Thanks to everyone who played last week:
Week 3 Challenge answers:
http://itcouldbeourstory.wordpress.com/ wrote “No Strings Attached” http://itcouldbeourstory.wordpress.com/2013/07/20/snippet-no-strings-attached/
http://sophiebonaste.blogspot.com/ wrote “A Moment of Love” https://brynnstein2.wordpress.com/2013/07/19/week-3-challenge/#comments
http://jana-denardo.livejournal.com/114173.html wrote “Outsiders” http://jana-denardo.livejournal.com/114173.html?view=481021#t481021
Week 4 Challenge:
Endings! (End of a season, or event. End of a relationship. End of abuse. End of school or end of a job. Your choice.)
Stein's Station 
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… I had to. 😀
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The End
She’d put it off all day.
Not that she was procrastinating, exactly. The bathroom hadn’t been cleaned in — well, longer than she wanted to admit. Once that was finished, the dishes needed washing, and then she noticed it was a beautiful day and Toby really could use a long walk. On the way back, she saw how withered the flowers on the deck were looking, and fetched the hose to water them.
But always she was plagued by a sense of something undone, something unfinished. Thoughts jostled in her head, ideas shuffling past each other, vying for dominance. Not yet, she told them firmly. Just a bit longer. There are a few more things to do first, and then it’s your turn.
At last she could put it off no longer. She stepped into her home office and gazed for a while at the computer screen. Then she began to type … hesitantly at first, erasing and replacing words, sentences, and entire paragraphs.
It had to be just right.
And finally it was.
The End, she typed with careful deliberation, and then relaxed in her chair.
LOL. I love it! I think we’ve all been there a time or two. Darn, pesky housework demanding attention first.
Here is my effort for the challenge.
End Of The Line
Peter and Dale sat opposite each other both staring out of the window, neither looking at the darkness that was creeping in as the train made its way through the commuter towns, heading out of the city, taking people home, dropping them off and letting them go for the evening. Only four more stops and they’d both be released from the little version of hell they’d created for themselves.
What had once brought them together now eased them apart, tugging at them like a Band-Aid being eased from the skin, it hurt, but not too much and not for long. They had only dated a year but it had been a good one. Shoved together by their passion for their work. But it had ended up pushing them apart as Peter was being transferred to the other side of the country. Somewhere his skills were needed most, apparently. Not a feasible commute. Nor the type of life that was healthy for a long distance relationship.
Peter sipped on his take out coffee, it was bitterer than usual. Why couldn’t the train speed up? These journeys to and from work used to seem so short. Often they felt as if they barely had enough time for them to wake up properly. It used to be a wonderful way to spend the morning, easing into the day together. The pair of them nudged closer together by the throngs of commuters, each sipping on a coffee and munching on a bagel, not letting the taste of breakfast interrupt them lazily letting their eyes wander over each other in mutual appreciation. The journeys home in the evening were equally as joyous. They could sit on the train and plan their evening together. Whose apartment would they stay at? What would they have for dinner? Would they share some ice-cream on the couch while they watched the mindless shenanigans of reality television? This particular journey home would be the last. As the train pulled into a station Peter wondered why couldn’t it hurry up and be over. How many more stations? Only three more to go.
Dale kept staring out of the window as the train sped its way through another commuter town. Maybe now he’d consider moving closer to the city. He was about ready to give up his apartment anyway. He could never quite get rid of the smell of damp from it. He’d asked the supervisor to do something but he’d just shrugged and told him that old buildings always smell a bit. Maybe something new and shiny would help him to move on from stale and sour. Would Peter like that though? Would he visit? Peter didn’t like new buildings, he preferred the character and nuance you got with something older that had seen some life. Then again, would he and Peter even remain friends? His choice of new apartment had nothing to do with anyone but himself. That’s if he moved at all. He might stay where he was. Too many decisions to be made and he wasn’t in the frame of mind to make them right now. Were they nearly home yet? Two more to go.
Shuffling a little in his seat didn’t help settle Peter’s sense of unease. He hated being here, right at this point. What could he do though? You can’t run away on a hurtling train. He was stuck until the end of the line. Not that they were even talking at this point. They’d talked themselves out earlier. Hands had started in each others, fingers entwined as the words had breached each others emotional defences. Then as the conversation moved on to rational thoughts and they explored possibilities the hands had slowly retreated. At first to each others knees, then onto their own laps. Finally they were hidden away as they both crossed their arms in front of their chests in protective hugs as the words moved towards the final conclusion. There’d be no further words tonight. Nor would there be any of the tender kisses on the cheek or gentle sweeping strokes of palm down a spine to help ease the stresses of a day. There’d be no more of that ever. Maybe he could make a run for it. Just avoid any more time between them. How many more stops were there until they got to where they needed to be? The train pulled into a station. Two to go.
