This is an outrage.

I should be cruising the open ocean with my container friends, on a grand transport vessel. I am sure this is not my true purpose, it simply can't be.

At least it is for a good cause. I appear to be on the border of two nations, "countries" as the Little People call them. The side I am able to see is called Arizona, and they sure do love their guns over here. I always see groups of these people walking right past me, crossing The Border which I am evidently a part of. I can't understand some of the words they use. Something about immagrans, and protecting Arizona from "those varmints". I'm not sure what any of it means but it doesn't sound friendly.

I have come to the conclusion that the country of Arizona is at war. I wish so badly I could see what happens after these dangerous people cross The Border. I hear such an awful commotion whenever they see those immagrans. Their guns make such loud bangs and zips, as if little explosions are going off left and right. They don't hurt when they hit me, and I know it isn't on purpose.

It has been nearly 2 years now and this war is at its peak. I have been given reinforcements, probably more containers, but I still cannot see them. I have sunk into the sand now, about a foot by my judgement. I seem to be staying here for a long, long time.

I still dream about the day when I can finally fulfill my purpose, and cruise the seven seas as the greatest shipping container out there.

But at least I'm being used for a good cause.

I think...

Has your heart one time been broken,

Has is chipped in two?

Has it hurt from words once spoken,

Words once yelled at you?

Have you ever felt as though

Your world came crashing down?

Or like there was no place to go,

No way to get around?

A cloud of sadness followed you,

And soon it turned to spite.

Which soon turned to depression too,

Just as you thought it might.

You should have seen it all the while,

As to avoid the pain.

She found it easy to beguile,

Your young and naive brain.

Looking back on all the mess,

I hope it shows quite clear,

That breaking up was for the best,

Despite of all the tears.

There’s not much to be said in a time like this.

I’m happy.

It has been almost a year since she told me I was stupid, told me I was nothing to her. Without words she beat me to dust in an insensitive flogging.

Now I’ve found another. This newness I feel is as an aura of hope. I no longer yearn for the typical teenage dream, but have simply stumbled across this rainbow of a personality. I won’t think of all the things that could go wrong, because frankly it won’t help. They say ignorance is bliss, and right now, ignorance is my best friend.

I’m hoping she will be too.

So I’m happy.

So.

So.

Happy.

So I had made it. The place I dreamed of really did exist. It was unreal. Simply unimaginable. At the time I would not have been able to put it to words, but now I’ve found them.

When I crossed the golden-green clearing between the forest and the sand, the smell of fresh oak leaves and cleanly dirt began to fade. I gazed upward slightly, squinting to allow my eyes to adjust to the sun. Then I froze. It was incredible. About fifty feet in front of me began a straight staircase. This crenelating creation stretched up to the heavens, until it merged with the blistering sunlight at the top. But that wasn’t the half of it. The whole thing was made of shimmering, white sand. It glistened and gleamed gloriously in the rays, showing every ridge and spiral. From the perfectly squared steps to the winding, twisting rails, it was beautiful. Majestic, even. And all too much to take in.

After at least a minute of silent awe, I noticed a faint dark blot that blocked some of the sun’s splendor. Hand on forehead, I stretched my gaze as far as possible, in hopes of seeing what glory lied above. At that moment a breeze whistled in from the north, blowing my hair slightly back and cooling my gaping face. With it came the smell of an unknown ocean, so saline and blue that it could be made of diamonds. I breathed it in and attempted to take in the moment. But I couldn’t. Something about this made it impossible. The unknown. What was at the top? Was I even dreaming? Dead? This seemed to me like heaven, but cooler somehow, and more magical. I didn’t know what was at the top of that staircase, but something tells me that my simple mind, and the minds of men, should and will never know.

(This is just my entry for fun and will obv not be considered to win when it comes time to pick a winner.)

“Four minutes in and I knew I had made a colossal mistake. The book was real, there was now no thread of a doubt in my mind. Those dubious incantations did quench my wandering curiosity, but their effect might not be fully uncovered. I never really believed in demons, but they believed in me. That’s what they’re telling me anyhow…”

The screen went white and that familiar circular motion began in its center. The WiFi in that house always struggled to keep up, but rarely buffered this late at night. I assumed that I was the only member of my family still awake and scrolling endlessly. My seat in the beanbag often became my dwelling after the daylight hours, when all the others' eyes were shut and all the lights killed. From here I gazed up at the door, cracked open, allowing the faintest strip of yellow to spread across the floor. I had forgotten to turn the stove light off once again. With my head leaned back against the wall, directly below the window, I sighed. Soon enough the screen switched to the all too familiar sign which read “No Internet Connection”. It was then I heard the footsteps.

