This Is How It Ends: an exercise in writing

this is the end

This is how it ends: At the edge of a roof away from your last step, in a hospital room with a neighbor who coughs to her death, covered with a cold blanket surrounded by mute people staring at you with pity, crossing a road in the rush hour, stabbed in the back by your best friend’s depressed brother, hit by a drunken truck, stung by a scared snake, falling off the cliffs of Kilimanjaro, drowning in the calm waters of Indian Ocean, choking on a piece of gold candy, overrun by the train of midnight, getting crushed under a wandering rock, catching a virus, a shark, a bad marriage.

It ends when you’re not looking, when nobody’s watching you, when there is nothing left to long for, when there is nothing to imagine. It all ends when, in the morning, your alarm rings, the kids scream they’re late to school, the water boiling in the pot overflows, the anchorman recites the horoscope of the day, the sink stinks with dirty plates, the man sleeping next to you snores in his tardiness, the cars outside your house rush toward some destination, and still you can’t remember what to do next, when your house looks like a foreign land, when you speak a language you’re the only one to comprehend, when the city you live in has been extended to the borders of boredom, when you’re only fed with memories and you just vomit nostalgia, when every night a stranger – a man you’ve never met, the man you don’t know the name, the man who never smiles at you- dies in your good dreams, breaking your heart, when everything means something else, when there is no light at the end of any hole you make for yourself to fall in even if you look up, when there is no one waiting for you outside, in the rain, under the snow, or over a love bridge below the burning sun, when you’re alone even if you spend your days stuck, compressed among all these loud mouths talking to or about you, without ever knowing the big deal about it all.

This is how it ends as if it had never started, as if you’ve never been here, or even there.

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About lifeacrossthesun

Writer/ 2011 PEN USA Emerging Voices fellow
Gallery | This entry was posted in Fiction. Bookmark the permalink.

One Response to This Is How It Ends: an exercise in writing

  1. sybir says:

    A very powerful, raw piece of writing.

    Ryszard

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