march 2nd, daily #2
Object: Pencil
( u n o r i g i n a l )
Title: The Writing Pleasures
Note: this is not my best so yeah- ^^
Words: 369

Hey. I’m a normal pencil on a human’s desk. At least from what I’ve heard and seen. I stay here on the desk with my ‘partner’, the eraser. He basically corrects my mistakes by erasing them. And sometimes he gets outrageous.

But he must know it is not I that writes on the soft, white paper. The person who practically owns me is Izzy, a girl with short brown hair with deep, emerald eyes. I’ve heard she’s in the 2nd grade, so she keeps using me.

If you must know, my greatest fear is my lead breaking off. Sometimes it goes off again after intense sharpening by Izzy. Sometimes she leaves me be and I lay on the floor, below her wooden desk, in the corner collecting dust. After a few days, usually, she picks me up again and starts writing on the paper again, as I fear the eraser’s rage every now and then.

Another greater fear that surprisingly crosses that is my permanent replacement. As I am being shortened, I slowly grow smaller, soon not able to fit in her hand. Then I would be of no use to her until a miracle happens. I have seen many of my friends (obviously, other pencils) are becoming smaller and are about to have another life, waiting for a miracle in the dusty corner of her desk.

Luckily, when I’m still having my lead, I’m put in the roomy pencil box. It isn’t cramped up, since it has more space. She usually puts me to rest in there in the evening — that’s also the time she cleans up her desk. Sometimes she forgets to clean it up and I then lay on the desk.

A remark I must make is that Izzy’s handwriting is a great cursive practice. I’ve heard there are many handwriting practice sessions at school, that focus on improving many kids’ handwriting. Izzy’s parents send her to these sessions, even though her handwriting is already great. You could say that I sometimes don’t understand the human world.

At the end of the day, I’m grateful to have an owner like her.

march 2nd, daily 2
words: 30

Encanto Fanfic Part 2 with 480 words lets go

“I used to hear everyone,” Dolores murmured sadly. She was 31, betrothed to Mariano Guzman, 32. “Now, there is one less voice in this town,”
“I used to pick up her donkeys every day,” Luisa sobbed, dabbing at her cheeks with a soaking wet handkerchief. Luisa was 29. “She used to give me so many tasks, but I loved her!”
“She adored me,” Isabela described, still beautiful and perfect at 32. “She always had one of my flowers draped over her door, but now her door’s golden colors have disappeared, making room for new generations of Madrigals. Even in death my Abuela is kind.”
25-year-old Mirabel was next to speak, but she politely declined the microphone handed to her and instead passed it on to her cousin Camilo. She couldn’t find anything nice to say about her Abuela, who had always looked down on her for not having a power.
“Abuela…” Camilo gulped. He was 25. “She’s..” his voice broke.
The shapeshifter just passed on the microphone.
“My Abuela,” Antonio said. His 15-year-old voice was no longer squeaky or cute. It was just filled with sadness. “I have known her for fifteen years, and then she left us. But we will all meet her again someday. I loved her.”
The townspeople bowed their heads and wept.
Pepa wept, and the heavens opened, and the rain came pouring down like the grief all felt at Alma Madrigal’s death.


“Bruno. Tío.” Dolores touched her uncle’s shoulder. “I need your help,”
“In what?” Bruno asked. “Paving cracks?” He let out a broken quiet chuckle. The death of Abuela had not affected him as much as the other Madrigals, since she basically mocked him and was the cause of his disappearance.
“Not that,” Dolores Madrigal forged on. “Can you see my future? I know everyone overreacted about it, but that was almost fifteen years ago. I need another future.”
Bruno stared. He had not used his power in decades. He was just a tired old man.
“No,” he said firmly. “I’ve given up my power ever since Mirabel revived the casita. Don’t you see?” he burst out, flinging his arms out. “It was my power that led to Mirabel’s investigations, the fall of the house, everything!”
“I understand, Tío,” Dolores said gently. “But Mariano and I..we’re having a baby.”
Bruno froze. His outstretched arms slowly became limp, falling back to his sides. “Still..no. I can’t…”
“Please?” Dolores could feel him being won over. “You see, we just want the best for little Robert. We need to find out if there are dangers ahead for him,”
“R-robert?” Bruno stammered. It was the only thing he could do- dumbly repeat what Dolores had said. His brain was whirling, trying to figure out some solution. His faded and patchy dark green robes had gone still.
“Please,” repeated Dolores, as gentle and caring and understanding as she could.

March 2nd > main cabin daily

The Events in the Life of a Pencil Sharpener
I was woken up by the sound of a human unzipping the pencil case. Again, another day of sharpening stupid pencils and getting the blame if their graphite falls out. A hand rummaged around the pencil case and finally got what it was looking for, the poor already tiny eraser. When the hand takes one of us it's either that we're lucky and we get put back in the pencil case or we get lost in the eternal void of The Desk. Suddenly I felt something hit me in the head. It was eraser! Well at least the human didn't throw him in the garbage can. Our human is pretty careless though, look at all the dull pencils here! Maybe just maybe the human is thinking I'm overworked? I'm not, I'll be happy to sharpen those but sadly I can't by myself. The hand abruptly reaches in again interrupting my thought process. Then something rather surprising happens! The hand grabs me and the gluestick with its sweaty fingers. What kind of art project is this where you need a glue stick and a pencil sharpener but no pencils? But no, I see the human took out pencil crayons. Oh, so I need to sharpen those stupid probably rotting from old age half crayons when my prized pencils are dull? Nonsense! I also spot a small piece of paper that's a bit too small for my liking. I think I see why the human took me out and it's not to sharpen pencil crayons. I watch in anticipation as the human opened the gluestick and got a bit too much glue on the paper, then they lifted the paper up and pressed it onto my plastic surface. It felt weird and sticky, I wanted it off me but of course I can't move and nor do I have hands. Something unthinkable happened. The hand picked me up and didn't toss me back into the pencil sharpener, it didn't put me in the desk, it put me in the BACKPACK. What did human want with me? Today, a lot happened and it didn't even involve sharpening.

