The town is quiet, quiet like I don't remember it ever being.

Without you, there's no one here that makes it memorable. It's a ghost town without you. But then, I've always been the one to hear the ghosts, their whispers, their soft-spoken voices in the midst of all the darkness. I hear their aching songs in the night, asking for someone, please, anyone, to just listen to them. I shut them away. Or I do now, at least, now that I know that you're among them. It feels wrong to listen when I know where they come from.

I walk the streets in the dimness of evening, the floodlights keeping me from straying too far off the path. Once, you would have had that role instead, but now, it's all I can do to keep you from getting too close to me. Too many reminders. Too many things that could have been, should have been, maybe something else in another life. They're bound to take me their prisoner by some point.

I stop at the train station, shivering as my breath comes in short puffs turning cloudy in the cold. There's one thought that drives me forward now, only one that I can listen to.

I have to get out.

In our tiny little town, it's always been the same, day in, day out. Never any change, until everything flipped on its head at once, and now I'm alone.

They won't miss me when I leave. Another one gone. They lose people every day. I'll fade, like everyone else that's gone, in just a matter of time. It won't hurt them, not when they've already said so many goodbyes.

The train comes with a rush of hair that blows my hair backward and stills my heart for a moment, but it screeches to a halt quickly, and the tracks become filled with an empty train. Maybe they won't even realize that I'm leaving when I go.

The man at the station punches my ticket. My ticket out of this place. There's nothing left for me here anymore, not with you already gone.

I find my seat quickly, and then the engine starts and the trees and streets become a smudge of color. And the ghosts. They whisper to me again, like always. And oh, I hear them, I hear them, I hear them.

And this time, I listen.

(Leaving is easy. The town is silent, silent as it fades away.)
~
Word count: 411 words

My Topic: Operation Crossroads and other nuclear tests on the Marshall Islands

Part One: Research
-Nuclear testing lasting from 1946-1958
-67 nuclear bombs tested in the Marshall Islands
-Largest bomb tested was 1,000 times the size of Hiroshima (Castle Bravo test)
-Operation Crossroads: First test series, consisting of Able (23 kilotons), Baker (23 kilotons), and Charlie (cancelled)
-Testing done on Enewetak Atoll and Bikini Atoll
-167 locals of Bikini evacuated to nearby islands during the periods of the nuclear tests, but were still affected by radiation
-Told they should give up their land by Navy Commodore Ben Wyatt “for the good of mankind” and to end future world wars, never got information as to how their land was being used
-Marshall Islands chosen for site of tests its remoteness
-Bikinians starved and became malnourished at island they were relocated to for Operation Crossroads
-Despite extreme levels of radiation, US let Marshallese return to severely contaminated islands to observe the effects of radiation on humans
-Cleanup of Marshall Islands didn't start until 1972, lasted until 1980
-Marshall Islands never fully compensated for the damage to their health and home
-Very widely known and proclaimed by the US
-Castle Bravo was the largest US nuclear explosion and the sixth largest in history
-In spite of the bad weather and the large possibility of the radiation scattering and harming many, the US proceeded with the Castle Bravo test
-When the Bikinians saw the radioactive fallout, they played with it
-When cleaning the Marshall Islands, the US also dumped radioactive waste from the Nevada test site on the island
-377-foot (115 meters) dome to contain radioactive waste from all the nuclear tests

(263 words)
~
Note: This topic is an incredibly dense one, and there's just so much I could tell you about for it. For the sake of not weighing you down with my research, as this is something that I've actually been working on for school for months, I'll keep it at this, but if you need to know more, I'm happy to tell you and answer your questions, and there's always the internet to help you. This is such a fascinating topic of injustice that's becoming more and more important now, what with more and more being funded for nuclear development and the possibility of the dome meant to contain the radioactive waste sliding off and polluting the ocean. I've tried not to be too biased here, but obviously a lot of it still comes through, and you can definitely tell which side I'm on. The assignment I got for school with this topic also requires me to look at the aftereffects, so if you're wondering why I have so many of those, that would be why. I think it's equally important to know about what the event changed as it is to know about the event itself. Since there's so much that happened over those twelve years, and since this is such a dense topic, you're welcome to pick just one of the operations (Operation Crossroads or the Castle Bravo test would most likely be the easiest), as it'd be very difficult for you to write so much about it all. Again, as this is my research from about four months, I've probably got around 50 sources, but I'll just list the most crucial ones below, or else this post is going to be extraordinarily long. Anyway, good luck!
~
A few of my most helpful sources:
https://thebulletin.org/2022/05/nuclear-tragedy-in-the-marshall-islands/
https://ehss.energy.gov/ohre/roadmap/histories/0478/0478toc.html#Studies.
https://www.latimes.com/projects/marshall-islands-nuclear-testing-sea-level-rise/
https://www.nationalww2museum.org/war/articles/operation-crossroads-atomic-bomb-aftermath
https://www.armscontrol.org/act/2013_03/No-Promised-Land-The-Shared-Legacy-of-the-Castle-Bravo-Nuclear-Test

Part Two: Essay
Fresh from the holds of World War II, and just before heading into the Cold War period, the United States tested a total of 67 nuclear bombs on the Marshall Islands — a place almost 10,000 kilometers (6,214 miles) away, chosen for its remoteness after being seized from the Japanese. The 167 natives of Bikini atoll, a place in the Marshall Islands, were relocated to Rongerik, another atoll only 227 kilometers away, to protect them from the onset of the nuclear disaster which would occur in their very homes.

