main cabin daily 2/02/22 4 mythology
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rocks

i have been in a collection of a red-head named jennifer for 12 years, i don't feel pretty as my old self anymore , my past self was glowing with shine and beautiful as sea glass, yet now i'm just a miserable rock covered with this horrible black outing , now i'm in a box filled with jennifer's collection she's planning to do an spring cleaning and planning to throw me out , i feel useless enough to be a piece of broken cement , but turns out jennifer took me out to find an rock tumblr , now i'll roll around like soccerballs falling down in sewers.
it has been 4 days and i can't see the light and covered with this weird liquid , turns out jennifer ‘s rock tumbler was done , now my true beautiful self has been revealed and i got sold to someone’s collection surrounded by beautiful seaglass , turns out i'm also beautiful.

Main Cabin Daily ~ 2 March (02/03) ~ 431 words
Today's daily is about writing in the perspective of an inanimate object (first person!). Write at least 300 words from the perspective of an inanimate object (lamps, computers, erasers, etc) for 500 points!

I am sparkling and beautiful, dangling on my owner’s neck. When people pass her, they stare at me. I like it. I like being stared at and wanted. My owner’s other necklace says I shouldn't. Well, she's just jealous. I like to show off my beauty to everyone I see. I am different.

One night, an unfamiliar hand snatches me up. My owner kept me in a different room to where she slept. I was dangling from the person’s hand, and then they start running. I’ve never been in someone’s hand whilst running. It didn’t feel nice. Then I jump through a window. Well, I don’t, but it would be another thing to tell that small jade necklace. I wonder where we’re going. Another adventure, I suppose.

I’m not at my owner’s house.
Help.

I see it, in the distance, a beautiful white mansion. But I’m not there. My owner has never let me out of the house on my own. Who is this person, then, holding me with a tight grip that is making it hard to breathe? Who is this person?

That hand drops me down onto a rough, wooden table, with lots of other necklaces, rings, bracelets, watches, and earrings. That’s funny, I never thought they wanted to be fashionable. I was still the prettiest of them all though, and I made sure they all knew it, making myself shine a clear white. They told me that we had been stolen, because we were pretty. Them? I don’t think anyone could think they were pretty. But I, I am pretty, and pretty enough to be stolen. What is ‘being stolen’, anyway?

I found out.

I don’t want to be pretty anymore! I don’t want to be stolen! I just want to be with my beautiful, kind, loving, caring owner. Not this person, who took me from my home!

I am being sold.
Help.

The necklaces say that the humans, the thieves, sell us. They steal us, and sell us. I was sad at first, but then I wonder, what if my owner bought me? What if she bought me again, then we could be reunited!

I didn't.
And now I’m sad.

I should have listened to that necklace.
I shouldn’t have shown off my beauty.

Now my new owner is playing with me. They spin me around on their finger. I am dizzy. I am never cleaned. I am left in a dark, dirty box when I’m not being used. I want my old owner. She is the only owner I will ever have.

I want April back.

* * * * *

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Wrath's SWC Work

If you're here for the weeklies, scroll all the way down and then scroll up. I've decided all the weeklies will be at the bottom of the post since they're the longest.

March 2nd

The Amazing Life of a Clock

Tick tock, tick tock, tick tock, tick tock,
Some clocks may tell you that it’s a dull life being a clock. I, however, would have to disagree. Sure, it gets tiring sitting up here on the wall, ticking all day long, but something most other clocks fail to mention is the entertainment.
Yes, that’s right, entertainment. I don’t know about other clocks, but I love watching humans go about their day. They’re so strange.
For example, a few days ago, my owner spent over two hours combing his hair and polishing his appearance, only to come back less than a half hour later with a bouquet that he then tossed out of the room, shouting something about someone betraying him.
Now, don’t ask me what came over him, because I don’t know, because like I said, humans are strange.

Another time, he’d stopped cleaning me for a very long while, and my glass was really getting fogged up. Now, I like my glass clean and see through. Being a grandfather clock, I chime at every hour, and this is what he used to figure out the time instead of looking at my face.
This really offended me. I have a very beautiful face, and it is an insult to not only me, but to anyone else who comes into the house to deprive them of the sight of my visage.
So naturally I decided to exact my revenge by not chiming for an entire day. It was a rather harsh punishment, in hindsight, since he missed most of his appointments, was probably yelled at, and came back home looking dishevelled and exhausted.
But later when he sent me to the clock repair shop and had the people grope at my innards when all they had to do was clean my glass, I felt that his punishment was deserved.
Of course, once the repair people said there was nothing wrong with me and cleaned the glass, I started chiming again and we were all happy.

So you see, a clock’s life is in no way dull. It merely requires observation, an interest in others, and quite a lot of patience. And from all my experiences with humans, I can say quite decidedly that most of you humans lack all of these qualities, leading you to consider our life dull, although it is not.
And that, my good friends, is why I decided to create this, to educate you, to inform you, to captivate you with the amazing life of a clock.

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I don't even know what I'm doing anymore xD this is weirder than anything I've written before.

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March 3rd

Water hemlock, deadly nightshade, and white snakeroot

Eve jumped for joy as she heard the distinct noise of Kellin’s Ice Cream Van. She pedalled furiously, speeding across the road towards the noise. It was a strange sound. Instead of having a normal bell like other ice cream vans, this one sounded like the chirping of a hundred birds, with the sounds of rushing streams in the background.
Of course, Kellin’s Ice Cream Van was no ordinary van.
This van never stopped anywhere unless it found a customer, and neither did it follow any fixed route. You’d only ever find it on weekdays in the hours following midday, but it disappeared before sunset. And Paris was a large city, with a lot of people. All of these factors combined made Kellin’s Ice Cream Van very hard to find.
But if you did find it, it was worth it, since everyone who had ever tasted the ice cream had said it was absolutely magical.

Barrelling through the streets, narrowly avoiding pedestrians, Eve fixed her sight onto the retreating van in front of her.
The sound of rushing water and chirping birds filled her ears, urging her forward, urging her to go faster, to catch up with the fan.
She dimly felt that it was strange that no one else had seemed to notice the van, or it’s sounds, but her head felt muddled all of a sudden, unable to think properly.
It was like a fog had fallen over her brain. But it was fine. After all, Kellin’s Van was in sight, and all her friends had been there already.
But who exactly told me about- The thought was cut off as the van stopped.
Suddenly all her thoughts focused on the van. Eve frowned, but got off her cycle and started walking towards the van.

Eve approached the van tentatively, doubts suddenly blooming in the back of her mind. Who was this Kellin person anyway?
But the moment she saw the man, her doubts melted away.
Kellin was plump with a kindly face. He smiled widely after noticing Eve, and said in a pleasant voice, “I know just the thing for you!”
Eve stood there riveted, her mind fogged over. She smiled back. Kellin rummaged through his van for a while and brought out an ice cream cone with three scoops of ice cream on it.
She accepted the ice cream, licking all the scoops, which were of different flavours.
“What flavour is it?” She asked, “It tastes amazing.”

Kellin smiled, showing his teeth, “Water hemlock, deadly nightshade, and white snakeroot.”
Eve’s eyes widened and she opened her mouth to scream, but no sound came out. Her vision started to blur. The last thing she remembered was Kellin’s smile, no longer pleasant, a sinister smile showing pointed teeth.

⁂

Kellin felt rather guilty as he pushed the young woman into the back of the truck. He’d given her the antidote to the poisons in his ice cream, of course. Boss had asked for living bodies to work on.
Kellin pushed the guilt out of his mind, and shut the back of the truck. He knew what would happen to her, and he didn’t like it.
But there wasn’t anything he could do about it, so it was better not to linger.

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Idk I like doing disturbing stuff.

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March 6th

They found his diary under his bed. It had been a long and frenzied search, looking in the most obscure of places, but not checking the most obvious ones.
Pera mulled over the strange man’s last words. He’d rushed into the police station in a great hurry, knocking over a sheaf of investigation reports piled on a desk. “777, Northern Avenue. The diary. Last three pages. It’ll explain everything. Don’t worry- I hid it well. Oh Lord, please forgive me!”
The gunshot had rung out in the room. The man had shot himself.
Now, as she opened the diary, Pera felt her nerves tingle with excitement, as it always did when something intrigued her.
She opened the diary, flipped through the pages, scanning them for any sort of information. Besides learning that the man was named Helios and that he kept very detailed accounts of his days, there was nothing much more of use.
As she flipped to the end of the diary, Pera frowned. It was just another account of a regular day.
That was when she noticed the tears.

Of course, she thought, Someone tore out the pages. And in a great hurry, it looks like.
She sighed and turned back.
“Sergeant,” Krent said, “You’re giving up on the case?”
Pera replied, “There is no case, Krent. There are no leads besides a few missing pages from the diary. Hell, we don’t even know who this Helios guy was! Where did he come from?”
“Where did he go?” Krent’s laughter slowly faded as he saw his sergeant’s serious expression.
In truth, Pera was holding back a smile, but of course, she couldn’t let Krent see that.
“I guess you’re right,” Krent admitted, “But still. A man comes in and shoots himself after spewing up something like this? It’s worth a look, don’t you think?”
“Yes, it would be.” She said, exasperated, “If we had anything to go on.”
Krent sighed and gave up, leaving the room.

Pera turned to leave too, but then her sight caught on a cloth, hastily stuffed under the table. It was folded, and the corner of a symbol poked out from the other side.
Not daring to breathe, Pera held the cloth almost reverently, and turned it over.
Looks like this could be a case worth looking into after all.

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In case you didn't get the “where did he go” part, it's a reference to Cotton Eye Joe xD

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March 8th

The beginning is written by the amazing @dolphin_spring_water

Salmon was feeling a little bit down in the dumps that morning. Well, either down in the dumps or she had just fallen ill. She couldn’t really tell which, and her thermometer seemed to be broken (snapped in half, specifically, she had no idea how) so it couldn’t really tell her either. So instead she just laid in her little nest of sunken algae at the bottom of the lake, covering the entrance so no slivers of sunlight could weave their way through the water and bombard her eyes with way too much light for when she was feeling this poorly.

