hello! this is my collection of writing from swc ^^ most of the stuff here will probably be rather low-effort but if you happen to come across this - I hope you enjoy!

Weekly One:

You’ll be glad to know that this time, the Weekly only has one task… or, depending on how you look at it, fifteen. (Whoops.)

While the number has changed throughout the sessions, SWC currently has 15 cabins, which you can see listed above/below/wherever this gets put in the main cabin description. We now challenge you to write at least 100 words each in the genre of every cabin!

For an ‘ancient’ genre like Classics and Mythology that you literally cannot write in, take inspiration from the current aesthetics of the cabins and the story-type introduction in their cabin descriptions.

This weekly is 1500 words in total - it sounds like a lot right now, but they’ll rack up faster than you think! Share your evidence in a project or forum post, then collect your 800 points.

okay okay, I'm not very proud of these (or like, at all) but here they are anyway xD

ADVENTURE (122 WORDS)

“Come on, come on!”
Her voice was high and cheerful: the very embodiment of joy itself, if such a thing did exist. I had to jog to keep up with Julia’s long strides as she cut her way through the foliage, sure-footed and agile. Cursing, I tried to follow—only to trip on an unsuspecting root lying on the forest floor. I pushed myself up from the ground, my hands and clothes now dirt-stained and brown.
“Jule, wait up!” I called after her, but either she didn’t hear, or didn’t want to listen. Her singing echoed through the trees, off-tune but lively—a song I thought I had forgotten. My heart raced as my feet pounded across the clearing.
We’re going on an adventure!


CONTEMPORARY (117 WORDS)
(I had fun not-capitalizing this hehe)

sometimes, when i go to sleep, i wonder if by some miracle the world will ever be different when i wake up.
maybe i’ll have a friend; a real one, not just imaginary. we’ll laugh and talk about our favourite movies and make jokes together. and if it’s a really good day, there will be snow—beautiful, white, covering the forlorn city landscape with its shining glamour. maybe the world will be a better place. a place where people smile when they think of me, and laugh when they’re talking to me. a place where
but when i wake up, all i see is a calendar. Identical, infinite white squares, stretching out to the horizon; endless parallel mirrors.


CLASSICS (158 WORDS)
(I don’t think this is what Alba meant by “take inspiration,” but eh, hopefully it still counts)

I shiver. My rain-soaked clothes are heavy, and my teeth begin to chatter. A peculiarly familiar tune drifts in through the darkened hallway. I don’t know what it’s meant to signify, but the music feels slightly ominous.
In fact, everything here feels ominous. The whole mansion (is that what it is?) has a drawn-out creepy aesthetic that makes me shudder. What is this place?
I want to ask someone, but the only present resident seems to be the one in front of me: a dark-haired girl who is currently staring at me relentlessly with her piercing blue eyes. I feel as if she can see right me. She probably can. The thought is alarming, and I find myself deeply intrigued by her.
She doesn’t look unfriendly but still … there’s something about her that makes me wary. I take a deep breath, and nod my head, futilely refusing to meet her gaze.
“Well? I believe a tour is due?”


DYSTOPIAN (160 WORDS)

We stand outside in the sweltering heat, tens upon thousands of soldiers in uniform. We are slaves, really—imprisoned to a hierarchy we had never asked for, citizens of a world gone terribly wrong.
Now we are fighters. We are flames, ready to ignite. We are the voice of hope, the soul of the rebellion. They took our freedom. They took away our utopia in the blink of an eye; as if our lives are worth nothing more than a speck of dust. They crushed us beneath their perfectly-polished boots.
But now we are ready. We are ready to fight back. And though history may not remember our names—they will remember the side the victors came from.
Our legacy, I know, will live on. The rebellion’s voice will live on: in the hearts of our people, in the colours of the flag we march with, in the sky, the earth, the mountains taller than any oppressor. They will remember our hope.


