The Sequel (Short Story)
20th January 2025
In: Short Stories
Rose was being difficult. This was a surprise to me as I hadn’t anticipated this side of her. Normally, sweetness dominated.
‘I’m sorry,’ I said, ‘you’re not in this one.’
‘What do you mean? How can I not be in it? I’m a key character — his anchor. You said so yourself.’
‘I know I did. And it was true at the time, but plots change, and that means your part in it has become less prominent.’
‘But he needs me!’ she protested.
‘To coin a cliché — he has other fish to fry.’
‘It’s another woman, isn’t it? That Shelagh person. She’s grabbing all the attention. I feared as much. How could you do this? I thought we were going to be married. I’m sure the readers did, too. They’ll be so disappointed. Have you thought of that? So you’re writing me out, then. Does he know? Have you told him?’ She began to snivel.
‘I’m sorry Rose — you just don’t fit anymore. It’s for the best. Tell you what. I’ll give you a choice how it ends. I’ll jot a few ideas down, then we’ll have another chat. We’ll keep it between ourselves, okay?’
She nodded, looking crushed. I felt guilty. As an author, you bring all these characters into your world on a whim then, just as casually, snuff them out like candles. I’ll go gently, I promised myself. I dismissed fatal illnesses or accident, better if she had to depart for some other reason. An ailing parent or sibling, perhaps. It would also leave the door open in case I needed to bring her back at any time. It was easier on the readers, too. Those who might be fond of her. Killing off a character so very inoffensive seemed too brutal an option. I went with the dying mother idea.
Rose snorted when I suggested it. ‘Pure soap opera. So overdone. I won’t do it — I’d rather go out with a bang than a whimper!’
I didn’t point out that he who holds the pen determines all their fates. I waited, mapping something out in my head. ‘Try this, then — he gets a phone call you’ve been killed in a car crash. He’s totally distraught, drinks himself into a stupor, is incommunicado for days. How’s that appeal?’
‘At least it suggests he still cares,’ she conceeded.
‘I’ll find it hard to write,’ I said. ‘I’ve grown quite fond of you myself.’
Rose’s voice was soft, resigned. ‘Oh, save your crocodile tears. Besides, I haven’t quite gone yet.’
When I told Glenn he nodded, blinked a couple of times as he took in the information. ‘That’s sad. I guess I’ll miss her.’ Not exactly heartbroken, then. After a thoughtful pause he added ‘But Shelagh will be around for a while yet,
won’t she? You’re not planning to bump her off any time soon?’
‘No,’ I said. ‘She’s good and safe.’
‘Fine. I like her.’ He picked up his hat and wandered out, leaving me to it.
Rose got a short obituary. A two-line footnote. After all, I was never much good at writing the romantic stuff.
‘I’m sorry,’ I said, ‘you’re not in this one.’
‘What do you mean? How can I not be in it? I’m a key character — his anchor. You said so yourself.’
‘I know I did. And it was true at the time, but plots change, and that means your part in it has become less prominent.’
‘But he needs me!’ she protested.
‘To coin a cliché — he has other fish to fry.’
‘It’s another woman, isn’t it? That Shelagh person. She’s grabbing all the attention. I feared as much. How could you do this? I thought we were going to be married. I’m sure the readers did, too. They’ll be so disappointed. Have you thought of that? So you’re writing me out, then. Does he know? Have you told him?’ She began to snivel.
‘I’m sorry Rose — you just don’t fit anymore. It’s for the best. Tell you what. I’ll give you a choice how it ends. I’ll jot a few ideas down, then we’ll have another chat. We’ll keep it between ourselves, okay?’
She nodded, looking crushed. I felt guilty. As an author, you bring all these characters into your world on a whim then, just as casually, snuff them out like candles. I’ll go gently, I promised myself. I dismissed fatal illnesses or accident, better if she had to depart for some other reason. An ailing parent or sibling, perhaps. It would also leave the door open in case I needed to bring her back at any time. It was easier on the readers, too. Those who might be fond of her. Killing off a character so very inoffensive seemed too brutal an option. I went with the dying mother idea.
Rose snorted when I suggested it. ‘Pure soap opera. So overdone. I won’t do it — I’d rather go out with a bang than a whimper!’
I didn’t point out that he who holds the pen determines all their fates. I waited, mapping something out in my head. ‘Try this, then — he gets a phone call you’ve been killed in a car crash. He’s totally distraught, drinks himself into a stupor, is incommunicado for days. How’s that appeal?’
‘At least it suggests he still cares,’ she conceeded.
‘I’ll find it hard to write,’ I said. ‘I’ve grown quite fond of you myself.’
Rose’s voice was soft, resigned. ‘Oh, save your crocodile tears. Besides, I haven’t quite gone yet.’
When I told Glenn he nodded, blinked a couple of times as he took in the information. ‘That’s sad. I guess I’ll miss her.’ Not exactly heartbroken, then. After a thoughtful pause he added ‘But Shelagh will be around for a while yet,
won’t she? You’re not planning to bump her off any time soon?’
‘No,’ I said. ‘She’s good and safe.’
‘Fine. I like her.’ He picked up his hat and wandered out, leaving me to it.
Rose got a short obituary. A two-line footnote. After all, I was never much good at writing the romantic stuff.