In the end, it doesn’t even matter. Death comes for us all. It is life’s most beautiful natural disaster. The fact of life that death is a part of nature scares us all. It is a fact little people accept.
The end: is just the beginning; is a new chapter; is not forever. If there is absolute truth in these and other cliches, then why not simply be done with the word in favor of the others? The answer is simple: the end, is the end, it is a cessation of one thing, regardless of what may follow after its passing. The end may herald more, but first and foremost, it is a conclusion to before, a conclusion to a course no longer run, a conclusion and completion, it is the essence of something done.
The end was near, or so we thought. We were convinced that the search for the killer was over, until we learned of the death of another victim, a young girl who had got lost in the park, during the rain.
I’m sick of these words as starting things. I’m sick of the elusive ones, the vague ones, meant to set you off on endless poetic rants about hearts and pulsing. I want words that actually are set on the earth. ‘postman’ ‘hamper’ ‘cheeseburger’ ‘door’. The end
The end is a very interesting concept. It is always looming in our minds. I think so much so that in our world today we have taken ahold to a custom of live for the moment, or you only live once. We are always aware of that our time is coming to an end, and we feel the need to make the most of what we have – like right now as my time is running up…AHHH!
This series of numbers is a sequence, and not only that but one in a thousand, a pattern of numbers to remember. When you go to the end it repeats and the pattern can start again. There you go, to try and explain I have just misused the meaning of two words: number and end. The number is is not unique but part of a pattern and when I talk about the end I am also talking of the beginning. There is even my little thousand year old joke in there.
It’s the end of the world. The end of the darkness the shrouds our lives today. The end of arguments and fights. The end of stupidity and cruelty. The end of humanity as it has become to give way to a new world. To give way to the light.
Every winter and every autumn the leaves colored orange and red would fall to the ground and meet their end. Sometimes the wind would sore through the neighborhood and hundreds of leaves would fall.
It’s a wild thing, the end. it doesn’t seem possible at this point in time even though I know it’s quite real. Sometimes the end will come; I’ve certainly seen the last sip of beer at the bottom of a glass, the last drop of gas in the tank. Those things, they come with a new beginning. I’m wildly drunk and thinking of the end just doesn’t seem like something I should do. I like the idea of embracing it, stepping into the light… it’s the start of something else though. It’s been 60 seconds at this point and it seems like this whole thing is a heap of bullshit. was I supposed to keep track of it? I figured it would cut me off. There might be a chance that it was supposed to be 60 minutes but that seems like it would be quite the request. The end, man, it’s always something isn’t it? I feel like I like the end, thrive on the end, it’s just such a mother fucker. I hope
As spring came to an end the leaves turned golden in the rays of orange and pink light. They fell lightly to the ground, falling asleep as the sun turned it’s head away from the earth. They wind blew softly on the trees, a crisp chill stroked the bark that was sweet after soaking in the scent of flowers for months.
As all things come to pass, so there has to be an end to the madness, an end to all that was, and end to something that could have been more. It had been seven years since they had met and all they had was routine and consequence. So much for love and anything more.
Sometimes when things end it is for the best. Even if it’s sad when some things end, it was for the best. I think people think that phrase, “for the best” for their own security. Was it really for the best? Did it really have to end? To stop ourselves from thinking frightening things we just assume that yes in fact, it was for the best that it ended. New things can begin from endings.
the worst thing ever. the word is so frickin small and i dont think it would be a good father if he had the chance. why is this website even doing this i dont want to put my email address up.
end of a life, symphony or particularly any trivial or mundane activity…but with its end a beginning of something new…end is to tell and justify that everyting ends because everythinghad begun and that something new needs to bloom
Pulling up outside your house
the lawn moed short and beautifully kept
birds chirp in delight in the surrounding area
this dark day wears a happy disguise
In fear i ring your door bell
what was once the portal into happiness
I now wish to leave swiftly
as your cold face invites me in
If this is the end tell me now
Don’t dangle me by this string any longer
Every new beginning has to follow some other end. The end can be a beautiful thing, loud and messy like a train wreck or slow and patient like the last move of an ice skater’s routine.
i hope my end will be a happy end, that i have a wonderful fufilling life full of adventures and stories to share. and that my end, ends peacefully and gracefully. or am i just dreaming of fiction?
