The Last Poster Charlotte Anderson- 7th grade
It had been six years since Rowan disappeared. The posters were still there— faded, torn, barely clinging to telephone poles and storefront windows. Her smiling face, frozen in time, stared back at everyone. But no one looked anymore. Not really. Not like Briar did. Briar walked the same street every day, tracing the edges of her sister’ s missing posters with the tips of her gloved fingers. Snow fell in slow spirals, catching on the corners of the curling paper. Her boots— scuffed, old, and filled with years of memory— crunched on the frozen sidewalk. She was thirteen now. Only seven when Rowan vanished into the woods behind their house. Rowan had said she’ d be right back. But she never came home. The forest had swallowed her. Everyone else had let go. Even her mother, who barely mentioned Rowan anymore, had begun to accept it. She told Briar it was time to stop. To move on. That letting go was not the same as forgetting. But Briar refused. Rowan wasn’ t a memory. She was real. Somewhere. At the store, another poster had fallen loose. Briar caught it, pressing it gently to her chest.“ I won’ t let them take you down,” she whispered, slipping it into her coat. Her mother watched from the car but said nothing. That night, the wind howled around their house like a ghost trying to get in. Briar lay awake, staring at the single poster pinned to her wall. Rowan’ s smile seemed to glow in the moonlight.“ I know you’ re still out there,” she murmured. The next morning brought a knock at the door. A police officer stood there, solemn, frost clinging to the brim of his hat.“ Today marks six years,” he said.“ It’ s time to take the posters down.” Briar’ s heart cracked.“ Just one more year,” she begged.“ She’ d be eleven …” But the officer only looked at her with quiet pity. Moments later, she was on her bike, racing through town. One by one, she pulled down the posters, gently folding each one, treating them like pieces of Rowan. Her fingers numbed in the cold, but she didn’ t stop. At the edge of town, where the pavement faded into frost-covered trail, she paused. The woods loomed ahead, skeletal trees stretching into a silent sky. Something stirred behind them. Briar squinted. There— in the shadow of the trees— she saw a figure. Small. Thin. Hazel eyes watching her.“ Rowan?” she whispered. She dropped her bike, took a step forward. But the figure vanished. Only a poster remained, pinned to a low branch by a rusted nail. Briar reached out, plucked it down, her hands trembling. It was the same face. Same smile. But it felt different now— less like a memory, more like a message. The forest was trying to speak. And Briar was the only one still listening.