Every story should end, but not like this. Not squatting in the outside toilet. Not choked by flaking limewash, or stung by hailstones beating through the doorless opening. Not holding her breath, waiting for a hunk of scrap metal to become the final nail in the coffin.
The winds gusting to force eight, threatening a storm ten. Roaring in from the Irish Sea with unstoppable fury. Each pulse lifting in strength as it clears the headland, crushing down on her with dragons breath, anadl y ddraig. Driving her from this patch of land, reminding her that it should never have been theirs.
The pain, the anguish, the futility of holding on. Should she let go, lift the dirt from beneath her nails, straighten her aching limbs and give herself over to the wind? Let it lift her and carry her weightless, burdenless to come what may.
She wasnt supposed to be this person, she was a pure soul, transparent, simple. How did the grime creep in and destroy the heart of her? Picking her apart cell by cell. Truth, freedom, self-respect, a birthright squandered for a dream, for love. She strains every sinew to prevent herself uploading into the void shes become.
The grain of the wood is separating, letting in air where there has been none for a hundred years. Steel bolts squealing, clenching their teeth against the inevitable. Shes clenched with them, their fate is one. Irresistible forces about to rip their lives apart. She cant breathe, please hold on. Bloods pounding in her ears as shes braced against the stones, ancient and grasping.
Then its gone, everythings gone.
Maybe in a weird sort of way she predicted this outcome! "And thus the whirligig of time brings in his revenges" .....