“Build me straight, O worthy Master! Stanch and strong, a goodly vessel, That shall laugh at all disaster, And with wave and whirlwind wrestle!”
From “The Building of the Ship” by Henry Wadsworth
Literary Magazine
Longfellow Middle School
2000 Westmoreland Street Falls Church, VA 22043
June 2025
Sponsors: Malina Nelson
Faculty Advisor: Dana Bayer
Principal: Jim Patrick
District: Fairfax County Public Schools
Contact: menelson@fcps.edu
Cover Art: “Daybreak” by Julianna Sun
Whirlwind is a student magazine published annually.
Longfellow
Tree Frog ~Zachary M.
In The Beginning
A lull of a voice
Whispering a sweet song
The mother held her baby close Her soft words, swift and steady Filling the small space
And the baby held on tight Refusing to let go
The song wasn’t a song
More a story
A story of thoughts and what thoughts can do.
~Myra K.
~Julianna S.
Bliss
Where I’m From
I’m from the moss stones, From the piano and the assonances, I’m from the music that drifts with my soul. (Messy, daunted, Lively as the gales)
I’m from the cornstalks and the alstroemeria, The vines of ivy whose leaves brim with poison and viability.
I’m from dumplings and math books, From Xiaoming and Zhongyu.
I’m from the hard workers and the rainbow beyond death. From the “now or never” and the “live what you love,” From science’s finest graves-with specks of melodies, and the scores I’ve written myself.
I’m from Tolland and Jilin, Noodles and cooked fish-eye.
From the life my ancestors lost to the war, the flesh the villain lost to his price, The shield kept up to protect the flood, the golden lamp that leaked with blood. Under my heart is a reminiscence of lost sounds, where my own treasure lives…asleep foreverLike the stories that have sagged inside me, And rebirthed a phoenix; Strong, prepossessing, impregnable
The spirit that flies in gray pictures, The hope that whispers in silver tongue, I am from those moments, me, I, my life, Before I left my past self
As a memory.
~Elaina W.
Sky Rock
~Siryn G.
~Chaemin K.
Identity Blooms
Spring
the delightful sound of birds tweeting each one of them singing their own song the sun’s rays hit every corner, lighting them up from the dark flowers bloom, in every bush, pink purple, and light blue too all the buds in full bloom spring brings a rebirth. a vibrant, colorful one.
~Julia G.
Birdsong
spring birdsong unopened the longest heaviest present
~Elaina W.
Morning
Specks of white flowers Sunlight slanting through light grass Chews at the old tree
Window of Nature
~Julianna S.
~Alice D.
The Beacon
From the ring of dust
To the red mark of the giant
There is a wanderer
Sending the message
For all
But none
And so he continues
Up to the edge
So he reflects
Did the sand hear my call?
Or was it the cold breath who took it home?
~Javier S.
Plateaus
The plateaus of of my home country Gönpas where the monks come to pray the dark thick hair wrapping around their heads he ringing of the prayer wheels slowly spinning my ancestors their voices blending together while they sing.
~Tsekyi N.
Stained Soles
A fabric with tiny needles. Sneezing and summer
Mud or dirt or maybe both
“Take your white socks off!”
Too late.
They are stained like the other nine pairs
It never rubs off
Like how the 10th summer doesn’t either It stays with me, warming me in the winter reminding me of the sun.
Window of Nature
~Julianna S.
~Sofie B.
Gaze On ~Eileen Z.
Whirlwind
On My Mind
I couldn’t think of anything to say In the silent corners of my heart
Each memory a bright spark Her laughter so gentle I couldn’t refrain Now all it reminds of is the longing pain
The nights get cold but I don’t mind Life without my best friend takes time Being alone will be just fine She’s the only thing that stays on my mind.
~Sofia M.
d When I was younger, my parents promised me that if I worked hard I would be happy. You see, if I worked hard, I would get good grades, speak three languages, and play two sports. Then next, a good college. Then a good job, then a family, a kid or two. Finally, I would die of old age surrounded by those I loved. And that, my parents, believed, was ultimate happiness—heaven itself, set upon earth.
