Sand doesn't rot, but something here smells like it.
Amaranth is losing it.
She hasn’t moved from her makeshift altar in hours.
She’s been rebuilding the same stack of sea glass over and over, like she’s daring the ocean to ruin it again.
It keeps falling.
She keeps building.
She keeps muttering about duty.
She’s got that look like she’s remembering rules no one else is following.
Honestly? I get it.
I spent most of today trying to find the supply bin.
There’s always one, right?
A plastic chest full of towels and snacks and emergency rations.
Something grounded. Something real.
I found a half-buried box behind Koko’s sandcastle.
When I opened it, it was empty.
Except for one thing.
A postcard.
Still sealed.
But not signed.
And not addressed to anyone.
Just… a faint outline where a name should be.
And handwriting that looked almost like mine,
POSTCARD: Amaranth
Day 5:
The sun still hasn’t moved.
Neither have I.
Because there’s nowhere to go.
No walls to clean.
Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.
No schedules to follow.
No purpose to fulfill.
Xyntra buried herself in the sand yesterday.
Everyone cheered.
Enma is throwing dead fish at seagulls.
Everyone cheered.
Koko braided seashells into her hair.
Everyone cheered.
What are we celebrating?
Survival?
Stagnation?
I built a tower today.
Stone, driftwood, rope scavenged from wreckage.
A real monument.
A real task.
Xyntra broke it in two minutes.
When I confronted her, she laughed and said:
“It’s just the beach, lighten up!”
Lighten up...
Lighten up...
I hope the tide swallows her hole first.
I hope it drags all of them into the deep
until there’s nothing left but silence.
I don’t belong here.
This is not a test.
This is not a mission.
This is a wasteland.
And if no one comes to rescue us soon...
I will start assigning duties myself.
Starting with burial detail.
Love and kisses,
Amaranth.
I don’t know why Amaranth would write something like that.
She’s always dramatic, but this wasn’t just frustration.
This was… grief.
At nothing.
At stillness.
She says she’s going to start assigning duties.
What could we possibly do here?
End of Log.
There’s something strange about the tide today.
It comes in too evenly. No foam. No sound.
Just the same movement.
Again.
And again.
And again.
I think something’s coming in with it.