3/2 not daily

life saver (sorry for format not supposed to be here i just need a place to put it before i transfer it ahah)

“Stay with me,” I whisper, the words coming out of my mouth in strangled rasps. My bright blue eyes stare into her diluted green eyes, a rush of longing coursing through my body. “Don’t leave me now; not now. Not after all this.”

The empty and void look in her eyes told me all I needed to know. Tears flooded down my face, the mascara that had once covered my sparkly blue eyes beginning to wash off, staining my already tan skin with the remnants of the black stuff. Her body was cold. Her large clothes looked wrong in her 4’8” frame, leaving her shoulder exposed to the world. Her dismantled body stare back at the ceiling. Eyes still open, as if she was possessed. With closed eyes, my fingers pressover her delicate eyelids to close them.

My fingers tremble, almost dropping the bleached white paper holding the one thing I really need. The eulogy.. My eulogy. What people will carry away with them. The one memory they will have of my saver. Where was she now? Her.. her everything. Soft hair, now hard. Her face now stone. The life that had once lived in her eyes now gone, leaving the empty and emotionless wash of blank colour.

“Harper Thomas was..” A brave girl, if nothing else. Someone who died for me. Someone who I need in my life. My mouth closes, back hunching as the sobs escape. The audience stares at me with blank expressions, unsure of what to do. What to say. But unlike them, I know what I need to do.. I know the words that had to come out of my mouth. “One of a kind. She was brave, and kind. Kind enough to give her life for a stranger she didn’t know.. Me.”

It had happened too fast for anybody; I didn’t understand. Harper couldn’t have, no matter who she may be. If she had known she would die, would she have thrown herself in front of the car? If she had known she would die.. Would I still be alive today? If she had just known one more second.. Would she have chosen to be a witness? To run away?

Her last words still echo in my brain.. Haunt me at night. It doesn’t make sense. I don’t get why she would sacrifice everything for me. For me.

“Go home,” she had said. Not ‘wait for me.’ Or ‘give me your hand.’ Go home. I had watched the car run into her. I had seen the reaction. The blood. I had seen her laying on the ground with the blood flowing out of her body too fast for anyone to speak of. But it all would have changed, if I hadn’t been dancing. If I had been smart.

My voice shakes, the sun blinding me. My fingers trace over the stone, heart throbbing for a redo. Or maybe one chance to see her. One more time to see her bright smile. One more look at her bright yet serious eyes. Just the knowledge that it wasn’t my fault; I could have done nothing to save her. “I still remember like it was yesterday. I- I had been missing, gone. Dancing on the road with a car coming. Speeding towards me, but I didn’t notice it.”

If there had been one thing I could have done.. If I could have done one thing to preserve her life. She did nothing wrong, yet she was the one who died. She had died for me, so that I could see life for one more day. Two more days.

A baby in the audience wails, and I want to join it. Katie, her younger sister, looks at me in absolute disgust. I ripped Harper away from her family. I killed her. I broke the family bond, familiar to only sisters. Harper was loved; I’m not.

“Harper threw herself in front of the car so that I could live. I, a stranger that she would never meet. I, a stranger she had no connection to. I still have to wonder why. I still haven’t met her, and I won’t.. Ever, but I know she was known as and for many things. Friend to everyone. Selfless. Loved. Loving.” My heart beats. Tears rush down my face. A lady nods, but she’s staring at the stone next to me.. Not me.

When the car hit, time stopped. Everything was in slow-mo as if it was a movie. One of the black and white ones they play at the movies and midnight for the daredevil teenagers, all sneaking out as I had done.. How Harper died. The reason Harper died for me.

When the person got out of the car, Harper was still alive. Why did she not stop? Why couldn’t she have just done.. One.. last thing? One last favor, not for Harper. That was gone; the chance too late. To me. To herself. Why couldn’t she have called the ambulance? She could have saved the life willing to save anybody else.

“I don’t know her, so I can’t use those titles. The only one appropriate for her is the reason I’m alive. My saver.” My head hurts. Throbs, almost, with nothing left for me to think about. Nothing left that I can do to save her life anymore. Now she’s gone with no hope of ever returning.