He left her, it was over, hurt, alone and crying she still stood tall she had never felt this much pain she just knew she had to face it. He was long gone by the time she fully recoverd.
So there was this kid, sitting at the end of a very long tunnel. He picks his nose vigorously every 30 seconds, and religiously eats every booger. He grows with each booger, and eventually he dies of booger overdose.
To a beginning there’s always an end. Molly knew it was near. Her feet scampered across the cold ground as she neared the kitchen, glancing here and there to find any traces of the man she had thought she had known for these past five years. She was wrong. Completely wrong on her assumption. Argus had turned out to be the complete opposite of what she had deemed him to be: wicked, doleful … a killer.
To a begging there’s always an end. Molly neared the kitchen, her finger wrapped around the handle of the knife. It was sharp, piercingly sharp, and she recalled the last time her skin had sliced off while cutting vegetables on the counter. Blood had poured. And it would again today.
He would arrive in a few minutes. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. At exactly five minutes the bell rang. “Yes honey,” she said, in a voice dipped in sweet dew.
Nothing would look amiss. Nothing.
She played up her features, held the knife behind her back, as she began to stride towards the front door, past the portraits of the Buchanan family. They were all going to curse her for erasing the last heir off their tree.
It was over. It was finally over. But they felt no comfort in the fact. They had lost and now the end of this war meant the end of everything they believed in; freedom, justice, order.
I don’t see the point in living.
The end may come soon for me, and I don’t care enough to stop it.
I want my end to be fast and painless
Like suicide, because nothing matters, nothing makes sense.
My end.
End
E
N
D
I don’t really understand this thing. I am supposed to write about the word “end” or about something that has ended? I’m watching the Proud Family Movie. It’s hilarious. I haven’t seen this show in 5 years practically. Ugh, I miss being younger; university sucks. Get me out, I want it to end. HA I did it, not even purposely
The end of an era was aproaching. Jonathan looked at Haley with sadness. “So thats it?” He asked, obviously hurt and sad. She nodded. “So, what now” He asked. She looked up and pulled out her handcuffs “Your going to prison for life for killing her” She said and slapped him until he fell into the pit of fire and burned until he died. “Woops” She said
death, with death comes the end. One may end their life. Or wish for the pain to end. It’s beautiful, the end. Yet terrifying. End everything, or end abuse. End nothing. End.
the end is coming, they said.
it will be fast, and painless, they said.
don’t think about it, if you do, it’ll just make it worse.
well how am i supposed to not think about it
it’s the end
and it’s going to hurt
no matter what
the end had come. they had been expecting it to come for some time now. but now that it was imminent they were regretting not trying to postpone it, to change things, all across the world, people were being more spontaneous. but it was too late for them.
to late for us.
It was the end of the day. Everyone was exhausted from their work in the mines. With them was a small boy who no one had seen. His name was Joseph. Joseph had snuck in because he needed something. And that something was the crystal rock.
The end. Such a closing statement, no? Leaving the past behing. Nothing is left, everything is gone.
But not everything is over, not really. Does anything ever really end?
Or does it still exist only in our memories?
This was it. This was the end. She sighed a little as she fumbled in her pocket for the now folded up envelope. Brushing her fingers across it, she told herself not to cry. Kissing it softly before setting it under his doorstep, she watched and waited for just a few seconds, not wanting to kill the significance of the moment.
In the end, it doesn’t even matter. Death comes for us all. It is life’s most beautiful natural disaster. The fact of life that death is a part of nature scares us all. It is a fact little people accept.