FANTASY (160 WORDS)

Ava’s hands were cupped around a vial. Blue-white light spilled out from between her fingers; pretty and muted.
“What is it?” Mark whisper-asked tentatively, his eyes wide.
Ava only smiled. She gestured for Mark to follow her, and led him through the trees and into a moonlit clearing. The night was alive with the sound of chirping crickets, the splash of water in the nearby lake, the swaying of the trees as the wind blew their branches this way and that.
Ava knelt in the grass, and set the vial down. The light danced through the air, a spectacle of clockwork colours. A few moments passed in relative silence and then—the fluttering of wings filled the clearing. So many …
The fairies were beautiful—with sharp features and gorgeous wings that changed clockwork colours under the light. The gathered around the vial, as if it were magnetic, flitting through the air. Their murmurs were carried away by the wind.
“Whoa,” Mark breathed.


HISTORICAL FICTION (104 WORDS)

September 1945

The war ended with the summer—fading away with the ever-wilting wildflowers and the orange sunsets. The days were long now, and our hearts were cold and heartened. To see a war fade the background is no small thing; to see it turn to dust, no more than a dark echo of a time we’d all rather forget.
We had lost so much. They had taken so much from us.
I curled my fingers into a fist.
What did it matter? who will know anyway?
Who will remember the survivors? The ones who endured the raids and the bombs, the hardships of time?


HORROR (119 WORDS)

Step. Step. Step.
You take one step at a time.
Your breaths are fast, quick huffs. Your heart pounding inside of your chest, a drumbeat that threatens to give you away. Your whole body trembles in fear.
The ghost.
You know it’s there; you saw its reflection in the house’s mirror—the stupid haunted house your best friend dared you to go into because you just had to keep insisting it wasn’t. And it is. It really is, and you’re so frightened you promise to yourself to never, ever doubt your friend’s word ever again.
Is it behind you? In front of you? Above you, perhaps—
A twig snaps. You scream.
Inhale.
Exhale.
Slowly, you turn to face your doom.


MYSTERY (139 WORDS)
(ehehe - when running low on inspiration, remember cookies!)

By her fourteenth year, Elena Venson was already something of a master sleuth-er.
An intuitive inventor, class genius, and persistent debater, Elena knew how to get her way. She knew how to make people listen. And due to her also being an excellent detective—when her deskmate Robert’s cookie stash began to mysterious deplete, it was Elena everyone turned to.
Elena accepted the case of the stolen cookies with her usual eagerness. With the helpful assistance of her classmates, she interrogated every member of the school—from the janitor to Class 8B’s pet hamster. No one could seem to find the missing goods! Robert was very disheartened.
But as class dismissed, Elena surreptitiously reached into her pocket and pulled out a perfectly round chocolate chip delectable.
A confident secret smile plastered onto her face, Elena turned to go home. And then …


MYTHOLOGY (112 WORDS)

They sit on their thrones; imposing, tall, figures. You peer up at them—a puny, mortal figure—trying to grasp the frames of their immortality, their incalculable strength.
How? you wonder.
That you’re here in front of them: the beings who make the world turn, the rise, the oceans churn. The immortal souls of an immortal civilization. You know their many names, and you run them through your mind quickly—Zeus, Hera, Poseidon, Hephaestus, Demeter, Hermes, Ares, Athena, Aphrodite, Artemis, Apollo, and Dionysus.
And they’re all staring at you.
You sum up your courage—gather the tiny bits close to you—and thrust it all out, knowing you’ll need it if you’re to face them.
The Olympians.


NON-FICTION (110 WORDS)
(thank you Wikipedia for double-checking information! lol ^^)

Antarctica is a continent on the planet we currently reside in, commonly referred to as Earth. To be specific, it is the southernmost continent; a definite part of the Southern Hemisphere. It famously contains the geographic location known as the South Pole.
It has an area of 14,200,000 square kilometres (5,500,000 square miles). Antarctica has rather low temperatures as a general rule—during the coldest part of the year, the temperature goes down to -63 °C (-91 °F) on average!
The biodiversity rate in Antarctica is not remarkably high, but it is notable for penguin inhabitation, which—I would argue—is what makes it the best continent. Argument concluded.