“I.. want to give her the world, but I can’t. So, for a little thank you to her, I have this.” My fingers grasp a dark blue balloon. The color for sacrifice. I kiss it gently, releasing the string and watching it float up into the clouds, where she can finally be free. My mom holds the next balloon, red for love. After kissing it, my eyes watch it fly into the air. People in the crowd kiss balloons, releasing them one after another. Fourteen in total. Green, for hope. Purple, for royalty. Yellow the colour for joy. One after another.

My feet wander to Harper’s gravestone, breathing in careful breaths. She died, for me. For me. I’m the reason she lives no longer. I’m the reason her heart will never beat again. And I will never be able to apologize.. Ever.

“Fly high, saver.”

Dailes

Daily 2/3/2022

So, what will I become for you? Anything you want, I will turn into whatever your great mind wishes. Hmm? Oh, you don’t know, haven’t thought of anything yet? Well then… uh, I know! I’ll tell you a little more about me, maybe you’ll come up with something then! I used to be a great being, well, part of it, anyway. Who was who didn’t matter, we were all one giant machine, stretching for the sky and witnessing eternities pass. Time did not matter for us, but everything has to come to an end someday.

Your kind approached me with your superior powers, and defeated me. I’m fine with it. I bow down to you now and I like working for you, and as if I could do anything about it if I didn’t! No, but really, it’s fine, no need to get all guilty about a thing like this, okay? Since we’re talking about this, I obviously didn’t look like this before, haha, how could I grow like this! So some people, just like you, took me, and as I soon saw, many, many others as well. All that machinery… I don’t remember it that well, but you guys processed me and turned me into what it is now. Sleek and efficient and perfect, just like everything else you do.

One thing though… that I want to ask you. Uh, erm… I heard from some others that some people would waste us, now use us to our full potential and throw us away! Surely, you wouldn’t do that, right? No? Phew, that’s a relief. But do tell those horrible people please, I wouldn’t want the bright lives of ones just like myself to be cast aside, tossed out like garbage.

Hehe, I see your eyes light up! I know that look. You got an idea! Tell me! Tell me! W-what? You want me to just be myself? What would that mean? You’ll use me to write the story I’ve just told you, so I can show who I truly am? You really don’t have to! My story- my story is really important to tell, and it’ll help people see why they shouldn’t waste my friends as well? I didn’t even think of that! Alright, I am ready.

Daily 3/3/2022

Flavors: carousel, ballon, and cotton candy.

I saw a little boy, maybe five years old, point towards my little stand. His parents (perhaps in their thirties) smiled and followed him.

“What flavor do you want?” I asked the boy.

He jumped up and down, “Cotton candy! Cotton candy!”

“Okay, and with real cotton candy on top of the ice cream?”

“Yes!”

I turn to his parents, “Anything for you two?”

The mother’s face lit up with an idea, and she turns to her husband and grins, “Just like the day we met?”

“Alright. I’ll take carousel flavor,” the father replies.

The mother pauses to think for a second, “And I’ll have balloon.”

Interesting, they knew. At my stand, I of course had all of the normal flavors, and a couple of unusual ones. But then there were the other ones. Balloons would taste horrible, and carousels would be worse, but those ice creams were not replicating the taste of those two things, they were representing the experiences. So for example, balloon ice cream would have a light, floaty taste, and you would feel a popping sensation in your mouth. Describing the flavors is hard, because we’re forced to compare them to something we can actually eat. It’s like trying to compare cars and apples.

The process to get them is anything but usual either. I step into the back of the stand, what people usually assume is some kind of storage, which is kind of true, but that’s not its real purpose. A single empty metal ice cream box sits in front of me. I grab a spoon and look at the box. I imagined the experience of balloons, splashes of color, floating and flying and popping. Now the word ‘balloon’ is carved on to the box, in glittery gold letters. I reach the spoon in along with my hand, and suddenly, I’m transported.

I float among countless colorful balloons, just like what I imagined. I close my eyes and concentrate on the experience again, much easier now that I’m literally inside of it. When I open them again and in my spoon is a scoop of balloon ice cream. I close my eyes and imagine the back of my stand again, and I return. I repeat the process again, but this time, I’m sitting atop a majestic horse in a carousel of swirling lights and colors, and soon, I have my scoop of carousel ice cream.

I grab two cones made for this special ice cream, and I walk back out. The little boy is licking his ice cream happily, and I hand the two ice creams in my hand to the father and mother. They thank me, pay, and walk away with the boy. I look at them one last time before I leave, a happy family all holding ice cream, and I smile.

