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- spindeIn
-
Scratcher
100+ posts
cae's march 2021 swc writing collection
hello to anyone who comes across this post, and welcome to a collection of my writing from this session of scratch writing camp!
if you don't know what swc is, here's a link to the main cabin this session where you can find out more!
additionally, please don't steal any of this writing! I worked really hard on it. thanks <3
now that that's out of the way, on to the writing :0
if you don't know what swc is, here's a link to the main cabin this session where you can find out more!
additionally, please don't steal any of this writing! I worked really hard on it. thanks <3
now that that's out of the way, on to the writing :0
table of contents:
welcome and table of contents
sci-fi in-cabin daily || 1 march
main-cabin daily || 2 march
word wars!!
weekly number one || 3-9 march
main-cabin daily || 11 march
main-cabin daily || 16 march
weekly number two || 10-16 march
main-cabin daily || 19 march
main-cabin daily || 20 march
weekly number three || 17-23 march
writing for critique daily || 25 march
description practice || 27 march
main-cabin daily || 28 march
main-cabin daily || 30 march
weekly number four || 24-30 march
thank yous <33 || 31 march
the final words || 31 march
Last edited by spindeIn (April 1, 2021 19:10:06)
- spindeIn
-
Scratcher
100+ posts
cae's march 2021 swc writing collection
sci-fi daily || 1 march 2021
Cae was destined for words, for stories. Even just days after their birth, before their bronze hair curled, before stars freckled their pale face and arms, Cae told stories, tales of worlds unknown and their brave heroes.
As they grew older, their zeal for stories grew too. When they read, their blue-grey eyes lit up. When they wrote, the galaxies dotting their skin danced and sparkled.
A member of the rare nuntiantis vicem subspecies of human, Cae knew they would one day be an author, would one day tell the entire universe the stories that filled their mind. But before that could happen, they needed training, they needed practice. And that is why, on the first of July, 3020, a bright, optimistic Cae began their first session at Planet SWC.
In the time since then, the young spacewalker has trained and written and read, learning much about the craft they hope to one day master.
Now, as they enter their third session at Planet SWC, Cae is ecstatic to help spacewalkers young and old in their role as one of two assistant overseers in the Sci-Fi Colony.
Planet SWC Identification:
Caedmon “Cae” Callisto
Homo sapiens nuntiantis vicem | Gorm IV
15.5 years | 5’4” | Non-Binary
In lieu of a photo, as Lt. Callisto was unavailable for one, an impartial has given a short description of their appearance.
“Standing at about five feet four inches, Caedmon Callisto is pale and somewhat small. Their bronze-colored hair is curly and falls about level to their jaw, and is occasionally tied back in a small ponytail. They have two blue-grey eyes, both of which become a brighter shade of blue when Callisto tells stories. The whole of their body is dotted with freckles, many of which are in the shape of stars. These shimmer and appear the same color as their eyes when they tell stories.”
Cae was destined for words, for stories. Even just days after their birth, before their bronze hair curled, before stars freckled their pale face and arms, Cae told stories, tales of worlds unknown and their brave heroes.
As they grew older, their zeal for stories grew too. When they read, their blue-grey eyes lit up. When they wrote, the galaxies dotting their skin danced and sparkled.
A member of the rare nuntiantis vicem subspecies of human, Cae knew they would one day be an author, would one day tell the entire universe the stories that filled their mind. But before that could happen, they needed training, they needed practice. And that is why, on the first of July, 3020, a bright, optimistic Cae began their first session at Planet SWC.
In the time since then, the young spacewalker has trained and written and read, learning much about the craft they hope to one day master.
Now, as they enter their third session at Planet SWC, Cae is ecstatic to help spacewalkers young and old in their role as one of two assistant overseers in the Sci-Fi Colony.
Planet SWC Identification:
Caedmon “Cae” Callisto
Homo sapiens nuntiantis vicem | Gorm IV
15.5 years | 5’4” | Non-Binary
In lieu of a photo, as Lt. Callisto was unavailable for one, an impartial has given a short description of their appearance.
“Standing at about five feet four inches, Caedmon Callisto is pale and somewhat small. Their bronze-colored hair is curly and falls about level to their jaw, and is occasionally tied back in a small ponytail. They have two blue-grey eyes, both of which become a brighter shade of blue when Callisto tells stories. The whole of their body is dotted with freckles, many of which are in the shape of stars. These shimmer and appear the same color as their eyes when they tell stories.”
Last edited by spindeIn (March 8, 2021 16:03:03)
- spindeIn
-
Scratcher
100+ posts
cae's march 2021 swc writing collection
main-cabin daily || 2 march
“Let's start simple: what happened?”
“Sir, you—you were there. You saw it all, as it happened.”
“That may be so, but assume I was not there. Assume this is the first time I am hearing of it at all, and you and I have no relation. Explain what happened.”
“Yes, okay, I can do that… So I was out doing the shopping, ‘cause my children had eaten all of the food in our house, and a man—a man I didn’t know, he disappeared, from right where he was standing, in the butcher's shop.”
“Describe it.”
“He was a tall man, and he had a long beard, like in those movies about that wizard, what's his name—”
“Gandalf?”
“Yes! He had a beard like that Gandalf fellow, ‘cept it was brown and grey. And curly and all knotted, like he wasn’t taking care of it. And he was bald too, but his head was under that red hat of his. And he was wearing one of those big coats, puffers my dad would call ‘em. Except it wasn’t one of those at all; it had a little cape thing attached.”
“Is that—”
“Oh! He also had a little cage.”
“A cage?”
“Yeah, and there was a crow in it.”
“A crow?”
“Ya know, a crow. Like the bird. Anyhow, the butcher didn't want a dirty animal like that in the shop, and why would he? So he told the guy to beat it, but he just stood there staring at all of us. And then when the butcher's son, the one who usually takes care of the animals, was gonna put his hands on him, he just vanished.”
“Elaborate.”
“There's nothing else to say. He vanished, that was that.”
“How did the other customers react?”
“They went about their business. And why—who is that?”
“This is Dale. He is my brother, and—”
“You know him?”
“Of course. I helped him escape today. I clearly didn't think about that curse on your family, I should have accounted for it. But you're here now, so we can fix that mistake.”
“I don't understand.”
“Look, hun, you're not going home. We can't have such evidence against us, just wandering around town.”
“But—”
“Shhh… just think happy thoughts. This won't hurt at all.”
“Let's start simple: what happened?”
“Sir, you—you were there. You saw it all, as it happened.”
“That may be so, but assume I was not there. Assume this is the first time I am hearing of it at all, and you and I have no relation. Explain what happened.”
“Yes, okay, I can do that… So I was out doing the shopping, ‘cause my children had eaten all of the food in our house, and a man—a man I didn’t know, he disappeared, from right where he was standing, in the butcher's shop.”
“Describe it.”
“He was a tall man, and he had a long beard, like in those movies about that wizard, what's his name—”
“Gandalf?”
“Yes! He had a beard like that Gandalf fellow, ‘cept it was brown and grey. And curly and all knotted, like he wasn’t taking care of it. And he was bald too, but his head was under that red hat of his. And he was wearing one of those big coats, puffers my dad would call ‘em. Except it wasn’t one of those at all; it had a little cape thing attached.”
“Is that—”
“Oh! He also had a little cage.”
“A cage?”
“Yeah, and there was a crow in it.”
“A crow?”
“Ya know, a crow. Like the bird. Anyhow, the butcher didn't want a dirty animal like that in the shop, and why would he? So he told the guy to beat it, but he just stood there staring at all of us. And then when the butcher's son, the one who usually takes care of the animals, was gonna put his hands on him, he just vanished.”
“Elaborate.”
“There's nothing else to say. He vanished, that was that.”
“How did the other customers react?”
“They went about their business. And why—who is that?”
“This is Dale. He is my brother, and—”
“You know him?”
“Of course. I helped him escape today. I clearly didn't think about that curse on your family, I should have accounted for it. But you're here now, so we can fix that mistake.”
“I don't understand.”
“Look, hun, you're not going home. We can't have such evidence against us, just wandering around town.”
“But—”
“Shhh… just think happy thoughts. This won't hurt at all.”
Last edited by spindeIn (March 8, 2021 16:03:32)
- leiana52
-
Scratcher
80 posts
cae's march 2021 swc writing collection
Main-Cabin Daily || 2 March -snip-
Woah, amazing story!
- Galaxy_Awesome
-
Scratcher
100+ posts
cae's march 2021 swc writing collection
Main-Cabin Daily || 2 MarchWow, that was great! I don't really know the context, but the way you wrote the dialog made me want to learn more. I don't really know what could be improved (i'm sort of new to writing), but I think it needs a bit more context to be able to be read properly. All in all, though, it was nice. I like how you left it on a cliffhanger, it really builds up the suspense.
“Let's start simple: what happened?”
“Sir, you—you were there. You saw it all, as it happened.”
“That may be so, but assume I was not there. Assume this is the first time I am hearing of it at all, and you and I have no relation. Explain what happened.”
“Yes, okay, I can do that… So I was out doing the shopping, ‘cause my children had eaten all of the food in our house, and a man—a man I didn’t know, he disappeared, from right where he was standing, in the butcher's shop.”
“Describe it.”
“He was a tall man, and he had a long beard, like in those movies about that wizard, what's his name—”
“Gandalf?”
“Yes! He had a beard like that Gandalf fellow, ‘cept it was brown and grey. And curly and all knotted, like he wasn’t taking care of it. And he was bald too, but his head was under that red hat of his. And he was wearing one of those big coats, puffers my dad would call ‘em. Except it wasn’t one of those at all; it had a little cape thing attached.”
“Is that—”
“Oh! He also had a little cage.”
“A cage?”
“Yeah, and there was a crow in it.”
“A crow?”
“Ya know, a crow. Like the bird. Anyhow, the butcher didn't want a dirty animal like that in the shop, and why would he? So he told the guy to beat it, but he just stood there staring at all of us. And then when the butcher's son, the one who usually takes care of the animals, was gonna put his hands on him, he just vanished.”
“Elaborate.”
“There's nothing else to say. He vanished, that was that.”
“How did the other customers react?”
“They went about their business. And why—who is that?”
“This is Dale. He is my brother, and—”
“You know him?”
“Of course. I helped him escape today. I clearly didn't think about that curse on your family, I should have accounted for it. But you're here now, so we can fix that mistake.”
“I don't understand.”
“Look, hun, you're not going home. We can't have such evidence against us, just wandering around town.”
“But—”
“Shhh… just think happy thoughts. This won't hurt at all.”
- Airfairy934
-
Scratcher
100+ posts
cae's march 2021 swc writing collection
the first one was beautiful. Upon reading it i became close to tears well done and for holy chicken nugget's sake please never stop writing! It would be a huge mistake
- spindeIn
-
Scratcher
100+ posts
cae's march 2021 swc writing collection
word wars!!
Writing themes is really hard, but it is important because it will help you think not only about yourself and your characters, but also about your reader and their thoughts and feelings and connections. Writing them well will help you truly connect with the reader on another level. But they are so freaking hard to write, which is why I write them so ominously a lot. They cannot be simple, not ever, in my writing, and often there are so many large themes and mini themes that even I do not know what in the world is happening. So writing just one theme is especially challegening, as you can imagine.
with @deepshika123go
What does he do? What makes life wirth the living, what makes your cause worth giving up everything for? What makes it all worth it? And why? How can we dissect these questions to work in our favor rather than theirs, or hope rather than his, our livelihood and sacrifice never taken so long as we live?
This is nonsense. Of course the dragons are coming, there is no question about that. But are we ready? Have we prepared ourselves for the struggle, for the many battles that lie ahead? I think we have not. I think we need more work, more training. More time, above all, and that is the last thing we have.
We cannot give it up. We must simply go on, we cannot give up now. We may not have time, we may not be as prepared as we must be, but we cannot give up now or ever. We must go on, we must have hope. We will get through this, going one step at a time. And then in the end, at the end of this all, maybe we can be happy.
So what does he do? He wins.
What makes life worth living? Everything. All of this, all of this, all of this.