371 words

cw: mentions d3ath and abuse

daily 3/2
words: 475

hello. i’m something-you-pay-for-to-make-my-evil-siblings-beautiful. actually, my evil siblings can barely survive without me! yet everyone takes me for granted. imagine if you had to carry someone you hate, for months and months! it's a great joy when they give up early. also, most people who buy me and my sibling(s) don't even take care of us. it's fine if they forget to take care of my sibling(s), but me?! im not even living. it's not hard to take care of me. the only thing you need to do to keep me alive is NOT TOUCH ME. perhaps thats something most humans have a very hard time doing. if you want to be nice, CLEAN ME. that would be so great. especially after all the sweat and grease that comes from the hard work of carrying my evil sibling(s). and oh my god, carrying MULTIPLE siblings kill me slowly. i swear to god. the humans that make me carry my whole family of evil siblings deserve to die. especially if they don't clean me afterwards. that's not even a reward, it’s SIMPLE HYGIENE. and if they break me after my hard work, i shatter from the inside out. they need to clean me up even more then. or it ruins their little floors. it’s their punishment. no, it's not sad enough that their precious flowers died. they NEVER grieve over this stuff. they just put more work on me and buy more of my siblings. some humans pity my siblings though. they die early or some **** like that. and no, it's not their fault they die early. IT'S THE HUMAN’S fault. i hate humans. although i most definitely dont like staying afloat in water AND carrying my evil siblings, its the SIMPLEST THING. HUMANS JUST NEED TO POUR A LITTLE WATER IN ME AND WE'LL ALL BE FINE. humans are all lazy little ****. OH AND SOMETIMES THEY LET THESE TINY DISGUSTING VERSIONS OF HUMANS DRAW ON ME. THAT'S LIKE GETTING A TATTOO WITHOUT PERMISSION. i’m still underage if you didn’t know. humans may not pity me because im not alive, but im alive in my mind, contrasting what was said earlier. if i was technically alive, i would've been dead for good already. my heart would have suffered too much. you can't glue a heart back together. i want to die already. stop breaking me and gluing me back together. i will never, ever be the same. no one wants to live their life holding up someone else. so hello, im flower pot. i hold all the dirt and water to make flowers beautiful and alive. thanks for buying me, but remember, your basic flowers are only alive because of me. and their only dead because of you. no “MY POT ISN'T WORKING”. it’s YOUR FAULT. so yep. im flower pot, and humans suck.

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!

500 points for Mythology!! Let's get writing!! Okay, now I have 383 words

I am just a small pebble in the face of the world, but I have seen much, felt much, done much. Or, wished I did. In fact, I cannot move without help, only think, and think. I am called inanimate, after all, but my mind is animated and moving all the time. I try to see everything, without eyes, try to hear everything, without ears, try to feel the world without nerves, and move without a body.
When I first experienced waking, I felt/saw/heard without feeling/seeing/hearing, somehow I knew I was a pebble. I had no parents or family, simply me and my mind. I first cast myself out to other pebbles, but felt nothing from them. Gradually, over a week of expanding my senses and picking up world-chatter from “humans”, I began to infer more and more about me.
I learned pebbles never talked, heard, or moved. I learned I was “inanimate”.
Then one day I heard a pastor speak in the open square. He spoke about “God” and “Jesus”. He preached the “Gospel”. And I inferred, and inferred again. I realized I must've been a stray bit of consciousness, meant to be cast into a human or animal, but instead missed and went into a small rock. My mind was trained to see and feel, but I couldn't.
As I gradually opened my nonexistent senses, I realized I could move- slightly. The wind aided me, and the kicks of passerby did not hurt me, for I had no nerves, only moved me along. And I welcomed every shift into another world. In reality, I knew I would always be trapped on “Broadway Street” in “Manhattan” or “New York City” or “USA”, but I could slowly move down the street, couldn't I?
As I rested outside “Broadway”, I could hear singers with their lovely voices, and I always longed to go inside and “see” them dance. At certain hours, people poured out of the theater, some chattering about the recent show they watched, some taking pictures, some humming the songs. I committed every song to memory, as I heard them all multiple times. I could not hear, but I tried to.
And I was in many, many pictures, although none of the picture-takers ever knew I was there.

2/3/22 Main Cabin Daily for Poetry

Written from the perspective of an eraser
336 words

Woah, another regular day in this world. I wish it is a bit less torturous day today. Sometimes I just feel like getting lost so that my owner does not find me and starting rubbing my skin onto a paper!! The graphite makes me so dirty and my skin starts shredding off! Oh no- my owner is here looking for an eraser- DONT SEE ME PLEASE.

My owner is so careless that she keeps losing me. Trust me, that’s the only good thing about her! If she can’t find me, she wouldn’t rub me off. I feel so tortured when the friction between my skin and the paper causes me pain. My other eraser friends are as fed up as me. We have grown very close friends and we just can’t keep losing each other! I just lost one of my closest friends yesterday after my owner kept on using him despite of him being less than a quarter of his original size! I miss him a lot and maybe I’ll soon experience the same fate as well. I have already grown half my size, I wonder how much longer I can last!

Oh no! She found me! Ahhh don’t pick me up please! Phew! She didn’t pick me and turns out she was looking for a pencil not an eraser. Well, good luck dear pencil, I know you relate to me.

WAIT- if she needed a pencil, she’d soon need me to rub off her mistakes! Please don’t make mistakes!! Well, she is also a human and all humans make mistakes!! I wish I could walk around and hide on my own instead of getting lifted up and thrown randomly. It hurts so much when I get thrown like that! I wish this human could understand my feelings. Not only mine, also my other friends and other objects which can’t speak. Within this controversial world, there’s another small, very torturous world of us erasers! I wish one day I can get out of this mess.