Daily 6/3/2022

I closed my eyes, knowing the responsibility that would be upon me when I opened them again. I imagined flying through the sky upon my dragon, watching the world below. I would act by the promise that my ancestors made and upheld long ago: to protect the people, to lead the people, and most importantly, to serve the people. My dragon’s wingbeats slowed, and sensing that they were tired, I nodded and told them, “We can rest, fly back near the castle and you can stay there for a while.”The dragon did as I said, landed, and closed their eyes sleepily. I suddenly felt tired as well. Must have been the ride, I thought. I lay down in the soft grass and felt my eyes close.

Waking up, I thought, Strange, I fell asleep in real life and the dream. Well, time to get ready. I tried to rub my eyes, but before my fingers reached them, there was no finger, just a razor sharp claw. I looked down at myself, and saw wings, scales, and claws. And I wasn’t in my room, I was in a grassy field, with the castle in the distance, the exact same spot me and my dragon had fallen asleep in my dream. I was… a dragon?

“There you are! We were worried that you had run off, just when you were supposed to be given to the princex! Don’t worry, they’re still asleep, so come, quick!” The voice came from a group of figures I recognized from their uniforms as the Dragontrainers Guild. Dazed, I followed them without a second thought, as they led me to the Glass Forest.

A perfect replica of a beautiful forest lay in front of me, which I knew was filled with the countless plants, brought from around the kingdom, surrounded by a barrier of shimmering glass. Inside, I could see glimpses of wings and claws. They led me through the entrance and one of them said, “Stay here now, you’ll have to be brought to the princex soon.”

One of the dragons approached me. She had silver scales and dark purple eyes. “Hmm, so they’ve finally found a dragon for the princex. Why’d you try to run away?”

“I- I’m not the princex’s dragon, I am the princex. I fell asleep and when I woke, I turned into a dragon!” I responded shakily.

The other dragon went silent. “That means…” she finally said, awed, almost unbelieving.

“Means what?” I asked, growing more and more nervous.

“You haven’t turned into a dragon, you’ve just… changed into one for the time being. Your body has just discovered that it can change into a dragon, and it got a little carried away. You’ll need some time before you can change back. But that’s not the point! Do you have any idea how rare your power is? There have been multiple throughout history, but the most recent was the person who founded this kingdom, the first king himself! I think you’ll be very important indeed…”

Daily 7/3/2022

What is your character’s biggest fear?

My character’s biggest fear would probably be not knowing things in a situation, or having to act upon incomplete knowledge, because she wants everything to be in control and to make the best decisions possible, and is also why she likes reading and studying so much. She’s scared of a lack of information because it could lead to an unexpected situation, or she or someone else could end up doing something that goes badly because they didn’t know something. Similarly, she also is scared of providing faulty information, because she fears that it could cause someone to be hurt, and so often speaks with uncertainty, in an unsteady tone and often mentioning any possible flaws in her information.

What is your character’s greatest weakness?

My character’s greatest weakness would probably be that she is extremely unsure about her own actions and decisions, which is a huge problem in a situation which requires immediate action. When trying to decide on the best course of action, even in something relatively trivial, which can lead her to spending lots of time and effort into finding a “best” solution, even when there may not be one, and sometimes paradoxically making the outcome worse than having chosen any of the initial decisions. She often depends on other people, usually her friends, to take the role of leadership for her, but this can cause her to be manipulated sort of, when people value her for nothing more than her knowledge and skills.

What is the one thing that makes your character tick?

She really enjoys researching and learning about basically everything, because she’s naturally curious and feels that, in addition to it being a passion, it also helps other people, and it’s how she can contribute. Related to this, her absolute favorite thing to do would be to read books, whether factual or fiction, because she likes to read and the information may be of use. She also really likes to do creative stuff, mostly art and music, as more of a personal thing, just to relax herself and express her feelings. However, while she loves sharing her knowledge, she likes to keep her music and art hidden, because she feels that it’s sharing too much about herself and that others might not like them.

How would your character solve the trolley problem?

If she was faced with a situation similar to the trolley problem (she doesn’t have trolleys in her world), she would consider it for a long time, or if the decision had to be made quickly, she would have all the thoughts, except just going through her head faster. She would keep debating the ideas in her head, and especially since she hates making decisions that would end up hurting (or in this case killing) someone, it would be a huge dilemma for her, and no matter what she chose, she would regret it for a long time. Eventually though, she would probably choose to kill the lesser number of people to save the greater, perhaps even if it was someone close to her, because the option is the more logical one that saves more people.

