SWC daily 1 - March 2 - 141 words.

I feel thin as usual as I am awakened by a pencil scribbling on my pages. Luckily, the student who uses me does often, keeping me away from boredom and loneliness throughout the day. As I rustle, I can hear the student and their friends learn and laugh, although I worry of what's yet to come, one way or another, I shall soon have my thin pages torn or summer will come and I will be thrown away, yet I am a motionless notebook and I can only feel the wind rustle my pages. Looking at the bright ceiling lights, I think of this every day as I smell the sharp scent of the black sharpie from the students' clean writing. As my pages open to a new story though, I venture away into dreams of what my kind dreams of.

I think this counts as words, I did this with another camper in the Mythfi hangout it's a roleplay. I'm Alicia and she's the pixie. Every time there's another line is one of us replying. Also, words like k*ll and m*rder are censored because I don't want the Scratch Team to remove me.
821 words

“I'm Alicia Darrow, private investigator of the Twelve Worlds. What business?” asked the “human” female, with blond hair and fair skin. “All species and Worlds welcome. What case do you want me to investigate?”
A distracted pixie flittered before her, the tiny spirit's wings flitting in different directions every single second, similar to a hummingbirds. It took her a second to get the words out, “a m*rder.” It was very blunt, once the sentence was choked out, not at all what anyone would have expected from the little being.
“A murder,” Alicia mused. She didn't judge, because she encountered many different cases of all surprising sizes and they were all unique. No judging. “Well, who was murdered?”
“My older brother- j-just today. They took me in for questioning and said it was all some dead end and now I don't know what to do-” The pixie seemed flustered, or more exactly, terrified.
“I'm sorry for your loss,” Alicia said first, and then moved on. “Okay, so they don't know who m*rdered your brother and you want me to find out?” She said things as kindly as she could.
The pixie nodded, not saying anything more.
Alicia decided to head to the place of death. “Where did this incident occur?” She whipped out a notepad and pen, getting ready to write.
“Near where he works, Mulberry C.W Care Centere. It was around seven a.m, I remember they said the cause of d*ath was aphy-aphysix-”
“Asphyxiation?” She wrote it down. “Lack of air-”, Alicia didn't say oxygen, since different species sometimes required different air chemicals- “Usually from choking, being strangled, or drowning. He probably didn't drown.” Care Centers did not usually have large amounts of water. “When was this? Around an eating time for your species? He may have choked.”
“N-no. It was random. Ire and I get up around five, have a quick breakfast together, and then we go our separate ways. He's a nurse practitioner, and I'm training to be a physicist.” The pixie let out a small wail, “It was his first day on the job… so excited and we were all so happy….”
Five…Alicia wrote down the number. The fairy probably lived on World 7, called Earth by its inhabitants. Earth used numbers for each of their “hours”. Ugh. She'd rather have her homeworld, World 9, or Terria, any day. Precise 10-block days with 100 bricks a block. “I'm sorry,” she apologized again, processing the rest of the sentence. “It was his first day on the job..so there couldn't have been anyone already wanting to…k*ll him, right?”
“He took a tour last week, said something about how one guy was incredibly annoying, but he didn't give a name and we all dismissed it as just a joke - Ire jokes all the time, it's his little knack. Good at it too.” The pixie sighed. Their wings were no longer flitting around , but finally still. The lack of spirit in them seemed eerie, almost.
“That ‘one guy’ may be a lead,” Alicia jotted all the info down. “And they took you in for questioning,” she stated. “So what questions did they ask you? Did they tell you anything you think would be relevant?”
“The officer said that he was found in the west wing, near one of the sick wards. But they're all bedridden, and it j-just didn't make sense! The security cameras caught nothing, and the staff didn't spot anyone till five minutes after the m*rder, which is pretty quick, but it makes no sense… and they asked what I guess was the usual. I have a few connections in the police department. Or well, Ire does- did. Had friends in the forensics department he used to go to college with and all. I don't know if that amounts to anything…”
Anything we have is better than nothing,“ Alicia comforted her. ”We should investigate that one guy. You said Ire met him on a tour?“
”Yes, probably one of the staff, it seemed like.“ And then the pixie widened her eyes, ”S-sorry, I haven't told you my name, have I? I've absolutely forgotten my manners…. It's Bee. Bee Trochilidae. And Ire's not actually named Ire, his name is Xantus, we just call him Ire as a joke- some sort of oxymoron, since he rarely gets angry- that's what it means, by the way, Ire,“
”Okay, Bee. Let's go investigate this guy that seemed mad at..Ire.“ Alicia hoped it was okay to use his personal nickname. ”You said they met on a tour, do you know where the tour was?“
Bee didn't seem to mind, and got up, wings fluttering. ”At the Center, it was a week before he started and they were just giving him a tour around the grounds“
”Okay, well we need to find the name of that person who was ‘incredibly annoying’. Let's go investigate at the Center."

