Cover art by Asche Keegan

In Which You Die and the Story Ends

Yeah, I suppose I forgot to tell you how short the story is . . .

No it’s not! You exclaim, flipping (or scrolling) through the pages, This is long!

What if all the following chapters are an illusion?

What if I told you every chapter after this is either repetition

Or nothing?

.

.

.

‘You wouldn’t believe me’

Of course you wouldn’t!

Why?

Oh, yeah sure, ‘because I lied before’

Is that all you got?

‘It’s all you need’

OK, so maybe you’re growing on me

Like cancer.

And one of these days I’m going to write something so bad, it’ll pluck you out and you will finally leave me alone.

You know what:

. . .

And they lived happily ever after.

The

End

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.

.

Epilogue ~ The author has nothing further to say

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.

.

Index – No entries

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.

.

Copyright – do not use this material without prior written consent from the publisher and/or author

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Dedication – To the world. Have a nice day

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.

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Publishing date?

No, wait, that’s at the beginning of a book . . .

Isn’t it?

I said The End!

But it’s just beginning! You object.

You really want to be a villain, don’t you?

You must be a teenager

Or an adolescent

Or a dad reading this because his daughter begged him to

Yes I can read your mind

And I can read yours, you counter.

Ha!

. . .

Fine, maybe you can.

Alright, I’m done stalling!

You asked for it!

On with the story!

(wherein you die in the first chapter

Don’t forget)

~ ~ ~

You shake your head, wondering why you ever opened this absurd story. But you’ve come this far, and since the writer is finally going somewhere, you decide to plug along a little further.

Maybe this’ll actually get interesting?

Maybe you’ll learn something?

Maybe your dog’ll want you to read it aloud to him?

Maybe he’ll (whoever he is) want to talk about it?

Maybe the author’ll stop asking questions and get along with the story?

Maybe he w . . . on’t. Alright, he won’t.

Moving along.

It is a bright Summer day – the brightest you could get. Warm and balmy, with a life in the air that literally begs you not to risk your own life – fictional or otherwise – and just let the dangerous things in the world be.

Just go on with life!

The outside is so beautiful, you can’t resist it. It’s drawing you out, pulling you from your chair, dragging your only slightly-reluctant limbs away from your seat and eyes from the page . . .

Or not.

Until you get a phone call.

Like a mad bumblebee the phone in your pocket vibrates. Fumbling, you manage to jerk it out and get finger prints all over the screen while you’re at it. Something you just hate. Hitting the ‘receive call’ button, you hold the phone up to your ear.

“You’re gonna regret this,” a low voice growls from the other end.

You start, look around you, and finally stammer:

“Wh-who is this?”

“Your author, of course,” the voice says with a syrupy-sounding smile slithering through the single sentence.

“Is this some kind of joke?” you demand.

“No,” the voice replies, “But it can end happily if you just step outside. Time and matter will take care of the rest.”

Of course, you’re too smart for this author.

“Not happening, buddy,” you reply. With a rough tap that is nowhere near as satisfying as clapping your dad’s dumb-phone shut, you end the call.

And you’re still reading.

Amazing what people can do in stories, isn’t it?

They can even die for no reason!

Just like . . .

You shake your head, a wry smile curving your lips. Nice try, you think, and turn the page.

0

2

4

6

8

9

7

5

3

1

You notice the pattern at once. What is he playing at now? you wonder, staring at the stack of numbers until your head feels light. There’s gotta be some meaning in them. Maybe a clue, or a message, or an idea, or a way to contact somebody? If you could just . . .

A bright ding sounds from the phone in your hand. Glancing down, you see that you’ve received a message from an unknown sender. Pretty certain of who this message is from, you swipe to open it, and read the following words:

0-2-4-6-8-9-7-5-3-1 = Your first challenge. Take your time.

What, so the author’s suddenly being nice?

Giving you time to solve his puzzle?

Or is there another agenda . . . you shake your head. Ha! You think, and almost delete the message. Of course, the author is just trying to distract you again. Clever ploy – but not clever enough.

Then you hesitate, finger hovering above the little trash-bin icon.

But if he’s messaging me, you think to yourself, That means I can . . .

Quickly, you type out a brief message: What is your name?

And send it.

Seconds tick.

Minutes pass.

You are still staring at your phone, just waiting for him to reply.

Still staring.

Still staring.

Still staring.

Then you get annoyed.

Nope, you are not winning that way, you think, and typing out the same message, copy it.

Then you proceed to spam copy after copy at this, your most annoying author.

Who could never be as annoying as you.

What is your name?

What is your name?

What is your name?

What is your name?

E

N

D

L

E

S

S

L

Y

Over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and . . .

ALRIGHT!

At last, the fed-up author has replied!

Well? You text back.

Well what? He retorts, inserting a not-so-flattering emoji.

You roll your eyes, Your name, you send back.

Oh, that, he replies, Now that is an interesting question. One of the best, actually! Most people ask it, I know, but you must have a special reason for it, eh? Since I can tell you’re not a normal person – considering you’ve gotten this far – any question, of even the most innocent nature, must have great thought and consideration behind it. Perhaps you want to know my name so you can look me up? Maybe so you can draw conclusions of my personality based on the meaning and rooting of my name, depending on which language, time period, dialect, culture, race-

What is your name?

What is your name?

What is your name?

You reproceed to spam.

At last

NO!

No what? You retort, typing as fast as your fingers can fly.

No, I am not telling you my name!

Why?

Z

That’s not an answer.

Thank you.

What is your name?

What is your name?

What is your name?

What is your name?

STOP!

Tell me your name!

I can’t.

You mean you won’t?

No. I. Can’t.

Why? And don’t answer Z

Yet another unflattering emoji appears, but you pay it no heed.

Finally:

I don’t have one.