The End

Wind blew the back door open, and The End came drifting in.

She looked him up and down.

“So. Did you do everything you could have? Reach all your goals, use all your skills? Say all you could think of, been the best friend you could have?”

She studied him more carefully, with barely opened eyes. “And those natural- born talents… the ones nobody has but you. Did you use them to the best of your ability?”

He shook his head. “I was a coward—I didn’t want to arm-twist them to happen—I thought I’d have forever to try.”

“Humph.” The End lit blew a heavy cloud of smoke from its mouth. “And now? Do you have the time now?”

“It’s just — I’ve been lazy. I wanted things to happen for me, I think — give me another fifteen years—I’ll do each thing, everything I’m supposed to—I’ll get the entirety done. The whole lot. Every little thing I'm supposed to.”

The End growled. “Fifteen years?” She blew a cloud of smoke in his face. “No. I’ll give you six months.”

“Six months? What can I accomplish in half a year?”

The End ignored. “You better make it count. Rarely do I give extra time.”