Donnie and Bonnie, two beautiful little losers, lay themselves down underneath the bleachers while talking about life.

She’s coming home from the grocery store when she meets him. He’s leaning against the wall near the entrance, and she’s trying to juggle her shopping bags with the search for the key to get into the building. “Excuse me, ma’am. Could I have a few minutes of your time?”

Trigger warnings: plane crash, major character death

Nina thought about the question very carefully, chasing the rim of her cup with the tip of her finger. She valued the quiet inside of the café—it had a real weight to it.

Trigger warning: mentions of panic attacks and self-harm.

Every day from late June to the end of August (yes, every day) I’d pick Sam up in my dad’s Ford and we’d go down to our spot. It was everyone’s spot, really, but Sam liked to call it ours. She’d once told me she never felt more at home than out there, like it was the only place she belonged in the world.

For the first time Otis felt the warmth of the sun as it kissed his outer skin. The only feeling of warmth Otis knew was felt through the dirt.

I do not normally believe in these things. But today, I am compelled to share this, my friend’s personal account of a bizarre night with you, hoping to elicit some answer of what might have happened to my friend.