\r\nThis was written December 6th, 2025<\/i>\r\n<\/p>\r\n\r\nThe Camp<\/h2>\r\n
\r\nHow excited I’d been to go to the summer camp. Every year at summer’s end, people kept talking\r\nabout it, usually gleefully. Sharing their memories, you could tell it was they were\r\nconvinced they’d had the best time of their lives! Everyone could recall but great memories\r\nof it. Honestly, I don’t recall anyone ever sharing a single bad recollection. But alas,\r\nall things do come to an end.\r\n<\/p>
\r\nIndeed, this year was different. After months of pestering my parents to go, and them\r\nrebuking each of my arguments, pushing back against the prohibitive cost, they eventually\r\nrelented. And of course, it did mean I’d get to spend the summer with my best friend over\r\nthere. But little did I know it would also be the last time I would see him. The end of\r\nthe summer turned into a time of mourning.\r\n<\/p>
\r\nThe story: no one had seen him as he sneakily left the dorms at night, and headed for a\r\nlate night dip. The next morning, his corpse had been found: he’d drowned. I remember\r\nbeing to the news the next morning, when this was announced. I guess I was shocked,\r\nbecause the memories don’t include the soul wrenching devastation I would have expected.\r\nMy best friend, the one I’d been spending all my free time with, goofing around, chatting,\r\nplaying games, sharing theories. How could I not be crushed, it simply made no sense!\r\nI’d been with him less than 12h earlier, and now, just like that, gone. And what had I\r\nfelt? Hollow…as if I’d simply been…numbed to the experience. Maybe I had just overwhelmed\r\nme, paralyzed by the suddenness and unexpectedness of it all? Or was I just such a heartless\r\nmonster? A psychopath? Who in their right mind could possibly care so much about someone,\r\nand feel so little at their passing away? In retrospect, that was the first unsettling\r\ndetail.\r\n<\/p>
\r\nRegardless, this resulted in the camp being cut short, an unprecedented event in its\r\nhistory. Unsurprisingly, we’re children after all, a lot of people were upset about my\r\nfriend’s death, not because someone had died, but because of what it was taking away\r\nfrom them. Funerals were soon held, sponsored by the camp. They’d paid for all the\r\nexpenses, allegedly as a way to atone for their mistake, for not being watchful enough,\r\nletting this happen on their watch.\r\n<\/p>
\r\nThe ceremony was beautiful, although for some unknown reason, it was a closed-casket\r\nceremony. That didn’t make much sense to me, since he’d drowned, but who was I, a mere\r\nchild, to argue. But it did mean I didn’t get another chance to see him, to properly\r\nsay my goodbyes. But there, up front, was his casket, adorned with many bouquets, memorabilia\r\n(some video-game related ones I’d chosen in his honour), and a beautiful picture of him,\r\ntaken the day we were headed to the Camp, an aloof grin covering his face.\r\n<\/p>
\r\nAs his best friend, I had also been involved in the planning of ceremony. His mother had\r\nasked me if I wanted to participate, and I could not possibly refuse. I helped choose\r\nsome (tasteful) music that was meaningful. I also crafted a eulogy which I recited in\r\nfront of the crowd. Incidentally, this is the point at which it all hit me. As I was about\r\nto conclude, I lost it and started tearing up. And now that the floodgates were open, \r\nit wasn’t long before those turned into waterfalls. In the corner of my mind, I also\r\nfelt relief (was this selfish?)…maybe I wasn’t a monster after all, and I would have to grieve too.\r\n<\/p>
\r\nRegardless, the ceremony had been, in my opinion, rather beautiful and respectful, it is\r\nwhat he deserved. After the funerals were over, I went over (after discussing it with my\r\nown parents) to his parents, and suggested we follow up the ceremony with a private\r\nsession. Maybe go to a cafe, a restaurant, or a park (I didn’t feel like inviting myself\r\nover to their place), in order to share memories about him. I also insisted not to worry\r\nabout money, that my parents had given me enough to cover a meal.\r\n<\/p>
\r\nSomehow, they lost their composure, and thanked me before accepting the offer. Presumably,\r\nthey hadn’t expected something like this from a child, but to me, this just made a lot\r\nof sense. Now would be the time to cherish our memories of him, and support each other\r\nthrough our grief. And so it was that we spent most of the evening at a local restaurant\r\ntalking about Jonathan. We went through a ton of anecdotes, some classics that I’d\r\noften heard when going over to their place others I hadn’t really heard before, and\r\nwas glad to get an opportunity to hear. It was rather bittersweet, a big mix of emotions,\r\ndeep sorrow at the loss, a sprinkle of joy from some of the more silly anecdotes,\r\nsporadic laughter here and there, and a deep gratitude at having had him as a part of\r\nour lives.\r\n<\/p>
