Many of you have probably heard of the Bulwer-Lytton Fiction Contest, in which writers are challenged to write the opening sentence to the worst of all possible novels. In a slightly different twist, I present the first of what I hope will become a series of last sentences of awful novels (see, I’m already getting my bad writing muscles warmed up with this sentence!).
“I never meant to hurt you,” Ted said. His eyes were dark red and moist, like maraschino cherries that had started to go bad, which takes an incredibly long time, so long that it’s a little bit disturbing if you think about it too much.
“I know.” I nodded as I wiped away my tears and the bit of snot that clung to the end of my nose, mentally noting that I should wash my gloves later. “I guess it just wasn’t meant to be.”