#And the outside had no sidewalks only just DIRT and grass because it’s a barn right

[carouselcometh]

All these weddings in old historical factories and yet no Upton Sinclair The Jungle themed wedding. That’s like having a wedding in a barn and having no horses or donkeys about

[helpinghanikan]

After the Snap

Avengers (and Matt Murdock) x Reader

Steve Rogers:

         His knees are weak the moment he sees you. One of the strongest men in the world makes it six steps upon seeing you.

           You, hand pressed above your brow towards the sun. starting a slow walk towards the small (too small group) making their own way towards you. You began to run towards him, full force sprinting down a hill the battle had just happened.

           The new shield hits the dirt and he falls over you. Weight was too much, you couldn’t support it. On his knees, hands gripping your forearms, faced buried into your abdomen. He’s silent, the others pass without looking back. It isn’t until your hands go into his hair that he begins to sob, letting out sound between a cry and a yell.

           You’d find bruises on your arms later. You’d wear long sleeves to hide them from him.

Tony Stark:

         Your leg goes a mile a minute waiting for the phone to ring. Staring at the screen, every channel saying the same thing a different way.

           “The end times are here,”

           “Emergency services are backed,”

           “Millions reported missing in the first two hours,”

           “No word on the whereabouts of the Avengers at this time,”

           Happy promised to call as soon as he could, Piper saying the same and you promising third. No word from Peter, you having to hear a panicked May over the phone. Her anger and fear reaching a point you almost couldn’t handle.

           Turn off the TV and your leg hasn’t settled.

Thor:

         To anybody who wasn’t aware of Thanos, the decimation was nothing but confusing for several days. This was your situation; a once filled elevator briefly becoming black before settling around your feet. White sweater now dark as night.

           The entire world was silent for days; your parents weren’t answering, so many emails went unanswered, anyone with authority weren’t getting orders. Then, the world started screaming. You couldn’t go anywhere without phones screaming on some corner of the street or someone with a sign screaming about the end times. Churches were filled to the brim. Good church goers wondering where they went wrong to miss God’s trumpets.

           One of those screams was an email. Dr. BB was trying to get in touch with you.

           Thor arrived on your building’s roof a few hours later.

           He was different, so much different but still so him.

           “You’re tired.” You said, standing on tip-toes to cup his face with both hands.

           His forehead presses against yours. Kissing your hair line. Taking over the placement of your arm to hold your face. His lips and scratchy cheeks kissing any point of your face. By the time he slowed and just breathed against you, your feet were straining from being on toes for so long.

Bucky Barnes:

           Your arm disappearing wasn’t painful. Skin becoming black and into ash, some drifting into the air and a few clumps hitting the ground. The last thing you see is Shuri’s hands going to her face.

           On your back, water that’s not wet up to your ears. The sky is orange and it’s hard to see the difference between it and the water. It’s oddly comfortable, but terrifying that everything had changed so suddenly that barely a full sentence could get out.

           There are others, dark shadows in the distance shuffling slow through the water. Tall, short and others wondering around. A Toddler was even crawling around, close enough you could see what it was but far enough away you couldn’t hear them Anything you yelled was reverberated back in an echo.

           A glint from a non-existence sun hits the corner of your eye. Metal, a hue of silver in an equal distance to the other shadows.

           “Bucky!” you skipped the question and went straight for yelling.

           “Bucky! James!” no matter how far you run, he’s never gonna get closer.

Natasha Romanoff:

         Her hand runs through dust between blades of grass. It was unlikely that all of it was just you, likely combined with warriors who own partners were holding back tears. It also unlikely that you had still been standing in this spot when she had left.

           You had forced her to take a step back before leaving, kissing her cheek and telling her to “go get him”. It was a tradition from when you had first gotten serious. Usually you’d be sure to leave a mark of lip stick or gloss. Your little mark of “she is mine”.

           Her fingers trace over where your lips had been. Leaving to join Steve in his own silent grief.

Bruce Banner:

         He’s covered in sweat from the Hulk smasher. Falling into you but refusing his weight to drag you down.

           “You’re here, you’re good,” Bruce was hard to read with emotions. Refusing anger and exchanging it with others; humor, sadness or mass anxiety. This time he is laughing slightly, holding your face with both hands. “You’re okay.”