It ran out of comment limit so we started a new thread with like 2 comments I'll rp some more..

My daily 3/2:

Alas, the life of a pencil eraser is something of which I cannot escape. My struggle is real, yet my dear human user cannot see it. What ever shall I do? I mean, come on! Nobody is going to take an inanimate object seriously. I need help! Lots of it! Perhaps I could write about everything I go though.Yes, yes! That will work wonders! I could advertise a campaign or whatever! What even is a campaign?Eh! Who cares?! I can just ask the pencil below me for help. He’ll probably do all the work but who cares?! I’ll just manipulate him into working for me! Our human user, Sal, always biting on him. I’m sure I can convince him to join my cause! Only problem is, well, I can’t really talk. Y’a know…the whole inanimate thing. EH! Who is going to care about such little details like that! I’m so cool and funny and smart and talented and pretty and awesome and cute and kind! Everything is going to go my way! Life will be so perfect once I spread my message to all. When I mean all I mean ALL. I will go tell everyone and anyone. Nobodies and Somebodies and Every-bodies and Mostly-bodies. Every eraser and pencil and stationery tool! Every person, dog, cat, bunny, bear, lion, tiger, monkey,zebra,giraffe,seal,walrus and now I’m ranting to myself. Again. But problems are crazy. They mean nothing. I’m too good for them anyway. Pencil is so easy to convince I’m sure everyone else be too. Ya’know, life is easy when you are as good an actor as I am. I can go on the streets and pretend I’m one of the nobodies. Everyone will take pity on me. Then, I will become rich and famous. I’ll run for president, and then win! I’ll war on every country and develop weapons to win! And guess what ?! In the end, I will take over the whole entire world!

~March 2nd~
In-Cabin Daily
Word Count: 168
Main Post: https://scratch.mit.edu/discuss/post/6081187/

I stared at the boat with the plate of cookies in my hands. How was I going to do this?
The tiny, little boat bobbed up and down in the waves and I decided it would be best to put the plate in the boat first, then myself.
I gently set the plate on the floor of the rickety thing, then plopped myself on the seat next to it. I grabbed the oars and started rowing.

Stroke after stroke. I could do this. My arms weren’t noodles. I could do this. On the horizon, I spotted Thriller Island. My allies could use some cookies.

I grabbed the plate of cookies and with one hand dragged the boat onto the shoreline. I looked around. Then I shouted loudly. “HEYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY! MYSTERY NINJA HERE! I BROUGHT COOKIES!”
I set the cookies on a rock and rushed back to my boat. Once I was back out to see, I turned back to see what had become of the cookies.

They were gone.

Alas, my life is frustrating and angering. Being a book is not easy. Sure, there are the minority who admire you and get hooked in you for hours, but there are the unsympathetic humans who smack you and throw you on the floor mercilessly; it hurts to be treated like that, physically and mentally. Such people fail to realise that they have been assigned to read by their teachers, not us poor living beings. They are not able to comprehend our pearls of wisdom and overlook us completely. It pains my heart that this is happening.

Just yesterday, my precious, beloved front cover was torn into pieces by an immature boy named Sam; I could not stop myself from sobbing. I later discovered (when the understanding Emma retrieved my exhausted cover) that she had not only be torn into pieces, she had also been thrown into the trash. This saddened me immensely. After noticing my grief, my comrades (the pencil and the eraser) kindly consoled my depressed soul. They tried all they could, but nothing can heal my broken heart or cover. It is not possible to unite me with me daughter once again.

I wish that I was born a human…

Now, I must not speak of bad; I must think of the positive events in your life. Emma, Sam's sister is one of the boons I have been granted in my life. She values me as if I am her sole friend, and I think of her the same. She seldom rips me apart, or treats me cruelly in any way, not even the slightest bit. She spends hours getting hooked in me, which I enjoy.

This morning, she scolded Sam severely for performing such a shameful act and punished him for it. I felt particularly pleased because of this, as I was indignant with him. Since Sam had also degraded them several times, Pencil and Eraser also approved of this.

Every new day is a mystery in my life and I am content with it.

