There is always an “endgame” to a story. Something to close everything out in dramatic fashion or sometimes in an “anti-climax” way. You could look as a finally explanation to all you read, making sense of seem to be “holes” in the plot. The endgame may not always be the last page of a story; or pages. It could just the setup to what the writer wants you to see; or not to see. An important theme to sit in your mind for a long time; or just for the moment when you go through a small part of your day. Could it be filled with elegant words? I prefer simple terminology (or unembellished ones). Nevertheless the story is coming to an end, the endgame, the finial push to connect once more to the reader.
In all time to the wanting eh?
Just more than just a second of a newsflash from cable news..
Enjoy and thanks for listen :o)**********************************
Defeated and broken, BloodOath glared out the window at the burning factory—at Gangland’s Den. The battle was a strong one, more than three-fourths of Gangland’s men were killed—in all, they suffered a vast defeat. The fervent fire was enormous, greater than a Hawaiian island volcano erupting on a summer day. The smell of burnt steel and wood filled the air with a tinge of rotten trash. It was sickening—very sickening to him. Matrix looked at him and uttered nothing as his eyes focused on the streets ahead.
The van drove off as quickly as it came. Simms leaned back in the passenger seat, closing his eyes waiting for any sign that could lead him when his cell phone started ringing. He glanced at the screen—Mayor Brand, probably wanting an update on the battle, as sirens blared from behind. The streets were almost empty with scattered, leafy trees reflecting the summer season. Nothing changed, not even the old trash trucks that were beginning to fill the streets, and not even the normal five and six am rush hour commuters traveling to their normal jobs.
They all had normal families—something he wished he had—something that left him before he was born, but almost came to him in later years. Now reminiscing back to his start with the squad, not a normal time, but at least it had strong cares of life. It was all a lie, just a fucking lie—like him. He drifted back to his surroundings as he again heard the ringing of his cell phone.
Ignoring his master’s call, he told Matrix to drive at a normal speed to avoid being
pulled over, and having to explain to fellow officers why he was in the vicinity of the crime scene accompanied by a rather ‘rough’ looking bunch, during the wee hours of the morning. Matrix nodded in silence as the sirens now converged on the destroyed factory. He glanced to his right as he viewed a Channel 10 van racing past them. They were in need of a story and they, this night, would certainly find one. Simms closed his eyes again, they remained shut as a vision danced through his mind—his childhood came to question as a great sadness consumed him. . .
Almost like the day of all days. . .His breathing became heavier, he sighed in pure disbelief, the same way he felt when they left New Sweden so long ago. An art of knavery was amidst within him, he left himself for a bit as he thought one person—“Lynn,” he muttered quietly. Matrix glanced over at his superior half-asleep, as he turned down New North Broad-way for a longer, but safer drive to their headquarters. He didn’t want to disturb him, in truthfulness, he really didn’t know what to say as he heard the mumblings of a depressed man—“Lynn.”
Simms, now in tears, didn’t even try to hide it as his mind raced to a time before—a place he felt at ease with, even if just for a spell. A place he wished he didn’t leave, as the smell of burnt steel was finally exiting the van. He loved the only person who made him show forethought, but such a weakness was just too hard to bear. Nevertheless, the tears came—slowly, mutely, but still, they came.