Finish What You Start Novels & Stories

Until you’re so full of your own slick and my voice that you forget where you end and I begin. Rest now. Catch your breath. But keep your legs open. I’m not done talking to you yet.

"Giovanna started it. We're somewhere in the middle of it. Someone after us will finish it, or find a new version of finishing it, or understand that it never fully finishes and that's not a failure — that's simply what living institutions are." I thought about that. About the particular quality of work that outlasted the people who began it. About Giovanna wrapping a ring in paper and tucking a letter into a founding document she would never see used properly, in the faith that someone would eventually come and find it and know what to do. "Are you at peace with that?" I asked. "With building something you won't see completed?" He considered it honestly.

Almost. Because that’s exactly what I was waiting for. I locked my phone and slipped it back into my pocket. Then I looked out at the city again. Everything moving. Everything unaware. But not for long. Because if someone thinks they can play me— They better be ready to finish it. Because I don’t start something I can’t end. And I don’t stop— Until I win.

Time to end this one way or another. ***

“Then let’s make sure we bring him the best ones.” As we finish up, something settles inside me. I don’t know if I can fix everything overnight, but this? Being here? It’s a fucking start.

He won't refuse. [After all, in his eyes, Marjorie is the only one who matters.] After sending the message, she set her phone down and calmly went to wash up. As she brushed her teeth, she realized something: She didn't feel sad anymore. She could say it so calmly now—that Marjorie was the most important person to him. Just as she had decided when she left, she was done with the past. It was time to start a new life. Margaret had opened a Maravian restaurant in Endrophia.

The feeling of something being worked toward rather than something arrived at. He stood in front of it for a long time. “It doesn’t look finished,” he said. “It’s not,” Maya said from the floor. “It’s never finished and that's the point.” He looked at her. “The foundation is always working toward something,” she said. “The identity should look like working toward. Not like it arrived.” She uncrossed her legs. “A finished logo says we know what we are. This says we know what we’re asking.” He looked back at the whiteboard.

Don could stop. "The tenth year is teaching me something about finishing," Ernest said. "What." "That finish is also a threshold," Ernest said. "Finished is not the end of the thing. It is the point at which the thing becomes visible as itself rather than as what it is becoming." Don put down his pen. "Yes," he said. "The finished thing is not a dead thing. It is a living thing that has arrived at the form it will have for the rest of its life. The piece will be finished when I send it. It will continue to exist in that form. It will be read and interpreted and discussed. But it is complete. It has become what it was going to become."

This time, I would be happier. A week later, I walked into the event hall with Anthony. The moment I stepped inside, however, I saw Cyrus. My feet were instantly frozen to the ground, unable to move. Anthony held my arm and pulled me forward, whispering into my ear, “If you don’t cast away the shadows of your past completely, they’ll just come back to haunt you later.” I turned and met his gaze. His eyes were firm and warm, giving me strength. I took a deep breath and squeezed his arm with a smile. “Do I look good like this? Can you tell I’ve started over with a fresh slate?”

I kept thinking but I wouldn’t get anything straight Whatever that happens I will make sure I get to the bottom of it. I started it and I am meant to finish it up no matter what.