POEM (103 WORDS)
(this one actually took the longest rip ;v; hopefully it was worth it xD)

Stitched by careless hands
Cotton threads amiss
White fluff among the blue.

Free as a bird
Flying through
An endless blue void.

Crying droplets of rain,
Colourless and vapid,
A measure of the sorrow
Of rainbows and lightning.

In hour light and dark,
Storm and sun,
Fields of flower
And ashes of dust;
Intransigent as times,
Or auspicious perhaps.

Up, up, up,
In the sky so high,
Wandering, dreaming, pondering,
For evermore.

A universe made of
Shades of blue
And white.

A memory and a dream,
Surreal,
And yet so real;
What would it feel like,
To brush my fingers against
The white?


REALISTIC FICTION (110 WORDS)

We eyed the dice with growing apprehension—five of us—as it rolled, rolled, rolled, across the carpeted floor. It seemed to roll for an eternity; a white cube with flashing specks of black. I knitted my hands together, biting back the urge to run and put my foot in front of it just to stop it turning.
Finally, it stopped.
Hands shoved and pushed as everyone scrambled to see the number eagerly.
“Four!” Max screamed. Her raven-hair had come out of its bandana, and now hung across her face like curtain.
I groaned.
“Marvin Gardens! and I have three houses—that’s 850 dollars!” Jasper crowed, turning to me, grinning. “Pay up, Hazel.”


SCIENCE FICTION (126 WORDS)

The city landscape is lit up with neon colours, bright against the backdrop of the night sky. I can see it through my window. Stars dot the heavens, innumerable. I wonder how far away they are; if I reached up high enough, could I touch them? Even if it were possible, I would never get the chance to try.
They told us we’re in danger. They told us about the virus; the one that came from somewhere deep in outer space. The supposed aliens—they do seem to want to dominate the planet and their features are not unlike the stereotype we imagined for them so long but still … how disappointing.
Three years.
156 weeks.
1095 days.
All that time, and I am still their human experiment.


THRILLER (119 WORDS)

Abby’s feet slap harshly against the asphalt. A flashlight is held tightly in her hands, cushioned comfortably between two brown mittens. Pathetically, it is all she had.
Abby turns around the corner of the dimly lit hallway, knowing already what she’d see. She raises her hands, tightening her hold—she knew she must look very stupid, but it made her feel braver, knowing she had light on her side.
He was there.
He wore a top hat—stereotypical, much?—and his eyes were hidden in its shadow. But Abby could see his maniacal smile, the evil curl of his lips.
And she vowed that after today, when he was brought behind bars, those lips would never have reason to smile again.


FAIRY TALES (144 WORDS)

The woods were full of warm, morning light by the time Little Red Riding Hood began her fateful journey to her Grandmother’s house.
She tripped through the trees with cheerful grace, eyes shining merrily. She carried a brown wicker basket in her right hand—and it was this basket she absent-mindedly swung side to side, no care for the sandwiches inside that were in the painful process of getting smushed against each other.
Little Red was young, and hopeful. She did not know the danger that awaited her a few feet away. She did not know to be careful, and to not talk to strangers.
She didn’t know of the wolf watching her, unseen—Little Red didn’t know about the thrilling, awful adventure she was to take, nor what would come after. No, she didn’t—but it was only a matter of time until she found out.