\r\nEventually, they realized I hadn’t discussed anything we’d done at the camp yet, which\r\ntook me by surprise. That was right…why was that? I tried to remember, but a lot of\r\nit felt rather generic, didn’t feel special. Why was that? I had a ton of great memories\r\nfrom the camp, yet nothing special to share, despite us being best friends and both\r\nbeing there together? How could that possibly be? I awkwardly had to admit I was drawing\r\na blank, how embarrassing. Still, the conversation had pivoted to the camp. They asked\r\nme whether he’d liked it there, to which I had to acquiesce. Of course, everyone loved\r\nthe camp! But then they asked me more direct questions about him. Had he been behaving\r\nnormally? Why could he possibly do anything so reckless? Why wouldn’t he get me to go\r\nwith him? After all, we were so inseparable, it was almost unthinkable that he wouldn’t\r\ntry to get me to accompany him!\r\n<\/p>
\r\nAnd well…they were right! Why hadn’t he? That made no sense at all. If I’d decided to\r\nhead out, of course I also would have dragged him along! What…how….why? I…I just\r\ncouldn’t explain it. I couldn’t understand it. And until now, it hasn’t even been a\r\nquestion in my mind. But they were right. Things just didn’t add up. Regardless, we\r\neventually went on to other topics, but by the end of the night, I felt like they were\r\npartially blaming me for his demise. And while it was true they had awakened some guilt\r\ninside of me, they had, more importantly, also been feeding my growing suspicions. Something\r\nwas not right here, and I would have to get to the bottom of it. But for the time being,\r\nI’d opted to just keep it to myself.\r\n<\/p>
\r\nIn the upcoming days, I started to notice other unexpected things. I’d already noticed\r\nsome bruises and soreness on the way back, but those are easily explained. It’s a kids’\r\nsummer camp, we’d been spending entire days just running around like fools, playing silly\r\ngames, bumping into each other, falling to the ground, etc… I’d also gone fitter, had\r\nsome muscles I didn’t remember having before, but once again, we were extremely active\r\nat the camp.\r\n<\/p>
\r\nHowever, I had also acquired a few more scars than I would have expected, but also a\r\nparticularly nasty one that I had no recollection of. Nor any idea how it could have come\r\nabout. And it wasn’t really the kind of thing that could just come out of nowhere. How\r\npeculiar. For now, this only served as more ammunition to feed my suspicions.\r\n<\/p>
\r\nOne day, while watching an anime, I was reminded of a silly game the two of us used to\r\nplay, while the other was away or otherwise distracted, we would hide a small note in\r\nthe other’s shoe, hidden right under the insole. And somehow, my instinct told me I _had_\r\nto check. Lo and behold, there it was, a note in his handwriting. Rather short and shocking:\r\n“Things not as seem. Check backpack. False Pocket. -J”\r\n<\/p>
\r\nWhat on earth? Welp, I had a swelling of emotions, sadness at having lost him, once again,\r\npanic at the implications, and…curiosity. Something had definitely felt wrong all\r\nalong, and I might finally<\/i> have some answers. I immediately rushed over to my own\r\nbackpack and looked everywhere. I could not for the life of me find any hidden false\r\npocket, or any misplaced stitches. What…what was going on? A prank? A fake hint? A\r\nmisleading hint to get off some else’s trace? I wracked my brain, and could not find\r\nany answer. But as advised, I slept on it. And by morning, I had an idea.\r\n<\/p>
\r\nI headed over to my friend’s home, and asked his parents if the camp had given them his\r\nbackpack, and if I could go check. I believed I’d forgotten something in it. I also\r\napologized profusely about the situation. Luckily, they hadn’t emptied it yet, not wanting\r\nto disturb any of his things. They told me to go to his room, and left me to my own devices.\r\nI was obviously prepared, having brought with me a Swiss-army knife. I quietly emptied\r\nthe bag and looked through every nook and cranny, trying to find either a fake pocket, or\r\nsome sort of stitches. I did find what I was looking for, mostly because I heard a\r\nvery faint crumpling sound. Yup, paper hidden in there! Finally, I found some stitches,\r\ndefinitely looked like my own handy-work. Looks like the time I’d spent learning to stitch\r\nhad paid-off.\r\n<\/p>
\r\nI quickly cut the stitches with my knife, checked inside, and found a few pieces of paper.\r\nYup, a bunch of stuff written on it, I was impatient, but figured I should be careful still,\r\nso I stuffed the paper in my own bag, stuffed everything else back in my friend’s bag, and\r\ngrabbed a random book from his shelf. Then I went back down, thanked them, showed them\r\nthe book and claimed I unfortunately needed it for a class project, otherwise I wouldn’t\r\nhave bothered them like this, and left.\r\n<\/p>
\r\nOnce home, I went to my bedroom, locked the door, and finally got to reading. I didn’t \r\nknow what I was expecting, but somehow, this was not it. I wasn’t prepared for it. To\r\nstart with, it was written in my own handwriting, and had my initial at the end. It read:\r\n<\/p>