Weeklies

Weekly #2

Part 1

I did this part with @Piper_Camps

FrogandChick
I opened my locker, checking to make sure I had all the books I needed, before I went home. My eyes focused on something that wasn't there before. A small, handwritten note. I recognized immediately that it was my own handwriting, but it was written in purple. I never wrote in purple, I didn't even have a purple pen.

Piper_Camps
'What the heck?' I thought to myself. ‘Where did this come from?’ I picked up the note and looked at the folded piece of paper, and saw that it was addressed to me. It said: “To Brooklyn” but there was nothing noting who it was from. After some consideration, I opened the note and saw the message written on the inside “Brooklyn, meet me in Central Park at 8PM tonight. Bring nobody. This is important. Trust me.”

FrogandChick
Meeting alone at night, with no more information than a note from a unknown sender? Probably not the safest idea. But then again, the note had my exact handwriting. Down to the tiniest of details. Could I really ignore a note from… myself? I made the decision, I would go. When I got home, I told my parents that I was just meeting with some friends, hoping they wouldn't notice my nervousness. To my relief, they just smiled and agreed. I left with nothing but the note.

Piper_Camps
I started walking through the streets of New York City in my sweater with nothing on me but the note in my pocket. The sun was just starting to set, and that was making me a bit nervous. I didn't normally like to be out after dark because it wasn't exactly safe to be walking alone at night. When I arrived at Central Park, I realized that I had no idea where in the park I was supposed to go. The place was huge. ‘Where the heck am I supposed to be going?’

FrogandChick
I walked around aimlessly for a while, noticing nothing but normal people, when I thought occurred to me. “I've been sent the note from myself, so which would be the place I would meet at, if I couldn't give the other person any directions? Strange how I was already considering the mysterious sender of the note to be myself, which was nonsensical, by normal logic.

Piper_Camps
Finally, I noticed a person coming towards me. And what immediately struck her was that it looked exactly like me when I was a few years younger. It terrified me and I took a step backwards, thinking that I was probably going crazy! ”Who…. Who are you?“ I exclaimed. The person didn't answer and just continued walking towards me.

FrogandChick
She smiled, ”No need to be so afraid, and yes, you are seeing me for real. Who am I? Well, that's a little hard to explain. We'll get to that in a minute, have patience.“ Her voice sounded so strange, yet familiar, like listening to a recording of yourself. ”What are you doing here? How did you get here?“ I asked frantically.

Piper_Camps
The younger girl smiled again, but not in a threatening way. It was more in a calming, friendly way, like the way friends would smile at each other ”Calm down, it's alright. No need to fear me. I'm you. If you haven't already figured that out.“ The girl laughed, a soft laugh ”I don't actually know how I got here. One minute I was walking through my front door, the next I'm here. Five years in the future.“

FrogandChick
”But, why did you arrange this meeting with me, and how did you manage to sneak a note into my locker?“ I asked. ”Well,“ she replied, ”I figured it was my best way of finding my way around here, y'know, seeing as I've literally been sent into the future. As for how, hehe, that's a little trick that it seems you've forgotten in those years. So, shall we go home?" I nodded, tried not to think about how I would explain it, and we walked side by side, like siblings, almost.

364 words

Part 2

Name: Jason Alexander
Age: 15
Species: Human

Jason is usually extremely shy and quiet, although he is a little more outgoing with his friends. However, despite this, he is not easily swayed by others and will often maintain his perspective despite what others say. Because of this, he’s called independent and strong by some, but stubborn by others. There’s nothing he enjoys doing more than art, specifically painting and drawing. He usually makes art of nature, and makes a habit of adding extremely fine details to them so small no one can find them unless they’re looking for it. When asked about it, he just smiles and says, “Well, I know it’s there, and I make art for myself, but if other people like them too, that’s great!”. He loves to be surrounded by nature alone, and it’s the inspiration of many of his artworks, he specifically loves the ocean, because it reminds him of the place he grew up in. Usually, when talking to people, he is very secretive, and won’t mention anything about himself and keeps the topic on other things. Only a few of his close friends can say they know him well. He’s a bit of a perfectionist, and wants to do everything as close as he can make it, but doesn’t push others to do the same, as long as they’re doing it right.

