October 2021
Midnight Writers
Table of Contents
Cover: “Habit”, an illustration by viento de levante
This Page: “Player 067: Saebyeok”, an illus- Page 8-9: tration by Cupid
Page 3:
Ask Aphro & Dite • An eerie household • An unconventional friend A Raven’s Sighting • Halloween controversy
Page 10:
Page 4:
Page 11:
Page 5:
Page 12:
“The Ghost is Playing the Piano Again”, a photo by Vérité “la mélodie de la revenante”, a story by Vérité “Ghost”, a story by Liurui Fu “The Three Familiars of the Three Witches”, a photo by Vérité “The Woman In The Television Light”, a story by the Midnight Raven
Page 6-7:
“The Spirits Within”, a story by Midnight Millard “Black Cat”, a photo by Vérité “Surge of Prophecies”, an illustration by viento de levante
2
“KTxME: Tetanurae: Issue 1: The Giant Southern Lizard (Part 1)”, a comic by AgonysEmbrace “There’s A Lipstick Stain” a story by the Midnight Raven “Toad-ally Not Suspicious”, a photo by Vérité “Ruler”, a story by the Midnight Raven “Ruler”, continued “Straight Up Villain”, an illustration by by AgonysEmbrace “Not Like Other Trees”, a photo by Vérité “Dappled Infinity”, a photo by Vérité “Ruler”, continued
issuu.com/midnightwriters wchs.midnightwriters@gmail.com
Ask Aphro & Dite
Dear Aphro, The strangest things keep happening at my house - doors closing with no one nearby, wind in the windowless room, peculiar noises at night when everyone’s supposed to be asleep - and I don’t know what to do. Something doesn’t feel right. Please help, Worried Witless Hey, Worried Witless! I’ve got both good news and bad news for you, but first off, I’ve got to say, there’s no reason to be worried witless. Yes, you may have a few problems to deal with, but everything that’s happening to you right now is perfectly normal and natural. And. . .yes. Your house may be haunted. But that’s okay! It’s actually a completely ordinary occurrence in October; this is spooky season, after all. And what with all the warmer weather, of course more ghosts than usual are starting to take refuge under roofs that actually have AC. So, the good news - your ghastly guest is more likely than not completely benign and will probably leave you alone. Now for the bad news. You probably won’t be getting rid of them for a while yet. See, the thing is, October ghosts are usually temporary. But they, more than anything, always make sure to stick around until after Halloween is over. To put this into perspective, imagine that you’re a ghost. Your life is pretty boring. You’re only really around during spooky season (Autumn). And what’s your best shot at socializing a bit and having an all-around good time? Halloween, of course. That’s when all your other ghastly friends come out to play before you all have to return to the boring day-to-day haunt and flaunt routine.
So, my advice? Patience. You may have to put up with slamming doors, strange sounds, and windowless wind for a few more weeks, but at the end of the day, they’re all harmless grievances. You’ll be able to move into November with a fresh start and a quiet house with no harm no foul. And who knows - maybe in the meantime, you’ll even make a new friend! With love, Aphro
A Raven’s Sighting
Halloween is a tricky time for me. Don’t get me wrong, I love basically everything about it except for one thing: All the scary stuff. The definition of scaredy cat gets a whole new meaning when it comes to me. To give an example, the scariest movie I’ve ever seen was Toy Story 3 (That baby doll still haunts me). So, while I love the fall weather, the drinks and food, and the holiday itself, everything surrounding anything even slightly scary makes Dear Dite, me lose it. For me, Halloween is all about I know my best friend is a witch. But she watching things like Hocus Pocus or The Great doesn’t know that I know. Honestly, I think Pumpkin, Charlie Brown, and ignoring the she might be a bit worried about telling me. fear and horror aspect of the season. So, if you How can I show her that I support her without ever see me walking on the opposite side of the coming out and saying that I know? street from a Halloween decoration store (Why Sincerely, is everything there straight out of a horror Be-witch-ed film- someone explain) or avoiding any Darling Be-witch-ed, horror movie trailers at all costs, now you It’s delightful to hear that you want to be supportive of your friend! Life is hardly easy know why. for young witches these days, and your friend is no exception. I’m sure she’s faced her lion’s share of challenges already - growing into her new powers while trying to conceal them at the same time is a difficult, delicate balancing game. You already have the right idea - her coming to you and revealing herself is a personal choice, not one that you should rush. To show your support, perhaps you could affirm your stance on magic and witches should it come up in conversation? Make it absolutely clear that you have nothing but respect and admiration for them? Don’t overdo it, of course. Keep it subtle and relaxed. Best of luck to you and your magical friend! Until next time, Dite
Special thanks to Sra. Steele, The Midnight Raven, Cupid, Vérité, and Bleach Lord. 3
“Why,” the (alive) woman says softly, catching the ghost’s eye. “I do believe this is the first time you’ve deigned to notice me since I moved in.” The ghost stares at her for a long moment. Then, delicately, mouth twisting into a frown, she removes her hands from the piano’s keys. “My playing is not meant for your ears.” “I’m sure.” “I am serious, Miss - “ “ - Brielle,” the woman says, pushing herself up from the couch and offering a hand to shake. “My name is Brielle. I don’t believe I’ve caught your name, however . . . ?” “You were not meant to,” the ghost says with a haughty sniff, ignoring the outstretched hand. “I have not bothered you thus far, Miss Brielle, despite the fact that you have taken residence in my home. Is it really too much that I ask you to do the same?” “The Ghost is Playing the Piano Again”, Photo by Vérité
la mélodie de la revenante
Brielle looks at her oddly. “Hardly. But we are neighbors now, you know. We may as well be civil.”
