The earth sighed seven times.

The first morning she heaved – oceans of garbage flooded beaches like tourists, never resting until the seas were emptied of every human relic ever tossed off a ship, every wine cork long forgotten after empty smiles and shallow promises, every distorted piece of plastic that brought momentary ease, fleeting joy, or a bit of convenience- then she sighed.

My dog barked seven times that day. No more, no less.

I hoped it was over, but then came the second morning. A guttural cough rumbled under my feet, and the world erupted. Every dormant volcano came alive with fire, and steam, and spirals of smoke. The seas began to boil and rage and roar, and then I feared it was the end. But it wasn’t. The earth sighed a second time.

My dog barked six times that day. No more, no less.

The third morning, the earth burbled and burped until every human corpse was lifted from its resting place. On land, they rolled out of the ground onto perfectly landscaped yards and gardens and ruined the mood for many a party. This one felt personal. My old dog was buried in the back. His resting place lay undisturbed while bloated bodies bobbed alongside buoys in oceans, and lakes, and rivers, and oh, what a stink! That night she sighed again, and I thought I heard mirth in the sound of it.

Five barks from my dog that day. No more, no less.

The fourth morning the earth groaned and the ground ruptured and fractured – consuming governments, and swallowing civilizations, and splitting countries, and families, and even hairs. Well, I only guessed that last part. Then the earth sighed a fourth time.

My dog barked four times after I fetched her out of the rubble. No more, no less.

The fifth morning the earth sang – through warbling birds and whistling trees, through the bellows of whales and the humming of bees – and it was beautiful! The song was full of hope and new beginnings. But many could not hear her song, though the sound was deafening. Men cleaved to their old ways, licking honey from thorns that split their tongues and numbed their senses, and the poison – oh the poison! Millions died because of it, and it seeped back into the earth. That night the earth was silent. Perhaps she was thinking. The quiet unnerved me as I bolted my doors, listening for earth’s song but only hearing the sounds of booted men patrolling streets, and cocking guns, and shuttered blinds, and whirring blades from aircraft overhead. Finally, the earth sighed a weary sigh.

Three barks that night. Three damning barks. No more, no less.

I awoke the sixth morning with a start as the earth shrieked. I covered my ears, and my cheeks flushed with heat at the pain in her voice. Her cries were desperate. They were horrifying. They were accusing. And they were powerful. Earth’s protective ozone shattered, and my skin blistered and cracked under the heat of the sun. I barricaded myself in the cellar as the top of my roof melted away into nothing. As night fell, the earth sighed a sixth time.

My dog barked twice. No more, no less.

I knew the seventh morning was our last, for the earth laughed. It was bitter and full of sorrow. It summoned the heavens forward, and they came. Meteors, and floating ice, and blazing stars struck the earth so violently they sent chunks of her spinning, spinning everywhere. They ripped her clothes and tore her flesh, but her response was laughter. Crazed, terrifying laughter. And then she sighed. Our beautiful, broken earth sighed. One final, mournful, dreadful sigh.

My dog barked once that morning. Now she lay mute in my lap as I pet her. I know she has no more barks for me. I close my eyes and take one last breath.

No more, no less.

This is a PSA.

I want to talk to you. Yes, you. How your day was, who‘s your favourite author, what’s your Hogwarts House?

But also if you ever need anything please reach out to me. For literally any reason. This community is very supportive, and it’s amazing for me, I want to help people if they need it.

Just shoot me a message, literally anything. “Hi”, “John Green is a legend” or “What are you reading rn?” works too. If you say “I need an editor”, “have any advice” or “I don’t know what to do,” I will help. I will try, my best at least. I am a little awkward, and make some mistakes, but hey, we could do that together?

So please reach out. If you need anything. A friend, a book recommendation or just someone to talk to. I’m here for you, and your writing and your works.

(Tag me in the comments if you want to start a convo or write “I got you” to show everyone else you’re here for them)

Thank you for your time and your support Prose. Please reach out people, we got you.

We used to be happy.

The lets walk around and just see what happens happy.

The I decided to call you for fun happy.

The you make me smile unconsciously happy.

The I’m in love happy.

And then something happened. If you asked me, I couldn’t exactly tell you what it was. Maybe it was me, or him, or just us together, but we never quite felt the same.

We broke the meaning of together. We didn’t quite breakup and there was nothing official originally, but together no longer had a meaning.

We could be in the same room but not speak to each other. Act as if the other person was invisible.

We could be walking in the hall a step away from each other but neither was willing to speed up nor slow down. We acted like strangers when I knew he only took his coffee black and loved the fifth Harry Potter book. And he knew I liked sunrises more than sunsets and couldn’t stand groups of people who take up all the sidewalk.

It was like we were playing an elaborate game of chess where we didn’t want to lose quite yet, but no one was willing to openly pursue victory. No one was willing to show that type of commitment. He didn’t want to lose his queen, and I wasn’t going to give up my king.

I’m not sure what changed the game. But something invisible and indescribable happened. Something that shifted “us”. We were still in the same position that we had been in and we weren’t separated, we just weren’t “us” or “together”. It was more “you and “me” or “him” and “I”.

That’s why, I can’t say we are happy.

“We” isn’t meaningful anymore.

I can maybe say “him” and “I” are happy, but that’s almost worse.

That’s why I have to say that we were.

We used to be happy.

When it rains.

I think of her. We used to be together whenever it rained. We used to cancel plans and run from where ever we were to each other when it rained. I remember we would just go anywhere, anywhere as long as we were with each other. Sometimes we would get on the subway just to see where we would go. We went to the beach, to the park, and the other park, to the art museum, and the local coffee shop a dozen times and just outside to feel the rain and hold hands.

While rain meant staying inside for most people, it meant seeing her for me.

But then as all clouds do, the rain faded. And so did her smiles and laughter. They were replaced with anger and annoyance. And that came like thunderstorms, fast and furious, and then a calm. A calm before another storm. Or the sun.

Soon, we stayed inside. Instead of braving the rain and letting ourselves feel the raindrops without an umbrella, we just avoided it. The risk of lighting and thunder was too much. We didn’t see the sun much after that. The bright rays and sunshine on our faces were far and few in between.

And that’s okay, but now the rain isn’t quite the same. It’s like a gentle reminder of her and as I think of her, I hope she thinks of me too.