Most true stories, the kind people tell at office parties, or backyard gatherings, are usually the boring ones. Sure, maybe a story comes along that's so incredible you can't begin to fathom how it took place, but this story isn't one of those - it isn't even really a story.

I'll explain.

This story is becoming a story as it's happening. I'm writing to fill space.
I'm writing a story about writing this very story you're reading.

It's nothing more than that.

I was supposed to be done with this by now, the book. I had every story I needed until something inside me decided that I didn't. The thing is - I have nothing more to write. There are no more stories here except this; me sitting at a desk alone in a studio apartment, strung out on coffee, and listening to the Silversun Pickups on repeat.

I've been awake for almost four days straight. A few hour naps have come and gone as I've delved deeper into the literary jungle, trying my best to type my way out.

I haven't showered. I'm not the least bit concerned.

As long as I don't have to leave the house, I can live like Howard Hughes until the New Year.

"It's finished. This story is extra material." I tell myself as I attempt to quell the inner voice of unfinished business.

"One more, just in case." It responds.

In case of what?

I can't imagine who would want to read this, one of those off-kilter drafts of a self-indulgent writer over-complicating their existence the same as their sentence structure.

Is this what you expected? Maybe you were expecting surprises. Exciting twists and turns that you didn't see coming. Something to grab hold of you and keep you glued to the edge of your seat until the shocking conclusion. A real nail-biting cliffhanger!

That's not what this is. I told you that from the beginning.

I needed to write one more story. I needed one more until I could consider this book finally finished.

That is the truth, and the reality of this moment is sometimes we do things that aren't necessary for no other reason than we feel that we should.

Sometimes the truth is not that interesting, but I needed one more story. That's what I felt, and here we are together at the end.

The Final Story/Note

A draft of a story written while trying to finish a book of short stories and essays.