To The End

I had found the most fascinating story in the paper today. I was a little bit late for my bus, so I was hurrying, but I couldn’t help but keep reading. The words tugged me in, and I found myself dashing through exotic bazars, hoping on rickety planes, and firing off muskets to scare away the hungry wolves at night, all as I hastily navigated the humdrum bustle of the three blocks from my apartment building to the bus stop.

My feet were wet from the puddles I hadn’t dodged, and I had sadly torn and lost half of the front cover when someone’s umbrella raked across the paper. It would have been easily avoided if I had been looking, but as it happened I was in the middle of a car chase through a deserted village high in the mountains.

There was also an old lady I had nearly toppled in my forward march. I stopped to help her regain her balance, but my mind was elsewhere: in the back room of a musty hostel, playing poker to win enough money to fill my motorcycle with gasoline for the trek back over the mountain pass.

I was back on my way, over the mountains and towards my bus stop, when I realized the curb had shown up much more suddenly than I expected. I slowed, caught myself stumbling slightly, and was unceremoniously dashed across the road by a fast-moving taxi. As I twisted through the air, my body drenched in layers of pain, my eyes darted to the end of the story, and a picture stuck in my mind: a hand, bloodied, gripping a fistful of glossy black coins.