The Totally Cliche Ending You Must Fix

It was as if Clarissa had known this moment would come.  Everything was against it—her family, his family, the simmering feud that had been going on for years over a failed business partnership, even geography.  Damon lived in a townhouse in Georgetown; she had a one-room apartment in Oakland she could barely afford on her salary as a barista.  Good thing she had a scholarship or Berkeley would have been out of the question.

But suddenly he was here, at her door, with roses and a ring, his Maserati idling at the curb.  God, he looked good. Maybe the past could be overcome.  His smile said so; her answering heart echoed yes, and then they were one.

[Aauuggh!  Barf!  Ick!  Save them if you can!]

7 responses to “The Totally Cliche Ending You Must Fix

  1. …and then they were one mind as they heard the car door thud shut.
    Alerted to the thief at the curb they suddenly in one fluid motion flew down the stairs and over the lawn waving their arms over their heads.
    “Stop,” demanded Damon as the engine roared into gear. Black smoke streamed out behind all four screaming tires as the car moved forward and began to revolve in the middle of the road. Damon’s mouth dropped open as he listened to the throaty sound of the V6 engine for what might be one last time.
    “Or what?” The driver looked at them out of the top of his eyes and then hammered the pedal.
    “Wow,” said Clarissa. “That’s a hell of a car.”

  2. Definitely an upgrade.

  3. Within seconds, Clarissa’s body had gone limp. The Chinese saliva poison had done its job. Damon knew there was only one antidote, and he had taken the only vile known to exist in the West minutes before he had come to her door. As he looked down on her now lifeless body, Damon reached around his left ear and tugged on the edge of the latex mask he was wearing, exposing himself to be Mai Pai, international dealer in embargoed substances. Dropping the mask casually on the floor, he reached into his pocket and withdrew a small communications device. Pressing a single button, he quickly recited a few phrases of Asian-sounding mumbo-jumbo into the unit.

    Within minutes, there was a knock at the door. Cautiously, Mai Pai opened the door; a young woman entered the room. She was the spitting image of Clarissa, a true doppelganger. Closing the door quietly, Mai Pai asked her to say “Damon.” Even her voice was a perfect match. Mai pai pointed towards the bedroom as he began to drag Clarissa’s body towards the kitchen. Several minutes later, he joined the woman in the bedroom and watched as she rifled through the clothes hanging in the dead woman’s closet, attempting to anticipate what Clarissa might wear to work.

    “What if no one orders the Mocha Cookie Crumble Frappuccino while I’m working,” she asked somewhat absentmindedly, trying to decide between a pair of red heels or patent leather boots. “Won’t it appear suspicious if I make one without someone ordering it?”

    “The Corporation has determined that a Mocha Cookie Crumble Frappuccino is ordered at your location once every 15 to 20 minutes. It is statistically improbable that, in an 8-hour shift, you would not get a chance to complete your mission,” said Mai Pai confidently. “Once ordered, you will make an excess of the caffeinated beverage and collect that excess in the refrigerated lipstick case supplied to you by The Corporation. Remember, after your shift ends, you will have just 50 minutes to reach the dock, or the Moshulu Gai-Pan will sail without you. The Corporation will be most unhappy if you, and especially the lipstick case, are not on board.”

    “I understand,” said the woman as she checked herself in the mirror. “I’ll see you at the compound in Xanthan-Jum following the successful completion of our mission.”

    As the woman left the apartment, Mai Pai dragged a large suitcase from the bedroom closet to the kitchen. Several minutes later, he was ready to leave the apartment himself. Looking down at the suitcase, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a large adhesive label which he carefully applied over the top of the case. The label read “MAGA Ball Caps.” It was Waste Management “large item pickup day” in Berkeley.

  4. It occurs to me that you don’t really need a challenge but perhaps merely someone to say, “Go!” And then you just write.

    You’re overflowing with ideas. Xanthan-Jum indeed! Large item pick-up day! Mocha Cookie Crumble Frappacchino. MAGA Ball Caps. I always enjoy what you write.

  5. How many Frappacchinos were consumed in the making of this composition?

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