STORIES

The story always began the same, even as the world ended. It began with a handful of children scattered at Merlot’s feet as they looked up at him in wonder. All he was doing was twiddling the strings of a foreign instrument. Really, it was just a lute. And really, Merlot didn’t even know how to play it.

It just didn’t matter. The children were happy to listen to anything if it meant looking away from the sky falling down.

Well, once he bored of his chance to teach himself the lute, Merlot let the last few strings ring out, as he had the day before, and the day before that too. There wasn’t much time left to tell his tale.

“We begin, little ones—” the blond teenager didn’t look much older himself but he certainly enjoyed the authority, “—in a forest. In fact, not too far from the edge of this town. Now, in this forest was a rabbit and his name was…” Merlot’s silence was long. Uncomfortably so. “... Tolrem. Yes, that was it. Very fast, this bunny was. Strong and handsome too, obviously. Now, Tolrem was in quite the predicament. The poor thing was suffering from a case of unrequited love!”

Merlot waited for gasps. Of course, he didn’t get any: he had forgotten dictionaries hadn’t been invented in this backwater kingdom just yet. The storyteller had half a mind to explain the word to the children but a shard of the sky had broken free, streaking back down to the ground and leaving a black void in the world above. No, Merlot didn’t have much time left at all. The children would have to work it out from context.

“You see, Tolre’s fancy was always with him, behind or in front, depending on the time of day. It liked all the things Tolre liked: running, hopping, playing in the sun. It never answered when Tolre asked but the rabbit was happy. So long as his shadow stuck, he’d never be alone. But, when the sun reddened, why was his friend growing longer, fainter?”

A second meteor fought against the atmosphere, leaving a longer trail than the one before. Forgotten Gods, this really was the end. But all Merlot had to do was finish his story.

On time, a child asked him, “How does it end?”

The storyteller hesitated. It wasn’t that the words were caught in the boy’s throat. They couldn’t be, Merlot couldn’t find them to begin with. The rabbit and the shadow. It was a basic tale—he had made it up himself years ago. Why couldn’t he remember it now? Now, whilst the stars fell and the earth trembled.

How does it end?

Merlot turned from his audience, who were disappointed no doubt, but that… that wouldn’t last long. The boy tied the lute to his back and began to walk. There was no outrunning the collapse of the universe, but he could at least stay a few steps ahead. “How does it end?” Merlot whispered again. He wasn’t even sure the children could hear him. “The sun set, ignorant of what it meant to the rabbit and his shadow. Because now? Tolr was alone. For good, forever. Tolr gave up.”

And another world gave into ruin.

But the story always began the same. This time he was in a proper town, more modern than the one before but that was hard to tell when every grey stone building had at least one gaping hole through its roof and the streets were coated in dust. Apparently, he had wandered into a town rife with musicians. Or at least, the onlookers weren’t too chuffed with how Merlot held the lute, let alone played it.

So if the hungry fissures in the sky weren’t motivation enough, the crowds ready to snatch his ‘mistreated’ lute sure were. So he quickly put his toy away and told the story of the golden fish, called Tol, in the river. His home sent him on a quest downstream but no matter what, the river wouldn’t let Tol pause or swim back. Tol was stuck, in worlds he could only observe, for the water stole him before he could ever stay.

And Merlot couldn’t remember how it ended.

What did you expect?

He didn’t know where he was now. He simply saw a path out of that evaporating future and took it. Trees with scorched branches surrounded him now and his breath was heavy as he climbed uphill. Tomorrow he’d find himself in another village and the story would begin again. Merlot would herald another end.

It wasn’t meant to be like this.

The Sage—as if he could remember her name too—told him. She promised him that all he had to do was remember. That there was something he needed to know and that it was hidden within his stories’ ends. He just had to remember…

Merlot walked a bit longer with silent thoughts. The line of burnt trees around him finally broke and the boy found himself on a cliffside. It was still a ways off from morning so, with nothing better to do, he sat on the edge, letting the wind blow curls of hair over his eyes.

Below him, as expected, was a collection of small houses, falling apart even without the sky crashing down. So that was where the Sage was leading him to next. Merlot watched as the night grew deeper and colder, the sleepy lights of the village slowly blowing out. In more ways than one.

