Consistency: 08/03/2022

Once a year they gather around me with flowers and candles and presents. Once a year they remember me, they rest of the year they try to forget me. Once a year, I remember who I was and what I've lost, as they come by one at a time and talk to me.

This year, they came by with a new member, my name on hers, as they show me her small face, hands, eyes. I tear up, unable to move or touch her, Her small hands reach out to me and I feel my tears fall to the ground as I float above my grave. I hate this horrible day, the only day I am remembered. I wish they would all forget, whenever they remember my heart breaks with theirs.

They talk about the life I would have had, one filled with the love and laughter I remember, and the tales of my past adventures. They talk and talk as they gather around a slab of concrete with writing on it and discuss me more than they ever did when I was alive. It makes me hate death more than I already do, the fact that I can't live these wonderful memories with them, the fact that they won't ever forget me now, not with her name, the fact that I love that they loved me.

My sister laughs as she brings out cruisers, the only alcohol I could stomach, and all the adults down one each and laugh. My mother pulls out a thermos filled with two minute noodles, the ones I loved to sneakily eat, everyone takes out a bowl and a fork they brought with them and they all eat. I made them promise to do this every year, and they never break their promises.

Then, halfway through the noodles, my father starts to cry, just like every year, my sister holds his hand, my mother hides her face. They all break down one at a time and sob, and all I can do is watch - crying - as they mourn me again. I thought time was supposed to heal this pain but it hasn't. "She was taken too young" they say and I feel it, of course I feel it, I was the one who died. They didn't have to see the world move on and keep turning, see other people achieve what I could have, see awards accepted on my behalf, see my name disappear from the mouths of my friends. They can only wonder and discuss how 'she had so much to live for' as if I chose to die.

Year after year, I am reminded on the life I am missing out on, and year after year I realise the tormen will never end. Not until everyone else is gone. Not until they've joined me. Year after year, I hope they don't join me for a long, long time.

Dragged by her friend, Analicia entered the eternal dark forest. yet it wasn’t actually dark. Light reflected from glowing flowers shown in her eyes. It was far away from the palace and wandering eyes weren’t able to spot it.

she hadn’t believed in magic, yet the moment she stepped in, she felt… it.

A soft touch. a quiet song that tickled her eardrums. A scent so unique she couldn’t identify it. A presence of something beyond this world.

It was the annual magic festival. Where wizards and witches from all around the kingdom came to celebrate.

“Cia, You have to try these!” Naria jumped, excitement beaming from her face.

Analicia could only stare at her flying braids as they went up and down. She wanted to touch them so bad, would her fingers levitate too?

Naria gave her a wand, legend said it could bring anything to life, you only needed to say the word.

“But like every trick, there’s a downside. It only lasts a few seconds. Witches usually use them for investigation! They would communicate with the murder weapon.” Naria explained using her facial expressions and hand gestures.

For a second her heart almost stopped. What if someone would use it against her after she’d kill the prince? She’d have to hope no one in the kingdom believed in this.

Naria continued to show her around, familiar creatures that she despised, buzzed around. They were *Everywhere*.

Flying pink spiders, as small as pinheads. Bees with 4 sets of wings. Black lady bugs. She couldn’t look at the rest without nausea overwhelming her.

In every festival, witchlings -young witches- would have multiple competitions to prove their skill. A golden apple was given to the ultimate witchling as the prize.

During so, the older enchantresses held a potion brewing contest. This year they’d have to make a arctic blue potion with a salty flavor.

Analicia was blown away by all of this.

“Aside from the bugs this place is truly magical.. to say the least” Naria let out a chuckle.

“Indeed it is.”

(criticism would be greatly appreciated!)

((edit this didn't all send the first time i am going to cry maybe))

”Oh my god.” Lexi doesn't want to think about what exactly today is for her, but the evidence is right there in her face in the form of her phone getting blown up with messages by the same person like it is every year. She was honestly hoping that they would forget, but they never do. Never. Birthdays are always a source of anxiety for her to some degree, but at least her friends try to make the day something nice. Four new messages. That's not as bad as it could have been. [CRASHES THROUGH ROOF INTO YOUR ROOM] [LEXI.] [SHAKES YOU UNTIL YOU DIR] [HAPPY BIRTHDAY RRAAAAAAHHH YOU'RE OLD NOW] What does that mean. She doesn't know what that means. Pablo, why are you literally insane. [wait] [dir] [dir*] [IH NO.] What the hell. That's always been their dynamic, really; Lexi was quiet and kept mostly to herself in case her attempts at interactions went bad and had a hard time talking to people, and Pablo was loud and did not hesitate to say literally anything that came to mind no matter how little sense it made and also had a hard time talking to people. It doesn't seem like a very good match of personalities at all, so naturally, they're besties. And have been for 15 or so years now. (Update: it was actually thirteen. She totally knew that.) People often wonder if they're actually friends, or what exactly their relationship is. Some speculated that they despised each other and took the “keep your enemies closer” advice way too seriously, which Lexi finds hilarious, actually. Lexi does message back! Instead of addressing the first topic, though, they immediately go after all the typos. Because that's what friends are for. And it feels more natural. This is how you have a conversation, and no response is ever planned out hours in advance, I swear. {What does dir mean.} [NNOOOOO I DIDN'T WRITE THAT] {ih no} [i never said any of those things actually <3] ... {why are you lying? (be honest)} [I would never! (actually i am right now)] {oh thank god. (WHAT)} Why. Why were they cursed with such a ridiculous sense of humor.

