After The End



In the background The Centre burned; in the background brick crumbled; in the background evil died.

“It’s over,” Jarod said. He always wanted to say those words. He had always imagined this feeling. Late at night when he played a game of cat and mouse with his dreams he had decided it be like skydiving: that weak feeling you get when you hit the ground, the sheer adrenaline of life coursing through your veins. He had told Ethan once and Ethan replied he had always imagined it would be like when you took that first taste of ice cream.

Jarod had to agree.

So ... like the feeling you get when you touch ground after a freefall mixed and mingled with the feeling of the first taste of ice cream.

“Yes,” Miss Parker replied. She had probably never dreamed of this moment; never dared. She had also never skydived and had always known the taste of ice cream so there was no way for Jarod to explain it to her.

Jarod wanted to hug her, to grasp her by her waist and swing her around, he wanted to kiss her so maybe she could feel this feeling of … freedom? with him.

He didn’t, instead watched as she upholstered her gun. “I don’t know what to do with this,” she admitted, fingering the weapon.

“Throw it away,” Jarod suggested.

She shook her head, “its been a part of me too long.”

“You can still get rid of it,” Jarod protested.

She shook her head.

“Everyone can change.” Parker sat on the wet grass.

“Something’s can’t.”

He sat beside her, the feeling of elation had left him, replaced with … something he didn’t understand.

The waves crashed before them, endlessly rolling in and out. “You’re not leaving are you?” he said, giving voice to a sudden thought.

Miss Parker shook her head, “no.”

“Why?”

She sighed and Jarod once again wanted to swing her around, kiss her and share the feeling he had just a little while ago. Then she would understand and see all the things they could have. They didn’t have to play ‘you run I chase’ anymore. She didn’t have to be Miss Parker with only a last name and he didn’t have to be Jarod without one.

“What’s my name Jarod?” she asked, fingering the gun she couldn’t leave.

“Miss Parker.”

“My first name.”

Jarod paused, “Morgan.”

Miss Parker smiled. “No, it's not. I lied.”

“But,” Jarod was stumped, “then … I … what is it?”

The gun twirled around her finger. “I don’t have one.”

“What?”

“Mama called me Morgan when I was young but it isn’t my name, a name is something that makes you who you are, it's something you respond to when called. It's something that means something, not a secret protected so long it's worth nothing now. Now even Parker doesn’t belong to me.”

“And yet you stay,” he pointed out.

“Yes. I stay.”

“I’ll come back and visit you,” Jarod said desperately.

“No you won’t.”

Parker ejected the cartridge and dropped the gun to the grass. She seemed smaller without it; different. He didn’t know if he liked it or not.

He sighed; there really was no changing her mind. Behind them flames crackled and popped, casting strange shadows on the ground. The waves in front of them crashed and sprayed up silt. Above angry clouds threatened with rain.

He rose.

“Goodbye, Morgan.”

“Goodbye, Jarod.”

He wanted to kiss her goodbye but she was right, he wouldn’t be coming back and that wouldn’t be fair to either of them. So he left her with her gun, sitting on the beach. The fire casting shadows on her back.