\r\n“If you’re reading this and this makes no sense, then it means our escape plan failed.\r\nBut we have hopefully found the clues we left behind for ourself. \r\nCutting myself was no pleasant feat and I hope it wasn’t in vain. We hopefully had enough\r\nbackups, between two people, to trigger something. Plus, we should suspect something is\r\nfishy, and through discussing it amongst ourselves, find one of our clues, bringing us\r\ncloser to this.\r\n<\/p>
\r\nFirst of all, this camp is a sham. It is not a fun summer camp for children, it’s a child\r\nlabor camp. They need us to work on some weird project of theirs. We don’t quite understand\r\nit, but we can confirm it’s no ride in the park! While here, we’re basically just slaves,\r\nforced to work day-in day-out.\r\n<\/p>
\r\nSo, the first big question, how is it that everyone only remembers great memories, how\r\ncould such a terrible secret stay hidden? Well, if you’re reading this, the answer should\r\nbe obvious at this point. They have technology to rewrite people’s memories. They dump\r\nyou memories from the camp and replace them with more joyous and innocuous ones. No child\r\nis allowed to leave the camp with their genuine memories.\r\n<\/p>
\r\nObviously, they’ll also search all of our possessions, so there’s no trivial way to sneak\r\nout information. Similarly, they’ve confiscated most of our belongings. But luckily, it’s\r\nnot like none of us has found a way to sneak in. So, we’ve devised a plan b,\r\na way to know what happens here, if we somehow fail to escape. Hide information somewhere\r\nthey’re unlikely to find, and leave breadcrumbs to find it back without our memories. All\r\nwithout arising too many suspicions.\r\n<\/p>
\r\nOnce we’ve secured this plan, we’ll move on to plan A, the escape. We’re not happy with\r\nour odds of success, but this place is pure torture, and we can’t tolerate anymore. We\r\nhave to do something about it. I would say wish us success, but if you’re reading this\r\nfor the ‘first time’, then it means we’ve already failed. In which case, now that you\r\nhave the truth, you have to find a way to stop them.\r\n<\/p>
\r\n-S”\r\n<\/p><\/i>
\r\nWelp, here I was, equipped at last with the truth. A lot of things started making sense\r\nall of a sudden, and yet…what could I do with this? I was left all alone, Jonathan was\r\ngone. I doubt anyone would believe me or this piece of paper. They’re all say it was\r\nsome weird cruel prank, especially the adults. Meanwhile, the kids all were happy and\r\nhad their own falsified memories, why would they trust a single word on this paper…\r\nespecially since it was written by my own hand. I was terrified, facing an oppressing\r\nenemy with tremendous resources, all alone in my corner. What could I possibly do. If\r\nI actually decided to go against them, what chances could I possibly have. I felt truly\r\nhopeless…and alone.\r\n<\/p>
\r\nWas knowing the truth a mistake? Would it have been better to never know. Well, not like\r\nI have a choice anymore. Once you know, you just do, there’s really no going back.\r\nUnless…\r\n<\/p>\r\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
This was written December 6th, 2025 The Camp How excited I’d been to go to the summer camp. Every year at summer’s end, people kept talking about it, usually gleefully. Sharing their memories, you could tell it was they were convinced they’d had the best time of their lives! Everyone could recall but great memories … Continue reading Writing Challenge 2025 \u2013 09 – The Camp<\/span><\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"bgseo_title":"","bgseo_description":"","bgseo_robots_index":"index","bgseo_robots_follow":"follow","footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-2493","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-uncategorized"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.shawnmeanders.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2493","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.shawnmeanders.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.shawnmeanders.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.shawnmeanders.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.shawnmeanders.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=2493"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/www.shawnmeanders.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2493\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":2494,"href":"https:\/\/www.shawnmeanders.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2493\/revisions\/2494"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.shawnmeanders.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=2493"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.shawnmeanders.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=2493"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.shawnmeanders.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=2493"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}