They call this Operation Crossroads.
***
Beginning in 1946 and going all the way to 1958, the nuclear testing on the Marshall Islands was a period of uncertainty and ill health, with consequences lasting all even now. The start of these tests were with Operation Crossroads, consisting of tests Able, Baker, and a cancelled third test, Charlie. Both the completed tests had 1.5 times the yield of the Hiroshima bomb, yet the issue is still widely unknown to many.

Far from being like the Trinity test (the first nuclear test), the Hiroshima, or the Nagasaki tests, Operation Crossroads was no secret. In fact, it was anything but — at least to those beyond the Marshallese themselves.

Before the tests even began, the US decided that it would become a project not just spread by US press, but by international press as well. With their many announcements, they sent a clear message: The next people who would attack them would most certainly regret it.

In stark contrast, the natives of Bikini were told almost nothing of the tests and what would happen to their island. All they knew was that they were being “asked” to evacuate their island for purposes “for the good of mankind” and to “end all world wars”, according to Navy Commodore Ben Wyatt. Confused and reluctant, their leader, King Juda, finally told them they would go, believing it was in the hands of God. All the same, the Marshallese had little to no power to stop it, as current US President Harry S. Truman had already authorized Operation Crossroads a month before.

Soon after being relocated to the nearby atoll, the locals began to become malnourished after the food the United States had provided them with began to run out, with most fish and coconuts being inedible, and even the water being unsafe to drink. They sent word to the United Nations asking for help, though their requests were ignored, the US too busy with their nuclear testing. Eventually, when a medical officer finally checked on the islanders and found them starving a year later, they were moved to yet another island, yet another home decided for them, and all the while, their own was being destroyed in the bombs.

Able, though still powerful, missed its mark, and did not do the full damage that was expected of it. However, the Baker bomb was a success, and though the islanders were not supposed to see the effects of the radiation, many were still negatively affected by it.

But for the islanders, the worst was still to come.
***
On March 1st, 1954, the US launched their largest nuclear bomb to date, and the sixth largest one in history, under the Castle series. This bomb was 1,000 times as powerful as the bomb dropped on Hiroshima. 15 megatons.

Upon the explosion, three of the islands in Bikini were vaporized, along with sand, coral, and other ocean debris. Though the Bikinians were supposedly moved away to protect them from the radiation, the small distance put between them did little to help.

The Castle Bravo test, despite serious reservations on the parts of many and discussion about stopping it, was completed in weather much less than ideal for the test, going against the advice that had been provided to them. The islanders, with their relocation some ways away, were told they would not see the effects of the radiation, but many claim to have seen two suns rising that morning. And when the powdery white fallout came just four hours later, the Marshallese nearby believed it to be snow, and the children played in it, some of them rubbing it in their eyes with pleasure. It was only later that the effects of radiation became evident in the population, starting with sickness and including things such as vomiting, hair falling out, and more.

Beyond just the bad weather conditions, the Bravo test was also much larger bomb than any of the others, and the Marshallese, though told it they would be safe. After the fact, they were told the US had no knowledge of the size of the bomb, that they didn't know the weather would change. Some point to the fact that the planes watching were stationed at the appropriate distance for a bomb the size of Bravo, but their voices are drowned out.

For the Marshallese, who had been through the war and been tossed back and forth as a possession, who had been forcibly relocated from their home to another place without knowing the exact reasons, who had already endured many nuclear tests, the end should have come with the ends of the bombs and the Limited Test Ban Treaty of 1963, banning all atmospheric tests. But it didn't.
***
Soon after the ends of the Castle Bravo test, they became the subjects of tests themselves, being tested to see the human response to fallout from high power nuclear weapons. They were moved between the many islands, and even to testing facilities in the United States, but confusion quickly ensued. In spite of the idea of informed consent being put into place decades earlier, the Marshallese knew little about these tests beyond the fact that there were tests being run. Many of the Marshallese even believed and had been told they were being treated for the illnesses due to radiation.

And in the years that followed, the poor health continued, and many Marshallese babies were born with abnormally large heads, almost translucent skin, and more, and few survived more than a few days, and the locals themselves — as well as the servicemen involved — contracted many thyroid cancers and other health issues. Many of the women have had to have surgeries, impacting their ability to speak and to sing, the second of which is crucial to their country's culture.
***
In 1957, the Marshallese who had been moved to another island, Rongelap, were returned to their home islands, fresh from the tests that had just been conducted with much lingering radiation, where they would remain for the next 30 years, despite their desperate pleas to be moved elsewhere due to the amount of disease. Some studies by the US later deemed the place they had been living uninhabitable due to the dangers, despite the encouragement to live there earlier.