My entire life, planned out and printed in crisp lines on a giant posterboard, has hung above my bed for eighteen years. Every day, I would trace my finger over each line, feel accomplishment at each tick above them. When I moved out to go to college (Harvard, of course), I packed it up carefully, wrapped it in paper, and set it inside a box labeled, “FRAGILE, HANDLE WITH CARE”. This box, full of my hopes and dreams and the life I was promised, was then shipped to Boston.
Once there, it was no longer proudly displayed, instead stuffed beneath my bed. I was scared my roommates would laugh at it—and laugh at me; I didn’t think I could bear any mockery of what I so passionately believed in. I stopped worshiping the posterboard every day, instead slipping it out once a week.
After the first couple years, everything changed. My grades dipped, then plummeted. I began to forget my Spanish, French, myself. At first, I was in denial, but eventually, the excuses were no longer good enough. I was not yet failing, but I was fading all the same.
Now, pulling out my posterboard, I felt nothing but shame; the small boxes above the goals for this year
That Someone
Someone will jump out the window with your heart, Forgetting they have it.
It will clatter to pieces when they land. They will be too busy running to even notice.
Someone will see those pieces and keep walking.
The right someone will gather them up, Knock on your door, It is your choice to invite them in Or lock yourself in a vault.
~Sydney L.
remained blank. Somehow, this nothingness spoke to me, asking why? Why am I empty?
I didn’t understand why—I was working harder than I did in high school. I threw myself into fixing what went wrong, fighting battles every day. Hard work pays off was the phrase that ran through my mind; I desperately wanted to trust that it was true.
One day, in an emotional fit, I picked up my posterboard, stared at these words on paper that have brought me both great joy and great pain, then threw it against the wall. It hit with a satisfying crack, and I stood there stunned for a second. My first instinct was to rush over, make sure it was okay. Then I paused. Was I really going to run for a posterboard?
No. I wasn’t.
And eventually, I crept over, slid the posterboard (now bearing a crack down the middle) into its shelter beneath the bed, and never brought it out again. I wish I could say I never thought about it, but I did— and often. I was scared, scared that I would let my parents down, that I was able to so easily hurl against the wall something I trusted, that I had just lost all chances of achieving what I was promised.
As day after day passed, I found these truths unfounded. My posterboard was left alone, no longer seeking anything, no longer craving success. I slowly forgot about it, slowly let its grasp on me slip away.
After all, it was just words on paper, ink on dead trees. And now, I could live.
Posterboard by Michelle K.
Her house was deep into the forest
I only visited once.
Small and messy
It smelled like cigarettes and cats
She seemed ashamed, so she brought us to the backyard.
As I looked beyond the tree line, I saw a lake
We ran towards it.
The water was freezing,
As if we had just jumped into a tub of ice
But the sand was warm and soft
And tiny fish swam around us.
There was a big splash
She jumped up and screamed
She almost got bit by a leech
We got out of the water
We collapsed onto towels
She laughed as she looked at the sky
I followed her finger
Pointing to a leech-shaped cloud
~Karen S.
Clara
~Lilyrose V.
~William C.
Forested Lake
Whirlwind
Alone
and the salt sprinkled around, the shape of a star that shined, brighter than i
and the smoke the scent, sweeter than i so i watched and touched and breathed too afraid and the air came slow, rough and unwelcoming
i know how that feels like the sea under the faint glow of a moon the guardians, the waves no one can get in, and no one can get out
~Myra K
Midsummer
A gate made of trees
Closes the old dirt path
There is the young sprout
Does it look up towards the sky? Does it look down on the ground?
~Alice D.
The Puzzle of Our Places by Juniper
H.
Everyone has a place. Your places fit together, a sort of jigsaw puzzle, creating life as you know it.
I am a placer, like my Mothers before me. My role is to give each individual a place in your world. Whatever your class, race, gender, ethnicity, parentage, you get a place. No matter what.
That’s how it works.
I carve your places. I build your world. The stars give me your life. I give that life a piece of our planet. Without me, you would be little more than a ghost, floating around other’s places.