{in all seriousness though, uh ,,,, thank you} [NO PROBLEM] [wait can we call] [i think we should it'd be so silly] [ALSO ERIKA SAYS HI] {okay} {hi erika :)} Calls make them anxious, very much so. Lexi isn't very good at speaking over the phone, and it's really scary for absolutely no reason. But this is a friend, a buddy, a good pal if you will. So it's fine. It takes Pablo about two seconds to answer. “HI!! HELLO.” Oh, good lord. “How do you already have so much energy.” “Why do you sound half awake?? Wait WAIT, did you just get up???” Uh oh. “No,” she says, and it's not at all convincing. They have to pretend that they're also not cracking up right now, and they don't do a very good job with that either. “Why are you literally the worst at lying.” “I would never lie about this.” “You're lying right NOW!!” His tone changes to one of concern. “Okay, seriously. Please take care of yourself, it's really worrying-” “I'll be fine.” Probably. “... I do appreciate it, though.” “Of course, man!! Wow, can't believe you're in the double digits now.” “HUH???” WHAT??? “Or however old you are now. Eight?? Nine???” Why is Lexi being bullied right now. “Th- three, actually.” “Okay, cool, thanks for clearing that up.” They shouldn't be laughing. Why are they laughing? This is so STUPID. She finds herself pacing the room as they talk. Lexi doesn't know why she does that, she tends not to notice that she does at all, but it calms her down. Makes things more manageable. “... seventeen.” “WHAT.” Oh god. Worry. Did she say something wrong? Is she forgetting about something important? Is she *not* seventeen? “Are you alright?-” “I THOUGHT YOU WERE ALREADY ...” HOW did you EVER think that. “NO????” “Oh my god. I thought-. Oh my god. No, it's because I'm gonna be eighteen in a few months so I just assumed that you'd be, like, also that age???” “Why would you ever think that, you're older than me-”

“I headcanon that you're eighteen, actually.” “Now, you're just making up words.” “All words are made up.” “Well, that's different. Those words aren't dumb.” “You're so MEAN to me ALL the time-” The conversation continues in this lighthearted fashion, and somehow remains that way despite the weight that Lexi feels on her shoulders. (Metaphorical, of course, as she feels the need to specify.) Yes, she's having a good time, and she appreciates the fact that she has people who are there for her, but change is .. scary. And new years starting, those clean slates that are so *easy* to mess up, are equally terrifying.

A lot of different factors contributed to make her life very hectic, almost unpredictable, and she often found herself disengaged from the present moment, worrying about what her future would have in store, if she had a future at all. Hell, she didn't think she'd make it to this birthday, let alone actual adulthood. And these days that are based around the idea of celebrating a new year -- birthdays, New Years in about two months, you get the idea -- they serve as reminders that time is still going, and it's not stopping to wait for her to collect her thoughts and assess her options. These reminders ... scare her a little. Seventeen ... “...” ... But she doesn't have to worry about it right now. If she can just focus on today ... “Lexi?” She blinks out of her thoughts. They're not quite sure when they zoned out, but they must have at some point. “Hm?” “You okay?” ... Is she? Lexi isn't sure. Has she been okay? Is she going to be? Will everyone ultimately be fine? ... Best not to dwell on it. Lexi wishes she had all the answers, but she doesn't. And besides, things are fine right now. And that's what's most important at this very moment. “Yeah. Thank you.” After all, this kind of thing only happens once a year.

I relat to her 🧍🏻‍♀️ The fact that time just keeps going is so scary to me 😭

It was August again, a time for melons. Thorn lay on his bed, awake due to the unbearable heat.

Every year, back in the village they would take the year’s ripest watermelons and come together to feast upon the fruit. The first cutting was almost like a ceremony. Thorn could still remember when it had been his turn to slice the melon, the week before he left for the city.

“Thorn, do you have any last words or memories of this place that you’d like to share with us?”

Man, it felt like he was lying on his deathbed, almost.

“Well, I’m very grateful to all of you, for what you’ve done for me all these years…and for letting me cut the melon today.”

“Well, but of course! You’re very special and dear to us.”

Thorn grimaced. That had been, what, ten years ago? And today was the day of the melons again…

He got up, and took out a plastic container of watermelon that he had gotten from the store, but it just didn’t taste the same.

I have a large family. Ever since I was born, we've been annually visiting our eldest members who were still living in the middle of the country, instead of the capital like us - it was actually the generation after the oldest living ones that moved up here, and we simply stayed where we were, more or less.

The place itself is in a rural area, more of a town than a city to be honest, with a somewhat mixed population. The elderly there have gardens, where they can do whatever they like - grow vegetables, fruit, keep animals.

When I was still very small, my great-grandparents' garden held many farm animals, mostly chicken with a few male specimen mixed in, but you could see ducks running around here and there as well.

So then, when I was just a grade schooler in the early years, my - well technically they were remarried so step - great-grandmother was letting some of the eggs hatch into small chicks and I got to hold one in my hands one time~~

Since then, quite a lot of things have happened though; the animals' numbers have dwindled, my great-grandpa passed away, and my great-grandma has moved to her son's house in a nearby town, since they still live - are still living - there. The house has been since sold, too.

So that's my story! We still go visit every summer - annually. Visit my great-grandmother's family, as well as the local graveyard, where apart from my great-grandfather, many other distant relatives lie, as well as my great-great-grandmother. And presumed great-great-grandfather, but that's a story for another day.

This one's a true story! Everything told here is the truth.

Under the watchful eye of the moon Time sees an ephemeral eternal love return year and year again. It were those that he was gambling for, for a little bit more time.

They met first under the moon on the first festivities the humans had for the new year. They danced together through the the bonfires, laughed and got close. When the sun arose at twilight, they parted ways.

But on the following year, at the same celebration, the same two met again. And again they danced and laughed and this time, they fell in love. But even so, they had to part again when the sun rose at dawn.

