The End

Cricket Bradford

She cuddles closer to me under her sheets in her dark room, and as she does, I watch the end of us closing in.

I can barely see it, sitting eerily in the corner, just out of reach of the glow of her pink night light, perched on her chair in the shadows. Its dark, vaporous body heaves softly while it breathes in… out… in… out… Present. It blinks slowly; its eyes glow pink. Looking at me. At us.

I know she doesn’t see it because her eyes are closed, she’s falling asleep, she’s breathing in… out… in… out… Trusting. She buries her head in my shoulder. I stare at the end of us in the corner.

Two spindly legs reach towards the ground as the end begins to stand from its perch. Two round orbs glow in my direction as it observes her and I so close to each other. I stare at it fiercely; its eyes do not challenge back but simply watch us be together, which is worse. It takes one spidery step and its body creaks with the floorboards. I lay with her here because she asked me to; she asked me to because her eyes were half closed, because she couldn’t see the end sitting so near to us, because she didn’t realize.

I look at her.

Her black hair drapes across my chest; her eyelashes flutter softly on her cheeks. She’s beautiful; every bit of her. Her round nose, her soft lips, her wide shoulders, her strong hands. I look at her while she falls asleep; I look at our hands intertwined. I breathe her in and as I already know, she smells like lemons. I lean into her and as I already know, she warms me. My eyes begin to close and, accidentally, I start to surrender to the night.

The light above me changes; I twitch and open my eyes. The end of us stands at the foot of her bed and casts a shadow across us, cutting us in two. Its pink eyes blink in the void of its body as it stares at our bodies pressed so close, at our legs crossed over each other. It sighs, and its breath scatters ash across the white sheets.

I pry my hand from hers. I wonder if this is the last time I would hold her hand.

She reaches out for me again. Her hand softly lands on my chest. She sighs, and her breath brushes my neck.

Why does she reach for me across the shadow? Why does she reach for me at all?

I try to cherish what might be our last moments together, to lean into her, to give in to her, but I feel its presence looming over us, coming between us.

The night light glows, her hand warms my chest.

The eyes of the end of us glow, its hands start to creep onto the bed.

I look at my girlfriend. Under the sheets, in the pink of the light, almost asleep, she’s serene. She breathes in… out… in… out… Comfortable. I watch her chest rise and fall softly. I watch the corners of her lips turn upwards in a sleepy smile.

I want to take her hand again, to hold on tight and never let go, but when my fingers reach out for her, they are met with a freezing cold ash. Slender fingers push my hand away from hers as the end crawls up between us, forcing us apart. I jerk back, away from its ashy mass, away from her.

It turns its glowing pink eyes towards me. It looks and it knows. We both understand something irreversible.

I stand, I put on my pants and shoes, I pick up my backpack. As I start to leave, she opens her eyes, reaches out for me again, holds my hand from her place in the bed. I wonder how much longer I will get to say “I love you” to her.

I say it and she says it back.

The end of us nods as I leave her room, as if to confirm something. Its eyes follow me out the door. Its shadowy figure stays in bed with her. Her bed, therefore, is still full.

My leaving hasn’t changed it.