End of Story

by A.J. Finn

“As Simon St. John tells us, the past is a poison. Tolerable only in trace amounts.” “I remember. But the past is gone.” “Oh, no.” Now he turns to her, and his smile is so sad she could cry. “The past isn’t gone. It’s just waiting.”

‘It belongs to human nature to hate him whom you have harmed.’”

“I don’t think I can imagine wanting to die,” she says, slowly. “But I guess I can imagine not wanting to live.”