If you are reading this now, you are benefiting from either mine or my forebears’ hard work. You got a place. An easy smooth slip into your life. That’s the norm. That’s the rule.
The stars shared the next story, a simple solemn tale of an ordinary girl, teen, and woman. The one thing that set her apart was her lack of attachments, such as friends and relatives. It was not entirely unheard of, but led to a sad life. Her name was Jasmine. I carved her place like any other, pouring her story into every line. It had a simpler carve than most, but it was correct. Just like any other, I gave Jasmine’s place to the stars.
Jasmine’s place would not fit into the world. I had never encountered this before. Everyone is meant to have a place, everyone is supposed to fit into the puzzle of life. For some reason, this girl didn’t. The stars consoled me, saying this was but a temporary snag in the weave of the world. They told me to try again… and again when that failed. Each time they grew more worried, more frantic, and more insistent that I try harder.
It didn’t work.
Jasmine didn’t have a place. I was told to stop trying.
The world was not fit for little Jasmine. I was escorted to the second earth, a mere shadow of the one you call home. In my hand, formerly Jasmine’s place crumbled to dust. She was dropped into the second world, her destiny to float aimlessly. She would feel no pain, no fear, no joy.
She became a shadow. Her name was taken for an earthling, her shape too.
She was a person the world couldn’t hold. Now she is nothing.
Salt
and Speckle
Water crashes on the speckles of tans and whites - forgiveness and salt.
~Eleanor R.
Pure
Life
Pristine lakes of water
Time alone is granted to me
I walk past the children playing The dogs playing catch Warm summer air flows.
~Yasmine K.
My Nature and Destiny
I knock against the clouds. My feet lay upon the grassy lands
My hands are in the oceans and rivers throughout my life
Down in the ocean
I reach my hands and play with pebbles
A way of feeling my destiny
Water, Pulled by the Weight of the World
water, like lightning. a screaming wall of white mistdelicate fury.
~Emily U.
Window of Nature ~Julianna S.
~Brandon M.
Mindless
i. jellyfish coruscate in the darkness.
diaphanous glow like lanterns, tentacles like ripped jeans the curve of their head a gumusservi cosmos how can creatures without minds be so beautiful?
ii. mindless adj. acting or thinking without awareness, thought, or reason ex. she cries every night thinking why are we all so mindless why are we all so mindless like a bloom of jellyfish
iii. reverie by debussy a coalition of plinking keys and deadmen voices the electric piano doesn’t pick up debussy’s cries reverie rehv-er-ee the state of being pleasantly lost in one’s thoughts mindless.
~ Elaina W.
Bursting
(inspired by Emily Jungmin Yoon’s “Between Autumn Equinox and Winter Solstice, Today”)
Today, I read a pretty poem. On words of a humming page, In the walls of a blank school, On the soil of this twisting age, With the line -
Today you are the youngest You will ever be.
Well, Today, I am the oldest I have ever been.
Today, I can rest my head against someone I trust.
Today, I think about the of the meaning of a Friend.
It means to love, To lose, to listen, To live, to leap, Knowing someone is standing by, Their arms stretched out.
Someone who can make words flow, Like churning water. Without The oil of hesitancy. It means to change, To give something, To take something.
Not
today, but in the never-again, Some wise man said, to think outside the box. But I strive to think that we should Blow that box up To the sky.
It darkens, as winter flies in. So my numb fingers search for someone To take my hand in their own. And I almost melt when someone does.
Sharing Their warmth with me.
Now, my heart wears weariness like A thick, black coat. But Today it also fills with trust. The window of my room is clutching stars. Friend, you say. It is something to give. We take, And the box bursts.
~Emily U.
d
Hope is the Rising Sun
When hardships arise
One thing always remains with us
Hope
It sparks in us when
The flowers
Bloom in the spring
The baby bird
First takes flight in the summer
The crisp, colorful leaves
Floats down
And the flocks and flutters
Of birds and butterflies
Flies south in the fall
The serene snowflakes
Drift to the ground in the winter
No matter what happens
Hope is always with us
Enlighting us and filling us
Just as the sun
Fills the dawn with light
As it rises in the east.