The end of the world was harder to make out in the dark, when the rifts above blended in with the sky around. But Merlot had seen enough of them to be able to tell what was still real. So he looked towards the stars, the torn constellations completely unfamiliar to him.

Long ago, his path had taken him to worlds that were days, or even weeks, before the end. He didn’t remember much but he could still picture the warriors trying to swing their blades at their falling moons, the scholars hunched over books, thinking texts, religious or not, could save them. But his time there had taught him enough. He knew that each of these weak, sparkling dots—insignificant to any other one—held a world just waiting to die. How many were left?

Ah, he felt her appear on the edge beside him without needing to check. He didn’t want to look anyway. Nowadays, the Sage could only reveal herself once total destruction was soon. And assured.

Forces beyond their control were at play, and this world was too fragile to understand the game. Merlot caught himself watching another splinter of the sky burn up. Or maybe it really was a wishing star. He, silently, at least, treated it as one. And he wished, just once, that time could freeze, that this cycle could end.

But the current pushed him forward. Always forward.

So the story always began the same. Tired from the night before, Merlot’s fingers were slower on the lute as he walked into the fateful village. This attempted improvisation took fewer risks than all the tries before; he merely repeated the same pattern of four notes tumbling down.

Forgotten Gods, did Merlot know that.

He stopped playing once he amassed a respectable number of followers. Not as many as he once would have gathered—maybe thirty people in all. But it would do. After all, so long as he remembered his story, it would all be all right.

“We begin, ladies and gentlemen,” he called as he led them on a procession through the dilapidated streets. Now he saw that for every traveller hoping to run from the inevitable, there were three faces poking out of a door or an open window. Merlot forced himself to look away. Roofs would do them no favours either. “Upon a cliff, not unlike the ones overlooking your town. And, atop this cliff, as one could imagine, was a stone. We’ll call him… ah, To.”

Considering it was meant to be morning, the sky only seemed to be getting darker and darker. Not that that mattered, of course, because Merlot would remember. “You see, there was always something To wanted to do. Every morning, it saw the birds catch the air as they sang away. During storms, it had seen the wind rip leaves from trees and send them to dance across the cliff’s edge. Yes, To wanted to fly. So the rock wished. And wished.

“But T… could not jump, it couldn’t manifest wings. It was too heavy to be a puppet of the wind. A rock, simply, could not fly.”

The audience behind the storyteller shuffled. The final chorus of blue rained down. They had five minutes, maybe. Probably less.

A quiet voice spoke from behind: an older woman. “How does it end?”

Exactly the question Merlot needed to answer. He was so close. He just had to remember. And wasn’t it a simple question too? How could a rock even hope to fly?

It. Simply. Couldn’t.

Perhaps that was the wrong answer, but Merlot found that he couldn’t care either. The ground quaked, as the abyss closed in and his audience scattered, seeking shelter from nowhere that was safe. The one who had posed the question was gone, too, when Merlot turned to answer. But he spoke it all the same. He needed to hear.

“The stone wasted there,” Merlot whispered and his eyes caught a glimpse of a far-off figure glowing a dull white. The Sage stared back. Despite the hopeless turmoil between them, Merlot knew she could hear. “It watched a world it could never join. After all, even if it could get itself over the ledge, it would plummet, not float. So the forgotten rock stayed there, letting the rain hit and time erode, until eventually, it crumbled into nothingness too.”

The Sage met Merlot’s eyes. Her face was plain. Hazy. The finer details she once bore, like her uneven fringe or the spot beside her lip, were gone. Simplified. Forgotten. With every second, her light dimmed. But she stayed where she was, waiting. What was she waiting for? For Merlot to change his mind?

Then it was a shame that the world finally gave way and the ground splintered first. Merlot had failed. It was clear to them both.

So the Sage nodded and a new path, large enough for a boy and a spectre, opened. Merlot never looked back. Even as his story crashed.

The story always began the same. The rabbit and the shadow. The story always began the same. The fish and the current. The story always began the same. The rock and the cliff.

Funny. They weren’t necessarily the same, were they?

Why did Merlot keep forgetting that?