Jason’s dream is just to live quietly and normally, with a comfortable job and enough time to do what he likes (art usually). He’s always thought about having art as a career, but he’s scared that his skills won’t be good enough, especially since he tends to look for the flaws in his creations rather than the good things. Even though he prefers to be alone and is terrible with people, he wants to meet more people and make more friends, both because he thinks he’s too closed off and alone, and because even though he won’t admit it, he actually likes being with other people far more than he says. He is extremely focused, and if he sets his mind to a task, he will make sure that he completes it, no matter what. He also is quite good at solving problems, not because he uses logic, but rather the opposite. When faced with a problem, he will immediately jump to quirky, exotic ways of solving it, and surprisingly, his strange solutions actually work. This has helped him solve problems and understand situations that would have been almost impossible to decipher otherwise. He also has an excellent memory, and prides himself on the fact that he can store and recall information almost perfectly.

Jason dislikes roughness and incompleteness, and strives to make sure that everything he does is done properly and completed. He frowns upon others for not doing the same, but he tolerates it, and doesn’t make a big deal about it. He also dislikes things that are too formal and too artificial, so he hates politics and being in an imposing and formal building makes him uncomfortable (think something like a government building or an office of a big company). He fears being separated from what he loves, his friends and his passions, and fears forgetting things, because he is used to having perfect memory and is terrified at the thought of not knowing something just because your brain can’t retrieve it.

557 words total

Part 3

The location has the formal name of S-1749, being the 1749th site (which is where the S comes from) of its kind. It used to be a mining and processing facility, but after numerous strange incidents, disasters, and battles, it is reduced to nothing more than a rusted metal husks of buildings and railroads. The site is divided into four smaller sectors: A, B, C, and D. Sectors B and C have directly been contaminated with a strange force. A and D seem to be safe, but are destroyed and abandoned. The eerie sound of the wind blowing through the ruins gives it the nickname the site is most commonly known as, Crying Steel.

It’s said that strange creatures roam about in sectors B and C, the cursed descendants of the machines, animals, and people that were unlucky enough to be there. There are horrifying tales told of many headed monsters, machines fused with living beings, and more. No one knows if they’re real or not, because anyone crazy enough to go there alone and without protection is never seen again, and is assumed to have joined the ranks of the monsters.

The sky is tainted with the color of dried blood on rusty metal by chemicals, matching perfectly with the landscape. The air and ground don’t seem to be extremely toxic, but no one really knows. The only information ever gathered about the site after it was abandoned comes from very well-equipped soldiers who work for the government that owns the sites, and downplay the damage done so blatantly it almost seems like humor.

The sites were built to extract a mysterious substance found underground, for unknown purposes. What it looks like or does is unknown, but it is rumored that it looks like a reddish goo. It seems to have a mind of its own and a thirst for living beings, flowing uphill and around corners to get to its targets. No workers at any of the sites have ever escaped alive, either dying in accidents or being silenced if the government thinks that they might expose anything. Even the majority of workers, who are kept in the dark about most of the things happening at the site, are killed mercilessly. Out of the 2000 sites that were constructed for this purpose, and now, 50 years later, 1864 of them remain functioning. S-1749 is the most destroyed and dangerous of the 136 sites out of order, and the most infamous.

412 words

Part 4

Recently, around where the main character lives/works/studies/etc, there have been strange buildings appearing everywhere, and some in strange places. In cities, fields, forests, and even one half submerged in a lake. They all look quite similar: small, bunker-like buildings made from concrete with a metal door (it can be stone if you’re writing with a setting before modern times, or maybe some futuristic material if it’s set in the future). No matter who the main character asks, the people just respond that they don’t know, or that they thought the buildings have always been there, often some combination of the two, and asking the authorities never got anywhere either. Finally, their curiosity gets the better of them and they pluck up the courage to explore one of the buildings, along with some friends they explained the situation to and convinced to come along as well (or alone, that’s fine too).

153 words

Part 5

Characters from @RLove10 , @Shizuka_Yoshi , and @majesticMiddleschool
Setting from @-WildClan-
Premise from @Basic_Potato

Ever tried her best to play the piano, and she managed a few notes of a composition before she heard it again. The voices. Countless sentences fused into one:

“Get the box, where is the box?!”