by Vérité
“Or,” the ghost counters. “We can continue as perfect strangers, neither of us suffering the more for it.”
The ghost is playing the piano again.
There’s a pause.
Up, down, up, down, trilling runs and accented jumps blurring with sweet harmonies and swirling melodies as she attacks the keys with unexpected ferocity, light, nimble fingers moving in tandem. She still hasn’t let up, though the first rays of sunlight have begun to peek through the curtains; the night has come and gone with her yet to take notice.
“If you so wish,” Brielle finally says, with painful neutrality. Gingerly, she gets up to leave, skirts swishing as she goes.
Her (surprisingly very much alive) companion on the couch clears her throat, catching the ghost unawares during a softer passage. She’s a young woman of perhaps twenty or so years (about the same age as the ghost must have been, when she died) - old enough to have finished her schooling, surely, but perhaps a bit too young to be living unchaperoned in such a spacious house. And a haunted one, to boot.
The ghost watches her go, expression flickering between perfect evenness and some twinge of regret. She still hasn’t touched the piano keys; one must wonder if she even remembers where she was in her piece at all. Finally, she sighs. “It’s Eleanora, by the way,” the ghost calls as Brielle’s through the door. “What?” “It’s Eleanora, by the way,” the ghost calls as Brielle’s through the door.
GHOST
by Lirui Fu Different eras had different legends for ghosts. I believe some of the legends, since sometimes I have nightmares and unlucky days. Every time, I have a feeling that a group of ghosts goofs around me. That’s why I don’t like Halloween, people dress as different scary ghosts to trick or treat. I always try to close the door when the kid comes to ask for candy. I fail every time; that’s why the same day, I keep dreaming about ghosts. Well, those were my rules for the ghosts. But my cousin, who used to love to fool me by dressing like a ghost, was addicted to Halloween. One time he tried to wear a devil’s mask to appear in front of me and I screamed. That was the last time I was in my mother’s hometown; I pranked him by changing his clothes to pink ghosts at midnight. When I remembered the flashback, I regretted that choice because he yelled at anyone who wore pink. My mom always told me ghosts aren’t real, but I don’t believe her. I was asleep one night in November, but while I was sleeping I dreamt about bunches of spiders with their hairy bodies on me. Guess what! When the spiders looked up I saw all of them had Scream’s faces, so I suddenly woke up with sweat and realized it was my stuffed animal’s tail. Those’re my reasons why I hate ghosts. Some people laughed at me, but if they look at my perspective they might also be afraid of ghosts and monsters.
The Woman In The Television Light by the Midnight Raven
She has grown to be nothing more than the pale light reflected off of the television, A ghost in the hollow frame of who she once was. The frail bones of her fingers twitch against the plaid armrest, Her wrinkles splayed across her skin like rails on a subway map. “Look, look,” she says, pointing a shaking hand out with a smile plastered on her cheeks, “There I am, there I am.” She sighs as she stares at her face on the static of the screen, Her golden waves of honey, Her skin like the sand by the edges of the shore. A Hollywood bombshell now sits in a dusty armchair, Lost in the reality of the television’s shine in her eyes, Not realizing that time was a greedy thief and she was that woman no more. “Come watch me, come watch me,” She calls, patting the floor in front of her with a toe. “I’m coming, I’m coming” and I sit there like I’m still a little girl. When her lips grow chapped and her throat sore, I help lift the teacup to her mouth, Watching the dish tremble in her grip. When her moon silver hair tangles, I pull it back from her eyes, So she can watch that television screen forevermore. She was once a woman of marvel, Her evening gowns sparkling in the hanging lights of theater halls. But she’s not that woman anymore, Decades since the Hollywood screen was her mirror and movie scripts were her voice. She’s never known that until now, When her porcelain smile begins to crack at its rim, And the tears begin to spill from the fissures. Gone is the woman in the television light, Gone is the woman who sat and watched with content sighs, Gone is the woman who believed.
