As I scan words in this story, I think about all that is missing. No plot, no dialog, no drama… and that’s not all. What is it?
I scratch my scalp, I lick my lips, I furrow my brow. I strain to find a solution. How can I fill this void? I’m not an author. Who can light my way? Nobody can.
I think I’m sick. This room is spinning. I’m dizzy. I must not faint. I sit down in my chair and try to focus. This just can’t work.
A gasp of air and finally I think I know what I must do. Although it brings pain, I jot down my final thoughts. Thoughts unnatural and at odds with all that is right. Do not look my way. You do not know how it hurts.
I’ll try to clarify by showing you my words:

She sees me, needs me, feeds me. We feel the breeze between the trees. Her eyes, her teeth, her knees, her feet… See?
“Seek the end”, she wheezes. The end? Where’s the end?
She kneels, then she expresses her theses: “The end’s here. We end here.”
She eyes me.
Never. We’ll never end. She’ll be here. We’ll be here.
The End.