Editor's Note: This entry is a masterful work of speculative fiction layered with psychological depth and poetic imagery. The writing is immersive, cinematic and deeply moving.

Eunice, a sixteen year old tea-lover who has found a home in words. Often immersed in multiple books or pondering questions with unknown answers, she enjoys sitting and staring in silence — sometimes. 

There is nothing, except for the carves on the cold wall behind me. I trace my fingers to its shallow curves: “I was here”. No name or initials followed, only questions unanswered. Slumping back on the wall, I close my eyes and succumb to the chill. “Please, remember me,” a voice whispers from the cement, “I haven’t cried in so long, in so long.” 

  I shivered, backing away from the wall. But then, my throat felt heavy with unsaid words and my eyes became bleary. It’s too much. I curl my legs up to my chest; if I make myself smaller, maybe the sadness will feel smaller too. Whirr. Looking up, I see a ceiling fan, a desk full of books, an unmade bed, and beige walls – the nearest one had something written… or carved? It all flickered out when I tried to get closer. Cement walls and floors. Cold. 

“In so long.”

  Now it’s uncertain which way to go would bring me safety, as light is scarce again. Slowly, I gather myself to walk away, and everything’s lighter or normal. Focus on something else, focus on something else. 

One, two, three, four… 

One, two, three, four… 

One, two – What? 

  My foot stepped on something lower, uneven compared to the rest of the flooring. I can’t pull it out. I knelt down to inspect it, using my hands to see. Another carving, but it hollowed out a piece of the floor with a footprint shape fitting mine, and a wire holding me down? “No one will even know,” a girl laughs softly from the floor, “These soils are unknown! Ha! We’re the first!” 

  What is this? I stumble backwards from yanking out the line, next thing I hear is a whirring that sounds like something’s definitely collapsing. Holy– 

  Running as fast as I could into more uncertainty, the whispers ran after me too. 

“Ha ha! We’re the first! We’re the first! The –” first? That voice. It must be familiar, because I could feel myself smiling. I slow down, heaving air and hoping I’m not being insane. My adrenaline was replaced by a comforting warmth, like a fire born from love and not survival. I feel it, I’m happy. How?

  I start to laugh with the remains of the whispers, and now the black all around is a lush green and an orange hue coursed through leaves above and the floor is soil. I’m alive. “Alaya! We can look around later, let’s go! Sunrise is coming soon!” And everything stopped. 

  The chill bit my skin, ashening the comforting warmth. Silence. Darkness again. Is that my name? Who is that? I have to figure out what this place is and escape without losing my mind, so I continue walking — carefully now. Although it is confusing as to how far these floors are stretching, as much as I remember, I haven’t turned at all. Oh. I should’ve thought of it sooner. 

  I make my way to the left first and keep my arms up in front trying to touch anything — preferably a door —  but then I still keep walking. Is this just a huge open and cold space? Enough of my patience and time has passed, so I turned with numbing arms but then my hand hit something solid and warm. I yelp back. Still loving the darkness, for sure. 

  Feeling that solid thing again with my hands, I think my eyes have adapted to the darkness. There’s this silhouette of a weirdly shaped table or a short post. Atop it is a vase, it has nothing inside and wouldn’t budge. I stare at it until I see a small chip. Another small carving on the porcelain’s side. This place is just obsessed with carvings, isn’t it? 

  It’s a symbol this time, and it looks like a flower, a… uhm… dandelion! Well great, this does absolutely nothing except molding my curiosity even bigger. I look around again for a shadow or silhouette or anything. But there’s nothing. 

  Squatting down, I inspect the post holding the vase and see a small circle on the very bottom, the size of a button. Well, well. With no desire to cluelessly walk again, I press it. Another whirring emerged from the base of the post as I slowly stepped backwards to give it space for whatever’s going to happen. 

  Clink. 

 I’m squinting my eyes and nothing happened. Is this thing serious? Then what’s the point for this to be here? I circle the post and the vase for new details, yet it’s unchanged. “C’mon!” I kicked the post and only the pain moved inside me. “Something has to happen!” I scream. 