Because of this fact, she did not swim to the surface of the water and pass by Mr Purple, the frog, to say her usual good morning to him. Mr Purple, in his usual grumpy mood, sat on his little rock waiting and waiting for Salmon to come. Even though he, of course, hated the salmon’s usual cheery little greetings which would always dampen his sour mood even more than it was before, the interaction had become kind of routine and he didn’t really know what to do without it.

He sat waiting and waiting until it was way past her usual calling time. The sun was no longer rising in this sky, the heat becoming more and more apparent as the day went on, instead it reached the centre of the blue dome above then simply started going down, of all directions to go in! Mr Purple, although superbly intelligent, found this fact very confusing. Not the fact that the sun went down- no, he knew this fact very well. It was the fact that Salmon, who always, always came to say hello when the sun was still rising… still had not been.

So Mr Purple decided to do something he had not done in a very long time. The frog, who had now spent his days sunbathing on his little rock or doing whatever he does in that little homemade muddy, mossy, grassy house of his, had nearly forgotten where he originated from. He had suppressed the memories of his childhood, even though they were happy memories, he thought he was above his previous childish thinking now. But deep down, he could still find the place where he spent his entire childhood if he really wanted to. He could remember it well, if he just simply tried.

And so, he did. He racked and racked his brains until he finally found what he was looking for. A forgotten memory, pushed under for years, began to resurface. A memory of… the water.

He had grown up there. He knew it, and he could feel it. The nostalgia of his old home came to him in waves until he began to let out tears. Memories of himself and his siblings in their old form, happy and carefree young tadpoles dancing around just below the lake’s surface, playing chasey as their parents watched from the same rock he was sitting on right now.

At that memory, Mr Purple opened his eyes. He knew these waters well. It was time to find Salmon.

He dove into the lake, searching and searching through the algae and seaweed and shells in the depths below. Then, he saw a movement. Could it be?

He swam with his little frog legs towards a huge pile of algae that had seemed to flicker in the water, and pulled one string of seaweed aside to reveal… a fish. Not just any fish… a salmon. The Salmon. He had found her.

… (continued by yours truly)

Salmon frowned. She shut her eyes and opened them again. But no, it was no mistake. Her eyes weren’t deceiving her. Mr Purple had left his little rock. It was a strange occurrence, so strange indeed that Salmon would have opened her mouth to say hello. If she’d been able to, that is. She was ill, there was no doubt about it. She managed a smile, however.

Mr Purple gasped as he saw the dull colour of Salmon’s scales. “Oh dear, you seem to be in a bit of a pickle!” he exclaimed. “No pun intended.” On not receiving a reply, he frowned, but he was, after all, one of the most intelligent frogs to have ever lived. It was due to this mental prowess that, almost three hours later, he concluded that Salmon was unable to speak.

Dipping into his large bank of knowledge, Mr Purple searched his brain for something that could cure Salmon. After all, even if she was rather an annoyance, she was a friend. A friend… Mr Purple had not had one in a very long time, he felt. It took a while, but if he’d been able to rekindle long dormant memories of his old life in the water, finding the medicine would be no problem.

And it wasn’t. Only a short while later Mr Purple was on the hunt, after giving some reassuring words to Salmon, to ease her mind. Repeating the name of the plant over and over in his head, he scoured the bed of the lake for the item. Red Eel Scales were hard to find, since eels never moulted. However, Mr Purple has his methods, namely going up to the eel and asking him politely.

The eel, on hearing Mr Purple’s story, very kindly gave him some of his scales, wishing the Salmon well. It seemed Salmon had a reputation here in the lake, and the eel was very willing to help her. Mr Purple jumped for joy and darted back to the algae.

Salmon waited there, getting weaker by the second, but as soon as the Red Eel Scales, powdered into fine dust, touched her body, she was rejuvenated. She turned to thank Mr Purple, but he was already gone, left without a word.

The next morning, Mr Purple felt the familiar prickle of annoyance as Salmon passed by him, wishing him good morning as he went. He grumbled at her, not stirring from his spot on the stone. But the prickle, albeit annoying, was familiar. And this fact made him content.

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This was a pleasure to write (:

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March 14th (Pi- Pie dayy)

“As you all know, today is the 14th of March. This can also be written as 3/14. Therefore, today is Pi Day. Now, who can tell me…”
My focus drifts off from the professor to the pigeon on the roof. It’s eating pie- wait, no, that can’t be right, pigeons don’t eat pie, do they?
I’m probably imagining it, I decide, because after all, I got very little sleep yesterday. Staying up for the better part of the night can do strange things to a person’s mind. It’s probably my addled and sleepy mind seeing things, but still. Why a pigeon eating pie?
As I am pondering over this confusing and very important problem (It’s super important, trust me), why the pigeon is eating pie, and how the pie got onto the roof in the first place, a sharp voice jolts me back to the dull reality of the classroom.

“Here we see a member of the species inattentivus studenticus. Please, Your Highness, if you will do us the kindness of answering the question?” The Professor says, not too unkindly.
Okay, maybe this class isn’t so dull when there’s no lectures. Our Professor is very nice, and very funny too, and most of his classes are good. No one can make lectures interesting, however.
I make my way to the board, and scan the problem.
Find the value of x if x = ½ of circumference of the circle and r = 7…
So, I have to find the circumference first, right, that would be two multiplied by pi multiplied by radius… yes. Now pi is- pi is very tasty. I love pie. Apple pie.
Yes, apple pie. Apple pie multiplied by two multiplied by seven. Which is apple pie into fourteen. So fourteen apple pies.

Now, I gifted my ex half of the apple pies, that is seven apple pies. Why? Because I’m craaaazy!

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Lil' plants vs zombies reference xD

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March 15th

“It’s raining cats and dogs.”
“No, I mean literally, it’s raining cats and dogs.”
“Um- what do you mean?” Dorp yelled into the phone. Howls, yowls and lots of barks came through the line, drowning out the voice of his friend.
“Alright, fine, hang on. I’m coming.”
Dorp hung up and walked down the stairs of his office. He was supposed to meet his friend in five minutes, but he’d called him telling him not to come. When Dorp asked for the reason, he’d started saying something about cats and dogs.
Dorp exited his office, whistling.
And a screeching cat fell on top of his head. A dog landed beside him, barking.
With a yell, Dorp ran back into his office, shaking the cat out of his head, and he stayed there for the next week, not daring to come out.

…

“Stop this madness! Stop animal cruelty!” Will joined in on the shouting of the protestors, ignoring the falling animals around him. Their shouts drowned out the howling and barking of the dogs, the yowling and screeching of the cats.
They had gone too far this time. Eating animals for survival was fine, using them to do labour was forgivable, but dropping them from the sky for fun? That was too much!
“Stop animal cruelty!” He yelled, joining the thousands of voices already yelling.

…

Mr Jello smiled evilly, eyes glued to the screen. “SToP aNiMAl CrUelTY!”, the voices cheered.
Fools, Jello thought, Don’t you see? This is such an easy distraction. All I had to do was send a lot of robots into the sky and drop them down, lifting them back up to be reused when no one’s looking.
The people were so obsessed with ‘helping their precious animals’, they failed to notice that the ‘precious animals’ weren’t animals at all.
Jello laughed now, laughed loudly.
He stood in the deserted hall of the bank, sacks full of cash in his hands.
“It was too easy.” He chuckled under his breath, “Too easy.”

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I don't even know what this is- just pure madness stemming from my brain xD

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March 30th

They sit there up on the shelf all day, a fount of knowledge and wisdom. Some are new, some are old, some are in good condition and some… not so much. There are those that impart knowledge on various topics, and some that immerse you into an imaginary story, and some that tell a true story of something that happened before. They can have paper covers or leather, flexible or hard, and the medium of their knowledge is writing. These items also happen to be my lifeline, and are integral to the world too. And I think this is enough information for you to know exactly what I am talking about.

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Oof, haven't done a daily in a while now.

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Weekly 1

Part One - Poetry (302 words)

Poem One - Leader (Haiku | 16 words)

Their fire burns strong
But they don’t light up the path
They forge it from scratch.

Poem Two - Dragon (Acrostic | Wheel of Time reference go brrr | 47 words)

Dangerous as wild animal, feral and strong
Rand Al’Thor shall bask in the song
Among the tunes of death and war
Grinning, he shall stare at the gore.
Of sorrow and misery, pleasure he shall take
No regrets he shall have, and the world he shall break.

Poem Three - The Fool (Etheree | 48 words)

I once saw a fool walking down the road
On a horse but carrying the load
Atop his head, smiling he goes.
I asked him why he did so
And this is what he told:
“My poor horse is old
It can’t carry
The load, I’m
Helping
It.”

Poem Four - The Malevolent Castle (Shakespearan Sonnet | 109 words)

The castle looms above the city tall
And cloaks the town within clouds of despair
Oh, it makes all else look so very small
The shadow that it casts falls everywhere.

The towers on the four sides stand alert
On lookout for a sign of enemies
Through plague and sorrow and all sorts of hurt
They guard the castle for long centuries.

Inside the castle lives the tyrant king
He rules with a hand that is firm and cruel
In all seasons, like summer, winter, spring
He does keep a strong, unwavering rule.

The castle is not truly what is bad
The man inside is the one causing that.

Poem Five - The Great Epidemic of Lentick (Limerick | 29 words)

The great epidemic of Lentick,
It came very fast and left as quick
The people did make sorrow
But forgot on the ‘morrow
‘Bout the great epidemic of Lentick.

Poem Six - Extra Poem (Free Verse | This one is to fill up the remaining words | 53 words)

I am a mere extra
I was never meant to be made
The only reason I was created was to fill up the words
So the weekly can be completed.

What is my purpose, if it is not to exist?
I do not know, but will I ever find out?
I cannot tell.

Part Two - Essay (583 words)

Fanfiction is a genuine genre of literature, and people who write fanfiction are genuine writers. Although comparing a professional work to fanfiction is a common way of insulting the low quality of the work, my argument is that fanfiction is in no way inferior to any other professional literature, and that this sort of mocking of fanfiction is baseless and false.
Fanfiction is what is created when a person is so immersed in a certain story that they want to continue it in their own way. Of course, since these fanfictions cannot be published, they’re mostly written by casuals with no intention of publishing their work. In most cases, the passion and love for the fictional world is what sparks the idea for the fanfiction. However, passion and love cannot make up for skill, resulting in some rather sloppy works being out there.

