One Last Stop Novels & Stories

The headline read **The Last Contract** Below were lines for names, vows, and signatures. She raised her gaze to Vincent, who reached out his hand toward her. "Say your name," he whispered. She took a deep breath and stared at the vacant chairs. Then— Someone outside the hallway tapped the glass behind the mirror. Nine taps. Soft. Slow. A strange silence spreads through the hall. Vincent and Camela both turned. The mirrors behind her shattered simultaneously. Glass splintered on the floor. The lighting in the room changed. The walls melted, revealing a hidden room. In that room, there was a podium with a coffin on it.

It made our relationship a little bit toxic. "Sure." I replied. "We can stay for the night tomorrow and see one movie, then we know what exactly is special about drive-ins." Christian nodded his head. "Okay. Then our trip back to Arizona is postponed." "I hope that is okay. You are quite the busy person." I asked him. He waved me off with his hands. 'It's completely fine." We stared at the place together for a little more time before he turned to me. "We should go now, our business here is done. We'll be back in the evening."

Neil stepped back, but then he saw something written on the floor—the same line he had seen in the register earlier: ‘When the last story is told, the session will be complete.’ He asked, “Sir, if I finish the story, will everyone return?” Raghavan smiled. “Every voice returns, Neil… but the speaker never does.” Neil opened the register and began writing the final line with his pen: ‘The last lecture of the night has ended.’ The moment he finished writing, the entire building trembled. The doors shut on their own. Glass cracked. A whisper echoed through the air:

They hoped anyway, grasping onto my words until everything was gone. One night only, Grasping sheets, A crinkled quilt, The rising sun, One last good-bye, baby, I sing. The beat picks up, and . . . The butterflies, they’re nothin’, The heart pounds, mean nothin’. One night, that’s all you get, It’s all we got, take it now, One last good-bye, I’ll give to you, One last good-bye, baby. I strummed the last chords of the song, the final words crushing everything the song built it up to be. But—hey, if they were gonna make me sing a fuckin’ song, don’t expect it to be a love ballad. It’ll be the damn truth.

But no one comes for me. Eventually, I understand. I keep trying to run from it, but what is the use? I wipe my face with shaking hands and force myself to stand. My legs wobble, but I stay upright. I swallow hard and stare at the space where my father had been. “This is the last time,” I whisper, my voice hoarse. “The last time you will ever see me cry.” This time, I know it’s true. ~~~ The car slows as another song by Lana del Rey comes to an end.

Everyone said my wife, Zoey Harper, was an amazing wife and mom who'd do anything for me and our son, Leo. Leo's doctor warned us three times that he might not make it. Then he died. Zoey claimed she was overseas for work. She wasn't. She'd invited Peter Cole—the first love she'd never gotten over—and his family to our apartment for dinner. I came home carrying Leo's urn, ready to confront her. Instead, she tossed my luggage into the hall. "We have guests, and we're out of rooms. Go stay somewhere else for a few days."

I know that there is already one that is singing with me outside. "Don't even try me baby cause you'll regret it, you've been so pushy lately, no I don't like it. I don't need not problem now, there's nothing to talk about cause what you said when you fool around? No I don't want you around. Baby don't try to even message or call me up, I'm not falling for your fake love!" The last note was kinda loud and I hear some hands clapping so I opened the zipper of my tent. "OMG!" I said when they formed a circle in front of my tent, a jamming night.

Do you think I’m an idiot? She looked at me, her face full of impatience. "I already said it! I just didn’t want to leave regrets in my life. Can you stop harping on this?" I let out a tired sigh. "You know better than I do whether that’s really the reason. "There are things I don’t want to dig into. I just hope you know when to stop, before this turns into something none of us can walk away from cleanly." "You’re so backward." With that single sentence, I had no rebuttal. In her eyes, going to a hotel with another man the day before her wedding was nothing. My humiliation and pain counted for even less.

“Princess, I cannot just leave like that. I want you to know that I love you and it will be the last thing I will ever do.” With a waterfall that is bursting its banks and erupting down my cheeks, I pull her closer to the warmth of my body. If this is going to be the last time then we better make it count. So as I push her into that door that I have done so many times before, I hear her softly whisper my name, "Colton." "Ssshh princess. Just a minute." She closes her eyes and she leans her head back against the door and lets me roam her neck. I cannot keep it in anymore. I crave her, just that one last touch. Just the one last time to please her to take her body to a height of pleasure

The unsigned country that used to belong to the network’s habits is being rewritten in real time by people who have decided the habits end here. A final group tries to break back toward the transit cut. They are the cleanest of what remains—experienced enough to know the engagement is lost and still trying to salvage a retreat. We do not give them the retreat clean. The eastern sight lines and the northern center close the last exit. The fighting shortens into individual endings. Then it stops. Silence returns in pieces. The wounded are counted. The living prisoners are secured. The ground that was supposed to remain unmapped and useful is now marked, held, and finished as a route.