  Clink.

  I pause. Then suddenly, I’m shaking. My chest is aching for air as if I’ve run a hundred miles, and my fists are balled tightly. “Just shut up!” A voice snapped all around, then a warm and sore streak rose on the left side of my face. “You’re too young to understand, Alaya!” The door slams hard in this new room with white walls, a rustic chair, and abstract paintings. “But it’s not fair!” I shout back, surprising myself why I even responded to a stranger. Walking to the door, I turn the knob but it’s locked. “You’re too young to understand, Dahlia!” It echoed. 

  Everything is heavy and light, all at once. I touched my left cheek and it stung, was I slapped? There’s a fire scorching my insides and I start hitting the knob using my right elbow. “Let me out! I don’t deserve this!” I scream at… Dad? I stop. There’s something I’m missing. How did I get here? What happened? Darkness spreads all around again, and it’s like staring into the abyss. I’m forgetting… Have I forgotten?

 “I haven’t cried in so long, it feels like it’s too much.”

   You’ll be okay, I know it. I think, looking in the mirror.  

“We’re almost there Alaya!” 

                 Cori? I’m so excited! All those weeks of preparation and hours of hiking is worth it! 

“Just shut up!”

    Why would I, Dad? I have a voice too. 

“Let’s go back to this place one day.” 

    We should, it feels like home and a warm cup of tea. 

“Why’s this happening?” 

    I’m sorry, Mom. We’ll find a way like we always do. 

“Redo all this work immediately.” 

     What’s wrong? I poured hours over that, Sir. It complies with the requirements.

“We have to get most people to safety, this is the way to do it… this is the only side effect.”

    Are you sure? There has to be another way. 

“Congratulations on this great achievement. It’s a breakthrough!” 

     Thank you, Ms! Yes, I’ll prepare my presentation very soon.

“You and your family are part of this list, we hope to see you in a few centuries again.”

      How many others are on board? Tell me, please. Let more in, okay? 

“Do you remember those days?”

       I do, I remember and I’m so grateful it happened. 

And I fall, expecting hard ground but it’s soft, so soft. 

  A beeping monitor awakes me in a bright room. An IV drip connected to my hand. Outlines of neon blue spread from the ceiling and the floor’s baseboards. Gray walls. A dandelion carved on the door. Warm bed. Where am I? 

  “Alaya?” A white-coated man with a stethoscope draped around his neck came through the door, holding a glass of water. “Yes?” I responded. 

Placing down the glass on the table at my side, he smiles at me softly, “I’m Doctor Draven and I’m glad it worked well.”

“What did? Wait, don’t I have things to do? Where are my family and friends?” 

  “Don’t worry about that now. I wouldn’t want to disorient you too much. This treatment was created for the side effect of preserving bodies – memory loss – while the government’s scheme of ‘Earth Mending’ began; of course there will be follow-up tests to really see if it worked, but your behaviour right now should bear positive results.”

“Oh. Right. Well, I thought I was going crazy in there, hearing whirring sounds and whispers and vivid memories.”

  “That’s normal. Those whispers came from remembering, the whirring was the machinery that set the details and atmosphere. We had to trigger hefty emotions for you to associate with people and happenings in your own life. So, we did our best to place hints and restructured the room according to how you’d decide, then progressively remember your memories.”

  “Ah, I see. That reminds me… was it based on my research?”

  “Yes, it was a vital contribution for the establishment of the now ‘Catching Dandelions’ and it has helped patients throughout the centuries.”

  “I’m so glad. How many people, Doctor Draven? We were aiming for at least 80% of the world’s population for this treatment.” 

  Ding. “I’m afraid you wouldn’t like the answer to that, Alaya. But –”

  “What’s that sound? I don’t understand. Before this was set in motion I specifically stated how it was made to accommodate almost all kinds of genetics and conditions...” 

