Hello everyone! This is an attempt at a flash fiction that concentrates more on dialogue, because I SUCK at dialogue and needed to practice. I'm not very happy with it but I think someday I'll try to fix it and all, but that day is not today haha.


Benito pinches the steely clamp on the blood-orange crustacean, snapping its leg open. Filmy juice squirts on his sweater, and he groans about the cashmere.


Shae breaks his crab with his fists. He smears the exposed meat in the crystal butter dish before sucking it between his teeth.

ccccrack…crackcrackcrack. He opens a new leg from several joints, the shell splintering, sharp and slipping around the plate.

"Do you want—"

"No." Crack.

"You don't even know—"

Crack. "I don't want more wine."

"Oh. Okay." crack.


He sips the blanc he still has. There's a dust strand floating in it. Wondering if that's a metaphor or something, he pushes the glass farther across the table and huffs at it.


cccrack. "Listen, Ben—"


"Please, babe—"

Benito drops his engagement ring in his wine glass. Crack.



Shae decides he just won't look up from the butter anymore. The slickness the sauce makes his teeth gnashing just as silent as his husband, however, so he changes his mind. At least one of his body parts must be trying to get his attention. He spritzes more lemon juice on his dinner so that it's not obvious, though.

Crack. He doesn't look up from his cracker.

Shae whips his lemon wedge at his plate, but it bounces off the emptied exoskeletons and across the rosewood floor. "What do you want me—"

"I want a divorce."

"What about what I want?"

Benito plops his wedding ring in his butter dish, then digs it in with the butt of his crab leg. He slurps hard at the severed limb, dragging the meat out by his teeth, slow and showy.


Shae stands and retrieves the lost lemon. He nearly tosses the dirtied citrus in the kitchen trashcan, but ends up kicking the can over instead. He really can't look at him now that Benito said it out loud, to his face. Instead he stalks around the apartment, throwing worn pillows off the couch and Benito's manuscript off the counter, and knocking small things off the walls like their honeymoon picture and the mirror. The latter fissures and bleeds glass under his loafer.


Benito pauses between bites. His jaw hurts a little, from chewing so forcefully, but also he needs to knock over his wine glass. The garnet-encrusted ring inside slides onto the table and the Sauvignon pours over the edge. Chaos is probably like passion, he reasons; he draws a question mark then an X in the wine puddle.

From across the apartment, Shae finally stares, unable to cry or speak or understand, at his husband, soon to be ex.

If anyone has any good/cool tips/tricks for working on dialogue please let me know :)