Everything makes life worth living, everything makes it worth giving up everything good and lovely and hopseful, just to keep living.
Just to keep going.
Jean was a young child when she learned of magic for the first time. No one would have thought, at that time, in that place, that the young girl who they knew, the one who would smile at older people as they passed by and pray for a family to come and “rescue” her, would one day inherit the greatest fortune of magic the world had ever known.
She was young when she learned of this fortune too, and she used to dream of what she would but with such wealth. She would whisper these things to herself at night when all of the other children in the orphanage had long fallen asleep; she would tell herself she could do it. And do it she would.
For the fortune of magic, as she was told when the old witches and wizards visited her from time to time, was not passed through a bloodline or from father to son or daughter. It was passed to the savior of each generation, the one magician who would save them all from whatever threat arose with each passing generation. Whoever was not the most powerful, but the most resourceful, the most successful in achieving their goal.
And Jean’s goal was to defeat whoever her big bad would be. SHe knew she would.
And she was right.
My apprenticeship at the House did not start well. I understand that the rooms are haunted and the atmosphere is on the whole quite terrifying, but for some reason that was not my problem with the House, not at all. My true problem was the people who lived there, not the ghosts.
Dr Hattler was a small, mean man who only cared about himself and his books, and whenever I hoped to work with him he was reading or writing or eating or sleeping, and whenever he was not doing any of those things, which was quite a bit more often than you would expect, he was in a terrible mood. A mood so foul I could not even talk him into reading, writing, eating, or sleeping. A mood so awful his wife would not even see him.
His wife. What a woman. SHe seemed nice, dainty and calm and all, like you might expect, but she was not at all. She was almost as much a pain as her husband, Mrs Hattler was, and she refused to stay in any room with the ghosts and ghouls and such that had lived there longer than she had been alive. And what’s worse, she would never, ever, see her children.
The children
Hugo Fent has had the little round pebble that he carries with him everywhere he goes since before he left Alacia. Before he was taken from his home. It is his only remnant of a past he cannot remember and a family he will never know, and that makes it the most important belonging of his.
Though he does not remember, the day he found the pebble was the same day he and his twin brother turned eight, a signicant age in the rolling hills of their homeland. It was the same number as the mountains in the distance, the same number as the rivers criss-crossing their kingdom, and the same number of the councillors in the council.
Hugo's brother found the pebble in one of these rivers, near the edge of the water where they played. It was perfectly round, as if carved by something more powerful than the stream and more unnatural, more supernatural than human or nature. He pocketed it then, and didn't show his brother until later, when they were safe at home and
with @ReadEatSleepRepeat21
This is driving me crazy. Everything is, really, driving me crazy. But this especially. This situation, or as she would call it, conundrum, with Hailey. She is supposed to be okay. I am supposed to be okay. We are supposed to be okay. But we clearly aren’t, and it is driving me crazy.
I suppose I should tell you what happened, who we are, why I am telling you all of this. And I suppose I will, eventually, but not now. Not yet.
“Hey, Avery, how goes it?” Hailey grins at me from behind her mask, those twilight eyes twinkling with joy. I don’t know why she is always so happy to see me, but I do know the feeling is mutual.
“Hailey, my favorite person! It goes.” My standard response, pretending everything is okay. That is us, the pretenders. The actors in the show known to most as life.
“It goes indeed. Walk with me.” We walk, and I’m still smiling. Did I mention I was smiling from the moment I first saw her? No? Well, I was. She lit up the room, and to this day still does.
Today has been superby unproductive but I am not going to let that stop me from having a good time tonight. If anything, that will fuel my happiness and hope tonight. We will win, we have to, and if we don’t, well, nothing good can come from losing.
“What’s going to happen, Killin?” My sister, come to taunt me, no doubt. “What’s going to happen if I win and you lose?”
“Here is what is going to happen, Lara. I am going to flee, and you are going to follow, and when we face off in the desert, just the two of us, I will win and you will lose.” My voice is barely a whisper, but I know she can hear me. I am her big brother after all, she has to be listening
This is not going to happen again. Never again. I can’t do it. I can’t remember why, but It’s important. And I need to forget, I think, because this is a terrible test to make my own health all the worse. And you and I were, and are, our own people. Or so I believe. WhAt if you are actually me because we are to gather and you are to gather. What if they are actually us as well and we are all the same. We are all one and the same and we have the same lives, the same health. We are all forgotten and all forgetting and all the same in the end. Nothing can change that, nothing can change ame, Nothing can change any of this craziness. Are you sure that this is what you want to do? Am I sure of anything anymore? No, I’m not, and you can’t be either. Everything is so different now but nothing seems to have changed and can I live with that, can you live with that? Are we going to survive any of this? Are we going to make it through? This is something that I don’t know, something I will never ever ever know. I’m not okay, I think. And you’re not either, I know that.
A warm fire crackle in the fireplace and an air of happiness is all around. People chat and share and laugh and smile, all thinking of the wonderful magic we all have now. Before the world was dark and grim and without hope, and now light and happiness and hope burst from every seam. But in the shadows something lurks. Something big, something leftover from before. Something that will spread fear and desperation
with @procrastinating-
This year things have changed for them. This year the leaders of our communities have to think more, empathize more, do more, and be more. We all do too, but they need to more than the rest of us. And that is their job, that is what they must do in order for us to trust them. That is what we need from them, and that is what they will hopefully do and give us.
“Hello, my name is–”
“I am going to stop you right there. I have no interest in your name or your story, I am just here to collect your life. That is it.”
“Okay. And you are?”
“Thanatos, the lord of death. Not the lord of the dead, that's Hades–”
“Oh, yeah, that dude. I know him. He's pretty cool.”
“I suppose you could say that, maybe, but really he is not cool in the slightest. He is a terrible boss and a worse man and honestly–”
“Dud, what happened to no stories? Are you going to take my life or not?”
“Right yes sorry about that, sometimes I get carried away, you know, and that really sucks, so yeah. Super unprofessional too, so I doubt Hades likes it much…”
"Stop. Just take me life, please, and leave me be. This is too much to hear, your sad life and terrible father and all that… super boring and long and
Usually these problems take significantly longer to solve, but today the group of scientists was able to solve it in a fraction of the time at a fraction of the cost, and now they have nothing left to do. So instead of going back to their professor and asking for a new problem, a new solution to find and puzzle to solve, they have decided that they grew out of these problems, the ones that their teacher gives them, and will instead be creating their own ones from now on.
Their first problem concerns soul mates. Yes, soul mates. No, they are not mythology majors or anything like that. They are biology majors, and some of them chemistry majors, and they hope to solve the problem of soul mates. The first thing they did on route to solving this was find two people they could agree were soul mates, and this in itself was a quite difficult task. They had no idea before starting this project that perhaps they would not agree on the parameters, on the regulations and rules in order to even define soul mate. But they did end up agreeing, and this is where the little old Fullers come in.
The Fullers were a 70-year couple, two men who had been dedicated to their lives together for more than half a century and almost three quarters of one. They lives together in a little house in northern New York and had long abandoned much of society in order to simply be together. James Johnson, one of the scientists on this project, knew about these two men because his mother was the niece of Keller Isaacs, one of the two men. He knew immediately when they were starting to work on the project that his great uncle and his partner were the two they needed to study.
The others protested, saying that it could not be an unmarried couple, it could not be people they knew already, and other protests too. A few even protested the fact that they were two men, but these two soon moved on from the project. They were not to love love if they could not understand that any love is love, no matter who between.
But James was able to convince them by telling Keller and Jacob’s story, how they met and fell in love and abandoned a cold society together for each other and no one else. How they needed each other and no one else. How they
with @Starfairyelise
Having met you, having spoken with you and having known you, having seen your face and having understood your life, makes this letter all the harder to write.
Having loved you, having held you hands and k;ssed your lips, having smiled and laughed and having been understood by you, makes this letter impossible to write.
You are my everything, darling, dear, love. You are my everything. But I cannot have that be. This thing, whatever it is between us, love or lust or hope or want, it cannot be. You cannot, should not, will not be my everything, and I cannot, should not, and will not be yours. We must not be together, we must not-
I must not speak like this. Here it is: my agency wants you d**d, and I have been tasked to do the k;lling. I knew this before we first spoke, met, held hands, k;ssed, understood each other, or even thought of love. I knew this far before then, and I know it now
with @Black_Koi
Where math and magic meet, that’s what I love. I love the solving of equations and the hope for more than equations and answers. I love the things unknown in the forest that come out if you know what to say, which functions are required. I love knowing that this world isn’t governed by absurd theories that make no sense, but math, with its logic and equality and warm embrace. To be honest, I love everything about math and I love everything about magic
As I sit in class and write I wonder what my life could have been if it were different. How would I see the things around me, how would I know myself? How would things be better and how would they be worse? Things are always changing, yes, but are they always the same too? And how can I know that who I am is who I am supposed to be? ANd all these things I wonder as I sit in my History class and ponder life, the universe, and everything.
This isn’t going terribly well. History isn’t, life isn’t, humanity isn’t. We need to do more and see more and have more and be more. But we don’t, we don’t, we don’t, and we aren’t. What if this is all we see and do and are? Nothing but this for the entire existence of ourselves?
And what if we’re more than this? What if we will be more than this? What if we will always be more than this but we don’t know it, can’t know it? Is that all we really need? To know who we are, to know what we are worth?
I think so, I really don’t though. If this is all we need, what about other people? What about art and math and science and dance and literature and fun? What about family and places and travel and
19 marchwith @_kittykay_
Writing themes is really hard, but it is important because it will help you think not only about yourself and your characters, but also about your reader and their thoughts and feelings and connections. Writing them well will help you truly connect with the reader on another level. But they are so freaking hard to write, which is why I write them so ominously a lot. They cannot be simple, not ever, in my writing, and often there are so many large themes and mini themes that even I do not know what in the world is happening. So writing just one theme is especially challegening, as you can imagine.
with @deepshika123go
What does he do? What makes life wirth the living, what makes your cause worth giving up everything for? What makes it all worth it? And why? How can we dissect these questions to work in our favor rather than theirs, or hope rather than his, our livelihood and sacrifice never taken so long as we live?
This is nonsense. Of course the dragons are coming, there is no question about that. But are we ready? Have we prepared ourselves for the struggle, for the many battles that lie ahead? I think we have not. I think we need more work, more training. More time, above all, and that is the last thing we have.
We cannot give it up. We must simply go on, we cannot give up now. We may not have time, we may not be as prepared as we must be, but we cannot give up now or ever. We must go on, we must have hope. We will get through this, going one step at a time. And then in the end, at the end of this all, maybe we can be happy.
So what does he do? He wins.
What makes life worth living? Everything. All of this, all of this, all of this.
Everything makes life worth living, everything makes it worth giving up everything good and lovely and hopseful, just to keep living.
Just to keep going.
18 marchwith @AmazaEevee
Jean was a young child when she learned of magic for the first time. No one would have thought, at that time, in that place, that the young girl who they knew, the one who would smile at older people as they passed by and pray for a family to come and “rescue” her, would one day inherit the greatest fortune of magic the world had ever known.
She was young when she learned of this fortune too, and she used to dream of what she would but with such wealth. She would whisper these things to herself at night when all of the other children in the orphanage had long fallen asleep; she would tell herself she could do it. And do it she would.
For the fortune of magic, as she was told when the old witches and wizards visited her from time to time, was not passed through a bloodline or from father to son or daughter. It was passed to the savior of each generation, the one magician who would save them all from whatever threat arose with each passing generation. Whoever was not the most powerful, but the most resourceful, the most successful in achieving their goal.
And Jean’s goal was to defeat whoever her big bad would be. SHe knew she would.
And she was right.
17 marchwith @Colorful-
My apprenticeship at the House did not start well. I understand that the rooms are haunted and the atmosphere is on the whole quite terrifying, but for some reason that was not my problem with the House, not at all. My true problem was the people who lived there, not the ghosts.