  Ding. “The ‘Earth Mending’ scheme was not only for our home, Alaya, it was also used for those the government wanted or those who did not respond well after the ‘C.D. treatment.’” 

  “What are you saying?”

  Ding. “It was too costly, Alaya. They saved their resources and time for more impOrtant tHinGs…”

  “Why did you garble at the end? Is that, what…” I look closely at Doctor Draven now, and notice a dim shine of red in his eyes. 

  Ding. “Final Warning,” said by a monotonous voice coming from Doctor Draven, but his mouth was not moving. 

  “Alaya, Earth Mending is using people’s minds – healthy or not – as a learning base for modern artificial intelligence. They want us to remember to mend humanity’s deficiencies and bolster our strengths, until we’re no longer needed. I’m sorry — INITIATE SELF — get out, before I kill you, too.” 

              Without any further thinking, I rip off the IV line and run past Doctor Draven with a medical gown and bare feet. Locking the door behind me, BOOM.

                Must’ve flown a few steps back with the new bruise I could feel on my hip. Damn it. I don’t know where to go and this place is most likely flooding with things like him. 

                “Ms. Alaya?” A sweet voice from behind me asks, “We need your services now that you’re back.” I turn around to see another “doctor” holding a new set of clothes and a brighter smile. 

                  Cautiously I take the garments and ask, “Thank you, and what for?” It laughed, red eyes flashing. “For you to conduct the rest of the memory loss C.D. treatments, of course. You know your research best. As you have concluded in your paper, ‘nothing lingers longer than emotions, so let’s use it to awaken yesterday and tomorrow’.”

Editor's Note: This piece's structure is experimental, yet the emotional thread is clear. The motif of repetition and the broken “forever” loop exemplifies how echoes linger in sound and space.

Lareina Yuan is a coffee addict, and an advocate for salmon sashimi, and lastly a high school junior in Shanghai. She is the founder and editor-in-chief of her school’s bilingual poetry club and journal. When she’s not writing, you could find her binge-watching the Attack on Titan series, blasting boygenius songs, or simply zoning out. She could compete in the Olympics for her speed at muting her alarm clocks. Her works have been recognized by The New York Times, Social Justice Award, among others.

I thought forever was never a thing, until my vestibules

awakened with my growth ear drums slowly, with rhythm

rippling I could see it : the chanting of Buddhist scriptures.

through the teeny-tiny black box poked with holes

beside the night lamp, standing like a grave for the death of

both silence and noise. either way. the chanting conquered.

like attrition warfare —my sanity with “it.” Stroke blows

then ceased. entering room, leaving room

the words tasted stale it crumpled up summers and falls

as though sweat clinging together fabrics and skin

I thought forever was never a thing, until it stayed all along

while everything came and went then entered my life

and left all over again, all over again, again

moving from north of china to south, from dry to humid metropolis

switching rooms and furnitures, from our own to somebody else’s

sending away cherished and guests, from grandfather to renters

welcoming home myself, and I, from girl to woman, me to me

sometimes i couldn’t decipher the scripture characters and language

Nan wu a mi tuo fo. what next? The same six, all over again?

the eternal murmuring black box poked with holes

black holes black holes that could swallow and engulf

voices, sobriety, time, doubt. magic tricks, and

the moment just before this one. but it stopped after a certain time

of which i don’t know exactly when. tell me, Machine, what

did i do to upset you? puke it out, puke it out out!!

the fact i longed for another short-black-haired girl and

stabbed her undefended heart with a switchblade

or i only shed one tear at the funeral, & rituals, & procedures

i lost the trust of someone who lost mine

i lost the care of someone due to loss of time

I actually thought forever was a thing with my vestibules awakened

yet, i haven’t heard Nan wu a mi tuo fo in a long long   while

yes, it sits there, beside grandma’s night lamp, standing like

a remembrance. black holes, like her messy hair, like his wise

clever, eyes. Maybe I miss it. Maybe I don’t. Maybe, maybe

because I’ve grown. or maybe I simply surrendered.