           “I’m okay,” You say, hands to his shoulders.

           He leans into you. A hug in the middle of the lab, that weighs you both down to the floor.  

T’challa:

         Okoye breaks the news that you already assumed.

           Queen Ramonda stifles a gasp and looks towards the floor where you were already staring. Although you were an outsider, and been with T’challa for only awhile, your hand slides into hers. She grips it firmly.

           Okoye didn’t have a choice. Your other hand reaching out to hers, taking her hand and pulling her in. Her staff clangs into the floor, dropping it in exchange for taking her Queen’s other hand.

           Dust from her hand rubs into yours. A separation between your skin that digs her nails into your palm.

Pietro:

         It would be some time before anyone even saw Pietro. Hours of just gray or white rushing by and gone just as quick.

           It was hard to say who he was looking for first; you or Wanda. Not that it mattered one lick, just wanting one of you to be standing there, somewhere, doesn’t matter where. Sitting confused in the woods, sobbing with others back in the palace, or even laying unconscious in the field. Hurt but still alive and just needing his help.

           He just needed one of you, preferably both.

Peter Parker:

         Ned texts you after Peter jumps from the bus.

           Peter texted you a moment or two later. ‘Going into space, show video later’.

           After that it was dead from his end. You had texted a passive aggressive text about rescheduling your date for the next day. Sending another about the first being a joke, sending a third about wanting to actually do something instead of just watching Netflix. Another that you were okay with Netflix just no pizza, you wanted Chinese. Then another text that you were okay with pizza.

           All your texts came throughout the day until night. Knees to your chest waiting for a reply as your parents become absolutely silent in the other room.

Stephen Strange:

         Wong lets you into the sanctum as the world goes insane.  

           “What ever happened to keeping the world safe from-.” You cut yourself off seeing Wong’s face. He was never someone who gave a lot of emotion to outsiders, so seeing the eyebrows drop and his face looking to the floor was both a special and horrifying experience.

           “You’ll stay here,” He says standing next to the round window with you.

           He was kind enough not to add the “It’s safer” part of that statement.

Matt Murdock:

           He’s doing that thing again. His head tilting to the side. Slowly walking to the middle of the room as though this will make him hear better.

           With so many crashes happening outside you don’t notice at first. Staring out the window, wondering how so many people can be drunk so early in the morning.

           “The neighbors…” He whispering. “Where are the neighbors?”

           “Matt?” It was a simple question that he ignored.

           “Where-that doesn’t…” The confusion gets worse when his arms became black.

           “Matty?” A nickname you only used to be sicking sweet.

           He makes it two steps towards your voice before he starts to gather around the floor. Falling forward into a pile on your shoes. Arms and chest black, left with nothing.

                                          --------------------------

Carol Danvers:

         It’s harder then it looks for a hero to keep themselves together. One super punch after another in the span a few hours came at Carol. Half listening to this other captain while watching pictures pass by with only a few seconds to study them.

           If it weren’t for the punch of the loss she would have made a half smile at Nick Fury’s eyepatch. Constantly putting off getting that new eye, probably because he thought it would be cooler. He gone just as fast as the others, looking down and refusing to show too much sorrow.

           It was hard to go on not knowing about you. It being better to ignore the possibility and just assume she could see you after. No matter what happened.

                                            --------------------------

Shang-Chi

You weren’t holding hands originally. Playing with a phone and holding some coffee, it was just a normal walk back from Starbucks when the world started to fall.

Starting with slamming cars, honking horns and shouts that were normal for city life. It was screams and shouts from the rest of the world that made Shang grab your hand. Spilling coffee all over the ground.

As loved ones turned to dust Shang stayed right by your side. His grip getting tighter and tighter as he pulls you through the sidewalk. Neither of you able to talk about the yelling crowd.

Even as you ran, even as confusion took over, even as Shang ran face first into a door, you were still the lucky ones. This feeling less so when your calls to friends, to family, goes unanswered.

 AN:

I don’t really know a lot of the soul world, I just assumed it was like purgatory and went from there.

[justsomebucky]

Finding Closure (Part 1)

Summary: AU. Reader left behind a hometown full of misery to make a new home in Brooklyn. A death in the family forces her to briefly return to the place that has haunted her dreams and memories for three years. Will she finally be able to move on, or will a figure from the past change everything?