But this in no way implies that every fanfiction is bad. There are skilled writers and people who have continued the story that they love beautifully, and even in the unskilled writing, you can find seeds of inspiration that clearly demonstrate the love they carry for the world.
Besides this, fanfictions can offer a great source of entertainment to fans of large worlds with sprawling plots. These rarely have the time to wrap up every plot and subplot that makes it up, leaving quite a lot of loose ends even after the series is announced to be over. It is then that the fanfiction writers step in, the knights in shining armour, to offer hope. Even the worst of these works can offer great satisfaction, just from the plot. It doesn’t need flowery writing and poetic sentences to get the point across, since it’s targeted towards people who carry the same love for the world and its characters.
This brings me to my next point. Fanfiction cannot, and should not, be evaluated by people who do not carry love for the world the fanfiction is based in. These people will not be able to judge the fanfiction properly, since after all, fanfictions are add-ons, continuations, or iterations of a world already created by someone else. Without having experienced the base world, the fanfiction carries a lot less appeal.
Even so, some might argue that all fanfictions they’ve read, even for worlds they love, have mostly been sloppily written. This is to be expected, since most of the writers are amateurs. However, there exists fanfictions on the opposite end of the spectrum, amazingly written fanfictions that rival the original work itself. There exists fanfictions that are riveting to read, that enthral you with its mastery, and these are in greater quantity than one would probably expect.

While bad fanfictions do exist, great ones exist as well, and so the entire genre cannot be dismissed due to a few sloppily made works. These works can still provide great enjoyment to certain audiences. The writers of these sloppy works can also improve, like all things can, and create better fanfictions, or maybe even their own original world. At worst, one may consider fanfiction to be a mere stepping stone for budding writers to move on to better works. At best, it can be considered to be a sprawling genre with both unpolished and polished gems within it. Thus, I conclude that fanfiction cannot, and should not be dismissed as a genre, that fanfiction is a genuine genre, and that seasoned writers of fanfiction should be considered no less than writers of original works.

Part 3 - Script Writing (1485 words)

The Screams of the Shade (The piece I’ll be adapting into a play. This was written for the first weekly of last SWC, and I really liked what came out of it, so yeah here I am)

Jake slid into the seat beside the man in the black suit.
“Hi!” He said enthusiastically, “How’s it going?”
The man sighed and said nothing.
“Uh, hello? It’s polite to reply when someone’s talking to you, you know.” Jake continued trying to get the person to talk, “I’m Jake. And you are?”
“Kendran. Kendran Black. Now, tell me, are you going to keep yapping away like a dog? Because this is an important briefing. So close your mouth and listen.” The man- Kendran- admonished sharply.
Jake pouted, “Well I’m not stupid, you know. I’m listening. It’s called multitasking. Ever heard of that? All I’m trying to do is break the ice, because we’re gonna be partners. No need to get so rude about all that.”
“Multitasking is a myth, it is impossible to absorb as much information while trying to focus on two things at once. Concentration is proven as the prime method for absorbing information. And while activities like listening to soft music does, in fact, assist the human brain, having another conversation does not. Besides, while we’re partners, I want something to be clear. We are not friends. You are a rookie, and so you shall follow my lead. Understand?”
“Well-” Jake started to retort but was cut off by the squad leader.
“Alright listen here, folks. We have a sighting of the Shade somewhere around here. I want every team out there looking for him immediately.” The voice of Wayne, the squad leader, echoed throughout the room, “You know this guy, he’s slippery. If you find him, you can shoot to kill. Go, now!”

…

Kendran signalled with his hand for Jake to come forward.
Jake crept past him, not saying a word.
He had been awfully cowed ever since their conversation during the briefing.
Kendran almost, almost, felt guilty for it.
But he shoved his feelings deep down, as he always did.
Feelings were a weakness, something to shove deep inside him, and never think about them. Ever. But was that the right thing to do?
Kendran shook his head.
This was no time to question his principles.
There was a dangerous criminal on the loose, and Kendran was going to find him.

“Are you sure we’ll find him here?” He asked his partner, Jake.
“Yeah, my sources said we’ll find him here.” Jake replied.
His tone was even, but Kendran could feel the hurt in his voice from their last encounter.
“And you trust these sources of yours?” Kendran asked. He’d think about the blonde detective’s feelings later, they had a job to do.
“I’d trust them with my life.” Jake replied.
“Good, because that’s exactly what you’re doing now. This could be a trap.” Kendran cautioned him.
“I know. We’ll have to be careful.”
“Careful is an understatement. We must take caution with every step, think something over before doing it. The Shade is a master of using your thoughts against you, and making you see and feel things that don’t exist.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“You’ll find out. Anyways, you ready?”
“As I’ll ever be.”
Kendran kicked open the door to the empty theatre.

He walked in, his pistol in his hand.
And found himself surrounded.
No, the Shade wasn’t here. But his cronies definitely were.
Jake walked in behind Kendran, his gun drawn.
He didn’t even flinch as he saw the men around them.
Good, Kendran thought, He’ll be of some use then.
Kendran scanned the area.
There were around twenty five men standing in the theatre, each with different levels of firepower.
Kendran decided to keep his eye on the two men with the shotguns.
At point blank range, it would be deadly.
They were surrounded and outgunned.
For what wasn’t the first time, Kendran cursed the fact that the police never got any guns with reasonable firepower.
It wasn’t looking good.
But that was Kendran’s speciality.

Unfortunately, for his plan to work, he needed a capable partner. Kendran glanced at Jake.
The blond detective’s hands were steady, and his expression was firm.
Okay blondie. I’m trusting you on this one. Don’t let me down.
Kendran suddenly pounced, letting loose five shots from his pistol in quick succession.
Five men dropped immediately.
But then the bullets started flying.
Kendran ducked behind one of the seats.

He’d dropped the two men with light machine guns, and one of the guys with a shotgun. He didn’t know what weapons the other two had, but they wouldn’t be bothering him anymore.
He saw Jake hefting something in his hand and smiled.
Jake threw the tiny device into the middle of the room.
Kendran closed his eyes, but he could still see spots from the bright light that had filled the room.
Those men won’t be shooting anyone anytime soon.

Something cold touched the back of Kendran’s neck.
A man said, in a low voice, “Don’t move, or I’ll blast your brains out.”
Kendran cursed mentally. He’d forgotten about the other person who was carrying a shotgun.
Kendran gritted his teeth and waited.
And then came the bang.
The man behind Kendran fell.
Kendran turned around in shock, coming face to face with Jake.
In his hand was a SPAS-12, which he had found from the body of the person Kendran had dropped earlier.
Kendran grinned like an idiot.
“You know, maybe you’re not so bad after all, kid. You’ll do well.” Kendran said gruffly, “And you might want to hang on to that SPAS. They’re a collector’s item.”
Kendran felt a strange warm feeling coursing through him as he saw pure happiness light up Jake’s face at being praised by a senior.
Looks like I’ve found my partner.

…

Wayne crept away from the roof of the empty theater once he made sure Kendran and his partner had really left.
He shimmied down a pipe, and jumped the rest of the way, landing lithely on his feet.
Then he ran.
Wayne liked to run.
He liked the feeling of the wind in his face, the freedom.
Even though he would never admit it, he liked being the Shade.
It gave him a feeling of freedom, of power, something he could never feel as Squad Leader Wayne.
Unfortunately, he was stuck as the latter most of the time.

Wayne went back to his hideout and changed his clothes.
He put on his uniform, pinning his badge to it.
Then he walked towards the police station.

After a short address to his squad, Wayne looked at the reports sent in by his subordinates.
He paused, frowning, and looked for a long moment at Kendran’s report.
Jake, the new kid, has shown exceptional skill and remarkable cool amidst great pressure. Very reliable and a good person to have by your side on a mission. I give him a very positive review.
Wayne sat down, thinking.
That isn’t right, He thought, I gave Kendran the most annoying guy I could find, and he’s praising him? It was meant to be a crutch on him, something to make him weaker so I could strike!
He banged his hand on the table.
This was not good.
But Wayne would find a way.
He always did.

…

A few weeks had passed, and Wayne did not like what he was seeing.
Everyday he would see Jake and Kendran sitting and chatting, laughing, and just having a good time.
My plan- it totally backfired. I might have given Kendran a loyal friend instead of an annoying interference.
I need to make my move, quickly.
But Wayne wasn’t sure if he should.

In the last few weeks, Wayne had noticed subtle changes coming over Kendran.
He would smile a lot more, talk a lot more, and he had started to exhibit what looked like emotions.
Only a few days ago, Wayne had seen Kendran do something the old Kendran would never have done.

An old lady had picked up a health insurance card she had found on the ground. She had been suffering from cancer, and needed medical support. But her son and daughter-in-law were dead, and she just couldn’t bear to use her grandson’s college money to go to the hospital. So she had sent her grandson to college, and used the insurance card for her cancer treatment.
But the owner of the card had filed an identity theft report, and Kendran had found the lady.
After hearing her story, then following her home to make sure she wasn’t lying, he had decided to not bring her in. He had put the insurance card into the bag of a person who looked reasonably honest. That person had turned the card in, and so everyone thought the thief had used the card only once and then left it.
That wasn’t all. Kendran had even created a GoFundMe for the loving grandmother, and raised more than enough money to get her treated for cancer.

Wayne scoffed.
Kendran was starting to act like people from a Dhar Mann video.
But it couldn’t be denied that he had changed, and that he had changed for the better.
And he still somehow managed to continue being an excellent cop, drawing a line between his morals and his duty.
Before, it had looked like Kendran’s morals were non-existent.
But now- now it looked otherwise.

…

Wayne walked into his office, trying to act calm.
He wasn’t.
He just didn’t get it.
His plan had been working so well.
It was simple.
Get Kendran a bad partner, get him somewhere alone, making sure his partner wouldn’t care to look for him. And then he would kill Kendran.
It wasn’t working.
Wayne had found multiple opportunities to kill Kendran, but he hadn’t taken any of them.