Scarlett's Writing Thread:

CURRENT DAILY : March 30

The object chosen is something many kids keep in their rooms. Most of them are either fluffy, furry, or soft. They are mostly found on a bed. Not only kids, but teenagers all adore this thing. Many of you have probably had it in your childhood. They can come in any color, from red to purple. There is no correct size, but they can be as small as your hand, to as big as a chair. There are many different types of this object. It can actually be anything. Maybe an animal, plant, or even a crown. Can you guess what this item is? (104 words)


CURRENT WEEKLY (weekly #4):
part 1 : total of 1292 words

Character 1 : Oceana Gray / 17 / Extrovert (319 words)
Oceana Gray is a 17 year old high school student. She is a sociable and expressive girl, who always loves to share her ideas with others. She's quite imaginative and can create a wonderful story in minutes. Oceana is a modest girl, in a way that she doesn't like to brag and show off. Without hesitation, Oceana would stand up for both herself and others. This makes her a little protective of her siblings and friends.

Despite being born as a brunette, Oceana has never stayed one for long. At the age of 14, When she first entered high school, everything changed. It was as if a new world opened up. She finally saw the true world. The world of design, style, and creativity. Oceana soon bleached her hair, and started highlighting it every now and then. (Which of course suits her perfectly.) Ever since, Oceana started to be creative, and add her own sparkle in everything.

Oceana is a unique character, with plenty of her own shine. Ever since she was in elementary school, she had an interest in many different sports. She doesn't just have an interest, but is actually very good at it. Oceana is on a competitive swimming team, and is also the team captain of her soccer team. She can also do well in basketball, tennis, hockey, and skating. This is one thing most people like about her (her sportsmanship, dedication, and the fact that she's good at sports)

Another thing that people mostly like about Oceana is her artistic side. Not only with her art, music, and dance, but with style. Oceana is great at designing both her clothes and hair. For clothes, she uses old t-shirts and adds her own special touch. This is something Oceana and her best friend Aria like to do in their free time. Oceana loves having her childhood best friend with her. Together, they share wonderful memories </3


Character 2 : Aria Summers / 17 / Omnivert (324 words)
Aria Summers is the best friend of Oceana. She is also a 17 year old high school student. At times, Aria can be just like Oceana, and other times, you can even mistake her for someone else. Her personality can change from fangirling over a kpop band, to quietly reading in a library. Her behaviour all depends on her mood and location. If she was in a more comfortable and relaxed place, she would act extroverted. For a strange and unusual place, she would act introverted.

When Aria was younger, she was actually quite social and outgoing. It all changed when she started to get bullied in her first year of middle school. This experience changed her life and made her feel insecure, shy, and more private about her life. Most people ignore bullies, but Aria did the opposite. She let the rude comments get to her, and ruin her happiness. When Aria met Oceana, it was grade 7. Oceana brought delight in Aria's life, and mostly brought her back to her old self.

Nowadays, Aria has hazelnut-brown hair, with natural streaks of dirty blonde. She has a mix of green and grey for her eyes, and tan skin. She is normally kind and thoughtful, but when it comes to bullies she automatically becomes shy and timid. One side of Aria loves to read, study, sleep, and stay quiet, whereas the other side loves to hang out with friends, go to concerts, listen to music, etc. Aria loves to spend time with her friends and family.

Similar to Oceana, Aria is very artistic. Not just in art, but in music, dance, and cooking. Her dream is to go to culinary school, and to become a professional chef. Ever since she was young, it became a tradition to either bake or cook something, at least once a week. Cooking, art, music, and dance are all her hobbies and interests, along with writing, reading, studying, and sewing.


Setting : Yellow and pink = Flower garden & Sunrise (169 words)
The colours given are yellow and pink. Naturally, I decided on a flower garden. To match the colour palette, the hour of day would be time for sunrise. The setting would take place in autumn/fall (around September and October), so the weather would be a little chilly, but warm enough to wear a light sweater.

Once you enter the flower garden, there will be rows and rows of different and colourful flowers. It starts off with red roses, slowly turning into yellow tulips, and then into pink carnations. In the flower garden, you will be able to find the most beautiful flowers that you can ever imagine. The colour of the sky would be a gradient background, too pretty to believe. It would start with a light shade of pink, turning into light pastel yellow.

There is a light brown pathway made of dried dirt, which will lead you in and out of the flower garden. There will also be random swings, made out of vines, to rest.


Freewrite (450 words)
The birds began to chirp a beautiful melody, as the sun started to rise. It was still early morning, and the sun was nearly awake. The wind howled, lifting the leaves off the branches. Fall had begun and the leaves had already started to change color.

The silence was suddenly disturbed, by the sound of a vehicle. The car stopped at the road, a young woman walking out.

“Thank you,” the young woman, Oceana, said to the driver, closing the car door. “I'll be done in an hour. Pick me up at 8am”

The man inside the vehicle nodded in response, driving off.

Oceana took a deep breath, inhaling the sweet smell of the beautiful flowers. She took the bag off her shoulders, and zipped it open, slowly taking out her photography camera. She closed it again, throwing it over her shoulder.

Suddenly, another voice came from behind her.

“Oceana!” The voice called.

Oceana turned back, looking at a girl running towards her. Her hazelnut hair chased behind her, as she made her way to Oceana.

It was Aria.

Oceana smiled, looking at her best friend.

“Hey” she said, with a wave. “We better get started, the sun will be out in an hour or so”

Oceana started walking towards the flower garden gate, slowly opening it. The girls both gasped as they saw the garden. It looked like a picture from a movie!

They walked inside, following the nearest pathway, which led them inside rows of light purple peonies.

Immediately, they spotted a swing made of vines.

“Aria, let's take a photo with this,” Oceana suggested.

Aria nodded in response and made her way up to the swing. She gently sat down, and swung her legs back and forth.

“Perfect” Oceana whispered, holding out the camera, to take a photo.

The camera clicked.

“Woah” Oceana mumbled, taking a look at the picture.