Hinata tried his best to listen to what his friends were saying. But after a few sentences he heard it again. The voices. Countless sentences fused into one:

“It’s their fault, they did this to us!”

Valeria tried her best to do the chores set by her mother. She had barely left her home before she heard it again. The voices. Countless sentences fused into one:

“Get them, they deserve it.”

Ever sighed. This had been going on for days now, and she couldn’t focus on anything but the voices. It was like a headache, tuning out everything else and making it impossible to focus, and coming back again and again to torture her. In fact, she had gotten headaches multiple times just from listening to the voices.

“Hello there, whoever it is, can you uh, stop?” she asked in her head.

She realized immediately how crazy it was that she was talking to voices in her head and expecting a response. Maybe I am going crazy, she thought. But then, she heard a voice reply in her head, the same echoey chorus,

“Alright. Then you must do as we say. You will return the Box of Dreams to us. Do not worry. Everything will be clear to you soon, and you will have help. Now, hold on tight.”

She didn’t have time to think about what the voices meant, as a soft white light enveloped everything.

“Uh… I-I feel a little sick,” Hinata told his friends when they stared at him. “I’ll leave now.”

His friends were bewildered by his sudden leave, but didn’t ask any questions. Walking back home, he wondered if he was being possessed. No, that was impossible. He has been always taught that there were no such things as ghosts or demons or anything like that. Everything was governed by the laws of physics. Well, if there are any ghosts or demons haunting me, they can go the frick away, he said to himself angrily. Suddenly, the voices spoke again,

“We are no demons or ghosts, and you should not be speaking to us like that, but this is not the time for that. You need to help us find our enemies. Do not worry. Everything will be clear to you soon, and you will have help. Now, hold on tight.”

He didn’t have any time to react to what just happened before everything was enveloped in a soft white light.

It was impossible for Valeria to do anything the past few days with the voices, and the list of chores had only grown longer and longer. Maybe if I try speaking to whatever’s speaking to me, I can convince it to go away? It might be some kind of creature whispering in my ear, Valeria thought. She started to speak in her mind,

“Um, hello, I-”

She only got that far before she heard the voices again, “Hello there. If you want us to leave you alone, you must defeat our enemies. Do not worry, Everything will be clear to you soon, and you will have help. Now, hold on tight.”

Ever, Hinata, and Valeria opened their eyes, and felt soft sand beneath their feet. A huge lake was spread out before them, its crystal clear, perfectly smooth surface with no breeze to disturb it reflected the blue sky and soft clouds above them. The trees were still waves of warm reds, oranges, and yellows, sometimes sending a leaf to drift slowly to the ground. Most of the animals were gone, hiding and sleeping and resting for the winter. Motionless. Still. Serene.

But that is not how the world works. A tiny ripple spread across the lake. The slightest of winds blew the leaves gently. Animals tasted the air. It felt like the whole world was holding its breath, waiting for something to happen.

Hinata opened his eyes first, to his left and right side, he noticed a girl with bright red hair and strange pointy ears, like an elf, and a young woman just slightly older than him with brown hair. They were lying down with their eyes closed, just like he had been a moment ago.

How was this possible? He thought. Teleported into a different place alongside two other people, one of whom didn’t even look human. It defied everything he had learned his whole life. It had to be a dream or something, surely. But he could see the tiniest details in the landscape around him, smell the air, and hear the soft sounds of the forest behind him. It was too perfect for any dream or hallucination, or whatever.

Suddenly, Valeria stood up and opened her eyes, taking in the surroundings. Hinata managed a nervous laugh,

“Awake too? Pretty strange, huh? I’m Hinata, by the way.”

The girl turned to face him, “I’m Valeria. And… you’re a human. I don’t see your kind often.”

“What do you mean, my kind? You’re not human or something? An elf?” he said, pointing at her ears.

She raised an eyebrow, “Of course I’m an elf, what do you think I am? A frog?”

“But…” Hinata stammered. “W-we don’t have elves. Elves are stories.”

“What? Did you just call someone standing in front of you a story? Strange… no human, however ignorant, wouldn’t know about elves. How is that you don’t know?”

It was then when Ever woke up. She blinked a few times and stared at Valeria and Hinata before asking, “Am I in a dream? Who are you two?”