Dr Hattler was a small, mean man who only cared about himself and his books, and whenever I hoped to work with him he was reading or writing or eating or sleeping, and whenever he was not doing any of those things, which was quite a bit more often than you would expect, he was in a terrible mood. A mood so foul I could not even talk him into reading, writing, eating, or sleeping. A mood so awful his wife would not even see him.
His wife. What a woman. SHe seemed nice, dainty and calm and all, like you might expect, but she was not at all. She was almost as much a pain as her husband, Mrs Hattler was, and she refused to stay in any room with the ghosts and ghouls and such that had lived there longer than she had been alive. And what’s worse, she would never, ever, see her children.
The children
16 marchwith @AmazaEevee
Hugo Fent has had the little round pebble that he carries with him everywhere he goes since before he left Alacia. Before he was taken from his home. It is his only remnant of a past he cannot remember and a family he will never know, and that makes it the most important belonging of his.
Though he does not remember, the day he found the pebble was the same day he and his twin brother turned eight, a signicant age in the rolling hills of their homeland. It was the same number as the mountains in the distance, the same number as the rivers criss-crossing their kingdom, and the same number of the councillors in the council.
Hugo's brother found the pebble in one of these rivers, near the edge of the water where they played. It was perfectly round, as if carved by something more powerful than the stream and more unnatural, more supernatural than human or nature. He pocketed it then, and didn't show his brother until later, when they were safe at home and
with @ReadEatSleepRepeat21
This is driving me crazy. Everything is, really, driving me crazy. But this especially. This situation, or as she would call it, conundrum, with Hailey. She is supposed to be okay. I am supposed to be okay. We are supposed to be okay. But we clearly aren’t, and it is driving me crazy.
I suppose I should tell you what happened, who we are, why I am telling you all of this. And I suppose I will, eventually, but not now. Not yet.
“Hey, Avery, how goes it?” Hailey grins at me from behind her mask, those twilight eyes twinkling with joy. I don’t know why she is always so happy to see me, but I do know the feeling is mutual.
“Hailey, my favorite person! It goes.” My standard response, pretending everything is okay. That is us, the pretenders. The actors in the show known to most as life.
“It goes indeed. Walk with me.” We walk, and I’m still smiling. Did I mention I was smiling from the moment I first saw her? No? Well, I was. She lit up the room, and to this day still does.
12 marchwith @ForestPanther
Today has been superby unproductive but I am not going to let that stop me from having a good time tonight. If anything, that will fuel my happiness and hope tonight. We will win, we have to, and if we don’t, well, nothing good can come from losing.
“What’s going to happen, Killin?” My sister, come to taunt me, no doubt. “What’s going to happen if I win and you lose?”
“Here is what is going to happen, Lara. I am going to flee, and you are going to follow, and when we face off in the desert, just the two of us, I will win and you will lose.” My voice is barely a whisper, but I know she can hear me. I am her big brother after all, she has to be listening
11 marchwith @Black_Koi
This is not going to happen again. Never again. I can’t do it. I can’t remember why, but It’s important. And I need to forget, I think, because this is a terrible test to make my own health all the worse. And you and I were, and are, our own people. Or so I believe. WhAt if you are actually me because we are to gather and you are to gather. What if they are actually us as well and we are all the same. We are all one and the same and we have the same lives, the same health. We are all forgotten and all forgetting and all the same in the end. Nothing can change that, nothing can change ame, Nothing can change any of this craziness. Are you sure that this is what you want to do? Am I sure of anything anymore? No, I’m not, and you can’t be either. Everything is so different now but nothing seems to have changed and can I live with that, can you live with that? Are we going to survive any of this? Are we going to make it through? This is something that I don’t know, something I will never ever ever know. I’m not okay, I think. And you’re not either, I know that.
10 marchwith @layspotatofan
A warm fire crackle in the fireplace and an air of happiness is all around. People chat and share and laugh and smile, all thinking of the wonderful magic we all have now. Before the world was dark and grim and without hope, and now light and happiness and hope burst from every seam. But in the shadows something lurks. Something big, something leftover from before. Something that will spread fear and desperation
with @procrastinating-
This year things have changed for them. This year the leaders of our communities have to think more, empathize more, do more, and be more. We all do too, but they need to more than the rest of us. And that is their job, that is what they must do in order for us to trust them. That is what we need from them, and that is what they will hopefully do and give us.
“Hello, my name is–”
“I am going to stop you right there. I have no interest in your name or your story, I am just here to collect your life. That is it.”
“Okay. And you are?”
“Thanatos, the lord of death. Not the lord of the dead, that's Hades–”
“Oh, yeah, that dude. I know him. He's pretty cool.”
“I suppose you could say that, maybe, but really he is not cool in the slightest. He is a terrible boss and a worse man and honestly–”
“Dud, what happened to no stories? Are you going to take my life or not?”
“Right yes sorry about that, sometimes I get carried away, you know, and that really sucks, so yeah. Super unprofessional too, so I doubt Hades likes it much…”
"Stop. Just take me life, please, and leave me be. This is too much to hear, your sad life and terrible father and all that… super boring and long and
9 marchwith @RavenclawDud
Usually these problems take significantly longer to solve, but today the group of scientists was able to solve it in a fraction of the time at a fraction of the cost, and now they have nothing left to do. So instead of going back to their professor and asking for a new problem, a new solution to find and puzzle to solve, they have decided that they grew out of these problems, the ones that their teacher gives them, and will instead be creating their own ones from now on.
Their first problem concerns soul mates. Yes, soul mates. No, they are not mythology majors or anything like that. They are biology majors, and some of them chemistry majors, and they hope to solve the problem of soul mates. The first thing they did on route to solving this was find two people they could agree were soul mates, and this in itself was a quite difficult task. They had no idea before starting this project that perhaps they would not agree on the parameters, on the regulations and rules in order to even define soul mate. But they did end up agreeing, and this is where the little old Fullers come in.
The Fullers were a 70-year couple, two men who had been dedicated to their lives together for more than half a century and almost three quarters of one. They lives together in a little house in northern New York and had long abandoned much of society in order to simply be together. James Johnson, one of the scientists on this project, knew about these two men because his mother was the niece of Keller Isaacs, one of the two men. He knew immediately when they were starting to work on the project that his great uncle and his partner were the two they needed to study.
The others protested, saying that it could not be an unmarried couple, it could not be people they knew already, and other protests too. A few even protested the fact that they were two men, but these two soon moved on from the project. They were not to love love if they could not understand that any love is love, no matter who between.
But James was able to convince them by telling Keller and Jacob’s story, how they met and fell in love and abandoned a cold society together for each other and no one else. How they needed each other and no one else. How they
with @Starfairyelise
Having met you, having spoken with you and having known you, having seen your face and having understood your life, makes this letter all the harder to write.
Having loved you, having held you hands and k;ssed your lips, having smiled and laughed and having been understood by you, makes this letter impossible to write.
You are my everything, darling, dear, love. You are my everything. But I cannot have that be. This thing, whatever it is between us, love or lust or hope or want, it cannot be. You cannot, should not, will not be my everything, and I cannot, should not, and will not be yours. We must not be together, we must not-
I must not speak like this. Here it is: my agency wants you d**d, and I have been tasked to do the k;lling. I knew this before we first spoke, met, held hands, k;ssed, understood each other, or even thought of love. I knew this far before then, and I know it now
with @Black_Koi
Where math and magic meet, that’s what I love. I love the solving of equations and the hope for more than equations and answers. I love the things unknown in the forest that come out if you know what to say, which functions are required. I love knowing that this world isn’t governed by absurd theories that make no sense, but math, with its logic and equality and warm embrace. To be honest, I love everything about math and I love everything about magic
8 marchwith @bee—
As I sit in class and write I wonder what my life could have been if it were different. How would I see the things around me, how would I know myself? How would things be better and how would they be worse? Things are always changing, yes, but are they always the same too? And how can I know that who I am is who I am supposed to be? ANd all these things I wonder as I sit in my History class and ponder life, the universe, and everything.
This isn’t going terribly well. History isn’t, life isn’t, humanity isn’t. We need to do more and see more and have more and be more. But we don’t, we don’t, we don’t, and we aren’t. What if this is all we see and do and are? Nothing but this for the entire existence of ourselves?
And what if we’re more than this? What if we will be more than this? What if we will always be more than this but we don’t know it, can’t know it? Is that all we really need? To know who we are, to know what we are worth?
I think so, I really don’t though. If this is all we need, what about other people? What about art and math and science and dance and literature and fun? What about family and places and travel and
Last edited by spindeIn (March 20, 2021 02:09:55)
- spindeIn
-
Scratcher
100+ posts
cae's march 2021 swc writing collection
swc weekly one || 3-9 march
adventure:
Your first day on the ship, you learn the meaning of a word that will come to define your life. Dramient, the other pirates call you. Thief, it means, and traveller.
Your first week on the ship, you learn the meaning of an act that will come to fill your days. Jafrim, your captain instructs you. Lie, it means, and sing.
Your first year on the ship, you learn the meaning of a love for what you used to have. Uims, you whisper in the dark of night. Family, it means, and happiness.
Your first day off the ship, your family learns all these meanings and more. Kilenga, they say with joy in their eyes. Tell us more.
classics:
Thunder rattled about the windows, rain pattered on the roof, and lightning flashed in the sky on the day when Ms Primson came to live at the Fullston residence. She was the picture of propriety, come to tutor the Fullston children and accompany their mother through her pregnancy.
This was not, however, the way Fiona Fullston, the eldest saw it, not at all.
“She is a witch! She came to eat us, or to spell us silent! We cannot stand down!” she told her younger brothers. “We must send her away before she can hurt us!”
But when Ms Primson arrived, no such thing occurred. The four children mirrored her grace, as if under her spell.
contemporary:
I miss traveling. I miss the thrill of seeing the world from a different lense, the joy of exploring a new place, the fun of meeting people whose lives are so different from my own.
When I was twelve, my parents took me to the three places that mattered most to them, and those visits were my favorite.
First, we traveled to Barcelona, where the three of them first met. Mama told the story of how these two goofs caught her eye while she was walking down las ramblas. Her friends had teased her for asking two turistas for their numbers, but she didn’t care. “It was love at first sight.”
Second, we took a train to New York City, where my fathers got married. Dad cried tears of joy, remembering the day he got to share with the loves of his life. And though his own mother and father were not there, he told me he wouldn’t change a thing. “The happiest day of my life, that’s what it was.”
Third, we visited Oregon, where they adopted me. When Pa recalled the story of meeting me, I couldn’t help but smile. I am among their most important memories, where they met me among their most valued places. “Our family wouldn’t be complete without you, Lilah.”
Instead of traveling for real, now I travel in my head. I visit every place my parents ever took me, I reminisce about every story they ever told me. And until we can travel again, I stay here, at home, surrounded by the most important people in my life.
dystopian:
For the ninth time this trimester, Pi is late to see Mother. His steps falter as he makes his way up the front steps to Nexus and his palms become slick with sweat.
“Explain yourself,” the voice of his leader booms as he enters the complex. “This has been your thirteenth infraction, and ninth of this type.”
“Loving Mother, I was working, as is instructed in your plans. I was so remarkably enthralled by the brilliance of your genius, I could not leave the product of your labor unfinished.” Pi looks straight ahead, his breathing shallow but constant.
“And that I thank you for, loyal one. I fear, however, that you are not entirely honest. I fear you have joined the disloyal ones.”
This is the first time Mother has addressed Conventicle to Pi, and he is unable to mask his surprise.
“All-knowing Mother, you must understand that I am a simple subservient, those disg—”
“It is a liar.” The last words Pi would hear, and fitting Mother would be the one to say them.
fairy-tales:
On the seventh day of the seventh month of the seventh year of feasting, seven witches were born, each to a different mother and a different father, each to a different kingdom of the world.
The first was a witch of red. Her magic brought love to her kingdom, and she was hailed as a miracle.
The second was a witch of orange. Her magic brought creativity to her kingdom, and she was hailed as a wonder.
The third was a witch of yellow. Their magic brought happiness to their kingdom, and they were hailed as a marvel.
The fourth was a witch of green. His magic brought renewal to his kingdom, and he was hailed as a hero.
