The Very End

The sun set with colours of orange, yellow and red. Splashes of purple swirled around the glowing orb as a small café glowed in the fading light.

Two people were sitting within, a cup of coffee in each of their hands, watching the end of another day. An open book lay before them, the last page lightly fluttering from the air conditioning as it blew throughout the room.

The female turned to her companion, watching him stare at the book and then the coffee. Staring back out the window, she silently took another sip before facing him. His attention was back to the open book.

“How was it?”

“Fine.”

“Did it happen again?”

“When does it not?”

“You really should stop getting those then.”

“They all have those endings. In one way or another. Discrete or not.”

“So there’s no escape. No avoiding what you despise.”

“Yeah.”

“Tell me again why you never shut it; put it away, out of your mind?”

“When the character dies and the book closes, it seems like that’s the very end, like there’s nothing left. But when it’s left open, it’s like the story never ends, that they never died…that’s why I never close a book.”

“Do you realize how odd that seems?”

“Why do you go back and read a book? Why turn the pages back to before their death? Because then they never died in the book. They still live, and they will live for a while longer. That’s why.”

“How did yo-”

“-It’s the same thing. The exact same thing.”

The two rose, throwing their empty cups out. Bending over, the male picked up the book. Fingering the last page, he read the last sentence, before slowly closing the book and tucking it away.

“I thought-“

“-Everything finishes, but that doesn’t mean there’s nothing left.”

“What was the last line?”

“That’s the end of our story, but not of our journey...”