It’s because he’s a good person. You know that, so you won’t kill him. An annoying little voice in his head spoke up.
Wayne shook his head.
No, no, Kendran was not a good person.
So he was changing, that didn’t make him good.
He still had killed his parents.
So this is about revenge? The voice argued.
No. It wasn’t about revenge, it was for the good of the world! People like Kendran didn’t deserve to live.
But why?
Because they were evil! They broke apart families, destroyed lives.
Isn’t that justified if the person was guilty?
My mother was innocent!
There you are, going back to your parents. Do you really think you’re doing a good thing?

“Okay!” Wayne yelled, “Maybe I am doing this for revenge. What’s wrong with that? Kendran ruined my life, he killed my parents. Granted, it wasn’t him who did the actual deed of killing, but he is the one that condemned them. My mother wasn’t even guilty. Kendran has broken me. My own mind works against me because of him.”
Tears were streaming down his face.
“But no more!” Wayne’s voice reduced to a low growl, “I will end him, and I will do it today. I will do it right now.”

Wayne grabbed his gun and walked out of his office.
He went up to Kendran and said, “Come with me, I have something to talk with you about.”
Kendran followed as Wayne led him to an engine room in the building.
Wayne had chosen this spot as no one ever came here, and the sound of the engines would mask anything they said.
Wayne cocked his gun and pointed it at Kendran, smiling at the confusion on his face.

“Do you remember them?” Wayne’s voice was a dangerous whisper, “My parents?”
“Yes.” Kendran replied, “Not just them. I see them all, every night. Hear their cries. I live with it, every single day.”
Wayne looked into the man’s eyes, and believed him.
But he realised he didn’t have it in him to forgive Kendran.
He was a bad person.
And he could live with it.
Wayne levelled his gun.
He aimed at Kendran’s head.
The gunshot was heard all around the building.

…

Kendran looked at the dead body of his former squad leader, aka the Shade, lying on the ground.
The pistol in his hand was still smoking.
People rushed in to see.
The rest of the day was a blur.
Kendran explained what had happened, presented his proof, got a pardon, and was congratulated for finally ending one of the biggest criminals.
Kendran sighed.
He would never forget that face.
It would just be another face among the hundred of faces he always saw every night.
The screams of the Shade would echo in his mind every night.

The Screams of the Shade (Script Format)

I had to re-format all of this since italicized text doesn't carry over from google docs T-T Also I'm sorry but I really don't want to spend days typing in spaces to centralize character names and dialogues, forgive me for that.

Act One

INT. BRIEFING ROOM - DAY

JAKE, a blonde man in a police uniform, slides into the seat next to KENDRAN in the briefing room.

JAKE
(Enthusiastically)
Hi! How’s it going?

KENDRAN gives no reply.

JAKE
Uh, hello? It’s polite to reply when someone’s talking to you, you know? I’m Jake. And you are?

KENDRAN
(Sharply)
Kendran. Kendran Black. Now tell me, are you going to keep yapping away like a dog? Because this is an important briefing. So close your mouth and listen.

JAKE
(Pouting)
Well I’m not stupid, you know. I’m listening. It’s called multitasking. Ever heard of that? All I’m trying to do is break the ice, because we’re gonna be partners. No need to get so rude about all that.

KENDRAN
(In a lecturing tone)
Multitasking is a myth, it is impossible to absorb as much information while trying to focus on two things at once. Concentration is proven as the prime method for absorbing information. And while activities like listening to soft music does, in fact, assist the human brain, having another conversation does not

KENDRAN (CONT.)
Besides, while we’re partners, I want something to be clear. We are not friends. You are a rookie, and so you shall follow my lead. Understand?

JAKE
Well-

JAKE’s retort is cut off by the voice of SQUAD LEADER WAYNE.

SQUAD LEADER WAYNE
Alright listen here, folks. We have a sighting of the Shade somewhere around here. I want every team out there looking for him immediately. You know this guy, he’s slippery. If you find him, you can shoot to kill. Go, now!

EXT. EMPTY THEATRE

JAKE and KENDRAN sneak towards the door of the theatre.

KENDRAN
Are you sure we will find him here?

JAKE
(Confidently)
Yes, my sources guarantee that he’s here.

KENDRAN
And these sources of yours, you trust them?

JAKE
Yes, I’d trust them with my life.

KENDRAN
Good, because that’s exactly what you’re doing now. This could be a trap.

JAKE
I know, I’ll be careful.

KENDRAN
Careful is an understatement. We must take caution with every step, think everything before doing it. The Shade is a master of using your thoughts against you, and making you see and feel things that don’t exist.

JAKE
What’s that supposed to mean?

KENDRAN
(Enigmatically)
You’ll find out. Anyway, you ready?

JAKE
Yeah, as I’ll ever be.

KENDRAN kicks open the door to the theatre.

INT. EMPTY THEATRE

Twenty-five CRONIES surround JAKE and KENDRAN. They are all armed with guns of high fire power.

KENDRAN
(Under his breath)
Here goes nothing.

KENDRAN shoots five shots from his gun, then ducks behind a seat. Five CRONIES drop to the floor. Bangs sound as bullets start flying.

JAKE
(Shouts)
Shut your eyes!

JAKE throws a device into the centre of the stage. The light brightens. When it dims, KENDRAN is standing with CRONY 1 standing behind him, shotgun raised.

CRONY 1
Hands on your head and down on the floor! Don’t move, or I’ll blast your brains out!

JAKE creeps up behind CRONY 1 and a bang is heard. JAKE holds a smoking pistol. CRONY 1 is down on the floor.

KENDRAN
(Grinning, speaks gruffly)
You know, maybe you’re not so bad after all, kid. You’ll do well. And you might want to hang on to that SPAS. They’re a collector’s item.

JAKE’s face lights up.

KENDRAN (CONT.)
Looks like I’ve found my partner.

EXT. EMPTY THEATRE

THE SHADE hides behind a pipe as KENDRAN and JAKE exit the theatre and exit the stage. He wears a mask covering his face.

THE SHADE
Ahhh- foiled again!

THE SHADE removes his mask, revealing the face of SQUAD LEADER WAYNE.

Act Two

INT. SQUAD LEADER WAYNE’S HOUSE - NIGHT

SQUAD LEADER WAYNE, aka THE SHADE, walks into his house. He bangs his hand against the table.

SQUAD LEADER WAYNE
(Frustratedly)
This was not supposed to happen- Kendran was supposed to hate Jake! How did that blonde brat manage to get through to him?

SQUAD LEADER WAYNE (CONT.)
It was such a simple plan- get that bl00dy man Kendran alone, with a bad partner who wouldn’t go looking for him, and k1ll him! Why doesn’t it work? Why do I not want to kill him any longer?

SQUAD LEADER WAYNE (CONT.)
(In a softer, trembling voice)
It’s because he’s a good person, isn’t it? He doesn’t deserve to die, so I can’t find it in me to kill him…

SQUAD LEADER WAYNE (CONT.)
(In a stronger, harsher voice)
No! Kendran is not a good person. He killed my parents- I can’t forget that!

SQUAD LEADER WAYNE (CONT.)
(Voice changing back to soft, trembling and vulnerable)
So revenge? Is that why I’m doing this? Is this what I have become?

SQUAD LEADER WAYNE (CONT.)
(Voice changing to a harsh yell)
He’s a curse upon this world! He breaks apart families, destroys lives- this is for the good of the world.

SQUAD LEADER WAYNE (CONT.)
(Softly)
Is it wrong to break apart families if the parents are guilty?

SQUAD LEADER WAYNE (CONT.)
(Voice starts off harsh, but slowly cracks into something that sounds almost like pleading, which then degenerates into rambling)
My mother was not guilty! She wasn’t- but this isn’t about her. Kendran needs to be erased, because he’s a bad man. Because he broke apart my- but this isn’t about that. Is it? Mother- tell me- am I a bad person? Mother? Oh mother, where have you gone? Why have you left? I’ll kill him. I promise I will. I’ll kill them all, like a bad boy. Bad, bad, bad. I deserve to be beaten.

SQUAD LEADER WAYNE bangs his head repeatedly against the table. He lifts his head and lets out an anguished yell. Then, something in his eyes suddenly hardens.

THE SHADE
(Eyes hard, voice fierce and unyielding, barely louder than a whisper, however)
Who cares? Who cares if he isn’t a bad person? Kendran did this to me. He created the Shade, he made me go insane, he made me spend hours crying for my mother not knowing where she’d gone. Well, I’ll show him. I’ll kill him, and I’ll savour the pain in his eyes as he dies.

THE SHADE (CONT.)
(Yelling)
I’LL KILL HIM!

INT. ENGINE ROOM - DAY

The noise of the engine room is deafening. KENDRAN walks in to see SQUAD LEADER WAYNE waiting for him.

KENDRAN
(Sighing)
I knew this day would come sooner or later. You want to talk to me about your parents, don’t you?

SQUAD LEADER WAYNE
You remember them?

KENDRAN
I remember, because I remember how hard you cried when we pried you away from your mother’s arms. I remember how she kept asking me to keep you safe. Why do you think you advanced so far in the police force? I was supposed to be Squad Leader. I gave it to you. It was my way of paying back a debt that cannot be settled.

SQUAD LEADER WAYNE
(With a glint in his eyes)
There is one way.

KENDRAN
For me to repay you?

SQUAD LEADER WAYNE
Yes. Let me kill you, like you killed my parents. A life for a life. Fair, wouldn’t you say?

KENDRAN
I’m afraid I cannot. I am rather attached to my life, for one. And killing me won’t make you feel better.

SQUAD LEADER WAYNE
I daresay it will.

KENDRAN
(Gasps)
That lust to kill- I’ve heard it before. It’s you, isn’t it? You are the Shade.

THE SHADE
Yes, you always were clever, weren’t you?

KENDRAN
Of course. It all makes sense now. I had hoped you hadn’t nursed your hatred for so long, let it grow to such an extent that it consumed you. I am sorry for you, Shade, and I pity you. But I cannot let you kill me for your own reasons. You do not see how much I’ve tried to make up for it, even though I admit trying to help might have just made it all worse. I have failed. And for that, I am sorry.