Millie’s SWC Table of Contents

March 2nd Daily:
315 words

On. Off. On. Off. It goes like this day after day. On. Off. On. Off. Put me on to read. Then turn me off to sleep. On. Off. On. Off. A lot of people think I'm just there. But I'm more than that. I'm a lamp!!! Now's your cue to applaud me. Applaud me please! Hey! Ok. Let's imaging you've applauded me. Now let me continue. My family is actually also very important. I come from the lamp family, but my cousins, aunts and uncles are ceiling lights. Take a moment to think, dear audience. Imagine your life without a ceiling light or a lamp. Pretty hard eh? We'll, that is why you should NOT underestimate me or my power. Now. Over to what I do in my daily life. In short, I…. wait for it……. HELP PEOPLE! Yep. I help them read when they want to switch their ceiling lights off in the evening, or when they can't be bothered to stand up and put their lights on in the morning, but want to read. I also help them by being there when they want to work late in the evening. A click of the switch. And TADA! You have light! Now, you still may underestimate me. But I'll prove you wrong. Try to image your life without lamps. You might have hanging lamps or table lamps. Try to remove them from your life. It makes life a lot more inconvenient, impractical and annoying. You have to light your house differently. Now, I hope you understand my importance in life. If not, please go home today and try to live a whole day without turning your lamps on. And, if after that you still don't understand my importance, then I can't help you. I tried. Thanks for listening to my talk on how lamps are important by someone speaking from personal experience - a lamp!

❝a blank page, a fresh start. the beginning of a story waiting to be told. ❞

꒰⚘݄꒱₊__________
“oh my oh my.” they pull you up to your feet, black eyes staring at you. “shouldn't you be at your cabin?”
you're too scared to respond. the stranger sighs and speaks up.
“i'll say this once, this place is private, meaning you can't tell anyone what you saw here. understand?”
you nod.
“good.” they fold their arms. “now out!”
꒰⚘݄꒱₊__________

└➤ intro。✑ ───┐

heyo! i'm butter, an aspiring writer and artist. this session im co-leading mystery with the amazing birdi and vi! critique is accepted if you want, and ill be posting almost all my writing here!

└➤ dailies 。✑ ───┐
march 2: tbd

└➤ weeklies。✑ ───┐


└➤ word wars 。✑ ───┐


└➤ cabin wars 。✑ ───┐


└➤ writing competition。✑ ───┐


└➤ other writing 。✑ ───┐
march 2: tbd

scarlet's march 2022 swc writing

introduction
hello, i'm scarlet! i'm just your local weirdo with too many fandoms such as hamilton, encanto, star wars, kotlc, the dragon prince, the lunar chronicles, the owl house, the entire riordanverse, tlok, and more! -

dailies
march 1 - no daily, just introducing ourselves
march 2 - https://scratch.mit.edu/discuss/post/6084155/
march 3 - https://scratch.mit.edu/discuss/post/6086363/
march 4 - https://turbowarp.org/654435044
march 5 - i'd want waterbending as a superpower!
march 6 - https://scratch.mit.edu/discuss/topic/582424/?page=42#post-6095147
march 7 - https://scratch.mit.edu/discuss/topic/582424/?page=44#post-6095671
march 8 - https://scratch.mit.edu/discuss/topic/582424/?page=52#post-6100241
march 9-23 - n/a

weeklies
1 - n/a
2 - n/a
3 - https://scratch.mit.edu/discuss/topic/582424/?page=84#post-6130766
4 -

writing comp. entry
https://scratch.mit.edu/discuss/topic/582424/?page=91#post-6139525

cabin war writing
~ none at the moment ~

word war writing
https://scratch.mit.edu/discuss/topic/582424/?page=49#post-6098621

SWC Daily:

March 2: Standstill

The eerie silence fading with the faint buzz of the lights, the steady beat of the heart monitor, and the gentle footsteps that echo through the hallway. Whispers float through the building as if on a gentle breeze, the resounding sobs shattering the peace. The torn faces of the family that just received the news, their only child had passed. The sigh of relief and jumps of joy, a new life brought into the world.
It's strange to think that while some are mourning the loss of friends and family, others are rejoicing the birth of the little baby and celebrating a safe recovery. Things so contrast to the other happing under the same roof.
I see it all day by day, night by night. As I rest here, at a standstill. Most pass me up, just another decoration, other's glance my way wondering what I could be. Children skip alongside their parent's pointing, parents nod without glancing my way, weary from waiting all night to see a parent. Most days are like this, though there are those rare times, where something notable happens.
Roughly five months ago, I stood here in this very waiting room. The one room that smells strongly of hand sanitizer, with the nurse that wears to much perfume, and the Loli-pops that sit in the basket adjacent to the lamp. There I sat tucked away, in a corner, behind two chairs, where a mother and daughter sat.
The woman blinked back tears, not wanting to cry in such a public place, her daughter, around five years, tugged lightly at her shirt.
“Mommy, where has daddy gone, and why can't I go too?”
The child saw her mother's distress, and chose to rest her head on her shoulder, with one hand began to rub her mother's arm, with the other began to tug at my petals.
She began to giggle, “You're pretty,” the other hand stretched out the stroke my steam. “Mommy said daddy, wasn't coming back home with us. She said something about him passing, I didn't know he took any test. Test stop when you pass third grade. ”
I felt a strange, twisted feeling in my gut, wishing I could tell the girl the truth, though at the same time wanting her to continue with the lie. It was one of those moments when I wish I was human and could wrap my arms around her. But doing what I wanted to do most, her mother glanced over at her young daughter and wrapped her in a warm embrace.