After the tests concluded, it would still be another fourteen years until the cleanup of their home began in 1972, lasting for eight years. The radioactive material was collected and put under a dome to contain the waste, though not intended to stop the radiation's effects from reaching the people. Additionally, much of the radioactive waste from the US's other nuclear tests in Nevada was shipped over to Enewetak atoll, the place of the dome the Marshallese know as “the Tomb”, and left there in the Marshall Islands.

In 1986, the Compact of Free Associations was signed by the US and the Marshall Islands, making the Marshall Islands a sovereign nation and allowing them to work and receive education in the United States and more.

Operation Crossroads, the Castle Bravo test, the many other tests, and the lives and plight of the Marshall Islanders have been written out of US history, with no mention of it found in a government-approved standard California textbook. Though there are many who do their best to voice their struggles and the ones of many others, the story remains one that is relatively untold, though it's bound to become a more pressing issue in the future. With climate change and rising sea levels becoming more and more of a problem, the Marshall Islands are in danger of being entirely submerged, and with it, the Tomb sliding off, polluting the ocean with the still-radioactive waste, and the Marshall Islanders are still not able to return home.

The US has worked to reimburse the islanders for the health, land, and many other damages the testing and radioactivity has caused, and though work is being done to repair the relationship between the two countries, it's still far from healed.

Many Marshallese don't want the money or apologies of the US. All they want is their home, safe and secure, and to be buried there amongst their ancestors.
(1,453 words)
~
Note: I know this is already incredibly long, so I'll keep this to a minimum, but I'd just like to note that this isn't even the tip of the iceberg. Beyond Operation Crossroads and the Castle Bravo test (perhaps the most famous of the tests), there was also Operation Greenhouse, Operation Sandstone, and many other tests. To detail this all, you would need at least a full length book, more likely more than that. But I did my best to touch on the parts that I feel to be most important, and I hope that this allows you to understand such an important event better yourself.

Part Three: Story Swap
Topic: The Mary Celeste (@pixzunami)

Cora adjusted her flowered hat and repinned her bun neatly so that not a strand of hair was out of place. Her bags, small yet filled with lavish amounts of clothing — one must always ensure their appearance is an acceptable fashion, and Cora was one of the few who cared more than others — would be enough to last her all the way until her arrival at Genoa on December fourth, and then some.

Her carriage arrived at the docks at mid morning, and her husband pulled down her bags for her, instructing the carriage man to take them to the boat for her. Cora could tell from the look he gave her afterward that she overpacked.

The Mary Celeste.

The ship was far more grandiose than even she could have imagined, with high white sails and two masts. Even in all her wildest dreams, the real Mary Celeste was greater and more beautiful than anything she pictured.

She’s perfect.

The boat stayed afloat on the surface of the water, gently rocking ever so slightly with the waves, coming, coming, coming. She pulled the edges of her dress up so as not to make them dirty on the docks she didn’t know how many people had stepped upon before her. Her husband handled the business as she stared straight ahead as if she was above it all, though secretly, she wondered of inside and her quarters, what it might be like. She’d been on boats before, of course, but they were different. The Mary Celeste was the first one she had wanted, the first one she had been truly drawn to.

Stepping onto the boat was like magic, absolute magic. The way it swayed beneath her feet as she held herself up high, glancing from the corners of her eyes to observe the others. Maybe to them, it was nothing spectacular, and she did her best to act like she felt similarly, though in fact it was much more than that. And as she watched it drift away from land, slowly at first, then more quickly as the wind picked up until the shore got so far enough away she had to strain her eyes to see it.

Though her sleeping quarters were small for someone used to a life of privilege, and the dinner was nothing notable, the first evening on the ship left Cora with a buzz of excitement for what was to come. There was the slight spring in her step (unladylike, most certainly) and the slight smile spread across her cheeks (surely that would make up for it), and she began to understand that this would be her home until their arrival. The Mary Celeste, at least temporarily, would be hers.
***
It was midnight when she heard the voices in the halls, hissing, and then a loud rap at her door, urgent.

Whispers at the door, snaking into her room and filling it up. And then the knocks again. Calling her name. Calling her husband’s name.

She was still in her nightclothes, hardly dressed for a midnight visit, whatever the cause might be, but she opened the door anyway. One of the crew, standing in front of her, his shoulders almost slouched, though not quite. Heavy laden with news he didn’t want to carry.

“It’s important, ma’am. The captain. He told us we need to leave. Immediately. Says it’s some kind of technical issue. Can’t fix it, so we have to abandon ship.”