“The Three Familiars of the Three Witches”, Photo by Vérité
She screams, “That used to be me, that used to be me” And I whisper, “I know, I know.” 5
The Spirits Within By Midnight Millard
6
One stormy Hallow’s Eve, Martin, Daniel, and Nathaniel were returning home from a day of playing pool. As they walked along the lonesome sidewalk toward home, the evening fell like an ominous, dark cloud over their small town. Although it wasn’t entirely dark, the three friends knew that it would be dark soon. When, suddenly, a black tabby cat charged right in front of them. For barely a moment, the hypnotic glance of the cat’s haunting eyes caught the attention of all three friends. Then, it disappeared into the shadows. “WOW!” Martin exclaimed. “Look at that cat!” “Hey, we better follow that cat.” Daniel said. “I think it may belong to the new family that just moved in down the street.” “If we follow that cat,” Nathaniel said, “We better go fast, because it’ll get dark soon.” The friends quickly glanced in the direction of the fleeing feline and realized the cat was headed through a rusted iron gate. Behind the gate was a dark grey house. Most of the windows were broken, the front steps were rotten and filled with splintered old boards, some of the shingles were missing from the roof, and the front porch was dilapidated. The shadow cast by the cat disappeared, but the three friends had a bigger concern: they immediately remembered the frightening rumor that was really common around town. “I heard that if anyone went into this house, they would be seen entering this house and then never be seen or heard from again.” said Daniel. “Oh, come on!” Martin exclaimed. “You don’t really believe those rumors, do you?” “Let’s hope they aren’t true.” said Nathaniel. Despite the persistent rumors and their own misgivings, the three friends decided to attempt to follow the cat further into the house. For a brief second, Nathaniel glanced back at the sidewalk he left behind and, for a moment, felt a twinge of regret for even thinking about venturing into the foreboding house. He shifted his attention back to the dark, shadowy, barely visible figure of the cat as it darted into the half-open door. Suddenly, an angry screech shattered the silence, and Daniel saw one of several large black birds circling round-and-round the empty dwelling before disappearing into the shadowing evening.
Gradually, their eyes became somewhat accustomed to the gloomy, barely visible light coming through the broken windows from the street lights. All of a sudden, they heard another high pitched screech. Without warning, a group of five black bats swooped down from the rafters and shot right in front of the friends, who all gasped in fear. As they creeped slowly further into the house, they heard a scratching sound. “Listen!” Daniel exclaimed. “Do you think that’s the cat?” But before anyone could answer, a pack of dirty brown rats scurried across their shoes. “WE BETTER FIND THAT CAT FAST OR I’M OUTTA HERE!” Nathaniel cried out.
“Black Cat”, Photo by Vérité
Time seemed to stand still. The darkness of the room grew even darker. Martin, Daniel, and Nathaniel had such an eerie sensation that they were too terrified to even breathe. Suddenly, a furry object touches Daniel’s hand, pushing him into the wall. “Ow!” Daniel exclaimed. “That really hurt!” “What’s wrong?” Nathaniel screamed out, but there was no response.