♥ ᴘᴀɪɴᴏ's ᴡʀɪᴛɪɴɢ ᴍᴀʀᴄʜ 2022

03-02

Daily: Hope

It’s total darkness, and yet I flicker.
A girl cups me in her hands and says, “Should we light another, Mom?”
I can only see the light of her face, and I turn to see another woman who looks just like her stand beside her. They’re both old, yet not close in age at all.
My flame jumps and the girl flinches, but continues to hold me steady as she moves across the room. The only other light is the moonlight hidden behind rows and rows of buildings, and I tilt to try and catch a glimpse of my competitor.
“It’s okay, we don’t need to,” the girl’s mother says.
I’ve always been sitting there in the center of the dining table, unused. I am still as perfect as I was when this girl crafted me for her mother. Now, when my owner is home, I can finally do what I was born to do.
Provide light.
Her mother takes me and places me on the counter. I whisper with the draft from the window, and the girl looks outside. There is no light across the city. Windows are pitch black and streetlights are dead. Am I only necessary in times of crisis?
The girl looks down at me. “Funny how the first day I come back, we have to use the last thing I gave you.”
Her mother makes a noise between a laugh and a sigh. “I see that.”
I sat at that dinner table for three years, watching the mother mope around and sit alone. There was no husband. There was no daughter. There was just her and me.
“Look!” The girl points as if she were a child, and we follow her gaze to the windows across the street.
There are little flames just like mine, glinting through the glasses of apartments. Families crowding around one or two sticks of light and making do with what they have.
I suppose I do more than provide light.

330 words

03-13

Daily: Pi day

I vividly remember pi days from middle school.
Maybe it was the strong scent of different kinds of pi or trying to memorize digits, but pi day has become a thing for me since I was 12 years old.
I never had pie before the first pi day I celebrated. I know, I’m missing out — but honestly, from that day, I learned a lot.
Pie can make me sick.
It’s just like donuts and milk (separately). My stomach hurts if I eat a slice (or a whole donut or milk tea).
I remember going into math class after lunch and seeing all the pies laid out in the back of the room. I brought one from the local supermarket.
Even though everyone gushes over apple pie or pumpkin pie, I’m pretty basic. I only got chocolate.
I know. I’m boring.
But in 8th grade there was supposed to be a competition for memorizing digits. I wasn’t sure if I would enter, but I memorized it for fun.
I know. I’m a nerd.
I got up to 3.14159265358979323846264338327950288419716939937510.
The competition never happened.
I could brag about it for a while, but to this very day, I can only remember 3.14159265358979323846264.
I suppose that’s good enough.
I was hoping we would have pi day in high school. I’m pretty sure that there were forms sent out for pi day the week before. It would be a bonus because I was in geometry.
It was also 2020. So that meant pi day didn’t exist.
March 14, 2020 was full of rain and staying home. The Saturday after the official quarantine announcement.
I didn’t have pie. After all, it made me sick when I had it two years ago. It was good, but it was painful.
But I remember solving problems in class and sitting with my table group and being the first to finish because, well, I was good at math. I remember writing as many words that started with the letter p and the boy next to me coming up with the most. I remember my basketball coach being there as well.
Yup. I always remember pi days.

