Dear Annie Proulx,
I know that you have been having a lot of trouble finishing your story Brokeback Mountain, so I wanted to help you out. I’m a really huge fan, so if you decide to use my ending, which I’m pretty sure you will since it’s a sick improvement on your stupid ending, you don’t have to pay me. Knowing that the great writer Annie Proulx read and enjoyed my work and felt that it was equal to her own and that I was as good a writer as she is, and that actually my ending to her famous story was even better and way sicker than what she wrote would be all the payment I’d need.
Thank you, and ENJOY.
Brokeback Mountain: The Lost Ending
By Gabriel Delahaye
Ennis Del Mar hung the shirts one inside the other on a hanger suspended from a nail in the closet. He thought of Jack Twist, his one true friend. Their love had been a sacred bond, beset on all sides not just by an unwelcoming world, but by their own fears and demons. He thought of Jack Twist putting his penis inside his butt and having sex with his butt and them being two gay guys together for hours. Tears welled at the corner of Ennis’s eyes at the thought of that sex. He slapped his calloused hands together, knowing what he had to do.
All night, Ennis Del Mar sat at a rough hewn table of raw pine, working on the blueprints to mend his broken heart. By morning, eyes dark ringed with exhaustion, he knew that he had struck upon it. There was a shed out back behind his house wherein he found the parts he needed, and within a fortnight, Ennis Del Mar had completed his construction. “What is it?” a towheaded neighbor boy asked. Ennis looked out over the darkening plains. “It’s a machine what bring back my friend,” he said, and spat into the dirt.
Late at night, Ennis Del Mar drove to the graveyard where Jack Twist was buried and exhumed the body of his lover. By the dim glow of a single candle, he laid the corpse out on the card table where he ate his solitary dinners, and affixed the nodes where they was designed to be affixed. He closed his eyes and turned on the machine, praying to a God he wasn’t even sure he believed in for a miracle of his own design. There was an electric spark, and a noisome odor. Ennis looked down, and there was old Jack Twist, who had just been dead but now was brought back to life by the machine that Ennis had built in the shed, blinking up at him.
“Ennis,” Jack Twist said, “what’re you doin’?”
Ennis didn’t know whether to laugh or cry because his character has a lot of trouble with emotions. “Nothin’,” he said. And then they had crazy gay anal sex for hours. [NOTE: Annie, maybe this scene needs to be fleshed out more, but I kind of thought that the sparse description of “crazy gay anal sex” was more romantic and in keeping with the private love these two men shared.]
The next week was a blur to Ennis as he experienced a joy he didn’t know possible. Him and Jack would talk for hours and drink gritty coffee out of tin cups in each others arms as they watched the sunset. They’d ride horses together through the quickening wheat, and have blind taste tests of flavored condoms and do crystal meth and have meth sex.
One night, over a cowhand’s meal of stewed meat and biscuits, Ennis looked up at Jack Twist, who was wearing women’s underwear and high heels because around Ennis he felt comfortable with who he was, and explored the facets of his sexual orientation, which is homosexual. “All my life I’ve been thinking I wasn’t made for this world,” Ennis said, taking a sip of whiskey. “But now I’m starting to realize that maybe this world wasn’t made for me.”
“What’re you getting’ on about now, Ennis?” Jack asked, taking a sip of whiskey.
Ennis took a sip of whiskey. “Space,” he said. “Spaceship.”
That night, Ennis was restless and excited. He didn’t sleep, but spent the whole moon bent over that little card table, scribbling and scratching away at a homemade sheaf of mismatched paper. In the morning, he roused Jack Twist not in their usual way (blowjobs), but with a fistful of spaceship schematics. Jack Twist rubbed the sleep from his eyes and tried to make sense of what he was looking at.
“If I build it will you cum? On my face?” Ennis asked, taking a sip of whiskey.
Jack Twist shrugged and reached for the whiskey. They both drank a bunch of whiskey. Cowboys.
With more parts from the shed, Ennis began work on his spaceship, ignoring Jack’s skepticism. Jack sat on an old apple crate near the door, kicking out his heels, chewing on a stalk of wheat, masturbating occasionally, and handing Ennis tools as he was asked. So he was as the old saying goes as surprised as a deaf milk cow in an all-night henhouse when Ennis gently punched his arm just three days later and said “it’s done.” Ennis and Jack both spit dark spots onto the parched dirt.
“You think it’ll work?” Jack asked, taking a sip of whiskey. Ennis took a sip of whiskey and nodded.
“Where’re we gonna go?” Jack asked, lifting off his hat to wipe the sweat from his brow.
“You’ll see,” Ennis said, wiping sweat from his brow with a bandana.
The next morning was gray and cool. Ennis and Jack Twist suited up in their space denim and space plaid snap-button wrangler shirts. The towheaded neighbor boy stood near the spaceship, chewing bubblegum flavored tobacco and thinking hateful things about the two men who loved each other, because hate is taught and it starts with our children. Jack and Ennis climbed in to the ship. Ennis pulled the hatch down and gunned the engines. The spacecraft lifted hesitantly at first, like an unbroken mare, and then Ennis pushed the throttle forward and the ship jetted out into the sky. When they landed, they were on a planet very far away. Ennis opened the hatch and oxygen rushed in which was great for them because that way they didn’t die. “Come on, Jack Twist,” he said. They jumped out of the ship and found themselves on a crazy sex planet.
An alien walked up to them. “You can have all the gay sex you want on our planet, free from the petty bigotry of Planet Earth,” the alien said.
Jack and Ennis went to a sex planet hotel and had so much sex forever with their penises and their butts. Open your mind, America. Free Mumia.