The photo was of Aria swinging, mid-air, with the sunrise exactly in the background. It looked like the photo was taken by a pro!

Aria quickly ran to Oceana, standing beside her. She gazed down at the photo and squealed.

“It looks amazing!!” she said happily.

Oceana nodded in agreement. “Let's take a few more pictures, and we'll be out of here” she said, looking up at the sky. The sun was almost fully up.

The girls made their way to the next destination.

“Oooh” Aria said, looking at some light red roses. “Let's take a picture with these,” she suggested, walking up to the flowers.

She sniffed the sweet smell, then quickly posed. She smiled, holding her hands together, in front. The camera clicked again, and the two friends gazed down.

“Nothing but perfection” Aria considered.


part 2 : total of 1073 words
activity 1 → include three similes and a metaphor in what you’ve written so far ✔
activity 2 → include a silent conversation ✔
activity 3 → make an important object disappear in thin air ✔
activity 4 → setting changes ✔
activity 5 → include a long to-do list ✔
activity 6 → a character personality changes ✔


activity 1: 263 words
The sun was now fully risen, revealing the bright light.

“Argh” Oceana groaned. “The sun's brighter than when you have a flashlight in your face”

Aria laughed. “Let's come earlier tomorrow, so we can get more pictures,” she suggested, taking out her phone. She took a quick glance at the time, shoving it back in her pocket. “I still have a few hours until I have to get home.”

“Wanna come over?” Oceana asked, as her phone started ringing.

She quickly took out her phone and answered the call.

“Hello?” She asked, waiting for a response.

It was her father.

“K, coming.” She canceled the call, and put her phone back in her bag. “ My dad's here, c'mon”

Aria nodded, following Oceana to the gate.

Oceana's father was already waiting for them, in a large pickup truck. The colour of the truck was as dark as the midnight sky.

The girls entered the truck, shutting the door behind them.

“Hello Aria,” Oceana's father greeted, his voice deep as the bottom of a well.

“Hey, Mr. Gray,” Aria said with a smile.

Oceana lifted her bag, putting it on her lap. She zipped it open, taking out her camera.

“Let's review the photos for my competition. I need to submit them by next week” she said, holding the camera in the middle of her, and Aria.

“This one's really pretty,” Aria said, pointing to the picture of her on the swing. “It looks like a painting!”

“Probably similar to heaven” Oceana exaggerated, with a small laugh.

They were right. The picture sure was beautiful.


activity 2: 146 words
Suddenly, the silence was disturbed, by Aria's phone buzzing. She quickly took out her phone and answered the call.

“Hello?” Aria asked into the phone.

“Hey honey, When will you be home? Remember, you have tutoring at 5pm.” Aria's mother reminded.

“On my way to Oceana's place, I'll be home by 3.” Aria responded.

“Who is it?” Oceana interrupted, whispering to Aria.

Aria formed a call hand signal, and held it next to her head. ‘Mom’ she mouthed.

“Have fun! And when you get home, can you pick up Elijah from school?” Aria's Mother requested.

“Sounds good, Mom. Bye”

“Bye”

“What did she say?” Oceana asked, putting her camera back in the bag. She then placed her bag back on the floor.

“Oh, I just have to pick up Elijah from school” Aria responded, shoving her phone back in her pocket.

“You mean your brother?”

“Yeah”


activity 3 & 4: 191 words
Minutes later..

“We're here” Oceana's father called, parking the truck in the driveway of the house.

Standing in front of them was a large, modern house. Instead of bricks, beige coloured concrete covered the walls. The house was quite big, probably able to hold a family of 7.

Oceana's father clicked the button underneath the rearview mirror, which opened the garage door.

As they entered the house, Oceana kicked off her shoes and ran upstairs, still carrying her bag. Aria was following behind.

As the girls entered Oceana's bedroom, they both sat on the queen sized bed.

Oceana zipped open her bag, reaching for her camera.

The bag was empty.

“Huh?” Oceana mumbled in confusion, peering inside.

There was nothing there.

“Very funny, ha ha” Oceana said, rolling her eyes. She thought Aria had taken her camera as a joke.

“What are you talking about..?” Aria asked. She had no idea what was going on.

“ My camera. You took it, didn't you? ”

“No…”

Oceana sighed. The camera was a reward from her most recent photography competition. She had placed 1st, and earned a professional camera, with $1,000 as a prize.


activity 5: 152 words
Oceana's face dropped. She was quite devastated.

She took out her phone from the side pocket of her bag, and unlocked it. Oceana then opened the notes app and started typing, added a few things to her to-do list:

- Look for camera
- Photograph pictures for competition

“*, that's quite a long list,” Aria exclaimed, peering over Oceana's shoulder. She started to read the list. “Buy a new hair dryer.. Go to the gym.. Finish studying for exams.. Meet with Professor Kalmin for assignment 1929.. Buy Stray Kids merch.. Visit Aunt Shirley and Uncle Ryan-”

“Okay, okay, I get it!” Oceana cut Aria off and lightly laughed. She was still sad about her camera. “That's my to-do list for the week”

“Well, you better get started! It'll take you a whole month to finish that!” Aria laughed, as she started to count the different things to do on the list. “You have a total of 28 things to complete”


activity 6: 294 words
“So? It doesn't even matter, why are you caring so much?” Oceana gaslighted, her voice sounding annoyed.

Aria kept silent, unsure of what had gotten into Oceana. Just a second ago, they were joking around, and now..

“What are you looking at?” Oceana groaned. “Ugh, you're the one who probably took my camera!” She exclaimed angrily.

“Oceana.. Are you alright? What-” Aria was cut off by Oceana's father.

He opened the room door and asked. “Are you guys in the mood for breakfast?”

“No daddy.” Oceana replied, sounding like a little girl.

‘What’s gotten into Oceana? First she's annoyed at me, and now she's acting like she's 5?' Aria thought.