358 words

Celes's Swc March 2022 Daily #2
┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄ ✄
Table Of Contents
Here's my daily for march 2nd (totally had no idea what object to use and my teacher just so happened to be printing something at the time)
356 Words

Do you ever feel over worked? Like your always busy. Like maybe people always shove stuff at you and constantly make you do work. If you have then you might have felt close to a small fraction of what I feel every single day. Hi, I'm the school printer. Specifically the only printer in the school that prints in color. I work seven hours a day, 5 days a week. Sometimes I have to work overtime if someone stays after school. I'm used every time teacher needs to print out a poster, or a worksheet. (or more realistically 120 of the exact same worksheet.) Do you know how much work that is for me? Don't even get me started on the paper waste. Now sure, I'm not the only printer in the school, but nobody wants to use the boring old black and white printers, especially the kids. I rarely get a break! Either it's a teacher coming to print out worksheets or a quiz, or it's a student printing out a random picture of George Washington. More often would be things like pictures of Tom Holland which is defiantly not related to school. Not that I blame them for wanting a printed copy of him though, but have you ever seen his face as close up as I have? You would get tired of that too. Then the end of the day (or during a teacher break period) I'm refilled with ink and paper. It's a relief to be be refilled with the ink of course It's like gas for a car or water for one of you. Paper though I could do without, not that it's heavy or anything just that it mean I can be used again. You might think I would be relieved when the weekend comes and no one is in the building to use. Sure, the break is nice, but do you know how dark it is in the printer room. Do you know the sounds you hear in there when the school is empty? I didn't think so. Makes me almost wish it was a weekday again. Almost.

Daily, March 2nd
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've been gathering dust for a few decades now, trapped in a little box in the basement.

In my prime, I was always on the top shelf, a prized possession that needed to be displayed for all to see. I was treasured, and most importantly, I was able to fulfill my function more often than not.

Now though…

“Hey, Jerry,” I whisper, trying to get out of my thoughts. “Do you ever wish you could, you know, go back in time?”

“No.”

I give a mental frown at the response, trying to get more out of him. “Okay, but why not?”

“Because I just wouldn't.”

“I would,” I speak before I could stop myself. “If there's anyone here who'd understand why, it's you.”

“Ugh, here comes the monologue,” Jerry mutters under his breath, so quietly that it takes me a moment to register what he'd said. I continue though, saying, “we shared so many memories with her, you know. Pauline, I mean. She loved us more than anyone else in the family-”

“Listen, I really don't care about what-”

“I got to go on so many adventures with her, you know. She'd take me everywhere and anywhere if she could,” I interrupt, chuckling at the memories. “She was a talented one. And she always made sure to take great care of me. If she were still here-”

“She's not though, is she?” This time it's Jerry interrupting for a second time, his voice an angry whisper. “She's been gone for years. You don't have to bring her up at every possible moment, you know.”

I stay silent for a moment, glancing in Jerry's direction. “But if I don't, we might forget about her. Is that really what you want?”

My words seem to have some sort of impact, and though I want to ask more questions, neither of us say anything. We just sit there, gazing at the walls of our little box — our new home. Then, after a while, Jerry finally speaks again.

"She had no issues with forgetting about us.“

”That's not fair,“ I argue. ”She got old, Jerry. She started to forget things, even important things like-“

”You're older than she was and yet you've never forgotten her,“ Jerry murmurs bitterly. He ruffles his pages, seemingly turning in my direction. ”Look, you're a camera from several decades ago, Carrie. Everyone uses smartphones nowadays — that's common knowledge. You're never going to be on the top shelf again-“

”I didn't say I would be,“ I protest. Jerry ignores me, resuming, ”you should just stop reminiscing about the past and focus on the future.“

”The future?“ I ask. ”And what exactly is my future, Jerry?“

He hesitates, before answering, ”to wait here until you're thrown out, like everyone else was. That's what the rest of us are doing, and if you don't mind, I'd like to get back to doing it."

His answer surprises me, and I don't respond immediately. After a moment, it seems as though the time to answer has passed — so I don't say anything.

Maybe Jerry's right, I think to myself. It's only a matter of time before we get thrown out. Maybe I should just wait for the time to come…

Everyone around me — those who I once would have considered to be my closest friends — is silent.

In recent years, only Jerry has spoken to me, and even that is infrequent. Glancing his way now, it seems as though he'd never spoken a word, not even once.

Maybe I should just settle down and be quiet, like everyone else has. Maybe then-

“I found Grandma Pauline's special box of stuff!”

I blink as the first hints of light settle on our box. It had been so many years since I'd seen any form of light that, despite my dusty surfaces, even the smallest hint of it was practically blinding.

What's going on…?

“Hey, look at this old camera!” The excited voice from before speaks again, and this time a hand reaches into the box and pulls me out.

A moment later, a cloth is brushing the dust off me and for the first time in ages I notice how clouded my vision had been.

“Woah, this thing must be older than Dad,” the voice giggles.

I manage to get a good look at the person holding me. It's a little girl, probably no older than nine or ten — around the same age Pauline had been when I was gifted to her.