In the darkness of the room, she could just barely see the silhouette of her husband, sitting up and listening carefully to every word, only hoping that it wasn’t true. Abandon ship? The Mary Celeste? It couldn’t be. It simply couldn’t. But in that horrifying, utterly unsettling way, it was.

With only ten people, the evacuation was quick. Boats, rations, floatation devices. As one of the few women on the boat, she would get off quickly, perhaps even safely. Their lives were what they were fighting for now, no longer money or the promise of a new beginning. Nothing like that. Even just those little things were too much to ask.

Sailing away from the Mary Celeste was like leaving her heartbeat behind. You don’t notice it until you really listen. As their little lifeboat sailed away, with just the ten of them, hoping for the chance of finding their way back somehow, Cora realized that staring out the window that week before might have been the last time she would ever see the land again.

She’d never longed so much to be away from the water.

(763 words)

Prompt: “A world where shadows live amongst us, a mirrorverse where they hold all our abilities, know all our secrets and languish in our deepest dreams and greatest fears, you may never know whether that unknown bystander is your reflection. When a young person befriends their shadow, opening the path to unlocking the darkest truths in this world, what will happen?” [@pixzunami].
~
They tell us the dark ones are dangerous, that they come from the other side for a reason. They tell us the dark ones will follow us, just to see if misery may follow like they do. In every glass, window, and broken bit of hope, they find us, wherever they are. They haunt us. And they never stop.

I've long since learned to avoid certain places, out of knowing that they will see me. I've learned to escape the ones who follow, who watch, who wonder, the dark ones who have been trapped in our world, unable to slither back to their own. Our own mirrorverse.

But I can't escape them all.

The ones in the glass, they disappear when you walk away, but the one behind me? It stays. Only when the sun goes down does it finally disappear into the cold, bitter air.

I think of them as phoenixes, dying and born again the next morning, like they are simply a ghost of the night, present to echo its lack, to remind us that even when it's no longer dark out, the darkness will find its way back to us, like always.

The morning is bitter, like every other day, when I discover it. The rays of sunlight are only just lighting up the sky, and the clouds cover any bit of the light that make it in.

The ones in the glass have disappeared, and I like it better that way, but the shadow behind me is only just fading in to view.

Shadows. The other word they use to describe them. Less threatening, almost friendly. Most prefer to call them the dark ones. To keep them at a distance. But what if distance isn't the key?

When the sun is high at noon, the shadow grows darker, more visible with the presence of its opposite. With every step I take, it does the same, copying my every movement silently. You would barely notice them if we weren't taught to avoid them.

I surprise myself this time by forcing myself to stare at the stranger in the mirror, and she stares back with the same level of calm.

“Who are you?” I ask her, and her lips move to the same words I speak, and I realize.

She's me.
~
Word count: 383 words

Spreading through me quietly, a hunter poised to kill.
It digs its claws into my heart, sinks its teeth into my soul,
Leads me into its gentle arms, keeps me close when nothing else does.
Even when I know it’s wrong, I become its prisoner all over again.
Nothing becomes everything,
Consuming me until it is the only thing that
Exists.
~
Word count: 61 words

I’ve had a bunch of journaling assignments before in the past, and I’m just going to preface by saying that I’m definitely not very good at journaling. Never have been. I find it very boring to write about my own life (I already know all about it, don’t I?!) every day. So anyway, this is my attempt at journaling, since I have no idea how to properly journal.

Right now, I’m very stressed, given that I’ve just got so much writing stuff to do, whether that be for SWC, JWC, or just my own (not to say that I don’t like it, though, because writing is definitely a bright spot for me), but mainly because of schoolwork and soccer. I have soccer for an hour or so three days a week, which is admittedly not that much, but it still takes quite a bit of time out of my life. Then I go home and get showered and just do homework and eat dinner, and yeah, that’s basically my day. I’ve got a major school assignment due in around a month, but it’s just so much work, and I’m scared I’m not going to get it done in time, or, at least, not done in time to get the score that I want. I’m making a documentary. I have no idea how to make a documentary. I’ve never really made a documentary. This is one of the major, major issues.

Anyway, beyond that, I’ve also been reading this very excellent series I shall not name, as I am definitely the type of person who would keep other people from a good book so that no one else gets to read it so it stays my thing, but that’s kind of failing, as I’m currently about to explode from not talking about it, and my sister is no help because while she likes reading, she doesn’t quite enjoy my book ranting, which is probably a quarter to half of my personality. But yes. I am keeping it a secret, because if it becomes popular, it’s not my thing anymore, because I’ve already lost so many of them to the other people at my school. I read The Inheritance Games over a year ago, and in the past few months, it’s just been getting really popular, and the same happened to A Good Girl’s Guide to Murder before, plus a couple of other things.

