“Do you believe in completion?”
She rests one foot on the pavement. Above them the road winds around the side of the mountain. A bead of sweat rolls off the end of her nose as she leans on the handlebars. The air shimmers.
“I’m not so sure about it myself.”
You shouldn’t just stop halfway up.
“Most of my life has been spent trying to finish a homework assignment, check the daily chores off one by one, or watch clock hands for the end of the day. All I seem to do is strive for completion.”
You’re stalling.
“But is completion even possible? If I finish today’s homework there will still be tomorrows. Can we ever achieve resolution or do we only pretend to by dividing larger tasks down for the sense of accomplishment?”
This slope will be a pain to start on.
“I wonder if completion is really just part of a cycle. What if everything is just like the gears on my bike: quick smaller cycles turning slow larger cycles in order to progress? You say we’re halfway there, but once we reach the top we still have half the trek to go, right?”
It’s too hot for this.
“Do you think completion can be anything but partial?”
Around her a clump of flies mingle. Beside her a broken rail marks a boundary. Before her a dotted line leads the way.
--Not entirely by accident, this completes the story that was started in Almost Perfect. It is the second twin. I used the same form and style to write this one, which should be obvious from a simple comparison of the two. The role of friend held more meaning and expressed more ideas in this rendition. The general placement of the conversation also fit better and felt a little more real to me. When I wrote it I was trying not to waste even a single word. The result you can judge for yourself, but I'm satisfied with how it turned out.
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