A Boy and His Dog at the End of the World

by C. A. Fletcher

  Life on the islands is the same and different. There is more laughter but more carefulness too. Having been in the ruins of your world, I feel the fragility of life like I never did before, but also the glory of it. I want to see more. Jip and I will make more voyages, I think. But maybe not on our own. Perhaps Joy will come too, and Jess.

  I do not think the Cons will come here. But I still watch the horizons for sails more than I once did. Jip and I find time to sit on the top of the island most days, and from there on a clear one you still feel like you can see for ever.

  Joy says if I’m looking for red sails they will likely come from the north, and I tell her to go boil her head.

  She also told me no one knows the end of their story, other than at the very end we all die. But I have half a page to fill and then this book is full.

  I never really told you why Brand and I stopped talking, before the book was stolen by Joy, and now there is no room. That’s fine. It was maybe not such an important reason as I thought at the time. As either of us thought. I don’t know.

  But on this last empty page, here’s what I do know.

  I know I’m tough. And I know I’m stupid. I’m clever too. I’m scared of things. I try to be brave. Mostly I succeed. Sometimes I spend so much time thinking that I don’t actually do anything. Sometimes I work so hard I forget to eat. Sometimes I don’t plan ahead. I just jump in and do things impulsively, without working out what happens next. I talk too much. I don’t always say what I mean. I don’t always mean what I say either. I kill things. I make things. I break things. I grow things. I lose myself in stories. I find myself there too. I read them because I like getting lost. And I wrote this one because I thought I was lost, for real and for ever. And maybe because I had no hope and no power and was entirely alone, I made up a friend and talked to them in a world I made out of nothing but words.

  And then a book saved me. Because Joy read this and found the truth. So here I am, writing much more than I knew I was going to be able to, right to the end of the last page.

  That makes it look neat, but it didn’t work out like I planned. Nothing’s perfect. Especially not me. I’m just like you were. Human. Hanging on. Holding out for a happy ending. But knowing it ends badly.

  And then being surprised by joy.

  Acknowledgments

  The Outer Hebrides have a special place in my heart: I owe a huge thank you to Lucy Rickards who first introduced me to them, and made me fall in love on the spot. Thanks also to Mary Miers whose unstinting generosity in later years made it possible to share the beauty of the islands with my children, whose world is that much bigger and wilder because of it

  Very many thanks to all at Orbit—especially Jenni Hill and Joanna Kramer in the UK and Priyanka Krishnan in the US (especially Jenni for her patience, understanding and restraint…). I’m grateful to Lauren Panepinto for the cover (and to Jack Fletcher (@kid_woof) for the assist in drawing precisely the right kind of dog for it…). Thanks to my family for being so good-natured about the grumpy writer in their midst, and D, thank you for being first listener. As ever, this one’s for you.

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