The Second Promise

On the last night of October, there was no moon. The wind blew wet, cold, and briny, from over the the ocean and swirled around the small graveyard atop the hill, covering the green grass with grey, hoary frost. Its chill could not penetrate the earth; underneath, the soil remained warm and rich and alive. 

Crooked, rough-hewn headstones curved along the hill in grinning rows. Inscribed on the ivory slate was not a name and year. Instead, there was the first line, and the last line. This was not a graveyard for people. It was a graveyard for stories. 

Hamish Eshad had come to look for his.

His luxurious wool long coat flapped in the icy breeze as he walked slowly, holding up a storm lantern to each inscription. Though the hill was not large, and no stories repeated, Hamish searched for hours. Many of the stories began in almost identical ways, some even exactly so: someone is born, someone is lost, someone leaves home for the first time, a boy meets a girl. The endings, however, were always unique. 

Just before dawn, he found his. He had been concerned, as the night began to fall away, because he was not supposed to be here. When he found it, he almost wept with relief. 

This headstone had only the first line: "All endings are foretold by their beginnings; when Hamish Eshad met Killoran Rivers chose to meet once more, as if for the very first time, this was an act of defiance."

He sank to his knees and began to dig with his hands. The earth moved away easily, invitingly, and soon there was a hollow large enough to hold him. He sank down into the warmth and began to scoop the dirt over himself like a child at the beach. Hamish took one last breath, and with a final armful he was completely interred. After a few minutes, everything stopped, and the  graveyard was still. 

Then came the sharp staccato sound of chipping slate, and the headstone had its final line. The bitter wind blew the dust from the final inscription, and all was still once again. The last line now read: "Their last promise to each other was that whatever else happened, they would write their ending together."

 

THE END

But it was not the end. 

Hamish erupted from the ground with shower of dirt and a great rattling gasp. He coughed violently as the icy air entered his lungs again, and spat out the bits of loam and silt that had filled his mouth. He scrabbled upwards, out of his ephemeral burrow, and threw himself against the headstone to read the new inscription. He read them and laughed, a little hysterically, but mostly joyfully. 

By all accounts, this should not have worked.

Hamish didn't bother to brush himself off. He ran out of the graveyard, down the hill, and into the direction of the rising sun. He didn't want to keep Killoran waiting. He smiled as he ran. She had a bit of a temper, that one. 

THE END

Author's Note: I threw on Viking Wolf on Netflix because it's Norwegian and so I could have something on while I write, but because I don't speak Norwegian maybe it would work out better than that time I tried to watch Hellboy and write. I like listening to people talk, but if I understand the language it really interferes with my imner monologue. As I finished this story, the end credits came on and the song that plays over them is midnight love by girl in red and it almost broke me. It's a beautiful song and I was not expecting it. It's like these stories; so many of them have just gone wherever they want to go.

And I do kind of apologize for the false ending. 

But not really. I didn't know what was going to happen either and you know how hard it is to write a fake ending in writing when people can just skip further down the page? I don't know if it's ever been done unless you count "It was all a dream" but I would never do that to you, Dear Reader. Goodnight, thank you for being there for me (if you're not sure if I mean you, don't be silly, of course I mean you) and I love you all.