Amidst the rubble of a war-torn city, Dan Hastings, 34, stepped into the skeletal remains of what once was a vibrant building. The shattered windows cast fractured beams of light onto the dusty floor, creating an eerie dance of shadows that mirrored the turmoil within him. The walls, scarred by the violence of war, bore witness to a history he couldn't comprehend.

As Dan moved deeper into the abandoned structure, he couldn't escape the haunting silence that enveloped him. The air hung heavy with the echoes of a life once lived here — laughter, conversations, the clatter of dishes. Now, only the whispering wind found solace among the desolation.

His boots echoed through the empty halls, the sound a solemn reminder of the void left by the absence of life. Each step seemed to resonate with the weight of the realization that the richest country in the world had lost something intangible yet invaluable.

In a room where sunlight struggled to pierce through the dust-coated windows, Dan paused. A forgotten child's toy lay discarded in a corner, its bright colors now faded and worn. It was a stark contrast to the gleaming excesses of his homeland. The juxtaposition struck him with a pang of sorrow — a realization that the true wealth of a nation wasn't measured in riches, but in the echoes of joy, the warmth of family, and the simple happiness found in shared moments.

As he wandered through the dilapidated building, Dan couldn't help but wonder if, in their pursuit of prosperity, his own people had forgotten the essence of humanity. The war had changed him, not just in the physical scars he carried but in the profound understanding that the riches he once sought were hollow in comparison to the wealth of love, connection, and shared humanity he found in the very place he had been taught to view as an enemy.

She’d started to garden when her marriage was falling apart. It was all the usual signs. Too much time at work, hiding his cellphone, angry at pointless things, and a strange smell on his clothes after long shifts at work.

She spent her time outside, away from him and his strange smell. This allowed her to nurture something and build and control. This made her feel powerful.

What began as a simple hobby had evolved into a full time passion. Before long she was the one who was abandoning him. Weekends at the craft mart, long nights tending to cuttings (cuttings are little parts of a plant that can develop into a whole new plant with love and patience.) She even forgot his 3 year work anniversary party, she was meeting up with a new plant society she’d learned about in a local Reddit thread.

Upon arrival, they shrouded her in a very natural feeling robe, as soon as she was covered in it, it was as if the plants themselves could communicate with her.

“Sit here, in top of the oldest root in the garden and let its power flow through you”

She felt… Alive.

Soon after the strange meeting, her cuttings would come to life at the sight of her. She began having strange dreams about them. They were her family.

Her husband must have known he deserved it. He ran his sloppy lawn mower all over the edge of the garden. Now his body would nourish the new breed of clippings.

She would complete her transformation tonight. The cuttings on her skinwere open and the vines were starting to grow. Soon his body would provide enough nourishment for her to become a plant and animal.

Kim is a force of nature, her fiery hair cascading like molten lava down her back. A sense of furious determination burns in her intense, amber eyes, reflecting the resilience she developed through countless trials as the General Manager of this particular Mighty Taco restaurant. In the midst of a crisis, Kim’s leadership shines; her decisive actions and strategic mind make her an accomplished team leader. Though her exterior may seem hot-tempered, beneath it lies a heart fueled by a passion for perfect 2oz portions of beef in those burritos and a commitment to overcoming dietary restrictions with the pickled juice of jalapeños.

My parents have owned the little diner in town since before I was born.

“Jim and Donna’s hot bites”.

It’s the perfect generic title for this generic town in mediocrity.

I’ve been working there since I turned 14 and I appreciate the opportunity to earn my allowance. It was only recently I started taking a liking to the kitchen work. I remember last night my mother saying they had a bunch of old recipes up in the attic, and I couldn’t wait until tomorrow morning to read through them.

After everyone went to bed, I crept upstairs to go digging for them.

Coq au vine, cassoulet, compound butters… it was obviously they fell in love with food during some time in France.

1 whole chicken preferably old and tough 2 diced onion 1lb diced carrots 5 stalks celery As long as we do this together nobody will know ….

What the hell? What is that last ingredient?

I began to pour through all the recipes now looking for more of these random notes.

“My dearest Donna, sharing these meals with you has been the deepest love of my life. Nobody has ever understood how great the meat of life can taste until I met you”

“Lover, Soulmate, James. Your skills with a knife make my blood rush. I get excited when I think about sharing a fresh pig with you. But the key to my heart lies in your ability to give life to the old….” It’s scratched out here…

C-A-D…

Cadavers?!? Isn’t that dead people?

More recipes…

“Long pig bbq” “Old roast meat” “Formaldehyde removal steps”

I’m starting to feel wheezy. This can’t be real? Maybe it’s just weird French stuff?

“Our Happy Family Recipes. By Donna and Jim.

Our son will know the bounty of life from his very first meal. We will carve from our very flesh and nourish him from ourselves.

My love for you is endless. And now that we have our own cafe, we can share our gifts with everyone in town” -Jim & Donna

I walked into the store with a goal The shelves were lined with With the un-fulfilled dreams of other Travelers.

I walked into the store with a purpose The secrets of my past, and future Were in the lines of text buried Here

When I saw you there Looking perplexed at the book

When I saw you there Staring at the code of my being

I reached for the cover in hopes To steal the chance At discovery

I swatted your hand away To steal the chance To learn