The fifth was a witch of blue. Her magic brought knowledge to her kingdom, and she was hailed as a splendor.
The sixth was a witch of violet. His magic brought prosperity to his kingdom, and he was hailed as an icon.
The seventh and final witch was of black. His magic did not bloom for many years, and as they heard of the deeds of the six other witches and the praise the others received, he grew jealous and dark. When his magic manifested in a hole, one that would never be full, he began seeking each of the others and, one by one, stealing their magic, stealing their lives, stealing their everything. Where the other witches’ magic gave, his only took and took and took, until there was nothing left to take and the world was thrust into darkness. He was not hailed as a hero, wonder, or icon, for there was no one left to hail him as anything.
fantasy:
Wandering the halls of her new school, Isla felt off. Very off. None of the other students looked like her, or dressed like her, or spoke like her. None of them were even the same species as her, which was quite jarring for a young dwarven witch who had grown up surrounded by other dwarves and was meeting most other species for the first time now.
However, this feeling of off-ness went deeper than not recognizing any faces. Isla felt as if she weren’t supposed to be there, as if her placement was a mistake. And though the fairies and elves and humans all smiled at her, beckoning her to join them, she simply couldn’t.
Isla didn’t belong with them, in her mind, and she never would.
hi-fi:
My dearest Beatrice,
It appears to me that my father has discovered our relationship, and has demanded that I be sent off, to boarding school no less. I do not fear his threats, they are often empty, but I do fear for you. What is to happen if my father tells yours, what is to become of us both? I will thank God that our mothers are not on speaking terms and our fathers rarely speak of any more than their ledgers and their businesses. Otherwise we might have quite a lot to worry about.
Moving on from the subject of our dastardly parents, I went to the lengths to ensure the rose gardens will be entirely empty tomorrow afternoon, and I hope to see you there.
All my love and forever yours,
Julia
horror:
The terror of a bad dream, the absolute horror of a true nightmare cannot be matched by anything else, for the creations of one’s own mind in darkness where the real cannot be told from the false will always terrify the most.
Or, that was, until Mr Teatol came along.
Mr Teatol was a lowly professor, one whose field was explorative psychology, discovered a way to make nightmares true. His innovation would forever change the field, but no one knew it at the time. For instead of sharing this discovery with the world, Mr Teatol used it to spread terror and fear in the towns surrounding his university for his own personal gain.
When his notes were stolen from his study on one fateful night, everything changed. The thieves are to this day unknown, but their intent is not. They hope to instil doubt and fear in everyone everywhere, and so far they have been successful. There is no longer any certainty in what we used to know for sure.
There is no longer certainty in our own existence.
mystery:
A knock on the door begins our story, one which will end abruptly and unsatisfyingly without a solution given or even one to be found. But I am getting ahead of myself.
A knock on the door startles our protagonist, let’s call them W, to their feet. W has the strange nocturnal habit of sleeping in the day, so when a person arrived on their doorstep at twelve past twelve in the morning, they were perfectly prepared to meet with them.
“It is my mother, sir. She is nowhere to be found.”
Our protagonist leans in, a glint in their eye and a slight smile on their face. “I will find her.”
“But no one else has—”
“I have never let the abilities of my peers limit my abilities before, captain, and why should I now?”
“Right. Of course.” The captain nodded, stood, and looked around as if he were out of his place, lost like a poor puppy. Then he nodded once more and left.
W shook their own head in the absence of their brother, almost clucking at his stupidity. “If he has not found mother yet, he never will.”
mythology:
Icarus flew too close to the sun. His wings melted and he fell, fell, fell to the cold sea below.
Or did he? And was it truly his fault?
When Dadaelus warned his young son of the consequences of flying too high or too low in the sky, was he not inviting Icarus to do just that? To defy his father?
And when the sun smiled on him each day, showering him with warm compliments and praise, was that not an invitation as well? One to gladly join in the sun’s embrace?
When Icarus flew and fell, who was to blame? The father, the boy, or the sun?
And when Icarus survived, who was to claim his life? The sun, the father, or the boy?
non-fi:
The night that they cancelled school, I ate out. My mom and dad drove us out to the suburbs, and we all joked and laughed about the thought that this would be our last time eating in a restaurant for a while.
We ate at Maggiano’s, an Italian restaurant which we as a family reserve for special occasions. The last occasion we had celebrated, the cancellations and lockdown that is, was when I got into high school about a year before. But this dinner was more of a last-minute panic than a planned celebration, and the whole time there was an air of hesitance and caution. Nothing fatal, nothing paralysing, but it was there.
Our waiter was memorable, though I admit his name escapes me. He was very welcoming, very smile-y, very glad to be there. He was entirely up to recommending meals, and what to do with leftovers, and his optimism and confidence calmed our mood.
Leaving that dining room, that restaurant, it felt like walking into a different world. One that I still haven’t been able to escape.
poem:
My mind, my heart, my soul, all tolling bells
From which escaping is a quest hopeless.
The songs that float around my head as well
Without a doubt contribute to this mess.
Are others trapped? Of this I do not know.
And can I know? Their words, like birds, they fly
Beyond my reach, beyond the sky. And lo!
For just a mom’nt I understand their cries
Which to me speak of longing, of feelings
Not new but known, not seen but sewn into
The very fabric of our hearts. Weaklings,
They call those who can see that this is so.
The birds, the fabrics and the songs, our lives
Are of these made and to these sacrifice.
real-fi:
It is the seventh time we will be protesting this week alone, but I have the feeling that this time will be different. This time we will make some real change. This time we will be seen.
“Everyone, remember your responses. We are to be calm and composed, and whenever we speak this needs to stay true.” The air is electric as Avery, our organizer, speaks. This time we’ll succeed.
We all nod and cheer and smile and clap. I grin at my partner and they grin back. This is going to be work.
“Okay, everyone! Two minutes until the pep rally is scheduled to begin, places!”
Avery and I have been working on the plan for this particular protest for almost two months. The buildup was smaller demonstrations: a group of students sitting-in outside classrooms or in a larger hallway, a blockade of students in the lunchroom. Nothing loud, nothing violent, just a cold, silent presence. To show we’re here, we’re watching.
But today is the climax. Today we show that even silenced, even pushed out and away, we have a voice.
sci-fi:
Imagine the future.
Maybe you thought of flying cars, smart houses, a utopian civilization without work or hardship.
Maybe you thought of a sun-scorched sparsely populated wasteland littered with the remnants of a civilization lost.
Maybe you thought of a society spanning galaxies interconnected by vast networks of travel and communication.
Maybe you thought of tomorrow, or next week, or next month.
Welcome to the International Bureau of Time Travel, where, or rather when all of these futures are true and all of these futures are open for you to explore, to know, to learn from.
Imagine Your Future — The International Bureau of Time Travel
thriller:
You rush through the field, your feet thudding on the dry grass, your vision spotty from that fall. What is happening? Why are you being chased? Who is doing this to you? All questions you may never answer, all answers you might not want to know.
The field is dark and largely silent, but your shallow breath, your panicked steps, your beating heart echoes in your head. You can’t see where you’re going and don’t know where you’ve been.
And then you hear the scream.
Ripping across the field, curdling your blood and causing your hairs to stand on end, your sister’s scream stops you in your tracks. They weren’t supposed to find her. She was supposed to be safe.
But she’s not, and you’re not, and no one is.
adventure:
Your first day on the ship, you learn the meaning of a word that will come to define your life. Dramient, the other pirates call you. Thief, it means, and traveller.
Your first week on the ship, you learn the meaning of an act that will come to fill your days. Jafrim, your captain instructs you. Lie, it means, and sing.
Your first year on the ship, you learn the meaning of a love for what you used to have. Uims, you whisper in the dark of night. Family, it means, and happiness.
Your first day off the ship, your family learns all these meanings and more. Kilenga, they say with joy in their eyes. Tell us more.
classics:
Thunder rattled about the windows, rain pattered on the roof, and lightning flashed in the sky on the day when Ms Primson came to live at the Fullston residence. She was the picture of propriety, come to tutor the Fullston children and accompany their mother through her pregnancy.
This was not, however, the way Fiona Fullston, the eldest saw it, not at all.
“She is a witch! She came to eat us, or to spell us silent! We cannot stand down!” she told her younger brothers. “We must send her away before she can hurt us!”
But when Ms Primson arrived, no such thing occurred. The four children mirrored her grace, as if under her spell.
contemporary:
I miss traveling. I miss the thrill of seeing the world from a different lense, the joy of exploring a new place, the fun of meeting people whose lives are so different from my own.
When I was twelve, my parents took me to the three places that mattered most to them, and those visits were my favorite.
First, we traveled to Barcelona, where the three of them first met. Mama told the story of how these two goofs caught her eye while she was walking down las ramblas. Her friends had teased her for asking two turistas for their numbers, but she didn’t care. “It was love at first sight.”
Second, we took a train to New York City, where my fathers got married. Dad cried tears of joy, remembering the day he got to share with the loves of his life. And though his own mother and father were not there, he told me he wouldn’t change a thing. “The happiest day of my life, that’s what it was.”
Third, we visited Oregon, where they adopted me. When Pa recalled the story of meeting me, I couldn’t help but smile. I am among their most important memories, where they met me among their most valued places. “Our family wouldn’t be complete without you, Lilah.”
Instead of traveling for real, now I travel in my head. I visit every place my parents ever took me, I reminisce about every story they ever told me. And until we can travel again, I stay here, at home, surrounded by the most important people in my life.
dystopian:
For the ninth time this trimester, Pi is late to see Mother. His steps falter as he makes his way up the front steps to Nexus and his palms become slick with sweat.
“Explain yourself,” the voice of his leader booms as he enters the complex. “This has been your thirteenth infraction, and ninth of this type.”
“Loving Mother, I was working, as is instructed in your plans. I was so remarkably enthralled by the brilliance of your genius, I could not leave the product of your labor unfinished.” Pi looks straight ahead, his breathing shallow but constant.
“And that I thank you for, loyal one. I fear, however, that you are not entirely honest. I fear you have joined the disloyal ones.”
This is the first time Mother has addressed Conventicle to Pi, and he is unable to mask his surprise.
“All-knowing Mother, you must understand that I am a simple subservient, those disg—”
“It is a liar.” The last words Pi would hear, and fitting Mother would be the one to say them.
fairy-tales:
On the seventh day of the seventh month of the seventh year of feasting, seven witches were born, each to a different mother and a different father, each to a different kingdom of the world.
The first was a witch of red. Her magic brought love to her kingdom, and she was hailed as a miracle.
The second was a witch of orange. Her magic brought creativity to her kingdom, and she was hailed as a wonder.
The third was a witch of yellow. Their magic brought happiness to their kingdom, and they were hailed as a marvel.
The fourth was a witch of green. His magic brought renewal to his kingdom, and he was hailed as a hero.
The fifth was a witch of blue. Her magic brought knowledge to her kingdom, and she was hailed as a splendor.
The sixth was a witch of violet. His magic brought prosperity to his kingdom, and he was hailed as an icon.
The seventh and final witch was of black. His magic did not bloom for many years, and as they heard of the deeds of the six other witches and the praise the others received, he grew jealous and dark. When his magic manifested in a hole, one that would never be full, he began seeking each of the others and, one by one, stealing their magic, stealing their lives, stealing their everything. Where the other witches’ magic gave, his only took and took and took, until there was nothing left to take and the world was thrust into darkness. He was not hailed as a hero, wonder, or icon, for there was no one left to hail him as anything.
fantasy:
Wandering the halls of her new school, Isla felt off. Very off. None of the other students looked like her, or dressed like her, or spoke like her. None of them were even the same species as her, which was quite jarring for a young dwarven witch who had grown up surrounded by other dwarves and was meeting most other species for the first time now.
However, this feeling of off-ness went deeper than not recognizing any faces. Isla felt as if she weren’t supposed to be there, as if her placement was a mistake. And though the fairies and elves and humans all smiled at her, beckoning her to join them, she simply couldn’t.