- - -

1,903 words total!

wiesgsgwled wOO this is so good starrr xD

-SnoQueen- wrote:

wiesgsgwled wOO this is so good starrr xD

noo not true! :0 but thank you sno aa <3

AFUOSDSFD THIS IS AMAZING HOW ARE YOU NOT PROuD OF THESE

-silkysmooth wrote:

AFUOSDSFD THIS IS AMAZING HOW ARE YOU NOT PROuD OF THESE

ahh well, i'm very critical (especially of myself) xD i didn't really put much effort into these - but thank you! (jaz, i believe? hehe)

wait are there 14 or 15 cabins?? xDD

-SnoQueen- wrote:

wait are there 14 or 15 cabins?? xDD

omg i forgot to do fairy tales and didn't even realize - aaa thank you, i'll do it now hehe ^^'

oooh these are so good :0 they're all super exciting! <33

sea-doodles wrote:

oooh these are so good :0 they're all super exciting! <33

(how did you even find this aaaa xD) thank you seaa <3

Stariqe wrote:

-SnoQueen- wrote:

wait are there 14 or 15 cabins?? xDD

omg i forgot to do fairy tales and didn't even realize - aaa thank you, i'll do it now hehe ^^'

oo oki, minty seems to have also forgot that - i need a fairy tale example so ty! xD

link to the weekly in question: https://scratch.mit.edu/discuss/topic/491806/?page=1#post-4970103

not very satisfied by these but hey, at least I did it
total: 2,280 words

- - -

Part One (1,249 words)

Dear Ryan,

Do you remember all those summers ago, when we used to play hide and seek in Aunt Susan’s mansion?
You always hid in the same place: the dark, mostly empty closet in the attic. No matter how many times we went through the same scenario, you were always so certain it was the best hiding spot in the entire estate. You didn’t care that you always lost the game so quickly; it was the novelty of being in that claustrophobic space—hunched over, tight against the closet’s inside wall—that you thought was exciting. By the time I find you, you’re covered in cobwebs and dust, your tiny figure racking with slight coughs. Mom and Auntie would then groan and fuss over you, telling you one more time to not go into the closet.
You never listened. After they locked the attic, you somehow managed to pick the lock (God, how did you even know how to do that?) and slip inside. Even at the age of six, you were a natural rulebreaker.

But those times are long gone. The clock's arms turned, and our days of hide-and-seeking eventually came to an end. As we grew older, things inevitably changed. When Mom died, the darkness felt infinite. Do you remember the expression on Dad’s face when he slammed the bedroom door shut? Aunt Susan’s hysterical voice trying to calm us? Lizzie’s unbearable silence? We lost ourselves—floated aimlessly in the void of space—but we still endured. We lived, when Mom could not; we lived for her because she would’ve wanted us to. And in time, we found ourselves again. Time… I don't know whether it's a gift or a curse.
Despite everything that came to pass, growing up, the two of us were always inseparable. We would go and poke at Lizzie and Mark while they did schoolwork, or insist we go along when they hung out with friends—how annoying we must’ve been! Mark and Liz tolerated us, to an extent, even though they would eventually get tired and make us go away. Still, those memories are so special to me. Doesn’t that sound so cliché? I can almost see you smiling at the line. Would you smile if you read this now, Ryan? You would have, back then.
Back then, you were the star. The center of attention, and you loved being there. You're the one who stood out; undeniably gifted, talented, and bright. You were the one who always did it first. Who took the first dive into the pool, and pushed me in after you. Who got the first knee scrape, who learned to read, to walk, to stand. But of course, I couldn’t let you be better than me and get away with it. Whatever you did first, I did better. That one time, you had an A for Science in Fifth Grade, and I made it my solemn duty to get an A+ next time, just to show you. In July, you read 44 books. In August, I made myself read 49. I scored a goal and won my soccer team victory. You pushed yourself to become captain of yours. We pressured each other to work harder, and to be stronger. We made ourselves try new things. We tried to be the very best we could be.
We were a flame, impossible to extinguish. Something of a legend—the Levan twins—we were so loved, so appreciated. And we took it all for granted. We had our losses and grievances but we were so much luckier than most people. Ryan, do you remember how naive we were? We really did think the world revolved around us. What is it like now, to have your feet upon the ground and know—know with absolute certainty—that you really are standing? It hurts, doesn’t it? It hurts for me.