So yeah, congratulations on making it to the end of Snowy’s really random rant about stuff in general! I think it’s safe to say that I won’t be taking up journaling as a hobby…
~
Word count: 436 words

Alright, so this is probably fairly obvious, but my favorite class is, of course, ELA. Otherwise known as English Language Arts. The first reason why I like the class is that I've liked to read for a really long time, so that helps (although sometimes I don't particularly like the reading assignments, but oh, well), but the teachers are just always so nice. ELA teachers, in my experience, are the best. I've never had a mean ELA teacher.

So anyway, two years ago, my ELA teacher was really nice, and she had these two cats and I had a cat as well, and we would always talk about them and share photos and stuff. She's moved away since then, but I wish I could still keep in touch with her.

One year ago, I had some very excellent ELA teachers as well, and the one that taught me was so nice. She loved to read books of a similar genre to me (most notably: The Hunger Games), and we would talk about it together, as well as about writing. It was just super nice to be able to share a common interest between the two of us, and I ended up getting to know her quite well. Honestly, the writing units from last year are what really got me into writing. I'd probably still be at fanfiction by now if it weren't for her. I still stop by and say hi every once and awhile.

And now, my current ELA teacher is also very nice, bakes the best cookies, and loves that I love to write, and is just all-around super sweet.

If you kind of get what I'm saying, in my past experience, all ELA teachers have been incredible and very nice people.

Alright, then there's the content. I love to read, love to write (obviously), so I'm definitely quite passionate about the units. Plus, last year, my three of my friends were all in my ELA class, and I'm so glad that I got to know two of them (I hadn't been friends with them previously) and become friends with them, and get to know the other one a bit better. To date, they are some of my best friends. We would all do a bit of goofing off — of course, we still did the work, though — and gave a lot of book recommendations to each other, plus did a lot of writing. From there, we ended up forming our little writing group, where we give each other critique and inspiration and such. It's honestly so awesome to have other writers in your life in real life!

So basically, this was basically just a really long rant about why ELA is the best. Because it is.
~
Word count: 458 words

When I look into the mirror, I try to see myself for who I really am not who I want to be instead. It's a lot more difficult than I thought it would be, given all the layers and layers and layers of deception that I put out there to try and act like there's nothing else underneath. And maybe, that's the problem. There isn't.

I want to be able to say that there's something else here, something else for me in this world, but it's like there's no reason to keep going. Everything is just normal, and without e, it's like it would be completely normal as well. I want to tell them that No, how could I matter when there are so many people who are still so much more than I am? How can I matter if I can spend my life trying to be invisible, and no one else can see me? How come they never try?

They say that oftentimes, people aren't worth the effort and all the thought you put into how much time they spend thinking about you, and sure, I guess that's true. They say that it doesn't matter what they think, only what you think of yourself. Funny, thne, that I can't form my own opinion about me without what they say, what they think. I guess that it's just as much a part of me as what they say. Probably even less.

I want to be able to reassure myself, to be confident, the way everyone else is. I want to tell them that people will change, that one day people will see me for who I really am. I want to say that they can somehow see beneath the shadows and ghosts and find the little wisps of the person I used to be, the person that I wish I was now.

But they'll never see that girl, will they? That's just how people are. They can't tell you what's right, only what's wrong. They see the imperfections and not the things you've done okay at, and they judge you based on what you've said, what you've done, what you look like, what you sound like. And maybe there really is something wrong with me.

(376 words)
~
This is basically just me spitting out words to try and get something on the page. Sorry for any grammar/spelling mistakes.

In Lemuria, there is light. There always has been.

But how can there be light when the stars and sun are gone?

Waking up is terrifying for her, for Aurora, because she wasn't meant to wake up. That night was supposed to be her last, and then she would become one of those wandering spirits. How is it, then, that she has somehow found her way into this world? It's nothing like the one she knows.

Her father.

Her father has been left behind, in another world she doesn't belong to, not anymore. The little girl weeps for him, forgetting that she herself is the one who is dead, at least in what she thinks is the real world. But she is no longer a part of that world, and he is so far gone. Left outside the dream.

A dream. It's the only explanation she has for this. Maybe she is not dead yet. Not quite.

Maybe she has been granted one last dream before she goes
***
Before

A father tucks a red-haired child into bed and plants a kiss soft as the flutter of a butterfly's wings onto her forehead. His lovely daughter is ill and has been for quite some time, and in the nighttimes, he worries about a day when she will no longer wake to greet him in the mornings. He pushes that thought away, though, keeping it at a distance. Far away. Far, far away.

She whispers a “good night” to him, one that's hardly audible from even just the other side of the room, and he smiles in the darkness and stokes the fire one last time before he leaves her to rest.

In the night, the fire fades to embers fades to smoldering coals, and then the smoke floating up from the chimney of their Austrian castle becomes less than a little wisp that fades in the starlight as she sleeps.

And at some point, when the fire goes cold, the little girl, Aurora, drifts off for the final time, with no one else to see her chest rise and fall one last time.