Isla didn’t belong with them, in her mind, and she never would.
hi-fi:
My dearest Beatrice,
It appears to me that my father has discovered our relationship, and has demanded that I be sent off, to boarding school no less. I do not fear his threats, they are often empty, but I do fear for you. What is to happen if my father tells yours, what is to become of us both? I will thank God that our mothers are not on speaking terms and our fathers rarely speak of any more than their ledgers and their businesses. Otherwise we might have quite a lot to worry about.
Moving on from the subject of our dastardly parents, I went to the lengths to ensure the rose gardens will be entirely empty tomorrow afternoon, and I hope to see you there.
All my love and forever yours,
Julia
horror:
The terror of a bad dream, the absolute horror of a true nightmare cannot be matched by anything else, for the creations of one’s own mind in darkness where the real cannot be told from the false will always terrify the most.
Or, that was, until Mr Teatol came along.
Mr Teatol was a lowly professor, one whose field was explorative psychology, discovered a way to make nightmares true. His innovation would forever change the field, but no one knew it at the time. For instead of sharing this discovery with the world, Mr Teatol used it to spread terror and fear in the towns surrounding his university for his own personal gain.
When his notes were stolen from his study on one fateful night, everything changed. The thieves are to this day unknown, but their intent is not. They hope to instil doubt and fear in everyone everywhere, and so far they have been successful. There is no longer any certainty in what we used to know for sure.
There is no longer certainty in our own existence.
mystery:
A knock on the door begins our story, one which will end abruptly and unsatisfyingly without a solution given or even one to be found. But I am getting ahead of myself.
A knock on the door startles our protagonist, let’s call them W, to their feet. W has the strange nocturnal habit of sleeping in the day, so when a person arrived on their doorstep at twelve past twelve in the morning, they were perfectly prepared to meet with them.
“It is my mother, sir. She is nowhere to be found.”
Our protagonist leans in, a glint in their eye and a slight smile on their face. “I will find her.”
“But no one else has—”
“I have never let the abilities of my peers limit my abilities before, captain, and why should I now?”
“Right. Of course.” The captain nodded, stood, and looked around as if he were out of his place, lost like a poor puppy. Then he nodded once more and left.
W shook their own head in the absence of their brother, almost clucking at his stupidity. “If he has not found mother yet, he never will.”
mythology:
Icarus flew too close to the sun. His wings melted and he fell, fell, fell to the cold sea below.
Or did he? And was it truly his fault?
When Dadaelus warned his young son of the consequences of flying too high or too low in the sky, was he not inviting Icarus to do just that? To defy his father?
And when the sun smiled on him each day, showering him with warm compliments and praise, was that not an invitation as well? One to gladly join in the sun’s embrace?
When Icarus flew and fell, who was to blame? The father, the boy, or the sun?
And when Icarus survived, who was to claim his life? The sun, the father, or the boy?
non-fi:
The night that they cancelled school, I ate out. My mom and dad drove us out to the suburbs, and we all joked and laughed about the thought that this would be our last time eating in a restaurant for a while.
We ate at Maggiano’s, an Italian restaurant which we as a family reserve for special occasions. The last occasion we had celebrated, the cancellations and lockdown that is, was when I got into high school about a year before. But this dinner was more of a last-minute panic than a planned celebration, and the whole time there was an air of hesitance and caution. Nothing fatal, nothing paralysing, but it was there.
Our waiter was memorable, though I admit his name escapes me. He was very welcoming, very smile-y, very glad to be there. He was entirely up to recommending meals, and what to do with leftovers, and his optimism and confidence calmed our mood.
Leaving that dining room, that restaurant, it felt like walking into a different world. One that I still haven’t been able to escape.
poem:
My mind, my heart, my soul, all tolling bells
From which escaping is a quest hopeless.
The songs that float around my head as well
Without a doubt contribute to this mess.
Are others trapped? Of this I do not know.
And can I know? Their words, like birds, they fly
Beyond my reach, beyond the sky. And lo!
For just a mom’nt I understand their cries
Which to me speak of longing, of feelings
Not new but known, not seen but sewn into
The very fabric of our hearts. Weaklings,
They call those who can see that this is so.
The birds, the fabrics and the songs, our lives
Are of these made and to these sacrifice.
real-fi:
It is the seventh time we will be protesting this week alone, but I have the feeling that this time will be different. This time we will make some real change. This time we will be seen.
“Everyone, remember your responses. We are to be calm and composed, and whenever we speak this needs to stay true.” The air is electric as Avery, our organizer, speaks. This time we’ll succeed.
We all nod and cheer and smile and clap. I grin at my partner and they grin back. This is going to be work.
“Okay, everyone! Two minutes until the pep rally is scheduled to begin, places!”
Avery and I have been working on the plan for this particular protest for almost two months. The buildup was smaller demonstrations: a group of students sitting-in outside classrooms or in a larger hallway, a blockade of students in the lunchroom. Nothing loud, nothing violent, just a cold, silent presence. To show we’re here, we’re watching.
But today is the climax. Today we show that even silenced, even pushed out and away, we have a voice.
sci-fi:
Imagine the future.
Maybe you thought of flying cars, smart houses, a utopian civilization without work or hardship.
Maybe you thought of a sun-scorched sparsely populated wasteland littered with the remnants of a civilization lost.
Maybe you thought of a society spanning galaxies interconnected by vast networks of travel and communication.
Maybe you thought of tomorrow, or next week, or next month.
Welcome to the International Bureau of Time Travel, where, or rather when all of these futures are true and all of these futures are open for you to explore, to know, to learn from.
Imagine Your Future — The International Bureau of Time Travel
thriller:
You rush through the field, your feet thudding on the dry grass, your vision spotty from that fall. What is happening? Why are you being chased? Who is doing this to you? All questions you may never answer, all answers you might not want to know.
The field is dark and largely silent, but your shallow breath, your panicked steps, your beating heart echoes in your head. You can’t see where you’re going and don’t know where you’ve been.
And then you hear the scream.
Ripping across the field, curdling your blood and causing your hairs to stand on end, your sister’s scream stops you in your tracks. They weren’t supposed to find her. She was supposed to be safe.
But she’s not, and you’re not, and no one is.
Last edited by spindeIn (March 10, 2021 04:18:19)
- spindeIn
-
Scratcher
100+ posts
cae's march 2021 swc writing collection
main-cabin daily || 11 march
It was a dark and stormy night, and this fight was all June had left to do. This was it, this was her chance. Her chance to prove herself, to beat the villain and end the story. Her chance to fulfill the prophecy, to live up to her mentor's expectations. To finally make the right choice.
Thunder boomed in the distance and lightning flashed, illuminating the dark sky and giving June glimpses of the large fortress she was about to infiltrate.
“I can do this,” she whispered through gritted teeth. “I have to do this.”
June thought of her little brother, waiting for her back at home. Would he recognize her when she got back? She thought of Henry, his jokes, his teasing. She thought of Katlin, her testiness, her confidence. She thought of them sitting back at their headquarters, safe and, she hoped, asleep.
June thought of all these things, then, breathing one last breath of safety, she leaped from the tree where she'd been crouching. Her week-long training with those acrobats at the circus was clearly paying off - she landed on her feet without a sound. She silently ran to the walls and leapt up to them, quickly and effortlessly making it to the top and over. Grinning, June met and defeated her first opponent flawlessly, then her second and third.
“This is truly too easy,” she whispered with a laugh before disabling a fourth guard.
“It's the rebel!” one of them cried, but she silenced him with her sword before he could warn his compatriots further.
She made her way through the compound, easily defeating every enemy she reached. “I can do this,” June whispered once again when she reached the doors to her mortal nemesis' quarters.
Pushing open the doors, not even caring to be sly or secretive any longer, June announced her arrival. “I'm here to end this.”
“Juniper, my little flower, come to Mama.”
It was a dark and stormy night, and this fight was all June had left to do. This was it, this was her chance. Her chance to prove herself, to beat the villain and end the story. Her chance to fulfill the prophecy, to live up to her mentor's expectations. To finally make the right choice.
Thunder boomed in the distance and lightning flashed, illuminating the dark sky and giving June glimpses of the large fortress she was about to infiltrate.
“I can do this,” she whispered through gritted teeth. “I have to do this.”
June thought of her little brother, waiting for her back at home. Would he recognize her when she got back? She thought of Henry, his jokes, his teasing. She thought of Katlin, her testiness, her confidence. She thought of them sitting back at their headquarters, safe and, she hoped, asleep.
June thought of all these things, then, breathing one last breath of safety, she leaped from the tree where she'd been crouching. Her week-long training with those acrobats at the circus was clearly paying off - she landed on her feet without a sound. She silently ran to the walls and leapt up to them, quickly and effortlessly making it to the top and over. Grinning, June met and defeated her first opponent flawlessly, then her second and third.
“This is truly too easy,” she whispered with a laugh before disabling a fourth guard.
“It's the rebel!” one of them cried, but she silenced him with her sword before he could warn his compatriots further.
She made her way through the compound, easily defeating every enemy she reached. “I can do this,” June whispered once again when she reached the doors to her mortal nemesis' quarters.
Pushing open the doors, not even caring to be sly or secretive any longer, June announced her arrival. “I'm here to end this.”
“Juniper, my little flower, come to Mama.”
Last edited by spindeIn (March 12, 2021 03:15:16)
- spindeIn
-
Scratcher
100+ posts
cae's march 2021 swc writing collection
main-cabin daily || 16 march
Hugo Fent has had the little round pebble that he carries with him everywhere he goes since before he left Alacia. Before he was taken from his home. It is his only remnant of a past he cannot remember and a family he will never know, and that makes it the most important belonging of his.
Though he does not remember, the day he found the pebble was the same day he and his twin brother turned eight, a significant age in the rolling hills of their homeland. It was the same number as the mountains in the distance, the same number as the rivers crisscrossing their kingdom, and the same number of the Councillors in the council.
Hugo's brother found the pebble in one of these rivers, near the edge of the water where they played. It was perfectly round, as if carved by something more powerful than the stream and more unnatural, more supernatural than human or nature. He pocketed it then, and didn't show his brother until later, when they were safe at home and their parents had long fallen asleep. He showed Hugo when only the stars could watch and only the earth could listen.
“What is that?” Hugo had asked, running his hands over the grey stone. “And how- where did you find it?”
“I'm not telling,” his brother had replied, grinning and shoving the little wonder into Hugo's hands. “But it's yours now. Happy birthday!”
The next day, he had put the pebble in his pocket, and whenever he was anxious or worried he would rub it with his thumb and a calm would wash over him, as the waters washed over the rocks.
To this day, the same perfectly round pebble can be found in Hugo Fent's pocket, everyday.
Everyday, even though he doesn't know why.
Hugo Fent has had the little round pebble that he carries with him everywhere he goes since before he left Alacia. Before he was taken from his home. It is his only remnant of a past he cannot remember and a family he will never know, and that makes it the most important belonging of his.
Though he does not remember, the day he found the pebble was the same day he and his twin brother turned eight, a significant age in the rolling hills of their homeland. It was the same number as the mountains in the distance, the same number as the rivers crisscrossing their kingdom, and the same number of the Councillors in the council.
Hugo's brother found the pebble in one of these rivers, near the edge of the water where they played. It was perfectly round, as if carved by something more powerful than the stream and more unnatural, more supernatural than human or nature. He pocketed it then, and didn't show his brother until later, when they were safe at home and their parents had long fallen asleep. He showed Hugo when only the stars could watch and only the earth could listen.
“What is that?” Hugo had asked, running his hands over the grey stone. “And how- where did you find it?”
“I'm not telling,” his brother had replied, grinning and shoving the little wonder into Hugo's hands. “But it's yours now. Happy birthday!”
The next day, he had put the pebble in his pocket, and whenever he was anxious or worried he would rub it with his thumb and a calm would wash over him, as the waters washed over the rocks.
To this day, the same perfectly round pebble can be found in Hugo Fent's pocket, everyday.
Everyday, even though he doesn't know why.
