Sorry (Not Sorry) | A Fantasy Short Story
Go ahead, take your revenge.
Bullies are the worst, aren’t they?
When I was a kid, I liked a lot of nerd shit—stuff like Pokémon, Nintendo, and reading. What a loser, right? That’s what all the other kids thought, at least.
One day, I decided I had had enough, and I picked a fight with a kid at least a foot taller than me. I didn’t stand a chance. But I needed to do something, because no one seemed to understand the extent of my torment. So we got in a fight on the bus, one thing led to another, and I found myself in the principal’s office, telling my school administrators that he had started the fight.
Damn. No wonder I got picked on so much, huh?
But hey, when you have limited means to fight back against injustice, you take what pot shots you can get. In an even funnier twist, the principal had made my arch-enemy write me a letter to apologize. I still remember the last sentence of the letter: “Maybe next time, don’t tell on me, okay?”
Anyway… That’s enough rambling. Here’s my latest story, “Sorry (Not Sorry).” It’s kind of stupid, but I hope you like it all the same. And if you find yourself enjoying it, I’d appreciate a subscribe!
Sorry (Not Sorry)
By J. Louis
Harald stared at the quill and inkwell, its contents as viscous as the tension suffocating Headmaster Archibald’s study.
The old man snapped his spindly fingers and a spark flew across the room, settling onto a nearby candlewick. A flame blossomed, its light flickering like a tiny heartbeat, and dispelled the darkness, but not his discomfort. The headmaster hobbled to his desk and sat opposite Harald. The candlelight cast shadows that danced across the hidden valleys of the old man’s face.
“Well?” The headmaster licked at the tips of his thick moustaches, drumming his fingers across the polished oak surface. “Ms. Finkle is waiting.”
Harald glanced at the blank parchment before him. It haunted him, taunted him even. What was he supposed to say, anyway? That he didn’t thoroughly enjoy her humiliation? Or that it was an accident that landed him in this mess in the first place, when they both knew it wasn’t?
Pangs shot through his scraped knees, still caked with dried blood from when she had tripped him hours earlier. Sparks crackled at his fingertips as he thought of Serra Finkle, with her stupid name, and her stupid friends, and her stupid holier-than-thou attitude, always looking down her long, crooked, stupid nose at others. Harald felt a wicked grin creep across his face, twisting his cheeks into a smile, and he chuckled.
Yes, he thought. I will become the architect of her undoing, and the parchment will be my canvas, the vessel of my vengeance!
“What’s wrong?” Headmaster Archibald adjusted his spectacles, their frames bent and twisted with wear. “Surely you have something to say to her. Why, I remember when I was in school, I had a little girlfriend myself. Oh, she was a relentless one. Poked fun at me for ages before I did something about it. What was her name again…? Ah! That’s right, my dearest—”
“She’s not my girlfriend!” Harald interrupted, his face growing hot, smoke pouring from his nostrils. “I hate her. I never want to see her again.”
“Ah, but that’s not how school works, is it,” the headmaster said. “You want to study here, yes?” Harald hesitated, then nodded. The headmaster leaned forward, and Harald thought he could trace every crack, every crevice, in the old man’s sagging skin. “Then you must understand you have to get along with others. There’s no place for violence in this school. Physical or magical.”
Harald swallowed his rage, then picked up the quill with trembling hands and dipped it into the ink. He scribbled the words, Dear Serra, at the top of the page, wondering if it would make any difference, then followed it up with a simple, I’m sorry.
The headmaster raised an eyebrow. Harald scoffed, then finished his sentence, each letter more embarrassing than the last.
… for setting your hair on fire.
The headmaster cleared his throat, and sweat beaded on Harald’s forehead. He set the quill down and looked up to find the headmaster’s pale blue eyes fixed on him with a stare that could cut steel. Harald rolled his eyes, then took up the quill once more.
Get well soon. — Harald
“Good.” The headmaster smiled and nodded, then turned away, fixing his gaze on the flickering candle. “I trust you know I’ll be having the same conversation with Ms. Finkle. It’s only fair, yes? Why, I remember when I was your age…”
Harald let the headmaster ramble on and on about his dearest Tilly, with her thick, caterpillar-like eyebrows and the biggest mole he had ever seen, while he secretly scrawled a final line at the bottom of the parchment, so small he doubted anyone could read it.
P.S. You still deserved it.
From the Prompt Vault
Next, it’s your turn.
Write a story inspired by a memory you have from when you were a kid. Good or bad, it doesn’t matter. Tap into the raw emotion you felt, and really let it flow.
If you use this prompt, be sure to share your story in the comments and restack this post to get more folks in on the fun! I love seeing what the fantasy community comes up with week to week.
Last Week’s Story (In Case You Missed It)
That’s all I’ve got for now! Thanks for reading, and until next time… keep writing.
Cheers,
Josh
🚨 P.S. Did you know I wrote a book?🚨
If you like my fantasy stories, then maybe you’ll also like my microfiction. I wrote a whole-ass book about it, and it’s chock-full of resources to help you achieve your most productive writing year yet.
The Microfiction Method releases July 31, but you can pre-order it today and I’ll ship it ahead of the release date for your reading pleasure!
Oh yes, this is funny! Lol!
The conversation is good, and the headmaster’s facial expressions are a hoot!
The sparks fly in this story. :)
I love your approach to story writing. Easy and Imaginative.