Pulling out of the station before they reached their own Dale was at first gripped by a panic. A feral need to escape. To flee. To run from what had happened and hope that maybe it was all wrong. When he returned to the same journey the next night all would be well again. The routine would be back to normal. That was quashed by a sense of inevitability that cooled him and focussed him. His other senses started to dim, the rattling noise of the train echoed off into the distance, the smell of coffee and food from wrappers strewn about him faded and the warmth emanating from the heater below his seat faded to a coolness that made him sit up straight as if he had suddenly developed a spine of steel. He looked out the window again. This time he focussed on the sights of his own town, the church spire looming in the distance, the shopping mall roof shining its glass beacon to welcome all comers and in the distance the peaks and troughs of the roofs of houses and apartments, the homes of so many people he knew from these very train journeys. The comforting sights of home eased him back into his seat. One more.
They were on the last leg. It’ll be over soon, really it would. Why had they both decided to get the same train? Couldn’t one of them have waited the half hour until the next one? Or were they really that stuck in their routine.
They both pondered what would happen when the train pulled into the station.
Should they say something? What could they say?
They both settled back for the last few minutes of the journey.
The guard’s announcement burst into their thoughts, with a voice that was clearly built for bar based karaoke. “Last stop, this is the end of the line. All change please, all change, this is the end of the line.”
Ah…that was sad. I loved it.
The End of Something Beautiful
Vincent stood in the graveyard, alone. The snow crunched underneath his boots, a light powder still falling to the ground in a steady rhythm. But the chill in the air was only skin-deep. Nothing like the cold in his heart.
Vincent and Miles had first met seven years ago. Vincent was working as a loan officer at the local bank when Miles had come in to try and secure a loan for his new small business. The two immediately hit it off and as soon as their professional relationship ended, they started dating.
It was one of those relationships that was perfect from the beginning. Every date brought them closer together, leaving them desperate for more. Even Miles telling Vincent that he had HIV was not enough to scare him off.
After only a month, Vincent and Miles started introducing each other to friends and family. Vincent’s family immediately loved Miles and took him in as their own. Miles’s family was slightly less enthusiastic, but was tolerant since anyone could see how happy Miles was. Everyone was just so happy to see two people who had found such joy in each other.
After only six months into their relationship, Miles moved into Vincent’s house. That had been a little rocky to start. Vincent was very neat and organized, while Miles was much messier. They had quite a few disagreements over how the house should look and who would do what chores in the first few weeks of their cohabitation.
But soon, the two had fallen into a rhythm. They had learned to compromise and soon were back on friendly terms. Although, Vincent had to admit that the make-up sex had been good while it lasted.
A few years went by and everything stayed happy. Vincent and Miles were as happy as they were in the beginning. Sure, they still had some disagreements, but what couple doesn’t? They quickly fell into a very domestic lifestyle. Both men had to admit that it was not something they thought would ever happen to them, but they both loved the life that they had built.
When gay marriage was legalized in their home state of New York, Miles had proposed to Vincent. It was beautiful. He had converted their entire backyard into a romantic paradise, with candles and flowers. The two had even celebrated their engagement with passionate love-making under a star-filled sky. They had gotten married a month later in the city of New York, making the two hour drive south with family and friends. The ceremony was special, but nothing would ever compare to their engagement, in Vincent’s mind. The wedding was more of a joint celebration, with friends and family there to cheer them on. But the engagement was theirs.
They had one happy year of marriage before everything fell apart. Miles’s HIV meds started to fail and he got sicker and sicker. Vincent stood by his husband’s side day after day, holding his hand through the pain, kissing away the tears on Miles’s face, talking with doctors, looking for new treatments. But, in the end, it was not enough.
Vincent looked down at the tombstone he had made for his husband.
Miles Stephan Walker
December 8, 1979-January 28, 2013
Beloved husband, son and friend
It was simple. Too simple to describe what he had lost on that day. Vincent’s heart lay in the ground under his feet. Miles had taken that with him.
Vincent would go on. He would go back to work, where he first met his beloved. He would live in the house that they bought together. But he would never live again. He would merely survive, his broken heart preventing him from loving life the way that he did when he had his Miles.
As Vincent read the inscription again, tears rushing down his face, he thought about all of the time he had lost. They could have had so many years together, if it had not been for the horrible disease that had ravaged his love’s body. But now that was all gone, a buried pile of broken dreams under the snow.
Unable to look anymore, Vincent placed a kiss on his gloved hand before reverently placing it on the tombstone in silent goodbye. Turning and walking back to his car, Vincent continued to cry over his beautiful husband. He would be back tomorrow to check on his love. This was his life now, spending everyday crying over the end of something beautiful.
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