You made me braver. You didn't fear anything. Are you afraid now, Ryan? Are you afraid to fail? Afraid that you're not good enough? To get hurt, to fall in love? Or were you always afraid, even back then, and I just didn't know?
I am. I’m afraid of the war we’re in, the dangerous way we’re playing in it, as if if the fate of our country is worth nothing more than a few moves on a wooden board. How it descended from the sky! Like nothing any of us have ever seen. I’m scared of losing everyone I love and care about. That might lose you. More than anything else, I’m afraid of myself. Of what I’ve become during this war, of the horrors I have seen and the pain I myself have inflicted.
Who am I in our story? You’re the hero. The voice of our people, the source of their strength. You hold them up, and they let you lift them. You inspire them to stand taller, to be stronger, just as you have once inspired me. As we have inspired each other. Am I the villain now? The antagonist—the Moriarty, the Darth Vader, the Sauron? Who am I in our destructive masterpiece?
Am I still your sister? Still Evelyn Levan, one half of the great twin duo? I don’t know. I feel so alone. Sitting here at this old, creaky desk, my hand trembling uncontrollably as I try to force out words, fighting back tears. They’re dripping onto the paper like raindrops. Do you feel alone, Ryan? Do you stay up at night, tasting your tears before they dry on your face? Do you feel compelled to run yourself into a wall, again and again, urged on by the foolish thought that it might somehow make the pain go away? Do you miss the old days, do you cry for them, do you cry for the person you were before? I do wonder.

I don’t know whether these words will find you. And if they do, I don’t know if they’ll make you angry, or sad, or simply empty inside. But I hope you realize—my faith is with you, as it has always been ever since we were little children, hiding in closets and under beds. A long time ago, we measured each other’s heights against the wall. For a few years when I claimed the crown, I crowed and tortured you with the fact nearly waking moment—but the truth was: I always knew you would be taller.
I believe in you. In your hope that has made so many people look up, in your undying will which I know will land us our win in this war, in the way your light touches others so profoundly.
I have every faith that one day, our country will be a much brighter, better place; the place we’re fighting for. A place you have helped create. One day, you will truly be able to find peace, and I hope that I can be a part of it.
That night after we lost Mom, do you remember how we climbed onto the roof to watch the night sky? We couldn’t see the stars, but it felt surreal; just the two of us against a wide, unforgiving world. Against that horizon, our hearts finally meet. We share something special. I hope it still exists—that all the cheesy movies were right after all, and love does overcome all barriers, even war and grief. Maybe one day, you’ll be able to find it in yourself to forgive me, to care again. I hope you realize how much you mean to me.

With love,
Eve

Part Two (506 words)

Eve stares at her knotted hands beneath the tap; the flow of water dousing them with a harsh gentleness. It encases her skin with its incorporeal, wet fingers. A barely perceptible squeeze. Somehow, it’s comforting; the familiar rush of liquid helps her breathe.
She stands there for a few seconds, looking down. Callused fingers, rough skin. Faint scars run along the backs of her hands—and her arms—have even engraved themselves on her bare palms. Her nails are cut neatly: never manicured, never even given much thought to. Never cared about. Once, she had. Once, they had been the hands of a gentle pianist, a loving sister, a careful calligrapher and writer.
Now, they are the hands of a soldier.
She exhales quietly, coming out of her trance. Her fingers twist the tap close. Grabbing a towel, she dries off her hands, her face, her neck. She leans against the bathroom door, fighting back a rising sense of nausea.
It’s the same every morning.
She tries to forget—somehow make everything painful go away—but to no avail. No matter how many times she tries, or how hard there’s always something; something that makes the memories try to cut into her like knives. She’s like a ghost, never able to move on, but never able to truly exist either.
Focus, Eve.
One step at a time. Inhale. And then another. Exhale.
She forces the door open. Bare feet tread lightly across the wide, carpeted hallway. The walls are a rich brown colour, bright and pretty. She stumbles into her room, struggling to remain upright. The door locks behind her.
She can’t collapse now.
With a mechanical sort of grace, she makes the bed and fluffs the pillows. Her fingers threaten to start trembling but she flexes and steadies them. They’re meant for soldiering, not shaking. Grimacing, she sweeps the floor, dusts, and straightens the furniture. By the time she’s finished, the room isn’t shining, exactly, but it looks clean.
Then, the books and maps on the desk—they’re organized and shelved along with references. Next are her daily warm-ups (fifteen minutes long). She doesn’t even break a sweat.
The sun has risen by the time she rolls up her exercise mat to head down for breakfast. Her mind is empty. Dull. She feels robotic—and she probably is.
She glances at the window. The sun peeks over the distant horizon, a ball of untouchable light. How come the sun decides when our day begin? she wonders faintly. Why don’t we ever get to decide anything? A petty argument, and she knows it; but she can’t help feeling bitter.
Her feet on the staircase. A memory of a different time. A heartache, a wound that can never heal. A homesickness for a home that had never existed.
Here it is, then. Another day in the sweltering heat. Another long day of marching beneath the burning rays of a star that they can only dream of reaching.
In an hour or two, the sun will have fully risen. She knows she never will.