And so it repeated annual. For decades they returned to the place, only ever seeing each other for one day a year. And the moon watched them, protected them with their shadows so no one would see when they sneaked away from the fires together. And Time gambled with Moments for a bit more time for the both of them.

Wednesday, 15th of February.

They come out of hiding. From a boat on the sea. From a hut in the forest. From the basement that they hid in the day prior, hugging a blanket and feeling lonely alone. Baggy eyes and disheveled clothes made them stand out from the rest. Others, still reveling in chocolate, pointed and laughed at them; but their eyes were clear.

Singles, left alone on Valentine's, gather today to celebrate their Singles Day*.

Today, they are cruelly reminded that nobody loves them romantically, so they gather and love each other platonically. Not with sweet white chocolate, but with bitter black beans. Coarse. Granular. Hard enough to break a tooth.

All this to swallow the gloating grins and the pointed fingers.

Yesterday was their defeat. Today, they hope for a better next time.

*Only celebrated by those who give a shit, and didn't stay dead from the day prior.

Word count: 288 ❄️

Maker Ambrose was completely absorbed in his work when Felicity returned from the streets, but he noticed her metallic footsteps immediately. Of course he did; he always did. The little robot made her way to his desk and looked up expectantly.

“There you are, Angel.” His perpetually exhausted expression slipped into a smile for her. “Did you see anything nice today?”

She pulled at his trouser leg, wanting him to get up. He obliged and was brought to the skylight. Felicity pointed up at it.

Ambrose looked through it, but couldn’t see anything out of the ordinary. The winter moon was lovely as usual, but there was nothing special about this night compared to any other. At least… not that he could remember…

“Can you show me what you mean, Felicity?”

She looked down and her headlamp projected a picture from last year. It was a clear, starry sky. The next was of himself sitting on the roof next to her, appearing more relaxed than he could ever recall feeling. The next were similar from the year before, and the year before that, and the year before that…

Then it hit him. Today was the Solstice.

He kneeled down to Felicity and hugged her. “I’m so sorry for forgetting, Angel. Maker Ambrose has been very busy… the days all blur into one…” He released her and tightened a screw on her face. “We can go watch the stars now, if you like. Keeping up the tradition.”

Felicity’s headlamp glowed a happy yellow. She smiled and ran off towards the front door.

Maker Ambrose put his work away for the first time that month, then fetched his coat to join his robotic child.

Alone in his office, he smiled

*Word Count: 229*

In this magical, faraway land, monsters resided in the shadows. But once a year, the flowers would bloom and glow during the night, basking hundreds of fields with their fluorescent bright pink light. Their shine was evidence of the goddesses' blessing upon the land, and so, the people would rejoice dancing and singing under the night sky.

These magical flowers were called Tiesa's Tears, named after the mother of all goddesses. Resembling very closely to water lilies, but being able to grow anywhere. Be it land, be it water.

Two hundred years ago, a great evil resurfaced to plague the land of Goldcrest. Calling himself Shadow Master, He rallied the Clawmists, terrorising and killing the thousands who stood in their path. The King and Queen of Goldcrest then readied their own army to combat the Shadow Master. Many years passed and war still was waged, until the youngest goddesses couldn't stand by and watch anymore, and joined Goldcrest's forces, many succumbing before the battle turned in their favour.

It was then, after a hundred and fifty years, that the Clawmists and their master were defeated and Tiesa, the Mother Goddess, cried with bittersweet happiness, for while war had finally ended, many lives were lost. The flowers bloomed after being watered by her tears, therefore gaining the name Tiesa's Tears and marking a new age of prosperity across all kingdoms.

WC: 466

Edit: None

My grandmother is a witch.

Black eyes that reflected the stolen souls of innocents, white teeth hiding the flesh and blood of her murdered victims, wrinkles that, like snakes, moved around her face, changing it as necessary.

We lived on the outskirts of a magical town, known for its festivals and colorful crafts, roaming its streets in search of new prey, new life. I tried to escape so many times I couldn't count, but each attempt failed. Madness chased me through the dark alleys that haunted my mind, creating gaps in my memory in order to survive. The witch needed me alive, her target uncertain.

I met a girl once in that town who captured my heart, love was a wonderful feeling, with which I could feel my strength grow to free myself from the witch and escape with her. But my grandmother noticed it before I succeeded.

She used to use sweet and gentle smiles to hypnotize her victims, who came under her mantle like bees to honey. Like a doctor, she can see what her patient needs, creating the perfect oasis to trap those who least expected it. My beloved never had a chance, none of us ever did.

Shivers shivered through my body every time I watched her work and on many occasions I looked away from the sins she was dragged into in her search for the next life essence that would keep her young and healthy, even when her appearance contradicted it.

Hundreds of years I lived under her tutelage, being instructed in the dark and macabre arts that the modern world ignored because of its useless pride. I followed in her footsteps to the letter, trying to be like her, better than her.

The moment came, another year, and the very festival where I had lost my beloved was being held at night under the full moon, and the witch was growing more and more tired. We would both make our move tonight, but this time, I knew something she did not.

The witch's body would deteriorate no matter how many souls she consumed or what bodies she sacrificed, but mine would not. She planned to eliminate my soul and occupy my body, but I was no longer the same ignorant woman I was hundreds of years ago. Today I was going to kill that damned witch, and free the soul of my beloved. Under the reflections of the fireworks in the starry night, our battle broke out. Curses, spells and profanities marked the environment around us and the climax of it.

The people would never know that a few meters from the center of town, souls were rejoicing around a white-haired, red-eyed young woman, embraced by the figure of a translucent maiden, as she held aloft the black beating heart of the witch in her hands.