“Maybe in a little bit” she quickly said to Oceana's father.

“ ‘right ” He said, nodding in response, before leaving the room. He closed the door behind him.

The girls looked back at each other.

“So.” Oceana gaslighted again. “You were probably going to say ’what makes you think I took it'. Well a lot of things, actually. The fact that you're not good enough at photography, and lost the competition. And since I got first, you think it's a good idea to steal my prize!” She exclaimed, her voice starting to become loud and mean.

“And you knew that I wouldn't be so angry about it, because we're ”best friends“. ” she yelled, air quoting the words best friends.

“Well guess what! I don't even want to be your friend!” Her voice started to echo through the walls.

It wouldn't be a surprise if one of the neighbours rang the doorbell to tell Oceana to be quiet.

While Oceana yelled at her, Aria kept silent the whole time.

She knew that it wasn't Oceana who was screaming at her.

It was the devil inside her.

March 1: I silently sit in the box, waiting to be touched. Suddenly, I see light. The box is opened and a hand reaches in. Unwrapping my plastic bagging, I finally feel the warmth of the fresh air. This person- they tug at me and adjust me, unfolding the creases in my fabric. I’m worn to protect. To keep everyone safe. Many times, I’ve heard a word throughout the day. Pandemic. The more people I see, the more I see of myself. I assume I have an important role. At the end of a tiring day, I’m finally given a break. Left on the dining room table, alone. I wait through the quiet night, the tranquility calming my nerves. My owner grabs me the next day, hurrying to clasp my loops and rushes out the door. Why in such a hurry? I’m squeezed, the anxiety of this human sinking into my restless soul. Realizing this situation, I understand that I hold the lives of the people that wear me. I eventually feel my true purpose. Except, I guess I was wrong. The smell of banana peels, coffee grounds, and wrappers, my identity is lost. At the end of the day, I’m thrown out, like I’m worthless. Maybe I am…No! Never! I was worn with a purpose, right!? I was meant for a real cause. I should be treated like this. But, um, I can’t get out of here. I suppose I’ll just live with this weight. As I lay in the trash can, I’m reminded of my life in the cardboard box. Just the same. Am I ever going to get past this bump in the road? As I think of all the things I could be doing, I hear a peeping- a buzzing, actually. A small little gnat buzzed around me. Landing on my fabric, the bug crawled slowly. I guess this is my life now. (+317)

Hi! I’m Bee I’ll claim this as my writing thread. I’m in Thriller (who will obviously win! Although good luck to other cabins!!)

Dailies: March 2 (I made a mistake in the writing… it says March 1, but I meant March 2. Now I can't edit it!! )

Weeklies:

Word Wars:

Writing Competitions:

Random writing stuff I want to add:

Blue's March 2022 SWC Bread Crumbs

Follow the bread crumbs and you'll find my main thread! Wow! I promise I absolutely will not be recreating Hansel and Gretel. I swear. I am not a candy witch in the forest. Yet.

>> Blue's March 2022 SWC Content Log <<

March 02, 2022
Main Cabin Daily Writing Prompt:

Prompt: Write in the perspective of an inanimate object. Write 300+ words for 500 points!
Word Count: + 474

I am absolutely disgruntled. I am made from the finest of woods, crafted by the most skilled of hands, and yet, I remain as a mere decoration; a knick-knack collecting dust, rather than ornate jewelry. My pedigree is much too refined to be abandoned to this fate. Even still, I am unmistakably stuck, forced to watch as my owner carelessly throw their earrings, rings, and other fine accessories on their bedside table or, when they're feeling particularly ghastly, lazily beside my form. On those days, when the lights go out and my owner sleeps, an item haphazardly strewn beside me, the ghostly remnants of my creator fuzzily resurface. Gnarled hands patiently carving intricate patterns into my surface, the softness of the brush that polished and perfected my wounds into art, and the warmth of the light as I was put on display. Then, I was purchased, and abandoned just as easily. A bitterness surfaces often as I watch my owner ignore my past and deny my purpose.

My days are mostly filled with the dreary silence. Recently, however, a new owner has been visiting. A small one made up of colorful adornments and cheery smiles. A young thing that is always wearing beaded necklaces, cheap plastic rings, and pink shoes that can be heard running through the house during these visitations. Sometimes when my owner is not attentive, the small owner slinks into the room in which I am prisoner. Eyes widely looking at each item visible from their measly height. They're often shoed out in a matter of moments, one last longing look being cast briefly over their shoulder. On these occasions, I like to imagine that the look is directed solely at me.

The small owner is not quite as small anymore. Still young and still colorful, but nothing compared to the height of my owner. My owner whom I have not seen in many days. They slept for three days straight. Then they disappeared after being carried out by a group of strangers. Slowly, the items along their shelves have been boxed or disappeared too. The room is emptier and, yet, I still find myself positioned on the drawer opposite of the bed; absolutely untouched. Until now, that is. The small owner, along with some others, arrived today to gather the rest us that remain. The small one's eyes land on me, fingers tenderly wiping the dust from my top and curiously peering at what few items have been left in my possession over the years. The small owner smiles and speaks something I can not understand. A response is given and suddenly I earn a new piece of jewelry. A plastic ring with a big fake ruby. My pedigree is much too refined for such an item, but, strangely, I find my bitterness of neglect chip ever so slightly away.

Swc daily March 2nd
-A friend-
I am a pencil, a very loyal one too. I move swiftly according to how I am wanted to. I also write neatly. My perception is controversial among some people. Many writers deem me as their friend, and I am honored because of that. Some students like me, some don’t. For some I am a savior, yet for others I am proof of their failure.

Writers treasure me with all of their hearts, for I am a best friend to them. I guide them, they guide me. Their freedom of ideas depends on me, and mine depends on them. I bring them joy, they brighten my day; we are forever connected.

I bring their stories to life with all my might. Such beautiful worlds I create with their help, or is it the other way around? I keep their secrets until they are ready to be shared with the world. I am the first to witness the depths of their minds and the non-existent limits of their imaginations.