Part Three (525 words)

Character A (Ryan) X Character B (Eve): 146 words

Character A (Ryan) X Character C (Bella): 201 words

Character B (Eve) X Character C (Bella): 178 words

Starr, that’s not low effort, what are you saying? That’s extremely great writing! And I’m so impressed by how much you write! I look up to you!

softlysinging wrote:

Starr, that’s not low effort, what are you saying? That’s extremely great writing! And I’m so impressed by how much you write! I look up to you!

whoops i missed this - aah thank you so much! hehe ^^'

oops this was meant to be the space uhh idk now

reserved space for something ill add later

Weekly Four: https://scratch.mit.edu/discuss/topic/496804/?page=1#post-5030021

I wrote a lot of this during Cabin Wars, so - no judgement please, hehe. But still, this has to be the most fun Weekly we've ever had ^^ I'll definitely be coming back to this if I need prompt ideas!

Task 1:



“Sea Drifter”: By the seaside. Perhaps the shade of a darkening sky above the sea’s horizon?
“Tenzing Quarter”: The colour of waves!
“Sago”: The innocent pale hue of beach sand.

Waves lap the white sandy shores.
For a single moment, the scene is almost fearsome: The deceptively firm-looking structure of water, rising up like a great beast; claws sharp, teeth bared. Every few heartbeats, its body crashes noisily against the beach.
The seagulls squawk out hastily. Wings spread, and as one, they take flight into the sky’s arms. Their calls echo across the expanse of the beach, voices reach across the length of the desert; an almost comforting presence.

In the daytime, the water is calm and gentle. It caresses the pale sands of an expansive, seemingly endless beach. Stretching out to the horizon, as far as the eye can look, along the borders where the sea meets the sky.
But after sunset, the waves tend to get a little fierce. Without the warm light of the sun to calm them, they are unrestrained, their power freed. The night taunts them, pokes webbed fingers into their wet faces. The wind laughs teasingly. The sea’s anger grows. A swirling torrent of lost voices and frustration; crashing waves. Their rage is unleashed.
Whoosh!

If you were to stand at that beach, and look back over your shoulder, you would see the defined outlines of a city. Towering skyscrapers, reaching up metal fingers to the heavens. Artificial billboards,
If you strain your ears enough, you can hear the city sounds—the honks of passing cars, a parade of voices. The exhaust of gases and vapors clothing the air. Maybe you can feel it pushing against your lungs, fighting for dominion against the salty sea breeze. One reeks, the other burns.
The beach is easy to get to, and tourists and locals alike are known to flock the place on sunny days. But after the light has begun to fade, their figures melt away.