WC: 2382 Notes: Didn't reread this at all. So, uh, it's kinda a hot mess with little relevance to the theme, but hey! I wrote for once!

CW: Mentions of death :(

Okay. I think I’m ready for the day.

It’s sort of weird that I’m getting ready to go out in the evening, but it’s part of what makes the White Dove Festival one of my favorites; the fact that you can sleep in and still have a lot of time to spare until the festival begins has always made me have a large amount of respect for it.

I’ve been going to the celebration every year of my life, but now that I’m an adult, it’s my first time going alone. Honestly, I’m kind of nervous. Adulting has been so confusing on its own, but actually going out to talk to people just makes me want to hide in a corner. It’s hard to explain. I like being independent, but now there’s no one for me to ask for help. There’s not going to be anyone I know there this year, and that scares the living crap out of me. But I can’t miss out, especially not this year. Imagining Mom and Dad cheering me on, I walk to the bathroom to do a final check.

I look in the mirror one more time just to make sure. After tracing over all of my features, from my curly heap of red hair, now pulled into two low, nearly falling out pigtails, to my black eyes decorated with short, red eyelashes, the only thing I do is pull out a straggly few strands of hair to cover up a pimple on my forehead. Alright, even if I look like I’ve just emerged from hibernation (which I kinda did), I’m ready now.

Now that Mom and Dad aren’t here to boss me around, I can really go out of the house looking however I like. Even Colette, my older sister, has been cooped up in her room for so long that she hasn’t sent me a text asking for a picture of how I look before she leaves for the festival like she normally would every year. No more, “Sadie, if you don’t send a picture I’m going to drive to your house right now,” or, “You look hideous, fix yourself up.” If only she understood how difficult it is to “fix up” a face like mine. Nothing looks anywhere near presentable on me, and I don’t feel like making the effort right now.

Too tired to try to look cute, I just put on a pair of sweats, a white tee, and a checkered cardigan. I stuff a Hershey’s in my pocket in case I have an emergency. For some reason, I’m sweating more than often today. Maybe I’m just nervous to go outside, or maybe I’m nervous to be in a crowd at night. Maybe it’s the thought that they’ll be setting off firecrackers. Or maybe it’s because I’ll finally have to accept what happened to Mom and Dad. Ouch.

I don’t know what it is, and I’m too tired to figure it out. So I suck it up, grab my cracked phone on the way out. My phone screen is so cracked from how many times I’ve dropped it that you can barely tell what it used to be or what it’s trying to show on its screen, but I’m too lazy to get a new one. Plus, an old friend got me this phone. I haven’t seen him in years, but it’s nice to have a memento of some sort, I guess.

As soon as I step foot into the outside world, I flinch. Maybe I should just go back now. Maybe it isn’t worth it. But what about Mom and Dad? As soon as their smiling faces appear in my mind, I take a deep breath and begin to walk to my local park, where the White Dove Festival is held annually. With each step, I think of them. I miss them.

The White Dove Festival is a celebration unique to my town that is of acceptance of all sorts of things– new relationships, relatives, locations, all of it– but especially the passing of loved ones. Every year, the attendees gather in the park. There, you can purchase a lantern to release into the night sky. Then you can buy a picnic blanket (if you didn’t bring one on your own) or find a bench to sit on with your group. Well, if you have a group. I don’t this year. Colette’s staying home, and I can’t blame her. Everything that happened this year took a toll on her, worse than on me.

When I enter the park, suddenly everything feels more real. Everyone around me is really here and I am too, and that scares me more than it should. I gulp and head over to the stand where a girl with pale skin and white hair is selling sky lanterns. I rummage around in my pockets and pull out a few dollars.

“One lantern, please,” I request. Only now do I recognize her face. I think she was one of Colette’s friends; it seems like she’s still stuck in this town like me.

“Sure thing,” she nods, accepting the money and handing me a lantern. I nod in gratitude and scurry away like a mouse, off to find the bench my family would normally sit at.

The Dimmings family bench is secluded and right between two tall trees. Practically everyone in town knows that it’s our bench, even if it’s never really said. There were four of us, so it was pretty hard to fit all of us into the bench. This year it’ll be even easier, seeing as I’ll be the only one on it.

As soon as I arrive at the bench, I notice that something’s wrong. It’s not the bench itself, no– there’s a boy with black hair, hazel eyes, and rosy cheeks sitting right smack in the middle of it, right on my family’s bench! He looks my age, but also so frail, almost made of porcelain. He’s bundled up in a coat and scarf, even if it’s not cold at all out. He’s alone, his face giving away…nothing. His eyes are sorrowful, but that’s the only thing I can decipher, like a quiet and shy first grader who just swallowed a watermelon seed. Something about his expression makes me want to just give him hot cocoa and put him in front of a fireplace, even if it’s summer. The way he’s dressed and sitting makes him look refined, too refined for a town as dingy as this. Sure, the people themselves are nice, but the actual town? Not exactly beautiful.

I rub my eyes just to make sure I’m not hallucinating. But no, there he is. Some random boy I’ve never met, and I know everyone in town, on my bench? My face heats up, surely turning me into a watermelon-looking monster, with a red face and two little black dots wide with surprise (and a bit of anger, to be honest).

I huff, about to turn to leave, but a melodious voice pipes up, stopping me dead in my tracks. It says, “Um, may I help you?”

Turning to where the voice originated, I notice that it was the boy I was just fuming over. A bit startled, I respond with a blunt “no.” He shrinks back and nods in a sort of apology, face flushed even paler than before. I turn back around to leave, but my conscience tells me to apologize. So I brush nonexistent dirt off of myself and run back up to him.