The imagination of an author is such a wonderful place. Colors flow from every direction into whirlpool of new ideas. Those new ideas morph into stories which morph into books when we work together. A pencil is all a writer needs to make a dream reality. There might be some dark places, but a writer's secrets are safe with me. After all, masterpieces arise from a mixture of darkness and light.

Without me, knowledge would be a figment of people’s imaginations. Without me, no one would be able to keep records of their ideas. Books would not exist. Writers would become all alone—they wouldn’t have me as their friend. And the most devastating of all, you, my fellow reader, would have never read this piece of writing about me written by a writer I call my friend.

HP fanfic (joke) for my friend

“So, any ideas on how it is possible for us to be alive?” asked James as they pushed through the crowd.
“That’s not important,” Lily tripped over a rock.
“Well, actually—“
“Oh, shut up!” Lily squeezed between two large men from the ministry, “You know what we need to do now is locate Harry!”
“And how, exactly, will we explain to him?” James wondered.
“We won’t. We don’t know, do we? That’s what we’ll tell him.”
“So we just burst in, startle him, don’t give any explanation, do something with Voldemort and live happily ever after?” James nodded in approval. “I like it!”
“That’s worrying.”
“D’you know where the other Order members are now?” James scratched his head.
“Some are probably dead already. I hope Voldemort hasn’t found out about it.”
“Funny how Harry met him again last year. A fifteen year old has met the darkest wizard of all time twice? And when he was much younger…” James’ face drifted off into a different expression.
“Lucky he hasn’t met him more, right? Anyway, we need to find him—but first we must see what Voldemort is doing.”

The crowd was thick and moving. Everyone was nervous, for the Dark Lord stood in their midst, with the usual intention of killing. Lily and James, after much pushing and shoving, managed to get to the front, or thereabouts.
“What’s he doing?” Lily whispered with a shiver, looking at Voldemort’s flat, merciless face. James peered at him.
“Looks like he’s talking to a kid!”
“A kid? Huh, that’s unlike him.” Then Lily Potter’s worried face paled, “James…you don’t think…”
“HARRY POTTER IS IN MY HANDS!!” yelled Voldemort triumphantly.
“No I’m not. You aren’t touching me…” replied Harry with a glance at the crowd, searching for his best friends. As for his parents, they could not hear his retort, as Harry was polite, not a person who’d rudely yell. Voldemort, much to the horror of the Potters, grabbed young Harry and pulled, him, by the neck, up close to his face.
“Is this better, Potter?” the evil wizard asked with a cruel smile on his noseless face.
“Erm…”
“When I ask a question, I expect an answer!”
“Your hands are on me, but I—“
“Silencio!”
Lily swayed on the spot. Voldemort grinned, stretching his pale cheeks.
“You know, Potter, it’s more fun with you able to speak.” he said, still grinning, “That way I can hear your screams of terror!” He cast the counter-charm quickly and stepped back to admire his work.
“I was a much better sorcerer than you when I was your age. I had more sense, too. Sense enough to answer someone as powerful as me at once, too, stammerer!”
“It was a rhetorical question, you know. And, you are not such a powerful wizard as—“
“SILENCE! I, you see, can blow you into smithereens with a flick of my wand here. I am only keeping you alive a little longer out of the goodness of my heart,” the wizard tapped his empty chest, and the hollow sound of him banging his non-existent heart echoed around the Hogwarts courtyard. “So, you see, it would be more prudent to speak only when spoken to!”
“You just spoke to me and I would like to speak, so—“ Harry began.
“In my day, children were seen and not heard! What d’you say to that?”
“Stop interrupting. You were heard and seen, so who are you to lecture me?”
“Ah, yes. With minds such as your own, they do not understand. I was a special child, Potter.”
Yeah. Special needs,” Harry searched for his friends once again.
“Do you recall me saying that you should be silent?” asked Voldemort, raising his also non-existent eyebrows.
“No,” replied Harry.
“I see. Well, Harry, it has been fun, but…” Voldemort threw Harry to the ground, where he looked up, “I’m afraid you must be killed now.”

Lily almost fainted, keeping her consciousness only by pinching herself hard. Harry said an insult quietly to Voldemort, that no one heard but him and Harry.
“When I’m dead, what’re you going to do? Your dreams had stretched to killing a boy. Call yourself a powerful wizard.”
James strained his ears, but could not hear what his son said.
“AVADA KEDAVRAAAAAAAA!!!!!!” Voldemort screamed.
Parvati Patil fainted.

Before anyone could act further, a short, stout death eater hurried up to Voldemort and muttered something in his ear. He looked annoyed.
“Send for Lucius to help. How did this happen?” he hissed. To the crowd in general, he yellled,
“I am going! But I will be BACK! And, of course…THE BOY WHO LIVED IS DEAAADDDDD!!!!!!!”
He went away.
Lily and James, of course, got to Harry. They got there just before Ron and Hermione, who were about to reach him when they saw the couple. Hermione thrust out her arm sideways in front of Ron, making him fall on Dean Thomas.
“What was that for?” he whispered, getting up.
“What do you think?” Hermione replied.
“No idea!” Ron said.
Lily had Harry in her arms and James was examining the scar he’d got fourteen years before.
“Why?” asked Lily, distraught.