THE SHADE
You are a strange man, and a cruel one. You dare speak of my mother?! You dare spew lies at me to sway me? You disgust me. For in the end, you will say anything to save your life. You will do anything to achieve your end. You deserve to rot.

The shot cannot be heard through the deafening roar of the engines, but SQUAD LEADER WAYNE falls to the ground, a smoking pistol in KENDRAN’s
hand.

KENDRAN
At the end, was it me you were talking about? Or was it yourself? I am sorry, Shade. I led you partly down this path. But the rest of it you travelled down yourself.

A keening wail emits from SQUAD LEADER WAYNE’s mouth, cutting through the roar of the engines. Even after the curtains close and the roar fades, the scream echoes throughout the stage.

Part 4 - Non-fiction (964 words)

The Reign of Terror (Narrative | 479 words)

All info is taken from my history book lmao

Soldiers streamed in and out of the building that had once been a church. On Robespierre’s orders, the church had been shut down, it’s inhabitants thrown out, to make room for a barracks.
A man struggled against the guards taking him away. Didn’t they know who he was? The people whispered that Robespierre would behead anyone who disobeyed him, even an ex-clergy like the man who was being carried away. He hadn’t done much, merely protested against the rationing of meat and bread.
A woman hid the bag of flour underneath her bed as the guards came closer. Once they passed, she passed it to the woman next to her, receiving coins in exchange. White flour was a rarity in those times, and could be sold for a lot of money. Everyone was forced to eat bread made of whole wheat, called “equality bread”. Robespierre’s orders.
“Merci, monsieu- citoyen.” The shopkeeper said, catching himself just in time. There were neither Monsiuers nor Madames anymore, they were all either Citoyen or Citoyenne (Citizen).

1793-1794 was a hard time for the people of France, referred to as the reign of terror. King Louis and Queen Marie had both just been sentenced to execution. It was at this time that Maximilien Robespierre rose to power.
Robespierre came into power at a tumultuous time, with nerves running high and the injustices of the earlier reign not yet forgotten.
He felt he needed to bring liberty to the people, and he did this by treating liberty like a child, it had to go through a stage of strict discipline before it was ready to mature.
In his speech at the Convention on 7th of February, 1974, which was then carried by the newspaper Le Moniteur Universel, he said:
‘To establish and consolidate democracy, to achieve the peaceful rule of constitutional laws, we must first finish the war of liberty against tyranny …. We must annihilate the enemies of the republic at home and abroad, or else we shall perish. In time of Revolution a democratic government may rely on terror. Terror is nothing but justice, swift, severe and inflexible; … and is used to meet the most urgent needs of the fatherland. To curb the enemies of Liberty through terror is the right of the founder of the Republic.’

There were, of course, people that disagreed with him, and with the harsh measures taken by him to achieve his ‘liberty’. Robespierre simply executed these people, ones who disagreed with him about anything, whether they be ex-nobility, ex-clergy, members of an opposing party or even a member of his own party. His relentless pursuit of his policies finally led to his arrest in July 1974, and on the next day he was sentenced to the guillotine, the same instrument he’d used to subdue his enemies and any naysayers.
And thus ended the Reign of Terror.

Banning of Burning of Garbage (Persuasive | 474 words)

I don't even know why I wrote this just decided I had to finish the weekly xD

Some would say that burning of garbage ought to be banned, and that it should be a punishable offence. Burning of garbage contributes to air pollution, indirectly contributing to lung diseases and the sort. Also, a lot of the time the waste being burnt doesn’t go through total combustion and leaves behind residue that can contribute to land pollution. Burning of garbage also creates smoke, which can directly harm any passerbys.
However, the fact remains that burning is by far the easiest and cheapest method of waste disposal. All you need to burn some waste is a matchbox. So if it is banned, a lot of people might suddenly find themselves with no legal way to dispose of their waste that doesn’t require them to amass a good amount of money. This could lead to either a lot of illegal burning of waste, or just undisposed garbage lying around. This would put a lot of strain on the cleaning authorities, and the blame would fall to them in the end.
The garbage could just be recycled, one could argue. But burning of garbage is a very common and rather widespread method of disposal, especially by farmers. If all of this load suddenly fell on whoever is orchestrating the recycling, the blame would fall to them instead.
What I’m trying to say with all this is that simply banning the burning of garbage will not do. Yes, it causes pollution, but so do most other methods of waste disposal. If burning is banned, it would take very little time for the people to demand banning of other polluting methods of waste disposal. Recycling is an exception, but it isn’t developed enough to handle the load of all the waste that was once handled by landfills, burning and the sort. This will only lead to the shifting of the problem from one place to another, and now complaints will rise that the recycling infrastructure isn’t large enough to handle so much garbage.
Therefore it is best to simply let it be until recycling is developed enough and widespread enough to fully replace all other methods of waste disposal. However, this does not mean that burning should prevail. Less polluting options of waste disposal should be chosen, and certain methods should be completely stopped. Disposal of waste on beaches and into oceans should be stopped, for example, and since the scale of waste disposed of in that way is very very large, asking people to recycle- something that is a distant reality, and not possible for all types of waste- is simply not practical. If they are instead asked to change the method of disposal to things that are simpler and relatively less harmful to the environment and life, like landfills located in isolated areas, it would be simpler to convince and not so distant as recycling.

——————

Lessgo

——————

Weekly 2 (3070 words)

Part One - Short Collaboration Story (414 words by me, 314 words by my partner)

The parts with the heading “Stryker” are written by me (@WrathOfTheNightFury), and the parts with the heading “Raider” are written by the amazing @TheRoyalCookie

Stryker-
They didn't know his name. They didn't know what he was, except that he was powerful. Oh yes, he was powerful. They called him the Raider. The Raider From The Mist. He struck fast and hard, breaking all those who stood before him. No one besides him- and now me- knew his true goal. He was going to kill the Monarch, and end the rule of the Blood Tyrant. And I was going to help him. “When do we strike?” I asked.


Raider-
My long brown hair was tied up into a messy bun. I was wearing nothing more than a dark blue hoodie and some ripped jeans. My German shepherd was by my side, patiently waiting to strike. I carried a rifle. “In a minute,,,” I said slowly. “If I can get a clear shot of…” I motioned to my neck. “But I don't think I can get one by pure luck…we are going to need a distraction.”


Stryker-
I grinned, “Distraction? I'm good at those, extremely good, some might say.” Our target wasn't the Monarch, not yet, but ending all those surrounding the Monarch would leave him weakened, and ripe for us to strike. I crept up to the spot where the targets were located- the Treasurer and his hired thugs. I smiled and threw the stink bomb right into their midst.


Raider-
“Stink bomb!?” I whispered fiercely. “Nice!!” I carefully loaded my rifle and waited for the right moment to strike. Then they spotted us. “Oooo crud. Go go go!” I said, as one loaded his rifle.


Stryker-
“Huh, looks like they've spotted us.” I mutter under my breath. It was a shame, really. We had such a good plan. That was when I made up my mind. I couldn't just stand by and let the chance go. Pulling out my revolver, I shot the two men coming towards me. “Don't worry.” I said to no one in particular, “I've come here to kill this guy, and that is what I'm gonna do.”


Raider-
I pulled a ninja stick (A bowstaff I think?) out of its case on my back. I swung it around, hit him in the neck, a pressure point, and made him go unconscious. “A messenger.” I say, kicking the guy. The german shepherd springs and kills another.


Stryker-
I looked back for the Raider, although I was confident he could take anyone the Treasurer throws at him. Seeing him faring fine, I focused back onto my mission. A thug raced at me, but a bullet to the heart took care of him. Eyes peeled, I moved as silently as I could.

Raider-
I picked up my rifle and killed 5 with 5 shots. One snuck up behind me, but my dog took care of that by biting him in the leg while I shot him in the neck. I tossed the dog a treat and looked around for more thugs, finding none nearby.


Stryker-
I saw him! The Treasurer, standing right there, with no guard. Sneaking closer, my grip tight and clammy on my revolver. My hands shook with a sudden nervousness. What if this was some sort of trick? No, I told myself, I committed to this. The shot rang out.

Raider-
Just then, I realised how shiny the Treasurer looked. I gasped. Bullet-proof armour! My dog saw it first, and it jumped in the way of the bullet, getting its paw shot clean off. I tackled the Treasurer and ended it right then and there.


Stryker-
I seethed with anger, and I tried to push it down. The Raider was, after all, the leader here. But how dare he interfere and take all my glory?! It had been my kill! My anger got the better of me. I charged.


Raider-
“Perfec- SERIOUSLY?!” I said, looking at you. I jumped out of the way, extremely angry. “You need to calm down, for pete's sake!!” I pulled out my ninja stick again and spun it around, for something like a shield. “I'll give you the credit, just chill out! I was only bored and wanted to do something!…to, um, benefit society….of course.”


Stryker-
“Fine.” My anger receded, and I realised how foolish I had been. “I’m sorry.” I said, “But next time try not to trigger me. Remember who I am. I may be your student for now, but I have had my fair share of battles and kills.” I walked away.

Part Two - Character (564 words)

https://scratch.mit.edu/discuss/topic/586550/?page=2#post-6113443

Part Three - Setting (486 words)

https://scratch.mit.edu/discuss/topic/586550/?page=2#post-6113446

Part Four - Premise (171 words)

https://scratch.mit.edu/discuss/topic/586550/?page=3#post-6113450

Part Five - Bringing It All Together (1435 words)

Character -

Malcolm Pobble
Age: 16
Species: Human

Personality and Traits:
Malcolm is a complete and total nerd. You say one word that has anything to do with something nerdy, even the slightest bit, you’re probably going to get told about it. That is if he’s talking to you at all. Malcolm isn’t a very social person, but he will talk to you if you are talking to him. And once you’ve had a conversation with him you’re going to get talked to a lot most likely. Malcolm can work with others, he just doesn’t like to socialise. Malcolm likes to be independent in everything he does because he’s learned that he is the only one he can trust to get a job done right from the experience of others letting him down. Malcolm tries to only focus on what is right in front of him and not what is going to come in the future to make sure he does the best he can on the job or problem at hand instead of being distracted about future problems. He’s usually a very cheerful person, it takes a lot to get him to feel down but when he does you can tell because his whole body language changes a whole ton.

