I JUST WROTE THIS SO I DON'T EVEN KNOW IF IT MAKES ANY SENSE WHATSOEVER. HERE IS AN ENDING TO A STORY STARRING LADY MEGAN AND MR. MONTY.
______________________________________
Her knees were bruised, her lips were bloody and the skin at her shoulders was shredded, but she smiled on. Her cheeks, made brittle by the desert sand and the city smog, threatened to crack as though made of china. Still, she smiled, contentedly staring at the thin boundary dividing the sea and sky.
The ocean breeze blew across the cliff face to tousle her hair, a salty spray falling upon her face. Though her legs shook, she didn’t want to move from that spot. Serenity had befallen her, such an alien sensation, and she imagined she’d rather relinquish her life rather than even dare to shift her weight from foot to foot.
From a few paces behind her, someone approached.
“Megan.” The voice was kind but stern. “You’re hurt.”
“The first time you see me in months,” she said, standing still, “and that’s how you greet me. I suppose I shouldn’t expect anything less, Monty.”
A warm hand took hers, enveloping the numb appendages. “You didn’t say you were leaving. I was worried.”
“I had no choice,” she said, wrenching her hand from his hold. “I had to do what was right.”
“You’re a lady, Megan,” Monty argued, his black eyes shimmering. “You shouldn’t concern yourself.”
“I may be a lady,” she said, “but I’m no fragile doll. I had a duty. I had to act. Surely you understand.”
He sighed. “I only wish you would have trusted me enough to confide in me. I’m certain it would have saved you time.”
Megan was then upon him, one hand pressing a previously-concealed blade to his throat, the other forcing his chin heavenward. “You’re arrogant enough to believe you have enough influence over me to change my fate?”
A delirious bout of laughter spurred from the bowels of Monty’s throat. “My dear Megan,” he said, his head lolling to one side to peer up at her, “if it weren’t for me, you’d be dead.”
“Is that so?” she asked, twisting the knife so the blade nicked Monty’s neck. “Well, then, I suppose I owe you my gratitude. Monty,” she said, lining her lips up with his, “thank you for dinner.”
Only apathy showed in her eyes. Monty’s showed only surprise.
His mouth was stained red, and the color steadily blossomed along his shirt collar, as well. When Megan rose, Monty slumped forward, and the earth before him glowed with the color of roses in summer.
Megan turned once more to the sea. She would miss it. She longed to feel the sand between her toes, the waves crashing on her heels. But she knew she would never have the chance again.
She reeled her arm back.
The knife fell into an arch that cascaded into the tumultuous sea.
After closing her eyes for a brief moment, Megan had gathered her thoughts and returned to the asphalt parking lot nearby. The keys remained in the ignition of Monty’s truck.
Though bloodstained, starved, and desperate, Megan had finally regained her hope and her strength. The journey was worth it after all.
Her fingers found the pendant, once covered in grime and ancient sediment, hanging just above her collarbone. “Thank you,” she whispered to no one in particular. “For allowing me to save myself.”
She turned the key.
______
THE END WOO