(299 words)

- - -

Task 2:
Colours are hard aaa but I tried? ^^

CHARACTER ONE: Clover (Coconut Rice Cream)

Clove is a serene, honest character - of Hispanic roots, and around the age of ten. She has been diagnosed with ASD. She usually wears simple solid colour clothes—comfortable white cotton shirts and dark brown leather pants.
She appears approachable and sweet. But she has a hard time understanding emotions and can be distant to other people. This tends to make it hard for her to get along with others. She’s not very open, and doesn’t enjoy socializing in general; prefers to spend time alone.
She does not like big changes, and tends to resist it.

Clove enjoys gardening and visiting places - such as beaches!
But she has a decidedly sweet side, and the people she cares about are affected by her deeply.


CHARACTER TWO: Ash (Autumn Glow

The story is told from Ashlynn’s point of view and features her emotions.
Ash has a direct personality. She is a calculating person. She can be rather cold at times - but it is not with the intent to be mean, simply a personality trait. She is a bookish, lonely character. Ash is not athletic, and doesn’t enjoy competition in general. She’s a college student.
Ashlynn likes to wear dark colours and clothes that help her blend in. She doesn’t enjoy standing out - but she does appreciate fashion and art.
She can be a rather judgmental person, but at heart, she’s exceptionally kind and caring.

(227 words)

- - -

Task 3:

Prompt: “I don't often get the chance to talk to someone like you.”

- - -

Task 4:
I wrote this entire thing at 1 am during a cabin war - IT'S TERRIBLE YES NONE OF IT MAKES SENSE IF YOU HAVE ANY RESPECT FOR ME PLEASE DON'T READ

On the afternoon I met Clover, I was nearly washed away by the tide.
I had been standing on the beach; a lone silhouette on the opposite side of the rising water. My eyes had been trained on the distance: the fierce swish and sway of the sea. I watched the waves fight in the dying sunlight, pushing and shoving against each other, harsh torrents. They lapped at my feet. My toes dug into the wet sand, curled inward protectively. A momentary thought passed through my head; that if it were possible, I would have buried myself in the sand. Under the surface where no one could see me.
But it wasn’t possible. I could only stare at the sea,, the horizon; warm colours painting the heavens, bold strokes intertwining together. A masterful creation of hues. The scene left me a little breathless. I was frozen in time: Frozen in place, too, unable to move a single inch. I felt free, and the sea breeze—as salty as it tasted—felt nice against the face.
That was, until it pushed me. Out of nowhere, a sudden gust of wind threw itself at my body with full, undiluted force. I buckled, gasping. My head spun, a sudden scream of fear ripping from me. The air was knocked from my lungs. It took all of my strength to keep myself from toppling over into the sand.
I steadied myself. My jeans were soaked.
It was then that I saw her. She was so little, barely a tiny smudge in the distance. I don’t know how or why I saw her; but she was different. Maybe it was the way she walked, a lilt in her step. The fact that she stopped every few seconds to gather seashells in her hands; to watch sand cascade from between her fingers. Maybe it was the fact that she was alone. Yeah, probably that.
People tend to move in crowds. Even the lonely figures try to blend in. But there was something about her that was more than simply lonely—she was alone.
I don’t know why I cared. I had my own problems. Everyone did, everyone does. I should’ve just nodded, made sure my mask was covering my face properly, and gone home. Whether I had stayed or not, it wouldn’t have made a long-term difference. It wasn’t as if I would be witnessing anything truly historic. But maybe, in a way, it was.