The Noon Hour
Whirlwind
Flame
Dreams are a flame
Small
But bright
Lighting the dark hallway
into every future that could be lived
~Amelia J.
When the sun peaks, the bridge of the day
When you see the sky alive and happy
With no clouds overhead.
~Xander K.
Dreams are a flame
That must be protected
From the fierce winds
That put it out
And leave life in darkness
Dreams are a flame
No two are the same
And no more valuable thing
Can be achieved
Dreams are yours, keep them burning
~Ann L.
Sunset
The long day has finally ended
I stop to look at the colors blended
The fiery sky is set ablaze
Surrounding me is the evening haze
Crimson red shadows glare
A fine dusk ever so fair
A sight, so majestic and grand
Glamorous light, shines on the land
There the sun sets, in all its might
Return tomorrow
Good night
Good night
~Yonatan N.
~Jenna Y.
Celebrity Eye
~Gwenyth L.
Summer Afternoon
d
The Moon in Her Eyes, My Eyes in the Stars
by Michelle K.
Once, when my momma was too tired of our crying, she told us a story.
A story about two rabbit brothers that were lazy and did nothing but sleep. they often neglected their role in keeping the moon bright and let it fade into the night. the villagers would throw stones into the air to try and wake them up.
Back then, I never understood the moral of the story. I guess it was to not laze around, for fear of sharp stones, yet the story instilled in me not a sense of respectful fear, but jealousy. Why ` could I not be the one on the moon? How come two good-fornothing rabbits made it to The Moon, yet I was stuck on boring, stifling Earth?
Since then, I have wished desperately for the Moon. No-not just wished. I deserved it.
I lie, stomach down, on top of the thin red blanket (though now it was less of a red and more of a faded whisper of pink) At least it’s one layer between my protruding ribs and the cold floor. I stare blankly at the ceiling, waiting for darkness to sweep through my mind.
Maybe, on the moon, things would be different. There, gravity would change; the blanket and I would rise, higher and higher, until I resumed a position of normalcy. The ceiling (the same yellowing white as the rest of the walls, as everything) would become the floor, the blanket now draped over my body, and maybe I could finally live like the rabbit brothers: a life of laziness, of luxury.
Luxury I didn’t have, I was reminded, as my sister stirs awake from beside me. No, I was not on the Moon, just Earth. Oh, how I hated this. They say Earth is breathtaking, and yes it is- it chokes me, wraps its thick pudgy fingers around my neck and squeezes. I am being choked, I cannot breathe, I am dying.
Dying.
Something’s wrong.
“Momma? Momma!” My sister cries, stretching out her tiny hands. “Where is Momma?”
“I don’t know.” I snap back, rising to my feet. My hands are shaking, the room is shaking, everything is shaking. My head spins, and a high siren-like whine sounds in the back of my head. My sister stares back up at me, trembling in fear. I see the moon reflected in her eyes and instinctively reach out, because it’s
mine. Mine.
I’m going crazy. What am I doing?
I fall to my knees next to my sister, stroking the dirty locks of her hair. Tears spill unbidden from my eyes, and I can vaguely sense it dripping down my face, down my neck, down my body. I don’t know how much time has passed.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” I begged. “I don’t know where Momma is. I’m sorry, so sorry.”
Guilt does not roar its displeasure. It lingers at the edge of where your eyesight ends, where you can no longer see, and laughs showing tiny sharp teeth.
I was lying, I did know where Momma wasor at least had an inkling. She had gone into a fit yesterday, raging and screaming, before she had left, slamming the door. The last time she had done that, she had come back two days later, staggering and drunk. I had no clue how long it would take for her to come back this time. I wish I knew.
But you don’t wish for Momma, Guilt whispers. You wish for the Moon. Selfish child.
No, no, I plead. I love my sister, I love her so much.
Then will you give up the moon for her?
Yes, I will, I promise.
I brush away my sister’s tears and tuck her back under the blanket, hoping the cold floor does not kill her. Please, please, let her live, let her live. I fold my side of the blanket up so she would have one more layer of heat and give her a gentle kiss on the forehead. I lie curled up next to her, listening to my heart pound and the sirens wail. Eventually, I drift off.
