We live in a land where the footprints of ghosts linger,

A place where echoes whisper beneath the ground,

The past walks with us, silent yet near,

Fingers of memories, lost and profound.

Each step is traced by the shade of the past,

A world that moves forward but cannot let go,

The air thick with the things we’ve outlasted,

The shadows of lives we’ll never fully know.

We’ve danced with our demons...

Hail, Ambition! You relentless pest,

The thief of calm, the killer of rest.

With starry-eyed whispers and cruel demands,

You drag us to “greatness” with blistered hands.

Oh, how you charm with your golden lies,

Promising thrones that scrape the skies.

"Climb higher! Climb faster!" you shout with glee,

While we trip on the bones of who we used to be.

You noble guide, you sainted...

----------- Hamilton -------- eliza's pov

I put myself back in the narrative,

A quiet hand rewriting time.

For years I stood, a shadowed figure,

A footnote to his rise and climb.

He wrote, he fought, his words were endless,

A story woven, bold and loud.

But I was there, behind the pages,

Unseen beneath the cheering crowd.

I loved him once—a love relentless,

A fortress built, then...

Beneath the weight of shattered skies,

The earth ignites, the silence dies.

In crumbling streets, the ashes fall,

A broken world, no voice to call.

a place so pretty, now in ruins.

nobody sure what to say.

will the world continue after this day.

people work, people sleep.

but the world they once had, is now obsolete.

they try to fix it.

they try to ignore

but this place is now unfit.

t...

if silence had a smell, for it may be.

a flower, the air, or possibly me.

and though I wish it couldn't possibly be, I fear the scent of silence is purely me.

and though I speak

all day, every day.

everything i say is quiet, or weak.

I'm not quite sure what to say.

my mother would say "darling you're perfect"

and I would believe.

but now I'm starting to wonder if I'm worth it.

or if I should ...

a few months ago

I wished for love

but then I let go.

and just wished for a dove.

she was real kind.

and she was sweet.

she was kind?

sweet?

what do those words mean?

there she lays, foreseen.

as I wish I could be.

but she, is not me.

how lucky she may be.

there I sit, again waiting for love.

I haven't found it, why?

I search, but find hate.

why?

why must I always find the opposite?

do they...

It began with a single misplaced book, its spine bent awkwardly between volumes that had nothing to do with its subject matter. The librarian, Clara Winthrop, couldn’t ignore it; the book didn’t belong in the History section, nor anywhere on the fourth floor. She plucked it free—a tattered, unremarkable thing—and opened to the first page. Scrawled in the margins were notes, frantic and looping, th...

**The Hunger Games: The Game of Shadows**

The sun had barely crested over the horizon, casting a golden glow over the arena. The trees loomed tall, their branches reaching out like skeletal hands, their leaves rustling in a wind that whispered warnings. The sound of distant birds was drowned out by the booming voice of Claudius Templesmith, the Capitol's voice of the Games.

"Welcome, tributes,"...

**December 24th, 1963**

The beeping of the heart monitor filled the room, each pulse louder than the last, like a drumbeat that couldn’t be ignored. I stood by the bed, syringe in hand, my breath shallow, my heart racing. The patient’s condition had deteriorated so quickly—one moment they were stable, the next, it felt like everything was slipping through my fingers. The seconds were slipping by ...

Maria and Emma walk into the park, the wind eerily quiet, despite the park being filled with voices of children, the sounds of parents getting onto said children, the barking of dogs, and the chirping of birds, to them, none of it is there, it's like they can't hear anything. why is that?

they continue walking until they find a secluded area in the park, its empty, perfect.

Maria sits down, wanti...