“Sorry, that sounded rude. I was just wondering if I could sit on the bench,” I explain quickly, taking care not to spit on him as I spoke. “I sit here every year usually, so…um.”

He tilts his head, not looking bothered but not overjoyed either. “Like…sit with me?”

I’m about to say no, but sitting with someone would be better than sitting alone in all honesty, even if I’ve never met this guy. He doesn’t seem bad, not at all. I smile and reply, “Yeah.”

The boy’s eyes light up and he smiles softly. “‘Kay.” He schooches over and pats a spot next to him, around a foot away. I sit down, placing my lantern next to me. When I do this, I realize he doesn’t have one, only a brown notebook that I’ve just noticed. I glance over to see what’s in it, and I see a drawing of a spotted dog, with what looks like a poem next to it. My mind itches with a million questions about it, but I push them to the back of my brain. Asking too many questions hasn’t done me any good in the past.

So I say, “What’s your name?” instead.

“Haruki. Haruki Okamoto. You?”

“I’m Sadie Dimmings,” I introduce myself, reaching out a hand for him to shake. He hesitates, but takes the handshake. Phew. If he didn’t, we’d be in an awkward situation.

He smiles at me, his eyes closing. “That’s a pretty name.”

“Thanks.”

A few moments pass. I fiddle with my thumbs, sneaking glances at Haruki. His eyes look slightly glossy. What’s he here for?

“What am I here for?” he echoes, pointing to himself. Oh. I said that out loud. “Uh, I’ve been traveling around for a while now. Well, like three weeks. And I wanted to check this festival out, so I’ll be here for this and probably a few more days. Two or three.”

His words tickle my ears. I perk up and smile at him. “Whoa, so you go places like Paris and stuff?” I cup my face with my hands dreamily, imagining romantic scenarios in my head of no one in particular, just someone. “I’ve always dreamed of going to Paris. Going to Paris, dancing in the rain with someone, and finally deciding what the heck I want to do with my life. That’s my bucket list right now.”

“Wow, ambitious,” he teases, seeming to finally loosen up. His mouth curves into a smile and he looks up at the sky. The way his face looks in this moment makes me think I’ve died, gone to heaven (somehow), and met an angel. “I heard it’ll rain tonight. Not good weather for these lanterns, but maybe for you. If you can find someone.”

“Maybe,” I smile. “I mean, what’s wrong with you, though?”

His eyes look away and he forms his mouth into a line, pressing his lips against each other. I see his mouth part to speak, but he closes it again and just looks back at me with another smile, but it’s not as bright as before. They’re nothing alike, really. His eyes are pained in this one. It’s like comparing the sun on a bright day to a lightbulb on the verge of dying out.

“I’m just so… you know.”

“No, I don’t know.”

His smile widens. “You’re funny.” Haruki lightly jabs me right between my collarbones. Even when he retracts himself, the feeling of his touch lingers. “Anyway…what are you here for, Sadie?”

“Um,” I look away for a second. This must be what he was just feeling. A pain in my chest, words stuck in my throat, just waiting to come out, only needing an order and a voice.

“You don’t have to say if you don’t want to.”

“No, it’s okay. I’m here because…well, my mom and dad passed away this past year,” I explain, rubbing my neck. “It still hurts. Even if it’s been so long, I just can’t get over it.” My voice cracks.

“Oh,” Haruki says. It’s short, but I can hear how his voice got raspy. I look over at him and…his face makes me flinch. His eyes aren’t shocked or anything like the normal reaction I get when I tell people about my parents. The inner bits of his eyebrows are curved up, his eyes are half-lidded and looking down, and his mouth is in a small frown. He’s not surprised at all– he knows this is a normal part of life, but it pains him.

He grabs my hands without warning, brings them up to his chest level, which is around the level where my neck starts, and holds it between us. Finally, his eyes lock with mine as he whispers out, “I’m so sorry.”

I flush pale white. I hang my head low in between my two hands, still held up and limp. My lower lip quivers a bit before I utter, “I miss them.” Water drips down my cheek. I hate being like this– annoying, attention-seeking, stupid–

A cold hand is placed on my back, and pulls me into a loose hug. I let myself fall into his touch.

Everything about this is wrong. The White Dove Festival is for acceptance, celebration, love, all of that. But I’m not accepting any of this. I’m still angry, I’m still hurt by all of this grief, now more than ever before, even when I found out in the first place. Just thinking of them makes me upset, and being here makes it worse.

Each year, I’ve been excited to come to this bench, excited to be with my family, excited to watch my parents let our lantern into the sky. But this year, there’s no family for me to laugh and celebrate with, there’s just pangs of grief. I’ve known this the whole time I’ve been here, before too, but now being here with no one…

“Hey, the lanterns are getting lifted,” Haruki whispers softly, still hugging me. “You wanna do yours?”

I hesitate. “...Not really. The lantern stuff is supposed to represent letting their spirits into the sky along with grief surrounding their passing, but…it’d feel fake.”

“Okay.”

“I don’t think I ever wanna let them go.”

“Okay.”

“I wish they were here.”

“Okay.”

“And I wish I wasn’t alone.”

No response. I finally lift my head to look into his eyes, but even that’s too much for me to handle. I let out another sob and tighten the hug.

Every year, the White Dove Festival has been a symbol of excitement for me. Every year, I go with my family. This year, I sit on a bench that was once my family’s, sobbing into a stranger’s arms.

I want to go home.

WC: 336

The villagers look forward to the Winter Ball. Few of them can afford more than a new ribbon to tie in their hair or wrist, but no one cares. As autumn fades and the air turns crisp, they swarm together in the square, bustling to-and-fro to set up decorations.