The end: is just the beginning; is a new chapter; is not forever. If there is absolute truth in these and other cliches, then why not simply be done with the word in favor of the others? The answer is simple: the end, is the end, it is a cessation of one thing, regardless of what may follow after its passing. The end may herald more, but first and foremost, it is a conclusion to before, a conclusion to a course no longer run, a conclusion and completion, it is the essence of something done.
The end was near, or so we thought. We were convinced that the search for the killer was over, until we learned of the death of another victim, a young girl who had got lost in the park, during the rain.
what if the end of days is just the end of a movie. maybe our life is a movie
I’m sick of these words as starting things. I’m sick of the elusive ones, the vague ones, meant to set you off on endless poetic rants about hearts and pulsing. I want words that actually are set on the earth. ‘postman’ ‘hamper’ ‘cheeseburger’ ‘door’. The end
stop of start, opposite to start
the end is always near, but this is a cyclic life, every ending is a new begin and so on
The end is a very interesting concept. It is always looming in our minds. I think so much so that in our world today we have taken ahold to a custom of live for the moment, or you only live once. We are always aware of that our time is coming to an end, and we feel the need to make the most of what we have – like right now as my time is running up…AHHH!
This series of numbers is a sequence, and not only that but one in a thousand, a pattern of numbers to remember. When you go to the end it repeats and the pattern can start again. There you go, to try and explain I have just misused the meaning of two words: number and end. The number is is not unique but part of a pattern and when I talk about the end I am also talking of the beginning. There is even my little thousand year old joke in there.
It’s the end of the world. The end of the darkness the shrouds our lives today. The end of arguments and fights. The end of stupidity and cruelty. The end of humanity as it has become to give way to a new world. To give way to the light.
to what
end
the cold hard truth
and the fire that propels us
Every winter and every autumn the leaves colored orange and red would fall to the ground and meet their end. Sometimes the wind would sore through the neighborhood and hundreds of leaves would fall.
It’s a wild thing, the end. it doesn’t seem possible at this point in time even though I know it’s quite real. Sometimes the end will come; I’ve certainly seen the last sip of beer at the bottom of a glass, the last drop of gas in the tank. Those things, they come with a new beginning. I’m wildly drunk and thinking of the end just doesn’t seem like something I should do. I like the idea of embracing it, stepping into the light… it’s the start of something else though. It’s been 60 seconds at this point and it seems like this whole thing is a heap of bullshit. was I supposed to keep track of it? I figured it would cut me off. There might be a chance that it was supposed to be 60 minutes but that seems like it would be quite the request. The end, man, it’s always something isn’t it? I feel like I like the end, thrive on the end, it’s just such a mother fucker. I hope
As spring came to an end the leaves turned golden in the rays of orange and pink light. They fell lightly to the ground, falling asleep as the sun turned it’s head away from the earth. They wind blew softly on the trees, a crisp chill stroked the bark that was sweet after soaking in the scent of flowers for months.
As all things come to pass, so there has to be an end to the madness, an end to all that was, and end to something that could have been more. It had been seven years since they had met and all they had was routine and consequence. So much for love and anything more.
Sometimes when things end it is for the best. Even if it’s sad when some things end, it was for the best. I think people think that phrase, “for the best” for their own security. Was it really for the best? Did it really have to end? To stop ourselves from thinking frightening things we just assume that yes in fact, it was for the best that it ended. New things can begin from endings.
the worst thing ever. the word is so frickin small and i dont think it would be a good father if he had the chance. why is this website even doing this i dont want to put my email address up.
end of a life, symphony or particularly any trivial or mundane activity…but with its end a beginning of something new…end is to tell and justify that everyting ends because everythinghad begun and that something new needs to bloom
He had to let go, he just knew it. But he was more than unwilling to. As she slipped out of his grip, he said softly, “I’m going with you.”
He went down with her.
A new start follows.
Pulling up outside your house
the lawn moed short and beautifully kept
birds chirp in delight in the surrounding area
this dark day wears a happy disguise
In fear i ring your door bell
what was once the portal into happiness
I now wish to leave swiftly
as your cold face invites me in
If this is the end tell me now
Don’t dangle me by this string any longer
Every new beginning has to follow some other end. The end can be a beautiful thing, loud and messy like a train wreck or slow and patient like the last move of an ice skater’s routine.
