tales without end

i seem to have a habit of leaving the stories i write unfinished. here's one:

mama forgot to turn off the television last night. I found out when I woke up at exactly 2:45 a.m., as I always do—I set my phone clock at this hour every night—to get a glass of water. I didn’t immediately notice the TV on, the endless hissing and gray lines on the screen didn’t particularly catch my attention, until I opened the refrigerator and the tiny living room was illuminated by yellow light.

water serves its purpose each time. Water always has to be contained, you once said. But when rain falls, it falls down, not knowing an exact direction, I said, rather tentatively, to myself was more like it. I watched you fiddle with the tiny pieces of paper napkins you have earlier turned into paper boats, a swan, an airplane, a tulip. Droplets of sweat were running down your neck and I could see a pool of them settling in the hollows of your collar bone. I waited for your reply but you dropped the paper swan onto the bowl of miswa you didn’t finish. I took the bottle of Coke and poured what was remaining of it onto your swan.

then you left.