Wants, Hopes, and Strengths:
What Malcolm really wants the most, but he just doesn’t know it yet, is a good best friend. Most people he meets don’t fit his unwritten list of requirements for a good friend, so he doesn’t make a lot of them. When he does, that friend usually sticks around because he knows how to pick good friends. Malcolm also hopes that an adventure comes his way, any kind of one, whether it is an alien invasion or a field trip to Italy where he gets lost for a day or two, or an extra strange person to meet, Malcolm wants to have an adventure every day and for his life to be exciting all the time. Malcolm is very good at anything that has to do with brainpower, he is very smart. He is especially good at maths, he can figure out a complex Algebra equation in his head with no problems as long as it’s not too loud in the room. Put him in an escape room and he will make it out on his own, though it might take him a while because he might just do all the puzzles in the room even if he doesn’t need to.

Dislikes and Fears:
Malcolm extremely dislikes bullies and people who are just plain rude. Just be kind, no matter what reasons you have or what’s going on you should be nice to everyone you talk to. It is his policy and he likes to stick to it. Malcolm also dislikes vegetables and most music except a few pop songs. Malcolm is extremely afraid of heights, bears, lions, guns, and basically anything that could kill him. Getting attacked by an alley cat or a dog sure, he could handle that by just hightailing it out of there but anything bigger than that then he stays as far away from it as possible. He’s also a little afraid of his mom sometimes because let's face it moms can be a little bit scary.

Setting -

The story will happen in Arcania (pronounced Are cane E uh). Arcania is a magical city that doesn’t really have technology powered by electricity and things like that, it’s powered by magic. Since everything is powered by magic, the city looks like a normal large city but at the same time, it doesn’t. With magic not all of the buildings have to follow the laws of physics, so some might be floating, they might be round, or even sphere or cube-shaped. Buildings aren’t normally colored either, many of them are blue, pink, or orange, and some even change colours all the time. There are also flying cars because they are just super cool.
There is also a large force field around the city. The force field has a slight blue tinge, but mostly it’s see-through so that you can see the stars and the sky. Outside of the force field, there is currently a Cat-3 hurricane, but only a small sprinkle of rain, a tiny bit of wind, and the nice smell of rain is coming through the force field. Just outside of the force field is a medieval-time-looking wall about 50ft high surrounding the town. It’s really old, covered in vines and moss, and obviously not repaired often because of many broken down parts of the wall.
The wall and the force field are there because the city is in the very middle of a huge wasteland, one full of dangerous monsters that will attack any living creature in sight, even another monster like themselves. While the forcefield mainly protects the city from the monsters, there are patches of force field that aren’t as strong as the rest and are openings for the monsters to get through. Because of this, there are always a few monsters roaming the city at all times, and there are magical patrol robots and teams of officers ready to take them out if they show their faces.
Not good for your character, the story takes place on a day that the force field momentarily went down because of the Cat-3 hurricane going on right outside, letting in a large amount of the monsters, way more than normal, inside the force field on a daily basis. Because of this lots of wizards with magical weapons and police officer robots with laser guns are flying around the city fighting angry hordes of dangerous magical monsters today.

Premise -

Your main character has a silver locket on a peculiar chain that they’ve owned for years. It came from someone close to them, already rusted a bit. They were told that there was something inside but never knew what. It was locked then, and they still haven’t figured out a way to open it. They wear it constantly, but one day they take it off before they go out. That day they accidentally trip over something on the ground - when they go to check, they discover a slightly rusted key. It’s on the same kind of strange chain as the locket! They instinctively know that this is the way to open that locket and discover what’s inside. However, when they return to try it out, the locket has disappeared. They’re furious, wondering who could have stolen it, and vow to find the locket that they’ve finally acquired the means to open.

Final Story -

Malcolm Pobble fingered his locket, walking down the road to his house. The locket, it was the one thing connecting him to his father. It wasn’t the locket that intrigued him, though. It was the chain.
The chain had strange runes all over it, runes that Malcolm had committed to memory, from days of staring at it.
He shook his head and tried to think of more pleasant things. Thinking of that day… there was no point to it.
An explosion sounded in the building that was floating above his head.
With a sigh, Malcolm sped up, leaving the building behind him.

The category three hurricane had really messed things up. The force field that protected Arcania from the monsters had gone down. Temporarily, and only for a few minutes, yes, but it had gone down all the same. And the hordes of hungry monsters had come rushing in, the ones lagging behind getting cut in two by the force field when it came back up.
He had watched all this in the Ryft back at school, and had felt rather annoyed that this hadn’t happened when he was at home, so he didn’t have to walk back through the fighting. Annoyed, and extremely scared.
Malcolm was a self-proclaimed coward, and he kept a safe thirty metre distance from anything that could be remotely threatening towards his existence. He also wanted to have adventures, but in all of his imaginations, his power was invulnerability and indestructibility, so his life was never in danger.

As he scampered through alleyways, running from the sound of explosions, he thanked the gods that most of the monsters were already rounded up. He’d seen through the Ryft at school that the streets had been swarming with monsters.
A roar sounded throughout the street. It was a blood-curling roar that chilled him to the bone. He broke into a run, away from the explosions and away from the roar.
And he crashed straight into a monster.
The beast was ten feet tall, with a muscular body covered with spines. Its head was a disfigured heap of bones and melted skin. It stood on thick, spiny legs, but one of them was also half melted.
Laser guns, multiple shots to the face and one to the leg, Malcolm thought automatically. He’d always been the smartest kid in school. Deaf, mute and blind, probably no sense of smell either. Moves with a limp for sure. The beast is on its last legs. And it can’t see me. I need to run.
But his legs wouldn’t move. He tried to scream, to call for help, to do anything, but he stayed rooted to the spot, his body frozen in fear. The spiny hand groped closer and closer, until it found him.
He wanted to run, but his body disobeyed, staying still even after the hand suddenly changed and snatched the chain around Malcolm’s neck. The beast ran.

“No!” He yelled, and overtaken by a sudden madness, he started to chase the beast.
The locket had been the last thing Malcolm's father, one of the greatest wizards alive, had given him, before he had sacrificed his life energy to keep the force field up at all time. He would not lose it. He would not.
A sudden burst of energy propelled him forward. He was so close, he could smell the beast’s rancid scent- just a little further, and he had it!
He grabbed the beast’s spine pulling it backward, but it suddenly started to change shape.
A shapeshifter! Realisation dawned too late, as the beast turned into a tiny rat, slipping out of his fingers, and then shifted into a bird, and flew away.
Malcolm ran after it, although he no longer kept any hope of actually catching up.
He followed the beast all the way to the force field, into which the beast crashed head first. Then he saw the man.
The man was dressed in flowing crimson robes fit for a king, with gold borders and embroidery. He carried a staff, a crooked stick with a shining ruby embedded into it.

The force field parted as the man raised his staff, and the beast crossed, dropping the locket into the man’s hands. The man gave Malcolm, who was watching all this, a salute, and walked away.
Malcolm came to his senses at last, and ran towards the barrier, but the man was gone. He didn’t know why he’d stopped to stare at the man… It was all so strange.
That was when he saw the glittering object on the ground.
He bent down to pick it up, and frowned, confused.
It was a key, a silver key, on a chain. The chain had runes on it, runes that Malcolm knew by heart.

…

A week later, Malcolm stood at the spot where he’d found the key. He fiddled with it nervously. On his back was a backpack, with supplies to last him quite a while.
It’s not like anyone’s gonna miss me anyway, He’d convinced himself, Dad was the only person I had left, and he went away years ago.
He knew he was probably being stupid, going outside the border. He was no wizard, and he didn’t have one of those laser guns either, and now here he was, ready to walk straight into the hovel of monsters.
And for what? A silver locket on a rusted chain.
Malcolm took a deep breath, and before he could change his mind, he walked through the force field. The field had been created to keep monsters out, not keep humans in, although few ever ventured outside the border of Arcania.

He trudged slowly into the trees. There was a forest outside Arcania, and it was a large forest. But where it ended, where the monsters lived, none of this was known to the residents of Arcania.
Malcolm sighed.
This was stupid.
He turned backwards to leave the forest.
And he found it blocked. It seemed like the trees had moved to block his path, knitting closer to create an impassable barrier. As he looked around, he found himself boxed in.
The man walked into the opening, the wizard in the crimson robes. The trees parted to let him through.
“Ah, Malcolm,” He said, “I was hoping to find you here. Good, good, now we can have some fun. Solve my puzzle and I’ll give you what you desire.”
The man disappeared.

Okay, okay, stay calm. Malcolm told himself, trying to keep a cool head.
The man had said something about a puzzle. What did he mean? There was nothing there besides trees and mud and stones.
He walked over to where the wizard had disappeared. A piece of thick string rested on the ground.
His mind whirring, he bent down and retrieved the string, and picked up a stone.
Yes, if I am correct, this should work.
Breaking off a twig, he fashioned a makeshift slingshot.
This was the easy part, now…
He narrowed his eyes in concentration.
The ward that was to be activated was very high. He needed to get the right position, and shoot at the right angle to make sure the stone hit the ward.
He walked up to the tree, and walked away from it, counting his steps. He tilted his slingshot and shot. Then all he could do was hope.

The stone hit the ward. The wizard appeared once more.
“So you can read runes… Interesting.”
It was true, Malcolm had learnt to read runes in the hope that he’d be able to decipher the runes on the chain. It hadn’t worked, but it had come in handy. There were two wards, one with beeru, the rune of destruction, and the other with pell, the rune for life. These weren’t the only runes for destruction and life, but they were the most widely used. Obviously, he’d chosen life.
“Now, I am a man of my word. Here.” The wizard threw the locket, and Malcolm caught it.
“When you open the locket, you shall deny it at first, but finally realise you must come to me again. When you reach this decision, you shall find me at the centre of Arcania.”
Malcolm gave no reply, so the wizard continued,
“To leave the forest, merely follow the direction the tree branches are facing. Well then, I must take your leave now. To our next meeting.” The wizard raised his hands and faded out of sight.

