End of Story

by A.J. Finn

“A lot of me is gone.” She says it very simply. “A lot of bits are missing. For a while I waited, thinking they’d be restored to me in time—but no: They were gone. Like jigsaw pieces you’ve lost. You’ve still got the borders, you know, the clean edges on the outside, but the picture isn’t complete. And it never will be.”

She wants transport: to an alternate dimension where death isn’t a tragedy but a puzzle; where lives are as disposable as yesterday’s crossword; where people die for money or lust or revenge, never for reasons unknown.