Whispers crawl through the trees, where laughter once echoed and died. The walls remember every scream, though no one inside remains to tell. I wait in the clearing, silent and still a refuge turned trap for those who wander too deep. What am I?

The place I want to be right now, many others feel the same, only thing for me I still can't explain, why we fold the sheets in the morning, to screw them up at night..

Why did the car get a flat tire? Because there was a...

I’m white or colored, but have no skin. I have a body, but no organs within. I’m used to build knowledge, yet I’m slowly consumed by it. I leave a ghost of myself behind whenever I speak. What am I?

I hold a small jungle, leafy and green, a tiny ecosystem behind a glass screen.