On the 24th of December, at exactly midnight, the ball starts.

Young men and women twirl through the falling snow, plain dresses and coats whirling around their feet as they twist and turn in time with the melody.

No one notices the shadow that blinks before slinking behind the trees in the square.

Every year, the villagers have a Winter Ball.

And every year, one of them goes missing.

This time, the shadow spots a young child sitting by the edge of the square, partially hidden by a copse of trees. His name is Henry. The shadow doesn't care.

It creeps behind the unsuspecting child, lightly treading on the forest floor. "Shhhh," it whispers.

Henry twists around, eyes panicked, but it's too late.

The shadow pounced and dragged him away before he could even make a sound.

—-------------------------------

Hours later, as the ball draws to an end, the tired villagers return to their homes. A scream erupts from a woman's throat as she sees a dark pool of blood where her son once sat.

"Where is he?" she yells.

The other villagers look at each other and shake their heads. The boy will not return to them.

And so, the village mourns for Henry. They have a funeral for him and promise his family that he will be blessed in the afterlife.

Yet.

As winter passes into spring and spring changes into summer and summer cools into autumn until it is finally winter once more, the villagers begin to prepare for their annual Winter Ball. They will never stop. The shadow—the beast—will never stop.

So, as they dance and sing with merriment, the beast creeps up and watches them once more. It knows who it'll target this time.

The mayor.

Le shroom-shroom :wave: I rlly hope this counts cuz it gave me a headache : ) It had been months since the ball where Seraphina had encountered the mysterious and still nameless boy. She told herself time and time again that it didn’t matter anymore, who cares anyway?

She did. She cared.

And she couldn’t stop thinking about their moment. Even after all this time.

She hated herself for being so invested in a complete stranger. She was better than this. And so she took it upon herself to attend every party possible– in the hopes of obviously entertaining herself. Definitely not for any other reasons. That’d be absurd.

But after the so-maniest party that week, she grew tired of the same pretentious people. So as she usually did, she slipped away. She wandered down the empty streets of town, taking in her surroundings. It wasn’t until this very moment that she came to the realisation that she rarely went out save for hunts or to visit friends in select mansions.

Going downtown where all the peasants were was truly a foreign experience to her… how exciting.

Lively music greeted her ears as she travelled closer to the centre, the surrounding area adorned with all sorts of beautiful flowers which spread their scent towards her, enticing her to continue. More and more people came into view as she neared the town square, chatting and exchanging food amongst each other while children ran around with bundles of flowers.

It was then that the realisation dawned on her. It just became spring, meaning that the annual Spring Festival must be happening! She smiled to herself at the thought. Maybe this would be the distraction she needed. Spring couldn’t have come at a better moment.

She stepped into the square, a gasp escaping from her lips at the sight before her. Long lines filled with flowers hung from one side of the square onto the other, creating a lovely ambiance beneath it as petals fell with every passing breeze. The Spring Festival held by the castle, though quite lovely, could never compare to the sheer natural beauty that Sera had the honour of admiring in this moment.

She was so captivated by the scenery that she hadn’t noticed a figure step next to her and place a crown of dandelions on her head; their bright colour contrasting with her jet black hair. She reached for her head as she turned around, being met with a familiar pair of brown eyes, glimmering with the same enchanting mystery as the last time.

“So this is where you are…” she said quietly, her lips curling into a smirk which the young man before her mimicked, taking a step away from her.

“Here I am” he replied casually, about to turn away when Seraphina caught his arm, preventing his leave. He turned to look back at her, his brow furrowing in confusion.

Sera let out a sigh, cursing herself for acting so brashly but she couldn’t let him slip away again. “Not this time…” she looked up, meeting his stare with a determined one of her own. “Stranger”

“Stranger?” he blinked once, his gaze softening. “Hm, I suppose you’re right”

Seraphina loosened her hold on his arm, straightening out her posture to properly stare him down with her signature look of superiority. “Rather rude of you to run off without a word” she scoffed. “And without even telling me your name at that”

“Looks like I owe you then” He spoke softly, taking a step closer to Sera.

Her eyebrow arched up in curiosity, her head tilting to the side as she crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m listening…” The two lingered close for a moment before the boy stepped away, backing into the dancing people behind him.

He flashed Sera a smile, a wordless invitation to join him. And how could she deny him when he looked so pretty standing there with a crown of flowers on his golden hair, watching her with that alluring glimmer in his eyes. And so, she swallowed her pride once again and carefully made her way towards him. As soon as she reached him he took her hands into his, pulling her into the group of townsfolk that surrounded them.

Seraphina took a look around herself, finding all those who danced did so in their own way, some dancing in pairs while others danced in groups, each moving in their own way to the lively music. There was not a single choreographed step to be seen. She turned back to the boy before her, seeing him move along perfectly to the music though every movement differed from those around him.

At first she hesitated, moving awkwardly in an attempt to mimic his movements, something which he quickly took note of.

“There’s no pattern–”

His words caused her to look back at him, frowning in frustration. “Then how?”

A soft laugh fell from his lips at her stubborn frustration. “Close your eyes, feel the music and set yourself free” His eyes fluttered shut and Sera followed promptly after, her grip on his hands tightening at the loss of sight. It was strange… but also strangely wonderful. The music filled her ears, the rhythm flowing through her veins, moving her body along to the song in ways she never was never taught how to.

“There you go” his voice pulled her out and her eyes blinked open just in time to watch his hands slip away from hers. She tried to grab him but upon finding he lingered close to her, she didn’t bother. But one thing was for sure, she was not going to lose him from her sight.