- spindeIn
-
Scratcher
100+ posts
cae's march 2021 swc writing collection
weekly number two || 10-16 march
part one: the letter
To the inhabitants of the first realm and their leader—
As I write this, you are reading it. There is no going back now, not until this letter has been signed and sealed will I be free from this page. And thus I write.
This is a letter of gratitude, of my gratefulness for the many things you have done for me and the many ways you have changed my life. This is a letter of regret, of recognition of not only how my life is better for you, but worse as well. This letter is meant to be honest, a reflection and account of my life and your affect on it, of the facets and faces of your work that have changed my life. This is a letter of truth, and I give it to you.
When I was brought here from Alacia, no one would see me, not even the court. They claimed I was dirty, unclean, a gross reminder of my people, from whom I had been taken. I never told Frey or the young lord, but I spent almost four whole days outside the furthest wall, alone, in the cold without food or safe water, awaiting a trial. The court wanted me to die, I know that now, but then I thought it was a standard procedure. In Alacia numbers were significant, and eight was especially so. I thought they would have me fast for eight days and eight nights, as it was in my homeland before a journey to a peak. I was wrong.
You had them see me. You spoke to them through Torlin, the Dean of your School of Devotion, my teacher, telling them that leaving me to stave or freeze would lead to a terrible fate for their beloved young lord and his lineage. You threatened them into taking me in. And for this I am and must be forever grateful.
They saw me in, they gave me refuge and food and water, and they heard my story. By then I had forgotten most of it, someone had stolen the memories, but they heard it still. And more, they heard your whispers in their ears, your promises and threats and such. Having listened to your word and Torlin's wisdom, they gave me a surname. “Fent,” they said. “You will have a common name, but not a common place.” For I was to one day be your servant, to be your speaker, and until then I was to be a scholar learning your ways and theirs, studying under the same teacher whose place I would one day take.
He is the second thing I must thank you for. Without Torlin, without his patience and wisdom, without his subtle encouragement and meaningful smiles, I would not be myself as I am today. I would be but a mere echo, nothing but a shadow of who I am. You lead him to me and me to him, and for this I am and must be forever grateful.
But I must be most grateful for the young lord. Charles Adrian, my beautiful Rejean. His name means light, brightness, and that is what he is and always has been. If not for him— if not for having him in my life as a friend and as more, I do not think I would still be alive. He has saved me countless times, and you gave him to me. You put him in my life. For this I am and must be forever grateful.
These are the ways in which you have made my life better. Not all of them, of course, a list of every one of them would be exhaustive, but the significant ways, the people and places and roles you have given me that have bettered me, bettered my life, perhaps even bettered the world as a whole.
There are things I regret, of course. Things I wish you would repeal, take back, reverse. There are regrets, and times I wish you had given me insight you withheld, and times I wish you had done the opposite. But even when I yearned for your actions or my life to take a different path, I knew you know best. My faith stayed, my devotion stayed, and you were the light at the end of every darkness, the calm in every storm, the sanctuary in every war.
In keeping with tradition, this letter will end with a gift. From me, these gifts are stories, little bits of my past that have stayed with me all this time, the few memories that were not stolen when the others were, when I was stolen away from my homeland. For you, this story, this memory, is one I have never before shared. Only I know it, and soon, you will too.
Alacia is a place of forests, mountains, hills, and rivers, and this I was taught by Torlin. I could not even remember the identity of my own people when I was brought here, but this I could. When I was eight months old, or possibly slightly older, I first saw the peak of a mountain. That was when I first tasted the sweet water of a spring, first breathed the crisp air, first laid eyes upon a larger, bluer sky than one could ever imagine. I cannot recall why I was taken there, why I drank the water of the spring or was held to touch the sky. But I do recall falling in love, for the very first time, with my homeland. With Alacia.
You have helped me fall in love with it again, and again, and again, and for this I am and must be forever grateful.
Your eternally faithful servant,
Hugo Fent
part two: the routine
Each and every morning is slightly different when you are the apprentice to the reputed most important person on campus, and certainly the wisest. Hugo learned this early on in his life with Torlin, but their daily tasks to be completed before dawn would never stop surprising him.
On one particular day, Hugo’s teacher shook— or, not shook, but rather nudged— him from sleep before the moon had begun its descent. This was earlier than usual, but not by much. He rushed through the more mundane tasks of washing up and getting dressed in his morning wear and lighting the twilight candles and, for he knew he would be away when dawn arrived, the dawns as well. He drank his usual cup of spiced tea with honey and milk and ate his usual buttered toast. He rubbed his thumb over the little stone in his pocket, and then strode out to meet his teacher.
“Tardiness should not be a habit, j’em,” Torlin said upon seeing him, but the twinkle in his eyes revealed that he was simply teasing.
“And I will not make it one, j’oi. Tardiness and laziness both are not virtues, only vices.”
“We are off.” And off they were, to various corners of the campus, meeting with scholars, sages, and senators alike.
Once their many meetings were complete, around dawn on this day, they would begin the study of history. History was always first, for, as Torlin said, it put everything else in the day into perspective. And everyday they would study history in a different place and a different way. This day they traveled to the forest beyond the far wall to hear from a tree rooted there, a speaking tree. Speaking trees were rare even then, so Torlin’s knowledge of this one was especially prudent.
part three: the relationships
Hugo and Rejean
290 words
Hugo and Frey
265 words
Rejean and Frey
256 words
part one: the letter
To the inhabitants of the first realm and their leader—
As I write this, you are reading it. There is no going back now, not until this letter has been signed and sealed will I be free from this page. And thus I write.
This is a letter of gratitude, of my gratefulness for the many things you have done for me and the many ways you have changed my life. This is a letter of regret, of recognition of not only how my life is better for you, but worse as well. This letter is meant to be honest, a reflection and account of my life and your affect on it, of the facets and faces of your work that have changed my life. This is a letter of truth, and I give it to you.
When I was brought here from Alacia, no one would see me, not even the court. They claimed I was dirty, unclean, a gross reminder of my people, from whom I had been taken. I never told Frey or the young lord, but I spent almost four whole days outside the furthest wall, alone, in the cold without food or safe water, awaiting a trial. The court wanted me to die, I know that now, but then I thought it was a standard procedure. In Alacia numbers were significant, and eight was especially so. I thought they would have me fast for eight days and eight nights, as it was in my homeland before a journey to a peak. I was wrong.
You had them see me. You spoke to them through Torlin, the Dean of your School of Devotion, my teacher, telling them that leaving me to stave or freeze would lead to a terrible fate for their beloved young lord and his lineage. You threatened them into taking me in. And for this I am and must be forever grateful.
They saw me in, they gave me refuge and food and water, and they heard my story. By then I had forgotten most of it, someone had stolen the memories, but they heard it still. And more, they heard your whispers in their ears, your promises and threats and such. Having listened to your word and Torlin's wisdom, they gave me a surname. “Fent,” they said. “You will have a common name, but not a common place.” For I was to one day be your servant, to be your speaker, and until then I was to be a scholar learning your ways and theirs, studying under the same teacher whose place I would one day take.
He is the second thing I must thank you for. Without Torlin, without his patience and wisdom, without his subtle encouragement and meaningful smiles, I would not be myself as I am today. I would be but a mere echo, nothing but a shadow of who I am. You lead him to me and me to him, and for this I am and must be forever grateful.
But I must be most grateful for the young lord. Charles Adrian, my beautiful Rejean. His name means light, brightness, and that is what he is and always has been. If not for him— if not for having him in my life as a friend and as more, I do not think I would still be alive. He has saved me countless times, and you gave him to me. You put him in my life. For this I am and must be forever grateful.
These are the ways in which you have made my life better. Not all of them, of course, a list of every one of them would be exhaustive, but the significant ways, the people and places and roles you have given me that have bettered me, bettered my life, perhaps even bettered the world as a whole.
There are things I regret, of course. Things I wish you would repeal, take back, reverse. There are regrets, and times I wish you had given me insight you withheld, and times I wish you had done the opposite. But even when I yearned for your actions or my life to take a different path, I knew you know best. My faith stayed, my devotion stayed, and you were the light at the end of every darkness, the calm in every storm, the sanctuary in every war.
In keeping with tradition, this letter will end with a gift. From me, these gifts are stories, little bits of my past that have stayed with me all this time, the few memories that were not stolen when the others were, when I was stolen away from my homeland. For you, this story, this memory, is one I have never before shared. Only I know it, and soon, you will too.
Alacia is a place of forests, mountains, hills, and rivers, and this I was taught by Torlin. I could not even remember the identity of my own people when I was brought here, but this I could. When I was eight months old, or possibly slightly older, I first saw the peak of a mountain. That was when I first tasted the sweet water of a spring, first breathed the crisp air, first laid eyes upon a larger, bluer sky than one could ever imagine. I cannot recall why I was taken there, why I drank the water of the spring or was held to touch the sky. But I do recall falling in love, for the very first time, with my homeland. With Alacia.
You have helped me fall in love with it again, and again, and again, and for this I am and must be forever grateful.
Your eternally faithful servant,
Hugo Fent
part two: the routine
Each and every morning is slightly different when you are the apprentice to the reputed most important person on campus, and certainly the wisest. Hugo learned this early on in his life with Torlin, but their daily tasks to be completed before dawn would never stop surprising him.
On one particular day, Hugo’s teacher shook— or, not shook, but rather nudged— him from sleep before the moon had begun its descent. This was earlier than usual, but not by much. He rushed through the more mundane tasks of washing up and getting dressed in his morning wear and lighting the twilight candles and, for he knew he would be away when dawn arrived, the dawns as well. He drank his usual cup of spiced tea with honey and milk and ate his usual buttered toast. He rubbed his thumb over the little stone in his pocket, and then strode out to meet his teacher.
“Tardiness should not be a habit, j’em,” Torlin said upon seeing him, but the twinkle in his eyes revealed that he was simply teasing.
“And I will not make it one, j’oi. Tardiness and laziness both are not virtues, only vices.”
“We are off.” And off they were, to various corners of the campus, meeting with scholars, sages, and senators alike.
Once their many meetings were complete, around dawn on this day, they would begin the study of history. History was always first, for, as Torlin said, it put everything else in the day into perspective. And everyday they would study history in a different place and a different way. This day they traveled to the forest beyond the far wall to hear from a tree rooted there, a speaking tree. Speaking trees were rare even then, so Torlin’s knowledge of this one was especially prudent.
part three: the relationships
Hugo and Rejean
290 words
Hugo and Frey
265 words
Rejean and Frey
256 words
- spindeIn
-
Scratcher
100+ posts
cae's march 2021 swc writing collection
main-cabin daily || 19 march
theme: good v. evil
This war began at the dawn of time and has not ceased for a moment since. This grand struggle, this epic battle, it is not a fallacy. It is not a myth.
It is all true, the challenge for rule over the arc of the universe. The massive, all expansive fight for power.
The one which stars me. The one which stars you.
Good and Evil are, by definition, diametrically opposed, and that is the only thing they can agree upon.
My side prides itself on its values. Valor, honesty, kindness, to name a few. We fight with honor and for these values.
Your side prides itself on its intelligence, on its ambition. Not values my side would, well, value, but then the two are very different. You fight to win, and you do anything to get there, to succeed.
But we share more in common than either Good or Evil would admit. We both fight to preserve our people and our interests, even if the two are so different. We both strive to be something greater than ourselves, than what destiny has offered us.
The difference comes in the labeling, in who tells the story.
I have never heard a story from an Evil storyteller. I am not even sure your side has them. You must, right?
Anyways, back on track: I have only ever heard from Good storytellers. And in these stories, we are the protagonists. We are the good guys. We save the day and fight off the monsters and win the ultimate struggle between the two sides, for good.
In reality, of course, we are tied with you and we do not know your stories.
I am going to win this war. I am going to defeat you. This is what all of my training has prepared me for, and this is what this is preparing you for.
You are going to lose. You are going to fail.
And your side is going down with you.
themes: good v. evil and forbidden love
This war began at the dawn of time and has not ceased for a moment since. This grand struggle, this epic battle, it is not a fallacy. It is not a myth. It is all true, the challenge for rule over the arc of the universe. The massive, all expansive fight for power.