Several times, in the dim, shadowy light, as Nathaniel groped for Daniel in the dark, he thought he saw bright shapes faintly drifting along the far wall. Nathaniel, not sure what he just saw, turned his focus to help Daniel, and for a fleeting moment, he remembered all the rumors he had heard of the unfortunate souls who had never returned. “Martin, help me get Daniel up!” Nathaniel yelled. There was no reply. Only the sound of his thumping heart. Closer and closer, he inched down until he could grab Daniel by his arms. Once again he cried for Martin, but there was no response. Then, suddenly, without warning, a weird and startling sound split the uneasy, calm, and quiet. Nathaniel frozen. Deeply troubled, Nathaniel stared at the spot of where he thought that Daniel, who was moaning, fell. “I don’t think I can stand,” Daniel moaned. Nathaniel knew he needed to get Daniel and himself out of this spooky house. He grabbed Daniel, barely realizing he might be causing further pain to his friend. Daniel screamed, but didn’t resist Nathaniel’s pull. Still, he continued to struggle until he was able to get Daniel off the floor. Nathaniel knew he was acting in panic, but he could not seem to help himself. The reality of the rumors ceased to exist as he focused on getting out of this nightmarish house. After what seemed like an unbearably long time, Nathaniel was suddenly convinced he heard his name, although it was barely audible. “NATHANIEL!” Nathaniel’s heart started to race uncontrollably. The eerie sound became louder and louder and Nathaniel continued advancing to what he thought would be the direction of the back door where they had entered. Suddenly, Nathaniel felt an overwhelming desire to surge forward in the direction of the voice he heard calling to him. Even though he was exhausted, Nathaniel experienced an abrupt surge of energy as he dragged Daniel toward the exit. Unexpectedly, there was a wrestling and scraping sound that got louder and louder until he crashed into another creature. “HELP!” Nathaniel yelled. Another voice responded with the same exclamation of “HELP!” “Martin, is that you?” Nathaniel yelled. “I’ve never been so happy to run into you.” the voice declared. Once he escaped through the fog, Nathaniel clearly saw that the voice was Martin.
“Surge of Prophecies”, Illustration by viento de levante
A great wave of relief swept over both men. “I’ll start first with the fact that Daniel has been badly hurt.” Nathaniel said. “You need to get us out of here - and fast!” “You got it, pal.” Martin said. Nathaniel grabbed one arm, and Martin grabbed the other. As they pulled Daniel out the door, the three friends could have sworn they heard a faint whisper coming from behind imploring them to “Come back! Come back!” The voices made them rush out the door even faster. Without looking back, they vowed to never return to this haunted house again. THE END
7
KTxME: Tetanurae: Issue 1: The Giant Southern Lizard (Part 1) by AgonysEmbrace
8
9
There’s A Lipstick Stain
by the Midnight Raven There’s a lipstick stain on the shirt that lays on the carpet, Cast aside that white button-down, Shining innocently in the lightbulbs, Not knowing it could ruin a life. There’s an earring tangled up in the bed sheets, Swirling around in the washing machine, With the suds of laundry detergent Eating away at it’s gleam. There’s a false eyelash in his car, Right between the driver’s seat and the gearshift, Caught in the gap, Deciding whether to stay or fall. There’s a lipstick stain on that shirt, She thinks to herself as she picks it up with two fingers. That mark as pink as peonies in June, She doesn’t wear lipstick that color. She finds the earring tangled up in the bedsheets, Lost in the mounds of cloth. She holds it up to the light, While a cool dark envelopes her heart. There’s a false eyelash in his car, She screams into the phone. She was going to get groceries, Groceries, Groceries for him. She slams the car door as she steps out onto the driveway. There’s a lipstick stain on that shirt, She says to him, Her tone as sharp as kitchen knives. There’s an earring in our sheets, There’s a false eyelash on your car seat, What else am I going to find between these walls? There’s a suitcase sitting in his car trunk, As he pulls out onto the road, Taking that false eyelash with him, As he leaves her for another home and another woman to call his own. There’s a house that’s empty as night, As quiet as dark, abandoned streets. She sits there in a rocking chair, Eating up that emptiness, that quiet,
10
“Toad-ally Not Suspicious”, Photo by Vérité
Ruler
by the Midnight Raven
I stepped forward, lifting my lowered head up to the sun. Smoke leaped across the sky, tracing the blue as it billowed upwards. The grass beneath my feet was charred, black blades like the feathers of a raven sticking up from the Earth. A battle had taken place on this field, just a few sunsets ago, and the air was still heavy with the devastation of death. Fallen swords scattered the fire-touched grass and cracked chestplates and helmets lay in piles, leaving only the ghosts of the people who had been collected from within them. I saw the flash of a golden emblem on a breastplate just a few feet to the right. The royal symbol, father’s symbol, left on this field when he’d left this world. I blinked away, not wishing to look any longer. I made eye contact with Ambrose, my brother, who stood in opposition to me. He turned his head and spat, before looking back at me.
