So how does it end?
“So how does it end? That’s an excellent question.” He leaned back in the chair, meeting the glances of all the others around him. They were huddled together in the corner of the bar, several tables pushed together to make room for all. Dim light shone from above, and half empty glasses stood a silent watch among the group. “That’s an easy way to ruin a story, have an ending that doesn’t satisfy, doesn’t really fit in with the tone of the story. Does your good guy win in the end, meet his goals, defeat his inner demons, vanquish the bad guy, solve the mystery, save the world, make the impossible happen? Does he go on to lead a normal life, or follow some fantastic destiny? Is he changed by the events that occur, or do they just affirm what he already believes in? Does he meet the girl of his dreams, his soul mate, the high school sweetheart, the mysterious exotic stranger, the girl next door, the hooker with a heart of gold, the fun loving one who reminds him of the simple joy of life, the tough chick with the sensitive side, the fragile girl that discovers her resilient interior?” He leaned forward, hands grasping a sweating pint glass. “Okay, we’ll call this an exercise in fiction, so we’ll say he gets the girl.”
A few shadows, thrown from passersby outside, slowly moved across the group. Everyone stayed as quiet as possible, waiting and watching. As soon as the dark forms moved down the street, all eyes came back to him. He leaned back in the chair again, draining his glass with one swallow and continuing his story.
“Or is it more satisfying to have a darker ending? Full of failure, loss, disappointment, and tragedy? No goals met, no demons overcome, the bad guy wins, the mystery unsolved, the world is doomed, the impossible remaining so. No normal life and no destiny, a chance at either crushed by circumstances beyond control? No real lessons learned? No girl? Never a girl. Does an aneurysm strike him down in the middle of a normal day? An act of negligence or mistake by some stranger set an accident in motion that takes the good guy out? Or does he simple fade away, dying alone, forgotten and unloved? Does he simply waste away, his mind fragmented by the ravages of time, mumbling Simpson’s quotes to some companion who may or may not even exist? Are these tragedies a reflection of what life is really like, not some fantasy people can lose themselves in to hide from the truth?”
His knuckles grew white as he gripped the empty pint harder, and anger thickened his voice. “Or how about the ambiguous ending? Does this compel the reader to think for themselves, to apply what they have learned from the story into their own lives, to come away from the reading changed, to learn and live and grow? Is it a tool to expand human consciousness?” His voice grew louder. “Or is it a cheap trick, employed by those not possessed of creativity or the cowards unwilling to make decisions and finish what they have started?”
He jumped to his feet, throwing the empty glass against the wall. “I’m damn sure it’s not gonna end one particular way!” He reached into his jacket and pulled out a .45, racking a round into the chamber and pointing the pistol towards the door. “I’m not gonna end up as zombie food!” Everyone in the bar cheered and gathered behind him, raising baseball bats and golf clubs. “Remember the plan everyone. Aim for their heads! Stick together and we’ll all get through this!” Someone revved up a chainsaw, and the group roared even louder in response. Shadows began to shuffle over to the windows of the bar, attracted by the noise. With his .45 in one hand, he reached behind his back with the other and unsheathed a samurai sword
“Let’s go.”