Wooden Village (incomplete)

Okay, first things first a little information. This story is part of my main one that will be published in December (hopefully). The story centers around the theme, but this particular part of it doesn't. So I know I won't win, or even get approved, but I want feedback on this. It's one of my favorite parts.

Background information: Ummm, Mindhi's pregnant. Sandy is our main character. Sunny, her twin sister, is dead.

You're all caught up!

1 new message from Sunny😝.

Oh my God. It hits me like a semi-truck on the freeway, and I lay down on the bed in shock. Oh my God. Sunny. Not the hedgehog, but the girl… oh my God.

With shaking hands I open the Callisto sister group chat, and I don’t know what I was expecting. Maybe something about how scared she was, wondering what was happening in the back of the dark van. It would have been better if it was a message like that. 

It’s a video. It’s hilarious, typical Sunny. It’s an otter, eating a phone and swaying back and forth while jazzy music plays in the background. Normally I’d laugh my head off, but I just stare emptily at my screen, and a single tear falls and distorts the glowing image.

Mindhi pokes her head in the doorway and I meet her curious gaze. I gesture with the phone, and she takes hers out. I watch while she stares down at the screen, swiping with her finger. She comes and sits next to me on the bed and, still without words, I reach out and open Instagram. 

I bury my face in her shoulder while she opens the message. After a few seconds I’m aware of her arm around my neck. I look up into her sad-smiling face, and she strokes my hair. “I miss her too, Sandy.”

I nod. Words? Who are they?

“It’s hard, isn’t it?”

Yes.

“You know she’ll always be with you.”

Yes.

She pulls me tighter and there we sit, on the bed with our phones out, remembering our sister as the jazz music says everything we can’t.

And since I know this is nowhere near 1000 words, here are some extras which you can ignore.

We are extra words, which shall never be read. We march across the page like ants, determined to reach our destination of nowhere. Reading us is like condemning yourself to a life of boredom, because we are the extra words. We have no purpose. Skip right over us with your human eyes, pay no attention to our black figure. We convey no emotion, all meaning lost in the simple parade of the extra words, forsaken and invisible, never to be read.

We are extra words, which shall never be read. We march across the page like ants, determined to reach our destination of nowhere. Reading us is like condemning yourself to a life of boredom, because we are the extra words. We have no purpose. Skip right over us with your human eyes, pay no attention to our black figure. We convey no emotion, all meaning lost in the simple parade of the extra words, forsaken and invisible, never to be read.

We are extra words, which shall never be read. We march across the page like ants, determined to reach our destination of nowhere. Reading us is like condemning yourself to a life of boredom, because we are the extra words. We have no purpose. Skip right over us with your human eyes, pay no attention to our black figure. We convey no emotion, all meaning lost in the simple parade of the extra words, forsaken and invisible, never to be read.

We are extra words, which shall never be read. We march across the page like ants, determined to reach our destination of nowhere. Reading us is like condemning yourself to a life of boredom, because we are the extra words. We have no purpose. Skip right over us with your human eyes, pay no attention to our black figure. We convey no emotion, all meaning lost in the simple parade of the extra words, forsaken and invisible, never to be read.

We are extra words, which shall never be read. We march across the page like ants, determined to reach our destination of nowhere. Reading us is like condemning yourself to a life of boredom, because we are the extra words. We have no purpose. Skip right over us with your human eyes, pay no attention to our black figure. We convey no emotion, all meaning lost in the simple parade of the extra words, forsaken and invisible, never to be read.

We are extra words, which shall never be read. We march across the page like ants, determined to reach our destination of nowhere. Reading us is like condemning yourself to a life of boredom, because we are the extra words. We have no purpose. Skip right over us with your human eyes, pay no attention to our black figure. We convey no emotion, all meaning lost in the simple parade of the extra words, forsaken and invisible, never to be read.

We are extra words, which shall never be read. We march across the page like ants, determined to reach our destination of nowhere. Reading us is like condemning yourself to a life of boredom, because we are the extra words. We have no purpose. Skip right over us with your human eyes, pay no attention to our black figure. We convey no emotion, all meaning lost in the simple parade of the extra words, forsaken and invisible, never to be read.

We are extra words, which shall never be read. We march across the page like ants, determined to reach our destination of nowhere. Reading us is like condemning yourself to a life of boredom, because we are the extra words. We have no purpose. Skip right over us with your human eyes, pay no attention to our black figure. We convey no emotion, all meaning lost in the simple parade of the extra words, forsaken and invisible, never to be read.

We are extra words, which shall never be read. We march across the page like ants, determined to reach our destination of nowhere. Reading us is like condemning yourself to a life of boredom, because we are the extra words. We have no purpose. Skip right over us with your human eyes, pay no attention to our black figure. We convey no emotion, all meaning lost in the simple parade of the extra words, forsaken and invisible, never to be read.

We are extra words, which shall never be read. We march across the page like ants, determined to reach our destination of nowhere. Reading us is like condemning yourself to a life of boredom, because we are the extra words. We have no purpose. Skip right over us with your human eyes, pay no attention to our black figure. We convey no emotion, all meaning lost in the simple parade of the extra words, forsaken and invisible, never to be read.

ONE LAST THING: wouldya mind checking our the full version? https://docs.google.com/document/d/1KtiT7YFXlhIhCi_BDi4zCIhDfgpjru0kQVPKeioSe4w/edit