“We settle this now, Anthea,” He said sharply as he unsheathed his sword, the jeweled hilt glinting in the smoke-engulfed sun. “So we shall,” I replied coolly, pulling two sharpened daggers from my boots and spinning the weapons, my eyes remaining upon him. I didn’t wait for him to make the first move, I’d been standing idly by while he hesitated in life for far too long. So, I lunged. I moved my legs like they were a bird’s wings, gliding across the air. I lifted my daggers and an echoing clang sounded as they met Ambrose’s sword. Fighting was a dance, an art. When two people came together in battle, they began to move at a rhythm, together as one entity. With the sound of clashing metal and heavy breaths, the two moved without thought. Each step, each dodge, each swipe of the weapon, was within their bones, within the music of the tense air. Ambrose and I had been practicing this dance since we were young. Always pitted against each other because we were closest in age. Atlas, our younger brother, would simply perch on the sidelines, reading whatever dusty book he’d found within the maze of the library. While Ambrose fought with brute force, I fought with speed. He could swing the sword with the strength of three men, but I could move, out from the weapon’s range and put my dagger against his side, winning with just a few steps. I’d memorized how to beat him. “Anthea, my sister, how ashamed Father would be. Have you lost your touch?” Ambrose crowed, a small grin tickling on his lips as I stumbled back to avoid his blade.
“Anthea, you have been blinded by your own delusion. All I care for is you and Atlas. You are all that matters to me in this world.” I paused as he lowered his sword, my gaze tracing the outline of his face. “Let us stop this, it will only cause the both of us harm.” I looked into his eyes that were the color of the foamed water that lines the edges of a sea’s shore, then back down at the blood-stained daggers gripped in my hands. “Oh, Ambrose,” I uttered, “I am not that easily fooled.” With one arc, I brought the two daggers down across his chest from each side, making an “x” of cuts across his skin. Ambrose swore and brought up his hilt. I could see a sluggish fog in the back of his eyes. “How could you do this, sister? Why is ruling this important to you?” “Because it should’ve been mine all along,” I sneered, “I am the eldest, it is my birthright. But they gave it to you, placed it into your precious little fingers because you have gotten everything. Atlas, too. Father gave you both his whole word because my womanhood was his biggest disgrace.” Salty tears bit at my eyes, blurring my vision slightly. “But that doesn’t mean you have to come for my head. We could rule together, all three of us. No questions of birthright, just the three of us, as it’s always been.”
“Don’t speak of him,” I spat back, regaining my footing and slashing my dagger across his cheek,
drawing a thin line of blood. Ambrose snarled and the dance began again. “You can’t do this, Anthea. You know that I am to rule in father’s stead.” “Oh, Ambrose, don’t be so archaic,” I retorted, rolling my eyes as I sliced my daggers again, this time grazing his shoulder as I circled around him in one sweeping motion. “It’s not archaic, you know you have no right to lead, nor would you be fit to. This kingdom would be aflame within a moon.” “How dare you,” I hissed through gritted teeth. “You are the one who will send us to ruin. You care for nothing but yourself.” “Is that how you see me?” Ambrose scoffed. “How else would I?”
“Straight-Up Villain”, Illustration by AgonysEmbrace 11
a long sip of the blood-red wine. Wine laced with crushed hemlock. He was cold on the floor within minutes. I had given him one final glance before I stood and stepped over his body, wiping my dry lips across my sleeve. I cast my sword to the side, letting it fall to the blackened grass. “Goodbye, Ambrose,” I whispered to the skies before falling to the Earth, my knees bloodied and weak. Smoke swirled like ink in a pool of water in the air above me. It dipped down around my head, like a crown being placed upon its newly coronated ruler. I smiled at the thought, my lips twitching up in a wicked grin. I was smiling on this battlefield haunted by destruction, by betrayal, by death. For I had finally won.
“Dappled Infinity”, Photo by Vérité
“Not Like Other Trees”, Photo by Vérité
And I began to laugh, a low, guttural laugh that echoed through the field. “I’m afraid it’s too late for that, brother.” I watched as Ambrose’s eyes flashed, confusion clear upon his sculpted face. “Poor, poor, Atlas,” I mused as I stepped back from Ambrose and ran the edge of my dagger across the edge of my finger. “Too weak to fight, too lost in his books to ever notice what was going on around him.” “What did you do?” Ambrose choked, gasps of breath leaping from his throat. “Poor, poor, Atlas. He was even easier to kill than you will be.” Ambrose lunged, with all the speed and might of the blazing sun crashing to Earth, but I moved quicker. I always knew how to beat him. “Raise a glass, Atlas, to our father’s memory,” I had said as I lifted my chalice up. “To father,” Atlas had echoed, bringing his own chalice to the same level as mine. I’d listened to the soft sound of them clinking together and I brought mine to my lips. But I had not drunk, I only titled the goblet enough that it would appear that I did. Atlas,
12
The Burning Day by the Midnight Raven
The streets were lined with burning candles that stood by the dusty glass of window panes, their soft glow eating away at the darkness of the night. The faint orange flames looked like a steady line of fireflies, trailing down the cobblestone streets that still glistened with the remnants of rain. Along this path of candles, a girl with an ornately carved wooden box moved swiftly, her auburn hair constantly lifted from her shoulders by gusts of chill wind. The girl tilted her chin up towards the sky, gazing at the glinting stars above her, and as she darted along the street, she let her mind wander.
