My Ending Starts Now

Endings hold so much importance in our lives. It may be underrated, but if you think about it, everything has to end. In a story, people remember the endings because they’re freshest in the mind. Likewise for conversation, presentations, movies. How we chose to end something makes up our and others reactions to it. If we stop reading a book halfway, we could consider it boring, when the ending is the best ever; sadly, you never got to that awesome plot twist.

I think that we need to realize how the way we end things leaves a great impression. For this post, I want to show you an example of the importance of where you end something. Below, I wrote a story, but after each paragraph, you can stop reading. Each paragraph can essentially be the last and conclusions, but you decide. Let me warn you, you can’t take back what you’ve read. You will realize that by reading more, you may change how you feel. It’s a risk type of thing; you have one chance.

To help you, I’ve spaced out the paragraphs so you won’t accidently read a part you don’t want to; I recommend that you slowly scroll up and read each paragraph. Don’t want to accidently read more. Rather be safe than sorry, yeah? From this post, think about the impressions you leave. Yeah, we know that first impressions are memorable, but impressions can change. I’m ending these blabbing now so you all can get testing.

CHANGE

Keys click on the keyboard. And then stop.

 

 

“I can’t. I don’t want to. Stop forcing me to do that!” Footsteps echo through the room. A door slams in the background. “Come back! Listen to me!” But the pounding of blood lessens the ability to hear. One more door until it’s the outdoors. “Just listen to me once! I can explain!” Finally free. Feet slam on the concrete as they cross the street. Eyes streaming with tears, but fixed to the other side of the street. Suddenly, bright lights emit from a speeding car. “Look out!” A deer in the headlights. The world slows. Ram!

 

 

A light flickers on in the bedroom. Curtains pulled aside to look for the source of the car brakes. It’s too dark. Maybe it was a dream. Sounded real. Lights turn off.

 

 

Back on the street, soft crying echos off the ground and into the night. Hands tremble to touch the broken friend. Burnt rubber stenches the road. But the car is gone. And its driver too.

 

 

Heartfelt last words.

 

 

“I never told you, how much I love you. I’m sorry. Please don’t go.”

 

 

“It’s. . . okay . . . I love . . . you too . . . Live for . . . me . . .”

 

 

Life is a long time. But that day. I never told you that you were right that day. I never told you that what you saw was really the truth.

 

 

I wish I could go back to the time when we were young, when the dark side had never tempted me. I wish I had listened when you told me to stop. I wished I had appreciated that you were willing to give me a second chance.

 

 

Sometimes, when I look out of the window, of the house that used to be ours, I remember my life right after you died. I remember the flashing lights of the cops. The chaos of neighbors rushing downstairs. But all my emotions had died with you, leaving me empty.

 

 

You were the most important person to ever be in my life. And life took you away. I hadn’t noticed until it was too late.

 

 

It’s funny, now that I don’t live behind bars anymore, how you did live life to the fullest. You appreciated the sun at noon. You appreciated a moonless sky. You appreciated me. You remembered my seventeenth birthday when I forgot yours. You remember how I like my coffee when I never knew what you liked. I regret it.

 

 

Your last words didn’t kick me until I was nearing the days to leave the jail. I had let other people bully me. Take my share of food. Space. Time. I didn’t live for you. When I left that miserable place, I stood for hours at our home. Just look at the dusty pictures of us. And I knew I had to live up to your words.

 

 

Your mom stopped by the following evening. I don’t know how she knew or how she even could stand to be near me. But she told me how you had wanted us to share that house. How she had kept it for me. Hadn’t put it on the market. She had the names transferred the next day. I never saw her again.

 

 

To say my life was horrible is a lie. I picked myself up. I volunteered as much as possible. I give to charity. I became head of my local organizations for the homeless and people who need that second chance in live. Also, for the children who could have gone astray like me. I want to thank you for inspiring me.

 

 

Death is not the end. You still live on. In every young child’s face. In every hug. Smile. Laugh. If I could rewrite histoy, I would never have erased you. You have make me the strong figure I am now, but I still miss you.

 

 

Other people see my life story as an inspiration. A humble individual who picked themself up. Every interview, when they ask why, I talk about you.

 

 

As my days grow short, I have left myself pure. When I too die, I hope to see you again. To hug and laugh with you. And together, we can look at the lives that have been changed by me, who was changed by you.

 

 

Keys click on the keyboard. And then stop.

 

 

I pushed out my chair and walked downstairs to go to the market; I needed more coffee. The sun had rose two hours ago. I felt that today would be a good day.

 

 

I crossed the quiet street.

 

 

A car appearred from the corner. I didn’t move  in time. Ram!

 

 

That day, the car and driver were still there when the cops arrived.

The End.

Out of fuel for now,

JU//TT

 

 

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