This was a story that ended where it began: with a death wishhh… listen, hear the ocean? A matrix of keys draped the space in between like a big fishing net someone checked periodically thinking she would capture life. When nothing was caught, she tried patching all the narrow passages through that story by retyping its last letter over and over again: y…y…y…y…y? She grasped at the snowflakes falling outside her bedroom window, one by one, for the answer. She grasped at the raindrops rolling across her windshield, one by one, for the answer. Still, nothing was caught so she baptized herself beneath a waterfall that froze on the way down and buried her in a mountain of memory. To escape, she had to pound out its last letter over and over and over again: Y……Y…..Y….Y…Y..Y..Y.Y.YYY?
The answer came in a handwritten letter from a school of fish. It said:
P.S. Our lives depend on the narrow passages. And so does yours.