Turnabout

         Jack always wanted to be a writer, but he could never get a break. His roommate was the real writer. Bob could take a matchbook out of the gutter and make a best selling novel out of it if he wanted. Trouble is, he didn’t. He liked sharing his writing with his buddies online, but he didn’t want to sell out. He wanted his work to be his and his friends’ alone. It drove Jack nuts.

         Then Bob was in that accident. He was in a coma for a week, and the doctors said it wasn’t likely he would ever recover. Jack decided to do them both a favor. He knew Bob had almost finished his big novel. He was stuck on the last chapter. Jack knew the perfect way to end it, so he wrote the last chapter. Then he went back and made a few changes to the earlier chapters. He did some proofreading and grammar checking. Then he printed it off, signed his name to it and sent it out to a publisher.

         The response was amazing. The readers loved it, and so did the editors. A contract was offered, and Jack happily signed it. Everybody won. Well, everybody except Bob. He flat lined the night Jack signed on the last page. Still, his work would live on forever. People around the world would be able to enjoy it and talk about what a great book it was. Jack was doing Bob a favor, really.

         A year went by, and the book was huge. Jack would never have to write again, but he would. Now that he had a name, he could sell anything to anyone. He’d start sending out the rejected manuscripts, and the publishers would be begging to take them off his hands. All his hard work was paying off. He was getting everything he ever dreamed of. Now if he could just get the heater to…

         "JACK!"

         The voice behind him was ice water on his shoulders. He turned and looked at the translucent face hanging in the air.

         "Jack, you should have known you were doing wrong. That story was my heart and soul. You had no right to take it."

         "Hey, listen, I just wanted to see you get some of the recognition…"

         "Funny, last time I checked, my name wasn’t Jack. You saw a chance to make it big, and you took it. It didn’t matter that you were taking what was mine. You wanted what was best for yourself no matter what."

         "Well, it wasn’t like you were ever going to finish. I just made it…"

         "Appalling? Yes you did. You tore my heart out, Jack. And in the manner of your favorite cliches, turnabout is fair play."

         Bob felt his chest burn with the cold as bone white hands reached through his chest. His chest exploded with pain, and then he felt nothing. Blackness consumed him.