I couldn't bring myself to visit Mr Mitchell today. I tried. I had planned it last night, I would be visiting him, letting him pour me a terrible microwaved cup of tea as we suffered in silence together. I had seen his words leave him the last time I had gone over. It was nearing a month now, the search was called off a week ago and his hope had depleted almost completely.

But, as I lay in my bed staring at the blank surface of my ceiling, I couldn't bring myself to look at that image. To see the defeat, the pain that I knew would soon be reflected within my own eyes soon enough. He was the last branch I had to bring them back. He was one of the few people still fighting for their return. Who longed to embrace them in one last bone-crushing hug.

The others had given up a long time ago. I know that only the fear of getting caught had them searching for so long. The majority of people taking the easy route to leave when the Rangers said to. Rage coursed through me at the reminder. How could they leave them so easily? They didn't deserve to be around them to begin with. They deserved so much better than two-bit friends.

My mind whirred as I tried to remember the better times. Back when it was filled with laughter and hope. Not tainted by fearful imagery that my mind would conjure up. Suddenly, the ceiling didn't seem all that comforting, acting more as a catalyst for my darkest imagination amalgamations. Looking away the soft spine that lay upon my desk dragged me towards it. The basic book calls to me with the promises of answers and distractions.

I ran my hands over the cover, the edges fraying at the edges where I through it around. The smooth sellotape protects the cutout 'JORNAL' lettering on the front from water damage. I could feel my lips twitch at the reminder of a simpler time. How Stacie would stand over me trying to correct my spelling, and, in retaliation, I would boldly write the title wrongly in her presence. The scratchy lettering had never stopped her from smiling every time I would bring it out in class in the future years. The prospect of learning anything useful within those walls had long since left me at that point.

The majority of pages had been filled with pointless anecdotes that I hardly remember. A school flood consisting of sewage water; an entire muck-up day that had the leaving year do nothing but psychological warfare that left a permanent ban on water jugs in classrooms; even a minor squabble that Beca had with a girl who tried charging at her like a bull in the middle of the school's hallways. Yet, even if I had once smiled as I wrote these memories down, I had left the last half of the book blank. It held the promise of a future together. That we would have more tales to tell together. A life in college, sharing dorm rooms with passive-aggressive roommates that would grow to resent us and our personal jokes.

But the blank pages now sat there, laughing at me for being so foolish. How many stories had I failed to write down for a childish dream? Were there memories that now remain dormant within me never to emerge?

I look back towards the book, a plan emerging within me. I could hardly look at it without anger. How could we do this to them? We scared Beca to the point of absurdity that night. Even if I couldn't be there to reassure her, I had also caused this. I pull the first marker I could find out of its drawer, the lid flying to the other side of the room as I start to write. A new page; a new name. I could hardly hold the pen steady as I wrote some of the names.

AUBREY

EMILY

JESSE

BUMPER

AMY

BENJI

CYNTHIA-ROSE

LILY

CHLOE

I wrote and rewrote the name countless times unable to place where she fell into everything. I know what happened that night, I know she tried to stop it. She was stupid in her attempts. The letter was right there, why didn't she try to hide it? Why didn't she wait at the door of the room? Why didn't she ask for help in her search? Question after question emerged until I settled to write her name again. She was on the list. There were too many things to have done differently not to be judged on.

The names glared at me, almost daring me to do something about them marring the paper that meant so much to me. How Stacie would have laughed at the prospect of tarnishing the memories for something so petty as a hate list. One that hadn't even been concise enough to discuss the reasons why. What was the point of writing their names down? I know who they are, what they did and have done since. Watched as they tried to move on with their lives with varying degrees of success.

So, looking back at my collection I decided to pull a Beca. While the girl had never embraced her emotions she at least would rank the people she would interact with. Never out loud or in public, but if she had a problem with someone she would have a list as to why. She never spoke about it to others, choosing to let the person either dig themselves deeper or fix their mistake on a good day. Either way, everyone had a ranking, a place in my heart that would fluctuate with every beat.