You're not being cheated. There is always a Start and an End.

I find that very telling. Of the shirts you wear.
And your pants.
The socks, the little bootsies.
The tiny gloves we can put around your fingies,
to keep them warm and safe.

Luckily our chest is a magnet.
I know you thought you were flying away
into oblivion, but no,
you were being drawn back to the safe zone.

Sometimes you may feel angry at me.
And you can punch. And kick.
Even say some bad and terrible words.
Maybe you say something like, "The Days Are Getting Too Slow"

Everyone looks at you, so you add that, "And There Is No More Water."

You come back, and we give you a gentle applause.
You curtsy, for some reason.
A friend leans in to a hair upon your ear
"That was epic."

They are watching you do your moves. How you react.
So much dynamism in the universe, so many possibilities.
You rise, "This story can take many shapes and forms.
It can go on forever," you say.

No, there will be an end.
Not a romantic or a legendary end.
Not even that much of a horroshow end.
Horroshow. Like Burgess.

But it will be a very satisfying end.
A stratospheric end, some may say, but then
they only dive in the murkiest puddles ending,
not truly with the description.

Later, after a few years, the society asks, drunkenly:
"It's never going to end, is it?
All this.
Just gonna go on."

You touch society's hand, and begin to hold it.
"Is it so bad?"
"Well, I....it's never going to end, right?"
"It's going to end."

"I grew up a type of aparrow."
Well this is a new direction.
"I keep flying. I fly."
A landing and take-off pad is created.

"Check it out, I'm flying in," she says happily.
We roll out the red carpet, and she glides in, majestic.
She wears green shoes, to contrast with her subject.
And with buoyancy.

"Let's do this forever," she says.
"What, the green shoes?"
Destruction, scratches on the face.
"I mean, yeah."

"The coolest, emerald entrance."
There is a second trick to the red carpet,
an undulating hemming way.

I tell her that she could land her foot here,
upon these woven threads,
or even there, upon those other threads, also woven.
"You're a snake, you devil," she tickles my cheek.

I want to say "Hardly".
But sometimes you don't.

"Really long piece tonight," she says.
The effect is ruined. She walks off to her dressing room.

A knave slips by. Says it's okay to spin a good yarn.
"You can keep going with a yarn," says the knave.
A knife slips by the knave, and he goes along
his merry way.

"You're not that dark," she says, returned.
"I thought you would never email me again," I say.
"I am returned." Green steps hoard my senses,
and I am lulled by a type of mint or herb,
a poison, which takes me into her world.

This is the most laughable fucking world, and we leave.

"Wait, I want to show you!" she says, and we are scooped back.
"You will sit still, and you will listen to instructions."
"No, that is not me," I try, but there is already a booklet.

The Booklet:
* Use 'C' to release counter-measures
* Press the 'R' button to fire a rocket
* Hitting 'X' will let you fly by wire--
--I hit 'X'--
* By pressing, 'B', you can release a bomb
* CTRL-SHIFT-U will activate the 'Realism' mode
* While 'Realism' mode you can make one binary decision.
* If you are having trouble in *Realism*, you can press F10, and I'll let you in on some secrets.

I find that rather sexy, so I press F10

She says you can only press F10 while you are in Realism mode.
This has gone really astray, I mumble to myself. I feel like this has to be the end.

"I'm leaving you" she says.

"What?"

"I'm going to help you bring your 'end' together, I've decided."

"Where?"

"Tuscanny," she says.

I snort cola."Okay, okay, what have I missed, really?"

She is livid, and I'm trying to be reasonable with her.

"It's not that Tuscanny is a bad place to dream of," I say. "It's just, so mundane." I remove a piece of chewing gum from her leg. "Why not just fly off to Jupiter?" I mumble.

"So you think Jupiter is boring," she snaps.

"No, I don't think Jupiter is--fuck! You are messing with my head!"

"I can be very clinical, you know," she says. "Two more nasty things and I'm gone, forever."
I ask her if she has watched The Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind.
I tell her I have no guilt.
.

Sometimes bad things happen to people who could care less. When those things happen, watch carefully, because there is a type of dust that comes out of their beings. It may be a glowy type of dust or a darker, more pungent emanation, but you can see that in their eyes they are actually somewhere else.

My job will be to write stories, and make sure that every single one has an end.

I don't want people to ever feel cheated, like they got into this story, and al of a sudden, wahey, some fucking weird elongation of it. There is always going to be a start, and then an end.