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Word Count: 2,837

Warnings: angst, language, more angst, mention of alcoholism, mention of death, mention of funeral, mentions of neglect, mentions of estranged family members, heartache, sadness, mentions of sad childhood

A/N: This is the first part of my submission for the talented and wonderful @tatortot2701 ‘s AU writing challenge. (Tay, please disregard until it’s completed!) Y'all wanted angst, well…I took a fluffy prompt and darkened it. I tried not to but this story wouldn’t leave me alone. I’m not sure how many parts it will have.

My prompt was 28 .“____ is not a real word.” “Yes it is!”

Part:  1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6

You knew it could only be bad news when your phone rang at three in the morning.

That call was the whole reason you were standing back in your hometown’s local airport, watching the luggage carousel loop around over and over.

Logically, there were a limited number of reasons as to why someone would call at three in the morning. Maybe it was the wrong number, or a butt dial. Maybe someone was drunk, or someone was going into labor. Since your only two friends in the entire world didn’t fit any of those categories, you knew that it was a stranger calling.

Bad news was a relative term, too.

Was it really all that bad? To some the news you received would be devastating. To you, it had been a long time coming, and you were sort of relieved to have the weight of it off your shoulders.

That didn’t stop you from feeling guilty about it, though.

“Hey, friend.”

You looked over at your best friend and roommate as she gave you a gentle smile. Darcy Lewis might be one sarcastic bitch for most people, but with you she always showed kindness without pity.

The difference between your life and Darcy’s was staggering. She grew up in Boston, the daughter of a business tycoon and socialite, set to inherit millions of dollars when they passed away. They kept up her monthly allowance into adulthood, and she’s never wanted for a thing in her life, except maybe friendship.

“Hi, Darce. I’m sorry, I guess I spaced out again.”

Darcy reached a hand out to rub your back gently for a second. “It’s okay. You don’t have to be the tough one today. Let me.”

The running joke between the two of you was there was no way you were some rural kid, since you were as tough as any native New Yorker. Your move to a small two-bedroom apartment in Brooklyn had changed your life, your personality, and your outlook tremendously, and meeting Darcy had been a part of that, too.

She could have afforded the Upper East Side, or Downtown Manhattan. The only reason she had even bothered to move to a small apartment in Brooklyn is because she wanted the hipster experience to help her art and photography.

Her ad for a roommate had even said that exact phrase, and you thought it was a joke until you met her.  She opened the door wearing dramatic eye makeup and covered in paint, with a small camera in her hand. Darcy’s impromptu pre-screen interview was full of questions like, ‘do you dream in color or black and white?’ and ‘if you had to be a type of architecture what would it be?’ Her last question was ‘Red Sox or Yankees?’

You told her that you didn’t always remember your dreams, but you were pretty sure it was both, and that you didn’t care what kind of architecture you were, as long as you were in New York.

Oh, and you couldn’t give a rat’s ass about baseball.

Facts and reality were your game. You were an analyst by day, and an over-analyzer by night, and you were damn good at both.

The two of you balanced each other well. She made you remember to enjoy a more colorful life, and you reminded her to bring her feet back down to earth.

Three years later, the two of you were still best friends and still living in that small apartment. She never threw her circumstances in your face, and you never held it against her. On the rare occasion, she would bail you out of your financial woes, but you always paid her back.

Today, you were so very grateful for her. You offered her a smile. “I’m fine, I promise. Just…tired.”

“There’s a taxi outside. I told him to stay put for us for an extra twenty bucks.”

The second you saw your bag come around the bend on the carousel, you hauled it to the floor and grabbed the handle. “Good, let’s just get this over with.”

Early spring always felt the same here.

You were standing on the sidewalk, just outside of the hotel that Darcy had booked for the two of you. It was halfway between your old neighborhood and the airport, declared by her to be a neutral zone to clear your head if you needed to.

Not that you would. This was a clear, cut-and-dry kind of visit. It shouldn’t take long.

Brooklyn had been unseasonably warm, but this place? It was as if the grey winter just wasn’t ready to let go. A crisp chill remained in the air, allowing you to see your breath every time you sighed. Small piles of snow still littered the grass, and you couldn’t help but think to yourself that out here, everything seemed frozen in time.

That was one of the reasons why you left in the first place.

