The Last Store Before the End of the World

The moon was full the night Mara’s car gave up on her.

She had been driving Highway 17 for hours, skimming the edge of nowhere, searching for anything that looked like civilization. Her phone mocked her with the words “No Signal,” and her gas tank ticked closer to empty. Then came the flat tire.

The hiss of air escaping the wheel was loud enough to echo in the quiet.

“Of course,” Mara muttered, her voice breaking the silence. She grabbed her coat and stepped out into the cold. The wind snaked around her, carrying with it the smell of rain and something else she couldn’t name—something old. The road stretched behind her like a black ribbon, empty as far as the eye could see. Ahead, there were no headlights, no houses, no signs of life.

And yet, when she squinted through the gloom, she saw it.

A flickering light. A faint, pulsing red glow.

Mara stared for a long minute, unsure if she was hallucinating. But then it grew clearer—a sign with cracked neon tubing that read: The Last Stop.

It didn’t make sense. She hadn’t passed a store for miles. And yet, here it was, sitting at the edge of the road like it had been waiting for her all along.

With no better options, Mara grabbed her bag and started walking.

The Store

Up close, the store looked ancient. Wooden beams held up a sagging roof, and the windows were so dusty it was hard to see inside. The door creaked when Mara pushed it open.

Inside, everything changed.

The store was bright and clean, lit by lamps that glowed like warm firelight. It didn’t smell like gas or cheap candy, the way most convenience stores did. Instead, the air was heavy with a mix of spices and memories—like cinnamon, cedarwood, and something Mara couldn’t place.

The shelves were strange, too. There were no potato chips or soda bottles. Instead, they held things like glass jars labeled “Bravery” and “Second Chances.” Candles lined one shelf, each with a tag: “Lost Time,” “First Love,” “Last Words.”

At the counter sat a man. He was old but not frail, with sharp, dark eyes and a nametag pinned to his coat. It simply read: Keeper.

He watched her approach, as though he had been expecting her.

“What can I get you?” he asked.

Mara hesitated. “I—uh—I just need directions. My car broke down a mile back, and I don’t know where I am.”

The Keeper didn’t answer. Instead, he placed a dusty map on the counter.

“No one finds this store by accident,” he said softly. “You came here because you’re at a crossroads.”

Mara blinked. “A crossroads?”

“You’ve been wandering for a long time,” the Keeper replied. “Haven’t you?”

The words settled in Mara’s chest like stones.

“I don’t know what you mean,” she said.

The Keeper smiled faintly, as though he’d heard that answer before. “Follow me.”

The Choice

The Keeper led Mara down an aisle deeper into the store. The further they walked, the stranger the shelves became. There were music boxes that played no sound and books with blank pages. A rusted key sat alone on a velvet cushion, and a clock with no hands ticked softly in the corner.

Finally, they stopped in front of an old wooden door. Burned into the surface were the words: The Future.

The Keeper turned to face her.

“Two paths lie ahead,” he said. “I offer you a choice.”

Mara frowned. “What kind of choice?”

The Keeper reached into his coat and pulled out two objects.

The first was a small glass jar, empty except for a pale, shimmering light that moved like mist. The word “Truth” was etched into the glass.

The second was a rusted iron key. It was old and heavy, and something about it made Mara’s skin prickle.

“One will give you a truth you cannot unsee,” the Keeper said, holding up the jar. “The other will unlock a door in your past—a chance to fix what was broken. But be warned: both choices come with a price.”

Mara stared at the items, her heart thudding in her chest. “Why me?”

The Keeper’s gaze darkened. “Because some people aren’t meant to run forever.”

Mara felt the weight of his words. For years, she had been running—from old mistakes, broken relationships, and the guilt she carried with her everywhere she went. She thought if she drove far enough, moved fast enough, she could leave it all behind.

But here, in the quiet hum of the store, there was no running. Only choosing.

“Which will you take?” the Keeper asked.

Mara’s hand hovered between the two objects.

The Truth

She picked up the jar. It was warm in her hands, and the light inside swirled faster, as though it knew.

“The truth, then,” the Keeper said softly.

The moment Mara opened the jar, the light rushed out, spilling into the room and wrapping itself around her like a shroud. Suddenly, she was no longer in the store.

She was in a hospital.

The walls were white, and machines beeped softly. Mara looked down and saw herself lying in a bed, motionless, her face pale and still.

She staggered back, gasping.

“This isn’t real,” she whispered.

The Keeper’s voice echoed in her mind. “Some people aren’t meant to run forever.”

Mara remembered now—the accident. The rain-soaked road. The sound of metal tearing and glass shattering. She had been here, asleep, for months. Her entire life had been a dream.

And now, the truth was clear: if she stayed asleep, she could keep running. But if she woke up, she would have to face everything she left behind.

“Wake up,” a voice whispered.

Mara looked at her sleeping self, tears streaming down her face.

“Wake up.”

The End

When Mara opened her eyes, she was back in the store. The jar was empty.

The Keeper stood in the doorway, watching her.

“What now?” she asked, her voice trembling.

“Now,” he said, “you decide what to do with the truth.”

Mara stepped outside. The road stretched ahead, empty and dark, but she was no longer afraid.

For the first time in years, she knew where she was going.