Not like she could stare at anything else though when he looked so beautiful in the dim light, everyone and everything around him faded into a blur, only him and his enchanting smile remaining in her eyes.

She thanked anyone who could hear her prayer for letting her stumble upon the Spring Festival… Just one day later and she would’ve missed it all.

WC: 996

WC: 536

"Nationals only comes once a year."

That's what my coach would always tell me. If I was a profesional, this really wouldn't matter, but I'm in my senior year and I couldn't afford to waste another year the way I did when I was a junior. You'd think baseball would be a simple enough sport to play... Just swing a stick, pick a god, and pray it hits the ball. If it does hit, run as fast as you can without getting struck out and...

...I'm pretty sure you all know the rest. Gosh, just imagining what happened that day makes my blood boil and my heart sink. I got greedy and tried to dash for Home, only to find the final Out waiting for me once I got Home. There was no way back other than to get good and get back to practice before my time ran out. I had scholarships on the line, and I could not afford to travel abroad to my dream university without one. There was no room for failure in my plans. Victory tomorrow, or it's all over.

The next day came around before I could even get the chance to dream of how things would go. The entire game was a blur, even once we made it to the bottom of the ninth inning. I wasn't even paying attention to the batting order, so imagine the shock I felt to my system when I realized I was in the same situation as last time. It didn't hit me until the coach grabbed me by the shoulder and reminded me that this was my chance to redeem myself.

With renowned determination, I stepped up to the plate and prepared the special stance I'd practiced for months upon months to the pinnacle of mastery... at least, to the best of the ability a high school senior could muster. As the opponent's pitcher began winding up his fastball, the one thought raced through my head.

"Nationals only comes once a year."

I didn't even feel myself swing the bat. Everything just went through the motions automatically like clockwork. The moment I felt the impact of the ball, I just started moving on my own. I didn't check to see where the ball was going, whether it was a foul ball or a home run, or whether someone had caught the ball and automatically struck me out. It was an all-or-nothing maneuver that'd make me look like an absolute idiot if the slightest error got in the way.

Off the corner of my eye, as I was rounding third base, I noticed something whiz by me, and I feel my life flashing before my eyes. The ball is racing towards Home, faster than I can handle. The catcher stared me down as I approached him at full speed, and apprehension began to set in. Would I be able to make it? Would I crash and burn just like junior year!?

I clenched my eyes shut and yelled a Hail Mary as my entire body flung itself to the ground, hoping at least the tip of my foot landed on Home base. I didn't open my eyes, even after the umpire called "Safe".

You had a tradition, that every year on your anniversary, you rose before the sun and waited for it to peek above the horizon. Instinctively, you’d set your alarm for the crack of dawn, but when it rang its shrill cry the following morning, you woke to cold, empty sheets yet again. Moving from the bed was hard, let alone making it to your kitchen. It was your fifteenth anniversary. Or more specifically, it was exactly nine months without your lover in your arms. You two had planned for everything, or so you thought. Splintered memories of your last anniversary flitter through your mind before you focus on the look your wife had given you when the kitten had stumbled to her. You can almost feel the love radiating from her like it did then, and hear the muffled “I love you” before she’d dragged you in for a kiss. She’d insisted on calling the ball of fluff Peaches ‘n Cream, or Peaches for short, and you’d been unable to argue. Peaches had proven to be as sweet as his namesake and often followed after you both like a second shadow. Peaches nuzzling your arm shook you from your thoughts. Eyes moving to focus on the cup of coffee you didn’t remember pouring, you carefully lift it from the counter before whistling at Peaches to follow you. With a meow of acknowledgement, the orange tabby padded after you and back towards your bedroom. The sun hadn’t quite begun to peer over the horizon as you made it out onto the balcony and collapsed into a chair. Maybe it had been waiting for you and Peaches. A pinkish orange hue began to overtake the mountains in the distance as the sun rose and you sipped idly at your coffee. Sometime between sitting down and getting lost in the view before you, Peaches had leapt into your lap and pressed his face against you. He whined until you sat your drink aside and ran your hand over his head, rubbing behind his ears. “I know, buddy, I miss her too. So, so much.” He whined again, slightly louder than before, and pushed his head further against you. “We’ll be okay, buddy. Maybe now she’ll be peering down at us when we come out to watch the sunrise every year. After all, it’s an annual tradition, Peaches, she has to be here.” Tilting your head up, you focus on the sun in the distance and exhale. “I love you, darling. Happy anniversary.”

It was that day again. The day that Avery cherished most above any in the year. Not only was it her birthday but it was also the day she had met her soulmate.

Thinking back through the years, Avery couldn’t help but smile at how special today was for her. So many things had happened on this day. Each thing made this day that much more special to her.

***

5 years ago, on this day, she had met Samara, her darling wife, at a birthday party her family had thrown for her.

As corny as it might be, it had been love at first sight and then when she got to know her, she fell even more in love. Samara had been a friend of a friend that had come along to the party. Samara too had felt something for Avery that day, evidenced by her asking Avery out on a date right after introducing herself. They had gone on a coffee date a week from the day of the party, clicking immediately. That had been the best date both had gone on. Slowly yet surely, both had fallen head over heels for each other.

***

3 years later, Samara had proposed to Avery.

3 years of being each other’s confidant. 3 years of laughter, joy, some fights, some tears, but a whole lot of love. Samara had taken Avery back to her parents’ house, back to the backyard where they had first met. Samara had held both of her hands, pulling her close, looked her in the eyes, and proposed. Under the soft moonlight and the twinkling stars, she had professed all her love and longing to Avery, and Avery had responded in kind, joyfully screaming yes. Their families had come pouring out into the backyard hearing Avery’s exclamations. Champagne was brought out and they had celebrated the night away.