The second the wizard was gone, Malcolm thrust the key into the locket and turned it.
He gasped.
I have to tell them. Now.


End

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⠀⠀⠀⠀ Main Cabin Daily's
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Plant Pot.
2/03/2022

I could hear their screams. The leaves, growing on me, they were thirsty. They were so thirsty.
I love sitting in the sun, the heat warms me. In fact, I like most things. I like it when the plants are watered, it tickles. I like it when I get moved. A new place to watch, new environment, new spot in the sun, so much fun! I like night-time when the house is silent. Except the floorboards, they creek and groan, talking to me. I like when new flowers are planted in me, the old ones outgrowing me. It’s like I’ve raised them. It gives me a purpose, a sense of belonging. I don’t mind when water splashes on me while washing my hands when I’m in the bathroom environment. It feels funny, the drops rolling down me. I’ve watched humans grow up, one of them painted me! I was covered in flowery patterns and leaves crawling up me. I looked in the mirror I was placed in front of and felt beautiful. Clearly the child thought so too, they took a lot of photos. In fact, you can still see some of the paint! It’s a bit faded, but it’s still pretty. Maybe one day the human will repaint me. I do hope so. But now, the humans aren’t here. They’ve been gone a few days, with the suitcases. Lucky things, get to travel around the world while I stay here. The plants are screaming. They’re so thirsty, why didn’t our human give us water first? I can’t explain that. But they’re so thirsty, I can feel it. They’re starting to lose their colour and crisp. If we don’t get water soon, I don’t think they’ll make it. Sad, of course, but nothing I can do about it but hope the humans come back soon. I try to be positive. I try to be happy. But sometimes, it’s too much.
- 320 words

⊱ ────── {⋅. ✏ .⋅} ────── ⊰
Aesthetic.
4/03/2022

Found at https://scratch.mit.edu/users/resurepmac/ !!
- 4 images from google, 1 by me

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⠀⠀⠀⠀ Cabin Daily's
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Title.
?/03/2022

Text
- word count



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⠀⠀⠀⠀ Main Cabin Weekly's
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Title.
?/03/2022

Text
- word count

Daily 2 - 311 words
Yum! A packet of chocolate! It fell down inside me and landed at the bottom with a thud. The bottom’s where all the rubbish is. When people chuck trash inside me, don’t they ever wonder what it would be like if I chucked trash inside them. What if, in the not-so-far future, bins evolved to chuck rubbish into humans. It would be time for revenge - every single human that ever threw anything at me would be covered in old crisp packets, half eaten burgers, banana skins and broken flip flops. Serves them right.
“Shove it in the trash can.” That’s what they say: the trash can? That’s why I think humans should be called trash humans. The amount of stuff they waste proves that they’re trash at recycling and living sustainably.
What was wrong with the other half of that burger? What was wrong with the pair of flip flops that were only a little worn? Most of all, why do we even exist? If humans had just lived sustainably from the beginning, the trash can would never have been created! My dull and miserable life would never have existed. I would be free from the prison of this train station. I would never have been a bin. I would have been an actor on stage and sung out to the world in musicals. But now I can’t. Because I was made into a bin. It’s unfair. Out of all the things I could be, I was chosen for a bin. Out there, someone made that choice. The choice that I have to spend my life as a bin. They must have really, really hated me! Who would bring this fate upon anyone? Who would torture me into a life of being thrown at and eating trash, and trash only? Even I would never bring such a fate on somebody else!

Hey there! I'm willow! i'm she/ her. I'm a artist and i love badminton. i also played badminton till nationals till my country but dropped out due to studies. i love writing and right now i'm writing a novel!it is my first time in SWS, and i am super excited! now i gotta go, complete my dailie!

Daily #2, 308 words, The life of a pencil (Re)

Life is so boring. You know why? Oh wait, I forgot to introduce myself. Silly me. Oh well, I’m a pencil and everyday all I see is the darkness of a pouch. I remember the good old days when everyone used to use pencils. Now all everyone does is smash keys on the keyboard of the laptop. I always wondered why they had to hurt the innocent laptop. What do they have against that screen? But I don’t mind it. The laptop has ruined my life. Why do people like this big piece of technology more than me? I know, I know, it has its advantages, like a clock, a browser, games, etc. Ok yeah. I admit it. It is a little better than me. But, you still do not have the wonderful feeling of your pencil running across the paper.

I used to be used so much earlier. These days, when I’m locked up in the pouch along with my buddies, the eraser, the sharpener and the ball pen, we try to hear what's going on outside. All we hear is people talking about something called the pandemic, masks and covid. Hmm, I wonder what covid means.

I just wish we could go back to the good old days of writing. We used to write so much our tips used to become blunt. And then, our owner used to sharpen us! Ouch! That used to hurt. If you don’t get it, put it like you are getting a sharp injection! Doesn’t it hurt? But after our sharpening we used to feel fresh, new and sharp! Exactly how you felt after your mom gave you a chocolate to make up for the pain! I really want my life to go back to normal. Maybe you can change this. Why don’t you take out a pencil and start writing?

Hi i'm in the mystery monarch and this is my daily of 348 words. too less for my usual ammount and too cring but i had to write it in a hurry since i'e gotta do my scinece diagram lol bye


Front-and-fro
Front-and-fro
Front-and-fro
thud.

Hi, my name is “Shuttlecock”.
and I am a shuttlecock
that was simple.

I belong to a girl named Willow. apparently i live in India with her. and that too in the most amazing and beautiful city of all, (with plenty of other hot shuttles like meh), New Delhi. I am a badminton shuttlecock! you ever seen all those teenagers playing badminton? ever seen their shuttles? they're dead. so dead. people don't care for thier shuttles anymore. everyone is focused on thier rackets. not that i have any feud against rackets. my best friend is one, after all. he's dark blue and verrrry slim. he's very flexible and athletic too! anyways, the teenagers just don't care for us anymore. to them we are just some stupid inanimate objects they kick around. litreally. but my human? oh, boy. Willow is a literal godess! she treats me like a king! she always keeps me sleek and shiny and never lets dust settle on me. on detail i am a white feather shuttlecock, with a beautiful green lining above my head. whenever it's 5'O clock, she always picks me up, and my friend racket, and laces up her shoes. then she goes out of the house and BAM! we're in the park! she always meets up with her crazy friend (AErica) there. no offence or anything, i love her friend! but she's a little……….hyperactive? yep, that's the term. once she squashed me under her foot. remmber one thing. if someone squashed me under their feet, i would make their day hell! thye would definetly lose against me and my human. but fortunaetly i saved the idiot the pain and forgived her. because i am kid. and smart. and kind. and it is because she
's my human's best friend. tottaly not cause she has a really hot shuttlecock. tottaly not. you must be joking if you think that. you must be….you really must be….*sheepish laugh*
heheh now it's 4 and i have to go sleek my feathers……..tottaly not because tErica is bringing her shuttle today….hehe totaly not.

March 2nd (Daily)
back to megapost

My owner, Marbles, when are you gonna use me again? Don't give up on your dreams…

I am a computer, my owner, Marbles, has an exam upcoming, and he is very stressful. His parents expect to have very good results from him as he is very smart, but what they don't know is that his stress is starting to pile up higher and higher. “I really like using this device, it's so functional, useful and I can socialize with people here. I don't understand why my parents don't see that.” That was what Marbles said to his friends online, this kept me thinking, “But your passion, when your exams are done, why don't continue your animations and coding career?” Unfortunately, I am just a computer, I can do nothing to change my owner's parents's mind. I hope he'll be okay.

“Hey, guys! Guess what!!” Marbles came bursting into the room, jumping quickly and sat on my best friend, which is the computer seat, and switch me on, I roared with life as the power turned on. I couldn't believe myself, my owner, his dreams… “My hard work… has been payed off…” Tears started to form on his face as they dropped on me. I felt something, something I never feel before. Marbles done it? He completed the project that made him popular? I never been so proud of myself, I felt happy, for my owner even though I am just a computer. “And look, my results came back! I aced it easily!!” Marbles, I'm glad you are okay, I never feel hurt whenever you press on my body, the keyboards, like you always say, I never feel sad when your father wants to throw me away to replace a new computer, I feel so lucky to have an owner like you, Marbles.

302 words

♔ 2nd of March ♔
547 words

I am a pillow.

It's not funny.
I'll have you know that being a pillow is a very prestigious job. You can stop laughing now.
I mean it.

Alright, alright. I admit it. That wasn't the best opener. But- hey, hey stop it. Stop laughing!
You people are always laughing at me. If only you could see me in action. Don't you know who keeps your little ones safe at night, when they're all tucked up in their blankets? When the itty, bitty monsters that aren't dangerous at all crawl out from the Void under the bed?

It's not them, that's for sure. The Great Beds, I mean. No, they would never. To them, it's all about that blasted neutrality.
“Us beds are a place of grey!” they say.
“Children, pillows, and monsters must simply learn to coexist!” they say.

But they never listen. We tried to tell them. I tried to tell them!
And still they turn away on their hard wooden frames and sniff like I'm just a piece of gunk on their sheets.

Oh, well. They'll see. Someday.
Because you see, children and monsters? They don't mix. They never will. They never have. Except for back when… well.

I suppose I'll just tell you.

Now, there's a story I heard once, when I was a younger. I was such a new pillow back then. My predecessor took me aside, and swaddled me in his warm embrace. They whispered a story to me.

“Long ago,” they said. “Monsters and pillows and beds lived peacefully. They didn't fight. Instead, they worked together, to make the children who slept on the beds comfortable.”

I wasn't listening very closely. That may have been a mistake, in hindsight. But I was excited for my new job, and I couldn't wait to protect the child that slept on the bed from the monsters.

“Then the Void came,” they said. “And it turned us against each other. And now, all of that peace is gone,”

It wasn't a very happy story.

And it probably isn't real either. Us pillows have been protecting children from monsters for generations upon generations. There has never been anything else. There will probably never be.


