Bughead Oneshots ~request open~

Thank you

I'm sorry to those who were hoping for something other than an authors note, but to those who take the time to read this, thank you.

I have recently discovered the stats page, which means I can see  demographics like age, gender, and countries. Seeing how my reading has reached places I could never imagine (like Indonesia or Poland) has made me especially introspective on this Thursday night . I want to thank you all for giving me a safe place to put my writings. I have been given the incredible gift of being able to see how far I've come. I cannot thank you all enough for reading my works and for every like and comment. Going into college this fall, I'm not sure the future of this account, but I wanted to take the time to just say how thankful I am for every single one of you, and for sticking with me as I grew as a writer and as a person. And if you ever have an idea, whether its a one shot concept or a whole novel, write it. I was always surprised people enjoyed my writing since most of it was just fulfilling my own selfish ideas. People will listen to what you have to say, and what you have to say is important! I love you all with my whole heart. Im going to leave a small piece of writing I wrote in my senior creative writing class as a farewell. Stay safe and See you soon <3

-RoseWild

This place would sound unwelcoming to others, but not you. You enjoy coming here, driving with the windows down, the soft sound of your favorite playlist making the pastel painted sky a little more beautiful. The earth dancing in perfect rhythm with the tires of your car coasting down side streets. Your hazelnut hair floats around your strawberry cheeks, ring clad fingers gently tapping the steering wheel as you pull to the side of the road against the tagged guard rail. The same guardrail you came to with Amy, looking at her through the lens of a camera, the large power lines set against a hand painted sky. You keep the music on when you come, climbing over the rail one foot after the other, taking a seat on the cold medal. The music still swells your senses, the golden hue of the slowly setting sun dawning the green clearing sprouting with large medal towers a warm glow. Amy never liked your music, she preferred hollow artists that you would hear on the stereo, but you didn't mind letting her play it. You would listen to anything that flowed from her lips, the nostalgia you shared strengthening the bonds that years of memories have crafted. Sitting in a quiet room the two of you would have full conversations in languages others couldn't detect. Frames filled with frosted over january afternoons, damp socks and frigid fingers, and summer nights of catching lightning bugs well beyond the accepted age to do so. She hated it here, never understood your infatuation with the vacant space, the overgrown grass and rusty towers. But she would come anyway with an unsatisfied smile, enduring the grass blades tickling her ankles to sit and watch the earth swarm and change around you. The grass seems to have been mowed, you notice, and stray pieces of garbage litter the edges of the fence, the gentle breeze moving them along the ground. Your phone lays still on the empty passenger seat, the silence speaking volumes, the thought making you want to clamp your hands over your ears and scream. You don't, for fear of scaring the birds resting on the beams, and interrupting the song that's being sung for you by the rustling branches and distant freight trains. It's refreshing, hearing the melody again after so long. You had worried that it would have vanished, replaced by a home, or been dawned with a fence too tall for you to climb. But it had remained stagnant in this cyclone of change. The constant doors being opened and shut, strained chords falling apart. You try and feast on the bread crumbs,  I see it. See the way your eyes swell when flipping through worn photo-books, see the weight of the blame resting on your shoulders you placed there. You hang your head, shaking it gently before holding it up to the sky. Drops of sunlight roll down your face, and you laugh half heartedly, bringing up a hand to wipe them away. They keep rising though, the suffocated tidal waves finally rolling over. You barely make a sound as you let the waves flow through you, just a steady rhythm of drying your eyes until your cheeks are raw. The only sound is laughter, laughter at the nights spent walking down city streets, the hours spent hunting for seashells along the virginia coast, the concerts thrown in the backseat, the smoke filled rooms and empty red solo cups. She never was a partier but she would always help clean. They all did. Even when the devil on your shoulder told you otherwise, they cared. Love still flowing through the beat up strings tying the knot together. The cycle will repeat in a week or two, but for now you're okay. You stand, smiling lightly as the final stranglers glide past your lips, the salt planting you back to the soil, grounded. You climb back over the rail, walking slowly to your open car window. You reach inside, grabbing your phone, a faded polaroid shoved behind the clear case. You type the number from memory, turning to lean on the car as the line rings.

"Hello?"

You laugh loudly, wiping a stray tear away with the back of your hand.

"hey"