***

1 year later, Samara and Avery had tied the knot.

Back in that same backyard, on the same day as when they had met. It had been a small affair, a combined celebration of their union and Avery’s birthday. Surrounded by their friends and family, they had married each other.

***

Coming out of her memories, she couldn’t wait to see what this year brought for her. After all today was not only her birthday, but it was also the day she met Samara, the day Samara proposed to her, and the day they were married.

It had been a year since the wedding and Avery could not have been happier. Before, she used to like this day for it was her birthday but now it held so much more meaning to her. It was the day that allowed her to meet and marry her soulmate. [WC: 459]

It was the eighth of December and Mason was performing his yearly ritual of idealistic daydreams. It was a time that left Lucas both fearful and amused.

Lucas swept his eyes over the elaborate twelve month plan spread across the coffee table, and pinched his brow. He loved his boyfriend, he really did. Some days, he wanted nothing more than to squeeze him into a small ball and shove him in his pocket so he could take him to work with him, but god, was the man a bit manic and obsessive. And distracted.

Mason had a plan. He had a one year plan. It was the latest plan of a series of failed plans, but he had it all worked out this time, he was certain of it.

According to him, he had met the love of his life, and he could no longer slack off. His entire life was unfurling before him like an endless fragrant meadow. He just needed the courage to frolic in it! He needed to take risks and open up "unseen avenues".

It had been hard leaving behind his life in small-town America, but he was convinced. This was the year he would do it. New place, new me!

This had been his mantra for the past three years.

Lucas took a hesitant scan of a random leaf.

Body Goals

- Gain ten pounds of muscle:

- I want to win a wrestling match just once. ONCE. Dammit Lucas.

- Lower BMI by 3%

- I mean, I guess I could afford to lay off the cookies a little more...

- Cardio:

- train for a marathon. GDI I will NOT have my niece LAUGH in my face during TAG.

- Increase deadlift by 50pds

- Lucas you smug bastard. I'll show you.

- Yoga

- ...

Lucas stifled a grin, withdrew his gaze and settled on another page.

Learning Goals

- Learn Spanish:

- become fluent! I want to be able to order at my favorite taco place!

- Learn Guitar:

- no more getting stuck on Stairway to Heaven!

- Learn how to watercolor:

- I have all my paints in the cart.

- Learn how to whittle:

- this time wear gloves. emergency rooms are sucky.

- Learn C++:

- theres also python, javascript and loads others. Which should I pick first?

Lucas' thoughts went to the stack of abandoned self-help books lying on his lover's bedside table and held his head.

Mason's scream of fright came from the kitchen along with a clatter of scattering baking pans. A timer gave an alarmed beep before being silenced by a hurried slap. Suddenly the smell of burnt ginger wafted throughout the house.

With a sigh, Lucas went to fetch the fire extinguisher. If he was quick, maybe he could beat the fire alarm this time.

[WC: 475]

Every year the world ends on December 31.

There have been countless sightings of meteors descending upon earth while sun and moon watch in silence, with no will to change fate.

Every year time stops, and we are brought back into the land of what once was three hundred and sixty-five days ago. To relive it again, and again.

It's been ten years since 2093 started, ten years since it's been 2093.

I have been 20 years old for ten years.

Where the center of the world was became a platform in the sea, a beam of scientifical genius, trillions upon trillions of code that allow humanity to undergo this repetition.

At first, many seemed reluctant to rely on this machine, lost in the time they had just gotten back. By the fourth year, the people let themselves relax under the new government, united under one global web of people.

Since the annual Rewinding, as it began to be called, civilization lost its sympathy for the meaning of time, wasting themselves in whatever they deem fit. After all, they can live yesterday, today, and tomorrow as many times as they want.

Thing is, the machine is slowly breaking, only fit for one last jump, the eleventh year of 2093.

[WC: 209]

She sat at the shrine in her closet; a little white table with framed photographs of Marissa Alaband and trinkets like necklaces and friendship bracelets and books Marissa liked. Naomi had read them all, really just because Marissa had and lent them to her, and Naomi wanted to impress her. Ever since she met Marissa, in the hospital that day, she had a crush on her.

First love makes you do crazy things.

Like learning to play the guitar, or pretending your dream job is to be an author when you didn’t have a clue what you actually wanted to do, or making money in whatever way you can to pay medical bills

First love is like a candle that burns bright and true, and even when it’s dipped in water it keeps its flame that's how illogical it can be. And sometimes when it shouldn’t burn anymore, when the love should be gone, it’s not.

That’s how it was for Naomi. Because Marissa was dead and gone and yet Naomi kept on loving her. She couldn’t move on, and she’d tried. For years.

Marissa’d been dead for six years.

So why was she sitting here on September 21, the night she died, in love with her? Why had visiting this shrine become an annual thing?

She knew not the answers, but only that if she could visit Marissa’s grave as well, she would.

But that was crazy, Naomi should forget her. Should have forgotten her already, or at least moved on.

Instead, she took the lid off a shoebox and placed the candles inside on the table. Because maybe if she lit the wick to these candles every year, fueling the flames of her love every September 21, maybe when the candles had burnt away into a puddle of wax and the flame could be no more…maybe then the candle of first love would be extinguished, and she could finally move on.

So she watched the candles burn, tears welling in her eyes.

Tears slipping down her cheeks, remembering Marissa’s smile, her planned fun-things-to-do, whip cream on her nose, her ability to understand Naomi so well.

When the first cracks of dawn filtered through her blinds, then under her closet door, she knew she needed to leave the closet.

She blew out the candles, for now.

Perhaps next year the candles would go out...Or would Naomi forever feel Marissa’s presence in her heart?