• Ever since I was first allowed to bike ride around town by myself, I went to that dump to play. To an outsider, it would look like a disgrace that should be eliminated. But to us, we'd just struck gold. The neighborhood boys made bike ramps, there were bricks to build with, there was wood and dirt and weeds... Any child's dream. Every day I could, I rode down there to frolic carelessly.

    It wasn't until many joyful summer months had passed that us girls noticed you, the lonely Sandhill. There was a ditch around you that filled up when it rained, like a moat. So we put a drawbridge across it and set up cones for decoration. We bent your weeds every which way to make corridors and rooms. There were emergency exits, cheap security, even a lookout post. And nobody on Earth knew about your potential except us. You had a new life ahead, a bright future. We spent every given moment to slip away and play. You were happy with your new position and thought you'd become immortal. In a way, you were.

    But in another way, you weren't. We were all unsuspecting of the doom that laid in front of you. Only days later did that doom dawn upon us. And it was already too late. The neighborhood boys (curse their wretched ways) had decided to be daredevils. They took the drawbridge and leaned it against you. To them, you were nothing but a meaningless obstacle that could be turned into a bike ramp with little effort. They ramped up the drawbridge, flipped into the air, and landed with a crash on top of you. All the rooms and hallways were left in ruins and you'd shrunken in size. When we'd found you in that condition, we were full of sorrow. We rebuilt you the best we could. You would've wanted that, wouldn't you? Well, you can't tell us now, but we hope you did. We revived you, although you'd never be as grand as you had formerly been. We did some investigating and found out more details, but we could not devise a good plan of revenge. Every course of action would most likely end in a failure in some way. We wept, as we knew you wouldn't be with us much longer.

    A few days later, the day we'd always dreaded had come. Someone came and tore you down. You'd become a small and helpless mound. Your uprooted weeds were scattered everywhere. All the rooms, hallways, bridges... everything was gone. And you, the beloved Sandhill, were dead. We were ridiculously sad, but we knew what we had to do. We set down a list of rules for your grave, such as having to give up something we loved in your honor.

    You see, you were more than a hill of sand. You were a cool hideout, yes. But you were more than just that. You were a place to share dreams and let our imaginations run free. You were a place of happiness and joy, with no sadness or sorrow whatsoever. You were like a living, breathing friend that always listened patiently and sheltered us from the cruel things that laid beyond your sacred realm. You were... a sanctuary. We'll never forget you. You will always live on in our hearts, so in a way, you are immortal.

    To you, we pay our respects.