What About Fin?
It was a normal Thursday in the sense that nothing about it was normal. Fin sat at his desk, glancing at the clock, then his messages, then the clock again, caught in a feedback loop of dread. Dirk—his therapist, allegedly—had ghosted. No email. No cancellation. No carrier pigeon. Just pure, echoing void.
Two weeks.
Two weeks of spiraling thoughts, zero support, and the haunting sense that either Dirk was dead or Fin's insurance had tossed him into a bureaucratic abyss without warning. Meanwhile, reality had cranked the difficulty up to ‘cursed.’ Fin’s beloved cat had been diagnosed with chronic kidney disease, and a snarling gargoyle named Eliza and her boyfriend, Stink, had launched a tag-team campaign of unhinged harassment via a rotating door of alt accounts.
Enter Bob.
Bob was a gnome. Bob was also not real—unless you count emotional emergency constructs summoned by queer witchcraft and raw frustration as real (Fin absolutely did). Bob had a threefold mission: (1) drag Dirk, (2) make Fin laugh, and (3) create chaos if Dirk didn’t apologize.
“Andy, I’m sending Bob,” Fin muttered.
Andy, Fin’s endlessly supportive husband, didn’t look up from making coffee. “Good. Tell that pointy-hatted twat to bring the glitter cannon. He’ll need it.”
Two weeks.
Two weeks of spiraling thoughts, zero support, and the haunting sense that either Dirk was dead or Fin's insurance had tossed him into a bureaucratic abyss without warning. Meanwhile, reality had cranked the difficulty up to ‘cursed.’ Fin’s beloved cat had been diagnosed with chronic kidney disease, and a snarling gargoyle named Eliza and her boyfriend, Stink, had launched a tag-team campaign of unhinged harassment via a rotating door of alt accounts.
Enter Bob.
Bob was a gnome. Bob was also not real—unless you count emotional emergency constructs summoned by queer witchcraft and raw frustration as real (Fin absolutely did). Bob had a threefold mission: (1) drag Dirk, (2) make Fin laugh, and (3) create chaos if Dirk didn’t apologize.
“Andy, I’m sending Bob,” Fin muttered.
Andy, Fin’s endlessly supportive husband, didn’t look up from making coffee. “Good. Tell that pointy-hatted twat to bring the glitter cannon. He’ll need it.”
Dirk was on the beach, dressed like a Dad on sabbatical: plaid short-sleeved shirt, khaki shorts, glasses reflecting the sparkling waves. He was peacefully sculpting a sandcastle that looked suspiciously like a self-congratulatory TED Talk.
Then Bob arrived, trailing sparkles and barely concealed contempt.
“Hiya, Dirk.”
Dirk blinked up at him. “Uh—hello?”
Bob plopped down beside him, unfurling a scroll that flopped into the ocean.
“Just reviewing the list of unreturned emails, missed appointments, and cosmic injustices. You’ve been busy not being available.”
Dirk rubbed his temple. “I was on vacation. I needed time off.”
Bob held up a brass clock. “At this exact time every week for the past two weeks, Fin was sitting alone wondering if you'd been eaten by a whale or abducted by Medicaid paperwork.”
Dirk sighed. “It’s not that big of a—”
“Don’t,” Bob said, already raising a hand.
A rectangular ID card floated in the air. On it: Fin’s face, grumpy and adorable. Below it: CLIENT WHO DESERVED A FREAKING HEADS-UP.
“Your lack of communication caused distress,” Bob said. “Fin needed support. Instead, he got Eliza.”
Dirk paled. “Eliza?”
“You know those trolls online that make AI look emotionally intelligent? She’s an actual gargoyle. Long story. She and her boyfriend, Stink have been causing Fin enough drama to fuel an entire season of RuPaul’s Drag Race: Blood Feud Edition.”
Dirk opened his mouth again, but Bob snapped his fingers. One of Bob’s assistant gnomes waddled up wearing mirrored shades and a bulletproof vest made of glitter. He was dragging Dirk’s picnic cooler.
Another gnome popped Dirk’s sandcastle bubble by replacing a tower with a tiny protest sign: WE DESERVE BETTER.
“I didn’t think it’d be such a—”
“You didn’t think,” Bob said, voice now multi-layered with divine gnomish wrath. “Fin’s cat got sick. His mental health was already wobbling. And then poof! You’re gone, leaving him to do emotional calculus without a therapist or a TI-84.”
A third gnome ran by trailing a banner behind him that read: THERAPISTS MUST COMMUNICATE. THIS IS A HILL WE WILL DIE ON.
“Okay! OKAY!” Dirk waved his arms. “I’ll reach out. I’ll apologize. I’ll do better.”
Bob considered him. “Say it like you mean it.”
“I’m sorry,” Dirk said, now sounding less professional and more cornered raccoon. “I should’ve told Fin. It was careless and inconsiderate. He deserves better.”
Bob nodded once and handed him a sticker that read: EMOTIONAL ACCOUNTABILITY, ASK ME HOW.
That evening, Fin’s phone buzzed.
Dirk: “Hey Fin. I’m really sorry I vanished without letting you know. I realize I caused a lot of stress during an already awful time, and that’s on me. I’ll be back in the office next week if you want to talk. No pressure.”
Fin showed the message to Andy, and exhaled for the first time in what felt like a century.
Andy beamed. “Good job, Bob!”
And on the windowsill, Bob raised his glass of sparkling grape juice and winked.
Mission: accomplished.
Dirk: “Hey Fin. I’m really sorry I vanished without letting you know. I realize I caused a lot of stress during an already awful time, and that’s on me. I’ll be back in the office next week if you want to talk. No pressure.”
Fin showed the message to Andy, and exhaled for the first time in what felt like a century.
Andy beamed. “Good job, Bob!”
And on the windowsill, Bob raised his glass of sparkling grape juice and winked.
Mission: accomplished.
Made for Vibrant Visionaries #9 from the word list Light, Clock, Sneak, Pillow, Sand castle, ID, Plaid
based somewhat on a true story: my therapist went MIA for 2 weeks in June 2025 [he forgot to tell me he was going on vacation, so I actually wondered if he was dead or my insurance stopped paying for my therapy when there were no appointment reminders] and during that time all hell broke loose during which I needed a medication adjustment - and yes for the record he did apologize
based somewhat on a true story: my therapist went MIA for 2 weeks in June 2025 [he forgot to tell me he was going on vacation, so I actually wondered if he was dead or my insurance stopped paying for my therapy when there were no appointment reminders] and during that time all hell broke loose during which I needed a medication adjustment - and yes for the record he did apologize