Your hometown was, for lack of a better word, stuck. It was stuck in a time that didn’t exist anymore, stuck in an era where the generation above yours refused to change in even the smallest ways, even if humanity begged for them to grow and prosper. You avoided them, you resented them, and most of all you pitied them.

It also didn’t help that bad memories haunted you wherever you walked. Thinking about your childhood usually only brought you down.

Your mother’s unexpected death when you were just two years old left your life in a tailspin, though you were much too young to know it then. Thankfully, you were an only child, because your father’s neglect and subsequent alcohol abuse made you grow up faster than you wanted to.

It wasn’t until you were sixteen years old that everything turned around for you personally. Life at home didn’t change, but you were able to be there less, thanks to…

No. Nope. Not thinking about him right now.

Your head turned to the left at the sound of Darcy’s boots clicking on the cement path. She gave you a bright smile, and you gave her a small one in return, trying to reassure her that you were still okay.

“So, what’s up first? Should we get this morbid show on the road?”

“First I have to accompany his ashes to the plot next to my mother,” you answered, turning on your heel to walk beside her to the rental car that was dropped off a little bit ago. “I don’t really want to, but I…I can’t imagine…”

The thought of the groundskeeper being the only person at a makeshift funeral kind of made you sad.

“It’s okay. I’ll be there, too.” She unlocked the car and threw the keys to you. “You don’t mind, right? You’re more familiar with the place.”

“I don’t mind,” you assured her, sliding into the driver’s seat.

Driving through town was easy, mostly because there was never any traffic here. You made your way on some winding roads, until the outskirts of your town were finally reached. The same old welcome sign stood at the edge of town, desperately needing some upkeep.

“It’s, um…cute,” Darcy said, staring out the window. “Like in a creepy Deliverance kinda way, but still.”

You laughed for the first time since arriving. “It’s not that bad, but…yeah.”

Familiar locations passed by in your periphery. There was the old post office, and the only market for about ten miles. Houses that used to be familiar to you were now mostly occupied by strangers; some were painted a different color and nearly unrecognizable.

The one place that nearly broke you when you passed was your old high school. You’d tried to think of ten different routes to get around it, to avoid even seeing it, but road construction crews made that impossible.

Darcy picked up on your discomfort, nodding toward the building as you went by. “Did you go there?”

You nodded grimly. “Graduated at the top of my class.”

“Holy shit, no wonder that analytics firm wanted you to work there so much!”

School was absolute garbage on a regular basis, but your high school in particular had little to nothing to offer a student who wanted to advance in a science field. When you specifically requested more computer classes, more anything that would be helpful for you when you graduated, the administrators tossed you into a Home Ec class like it was nothing. You were heartbroken…until…

You shook your head, trying to clear thoughts from your brain that you weren’t ready to process.

The brakes squeaked a little as you parked in front of the funeral home. When you didn’t make a move to shut the engine off or get out of the car, Darcy reached over and turned the ignition for you.

She didn’t even mind, sitting there silently with you while you had a death-grip on the steering wheel, trying to find the courage to face your father for the first time for years.

Or, rather, trying to find the courage to face what was left of him.

“Whenever you’re ready,” she murmured, laying her head back against the headrest.

You didn’t even blink.

Hours later, the last of the dirt was tossed unceremoniously over the small vault box you’d chosen for your father’s urn to be laid to rest in. When they thought you weren’t paying attention, you heard the one groundskeeper joke, “Which side goes up?” You couldn’t even muster enough anger to reprimand him, though. He was the product of his less-than-stellar upbringing in this hellhole.

Darcy was having a hell of a time in her fashionable boots, so that kind of lightened the mood. She didn’t know that lingering snow combined with warmer temperatures meant ice melt, and soggy, muddy ground.

“Careful,” you told her, turning away in your much more sensible shoes. “It’s slippy.”

“Slippy is not a real word,” she called out behind you.

“Yes it is! It’s real here. Say it to literally anyone and they will understand.” You rolled your eyes to the sky as you made it back to the car ten times faster than her. “We won’t be here long enough for you to get used to the local vocabulary, though, unless you walk this slowly everywhere we go.”

“Thank goodness,” she muttered to herself as she finally reaching the car. “I never saw this much mud in Boston!”

