a peg or two.

She raced home to the apartment and flung open the door. The place was empty, save for her own belongings. Had they been robbed? A note on the counter read:

I am in Paris. I don't need you anymore. I tried to tell you, but I'm afraid you misunderstood. Sorry for everything,

Steve