• Sitting there on my bed, the heat
    pouring in from outside, with nothing blocking it since our AC went
    out last week; I stared at the wall in my bedroom across from me and
    am sent whirling into memories. So many years ago, when I was
    probably about ten or so, there was a place where my friends and I
    went to hang out all the time during the summer heat. It wasn't a
    place away from the heat of the sun, or someplace most would consider
    fun, but for us it was the best place on the planet. It was an old
    abandoned rail depot in the middle of the forest near where I grew
    up. Most of the walls had fallen apart and crumbled to the ground and
    the ceiling had caved in years before we even found it, but it was
    full of adventure. There was one wall still standing, overgrown with
    moss and cracking due to tree roots the thing was hardly safe to be
    near let alone played on. But we ignored our sense of logic and
    played there anyway. Year after year we gathered there in the summer
    time and had more adventures than we could count. We eventually
    decided to claim that wall and wrote all of our names on it, whenever
    anyone would join us they did so too. Over time that poor wall was so
    covered in names and cracks it fell, burdened with the memories of
    years of children and adventure. It fell in the winter time during a
    heavy snow storm and no one got hurt since we didn't play there in
    the winter. The next summer we held a funeral for it when we finally
    saw that it had fallen. There were so many of us there and many tears
    fell at the memory of that wall.