It's only in the morning when they notice.
~
Word count: 361 words
~
Note: This is based on Child of Light, which is a very, very good video game that I played when I was younger. It's so sweet, and the artwork and art style is gorgeous, and the music is beautiful. The gameplay style is also quite different from most video games, and the storyline is touching and incredibly well-done. Basically, it's worth your time, and you should definitely play it.

It’s quiet in the city.

Snow falls over the ground in a gentle pure white powder, dusting the floor in its soft freedom. It's the kind of stuff you used to play in when you were younger, to jump in and make snow angels in. The kind of stuff you’d spend all day in, laughing and running and shouting and sledding. Not even caring how cold it was outside, whether the bitter wind was blowing too hard, only caring about the love that you felt for the earth on those beautiful, beautiful days.

I wish that today could be a happy occasion for me. More so, I wish that I could be one of them, the children that play in the snow without a care in the world, who don’t have to think about all the hardships of the world and whether the person you love might make it through to the next season, or whether they’re already gone by this point. I wish that I could forget everything in this life and start anew, though, of course, I know that’s impossible. It’s always impossible.

They laugh like I did, when I was younger. They laugh like we did together, if you can remember in death. Do you remember?

You’re silent, though. You’re always silent now.

You stopped talking a while ago, and I wish that I could be the one to make you see the reason to communicate again. I wish that I could be the one who made your life so worth living that you felt the need to rise above whatever it is that kept itself from finding its way to your lips, that kept you from speaking and living the way so many others do. I wish I could be the one to bring you back from the edge and tell you that I care, that you mean something to me, even if you don’t see that.

But then, you’re already gone. That’s what you say, at least.

I do my best to forget the past, though it never seems to work. Forgetting is far harder when you’re trying than when it simply happens by accident. I’ve figured that much out by this point.

As the silence keeps going, even as I do my very best to escape it and find something good, I can only be reminded of your words, loud and boisterous and always too much. Then too much became too little, and then too little
~
Word count: 412 words

When no one is at home anymore, the chaos begins.

It starts with a quiet whisper between the supposed “stuffed” animals that are not at all real, a murmur wondering if she is gone for school yet, asking if it’s alright to drop the facade by this point. And when the workers have been confirmed once more, they emerge from their shells like they have for many days before.

Some, the older ones with little energy anymore, are hesitant to do so, and even when they do, they retreat into their own groups, the ones they have had for years since she was first given them.

The ones left out on the bed begin to shout and jump with joy, and they have an unspoken agreement with the others kept under the bed, sealed in plastic bags to keep the bedbugs from getting to them. For most of the time, they’re trapped in the darkness and in the hot environment of being all squished together, so they’re the ones who really can’t wait for the taste of freedom and fresh air when she leaves, to get out and play.

During the night, they’re kept captive, but during the day, they have their own rule over the house, able to do anything they want. Just so long as they put everything back the way it was, no one will even notice, especially not her.

They laugh and play and run around, and they make messes of all the things she would hate to see messed up, and they get their little bit of happiness while she’s away.

The toys have trained themself to know the sound of the door opening, and they rush to put everything back in its place as they huddle close together in the bags and sit still on the bed, resuming the lifeless shapes they have whenever she’s around to see them.

And tomorrow? They will do it all over again.
~
Word count: 324 words

When I look up through the silver-tinged mist, you're there. Standing straight up, like the soldier you were trained to be. you were always a better soldier than I was. Eyes fixed on some point in the distance, watching and waiting for something, though I don't know what. You don't see me, or at least, you don't seem to see me, and this whole time, you're just standing there, frozen and still, like I'm a ghost or something of that kind. Like I don't even exist.

The fog keeps me rooted to the spot, strangely, and neither of us can approach the other like this. I beg it to release me, let me go just this once.

And that's when I realize it's not the fog that keeps me captive, but the people.

Their arms grip me tighter and drag me away, and I'm confused for a second because even though the trees are moving and getting smaller and smaller behind me, you're no farther away in the movement.

You, of course, were always the one they wanted. Loyal to everything you believed in, even at the cost of everything else. You, of course, would be the only one they kept in a new litter of eager souls, waiting to step up until they understood what it really meant.

You, of course, should leave me by myself, because I'm a traitor. Through and through, they would say. Every last drop of blood in me, they would say. Undeserving. So whatever friendship we had before, that doesn't exist anymore. It's gone and shredded to pieces. But I guess I can't say I didn't already know that.

It occurs to me vaguely that you're nearing, taking steady steps toward me, as if you might turn back and pretend you didn't without a moment's hesitation. It occurs to me that I should be gone by now, and I would be if you weren't shouting orders at them to stop.

The ground is hard and cold against my cheek, dry and empty and bare. It's winter, but there's no snow in sight.

You pull me up roughly, and I get a glimpse of the person you used to be in your face for an instant, but then it hardens into the mask of stone it always is now.

I want to ask you if all that time that's passed, if that means nothing to you now. I want to ask you if all the rules you used to follow have crumbled for this reason. There are so many things I want to tell you, but I pick just one of them to say.