It must be known that the house I lived in was elevated slightly from the ground, meaning the floors shook a little when walked on. This made late-hour excursions quite noisy to the sleeping family. But this minute, creaky bumping seemed to be an attempt at stealth nonetheless. So, someone else was awake. As it often did, my brain calibrated in mere seconds the possibilities of who could be doing what, and for what reason.

My brother.

My mom.

My dad, although I recalled hearing his droning snore a few minutes ago.

They could be getting a drink…

Using the restroom?

Perhaps that stove light was bothering them, in which case I would probably be confronted sooner or later.

That last guess looked to be spot on. I kept my eyes on the door in case anyone appeared. Then the stove light switched off…

click

Ah, so it must be my mom. She hated the faint light and she didn’t even have to see it for it to bother her. Expecting the footsteps to thump their way back to the other side of the house, I directed my eyes back to the screen, sliding the cursor towards the refresh button. The black, pixelated arrow glided over the white like a blurry little airplane through the sky.

I didn’t hear any footsteps.

Thinking it was odd that anyone should remain standing in front of the stove stationary, my eyes were once again drawn to the opening in the door. Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted the same loading screen with the circle spinning round,

and round,

and round…

The footsteps resumed and I realized my heart had begun pounding. Throbbing, almost. It seemed odd, then everything stopped. The loading screen disappeared and I didn’t even bother to gaze down at the same error notification. My globes were fixed like glue on the door, adjusting to the new darkness. I folded the laptop screen half-way in order to aid in the adjustment.

kreeeeaaak

The floorboards outside my room strained under something’s weight. I was going to get that confrontation that I deserved. At 1:18 a.m., too. Yet none came. I squinted, raised my line of vision, then froze.

I was stuck. My temples thumped and throbbed as my heart pumped double time. I drew short, nasally breaths as the figure grew more visible to me. My mouth remained ajar and I felt my fingers drop in temperature. No doubt about it, that was a face. But it wasn’t my mother’s.

I blinked speedily, trying to clear my eyes and focus. What was it? What was going on?

The figure was dark and shadowy up until the top of the door. There I saw a pale palette holding a glowing eye. The pupil was small and dark. The eyelids seemed nonexistent. I could see what I thought was a mouth. Not smiling. Emotionles…

The longer I glared the harder it stared back. I felt like screaming. My chest felt like it would explode, my body stayed paralized. For what seemed like years my gaze never left the unsettling horror.

It slowly moved its pupil. Uncannily, eerily it slid its pupil in an upward direction, as if looking out the window behind me. When I thought the bulging eye couldn’t have gotten any wider, it grew. When my heart couldn’t beat any faster, it accelerated. I heard scratching on the door. Then it smiled.

A slow, crazy smile. That blazen, drunken smile.

The one visible eyeball once again made its way down to my poor frame sitting in the beanbag chair. I was frozen solid, trapped in arctic ice, having been there for thousands of years. And now it was smiling at me.

At the same time, I heard a little clank of metal from somewhere behind me. Not daring to let the grinning creature out of my line of sight, I gripped the sides of my laptop with claws of iron. Behind the door I heard another aoft kreeeeak. My teeth clenched and my breaths became heaves as I listened in horror. The familiar squeal of the window opening behind me filled the room as I felt the chill autumn night’s breeze sweep over the top of my head.

I'm beginning to think I'm the only one left. The "lone survivor" that many fantasized about. If any other soul trudges on through this dystopian wasteland, would we not have met already? In the multitudinous moments of muteness, I feel as though I could call out through the mist and somehow someone would hear me. Could my voice journey across the vast expanses of water, and traverse the highest peaks? Could it nimbly twist its way through the charred trunks who once made majestic forests? Could it finally arrive on the ear of my only companion thousands of miles away, now as a whisper, or as a breath of desperation? No, surely not. Instead, I must keep moving. I see no point in settling down, by any yearning of my imaginative mind. My heart will call no place home while it yet gazes upon the possibility of future human interaction.

What is a mansion with only a room occupied?

What are the finest clothes without foreign eyes to behold them?

What is all the money in the world without a million wallets to fill?

So with this I continue on, totally free, and hopelessly lost.