(8 June 2023, @nosebleedclub, “Bunny”)
I left my stuffed rabbit on the staircase when my family abandoned our home. This is all I remember of the last fire; being dragged out of my bed, holding on as tightly as I could to my little spaceship suitcase, looking back as my father carried me out of the house and seeing Bunbun abandoned on the third stair-step, leaning to one side. I hardly remember anything else before the last fire, either. My clearest memories start where natural air ends. When I was eight I went down to the memorial room, where water trickled all night and all day, stale and artificial, and dipped my hand into it. It was so cold it stung. My father had taken me there before, to say goodbye to my mother and her family; they hadn’t believed him, had chosen not to run even as the smoke grew thicker. I know I mourned for them, but I don’t know why. Bunbun is the only thing I have ever loved which I’ve been able to remember after the ash settled.
-- Jonathan A827B3, Forgotten Soil