Cracks spidered out from the center of the monstrous crater that stretched for hundreds of feet in all directions. The earth’s red clay lay broken from the incredible release of energy. From where she stood, there was nothing. Nothing but the remnants of a memory on the verge of being forgotten. Rocks jutted out from the edge of the crater, ringing it with a crown of ruined earth. Formations of reddish-brown sandstone hung above the crater, looking down upon the destruction. The crater was all that remained. All that remained of a life of magnificent beauty and wonder. Gone.

Stumbling through the deserted mountain path, tired and parched for water, I wondered if I would make it out alive. My only hope was to reach a town before nightfall.

Suddenly, I heard the faint sound of running water. It reignited my strength, and I pushed forward, desperate to find it. Bursting into a clearing, I saw it—a crystal-clear river. Without hesitation, I dashed toward it, cupping my palms to scoop the cool water into my mouth. The relief was indescribable.

After quenching my thirst, I looked around, stunned by the breathtaking scene before me. Two rugged mountains stood like towering guardians, their peaks framing the sky. Towering trees formed a natural canopy, their leaves filtering the sunlight into golden rays that danced on the water’s surface. The birds’ cheerful songs blended with the soft trickle of the river, creating a melody that seemed to soothe my very soul. Smooth, round pebbles lined the banks, glistening like jewels in the sun.

I breathed deeply, letting the cool breeze wrap around me like a gentle embrace. For the first time in what felt like forever, I felt completely at peace—held in the arms of nature

San Juan river cut her route through the mountains Isolated farms made her their home Not a single cell tower Forget about modern age This place between the mountains with modern humans Named Dulce, her hidden gem was worth the isolated drive Worth getting lost for Her mountain ridges worth more than the sum of my worth Her people, so close to Mother Earth Taken care of me when I needed a home She is the gem I must have been looking for I crave for her isolated paradise Yet terrified of her Of her isolation If I could, I would maybe get lost in her mountains To maybe find myself To see my own reflection In her waters where the fish grow without knowing what is, what is humans I want the peace like her people A little place of heaven Of self isolation

By the work of a single, flickering power line, in a single, violent night, the valley was crippled.

Each lovingly crafted shade of green, every hill that was whole with life and tossed by a playful breeze, had been either withered to its shadow-self or taken entirely. No birds sung in the trees. They were long since gone or dead. The sky a smear of brown, like a greasy old window, with an angry welt of a red sun. Once-golden hills scarred with jagged slashes of black, the rest smeared with ash.

The weight of such a devastation dragged on my shoulders like a yoke. Because it wasn’t just the animals that were silent. The people were, too. Every face painted with dirt, ash, and a grim acceptance. Some kind of loss wormed its way into everyone, even those lucky enough to have kept their homes and families intact.

Worse than the withered land and the disheartened people were the bottom barrel scum that was the looters. That first night, huddled in my bed with my sister, I heard them. No one in particular, just gunshots and screams. Someone lucky enough to have kept their home and family intact, suddenly and decidedly unlucky and unintact. I didn’t sleep, even with my dad sitting by the door with his shotgun. Neither did my sister.

Weeks passed of brown-sky days and gunshot nights. I went out once with a bandana wrapped around my face, and caught pieces of ash floating down from the sky. I pretended it was snow. It looked a little like snow, anyway.

But then, we drove out to the fireline, and any delusion was scrubbed clean from my mind.

Before, I’d only ever seen campfires and candlelight. Only know a fire that was tame, yellow, curiously innocent. This fire was red and jagged, like a torn page. This fire was one hundred feet tall, belching great lungfuls of smoke and ash. This fire was a great and feral beast. Shamelessly, I cried at the sight of it, tears tracking paths into the ash that had settled on my face in our short stint outside.

Years have passed now, and I still know in my bones the way that sunlight looks when there’s smoke in the air. When the wind whips through the trees a little too hard, I think of that single power line. That feral beast crawled into my chest and cauterized itself a hole to nest in, never to be forgotten.

The halls are dim and lights are few. It is separated from the others. Unlesss you had to be there, very view travel to the destination. And once you left, very few ever returned. If they did return, most would only feel resentment, if not a slight melancholy feeling.

In this place, you had no choice in where you were placed. People were separated off into groups and packed together under the rule of a single leader.