The girl looks a lot like my Pauline, actually. The mischievous sparkle in her eyes, and the way she was careful not to damage me…

“Lina! Come help your sister set the table, please!” Another voice calls out from farther away, but my mind is fixed on the girl.

Lina? Is that her name?

Lina…Pauline…Pauline?

“Coming, Dad!” Lina yells in response, grinning as she returns her focus to me. "So this is Grandma Pauline's camera. It's weird, but I guess it's kinda cool…"

Grandma Pauline?

It finally clicks in my mind, just as Lina's dad calls for her again. "Lina! Where are you? You're gonna miss out on lunch if you don't come upstairs now, you know. It's your favorite, by the way!“

”Don't start eating without me, or there won't be any food left!“ Lina calls.

”You still have to set the table, by the way!“

She rolls her eyes in a playful manner, before replying, ”I will!“

She raises me up to get a better look at me, then smiles widely, looking me straight in the eye.

”You know what? I think you and I are going to be good friends starting from today."

943 words

This was the second time I wrote something for this QOTD XD

SWC MC daily #1:
Hello, I'm Riley. My preferred pronouns are they/them, and, of course, I'm a writer. I don't just enjoy writing, though, there are many things I love to do. Though I wouldn't say I'm amazing at them. I find joy in reading, sketching, and acting. So I'm not only a writer. I'm a nerd, a bookworm, I'm an artist, and I'm a theatre kid. I am a tween and I have a pet Labradoodle named Charlotte. I really love animals, especially dogs and cats. They just warm my heart. I don't have a pet cat, though I'd like one, and if I did, I'd name it Princess. Or Prince. I am very excited for another SWC session, I've participated in SWC before, and it was very fun, but I completely messed it up, because I wasn't sure what to do or what was going on. However, in between November and March, I learned more about SWC and I am coming in strong. I still don't know a lot of things, but I'm better. And I'm not going to be afraid to ask this time, no matter how stupid it sounds. I am part of the historical fiction cabin this session. I hope I'll get to know some people there. I must admit that the historical fiction genre is definitely not my favorite genre. If I could say my favorite, it'd be mystery, horror, or fantasy. I don't like science fiction or non fiction at all. Yes, they are two different things. I am a little strange. I can't really find much else to say about myself. I'm Riley, the kid who is a nerd and just wants to write and read. In SWC, I'm pleased that I will get to do both those things.

hi-fi In-cabin Daily:

I am a door.

Every day, people push me, this way and that. Every day, my doorknob is twisted and turned. Every day, someone raps on my strong oak wood. I've faced a lot. My doorknob is rusty, my hinges creak. My lock gets changed rarely. Oh, and you can't forget the time when baby Jon drew all over me and it took an hour of soap and water and sponges and harsh scrubbing to get it off.

Let me tell you how immensely boring it is to be a door. I am so used to having my ‘knob twisted so hard it makes my wood hurt. And, of course, being sharply hit my knuckles–or tiny toddler fists–that make the bruises worse. There are some positives about being a door. For example, I know all about everyone’s lives.

I'm the door of Jess's bedroom, so I obviously know her best. I know when she's mad or upset, when she opens the door and slams it shut. Hard. I know when she's happy, which is when she closes the door normally and I can feel her dancing around the room. I can feel the vibrations of her yelling at someone, or singing softly when she's doing her homework, or when she's talking with her best friend on the phone. I know everything about Jess's life.

But I also know there's a secret I don't know. I've tried to figure it out. I've heard her crying in her bedroom about it. Yet I know nothing. Sometimes she'll lean against me and sigh, and say, “I wish I wasn't like this.” I just can't seem to figure out what she means by that.

I've tried asking my friend Kate about it, but she doesn't know either. I can communicate with other wood, in case you were wondering. This door is named Kate. My name's Harper. She said once that she'd heard Jess's parents talking and her mom said “I wish we'd never let it into the house. We should have known. It was acting so strange.” But she doesn't know what it is. And neither do I.

Right now, I can feel Jess crying in her room again. I wish I knew what she was crying about. And suddenly, I hear another noise. It's odd, and I've never heard it before. It sounds a little bit like a creature of some sort. And then… pain. I've never felt this much pain before. It seems like something sharp has dug into my wood, and it hurts. So much.