“Do you realize how pretentious you sound right now?” You eyed her carefully before getting into the car. “You never saw much mud because you never went outside unless it was to your deck or patio or whatever.”

“Pretentious? Maybe. Yet you love me anyway,” she retorted, slipping into the car and shutting the door with a sigh of relief.

You glanced over at her. “You’re right. I really do. Thank you for being here. Thank you for helping me through this.”

Darcy shrugged. “I love you, too. Now, I hope you remember some decent places to eat because I’m freaking starving.”

You knew what this was.

She was trying her best to distract you from falling into a pit of despair, and once again you found yourself counting your lucky stars that you had this wonderful, beautiful, kind-hearted sarcastic bitch as your best friend.

The only restaurant you recognized (since so many had closed when the markets crashed years ago) was a little bar and grill down on Main Street. It used to be called Jet’s, but it must have changed ownership, because the name The All-American was emblazoned in neon lights above the door.

By now, the dinner crowd had already arrived, and that included the regulars and the drinkers in town (though to be fair, most regulars were the drinkers).

You didn’t care for crowds, but for Darcy’s sake you’d put up with it. Besides, you’d just come from burying your estranged father. Who gave a shit if the town drunks remembered you?

Darcy led the way this time, fully intent on getting some kind of salad and a glass of wine ‘if this place even has such things.’

You followed feebly, fully intent on getting food and biding your time until you could go to sleep, wake up, and leave this god-forsaken town.

Once you were seated in front of your burger and fries, and Darcy had her house salad with a side of ranch dressing (which she doused the salad with, thereby negating its health benefits), she started in on the questioning.

What did you do for fun here?

Who was your best friend when you were younger?

Did you ever leave the town for field trips?

No seriously, there’s nothing fun here. What did you do to pass the time? Study? No wonder you’re so smart.

Thankfully, she avoided your family history. She knew a lot of it already, thanks to some tequila-induced confessions back in Brooklyn.

You reached for a french fry in silence, trying to prevent any further questioning for the moment. You didn’t mind talking about it, but you’d prefer questions in small doses.

It wasn’t all that special of a sob story, anyway.

Your mom and dad were high school sweethearts. No one knew she was sick. When she died, he died with her in every way but physically.

He resented seeing you, because you look so much like her. It wasn’t fair, in his eyes, that she was gone but you remained to remind him of what he had lost. He hated that you hated this town. He thought you were an ungrateful, intellectual snob. He didn’t want to see you, didn’t want to remember his pain, so he drank his days away.

He never went to your recitals…never saw you score a goal during your very first soccer game…never chastised any boys for flirting with you…never watched you get your diploma…all because he just didn’t participate in your life.

You didn’t lash out, though. You didn’t become a statistic, didn’t join the crowd doing drugs and sleeping around, even when the offers were tempting. All you’d have to do is picture him, a stumbling mess, shaking his head at you.

The only goal you had in mind was to get out and better yourself, make your life worth living, and you managed to do that somehow.

There was only one person who could have possibly kept you here. If he had asked you to stay, you would have given up everything to spend your life with him. Instead, he broke your heart…he rejected you, he gave up on you, he told you he didn’t love you anymore.

You hadn’t seen or spoken to him since.

There were nights where you missed him, and you thought maybe you still weren’t over him. You’d lie awake at night letting the what-ifs drown out any rational thoughts. Sometimes you would dream about a life with him by your side, only to wake up far away and completely alone.

Man, there were some nights where your dreams felt so real, like if you reached out you could feel him again. The harsh reality was, you never had any intention on staying here. You didn’t want to, even if he were to come to you right this minute and ask.

That was completely farfetched, though. You knew he never would, not after that night.

Being home only reinforced the idea that you leaving was the best thing for you.

When Darcy finally stopped her interrogation to take a bathroom break, you allowed yourself the time to glance around the room. Most of the patrons were total strangers, including lots of gas well workers that drifted from all over the country to make twice as much cash as they were used to seeing. It was a shame they didn’t hire locally instead, maybe that would kick-start the town’s economy.

You saw a couple of guys who were a few grades below you in school watching a baseball game on the giant television in the corner. It had only been three years, but to see them look almost the same as they did in school was a little unnerving.

For you, High School felt like a lifetime ago, after all.

Some women who were dressed in far too little for this chilly weather were playing pool, while some of the older men stared at them as if it wasn’t a creeper move.

