Where The Sidewalk Ends Poems By Shel Silverstein Novels & Stories

And the silence hurts worse than anything. End of story 3

She strolled away from the water's edge, past sandcastles and shell seekers. A sharp pain shot through her foot as it came down on something unyielding. She stooped to find a milky white stone, its surface catching the light in a shimmering dance. It was unexpectedly captivating, making her annoyance dissolve into fascination. Then, without warning, darkness swallowed the beach. Yaslyn suddenly loosened her grip, and the stone clattered to the ground. A melody wove through the night, soon joined by a voice over the loudspeaker, "Welcome to tonight's fireworks feast. Let's make it a night to remember!"

[Slone] He is calling me. *thump* I just need to walk to the edge of the road, to the start of the forest beyond. Just a step, and a turn. *thump thump* The stones are crunching underneath my bare feet. I am not wearing shoes. Why am I not wearing shoes? My feet and ankles are wet with dew as I walk across Evander’s garden. The flowers are so beautiful. The glow in the moonlight.

That love wins. But another part of me knows better. Because calm like this doesn’t last. It cracks. And something always breaks. --- Later That Night We walk. Just the two of us. The streetlights hum above us, casting golden halos on the pavement. It’s late, but neither of us wants to be inside that house right now. Too many ghosts walking the halls. Oliver squeezes my hand. “Remember when we used to sneak out after rehearsals and come to this street just to talk?”

My mother sat on the step and cried without fuss, wiping cheeks with the heel of her hand and mumbling at herself that there was no need. Twilight thinned and the first stars put their points in the page. The pines whispered with the gossip of owls. Somewhere, very far, an engine coughed and then failed and then decided to live after all: human sound slipping where it doesn’t belong and where we have learned to live with it. I stepped away from the beam and the hammering and went to the fence line where the trees keep their own counsel. The ridge was a dark brushstroke. The clearing where the Court had sat was invisible now, every law we made gone to ground like a rabbit, trusting the earth

Then they paid in cash and left like they were late to somewhere the sun didn’t reach. I bussed a table and ran the rag in slow circles, listening to the floors speak through my shoes. After my shift I took the long way home. I cut behind the bowling alley and the self-storage, down where the chain-link fence gives up the ghost and the river collects the wrong things. There were prints in the mud. Big. Too big. Not cat. Not dog. Not right.

His suit is slightly too big, his shoes already filled with sand, and yet… I’ve never seen anything more perfect. “You ready, Mommy?” he whispers, his voice soft but certain. I nod. No words. Just the ache. The good kind. The kind that reminds you you’re alive. We start walking. The sand shifts beneath my heels, warm and sun-kissed. Seagulls cry overhead, their voices distant like a memory I almost catch. The waves roll in soft and steady, and the world smells like salt, breeze, and something bright. The sky is dipped in shades of gold and blush, the horizon softened by the nearing dusk.

Pedro smiled, sad, but with a spark of hope. “You’re my favorite author.” She got into the car. Pedro stayed on the sidewalk, arms crossed, his eyes fixed on the taxi window until it disappeared around the corner. And with it, the final page. Or perhaps… just a comma. The End.

The blank strip sits there like always—wrongness stitched from horizon to horizion—but beyond it. Foot prints. Not wolf. Not creature. Bare feet. They start where the world begins again. They walk along the line, pause, and turn inward. Stopping at the invisible edge. Like someone walked up to the mouth of nothing and looked in. The earth holds every ounce of their patience. Snow melted in a perfect pair of ovals, as if whoever stood there was warm. Jana arrives behind us, breath hitching. “Who—?” Kaia crouches, not touching the ground.

far sidewalk. I froze, leaned into the glass like that would help, my breath fogging the pane. heart in my throat. then a truck lumbered by and blocked my view. when it passed—gone. how. how does he do that. I stayed there longer than I should’ve, eyes darting like maybe I’d catch him reappearing, but no. just empty sidewalk.