The one which stars me. The one which stars you.
Since the dawn of time, our two sides have been at war. We as a people have been divided, but I cannot live with it any longer. Good and Evil do not matter to me anymore.
Only you.
My darling, I loved you from the moment we met. From before we met. But we are meant to tear each other apart, not love each other. We are meant to kill, to devastate, not wish for unity when our two sides are so ultimately divided.
So.
I am proposing we do. But instead of kill, instead of devastate, we love. We join together, against both of our sides. And when we go down, which will happen, there is no doubt, we go down as one, united not divided.
I know you will not accept. I know you will turn me in rather than die yourself, trying to protect our shared values.
I know where your loyalties and priorities lay, and that is not with me.
But I can live with that.
When the time comes, I will not harm you. I will surrender to you. To my values.
Just as you will to yours.
How similar our deaths will be, and how different.
We will be surrendering to our values and to each other, but you will live while I die at your hand. And later, on your own, you will die at your own hand.
Please do not look at me when you kill me. I— I would not be able to bear the pain.
Do it quickly, please.
Do it as if you do not know me.
theme: good v. evil
This war began at the dawn of time and has not ceased for a moment since. This grand struggle, this epic battle, it is not a fallacy. It is not a myth.
It is all true, the challenge for rule over the arc of the universe. The massive, all expansive fight for power.
The one which stars me. The one which stars you.
Good and Evil are, by definition, diametrically opposed, and that is the only thing they can agree upon.
My side prides itself on its values. Valor, honesty, kindness, to name a few. We fight with honor and for these values.
Your side prides itself on its intelligence, on its ambition. Not values my side would, well, value, but then the two are very different. You fight to win, and you do anything to get there, to succeed.
But we share more in common than either Good or Evil would admit. We both fight to preserve our people and our interests, even if the two are so different. We both strive to be something greater than ourselves, than what destiny has offered us.
The difference comes in the labeling, in who tells the story.
I have never heard a story from an Evil storyteller. I am not even sure your side has them. You must, right?
Anyways, back on track: I have only ever heard from Good storytellers. And in these stories, we are the protagonists. We are the good guys. We save the day and fight off the monsters and win the ultimate struggle between the two sides, for good.
In reality, of course, we are tied with you and we do not know your stories.
I am going to win this war. I am going to defeat you. This is what all of my training has prepared me for, and this is what this is preparing you for.
You are going to lose. You are going to fail.
And your side is going down with you.
themes: good v. evil and forbidden love
This war began at the dawn of time and has not ceased for a moment since. This grand struggle, this epic battle, it is not a fallacy. It is not a myth. It is all true, the challenge for rule over the arc of the universe. The massive, all expansive fight for power.
The one which stars me. The one which stars you.
Since the dawn of time, our two sides have been at war. We as a people have been divided, but I cannot live with it any longer. Good and Evil do not matter to me anymore.
Only you.
My darling, I loved you from the moment we met. From before we met. But we are meant to tear each other apart, not love each other. We are meant to kill, to devastate, not wish for unity when our two sides are so ultimately divided.
So.
I am proposing we do. But instead of kill, instead of devastate, we love. We join together, against both of our sides. And when we go down, which will happen, there is no doubt, we go down as one, united not divided.
I know you will not accept. I know you will turn me in rather than die yourself, trying to protect our shared values.
I know where your loyalties and priorities lay, and that is not with me.
But I can live with that.
When the time comes, I will not harm you. I will surrender to you. To my values.
Just as you will to yours.
How similar our deaths will be, and how different.
We will be surrendering to our values and to each other, but you will live while I die at your hand. And later, on your own, you will die at your own hand.
Please do not look at me when you kill me. I— I would not be able to bear the pain.
Do it quickly, please.
Do it as if you do not know me.
- spindeIn
-
Scratcher
100+ posts
cae's march 2021 swc writing collection
main-cabin daily || 20 march
cabin wars in july 2020
overwhelmed
This is my first time here, and I have no idea what I’m doing. Comments keep piling up and everyone around me bustles with purpose and motivation. It’s busy and everything seems so big; I feel so small. I’m sure they would explain if I asked, but wouldn’t that just distract them from their hustle and bustle and writing, so I’ll just follow their lead.
Write, and then write some more, and do it fast. Pray more wars don’t come in, but secretly hope they do. Encourage your compatriots to keep up their good work and receive their encouragement as well.
It’s a lot for a newcomer, but I think I can get used to this. And I will.
Wars keep coming, and my cabin keeps dealing with them— we keep dealing with them. We bond over our shared aching fingers and strained eyes, we laugh about the senseless things we’ve written.
cabin wars in november 2020
hopeless
There is no one here. I am entirely alone. We get wars, but I can’t complete them alone. Not in my current state, not if I want to keep my sanity. And this new one— it requires two people to be on. I can’t do it alone. Even if it weren’t the middle of the night, even if I weren’t entirely wiped out from today, I am not two people.
I try contacting the others, but I could hear a pin drop in our cabin. I am utterly alone, utterly without hope, and utterly exhausted.
If I leave now, is it my fault when we lose these wars? Is it my fault when we fly down in the rankings?
It can’t be, right?
I go to bed, without hope, and when I awake in the morning, it’s true. We’ve stumbled, fallen through the rankings.
But these wars aren’t over yet. We can still come out on top.
cabin wars in march 2021
excited
All day I have been hyping myself up for cabin wars, all week really. My cabin has too, and the atmosphere in here is electric. I can’t explain my excitement— no, wait, I can. Vanellope von Schweetz summed it up perfectly in her glitchy almost fangirling at the prospect of being in the race, of finally finding her place.
That is how I feel now, that is the energy of my cabin: chaotic, yes, over-joyous, yes, anticipatory, yes, but most of all simply energetic.
When the wars begin, I’m sure everyone around me can feel this energy too. We’re all overflowing with glee, with anticipation of what is to come.
When we win our first one in less than an hour, we feel unstoppable. We feel unbreakable. We feel alive, ablaze.
And we are.
We win every one of our wars and spirits run high.
But it was too quick, too little, too early, and we’ve all been let down.
cabin wars in july 2020
overwhelmed
This is my first time here, and I have no idea what I’m doing. Comments keep piling up and everyone around me bustles with purpose and motivation. It’s busy and everything seems so big; I feel so small. I’m sure they would explain if I asked, but wouldn’t that just distract them from their hustle and bustle and writing, so I’ll just follow their lead.
Write, and then write some more, and do it fast. Pray more wars don’t come in, but secretly hope they do. Encourage your compatriots to keep up their good work and receive their encouragement as well.
It’s a lot for a newcomer, but I think I can get used to this. And I will.
Wars keep coming, and my cabin keeps dealing with them— we keep dealing with them. We bond over our shared aching fingers and strained eyes, we laugh about the senseless things we’ve written.
cabin wars in november 2020
hopeless
There is no one here. I am entirely alone. We get wars, but I can’t complete them alone. Not in my current state, not if I want to keep my sanity. And this new one— it requires two people to be on. I can’t do it alone. Even if it weren’t the middle of the night, even if I weren’t entirely wiped out from today, I am not two people.
I try contacting the others, but I could hear a pin drop in our cabin. I am utterly alone, utterly without hope, and utterly exhausted.
If I leave now, is it my fault when we lose these wars? Is it my fault when we fly down in the rankings?
It can’t be, right?
I go to bed, without hope, and when I awake in the morning, it’s true. We’ve stumbled, fallen through the rankings.
But these wars aren’t over yet. We can still come out on top.
cabin wars in march 2021
excited
All day I have been hyping myself up for cabin wars, all week really. My cabin has too, and the atmosphere in here is electric. I can’t explain my excitement— no, wait, I can. Vanellope von Schweetz summed it up perfectly in her glitchy almost fangirling at the prospect of being in the race, of finally finding her place.
That is how I feel now, that is the energy of my cabin: chaotic, yes, over-joyous, yes, anticipatory, yes, but most of all simply energetic.
When the wars begin, I’m sure everyone around me can feel this energy too. We’re all overflowing with glee, with anticipation of what is to come.
When we win our first one in less than an hour, we feel unstoppable. We feel unbreakable. We feel alive, ablaze.
And we are.
We win every one of our wars and spirits run high.
But it was too quick, too little, too early, and we’ve all been let down.
Last edited by spindeIn (March 21, 2021 03:03:27)
- spindeIn
-
Scratcher
100+ posts
cae's march 2021 swc writing collection
weekly number three || 17-23 march
part one: the journal
I made this journal at a camp almost four years ago, and haven't used it until now.
part two: the entries
I wrote 200+ words about my day on 17 march, 19 march, and 20 march.
part three: the map
I drew and painted a map of the world where many of my stories are set (and the one where Hugo Fent lives).
part one: the journal
I made this journal at a camp almost four years ago, and haven't used it until now.
part two: the entries
I wrote 200+ words about my day on 17 march, 19 march, and 20 march.
part three: the map
I drew and painted a map of the world where many of my stories are set (and the one where Hugo Fent lives).
- spindeIn
-
Scratcher
100+ posts
cae's march 2021 swc writing collection
this is my 100th forum post :00
writing for critique daily || 25 march
Once a beautiful maiden, now a treacherous hag, so ugly as to turn any who dared look at her to stone. Once the envy of all, now covered in scales, with hair that hisses and slithers about. Once a hero, now a villain, spreading fear wherever she roams.
When word of this monster first reached the cities of the lands where she was said to inhabit, those were the whispers, the rumors which flew about the streets.
“They say she was once more beautiful than Aphrodite herself.”
“And her hair moves of its own accord, more alive than dead it is.”
“Every act of hers shows it, she is an evil woman.”
“Have you heard she turned her own child to stone?”
This last comment in particular caught the attention of the young queen, whose own child had been abandoned for lack of sight and apparent weakness. She had never recovered, the poor girl, and spent her time alone in her sadness. But periodically she would venture beyond her palace, and it on one such occasion was when she overheard this whisper.
“Who are you speaking of?” Her voice carried across the market to the merchant woman whose face then contorted in surprise.
“Your highness,” she addressed the queen. “We speak of the monster who haunts these lands, turning all who look upon her to stone.”
“Does this monster have a name?”
“Yes, your highness, of course. But we never speak it.” And then, in a lower voice, she continued. “She can hear it, from across the sea, from over those walls of yours. She can hear it everywhere.”
The queen frowned. The merchant continued still.
“And everywhere she hears her name, she goes. In search of more to curse, the monster is. She will never tire of it.”
“How do you know this?”
“Your highness, we, my caravan, lost several men to her ugliness. Foolish ones, throwing her name around as if it was nothing. But remember, names, they mean something.”
writing for critique daily || 25 march
Once a beautiful maiden, now a treacherous hag, so ugly as to turn any who dared look at her to stone. Once the envy of all, now covered in scales, with hair that hisses and slithers about. Once a hero, now a villain, spreading fear wherever she roams.
When word of this monster first reached the cities of the lands where she was said to inhabit, those were the whispers, the rumors which flew about the streets.
“They say she was once more beautiful than Aphrodite herself.”
“And her hair moves of its own accord, more alive than dead it is.”
“Every act of hers shows it, she is an evil woman.”
“Have you heard she turned her own child to stone?”
This last comment in particular caught the attention of the young queen, whose own child had been abandoned for lack of sight and apparent weakness. She had never recovered, the poor girl, and spent her time alone in her sadness. But periodically she would venture beyond her palace, and it on one such occasion was when she overheard this whisper.
“Who are you speaking of?” Her voice carried across the market to the merchant woman whose face then contorted in surprise.
“Your highness,” she addressed the queen. “We speak of the monster who haunts these lands, turning all who look upon her to stone.”
“Does this monster have a name?”
“Yes, your highness, of course. But we never speak it.” And then, in a lower voice, she continued. “She can hear it, from across the sea, from over those walls of yours. She can hear it everywhere.”
The queen frowned. The merchant continued still.
“And everywhere she hears her name, she goes. In search of more to curse, the monster is. She will never tire of it.”
“How do you know this?”