I want the end. I crave it. I fell the sharp pain in my stomach as I take another blow. I can’t get words from my lips. I cant move.
Ocne upon a time there live a beautiful writer…the end.
i hope my end will be a happy end, that i have a wonderful fufilling life full of adventures and stories to share. and that my end, ends peacefully and gracefully. or am i just dreaming of fiction?
He left her, it was over, hurt, alone and crying she still stood tall she had never felt this much pain she just knew she had to face it. He was long gone by the time she fully recoverd.
So there was this kid, sitting at the end of a very long tunnel. He picks his nose vigorously every 30 seconds, and religiously eats every booger. He grows with each booger, and eventually he dies of booger overdose.
To a beginning there’s always an end. Molly knew it was near. Her feet scampered across the cold ground as she neared the kitchen, glancing here and there to find any traces of the man she had thought she had known for these past five years. She was wrong. Completely wrong on her assumption. Argus had turned out to be the complete opposite of what she had deemed him to be: wicked, doleful … a killer.
To a begging there’s always an end. Molly neared the kitchen, her finger wrapped around the handle of the knife. It was sharp, piercingly sharp, and she recalled the last time her skin had sliced off while cutting vegetables on the counter. Blood had poured. And it would again today.
He would arrive in a few minutes. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. At exactly five minutes the bell rang. “Yes honey,” she said, in a voice dipped in sweet dew.
Nothing would look amiss. Nothing.
She played up her features, held the knife behind her back, as she began to stride towards the front door, past the portraits of the Buchanan family. They were all going to curse her for erasing the last heir off their tree.
But somethings had to be done.
It was over. It was finally over. But they felt no comfort in the fact. They had lost and now the end of this war meant the end of everything they believed in; freedom, justice, order.
I don’t see the point in living.
The end may come soon for me, and I don’t care enough to stop it.
I want my end to be fast and painless
Like suicide, because nothing matters, nothing makes sense.
My end.
End
E
N
D
I don’t really understand this thing. I am supposed to write about the word “end” or about something that has ended? I’m watching the Proud Family Movie. It’s hilarious. I haven’t seen this show in 5 years practically. Ugh, I miss being younger; university sucks. Get me out, I want it to end. HA I did it, not even purposely
The end of an era was aproaching. Jonathan looked at Haley with sadness. “So thats it?” He asked, obviously hurt and sad. She nodded. “So, what now” He asked. She looked up and pulled out her handcuffs “Your going to prison for life for killing her” She said and slapped him until he fell into the pit of fire and burned until he died. “Woops” She said
death, with death comes the end. One may end their life. Or wish for the pain to end. It’s beautiful, the end. Yet terrifying. End everything, or end abuse. End nothing. End.
I managed to get the whole story written, re-written, edited and out to my
satifaction. Over, and out. The end.
the end is coming, they said.
it will be fast, and painless, they said.
don’t think about it, if you do, it’ll just make it worse.
well how am i supposed to not think about it
it’s the end
and it’s going to hurt
no matter what
the end. words the follow the story. what about my story?
the end had come. they had been expecting it to come for some time now. but now that it was imminent they were regretting not trying to postpone it, to change things, all across the world, people were being more spontaneous. but it was too late for them.
to late for us.
It was the end of the day. Everyone was exhausted from their work in the mines. With them was a small boy who no one had seen. His name was Joseph. Joseph had snuck in because he needed something. And that something was the crystal rock.
The end. Such a closing statement, no? Leaving the past behing. Nothing is left, everything is gone.
But not everything is over, not really. Does anything ever really end?
Or does it still exist only in our memories?
This was it. This was the end. She sighed a little as she fumbled in her pocket for the now folded up envelope. Brushing her fingers across it, she told herself not to cry. Kissing it softly before setting it under his doorstep, she watched and waited for just a few seconds, not wanting to kill the significance of the moment.