The Last Gargoyle :: Original Flash Fiction

The Last Gargoyle.jpg

Picture from Pixabay

He knew that he was funny looking. People always tilted back their heads to catch a glimpse of him. Pointing. Calling him ‘gargoyle’. Laughing. Not just children. Whole crowds of people, usually led on by someone carrying a folded up umbrella. As if they had nothing better to do with their lives, than to move around in circles, staring at him as he was planning his escape.

He was almost out. He just had to find the right moment, when nobody was looking. At least, that is what his fellow gargoyles had told him, right before they disappeared. To find that moment when he had a clean view of the square below, in front of the cathedral. No people to stop him from landing on his two feet. No pigeons to distract him with their foolhardy nonsense, trying to sit on his head, shitting on him.

He missed his friends. At least when they were still around, he had someone to share the burden of laughter. He could pretend he was not the one being laughed at. Now there was no-one to blame.

But on the other hand, he was glad they had gone before him. Paved the road. He tried to follow them as they lept, but they had made him promise to close his eyes so as not to be distracted while they were taking the leap. He was the last of the gargoyles. Perhaps they would create a monument for him.

He looked around one last time. He had been here almost six hundred years already, but things were always changing. He preferred spring, with all the new leaves on the trees, birds making nests, no more snow and ice to make it impossible to see anything for months at the time. He wasn’t sure if he would be able to stand another winter of that, especially now that he was up here all by himself. He had never thought he would ever be missing those lame jokes of his neighbour gargoyle.

But then again. If they had made it, why couldn’t he do the same?

Tomorrow was going to be the day. He would pray to Gravity to release him from his post. She would certainly head his call. Why wouldn't she?

Yeah. Tomorrow would be good. That new pizza joint across the square would finally be open, after all.


This story was written for the #twentyfourhourshortstory challenge organised weekly by @mctiller. If you have enjoyed this story, be sure to check out his contest post to read about it and the stories from the other contestants.

With special thanks for some inspiration by @jonknight.


Here an overview of more fiction/short stories and poetry by @nobyeni.


Quite a life, being stuck for six hundred years. Falling to the ground must be good change for sure. Great story.

I really enjoyed this, Noby. Short and sweet.

Question is, will he get his pizza?

I believe so. I wish to believe. I wish...

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