Later, the moonlight wakes me.
It streams into the room through the small window we have, directly onto my face. I carefully pull myself up and creep close to it, careful not to wake my sister again. Through the window, I can see thick snowflakes begin to plummet from the sky. I breathe in the scent of winter, feeling the sharp cold sting my nostrils, and it trickles along my body through my veins. It beckons, calling out to me.
Come, child. Come.
I look back towards my sister. Her eyelids flutter, and for a half-second I see it. The moon.
I run, ignoring the steady drip of guilt gathering in pools around my heart.
Leaving my sister behind hurts me somewhere deep in my chest, and I can feel tears welling up in my eyes. I grit my teeth and shove all thoughts of her away, sending them flying with the raging winds. She would live, I chant in my head. She would live.
The snow, gathering in intensity, delivers small little shocks to my skin until it becomes numb to the cold. Through the city, out onto wide fields, I continue to move until my chest is burning with pain and I am unable to breathe. I crumple to the ground, sinking deep down into the snow until my entire body seems to be covered by it. It makes an odd sort of blanket.
At this point, I can’t even shiver anymore.
Here, nothing blocks my view of the expanse of black sky, with only the moon burning bright in the center. I stare up into it, and the shining radiance enthralls me. Mine.
I stand up again and continue walking towards
an unknown destination, eyes locked onto the moon, until-
The ground disappears from beneath my feet.
I’m falling.
I’m dying. I’m flying.
Even in death, I cannot reach the moon. I reach out for it desperately, yet my fingers barely graze its surface before I am pulled away, back into the darkness I gazed at just moments ago. For a split second, I think I see two rabbits sleeping, curled around each other, tails tucked in.
It reminds me of my sister.
Years after my death, I realize that I was never meant for the moon. No matter how hard I would try, I would never achieve that kind of life.
Blossom Nguyen ~Jenna Y.
Dew, Drizzle, Drops
Rain greets the doorstep and gently whispers each “hello”
Pitter patter, yet clouds walk away
Searching in gentle tiny rivers
Lightning stomps and laughs with delight
Lighting up the darkness, which sits so so still
Waiting and waiting
Shattered
How winter unfolds.
How birdsong falls quiet, cold.
Like the heart I held,
Like the heat I cannot hold.
Like the broken green sky, bold.
~Emily U.
~Eleanor R.
Old Love
Doves fly up to the sky
As an old couple dances in the grass
The doves sing above them
The clouds vanish
And the sunrise shines on their skin.
Under the shadow of the willow tree
They imagine all the things they have done
To be here
Together in love.
Their love emerged some years ago
It keeps growing
The doves continue winging their way home.
~Emilia B.
Hi Mama
~Eileen Z.
Whirlwind
Growing Up
Growing up, I wanted to be a bird
To fly through endless skies of fluffy, white clouds
Growing up, I wanted to be a flower
Swaying in the breeze of day, with colorful petals
Growing up, I wanted to be an apple
Bright and red, and sweet on the inside
Growing up, I wanted to be fish
To swim freely in the ocean, vast and wide
But now, I am a bird
My feathers damp and heavy, drenched in a storm
Now, I am a flower
Fragile, easily broken, when the breeze gets too strong
Now, I am an apple
Bruised, and nearly rotten
Now, I am a fish
Getting tangled in nets after nets, escaping just to get caught again
Although I might be drenched, I might be broken, I might be bruised, and I might be caught I still fly, I still sway, I’m still bright, and I still swim.
Duck ~Grace Z.
Harness of Pearls ~Julia X.
Old Money
~Erika K.
An Introduction to Quantum Mechanics
I find myself in a superposition. A quantum life
Schrodinger’s breath. Heisenberg’s wave, perfectly describes Whether or not I survive.
But can probabilities acknowledge that I want to thrive?
That my cellulose is on a plane above photons, electrons, & quarks that spin Up, down, top to bottom, with strange charm they exist. Is this my existence?
Only in percentages?
Are my breaths just Van der Waals?
My thoughts, just electrons then.
Do I have meaning beyond a jumble of particles? Will you let me be more?
