Mr. Finkle’s Grave Error

A short story with a Sci-Fi bent.

Charlie wanted to relax on her Sunday afternoon, but her dog had other ideas.

Thanks to Loki, she stepped out of the program . . . one she didn’t even know she was in one to begin with.


DOGS. THEY COULD DRIVE A PERSON BATTY. More so when said person wanted to relax on her day off. Charlie Neilson leaned back on the couch and watched Loki pacing the floor between the kitchen and the living room. The black Doberman was adamant. He had to go out. Now.

“Loki, you just went out an hour ago. What is with you?” He stopped in the entryway, near the stairs. She sighed when he let out his infamous drawn out whine. A whine that she was certain at this point, he knew took her nerves out of their comfort zone and into a dangerous territory of no patience. A sound that normally allowed him to get his way.

She stared at her dog, debating the odds that he’d allow her to relax. It was a beautiful Sunday morning. She’d been working all week fielding calls for her boss at the law firm, and what she really wanted was to just have a few hours of becoming one with the couch. Some silence. Some peace.

The feet padding along the wooden floor behind her had other ideas. Flop flop flop they went back and forth. Flop flop flop they went again on her nerves of anything but steel. Another long drown out whine that sounded like moooooommmm, and she grumbled beneath her breath. She jammed the bookmark into her book she was reading—trying to—then tossed it to the other side of the couch. The clock over the stovetop said eleven fifty-nine in the morning.


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