Additionally, there was never a moment of quiet. This place made even the toughest crack, and everyone was restless. Your neighbors were both friend and foe.

Overall, this desolate place is very strange and does not have a great reputation. It takes a very brave soul to venture into it's depths and come out on the other side in one piece.

A name for this place you ask? Although please know while I see it may be necessary, I do not encourage anyone to travel there for longer than needed. Is it obvious? This desolate place is also known as... middle school.

Not long ago, sunflowers bloomed here by the thousands every fall.

You can still occasionally find their seeds, usually between the teeth of tiny brown rodents with long tails. I forget their scientific name, so I just call them carls (they look a lot like my childhood hamster Carl).

Carl would not have been able to survive in these conditions, but the carls do just fine. Those freaks can survive for like five years without water. Maybe longer. And they can outrun the snakes and bobcats with leaps as long as a professional basketball player is tall. I’m not sure if they breathe in the dust at the same rate as me, but they definitely don’t cough as much.

Don’t lose your hat, because we could walk for half a day and not find shade. Once in awhile I’ll come across a boulder large enough to block the sun. You have to keep your eyes sharp, though, since poisonous scorpions love to nestle themselves under there. I’ve seen a few lizards learn that the hard way.

Stark Lark Mark Dark

Brown Ground Surround Found

Sand Bland Hand Land

Sky Dry Fry Cry

The carbon dioxide leaving his lungs seemed to take up space.

Surreal was the only word for it, he had to keep breathing, every gasp continually reminding him that he must be somewhere.

No up, no down.

In attempt to silence the growing paranoia, he knelt to his feet and was mortified as his fingers reached lower than where he “stood”

Blink as much or as little as he pleased there was no difference. Not a breeze.

Each breath left him, dissipating into the vacuum, but it was not like space. He had been there before, floated from station to shuttle tethered in between.

This was empty. The kind of empty that took on form, draining. Eerie beyond belief, it—because it must be an it not merely a where in which he now existed—seemed to be extracting the very life source from the souls of his feet.

Frank had a weird attraction to places seemingly devoid of life, places he could perfuse with his own. The secretive critters could take in the full shape of it from their hiding places, the wind-smoothed crevices could listen in to something different than the customary tubular howls, and the wind-swept tumbleweeds could slowmotion elope with a new companion. He could lose himself in an ocean of stargazing rocks, but by closing his eyes, he could find constellations in this seemingly random arrangement of scattered debris. Laying on the bare soil, he could feel his heart pounding the earth, a soul otherwise constrained by the noise of just about everything else, endlessly unravelling.

In the heart of this desolate landscape, a vast expanse stretches as far as the eye can see, a tapestry of muted browns and greys under an expansive, brooding sky. The ground is a cracked mosaic of parched earth, fissures spidering across the surface like a network of forgotten rivers. Dried sagebrush and tenacious weeds clutch at the earth, their resilience stark against the harshness that surrounds them.

Occasionally, the wind stirs, sending a shiver through the skeletal remains of twisted trees that stand like silent sentinels. Their gnarled branches reach skyward, clawing at the heavens, remnants of a bygone era when life flourished in abundance. The air carries a sharp, earthy scent mingled with the faintest hint of decay, a reminder that even in this desolation, nature's cycle persists.

Above, the sky looms heavy and oppressive, clouds swirling in shades of charcoal and silver, threatening rain that never falls. Sunlight, when it breaks through, casts an eerie glow on the terrain, illuminating the dust that dances in the air like tiny spirits lost in a forgotten world.

In the distance, jagged mountains rise, their peaks shrouded in a perpetual haze, creating a stark contrast against the flatness of the land. Shadows stretch and shift as the sun crosses the sky, painting the landscape in fleeting moments of chiaroscuro that evoke a sense of melancholy.

Every sound here is magnified, the haunting call of a distant bird echoing like a cry for companionship, the whisper of wind weaving through the crevices, and the soft crunch of sand underfoot. It's a place that feels suspended in time, where the silence speaks volumes and the air hangs heavy with an unshakeable sense of solitude.

In this desolate land, beauty and desolation intertwine, creating a landscape that, while barren, pulses with the quiet strength of nature's endurance. It’s a poignant reminder of the fragility of life and the stark resilience found in the heart of emptiness.