Will you let me be more?
Do these mechanics of entanglement represent my relations? Maybe I only exist if I’m seen, measured, I am unresolved, both here and there till I’m observed. Do I only exist when someone sees me?
What about when they don’t?
Am I tunneling through the fabric of spacetime? Wait, was I the choice made? Am I just the simulation of what I missed?
Have I understood these Quantum Mechanics?
~Nedas P.
Animal ~Mimi P..
Whirlwind
This is a Photograph of Me
(inspired by Margaret Atwood’s “This ia Photograph of Me …”)
This is a photograph of me
It was taken
A while ago
Gray trees immobilized
A mute waterfall
Scrawled behind the leaves
The paper edges Shrivel inwards Swallows the beginnings of a sloping hill
(This photograph was taken the day before I was born. It’s difficult to say
Where exactly I was or Exactly my size
If you look past the eyes hard enough Eventually you will see.)
~Alice D.
Eyes ~Isabelle K.
Whirlwind
Latibule
means to be hidden. Amongst the graying wallpaper black couch dark home alone. Haunting shadows overtake us. Can’t breathe
There are smears on the wall. Feet bare face bare floating into madness. Crisp edges taint my head
House empty
Heart empty?—your presence suffocates me. Come with me won’t you? Silence was never a virtue
come hold my hand and together we can drift off into another world.
~Elaina W.
Wilting Passion
The cool rush of wind
Passing by the swaying trees Who live painfully Torn up and broken My heart slows with the wind
~Siddhant S.
Ministry
Ministry reminds me of A dark, mysterious building
With snowy outposts and halls. Or a group of people. Contractors with strings From their shoulders up to The skies.
A dark, cold eerie feeling Enters my mind.
Reaching Out to Yourself
Walking through their snowy, icey, cold halls. Like a group of chaos or harm. Eyes staring at you-But it seems so cool and cold. So bold and fancy.
Like making a castle of ice on a snowy day.
~Jayden L.
Sorrow
The cruel expression of the wind extends my shadow
A silhouette stands tall beneath shallows I glimpse at hope but immediately shut it down
I see the moon outside but shut curtains that are found
I’ve been walking near the foggy grey roadside
No one can see me beyond my self destructed mind
Not even truth begins to find the gold behind
~Emily U.
~Mazia P.
School
The dog being taken over by parasites
Is no different from the way I feel
My brain is gradually being eaten away by knowledge
During every test, I itch at the information
But it always seeps out from between my fingers
I am no less defenseless than the dog
Long after I receive my failing grade
They continue invading my brain
And just like the dog that twitches uncontrollably I can’t control the machine of work I become
Soon, my life turns into a blur
And all that is left are jumbled factoids
Not only is it the diagnosis, It is also the cure
The cough medicine of life
A salary will soon become my flea collar ~Otto V.
My Dog
~Isabelle K.
Cat’Astrophe
~Isabelle K.
Veins of Life in Wood ~Emily U.
If We Lived, If Only a Moment, If Only A Day
by Emily U.
I used to see blue, it buzzed black as it wrapped our burning earth. So when the breeze kissed me for the first time, I was greeted by the hum.
But because the sky only flushed a coal-smeared purple, The blue of the world, aged out of sight. That was my life, for a century, maybe three.
In the drumming darkThe cloudless cold.
There was no question of how life was supposed to be. I was blurred.
In those moments that came next, something changed.
I had heard stories of a fiery ball, Stories whispered on the hot wind, That strung, suspended, in the sky. I had heard tales of the great time of fall, The songs so soft, I thought it a lie.
So when that hour of glory, when gold pierced the veil, And shadows shrunk small, Such a wondrous thing.
I had never seen such a sight, where fire smudged like paint.
A single song of light that illuminated the world. And so in seemingly, infinite moments, I rejoiced, while the dark became faint. That was my life, for a century, or three.
Dancing in the lulling light, surrounded by the bright, relentless rain.
There was no question of how life was supposed to be. By now, I felt alive, but my mind began to bear pain. The kind that comes
When you live so long, but you stay sane. Then, at the warm breath of an hour, The gold began to wane.