Lily and James were sitting on chairs in a wooden room a bit like a hut. It had two doors: one that led out, and the other led into one more room, which they didn’t know or care about.
Harry’s body was on a ledge in front of them. They were staring at it. Lily sniffed, looking at his face, so much like his father’s.
“Oh, Harry.” She murmured, “Oh, open your eyes!”
Harry opened his eyes.
Lily and James shrieked and leapt backwards.
“Oh, no,” Harry remarked.
“Harry!! You’re alive! YOU’RE ALIVE!!”
“I noticed,” said Harry.
“I,” remarked James thoughtfully, “think this is most interesting.”
“Interesting? Interesting?” Lily gave him a hard stare.
“What is this place, anyway?” Harry asked quickly.
“They built it twenty minutes ago for you,” replied Lily.
“Mmm, I think Fudge funded it!” James mused.
“Fudge?”
“Yeah…the doors are very weak, you know. If you lean on it, you’ll fall right through…they warned us.”
“Why did they—?”
“Stingy, I s’pose. Here, feel it, go on,” commanded James. Thus, Harry walked to the door and felt it. Sure enough, it was very weak and creaked. He was just about to speak when—
“Your best friend is—!” the voice was angry but—
There was a thump against the opposite door and—
Hermione Granger fell through onto the floor!
“Hermione, are you all right?” Harry asked in concern.
“Yes, I’m—“ she began, dusting herself off, “HARRY!” She ran over to him, flung her arms around him, and they ended up on the floor, Hermione on top of Harry.
“Owch, Hermione—“
“Harry, you’re alive, ALIVE!”
“Yeah, but, please, you’re heavier than you look—“
“Oh, goodness, this is great!”
“But can you please just get—“
“How? Were you unconscious, or…?” She hugged him.
“Ow!” Harry was happy he was alive, but Hermione was lying directly on top of him, and of course that must be a bit heavy.
“And, oh, my—what? Oh, dear, am I squashing you?” Hermione blushed.
“Mmmffff,” replied Harry. Hermione hurriedly stood up and helped her friend to his feet. Then, the door opened; it was Ron.
“Hermion— HARRY!” he cried.
“Here we go again,” sighed Harry.
After a nice reunion, they sat down at the table.
“Ah,” remarked Ron, “Now we’re together we can do…what we usually do!”
“What, come up with another clever plan to get us killed, or worse, expelled?” Harry asked. They laughed.
“Hold on, how many times have you nearly been killed or expelled?” Lily asked doubtfully. The golden trio glanced at each other.
“Erm…” said Harry.
“Well, quite a lot…” said Hermione.
“Maybe more than other people…” added Ron.
“Basically, every year,” Harry concluded. James promptly had a coughing fit, which didn’t convince Lily, who frowned at him for laughing at such a thing.
They happily talked some more, then decided to go into the castle.
“I suspect you might attract some attention,” stated Hermione skeptically.
“Oh, I always do,” Harry replied. “It’s very annoying.”

They sauntered into Hogwarts and were walking along a corridor when, sure enough, they attracted attention. Parvati and Padma Patil were trudging gloomily the opposite direction with armfuls of books. In the middle, they met Lily, James, Harry, Ron, and Hermione. The twins squealed and their books went flying. L,J, H, R, H we’re covered in fifth-year set books.
“Oh my!” Padma cried. After the shock, Parvati commented,
“You’re much better at surviving than you are at dancing, Harry!”
“Dancing,” Harry replied, “is a life skill I’d rather pass by.”

Daily:
I am a bee feeder. Every day I sit out on the bee box, as the bees buzz around me. Sometimes I fear they will sting me, but it never happens, thank goodness. Every now and then someone takes me inside the house to get refilled. The sweet smell of sugar water can be sickening at times, but there's nothing I can do about it. Somedays I watch the birds on the bird feeders. Bird feeders are lucky, they don't have bees swarming around them. I hear the birds singing happily after stopping by the bird feeder. All I get from the bees is a BUZZ. I wish I could be a bird feeder. Today I'm going back out from being refilled. I see a squirrel on the bird feeder. The squirrel is knocking the bird feeder down. The human sets me on the porch and picks the bird feeder up. It is unharmed, but the human takes it inside to refill it. And leaves me on the porch. I sit there for a few minutes. Then the dog walks up and sniffs me, almost knocking me over. The human comes back out of the house, and hangs up the bird feeder, and takes me back to the bee box. As I sit on the bee box, I see the bird feeder get knocked down again by the squirrel. Another human is coming around the house, riding a thing. The thing is cutting the grass. It's also heading right for the bird feeder! I watch as the thing drives over the bird feeder. CRUNCH. The human gets off he thing and looks at the bird feeder. It calls to the human that takes me in. When my human saw the bird feeder it freaked out. I'm now glad I'm not a bird feeder. The End
~305 words~

Intro (not counting words for this at the moment.):
As you look around the mega thread, you find a button, or sign with question marks and flowers. To your surprise, when you click the sign, you are suddenly brought to a shop with small lights that dance around the room. With close examination, there are flowers on each sleek table, and suddenly you feel the presence of someone behind you, causing you to turn and jump backwards away from them. “Oh, sorry that I startled you-! Anyway, welcome! Here I’ll be putting any links of writing, dailies, and other thing related.” She said, swiftly twirling and vanishing. A screen a few feet away flicked on, showing different categories and what she did for them.

Hello, I am El, a person known for taking 6 years of ballet so far, and being an extroverted procrastinator :’D - I hope ill get to know you all throughout this session and beyond!

