Livora Gracely

The staircase kept circling.
The story refused to end.

Every evening Grandma climbed the spiral staircase.

Very slowly.

Not because the stairs were difficult.

Because stories preferred unhurried feet.

Her granddaughter followed closely behind.

She carried exactly one question.

Grandma carried approximately three hundred answers.

Most of them had never been requested.

Halfway up the staircase stood a very curious cow.

Nobody remembered when it had arrived.

Nobody remembered asking it to leave.

Every evening it climbed three more steps.

Then stopped.

Then listened.

Grandma never seemed surprised.

“Good evening,” she said.

The cow nodded politely.

It had excellent manners.

Terrible timing.

One evening the little girl whispered,

“Why does it always follow us?”

Grandma smiled.

“It says the stories are better from the middle.”

The cow looked offended.

“I never said that.”

“You’ve never spoken.”

“I know.”

The cow appeared satisfied with this explanation.

They continued climbing.

Grandma told stories about castles.

The staircase seemed taller.

She told stories about dragons.

The balloons floated higher.

She told stories about ordinary people.

The stars listened more carefully.

The granddaughter laughed.

The cow laughed louder.

Nobody had expected cows to laugh.

Especially not on staircases.

At the top they sat together.

Grandma looked across the clouds.

“So…”

“How does every story end?”

Grandma looked toward the cow.

The cow quietly climbed one final step…

…and sat beside them.

“There,” Grandma said.

“That one has been waiting for the ending since Tuesday.”

The little girl blinked.

“The ending?”

Grandma nodded.

“No.”

“The next chapter.”

The cow sighed with relief.

It had been worried

the staircase

might eventually stop climbing.