The Ending Up of Things by Soren James

February 10, 2014 Comments Off on The Ending Up of Things by Soren James

A piece of writing was begun which, as it turned out, was more difficult to finish than anyone could ever have predicted.  Not long after the piece commenced, its initiating author was called away to perform an emergency psychoanalytical procedure.  So a new author was called upon, but he seemed to fade from existence only a few words in.  An additional author was brought in to continue the script, but she too was called away on urgent business — something to do with a bag of copper bananas.  Author number four in the line up simply scanned the piece and immediately wrote it off as utter trash.  The next author corrected some spelling mistakes, added a small reference to himself, and declared the piece finished.

The editor disregarded this attempt at an ending as not conclusive enough.  So they brought in writer number six — who also failed.

Things were going from bad to worse — to the extent that an alternate writer was obtained merely to finish this sentence.  The writing was getting absurdly polluted in self-referential waste.  The editor was confounded as to how to continue, and then.  Only two counterfeit sentences later.  The piece of writing became incongruous.

The editorial room was now at a loss.  Something would have to be done to resolve this piece.  Yet no one had self-assurance enough to deal with this incongruity, and so it was ignored — the hope being that no one would notice.  But everybody noticed.  Even the cat who occasionally sauntered through the office in lunch hours sensed there was something wrong.

So it was that author upon author had failed to finish this text.  Each falling by the wayside in their own distinctive way.  Apart from me, who is writing this now.  I maintained composure, finished the piece, and was paid handsomely.  On completion, I went home to my bomb-shelter, my wife, and my two fast disappearing children only to find . . .

© 2013 Soren James

Soren James is a writer and visual artist who largely exists in London. He re-creates himself (with amendments) on a daily basis, because he doesn’t know who else to create.

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