The Last Five Years Book Novels & Stories

I had known this for a long time. My eyelids felt so heavy. I was ready to go. I was so tired. Selena was crying loudly, but I couldn't comfort her anymore. On April 20th, I closed my eyes for the last time and slipped away.

Zann was braiding my hair, holding a piece of candy, smiling warmly as he said, “Neve, when I grow up, I’ll build you a castle and make you the happiest princess.” Trembling, I mustered my last ounce of strength. With bloodstained fingers, I slid across the screen to send my last message. [Zann, I’m not waiting anymore. My life repays you and Wanda. Bury me with my parents.] Each word drained every ounce of energy from my body, as if pouring all the grievances, agony, and despair of the past year into that brief message. When the message was sent, every shred of burden was lifted. I closed my eyes, utterly drained.

I nearly died on the deserted island countless times during my five-year exile there, whether due to the extreme environment, the countless wild beasts, or Derrick's treachery. She would contact me every three months. And when I finally got a call from her, all I heard on her end of the line was just Derrick's heavy panting and breathing. "You're so soft and malleable, Chels…" The call would only last for a few minutes, and yet, she still made sure to disgust me every time. My eyes turned hot with tears as I looked straight into her eyes. "You said that you loved me, Chelsea? But you killed my parents, destroyed me, and destroyed everything else between us… What right do you even have to use

"Mr. Chapman! Mr. Chapman! The DNA test results are out!" With a tear-streaked face, Dad immediately looked up at his secretary. "This isn't my son, right? My son is still alive, right?" Mom stood to the side with a mocking expression as she said, "Lewis, I want you to remember forever that your favoritism killed our son!" Dad was still staring at his secretary. "Hurry up and speak!" His secretary looked troubled as he reported, "Mr. Chapman, the DNA test confirms these bones belong to Mr. Zack. He passed away five years ago."

He was off on a film set with Renee. She'd called him, desperate, telling him she felt awful. His response? The same as always. "Wait for me. I'll be back soon." He didn't come back until the fever had already broken. It was always like that. Broken promises, over and over, until all the letdowns blurred together. After one brutal fight, he swore he'd change. Promised he wouldn't leave her for Renee again. She'd given him five chances. This was the fifth.

The arrangement was the fifth book. He opened his journal. He wrote: Don said: we are the fifth book. The unwritten thing the written argument was approaching. The convergence cannot be written — it is the inside account at its most inside. The four books approached it. The convergence is what we are. The fifth book is the living. We are the fifth book.

Joana found a large blue book one day titled ‘the council of five.’ She didn’t know if it was the right one, but she hoped it would be as she felt her eyes were going to fall out any moment over the countless number of texts she had to read for the past few months before she was able to find this one.

The ordinariness of it was its own kind of profound. Elara stood at the east wall on the last night of the fifth year and took the annual stock. The accounting was longer now than it had been at the end of the first year, the second, the third, the fourth. More built, more in motion, more people whose work was intertwined with the work that had started with two people in a strategy room and a law that needed writing. She thought: five years. She thought: the path that was made in the walking is visible now. Five years of it, laid behind us, the direction clear.

Five years too late. And Alina had nothing left to give.

“The last book came out almost fifteen years ago. Shouldn’t you have found something else to read by now?” She shrugged nonchalantly. “Art like that just doesn’t age.”