And suddenly, I have a memory. Years ago. There was a furry little creature in the house. Not sure what they're called. It had a long tail and weird pointy ears. Jess was very attached to it. And it slept in her room and stayed in her room almost 24/7. I do remember it damaged me, digging its claws into my wood, doing it even worse than what I just felt. And one day Jess didn't ever come out of her bedroom, and her parents would constantly knock on my wood, worrying. I noticed that the creature didn't scratch my wood all day that day, which was unusual. Then the creature came out of Jess's room. It made small noises that sound a lot like Jess when she's crying. Jess's mom just looked at the creature, then went into Jess's room. And screamed. She looked at the creature again. Her mouth was hanging open. And she told Jess's dad.

I saw Jess again later that day, and she looked… different. Something about her changed, but I couldn't quite figure it out. And it's been like that ever since. Except my parents don't scream anymore. But the creature is gone, as far as I can tell. It just went back into my room and disappeared. And I never saw it again.

Now, the memories come back to me, and suddenly I put the pieces together and realize Jess's secret.

Every day, she turns into that creature. For a few hours. And I think the creature was called a Kat or something. It all makes sense now.

And I guess my emotions about this are incredibly strong, because I open myself and Jess stands there, the door open, leaving her exposed as a Kat. I try to close, but it doesn't work. She hisses and jumps onto the bed. I hear her crying, then realize it's actually the little noises that a Kat makes. And suddenly I can hear Jess talking. And she's surprised. “It just started,” she mutters. “it's supposed to end way later on.”

She runs to her parents and talks excitedly about it. “The door opened and I was so surprised I went back to human,” she said. So, I have no idea how, but I think I cured her.

MC daily:

Humans aren't the friendliest creatures on the planet. I much prefer “inanimate objects” like me. Humans always call us things like that, but they're too ignorant to realize we are animate. And we are more than just objects. We are quite alive.
I am a lamp. And just to be clear, I do not glow or light up. All that was done by my good friend Light, who was the lightbulb. She did all that. I am the shield of the light. I just give the humans comfort by not letting a light shine in their eyes all day long. Although, I must say, they really sometimes deserve it. And they are so ignorant, they think it's some electricity nonsense they came up with, but no, it is certainly not. Light was kind enough to glow whenever they click the switch, so that they're not terrified of a lightbulb turning on. And so that they can get some light in the room. Even though they can just open up the windows. It's so much easier, and making Light glow burnt a lot of her energy. I lived in fear of the day she ran out of it and died.
And the humans wouldn't even care.
I was talking to Light one day, and she was really tired. She wanted to rest. And then a human came along and flipped the switch. Light opened her eyes and started to glow. But something was wrong. She closed her eyes and concentrated, and a small light came out of her, flickering a little. I was worried. Very worried. I believed Light was finally running out of energy. She looked at me, sighing. The human had a puzzled look on his face and turned the switch off. Good, I thought. The man got his phone out and made a call.
“Hi, this is Mark Walker.” He said, and paused. “My lightbulb isn't working well. I think it needs to be replaced.” I stared at him in shock. Replace Light? He wouldn't dare. Light was my friend. We had been friends for a long time. “Okay, I'll do that.” Another pause. “Thanks. Bye.” He put his phone in his pocket. Light looked at me sadly. “I guess I'm gonna have to go, huh?” She looked a little sad, but she tried to keep a smile. “I'm gonna miss you, kid.” I frantically tried to think of something to keep Light here. “No, Light, you aren't going anywhere. You're staying with me. You're not going to get thrown away.”
“Light, I am old anyway. All lightbulbs eventually die. It's my time now.”
“But-” Light couldn't go now. I needed Light.
“You'll make new friends with the new lightbulb. This happens in life all the time, and it's gotta happen to you, too.”
I looked away. She was right. I just didn't want it to happen.
The next day, Light didn't turn on at all. She fell asleep. And the next thing you know, Light was being unscrewed from her place. No!
I forced myself to fall down. The human just set me up again.
And he took Light away.
I closed my eyes, but the tears seeped out anyway. Light was gone. She would always be gone.
A few days after that, a new lightbulb was installed. He glowed brighter than Light. He was really friendly. And he sympathized with me when I missed Light.
And I started to understand why Light said I'd make a new friend. I did make a new friend, but Light would always be in my heart.

— in-cabin activities —

this is where i’ll keep my in-cabin activities! want to go back to my main forum? click here.

march 2nd
- in-cabin daily. write about three classes that we would have in the academy, with an SWC twist

Class 1: Writing class
Description: Writing class would be very chaotic— the teacher would probably be Arlie. We would do a writing prompt each day and write stories, but the teacher just puts the schedule on the board and watches over the students. The writing prompts are also very chaotic, some are “What's the most chaotic possible way to wake someone up?” Or “Ruin a party in one sentence”

Class 2: Mango science
Description: In the class mango science, we’d learn a bunch of fun stuff about mangoes (like how it’s scientifically delicious) and do experiments on mangoes. The teacher would probably be Scarlet because why not. Some experiments we would do would be, “How long can a mango survive without rotting?” And, “How long does a mango take to oxidize?”