“Kylo Hen and Heneral Hux Not Having A Good Time”, Photo by Vérité
The Kingdom On The Ocean Cliffs was a small realm that lay far from any other neighboring civilizations. On the cliffs by the sea, facing towards the water, the kingdom sat, and behind it, rested miles of sprawling forest. The kingdom was concentrated around one main road, where a majority of the town lay on each side of, and this lane led to the edge of the cliffs where a small, stone castle stood. At any point of walking through The Kingdom On The Ocean Cliffs, the girl could hear the sounds of the rushing waves and smell the sharp scent of salt and evergreen in the air. When getting closer to the forest, the evergreen scent grew stronger and it was a bit harder to hear the sea, but the faint crash of waves could still be heard against the rustling of wind through the tree’s branches. The girl blinked from her thoughts as she heard the faint sound of conversation through the air, coming from the direction of the night’s festivities. She smoothed down the navy blue, calico fabric of her dress as she slowed her pace to a quick walk, her heartbeat echoing in her ears. Over a century ago, 11 travelers left the oppression of their kingdom and homes and set out to start anew. They traveled for months, through rain and sun, snow and storm, and after finally passing through the dense trees of the forest, they settled on the edges of the cliffs. With the breeze through their hair and the scent of sea salt strong, they started a bonfire and burned what they had brought with them. The items that tied them down with memories, the things between them, and a new life. The fire blazed on, and the 11 travelers watched their past turn to ash. Every 11 years since, on the day of its founding, the people of The Kingdom On The Ocean Cliffs gathered by the outskirts of the forest, ignited towering bonfires, and burned the items that weighed them down with harmful memories. They called it, “The Burning Day.” The girl traced a finger along one of the flowering tree carvings that were etched into the box as she slipped into the gathering crowd. 11 heaping piles of chopped wood stood in a line along the forest’s edge and the girl took her place in front of one slightly to the right. Speeches were made and preparations were begun, but it all seemed to pass by the girl in a hazy blur. Her mind was fogged by the bustle of it all and one thought that she couldn’t seem to shake. She was here, she was finally here. The last “Burning Day” had occurred when the girl was a mere 6 years old, with hair tightly pulled into auburn braids tied with twine, and a hand-made dress with dried mud staining the hem. She had begged her parents to attend the festivities but they insisted that she was too young and must stay home. So all through the night, the girl crouched by her windowsill and gazed longingly at the distant glow of the fires. Her eyes grew heavy and dark circles began to trace under them, but the girl stayed by the glass of the window, listening to the faint sounds of the festivities, mind heavy with the 11 years she would have to wait. 13
With a chorus of striking flint and steel, orange, reds, and yellows ignited, sparks soared into the sky, and the girl was shot from the memories of her childhood. Silence filled the air as everyone listened to the crackle of the wood beneath the flames, before breaking into motion. The girl hesitated for a moment, the sound of her heartbeat echoing in her ears, before exhaling deeply and unlatching the small lock that hung from the ornate box. The girl flipped open the top and took out the single item that lay inside. She clutched the piece of parchment in her hand as she stared at the wavering flames, their orange glow casting across her face. The girl squeezed her hazel eyes shut, holding on to the last few moments before it all, the letter, the memories, the pain, were to go up in flames. It was strange how a single piece of parchment could hold such a grasp on a person, with the mere addition of ink and thought, it could become a celebration within itself, or invoke complete devastation. up in flames. It was strange how a single piece of parchment could hold such a grasp on a person, with the mere addition of ink and thought, it could become a celebration within itself, or invoke complete devastation. After inhaling sharply, the girl snapped her eyes open and let go of her grip on the letter, and she watched it flutter down into the snapping jaws of the blaze.
14