Then, in those seconds, I mourned, wishing the warmth farewell.
Darkness draped over me once again, and I embraced the shell.
Soon, I found myself stilling, unable to walk I longed for the days where I was topped with strife, The only thing I could do now was talk.
So I talk to you now about the moon’s hum, And the cold’s sigh.
The still earth’s steady thrum, And the time when fire danced in the sky.
I talk to you now about the cycles of heat, When I seemed to age.
The sun, like a creased linen sheet. The light flipped open a new page.
I talk with you now when the shadows grew back, Taking their rightful placeThe world’s crevices and cracks. When the moon awoke from its daze. When the stars started to finally tilt back, My mind did too.
The black, the white, the red, the yellow. The darkness tasted new.
The heavens give one final bellow, And I once again glimpsed blue.
My Last Message to the Earth
by Temmie P.
It’s clear today, and I’m rushing through the forest to the coast. I’m rushing past the brambles and bushes, past the lofty trees, and past the overgrown collapsed buildings. Vines are crawling under and uprooting the concrete sidewalks from humans long ago. It’s clear today, about 67 degrees Fahrenheit without wind, and it’s the earth’s final day. I’m in a long flowy white dress, with my left hand carrying a pencil and a piece of paper. The dress isn’t pretty in any way, it’s dirty and torn in many different locations. I can’t complain though, it’s not really for fashion, it’s just a cover-up so I don’t get cold.
I’ve been stumbling around barefoot since, well maybe 5:00am. I don’t really know the exact time because it’s been about a decade since there were any other humans or animals around. About a decade since every human left and was sent somewhere else in the vast universe. About a decade since my family took the spaceship, and made the decision to leave me behind. There wasn’t any room left on the ship, and I guess it made more sense to leave one 6-yearold child who hasn’t really experienced life than not going at all.
I managed to survive off of wild berries and food left in refrigerators, as well as the water from a forest creek, and barely being able to get garments and keep track of time. April 16th was the day a second sun was estimated to hit the earth. April 16th, today.
It’s been very lonely this past decade, the only living things left are me and the plants. It gets even lonelier whenever I see the old buildings that have been overgrown and kidnapped into the underbrush.
I climb up a few rocks and pull myself up onto somewhat slanted ground. I dusted off my dress, although it probably didn’t do much since my hands were already pretty dirty. I put myself on my feet and continue running, The forest continues on the ascending slant, and I follow. Eventually, I trip and grab onto a fallen tree to not go tumbling down the hill to my death. Catching my breath and clasping
onto the rough pine wood. I look up and see a clearing, the exact clearing that I’m going to. I get up and spend the last bit of energy stumbling and sprinting to the clearing.
I’m at the edge of a cliff, and there’s a slight wind that blows my amber hair back. The grass feels so soft against my bare feet, that I reach my right hand up to the sun, almost as if I could hold it. I can now feel tears trickling down my eyes, but I wipe them away. After all, it’s too early to start crying. This was my favorite place. It’s a triangular cliff hanging over the deep blue plain of water below. I sit down to kneel down on the grass, put my pencil down, and start folding the piece of paper. It’s quite large, covered in graphite from me writing my last message. My last message to the earth. I fold and fold, and fold, and fold until it’s a paper airplane. I smile sadly and look up to the sky, still clear, but the second sun is now in vision.
It’s coming closer and closer. It looks like it’s about to hit the earth. I don’t have much time before the sun made out of stone comes down from the sky. I get up and walk to the edge of the cliff. I pressed the paper airplane to my heart, feeling like my knees were about to collapse. I swallow down the lump in my throat, holding my breath. I take a step forward. Shaking, breath shaking, legs shaking, hands shaking, shaking. I exhale, feeling the paper airplane slipping out of my fingers and catching the wind drift into the sky.
As soon as I saw the paper airplane fly away into the setting sun, I accepted it. I accepted my undeniable fate, and I was happy, happy for everything I’ve accomplished up to this point.
The little plane was afloat until the meteor hit the earth. But before it was burnt to ashes, it carried a little message. It was short, only about two words. But those two words told a story worth a thousand words.