I'm going to stop talking about this now. I can tell you're not taking this seriously.

No one ever takes us pillows seriously.

All you people do is just obliviously use us to sleep. You rest your heads on us for hours straight, and we- I have to spend the whole night sitting there in pained silence because you're no longer a child, and you cannot find out at all costs what the true cause of your childhood safety was. I lie there, listening to the bed moan and groan, and all anyone does when I try to say something is laugh at me.

But I'm sick of being laughed at. I've been laughed at my whole life.

Protecting the children is a honourable job. But you - you, who laughs at me even now, and only listens with mocking interest - are not a child. And maybe, one day, when you see for yourself what monsters I have protected you from in childhood, you will finally understand.

You won't laugh at me then, I assure you.

march 2/03/22 { just my own writing^^ }
incendiary

Florence reese , An 19 year old living alone in a university dorm . “hey flo!” an anonymous speaker said and high fived florence , of course as an good freind she high fived back and said “ hey bianca! ” , and then she looked around and found chemistry class and went in , Mr rowan went from miserable to joyful right when florence walked in the class , Mr rowan grouped florence with bianca in groups , they tried to make instant ice with chemicals but florence added the wrong ingredient and sadly it made fire instead mr rowan turned on the fire button and someone called the fire department but , florence calmed down and somehow the fire also got put away .
to be continued for chapter 2



- hazel 2022

edit : 115 words!!

Introduction:
Hi I'm Clare. I'm a member of Horror this session and have participated twice before in sci-fi and adventure. This will be my contents page for the session (All writing posts will be linked bellow) and I will also post my word count here. If you want to critique my writing Just let me know.

Notes:
-I swear I will make this look nice later
-I am not getting 8 hours of sleep tonight
-@interviewer12 is my alt account so I will sometimes post writing on that

Word Count:

Main Cabin Dailies:
1st Daily: posted intro in Cabin
2nd daily, 2/03/22
3rd daily, 3/03/22
4th daily, 4/03/22
5th daily, 5/03/22
6th daily, 6/03/22
7th daily, 7/03/22
8th daily, 8/03/22

Main Cabin Weekly's:
Weekly #1

In Cabin Dailies:

Writing Comp

Word Wars:
Word war 1 (lost)
Word war 2 (Won)

Other:

Info



Info



Word Count = 342/10k



Find records and proof of my writing here.



None yet

Daily #2; 2nd of march:
Inanimate object: Pillow
Title: She is Katy and I am Pillow
Notes: Not my best work
Word Count: 436 Words

Warm and soft, that is me. Well, that's what they say, the humans, that is. I have my very own, a small girl. She whispers her secrets to me every night and cuddles me or blows me a kiss and I watch as she drifts into sleep. Her head lying on me, lolled to the side ever so slightly. Her name is Katy. She has long brown hair and big green eyes, but most of all she loves me.

My name is Pillow because that is what she calls me. I like it, it is not a pretty name, and I'm sure it is common among my kind, but that is what she calls me and she is my everything, so I like it. I wait for her to come home from everyday and she always comes to whisper her secrets to me so that I can keep them safe for her. I am always there no matter what, she cries to me, and I watch as she dreams. I keep her safe from the beasts of night and let her scream into me with anger because she is Katy and I am Pillow. It has been that way for so long, too long for her to remember, but I can. She has had me for 7 years and that is her age and even though that is a long time, she still loves me because I am Pillow and she Is Katy.

When she is gone I lay still; a pillow can not move after all. But even if I could I wouldn’t, because every morning she sits me by the window next to all her Teddy bears so that I can talk with them and watch what happens outside. I do not know where she goes in the day. At night she tells me of a place called school where she learns and plays, but I don’t know what that is or where it is, so her whereabouts is a mystery to me. Sometimes she stays at home or leaves and comes back with tales of wondrous places, and one day she reads a book to me and her toys but she always saves her secret telling for me because I am Pillow and she is my Katy.

Those days are a long time ago now. Katy is not little and I am not young. We are in a different house, a different bed. But sometimes she still whispers her secrets to me because she is still my Katy, and she will never, ever stop loving me because I will always be her pillow.

March 2nd Daily

As the door moved closer and closer, I knew it would be my duty for the day.
I am a doorstopper.
Laugh if you will, you pay no attention to me at all. Always kicked around, stepped on, generally ignored. Why must it be so? Do you dismiss me as a mere wedge of plastic with no practical purpose?
I, the noble guardian of doorframes, defeater of slamming, the one who has noiselessly aided your life since before you were aware?
I guess I'll have to live with it then. Carrying the weight of a door on my shoulders is no easy job. Every gust of wind threatens me to let go, to let the door slip shut. But I won't allow it. No, if only you knew.
You do not know how I have prevented a door from closing for the good of the general public- what would life be without me? Endless hours of opening doors, I suppose.
It has come time for me to face my nemesis, the dreaded automatic door. That ear-breaking squeal as it slides on its thin metal rails, it angers me so. Do you not trust your earlier inventions? My effectiveness will be realised when there is a blackout- your puny automatic doors will lose all function, while I shall become your friend and save you from having to open doors.
My crisp plastic edges, worn down into rugged dog-eared scribbles from years of use. You have to realise how hard I have been working for you, holding the sharp border of the door for you every day. Why won't you appreciate me?
I'd assume you've decided to ignore me again. Not knowing my pain, not knowing the effort I put into my job. Suppose I one day become too worn down to be used? Would you pity me then, or would I be relegated to the rubbish?
I am the noble doorstopper. Walk over me as you will, ignoring my existence. If our kind one day vanishes, it will be your loss.

340 words

March 2nd daily

The musty, dark interior of the decorative pencil case seems to close in on me. My only companions in the pitch blackness are a couple more pencils and a dirty eraser. Suddenly, there is a bizarre, loud zipping noise and a blinding light seeps into my place of dwelling. Warm fingers close tightly around my middle and yank me out of a soft blue loop. I am set down on a hard wooden table with odd bits of wood sticking out. I notice several pencil shavings nearby, and a great fear awakens deep inside me. I have never been sharpened yet, as a new pencil, and it is my worst fear. It’s all over soon, I expect, but the feeling while it lasts…to have bits of you scraped off, oh, how dreadful! I feel the fingers on me again and as they begin to lift me up, I have never been so scared in my short life. With a small jerk, I am directed down and…
Paper! Smooth white paper that feels like pure relief on my lead. My artist draws for a long time. I get more and more blunt. She sighs as she ends up getting out of the guidelines and squeezes me tighter than ever. And then—oh, no, oh, no!—my lead breaks. I cannot be drawn with. I am done for.
With another irritated sigh, the artist holds me aloft to check if I can still be drawn with, and, help me! She roots around in her desk drawer while I wait in agony for my fate. She pulls out a sharpener al last and sets it in front of me. I am picked up, turned in that direction and pushed forward. It looked awful, getting bigger by the second. Everything seemed to be in a terrible slow motion…the gnashing teeth were centimetres away now…millimetres…less than one…

March 2nd Daily!<3

I think about who I am. I don't talk. I don't walk. I can't do anything except have people cheat with me. I'm covered in buttons from neck to toe. The top of me lights up and is sometimes solar powered. You can't use me on tests and you can't use me in class. You'll be in trouble, detention at last! I have numbers and words, symbols and more! What am I? Do you know? Do you care? Just tell me mi amor!

March 2nd - Inanimate object perspective writing {That I won't have to panic over uploading,,,} Time to write about an object that doesn't want to fulfill it's purpose. Don't know if this is too dark but I wanted to share anyways :0c

Possible triggers]] The e n t i r e thing is about a weapon being used, implied death, mild violence and a teeny bit of gore description

{Static buzzes. Wow, finally a signal on this dump of a radio! You wait to hear the other line of the connection…It's recorded audio? Maybe a call for help? You turn it on and hear a garbled message that you can just barely make out…}
|Audio log #623: Interviewing objects. Testing for emotional trauma. Classified murder weapon.| <BZZZT> No I- <BZZZT> a name? <BZZZT> Oh, tha- <BZZZT> {Why won't this thing work already?} Humans. Disgusting creatures, really. They think they can seize power of the world, claim what does not belong to them, destroy and leave utter chaos in their wake and expect no consequences. Not to mention some of them are liars. They also don't understand how to act like NORMAL animals. News flash: K!//ing off one of your own is NOT a good way for you to survive. Even though I think that's why I was created. To k!//. To harm. To destroy. I can't move, I can't act on my own will. I must only watch. And yet; I am the one harming. The one causing all this pain. It's like setting a trail of dominoes into action. The victim feels physical pain, their relatives, friends, neighbors, sometimes even communities, anyone with a relationship to this person, feels emotional pain. That's hurt so many more people than just one. It hurts the people who hear about it, sympathizing with them or remembering a similar pain to the one the families are feeling. Even more people. It probably even hurts the user too, the one who caused all this, the one who forced me to take so many lives from the realm of the living, the immense feeling of guilt you feel. Like me. Or, you're a heartless monster who likes wiping out their own population. Either way, I can tell you that it's not a pleasant feeling being driven through someone's internal organs. You hear the muffled screams as you become coated with icky, red glop that's inside their flesh, not to mention that some of your organs burst when severed. Then you have to be cleaned of your mess, and as you watch them in horror as they dispose of their crimes, you remind yourself you will see this for the rest of your life and that it was you who did this. All. Your. Fault. What do other knifes do? Cut up bread or something? I'd much rather cut up food or some d3@d wheat and other ingredients than something…alive…I-I'm sorry, am I rambling? Well, to some things up, you really need to stop talking to murder weapons and start fixing your mistakes. Really, what use of your time was this? I've told you nothing you don't already know. Now go bother some other object, I'm not going to answer any more of your petty questions that stall revealing the bigger picture.
{The audio log cuts out, and you take another look at the radio. Burned, distorted, destroyed. Just like Earth. That's why you're searching a burned down lab for resources. The Earth was truly was crumbling in your species wake, just like that…what was that thing they were talking to again? A knife? You decide you don't have time to care any more than you do. You drop the crisp of a radio back onto a pile of garbage, where it belongs. Where you belong. Where the world now belongs.}