Your eyes flitted from face to face. You had this strange feeling that you were being watched, but no one was meeting your gaze yet. One quick glance to the restrooms told you it wasn’t Darcy making her way back to the table.

That familiar anxious feeling started up again as you kept searching for the source of your discomfort. It took a minute or so, but you finally found it…found him.

Your spine stiffened at the sight, and anger started bubbling up inside you.

You should have known better.

Bucky Barnes was staring at you from across the bar…and he didn’t look happy.

Part:  1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6

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Story Tags: (Open)

I’m going to take the first 20 people for story tags (if I even get that many interested…I’m not expecting it this time around haha)

All the story tag spots are filled! Thank you

[peace-coast-island]

#ChoicesCreates: The heart’s memory eliminates the bad and amplifies the good - Gabriel Garcia Marquez

Title: Kalopsia (The Freshman)

Summary: Kalopsia - the delusion of things being more beautiful than they really are. To Acacia Lim (MC), Saltwater Creek was just a town she grew up in. Now home after her first year of college, she notices the changes and wonders about what lies ahead for the small town’s future.

@hollyashton @endlessraj

They always said that absence makes the heart grow fonder. I think it also makes you see the things you miss through colorful lenses.

I was born and raised in the small town of Saltwater Creek. It’s a nice little place to live in, but for the most part, living there has been uneventful. The community’s great, we’re like a small family. Word gets around easily, sometimes a bit too quickly. If you mess with one of us, you mess with all of us. Living in Saltwater Creek is basically like living with your extended family.

Funny how much things can change in such a short amount of time. Over a year ago Saltwater was plagued by bad weather from a destructive tornado to a harsh winter with a blizzard to top things off. People were always saying how this town wasn’t like how it used to be. I remember when I was younger the classroom was full of kids. It was a bit of an old fashioned town as all the grades from kindergarten to twelfth grade were taught in one building. As I got older, the classes grew smaller as more families left town. Most of the people still here today have been living here for generations, including mine.

The tornado and blizzard was the biggest thing to strike the sleepy, uneventful town in a long time. Saltwater Creek has been through a lot of ups and downs and yet it always survived. But after the harsh weather destroyed most of the town, it also dimmed the spark this town once had. I always wished for something interesting to happen in town and well, be careful what you wish for. That following spring and summer I said so many goodbyes to neighbors I’ve known all my life. That year’s graduating class only had six people, including me and by the end of the year, only two of us are still living here.

Now that I’m back here for the summer, home feels a lot different. I wasn’t a fan of the old dirt roads crossing this town, always grumbling about how Saltwater should catch up with the times. I also find it tiring sometimes seeing the same old faces every day that seeing a new face was a refreshing break in the routine. Most of the area surrounding the town is nothing but a vast grassy field with lakes scattered around. It’ll take at least an hour before we find another town or city.

When I came home from winter break, I had to admit that I was nervous. Part of it had to do with feeling out of place at home since it was the longest I’ve been away. Another part was out of fear that another destructive blizzard would strike considering how heavy the snowfall was that year. That was when I realized that I have a love-hate relationship with Saltwater’s winters. I think most of the hate came out of the last blizzard. But my love came from days where I spent hours playing outside building forts and getting in snowball fights with the other kids. I came home worrying that I wasn’t going to enjoy the snow that year.

Surprisingly, the opposite happened. That winter, I thought the snowfall looked different, like the town was in a snow globe. Instead of the cold, biting air full of shards of ice, the snowflakes fell slowly like dandelion seeds after making a wish. I was stepping on light powder and not icy slush like last year. Compared to the blizzard, it was like stepping into an alternate universe. Maybe it was just me but that winter felt unusually short.

Summer break came and once again I felt like I was looking at home through different lenses. While taking a walk into town, I saw a bunch of wildflowers blooming on the side of the old dirt road. One of the things I got out of life in this town is that nature can be your friend or your foe, there’s no in between.  Driving on dirt roads is one thing, walking on them is another. I’m used to it so it’s not a big deal but on days when the weather is less than ideal, like after a long rainfall or a dry spell, in the freezing cold or blazing heat, walking down the dirt road can be a challenge. On that particular day, I was more aware of my surroundings than usual. It’s a bit of a strange feeling looking at the place you’ve spent all your life in that way. I still can’t shake it off.