— LINKS+ —

DAILIES——
- https://scratch.mit.edu/discuss/topic/582424/?page=20#post-6083187 (MARCH 2, 141 WORDS)
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WEEKLIES——
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WORD WARS——
- https://scratch.mit.edu/discuss/topic/582424/?page=47#post-6098246
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WRITING COMPS——
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EXTRAS——
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I am scissors, and this was all I have ever been. I am “Fiskars Blunt Tip Kids Scissors, 5-Inch, Pink, $4.90.” Every day, like today, I am seated at the back of a dingy room with barely enough space to fit 3 people, yet 6 people squeeze in every day. The teacher of this “class” is Ms. Dean, and she never finished sixth grade. Whenever somebody asks why she is a teacher with her lack of schooling she says that it doesn't matter because she's teaching second grade anyway. She uses me aggressively and whenever I am used by her I leave behind jagged cuts. I have grown to learn from the other students in this “class” by the way they treat me. Today, I sat in the dark as always in the minuscule room with the curtains pulled. I hear the creak of a door and in steps the one person, I don't expect to be here right now. Miranda. She is a student in this class, but she's always late and never finishes her work. This leaves me confused, as she uses me the most gracefully and her creations are very realistic, beautiful, and imaginative. She is the one that is constantly being yelled at by Ms. Dean, sometimes for real reasons like she didn't take out her math book or for bogus reasons like she had her finger up. Miranda looks around nervously, then pulls off her backpack and plops it down behind her box, or “desk”, as Ms. Dean insists they call it. She looks around, then dashes to the curtains, pulls them open, and then crouches down and pulls at the brick at the bottom of the wall. To my surprise, it comes out and she sticks her hand in the hole and pulls out a ‘CLOSED UNTIL FORTHER VNOTICER’ sign that was obviously written by one of the students in this class, they're so badly taught, and the letters U,N,T,I,L,T,H,R,N,O,T,I, and C. are faded so it looks like this: CLOSED FOR E V ER. Miranda hangs in the doorway, then rushes out. My vision is blurry, and if I was human I would throw up. What is going on!? Why did Miranda leave her backpack here and the windows open? Why did she hang that sign up? Since when did she know where it was? And, most importantly….what's going to happen to me?

399 words

March 2nd daily!



The setting sun is glourious.

It's colours melt into the sky, bleeding like pastels into the pale blue.

We sit atop a mountain, Lila and I, watching this amazing display of reds and golds and oranges, all tumbled together like rubies in the sky. She laughes, and her long, black hair flickers about her face. There is no one else here but us and the sun and happiness.

Lila leans back on her arms, letting the warm rays dance across her face like water, smiling in the bright glare. She looks so happy.

'I would do anything for her.' I thought, and I meant it. I really did.

The rocks were hard beneath me, and slightly uncomfortable, but I'd get through it. It was worth it to see Lila like this. She dangled her legs off the edge of the cliff, something that I was slightly concerned about, but I couldn't warn her. I couldn't do anything to keep her safe.

The very tip of the sun had vanished below the horizon now, the last of it's blood shining into the cotton candy clouds. Lila would get up soon, now. It was getting late and she had to get home.

A strange feeling of dread had settled through me during our time up here on the mountain, like something bad was about to happen, but I didn't know what. All I knew was that I had to protect Lila from it, but how?

She sighed, leaning back onto the stone, smiling up at the sky and all the evening stars that were beginning to emerge. She didn't seem to be affected by this impending doom, instead she seemed content to sit here for as long as possible, while I was beginning to panic.

It was then that it happened.

The bushes to one side of us began to rustle, a low, deep growling sound emitting from deep within the foliage. Lila sat up, a frown on her face as she stood, leaning in towards the bushes to investigate.

'No!' I thought, but it was too late; she let out a loud, horse scream, one full of panic and desperation. I knew what was about to happen now, what all of my worry had been for.

Out of the bush prowled the largest bear I had ever seen. It's dark pelt rippled with muscle, it's shoulders rounded with menace. It peeled back its horrible, black lips to reveal a set of gleaming white teeth, and sharp as razors.

Lila screamed again and turned, fleeing from the monster that followed with a roar. She ran down the path we'd come to get up here, and vanished round the bend, with the great bear right behind her.

I was alone.

What had happened? Was Lila OK?

I hoped she'd be alright; she couldn't see very well without me, her glasses.

SWC Daily #1 - March 2nd

I am separated from my brothers and sisters. I say my teary goodbyes before being lifted up and out of the bread box. Time to get to the toaster.
As soon as I’m set down on the counter, I wait patiently to be buttered. The container lands next to me only a moment later, and I turn my gaze to the ceiling as the butterknife approaches.
Being buttered really, really tickles. It’s like being lathered with a cool half-liquid, half-solid, and you feel all soft and squishy. It’s equal parts good and weird.
After being buttered, I am laid on a tray and put into the oven.
When my family and their ancestors were baked, I was scared for them. I used to think something bad was happening to them in that black, glowing prison. But when they came out, they looked beautiful, like an instant glow-up. Now it was my turn.
I heard multiple beeping noises, and the clang of the door closing. I gazed up at the red lights at the top of the oven. I thought ovens were supposed to be hot… I pondered as I scanned the oven curiously.
Then, the world began to heat up. The aluminum foil below me was beginning to sizzle my dough, and I exhaled happily. This felt amazing. It was like therapy, or the ASMR videos I’m always hearing in the house. I felt warm and tingly inside, and the smell of toast filled the air.
I had done it. I had become a piece of buttery, delicious toast. And now I was going to fulfill my destiny.
The oven dinged, and I was taken out. Though the air was cold around me, the lingering feeling of warmth remained. It seemed to radiate off of me.
I was laid down on a plate and taken to a table, being raised up and closer to my fate. It felt good to do what I was made for. It felt good to finally be eaten.

333 words

I got a phone as my object through a friend. I randomly asked; If you could be any non-living object, what would you be?


Daily 2 -

The Life in a Phone

I heard my owner coming closer. I resisted the urge to light up, to turn on.

My owner was moving closer now. I heard her footsteps get louder, get closer.

I felt the air whoosh behind me as she picked me up, her fingers tapping on my screen.

Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.

I felt free as I spoke through her fingertips-

Hey, guys! How was your weekends?

I felt happy as I felt her friends reply's pop up.

Great! Hbu, Marry? from Jenny.

and

Amazing, loved my little sis bday party! We used all the water balloons on her from Sally.

I heard my girl laugh in happiness and love for her friends. I was so happy!- until she put me in her pocket.

For your information, I HATE the pocket. Its dark and scary and I cannot hear my girl laugh and speak- only scream and yell.

Thats why, 30 minutes later, I felt complete joy upon being brought OUT of her pocket, so she could text once more.

Then, to my suprise, she switched over to an app called Notes.

She started typing like crazy- one long, long essay.

An atom is part of the air and atmosphere around us.

She continued for some time.