At The End

At the end of all things sits a bar. It’s warm and inviting with a raging hearth and the perfect song floating above the conversation at the perfect volume. It exists in the space between everything and nothing. A space where Time is respected and not feared. Where Time can create instead of destroy. Because Time is what gives stories their power, and at this bar stories are the spirit of choice. 

A story is required to enter and a story is required to stay. No one is there to serve drinks as there are no drinks to be had. Time etches the stories they’re told into the bricks of the bar and the foundations grow stronger. They look like a friend, a father, a mother, a child. They look like the soul you trusted most in the world. They laugh at your jokes, they cry with your pain, they smile at your joy, and they always just listen. There is no judgment in this place that is so far removed from morals or ideals. This is a place for stories, even unhappy ones because all of them are meant to be heard.

The door of the bar swings open and a man steps in. He’s slender and unassuming. His friendly face and shy demeanor give the impression of a man who has lived a quiet life. He sits at the bar and Time glides over in the guise of his mother. The other patrons continue their conversations but they all keep an ear to the air. No story goes unheard in the bar at the end of all things. Time smiles at the man and asks her son to tell his story. The man smiles wide and begins his tale. 

He talks about his youth and his love for his mother. He talks about how sad he was when she died and how his innocence was stolen from him because she decided to leave. Time holds the man’s hand and tells him how sad she was. She tells him how life had become too much to bear and she never wanted to leave him. The man nods in understanding but his face darkens. He tells her how he tried to replace her. How he searched his whole life for a woman like her and how angry it made him when they never lived up to his expectations. He smiles with joy as he describes sending them to heaven to see her so that they could learn what a perfect woman was like. Time simply nods and thanks him for his story. Death opens the exit and the man walks out into nothing. The patrons all shudder and wonder how something so terrible could be allowed in this place.

Their discussions are broken by the swinging of the entry door once again. A woman in a simple dress and shawl steps through bringing ice and snow with her. She stomps her shoes to remove the snow and sits in the largest chair by the hearth. The fire roars even stronger than before and Time sits across from her in the guise of a young girl. The woman gives the girl a strong hug and gathers the children of the bar to sit around her. They laugh and tug at her dress, begging for her to tell them a story. She smiles warmly and begins her tale.

She tells the children about a little girl who had grown up in a house where ladies were not allowed to learn about the world. The little girl was taught how to cook and clean and do all the things that would make her desirable to a man. But the little girl did not want to do these things. So she spent her cooking lessons hiding in the pantry, learning from books she had stolen from her father’s library while the maids kept watch outside. One summer her father came to her and told her that he had found her a husband. The man was old and cranky and turned his nose up at books. He only saw the girl as a prize to be kept.

The woman looks away from the children and gets lost in the fire. They all lean in closer and ask her to finish the story. She blinks back tears and smiles sadly. Time crawls into her lap and hugs the woman tightly. She pats Time on the head and takes a deep breath. 

Her story continues several years later and the girl is now a grown woman. The old man has died and left her all of his money. She takes what he gave her and starts a school. But it is not just any school. Her school is for girls who were given no chance to learn. She travels from town to town and teaches in secret. Her lessons inspire a generation and the school finds a permanent home. The girls she once taught grow up to be teachers as well and the school continues on long after she’s gone. Her legacy is one of learning and love.

She finishes with pride and the children all cheer. The rest of the bar applauds and nods in approval. They all gather around the woman and ask her to stay. She shakes her head and says that she has no more stories to tell. Her life had one purpose and she accomplished that. Time takes her by the hand and leads her to Death. Death silently opens the exit and she walks into nothing. Time plucks the woman’s story from the air and places the brick into the wall next to the previous man’s. The crowd at the bar grumbles in disagreement and returns to their own stories.

Not a single patron notices when the door opens again. An old man in a gray suit walks casually to the bar and grabs a seat. He is neither menacing nor welcoming. His presence does not draw any attention, except for Time, who stands across from him as an old woman. The man smiles at her and asks how the garden is. She says that the roses are looking a little small but the weather hasn’t been right for them. He nods and picks up a paper. She sits next to him and turns on the TV. They both sit in silence. He gets up after a while and makes two teas. She sighs when he returns and says that he didn’t need to do that. He simply sets the cups down and nods in agreement. She tells him how the children are doing and he comments about the news. Eventually, he stands up from his chair and squeezes her hand. He tells her how much he appreciates her and how happy she made him. Time leads him to the exit and Death opens the door. The old man shuffles off into nothing.

Time takes the brick and places it in the wall. The patrons do not protest or cheer. They continue telling their stories without even noticing that another brick has been added. And yet, despite their lack of care, the bar grows stronger. Because all stories are treasured by Time. And even though they don’t know it, all stories are strengthened by those that came before. So when the time comes, and it always will, know that your story will be heard. And no matter how large or how small it may be, it will find its home in the wall of the bar at the end of all things.