(painting by Mark Ryden)
I have been hearing about the land of where the end of stories dwell since I was a little girl.
It is the land of truth, where all questions are answered before they are formed, where all endings meet in retrospection, where all people know and accept; some easily, some with great difficulty, some never.
The land is never praised for the beauty of its natural surroundings though it is green and blue with occassional red because it is said that those brave enough to go don't care to look around as the true end of their story blinds them with such a sharp light that they care of and can see nothing else.
Once an end-of-stories year, the ends gather in the great meddow of false hopes and sit around the great fire of regret. They burn denial incense and take turns tell their story's end.
My mother used to say that the ends are like lost limbs that nobody wants, because everyone loves the stories but very few are ready to listen to their true end. So the ends left the land a long time ago and live in a place far away, alone with the truth.
I know that my end is sitting around that fire and is reciting an end I know nothing of, an end that I greatly fear and I am sick of being afraid. I hate fear more than anger, less than despair, which completes my range of emotions but no more because, I have decided: I am going to the land where the end of stories dwell to find out the truth about everything there is, and when I know it, all the shrines of misconcetion, misguidance and doubt inside my mind will finally crumble. The light of truth will cast the shadows inside me away and I will never be afraid again.
And so I left.
I travelled far and wide. For 35 years I never faultered, looked back or regretted leaving.
The road took me to places I never thought of seeing; the land of the red Lotus-eaters who fed me their ripe fruits of Lithie, almost making me forget my quest. The land of Seekers, who promised me carnal delights worthy of Sheikhs and their throngs of wives and yet I turned away, the people on the banks of Dream who begged me to stay with them because they had run out of fresh dream supplies offering me whatever life I wished in a dream for ever, I left them, nonetheless.
Even when I was captured and tortured by Tromos I clenched my teeth and buried my nails deep inside my palms, forever it seemed, until he grew tired of my tortured body and threw it to the bottomless pit of the Unknown...and yet I went on.
The King of Death himself offered me eternal life in return of the truth I sought and he left empty-handed. I deserved to find the land of the where the end of stories dwell more than anyone else before me.
You always get what you want in life one way or another.
(painting by Mark Ryden)
It was on a crispy Autumn morning that I stood before the gates of where the end of stories dwell.
The tall, wooden gates stood open in front of me and I would never have known I had arrived if it weren't for the sign that stood of a short wooden pole that said:
Brave are the ones who seek a story's true end,
For bitter is the truth, and sharp as knife.
They lived happily ever after never was,
and never will it be part of life.
I didn't like what the sign said, for I was weary, cold and hungry and in search of something bright. However through the gates I went and trod on.
Whether it was a beautiful place or not I'll never know, my eyes were caught by the dead bodies hanging from the fruit ladden trees, rotting away. I stared at them shocked and repulsed.
How terrible can truth be? I asked myself. The answer to that I was soon to find out.
The sun had started to set when I arrived at the medow of false hopes where small creatures the shape of falling drops were building a fire, quite large for their size. I looked at them in fascination for they had no eyes, nor mouths, they just glided silently on the ground reflecting on their watery skins the tress and bushes around them.
They took no notice of me as I sat among them and waited.
The sun set fast and the fire of regret was roaring in front of me. The creatures, like mirrors, reflected the orange light everywhere around them, multiple flames danced around me and then one of the fires died and I saw a face swimming in the watery surface of one of the creatures, it was the face of a bearded man in his 50's. He was drinking from a glass and then he collapsed. A little girl came into the room and opened her mouth in a scream and though I could not hear what she was saying I knew the man was dead. Then the belly of the end sitting next to me shone a white light and the face of a small boy appeared. He was walking in a forest all alone picking up something from the ground and calling out, and then two hands appeared from behind him covering his small mouth...
(painting by Mark Ryden)
One by one the bellies of the ends started playing their story's end. My head snapped from one side to the other trying to catch a glimpse of them all. The story of the dead man collapsing was playing over and over, the boy's mouth was covered hundreds of times and still I could not find see myself in any of them.
A small girl lay dead on a pavement, a woman's eyes closed while doctors were running around them, an old man collapsed, a volcano errupted...
I ran around the fire, pushing some ends away so I could see the ones behind, full of agony and despair I started shouting "WHERE IS MY END? WHERE IS MY END?" but all was mute.
I felt trapped in the most horrible nightmare, I had come all this way for a reason, I couldn't leave empty-handed. My end had to be here among the others and I had to find it. Tears ran down my cheeks, as I continued to run around their mute bodies.
"Why don't I have an end? Don't I deserve one? Happy or sad, I don't care...I came all this way...for nothing...it can't be..SHOW ME! SHOW ME!" I screamed and my voice slapped me back.
The ends kept on playing their stories on their bright bellies and all I saw were people dying in a hundred different ways. Some alone, others with family around them, some naturally others brutally, some easily others with great difficulty, some willingly others by force.
When the people died, the end was replayed, there was nothing else; no after life, no meeting of the loved ones, no memory, no meaning, nothing to wait for...their bellies reflected the fire again for a minute and then the end was replayed..
There was no magic, no hope, no prize.
I should never have found this place, I should have taken whatever those I had come across offered me, I should have stayed home.
The people were right to cut the ends of all stories, they do not deserve to be heard...it suits them fine that they are mute in this forsaken place...I hate them.....they deserve to die, all of them to fall into oblivion...they should be the ones to be forgotten not us..not us...
I ran to their small bodies and started kicking at their bright bellies, kicking and screaming, I pulled at where their faces were supposed to be and kicked harder but nothing moved them. I felt my socks and shoes soak after every kick and my hands filled with warm water with every punch.
I brought it to my mouth and tasted the salt in it. The ends were made of tears..
"WHO CARES WHAT YOU ARE MADE OF? YOU SHOULD DIE!!!!!" I screamed.
A bluish-grey smoke then danced out of the fire and coiled in the air above. Its smell was sweet and soothing. I inhaled deedly and opened my mouth of let it out, it washed my tears away.
"This is a lie, a dream...of course, why didn't I see it before...this....all this ...is.......a figment of my imagination...oh thank goodness.....a lie."
I felt my knees go weak and I collapsed on the ground relieved and exhausted that happily ever after is still an option.
In the end, you always get what you want in life, one way or another.
(painting by Mark Lyden)
