They turned to see, floating in the nothingness, the King of Nothing, grinning maniacally at them.
“I know you…” said the Prince.
“I’m your father, you nitwit. You’re the Prince of Nothing.”
“I’m going home, you coming, Prince?”
“Yeah. What’s your name, by the way?”
“Fanny Ending.”
“I should’ve guessed.”
“I don’t take orders from bricks,” I say.
“What?” she asks me.
“Nothing. Are you ready to go?”
“Aren’t you gonna do something about that window?”
“No.”
“What if it rains?”
“Then I’ll take a shower.”
“What if a bird flies in? What then?”
“Lunch.”
“Funny.”
“Not for the bird.”
His wife complained that he’d forget everything.
He’d forgotten their anniversary. Every year.
He’d forget where he left his keys.
He decided to kill her. That would show her.
At the crucial moment, he pulled out…
Nothing.
The gun was in his nightstand.
Or maybe in the car?
I forget.