Far From The Raven's Rock Nest

So, I got bored, and I roleplay a LOT on an app called Discord, and, well...I like making interesting characters. This is Ash. Ash can’t actually use a gun, I just thought it’d be funny to draw a ghost person with a gun.

Also the thing on her wrist isn’t a Pip-Boy, it’s a kind of TTS (text to speech) device.

I sit and stare at a pile of rocks in front of me, wind blowing through my hair, chilling me. I wrap my black coat tighter around me, and shiver. Stars glitter icily out of a pitch black sky, and a half-moon dusts everything slightly silver. In the darkness, I can just about make out the floodlights above the rock pile, broken and rusted where they sit, the last time they were used being two hundred years ago. These old lights are one of two markers left of what this place used to be. The other marker is the uncomfortably hard concrete slope I'm sat on the top of.

This is all that remains of my home, the place I grew up in.

During the first few weeks since this place was blown to pieces, I used to look for weak cracks in the rock pile. Places where, if placed in just the right way, I could tuck a mini nuke into the gap and blast these rocks out of the way, and get back in through the front door again. I soon gave up after realizing that, even if I did achieve that, all that would be left for me are rads and deep, unending darkness. After that fun realization, I spent my time here crying, raging, even plotting revenge. Now I just sit in front of the old entrance, silent and still as the stone in front of me, wrapped in an air of sadness, lost dreams, nostalgia, even regret.

I stand, and dust myself off, before picking up my bag and giving the entrance one last look, a look to say goodbye. There's nothing left for me here anymore, and it's been a month. I need to let go, move on.

And with these thoughts, I turn away and leave Raven Rock behind for good, without looking back.