Great Tales Never End
Why, to think of it, we're in the same tale still! It's going on. Don't the great tales never end? "No, they never end as tales," said Frodo, "But the people in them come, and go when their part is ended. Our part will end later - or sooner." J.R.R. Tolkien, The Two Towers, Lord of the Rings
Bedtime stories are the best. Endings are the worst.
Waiting for death can seem interminable, and yet, one never wants it to arrive.
The Goblin King had done almost everything in his six thousand and nine hundred years, except die. Death was for mere mortals, not him. Life was for living to the full, and he, most certainly, had done that. Jareth reached out with bony fingers to find his looking-glass. Shakily, he held it up and gazed into it with weary eyes. A frail smile formed on his thin lips. He did not see a silver-haired old wreck, dying in his bed, but a golden-haired Sprite, full of magic and mischief.
All the creatures of the Underground sensed their king was not long for the world. The Goblin Queen and the Goblin Prince and Princess were gathered by his bedside, their faces wet with tears.
"In the exuberance of youth, I laughed at death. At my most melancholy, I issued death an invitation, which thankfully, he was polite enough to decline. And now, well, I hear his heavy footsteps and see his shadow under the door."
The Goblin King wheezed with the effort of speaking.
"I don't like endings," the boy pouted, "Stories either end happily ever after, which can't be true, because even happy people get sad sometimes, or someone dies, and that sucks."
Watching anxiously as his mother prepared to turn to the last page, he snatched the book from her hands.
"Hey," she exclaimed.
Her son writhed about on the bed, evading her attempts to recover it.
"I was watching an old episode of Doctor Who the other day," he explained, "And the Doctor tore the last page out of the book he was reading. He doesn't like endings, either."
His mother sat back on the bed.
"I don't approve of vandalising books," she frowned.
The boy closed the pages together and got up to replace it on his bookshelf.
"Well, I don't want the Goblin King to die, and if we don't read the last page, maybe that means he never will," he reasoned.
With a tear in her eye, his mother glanced over at The Further Tales of The Goblin King tucked neatly next to its predecessor, The Labyrinth. She wished she hadn't already read the ending.
"How about, tomorrow night, we go right back to the beginning?" she managed a faint smile. "The best thing about great stories is that they never have to end."
Her son happily agreed.
The Goblin King lived forever.
I awoke today with a stinking cold and to the devastating news of David Bowie's death. Tears have flowed and many more will fall, I'm sure. I'm grateful for all he gave us and he will live on forever in the wonderful legacy of music, movies and art he leaves behind.
I didn't think I would be able to write anything through the tears and streaming cold, but this popped out. A poor tribute to a great man, I know. David Bowie inspired me as he did countless others, and long may he continue to do so.
Thank you for everything, Mr. Jones, we will never see your like again.
BTW, The Doctor Who reference was from the episode 'The Angels Take Manhatten."