“Do you remember me?” I ask, my voice a hoarse whisper.

The fog thickens, but I see it anyway. Your gaze flashes for a second, then fades to the familiar gray I remember, the kind of cold and unseeing one I've learned is the one you reserve for enemies.

Your eyes. They're empty anyway.
~
Word count: 493 words

SnowdropSugar wrote:

January 20th, 2024 Daily

When I look up through the silver-tinged mist, you're there. Standing straight up, like the soldier you were trained to be. you were always a better soldier than I was. Eyes fixed on some point in the distance, watching and waiting for something, though I don't know what. You don't see me, or at least, you don't seem to see me, and this whole time, you're just standing there, frozen and still, like I'm a ghost or something of that kind. Like I don't even exist.

The fog keeps me rooted to the spot, strangely, and neither of us can approach the other like this. I beg it to release me, let me go just this once.

And that's when I realize it's not the fog that keeps me captive, but the people.

Their arms grip me tighter and drag me away, and I'm confused for a second because even though the trees are moving and getting smaller and smaller behind me, you're no farther away in the movement.

You, of course, were always the one they wanted. Loyal to everything you believed in, even at the cost of everything else. You, of course, would be the only one they kept in a new litter of eager souls, waiting to step up until they understood what it really meant.

You, of course, should leave me by myself, because I'm a traitor. Through and through, they would say. Every last drop of blood in me, they would say. Undeserving. So whatever friendship we had before, that doesn't exist anymore. It's gone and shredded to pieces. But I guess I can't say I didn't already know that.

It occurs to me vaguely that you're nearing, taking steady steps toward me, as if you might turn back and pretend you didn't without a moment's hesitation. It occurs to me that I should be gone by now, and I would be if you weren't shouting orders at them to stop.

The ground is hard and cold against my cheek, dry and empty and bare. It's winter, but there's no snow in sight.

You pull me up roughly, and I get a glimpse of the person you used to be in your face for an instant, but then it hardens into the mask of stone it always is now.

I want to ask you if all that time that's passed, if that means nothing to you now. I want to ask you if all the rules you used to follow have crumbled for this reason. There are so many things I want to tell you, but I pick just one of them to say.

“Do you remember me?” I ask, my voice a hoarse whisper.

The fog thickens, but I see it anyway. Your gaze flashes for a second, then fades to the familiar gray I remember, the kind of cold and unseeing one I've learned is the one you reserve for enemies.

Your eyes. They're empty anyway.
~
Word count: 493 words

“Pancakes or waffles?” came the ever-challenging question.

The real difficulty for Amber was that she could never decide. How could she, just one person, answer the ultimate question and solve the paramount debate? But every morning, she was greeted with that same question, a request for her to solve the perpetual cycle.

Some days were easier. She would choose one or the other, no problem, and she would enjoy them to the best of her ability. She was good at enjoying them, given how they were both so delicious. But some days, she was so torn between her two wonderful options that she needed to use the element of randomness to pick one for her, and she cast a die and looked away, not even wanting to know what her fate would be that morning. Such a difficult question. Such a difficult answer.

This morning, Amber bounded down the stairs, eager to hear the question again. Because she had an answer, she knew it this time! She would finally be able to decide without the possibility of the decision weighing on her for the next 24 hours until she woke up and gave her answer again. She would be free of the guilt that came with choosing one and betraying the other. She would no longer have to feel the pressing need to choose the other for fairness the next day.

As soon as her feet hit the bottom step, the question came like always. “Pancakes or waffles?” the voice asked, and Amber's eyes were wide and bright as she answered this time.

“BOTH!”

And so Amber quickly settled the difficult question, because as it turned out, it was not just one answer, but the answer that would allow her both. She had solved it. The paradoxical, paramount question. Never again would it haunt her.

She ate her waffles and pancakes in silence, drenched in Vermont maple syrup (the best, of course), and covered in whipped cream, and internally, she declared it a good day.
~
Word count: 335 words

The sun burns down as the group walks through the mangrove forest, keeping one eye out for mudskippers, hoping to catch a glimpse of these amazing creatures as they do. It's not, of course, a rare sighting, though, but they yearn to see one in person, validating their love for the creature. Finally, their dreams would be made into reality, and they would be granted the great privilege of becoming true mudskippers.

They all laugh loudly together, and then Claire shushes them all so as not to scare away the mudskippers, though Isabel continues to laugh at what Kathy said, only more subdued.

“Look!” Claire says quickly, pointing to a spot in the mud. “It's a mudskipper!” She pauses for a second before continuing, because this is the first real mudskipper that she's seen. “At least, I think it's a mudskipper.”

“It IS a mudskipper!” Kathy confirms.

“Where?” Isabel asks, turning quickly to face in the direction of Claire and Kathy, wanting to see the mudskipper as well. Although she had previously seen mudskippers, she didn't want to be left out of this incredible discovery of a mudskipper in its own habitat.

