Filed by Raine Solara, WTTQ News, with static in the mic and fog at the heels.
LOCATION:
The Retreat Cemetery — under the moaning pines, beside the rusted gate that still opens by itself. A gentle mist rises from the grass, and someone left an espresso macchiato on a mossy headstone. (We suspect Dr. Parallax.)
The Retreat Cemetery — under the moaning pines, beside the rusted gate that still opens by itself. A gentle mist rises from the grass, and someone left an espresso macchiato on a mossy headstone. (We suspect Dr. Parallax.)
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| Freedom is not free |
It’s quiet today, but not empty.
Flags (some Earth-made, some… less so) line the winding paths.
Tiny candles flicker beside names half-remembered, etched in stone and bark.
The air carries both solemnity and whispered music—possibly from a nearby Basement Club soundcheck bleeding through dimensions.
Flags (some Earth-made, some… less so) line the winding paths.
Tiny candles flicker beside names half-remembered, etched in stone and bark.
The air carries both solemnity and whispered music—possibly from a nearby Basement Club soundcheck bleeding through dimensions.
KNOWN GRAVESITES:
Anjelikka’s Exes: Their stones are... elaborate. Each one hums faintly.
G., the Southern Boy: His grave has a flask and a rose, always replaced by someone who never leaves a name.
The Alien Elf: No marker, but the space glows, and butterflies gather.
Scott (maybe Shay?): His portrait appeared on the chapel wall during the storm. The paint still drips.
The Iguana’s Cousin: A tiny grave with a piñata tied to the headstone and a half-eaten taco in tribute.
Atop the chapel steps, the altar book—once lost, now open. The page today reads:
"To the ones we loved, and the ones who were never quite real,
We light a candle not just for what was lost—
But for what we can’t stop returning to."
We light a candle not just for what was lost—
But for what we can’t stop returning to."
Rachel & Casey: Placed flowers and danced a slow step barefoot across the grass.
Dandy: Said a prayer involving lentils and jazz hands.
Odin: Wore a floor-length cloak stitched with the names of the fallen.
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| May all we have lost rest in peace |
Dr. Parallax: Lit incense made from ancient espresso beans.
Tubby: Whispered to a gravestone, then walked away whistling “Espresso Macchiaaaatoooo…”
Laura (DJ): Spun a remix of “Taps” with synth drops. Somehow, it worked.
A train whistle from the forest at midnight.
A Monarch butterfly landing on a grave, then vanishing into the ground.
A child’s laughter near a headstone marked only with a spiral.
A Monarch butterfly landing on a grave, then vanishing into the ground.
A child’s laughter near a headstone marked only with a spiral.
FINAL THOUGHT:
They say you come to the Retreat Cemetery to remember.
But sometimes… You leave remembering too much.
They say you come to the Retreat Cemetery to remember.
But sometimes… You leave remembering too much.
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