I was the one who went to her. Every footfall kicking up great clouds of sand. It caked my skin, my clothes, everything. I was made of sand, sand, sand. And still the sea stormed.
I watched her, at first. Watching people is interesting—studying the way they move, see, think. There is something unique in the experience. People are fascinating.
She’s wearing a simple white t-shirt and brown leather pants. Her pockets are bursting with shells; dozens and dozens of them, filled to the rim with pale shades. She brushes off the sand and collects them. So many.
I’m standing off to the side now, not wanting to get too close to the water. But the little girl was bold. She walked straight up to the torrents of waves, unafraid. I shivered, but she didn’t feel it. Her eyes were fixed on the shells.
She’s getting too close. My heart began to beat faster, pulsing with unspoken fear. Threads tightened around my throat. Burning, burning.
“Hey, kid!”
I called out. Before I even knew what I was doing, I was rushing forward through the great beach, across the plains of deserts—grabbing her arm and yanking her back.
She struggled. I let her go, immediately. She broke away from me. Her eyes were distrustful and cold. Seashells spilled from her hands, her pockets.
“Kid…” I stared. She stared right back.
I cleared my throat awkwardly.
“What’s your name?”
Her expression was still closed, but something in her seemed to relax when she realized that I wasn’t planning on kidnapping her.
“Clover.”
“Clover,” I echoed.
“What’s yours?” she asked politely.
“Ashlynn,” I replied. “But Ash is fine.”
“Oh.”
We stared at each other.
“Where’s your family?” I asked her.
I’m not sure what I expect her to say. Maybe she would deny it. But she didn’t. She only gave her head a sharp shake and gestured back toward the city.
“They’re in the car.”
The car? “Do they know you’re here.”
She shrugged.
I blinked.
“Well,” I said, trying to pull myself together, “why are you collecting seashells here?”
“They’re pretty,” she answered simply. A fist of shells came out of a pocket—she held it up. I looked at them.
“Clover,” I said softly. “Where do you live?”
“With Mom,” she answered. “I live with my Mom.”
“Isn’t she worried about you?”
She shrugged again. “Mom doesn’t mind.”
I blinked again. My parents had been overprotective; no way they would’ve let me look for seashells alone on a beach. Not to mention: a beach with waves that could knock over someone.
“Clover,” I asked gently. “Are you alright?”
“Yes,” she answered. Of course she is.
But something in her made me feel protective—she looked so small, so vulnerable. A child against the the untameable rage of the sea.
“Come on.” I held out a hand.
She didn’t take it. “You’re a stranger!”
I paused. “I won’t hurt you. Promise.”
It took her a while, but she finally accepted it. And hand in hand, our backs to the swelling sea, we turned away.

Years later, we would both look back at this moment with fond smiles. Such a small thing—the waves, the seashells, the dumb questions. But they filled me with such nostalgia. I had made a friend.
A little friend. Sometimes she’s a little clueless and moody. Sometimes she forgets her manners. But she’s my friend, and I will accept her no matter what.
That day, so many years ago; there’s something she said that stayed with me.
“I don’t often get the chance to talk to someone like you.”
There was a curious edge to her voice, something that compelled me to look at her.
Isn’t that what I should have said? What my line should have been? I’m the one secluded in her room, refusing to see the daylight.
Clover taught me that people are unique. We all have different sides of us, most which we don’t show the world. We can’t be grouped into boxes, can’t be shoved under labels. We are more than what we appear to be.

Oml- Starr, don’t even lie! This is amazing and the fact that you wrote this at 1am is just even more baffling- howw? :00 I may or may not have ignored your disclaimer at the top of task 4 hehe ^^ but in all seriousness, this is an absolute work of art, I honestly don’t know how you do this. Be proud of it, Starr, it’s fabulousss! ‘We all have different sides of us, most which we don’t show the world.’ I love this so much! <333

eee omg starr this is amazing!

ap0l0 wrote:

Oml- Starr, don’t even lie! This is amazing and the fact that you wrote this at 1am is just even more baffling- howw? :00 I may or may not have ignored your disclaimer at the top of task 4 hehe ^^ but in all seriousness, this is an absolute work of art, I honestly don’t know how you do this. Be proud of it, Starr, it’s fabulousss! ‘We all have different sides of us, most which we don’t show the world.’ I love this so much! <333

MAY OH MY GOSH YOU READ IT?! HOW COULD YOUU- ajdfhld i honestly dont even remember what i wrote hehe and im kind of scared to read it over bc i do recall that it was awful xD how can you possibly *sob* (but thank you hehe)