“Your highness, we, my caravan, lost several men to her ugliness. Foolish ones, throwing her name around as if it was nothing. But remember, names, they mean something.”
- IYX1646818
-
Scratcher
74 posts
cae's march 2021 swc writing collection
ooh nice 
i really like the wording and descriptive words, and the dialogue is really interesting 
there aren't any grammar or spelling mistakes, but i have a small suggestion: maybe describe more of the characters' feelings and actions? even though there is some description currently, a lot of this is dialogue and we don't get too much info on what the characters are feeling or doing
i myself do this a lot, where i always write too much dialogue and not enough about the feelings and actions 
otherwise, i don't have any critiques or suggestions! your writing is exceptional and i can't wait to read more of this (if i can haha)
i really like the wording and descriptive words, and the dialogue is really interesting 
there aren't any grammar or spelling mistakes, but i have a small suggestion: maybe describe more of the characters' feelings and actions? even though there is some description currently, a lot of this is dialogue and we don't get too much info on what the characters are feeling or doing
i myself do this a lot, where i always write too much dialogue and not enough about the feelings and actions 
otherwise, i don't have any critiques or suggestions! your writing is exceptional and i can't wait to read more of this (if i can haha)
- Flower-Wreath
-
Scratcher
10 posts
cae's march 2021 swc writing collection
This is amazing! Great job using academic vocabulary in your story! It really keeps things interesting.
One small suggestion: Maybe describe your character's looks a bit more? You do with the ‘treacherous hag, so ugly,’ part but what does she look like? How ugly is she? Does she look like an animal? Does she look like cookie monster? (Sorry, I just had to xD) Also, I agree with @IYX1646818, you should maybe describe the character's feelings and actions, a little more. Like for example, maybe describe how the queen feels? Or what the monster has done so far?
Good job with your story! Keep up the good work!
One small suggestion: Maybe describe your character's looks a bit more? You do with the ‘treacherous hag, so ugly,’ part but what does she look like? How ugly is she? Does she look like an animal? Does she look like cookie monster? (Sorry, I just had to xD) Also, I agree with @IYX1646818, you should maybe describe the character's feelings and actions, a little more. Like for example, maybe describe how the queen feels? Or what the monster has done so far?
Good job with your story! Keep up the good work!
- spindeIn
-
Scratcher
100+ posts
cae's march 2021 swc writing collection
description practice || 27 march
Light pink and dusted with the slightest amounts of yellow.
Sandy brown stone, columns high above the fake carved bricks and tinted windows.
Dark red bricks, a style which brings to mind wandering through alleyways in Barcelona, blue and green stained glass in the windows and two flags flying high above.
Three small birds, all brown and white and grey, pecking at the rocky walkway and searching for seeds among the stones.
White, though not the purest white, stretching towards the grey sky above.
Everyone who is walking wears a mask, everyone who is driving can’t take their eyes off these views. This city is beautiful, and I’ve barely begun to take it in.
Light pink and dusted with the slightest amounts of yellow.
Sandy brown stone, columns high above the fake carved bricks and tinted windows.
Dark red bricks, a style which brings to mind wandering through alleyways in Barcelona, blue and green stained glass in the windows and two flags flying high above.
Three small birds, all brown and white and grey, pecking at the rocky walkway and searching for seeds among the stones.
White, though not the purest white, stretching towards the grey sky above.
Everyone who is walking wears a mask, everyone who is driving can’t take their eyes off these views. This city is beautiful, and I’ve barely begun to take it in.
Last edited by spindeIn (March 29, 2021 01:25:50)
- spindeIn
-
Scratcher
100+ posts
cae's march 2021 swc writing collection
main-cabin daily || 28 march
“You…”
“Uh-huh.”
“But that—”
“Yep.”
“So then—?!”
“In all probability? Yes.”
“Well, I’m not telling mom.”
“Hot tip, maybe don’t discuss your illegal travels and exploits when your older sister is listening.” Ina’s voice cuts through the darkness, and Jack and I both startle.
“Alocaster Almighty, Ina, I thought you were a faint.” He shines his lantern over at her. She isn’t fazed by what should be a blinding light.
“Not a faint, just a spy.” Ina grins and pushes away from the stone wall where she’d been leaning. “A spy with some very valuable information, to mom anyways.”
“Jack and I were just working on a story,” I fib.
“Liar, you use that excuse every time.” She’s walking towards us now, and I instinctively move to cover our papers, the proof of our work. Ina doesn’t miss it.
“He’s not lying!” Jack insists, but he’s fidgety and he runs his hands through his hair— his tell. I actually think of throwing him under the bus, but it’s just for a moment. Jack would never do such a thing to me, so why should I do it to him?
“Ina, really, is this how you want to treat your brothers?”
“Yes.” She says that with a bit too much enthusiasm, and I am reminded once again that everyone in this family is a monster.
“Remember the creed?”
“To Flame with the creed, we’re not children anymore.” Now standing at our table, Ina has a terrifying presence. I may have known her my whole life, but that really only adds to my fear. I’ve known her to do unspeakable things without blinking an eye. “Now tell me the truth, let me see the truth, and I’ll drop it.”
I don’t. I can’t. Jack and I have been working on this for too long to just—
“We opened a new reality. Well, I did. Blue only helped with the structure and—”
“Get on with it! The new reality, what’s it like?” Ina has started sifting through our papers, but thankfully she hasn’t found the truly damning one yet. Thank Alocaster I hid it.
“Well, I’m not sure. I wasn’t able to make it through.”
Her head snaps up at this, her eyes narrowing in suspicion. Jack runs a hand through his hair. How many times must I tell him to stop that before he really does?
“I know you’re not a slimer, Jackson Jay, so tell me what was in that reality. I want every last detail.”
He swallows, staring at her. He’s gone pale, but not as pale as I’ve seen him before. We had a run-in with faints once, and he was paler than a wedding gown.
Don’t tell her, I whisper in my mind, but I doubt he’s listening. He’s never listening.
“I opened a reality where I don’t exist,” Jack finally blurts out.
Ina starts to laugh, real slow. And it terrifies me; she only laughs at things she likes.
“Don’t tell mom.” My voice is hard, but I’m hardly in a position to be giving orders.
“I won’t.” She winks. “Or maybe I will.”
“You…”
“Uh-huh.”
“But that—”
“Yep.”
“So then—?!”
“In all probability? Yes.”
“Well, I’m not telling mom.”
“Hot tip, maybe don’t discuss your illegal travels and exploits when your older sister is listening.” Ina’s voice cuts through the darkness, and Jack and I both startle.
“Alocaster Almighty, Ina, I thought you were a faint.” He shines his lantern over at her. She isn’t fazed by what should be a blinding light.
“Not a faint, just a spy.” Ina grins and pushes away from the stone wall where she’d been leaning. “A spy with some very valuable information, to mom anyways.”
“Jack and I were just working on a story,” I fib.
“Liar, you use that excuse every time.” She’s walking towards us now, and I instinctively move to cover our papers, the proof of our work. Ina doesn’t miss it.
“He’s not lying!” Jack insists, but he’s fidgety and he runs his hands through his hair— his tell. I actually think of throwing him under the bus, but it’s just for a moment. Jack would never do such a thing to me, so why should I do it to him?
“Ina, really, is this how you want to treat your brothers?”
“Yes.” She says that with a bit too much enthusiasm, and I am reminded once again that everyone in this family is a monster.
“Remember the creed?”
“To Flame with the creed, we’re not children anymore.” Now standing at our table, Ina has a terrifying presence. I may have known her my whole life, but that really only adds to my fear. I’ve known her to do unspeakable things without blinking an eye. “Now tell me the truth, let me see the truth, and I’ll drop it.”
I don’t. I can’t. Jack and I have been working on this for too long to just—
“We opened a new reality. Well, I did. Blue only helped with the structure and—”
“Get on with it! The new reality, what’s it like?” Ina has started sifting through our papers, but thankfully she hasn’t found the truly damning one yet. Thank Alocaster I hid it.
“Well, I’m not sure. I wasn’t able to make it through.”
Her head snaps up at this, her eyes narrowing in suspicion. Jack runs a hand through his hair. How many times must I tell him to stop that before he really does?
“I know you’re not a slimer, Jackson Jay, so tell me what was in that reality. I want every last detail.”
He swallows, staring at her. He’s gone pale, but not as pale as I’ve seen him before. We had a run-in with faints once, and he was paler than a wedding gown.
Don’t tell her, I whisper in my mind, but I doubt he’s listening. He’s never listening.
“I opened a reality where I don’t exist,” Jack finally blurts out.
Ina starts to laugh, real slow. And it terrifies me; she only laughs at things she likes.
“Don’t tell mom.” My voice is hard, but I’m hardly in a position to be giving orders.
“I won’t.” She winks. “Or maybe I will.”
- spindeIn
-
Scratcher
100+ posts
cae's march 2021 swc writing collection
main cabin daily || 30 march
Your star climber glides effortlessly into the landing booth, the door lowers and your pod shoots out. It whizzes through tunnel after tunnel. You come smoothly to a halt and the capsule door opens, revealing three holograms.
“Welcome to the Sci-Fi colony,” say two, one with short bronze curls that frame their grinning face, the other a silver robot with bright, neon eyes.
The third hologram speaks. She radiates blueness, from her shiny blue hair to her glowing eyes.
"We hope you enjoy your stay here on Planet SWC.
You smile and thank them and they move on to the next arriving pod and spacewalker. The large dome where you’ll be spending the next year is already bustling with activity and you have trouble knowing where to look first. While the architecture and layout is minimalist, your curiosity makes it every single bit of the colony seem important and worth exploring.
You’re about to wander over to a series of large holo screens, each displaying a different set of statistics and information, when something else catches your eye.
At the very far end of the dome, completely unnoticed by your fellow spacewalkers, sits a portal. It’s dark and glows slightly, and it seems to almost call to you. You completely disregard everything else around you and walk straight to the portal. You don’t even notice the warning notices going off on your personal holo screen. The world dims around you in comparison to the portal.
“HEY!” One of the overseers, the real one not the hologram, rushes after you on her hovercraft. “We haven’t gotten to that yet,” she says with a wink. “You don’t want to get ahead of yourself.”
You smile, but still the dark void calls. What could be hidden there? What secrets would you discover if you took the chance?
But now’s not the time for that. You just got here.
“I can’t wait to see what it hides,” you say, staring up at the overseer.
She flashes a grin. “My name’s Kat. I think you’re going to like it here.”
Your star climber glides effortlessly into the landing booth, the door lowers and your pod shoots out. It whizzes through tunnel after tunnel. You come smoothly to a halt and the capsule door opens, revealing three holograms.
“Welcome to the Sci-Fi colony,” say two, one with short bronze curls that frame their grinning face, the other a silver robot with bright, neon eyes.
The third hologram speaks. She radiates blueness, from her shiny blue hair to her glowing eyes.
"We hope you enjoy your stay here on Planet SWC.
You smile and thank them and they move on to the next arriving pod and spacewalker. The large dome where you’ll be spending the next year is already bustling with activity and you have trouble knowing where to look first. While the architecture and layout is minimalist, your curiosity makes it every single bit of the colony seem important and worth exploring.
You’re about to wander over to a series of large holo screens, each displaying a different set of statistics and information, when something else catches your eye.
At the very far end of the dome, completely unnoticed by your fellow spacewalkers, sits a portal. It’s dark and glows slightly, and it seems to almost call to you. You completely disregard everything else around you and walk straight to the portal. You don’t even notice the warning notices going off on your personal holo screen. The world dims around you in comparison to the portal.
“HEY!” One of the overseers, the real one not the hologram, rushes after you on her hovercraft. “We haven’t gotten to that yet,” she says with a wink. “You don’t want to get ahead of yourself.”
You smile, but still the dark void calls. What could be hidden there? What secrets would you discover if you took the chance?
But now’s not the time for that. You just got here.
“I can’t wait to see what it hides,” you say, staring up at the overseer.
She flashes a grin. “My name’s Kat. I think you’re going to like it here.”
Last edited by spindeIn (March 30, 2021 23:52:27)
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