Every story ends the same way. The difference is how they end.
A film set that won’t stop rolling after tragedy.
A pair of shears that pass from mother to daughter, cutting more than thread.
A prank that outlives its maker, turning laughter into legend.
A house that feeds on regret.
A tree that remembers what humans forget.
In Cut, nothing ends when you expect it to. Across ten stories linked by a single phrase, L.G. Wren dissects the moments when lives change, illusions collapse, and the act of ending becomes its own art form.
Moving between the psychological, the gothic, and the surreal, these stories unravel the fragile line between memory and performance, love and loss, self and shadow. Each character faces the same invisible observer, an unseen presence that watches, waits, and always knows when the final line has been spoken.
Lyrical yet precise, cinematic yet intimate, Cut is a meditation on closure, choice, and the quiet violence of simply continuing.
At the end of the final page, only one voice remains to speak.
A haunting, beautifully written collection about endings. Each story in "Cut" feels like a fragment of a larger dream you half-remember. Each one ends differently, but every one leaves a mark. "The Last Take" and "The Memory of Bark and Wind" were stunning and emotional in ways that sneak up on you. "Frankly Departed" adds an unexpected burst of dark humor, the kind that almost feels like a 1980s comedy with a twisted grin. By the last page, I caught myself whispering it too.. “And cut.”