dinohigh, no humans allowed!

The bus rumbled along the broken, gravel-strewn road toward Dino High. Anon stared out the fogged window, his reflection fractured and distorted against the barren wasteland outside. It had been so long since he'd interacted with dinosaurs—years since he'd willingly placed himself near them. He wasn't sure why he was doing it now, but the pull of the past was too heavy to resist. He used to speak to them all the time, back when things were different. Back when the world still held a shred of beauty, when life still seemed like it could be kind.

Those were days he could never forget, no matter how much he tried. Days when the sun didn't hide behind clouds of sulfur and acid rain. When the light of the Saurastars burned bright and steady in the sky, rather than flickering faintly like a dying ember. When the meteor had not yet cast its long, poisonous shadow over everything, turning the fields of flowers into barren dirt and the golden valleys of wheat into blood-red snow, rich with iron and death.

Back then, the world hadn't felt so heavy, so hostile. The sky didn't rain gravel or spit molten rock. The seas weren't thick and sluggish, choked with mucus-like clay. Back then, he'd had friends—friends who weren't human, friends who made him feel like he belonged.

But that was years ago. A lifetime ago.

Anon pressed his forehead against the cold glass, his breath fogging it as the bus creaked forward. He remembered those days vividly, though every memory felt like a double-edged blade. It had only been a few years since he'd spoken to them, but it felt like centuries. He wished he could tell his younger self what he knew now. Maybe then he wouldn't have trusted so easily. Maybe then he wouldn't have let himself believe that dinosaurs and humans could ever truly understand each other.

They'd been everything to him once. They'd danced together in the open fields, laughing under a warm sun that seemed endless. He remembered the way her scales gleamed in the light, how she'd twirl with such effortless grace while he stumbled and tripped over his own feet. "Come on, Anon! Keep up!" she'd call out, her voice teasing but kind.

He tried to. God, how he tried.

They played games that stretched on for hours, their laughter echoing across the hills. Hide and seek was always his favorite, though he never won. Dinosaurs were too quick, too clever. But they'd let him think he had a chance, circling back just close enough for him to catch a glimpse before darting away.

They were kind to him then. Or at least, he thought they were.

The memories were soft and warm, like the gentle glow of a dying fire. But fires don't last forever. Neither did they.

"I heard humans are fragile," one of them had said one day, a pterosaur perched high in the branches of a tree. "That they break easily. Is that true, Anon?"

He'd laughed, unsure if it was a joke. "I don't know," he'd replied. "I guess we're not as tough as you guys."

The others had laughed too, but it sounded different. Sharper. Crueler.

It was little things at first. They stopped waiting for him during their games, their taunts growing louder when he fell behind. They'd nudge each other and smirk when he stumbled over his words. He told himself it didn't matter. That they didn't mean it. But the cracks were forming, even then.

One afternoon, they were by the stream. He'd been trying to keep up, his legs aching as they darted ahead with ease. When he finally reached the water, they were waiting, their faces unreadable.

"Bet you can't jump across," the velociraptor—her—had said, her voice lilting with a challenge.

He'd hesitated. The stream wasn't wide, but it was deeper than it looked. The water was fast, cold, unforgiving.

"Come on," she'd said, a sly grin on her face. "Prove you're not just some weak little human."

The others had laughed, and the sound of it had stung more than any insult. He jumped.

He didn't make it. The icy water swallowed him whole, and he came up sputtering and shivering as they roared with laughter. She'd offered him a hand when he crawled to the bank, but the look on her face wasn't one of kindness.

"Humans," she'd said, shaking her head. "Always trying to keep up."

He told himself it was just a joke. That they didn't mean to hurt him.

But the truth was there, lurking in their smiles, in the way they started pulling away. He noticed how their whispers grew louder when he was around, how they stopped inviting him to their secret places.

"Anon, you don't really belong here," one of them said once, almost casually, like it was an afterthought.

He'd laughed it off, even as his chest tightened. "I guess I don't," he'd replied, pretending it didn't hurt.

But it did. God, it did.

The day it all fell apart was burned into his mind. He'd been so excited to see her, clutching the blue stone in his hand. It wasn't a real meteor fragment—he'd stolen it from his uncle's jewelry box—but it looked close enough. He thought maybe, just maybe, it would make her see him differently.

When he found her, she was holding something in her own hands. A red crystal, glowing faintly in the dim light. A real meteor fragment.

"I'm going to be a Saurastar," she said, her voice steady and calm.

He blinked, confused. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means…" She hesitated, her eyes flicking to the ground. "It means I can't be friends with you anymore."

The words hit him like a blow. He stared at her, waiting for her to laugh, to tell him it was a joke. But her expression didn't change.

"Why?" he managed to choke out, his voice trembling.

She sighed, as if the answer should have been obvious. "Because you're human, Anon. And I… I can't be seen with someone like you. It's embarrassing. Don't you get that?"

"No," he said, shaking his head. "No, I don't get it. We've always been friends. Why does it matter now?"

She looked at him then, really looked at him, and there was something in her eyes that made his stomach turn.

"I don't want your filth rubbing off on me," she said quietly. "Your… human-ness. I can't risk it."

He felt his heart shatter, the pieces sharp and jagged in his chest.

"I thought we were friends," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

She looked away. "Maybe we were. But not anymore."

The blue stone in his hand felt heavy, useless. He wanted to show it to her, to prove that he could be like her, that he wasn't so different. But now he couldn't.

Something inside him snapped.

"You know what?" he said, forcing a laugh. "We were never friends. I was just bored. You were nothing but entertainment to me."

Her eyes widened, the hurt in them unmistakable. He felt a twisted sense of satisfaction, watching the light fade from her gaze.

Before she could respond, he shoved her. She stumbled back, falling into a muddy puddle. Her dress was ruined, streaked with filth.

"You're pathetic," he spat, his voice venomous. "Die in the dirt you were born in, you fucking dinosaurs. You're all the same."

She stared up at him, shock and pain etched on her face. The others stood frozen, their expressions unreadable.

Anon turned and walked away, but not before kicking dirt in her direction. The puddle splashed underfoot, speckling her with more mud.

As he left, he felt something strange—a hollow, bitter joy. Seeing her cry didn't make him feel sad. It made him feel alive.

The bus jolted over a bump, snapping him out of his thoughts. He stared out the window, the world outside as bleak and empty as he felt inside.

Happiness, he thought, was all he'd ever wanted. If he couldn't find it with them, he'd find it somewhere else. Or maybe he wouldn't find it at all, but he didn't care.

Maybe i don't want it anymore.