Catastrophizing
The cat leapt onto the dinner table, looked me dead in the eye, and knocked my stupendous soufflé to the floor. Critics had called it “ethereal,” “fluffy,” even “divine.” My cat called it “gravity’s bitch.” Thus ended my brief culinary career–ruined by whiskers, paws, and profound indifference. C’est la vie.
***Faster than a speeding gummy, able to leap small buildings at a single bound Flash Fiction is a guaranteed page turner.
The preceding is satire.
Straight up, Skippy. No warranties are expressed or implied. For life advice, try a professional. For investment tips, try a dart board. For salvation, the gentleman in the robe has been handling that portfolio for 2,000 years.