Class 3: Reading class
Description: In reading class, we would read books that people/the teacher would recommend, and do fun quizzes on them. We would also do lots of fun stuff. The teacher would be Fae. Some books we could read would be written by past students in the writing class. It would not be boring, but actually fun for once.

Introduction
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Hello everyone! My name is Joival, but I prefer if you can call me Joi! I am a soon to be a 7th grade girl who uses she/her pronouns and is a ENFJ-A. Some of my favorite pastimes can include coding, singing, practicing karate and playing piano! I also love talking to my friends and group activities! I speak English, Hindi and French and can understand Sanskrit and Odia. I don't really have the habit of writing stuff nor of going to a writing camp, I hope make this a habit. So I look forward to the camp and meeting new friends!
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Daily = 3/2/2022 or 2/3/2022
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The life of a journal

The life of a journal is not as easy as it seems. We have to face the rough surface of the pencil, the harsh rubbing of the eraser, The ink stains of the pen and markers, the remains of the page which was torn to shreds and more. Our lives can last long if the owner is careful with them. Sadly, I don't have that kind of owner. From what I heard, my owner is a 13 year old female named Aisha who is a passionate drawer. Oh, Ah. Sorry it's been quite some time since I have been in the light of the sun. “Huh, your sketches look awesome! I envy you and your drawing skills!”. Huh! Who was that? I know the voice of my owner very well by now, and trust me when I say that I have never heard her. “Oh thanks! Shall I make you one sketch? I would really like to do so!” Oh no! A sketch! Oh great, I have to brace myself for the attacks by the pencil. “Oh my gosh, look at the time, I am going to be late for my last library session! Uhh, Talk to you soon?”. Phew, at least I am not being attacked by the pencil. I'm 100% sure that he is bummed for that. Ok, so y'all are probably confused as to why are we going to the library? Let me tell ya. So Aisha here is the top of the library club or something, Anyways, today is the last session the Aisha is going to take before she and her family takes off for a European country for some virus called ‘COVID-19’ or something. So that also means that today is the last day I get to meet my friends before I go. Hey, at least I will make some European friends, as if it happens. Huh, she skipped the library, I guess we are going to home, that means to go back to being a journal again. Kind of bummed to be honest, It was really nice meeting you! Good bye, (Insert random object in a bag).
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Word count of Introduction is 103 words
Word count of The life of a journal is 348 words not including the bracketed words.
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Good bye and Have a great morning/noon/afternoon/evening/night!

xX-Mimi-Xx wrote:

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.

{Bacc! I was doing school :p}

I felt the whoosh of air once more as I was placed, gently, might I add, into her pocket. I just don't get why pockets existed!!!

About 3 or so hours later, I was pulled out of the dreadful pocket.

I stared out of the screen, confused.

Who was this man? And why did he have my girls phone?

Day 2 The Hated Book
My life was miserable. My name was frustrating, sadness, and evil. Did I chose this life for myself? Had I had any say in this path? No. I came into this world like this. Everyone hated me. I could barely even remember my real name as all I was ever called was evil. But was there some way I could leave this path? Perhaps I could change is some unseen way? No. I could never leave this place, I was stuck here forever till I was torn to shreds. I had never felt love nor the feeling of being cherished. I would never amount to anything. After I was stamped as useless I would be sent to the only place that was truly more horrible than this, the dump. The other books on the self had no idea how luck they where. My own cousin, one of the special answer books had is easy. Kids loved her. Some of them would ever try to get secret looks at her contents. One of them had even been able to jot down some of her beloved numbers on another piece of paper. Of course the teacher had found out and then had proceeded to lock her up in a large box. The teacher had loved the book so much that she could not bare to let other human see her for fear of her being ruined. I had often dreamed of such a life. A life in which I was loved and wished for. Instead I had been given a life of pain and suffering. Children were constantly writing in me, tearing my pages and crying on me. I made people sad and they made me sadder. How could a book ever live such a life you ask? Well I shall tell you. I have no option. If I am claimed as useless my life will become exceedingly worse. My own ancestors were burns by a few angry children, imagine that, being burned simply because someone does not like or agree with your content. It was truly evil. I was a math book and always would be until I was burned or trashed. That's the way it would always be, because things have never changed for the poor hated math books, and things will never change as long as the hatred for the once beloved subject continues. (395 words )-Gwen