“It’s over.”

She uttered the twin words with slow, loud intensity as though he was half-deaf.

“Oh!” It was the only word that could confront It’s over.

He chewed It’s over. He crashed the words under the weight of his willing teeth, eager to ascertain what inspired their arrival.


She should have used more words to show him the exit. Not a tired two-word phrase. Tired things resemble old things. But his people say the old broom sweeps better.  And his people have their way of rightness.  So old things can be good things.

“Not this one,” he told his twirling head.


It’s over is bossy you know!

It drags its feet, even smiles at your craze with time.

He wanted It’s over to stop sinking in and walk out. The thought of aloneless scared him. So he held the hands of It’s over so they could exit together.


It was actually over. But it was not.

Because it felt like a year ago. They had met but not actually met.

And when they finally met, It’s over threw itself at them.


It’s over is sticky. It’s shameless; like that hungry visitor who arrives at meal time and refuses to eat – harassing your appetite.


It’s over sat before him like a mountain. He loved mountains.

It’s over stared at him like an unwanted beauty.

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