“Do you think it eats CHEEEEEESE?” Kathy asks, her face pulling at the sides as she says it. “I bet it LOVES cheese.”

“No, Kathy, it probably does NOT eat cheese,” Isabel says somewhat tiredly. “Mudskippers don't even EAT cheese.”

“How would you know that? Have YOU ever talked to a mudskipper?” Kathy responds incredulously.

“Well, have YOU?” Kira, another member of the group asks.

Some amount of arguments regarding the probability (or lack, thereof) of the mudskipper in question eating cheese follow, though they're quickly quieted by the wonder of the mudskippers.

“Did you know that there are eighteen species of mudskippers?” Isabel asks casually.

“Really?” Claire responds. “That's so cool!”
~
Word count: 304 words

The sky bursts into flames, streaks of orange and yellow and red marbled together. Possibly it is intended to mock us, to taunt us, saying, Look at us. Look at how much more powerful we are than you. Because fire destroys everything.

The sun, with its burning rays of light so full and passionate they almost tear into my skin, parallels the same burning of the building. A sign, perhaps. A warning. But one never heeded all the same.

They rush out, steady footsteps loudly thumping against the hard concrete of the sidewalk. Boots against tough gravel, pounding as they find their way through the maze of people.

Autumn leaves burn to a crisp until they become withered and in ashes. Must everything taunt us? They whisper their words of teasing as they find their way through the darkness and into the light of the flames.

And then as the sun fades to darkness and the leaves shrivel to dust, there is quiet as the taunting stops. And the boots, no longer the stomping, rhythmic beat they were before, no longer the harmony to the destruction. There is nothing but pure shock as everything as we know it crumbles.

Quiet. It is the worst kind of destruction.

It gets in your bones and makes you shiver with its very own terror, a pulsing kind of thing.

Though the silence is worse. The silence means that there is nothing. And in this world of flames and crumbled ashes and skies fading to inky night, silence is all that remains.
~
Word count: 258 words

“Aurora!” you call, and the word is hardly more than a plea, a wish, a desperate, desperate hope, and you drop to your knees in the mud, fresh from last night’s rain. The bottom of her golden dress is dusted with dirt.

The young girl’s red hair is splayed out all around her, a sea of flames as she drifts off. Drifting off. It’s too nice a way of putting it, too nice a phrase to mean what it does.

You hold her hand, limp in your own, wishing for the warmth to be returned to her skin and squeeze back to tell you, Don’t be sad, darling, I’ll fly again soon.

You were always one to fly. In this other world, may the heavens and earth still grant you that privilege, to be able to lift your wings up to the clouds.

Those shadows crept into her heart, like they did for everyone else. The monsters of the night would find a way through the warmth of her light to take her their prisoner, and perhaps now they finally have.

In these moments, time, in its essence, means nothing to you. The world may continue to spin, and outside, the shadows may still be creeping in through the gaps between the trees, but they remain little.

The moon hangs above her still-fresh face, reflecting on the droplets pooled around her eyes. Tears, you realize. The little girl cries for the many things she had lost, though now it is she herself that is long gone.

Your eyes always held the light of the stars, but how will they shine without you?

You want to comfort her, to say a few words, but nothing you can say now will ever change the truth.

Perhaps in this dreamland you are being released into, your tears will become no more, and you may conquer all the fears that once chased you in this life.

It has been a dream of the best kind, one long and sweet and full. But then, even the best of dreams are destined to end when morning comes.
~
Word count: 351 words

Around me, the silence overflows, spilling over from the edges of the room, filling it all up until nothing else exists except that tense kind of hesitation, that awful kind of anticipation. We wait, wait for something else to confirm or deny our own words, left in the past, the words no one speaks but us. But in this newly-settled quiet, no one speaks. We wait as the seconds and minutes and hours tick by.

The world in my head and mind is dark, empty and devoid of all color. A blank canvas, but I don’t have the paints. Every step is shaky, hoping that I won’t fall into the cracks the quiet has made.

Wordlessness seeps in, flooding the floors until it’s up to our necks, and then we can’t do anything but to swallow it whole. It buries itself into our bones, their bones, until we are all made of it, this same thing, this silence.

A hand reaches through the fog of my own mind and grasps for me, a long-forgotten hope of retrieval. A salvation in the darkness, though I can only hope they know the way out.

A gentle tug pulling me forward, telling me to come, that we’re so near safety now. I don’t believe the motion. Nowhere is our safety anymore.

Still, I follow without any particular reason, simply because I know that I must, that it is right. One step forward, one at a time. In the same direction they lead me in, hoping that their quiet isn’t a lie to me instead. Perhaps it is true that they are lying to me, with some form of communication for them all to use, one that neglects the sightless, the people who find themselves lost in this mist.

I gulp up their lies and with it, the silence.

Around me, it overflows, with every step I take.
~
Word count: 314 words
~
The words were “quiet,” “overflow,” “guide,” and “waiting.”