Shorts: A Collection of Short Fiction

Goodbye Jayjay

The desert breeze brushed against the hairs on the back of Mark's neck like the hot breath of hell, as he prepared to say one last goodbye to his best friend, Jayjay.

Mark attempted to loosen his tie like he'd seen his father do, but the whole thing came off in his hand. What did he need a tie for anyway when Jayjay would never run through the desert or climb trees ever again?

Mark shoved the clip-on accessory into his pants pocket and exhaled a long, intentional breath. He would not cry. He must be a big boy now. Besides, three of his classmates had shown up, because Jayjay was super popular and it just wasn't very cool to cry. He was about to go into third grade, after all. He could never face them again if he bawled like a baby.

When his name was called, Mark headed to the front of the small crowd and recited the haiku he'd written for Jayjay:

Run free, little friend

Through the endless plains above

I will always miss you.

He hoped no one noticed that the last line had six syllables instead of five as he lifted the wooden cigar box and placed it gently in the hole his dad had dug near the roses that morning. His friends came up one by one and tossed handfuls of dirt on the box that thump, thump, thumped as it landed.

"Okay, kids! Come get refreshments!" his mother called from the back deck. A long table held a pitcher of lemonade and all the pastries a kid could want.

"Do you think you'll get another lizard?" one of his classmates asked.

"Nah, I think I want a puppy this time," Mark answered, as he bit into a slice of cake.