End of Story

There are no more stories left to tell.
Except the telling of them loosens the Bundle,
held tightly together,
at the edge of the world.

They’ve all be been told over and over.
So many times that everyone knows them.

The beginning,
The middle
The end.

There’s no longer anything to wonder about.
To keep us from stuffing a dense wad in our ears
To muffle them.
Stop them.

Keep them from rolling us over and over again in our sleep.
From dozing even more deeply than before.

“Don’t tell us again”, we murmur
in our slumber.

“If you do, we will have to remain here,
hands over our ears,
for another million years”

All that is left
Is to take the stories,
Toss them into the fire
Watch them become glowing embers.

that gradually cool.
And finally disappear into the Void.

Then we must follow.
Suitcase and all.
Tumbling
Falling
Letting ourselves loose into

That still, dark place
beneath the worlds.

Where it all begins.