While away at Hartfeld I found myself missing dirt roads. I don’t know why considering that a lot of us complain about them. The town council had been planning to fix the roads for years but considering how things are looking now, there’s probably no point in doing it anymore. As much as I enjoy driving on paved roads and walking on sidewalks, I don’t know how I’d feel if I came back home to cement and concrete roads and walkways. In a way it might have made me feel a bit sad because that would mean that things really are changing for the small town. It’s always a bit outdated in some way but at the same time it sort of has a timeless feel that I can’t really put into words. Like it belongs to a world of its own.

I walked past the creek that ran through the town. In my mind I could see myself running around and playing in the water. I never realized how pretty the creek was, a steady stream of water draping over the rocks, the gentle reflection of the sun on the surface, and the surrounding foliage bringing a pop of color to the dry plains. I found myself mesmerized by the creek’s movement, the sound of water rushing accompanying the chirping of the birds and cicadas. Hearing the sounds repeated used to annoy me during the summer, along with the crickets at night. It still does but it also feels like music to my ears, sort of like hearing an overplayed song on the radio that you don’t care too much about but it’s catchy and familiar.

Going into town isn’t the same anymore. Usually I would run into several neighbors and chat with them for a while, sometimes for at least an hour. Now most of them have left. It’s sad but that’s the way things are now. Most of the neighbors, especially the elders lived their entire lives here, generation after generation. And in the span of a year, most of the town’s history was wiped out.

My family had an old shed, which used to be a barn, was torn to shreds by the tornado. Nearly two centuries worth of our family’s past, now buried or lost to the vast fields surrounding us. Once in a while I’d find something in the grass like a piece of a gardening tool or a broken picture frame. It starts out fun, finding hidden stuff like that but then it gets sad when you realize how much is lost. I used to shrug it off as old junk, maybe as a way to sort of detach myself from harsh reality. Now I see them as little treasures, little relics from our pasts, still sad and somewhat nostalgic as well.

When you walk into town, the first thing you see is a building with a large bronze bell in front, like an old schoolhouse. In fact, that’s what it is. The building is also a church and a meeting place, sort of like a town hall. It’s the oldest building in Saltwater Creek and possibly the whole county. On the outside it looks like something from the 1800s but on the inside it can transform into anything. A classroom, a church, a conference room, I was always surprised at how fast a room can transform. That building is the center of the town, always something going on in there. I used to be kind of embarrassed about it, I mean living in a small town where some parts of it looking really old and the first thing you see when you drive by is something that looks like a schoolhouse, you wonder what that doing there in a world like this. Now when I pass by it, the old building no longer sticks out like a sore thumb. Hell, if anyone thinks of taking it down and replacing it for something more modern, I’d be against it.

Across the street there’s a little grocery store. The family that owns it has been living here since forever. They started from the ground up, building a farm a few blocks away and then building a store to sell their goods. Sadly most of what’s left of the farm was destroyed by the blizzard. There’s still local produce but recently there’s been talk of closing down business now that the owners are getting too old. The unpredictable weather is also making it difficult to grow fruits and vegetables so things have been a bit slow the past couple years.

A few blocks away there’s a shop that sells various things like fabric, books, kitchen tools, pantry items, toys, candies, and lots of other stuff. It used to be a mercantile back in the day, I guess it still is. The family that owned that placed used to be pretty rich back then since there wasn’t much competition back then. Now with most of us shopping in other places, business isn’t like how it used to be. Not surprisingly there’s talk of closing over there too.

To the right there’s an old mill that hasn’t been used for over a century. A lot of people worked there back then, I don’t know the full history behind it but it was profitable. I think my great-great grandfather worked there and then his sons worked there too. Since it was such a big part of the town’s history, it’s now sort of like a memorial. I never really paid much attention to it but now I can’t take my eyes off it. Sad to think that soon the grocery store and mercantile will soon end up like the mill. I wonder who will be left to remember it.

I feel like time’s running out in this peaceful little town of mine. Nostalgia’s already creeping in. Not that I don’t mind, I figured that’s how the old town wants us to remember it anyway. Despite the hardships and inconveniences it brings, as well as it’s uncertain future, Saltwater Creek will always hold a special place in my heart.