The story always ended the same. With dreams crushed by the stars once wished on. With Merlot running, leaving a doomed people to their demise. With the Sage always watching.

“It’s odd,” she said, sitting next to the small boy. Her undetailed hair long and black, her translucent dress vaguely red. “After all this time, I thought we were doing the right thing. I thought we would find a way to save everyone.”

Merlot didn’t respond. He sat on foreign yellow sand, facing a tide that was stained black by the cursed sky above, and red by the blasted sun setting a final time. There was a coastal village behind him, contemplating the end of all ends. They were better off without a story the teller couldn’t even remember the ending of. And yet, the waves kept coming. In and out.

Why?

“It’s odd,” the Sage repeated, peering at Merlot. “I always feared it was time we were running out of. But I guess it never was.”

In and out. In and out.

The waves came close, meeting new and dry land. But they could only go so far. Did they forget to go further? Is that why the waves came back, over and over again? Were they trying to remember? Or were they trying to forget? Maybe they wanted to let go. Maybe some force beyond their control kept dragging them back too.

“We can try again,” the ghostly shadow tried, her voice was closer to monotone than desperation. “There is always another path. We’ll take it together. I’ll stay with you this time. For longer.”

But a shadow fades when its light dies.

Merlot shook his head. Actually, he was shaking everywhere. “I… can’t do this anymore, Sage.” Tears mixed into his words. “I want to stop just once. No, I want this to end.”

But a fish cannot deny the current.

The Sage didn’t reply at first. She simply stared out, watching worlds burn. “It’s odd,” she murmured at last. “When we sent you away, when we chose you to be the one to carry our stories, we didn’t expect you to last as long as you have. We thought you would forget.”

“But I have forgotten, Sage. I can’t remember how they end.”

The Sage just smiled. “Maybe that’s because those stories are yet to conclude, and telling the future is a very tough job.” Merlot frowned. “There is a tale I know,” she continued. “One which begins in a world we don’t know the name of. And in this world, there is a boy. What is this boy’s name?”

Tolrem. Tolre. Tolr. Tol. To. T…

“I don’t rem—”

But a rock cannot fly.

“His name is Merlot,” he whispered. “Me.”

The ghost nodded. “He once thought his stories all began the same and now is not so sure. But he knows one thing that is true. They always end the same.”

“The boy was alone,” Merlot followed, quickly and quietly. “The world was dark. His shadow was gone. And he couldn’t stop it. He couldn’t go back to where he was and what he had come to know, for time pushed him forwards. He was scared. Because, despite it all, he knew he could do only as he had done. He could only sit and watch the future perish.”

“Merlot,” her voice was so soft. Did she even speak? “How do we end?”

There were a thousand answers the boy could have given. Most of them were synonyms for ‘ruin’. And yet, for some reason, Merlot didn’t think they fit quite well. It wasn’t that he didn’t remember, it was that he didn’t… “I don’t know.”

“This world will not last forever and you’re right, it may end in cold oblivion. But that does not mean it is over yet. Without the comfort of his shadow, maybe the rabbit makes true companions. Maybe the fish discovers places more beautiful than the last. Maybe the rock realises it’s a bird’s egg, waiting to hatch. Waiting to soar. Maybe it’s nice to not know. That doesn’t mean you don’t remember.”

In and out. In and out. In and out. A boy in disrepair. A world in that way too. Over and over again. Another meteor tore through the sky, inviting blackness. The sun’s final rays were barely above the horizon. This story would end soon.

But if it was all going to end the same, then why not let it exist a little longer?

After all, it wasn’t time this world was running out of.

Merlot turned back, watching the little village as chaos crept closer. He was sure he could see the outlines of people. If their sun set, they’d all end the same.

The storyteller pushed himself to his feet, his breath ragged, his cheeks wet and stained. But he pulled the instrument off of his back and allowed himself to play something new, something that didn’t begin as it once had. With every bit of strength in him, he took a step towards the village. Then another.

And he left his ghost, a shadow, the Sage, behind. She flickered. But she smiled all the while.

No, he couldn’t remember how his tales ended. But he remembered that he didn’t need to. Because this story wasn’t over yet.

That’s why it would end with an ellipsis…