End of Story

by A.J. Finn

“Life is hard. After all, it kills you.”

“People your age—young people, I mean—you treat your lives like galleries, for public display, open to all. My life is no gallery. It’s a vault, a black box, and—I’m sorry I can’t put this more elegantly—it’s nobody’s damn business.”

Sometimes, in a light breeze, you can detect the faintest hint of a personality.

A woman who doesn’t lie,’” she replies, “‘is a woman without imagination and without sympathy.’”

“Life is hard. After all, it kills you.”

in any marriage there are places you don’t visit. Like plots of acrid land.”

This is a slow-motion moment,

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

Nicky drops into sleep as if through a rotting floor.

I’m kicking the oxygen habit early.”

“Some stories, they just end without you finding out what happened. You know?” “I know,” says Nicky. “I don’t like those stories.”

“Die? Oh, no,” he exclaimed—“Not die now, after having lived and suffered so long and so much!” The Count of Monte Cristo (I finished it)

“I suppose that if I’m grieving, then I must have loved whatever I lost, however I lost it. I suppose—it’s like a scar reminding me of some adventure I had. Or like the end credits of a wonderful film. So . . . no, I’m not comfortable with it, but I’m grateful for it.” She considers. “Grief might feel like fear, but it also feels like memory, and with memory, there’s no—a story doesn’t end.”

“Men are where evolution backed itself into a corner.”