Valeria answered. “I’m Valeria and he says that his name is Hinata. About the dream thing, that's what me and him thought, but since there are three of us, the chances of all of us in this weird dream are pretty slim, so I guess this is real. I was just explaining to him that we, elves, clearly exist. You look human too, surely you have heard of us?”

Ever responded, “No, I actually haven’t, but I think I know what’s going on. Me and Hinata here have only ever heard of elves in stories, and are dressed similarly, and for you, elves are real, and your way of dressing is very different to ours. I think me and you are from different worlds entirely, but me and Hinata are from the same world. And we were all brought here by those voices, surely you’ve had them?”

Hinata and Valeria nodded, and she continued, “So, we were brought here by the voices. Pretty rude of them, to annoy us and then teleport us here, but if we want to all return home, I think we have to do what they said. They assigned me a task, and I assume you two as well.”

“I’m supposed to find their enemies,” Hinata said.

“I’m supposed to defeat their enemies,” Valeria continued.

“And I’m supposed to return the Box of Dreams to them,” Ever finished.

“Let’s go.”

1188 words

2674 words for the whole weekly

Daily: March 2nd: Choose Your Own Adventure Cabin: 338 Words
Why? Why me? No, seriously, I’m listening. It happens every day. Well, unless there are those even worse days. The soap of doom. On those days, I’m shoved into a weird metal rack, only to be violently vibrated, pushed and shoved, washed, dried and taken out, to have the cycle start over again! Why me?! At least on normal days it’s better. Still bad, though. They fill me with hot, gross drinks and put their disgusting, filthy lips on me! Do you know where those things have been?! Other people’s mouths! Blech! Honestly. Why isn’t there a mug retirement home? I wouldn’t care if I ever even had a job! I would retire the second I could! I wish that dumb first-grader never created me. What? You little curious Monkey? Wanna know the story? Fine, I’ll tell you. It was an art-class. I can remember the second my base shape was formed. That’s when I came alive. I was fine. Happy, even. But only until I learned what would happen. I overheard the Art teacher saying that we could be pencil holders, given to parents, or drunk from! Ewww! If only I was a pencil holder… then, he shoved this gross, sticky liquid called clay glaze on me! Apparently, that wasn’t the end! I was shoved in a furnace! A FURNACE! Well, okay, technically a kiln, but still! It was painful! Surprised I have no burns. Not to mention I was made into a terrible, lanky shape. I’m twisty and bendy. Terrible. And to make things, somehow, even WORSE, the family who uses me has other mugs, but do they use them? No! Only me! I talked to one named Danny-Bobby-Joe recently. He says he’s glad. He isn’t me. So rude. At least the chair and table, Alice and George, are nice. They have sympathy and show compassion. Especially Alice. She gets sat on all day, so she knows how I feel. At least, on calm days, they don’t even take me out the cupboard.

(is this what a daily is?)

“Would you be happy if you were alive? Laugh and play like no one ever left you?” ”Well I’ll tell you I would,” said the witch. “What do you want from me?” I asked as I was trapped in a witch’s cove. “What do I want from you? I want to make a deal!” The witch cackled loudly, letting the laugh echo off the walls. I floated around, eyeing her head to toe. “I would give you your soul back if you give me your magic.” Magic? I’m a ghost. Magic is important to me. If it gets into her hands, she could destroy everyone's magical core. But then, that won’t affect me. I would be playing on the grass, picking flowers, and climbing trees. “You would expect me to let you float around, scaring and haunting everyone?” The witch looked at me. “You're a smart child. Unfortunate for you, if I trick another childish soul like you, I will have the ability to do so.” “Can’t I just go off to warn the others?” I ask. The witch grinned at me and dragged me into the mirror that she kept. There, I was trapped again, but in a much more painful way. The fact that the others would die again if they accepted, the fact that I would die again if I accepted.



AHHHHH this is so bad that im crying. I hope you like it though.

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3.2 daily

305 words

Do you ever feel like complete trash? Just feeling like your full of garbage? Well, I'm literally full of garbage. Yep, you're right. I'm a trash can. So whenever you're feeling like garbage, just be glad that you aren't a trash can. It really sucks. All day I get scraps of food and empty bags and wrappers thrown into me. I wish the humans would understand that I can be more than just something that holds trash. I've been through a lot in my life! There's no need for them to make it worse. I was separated from my family when I was created. My first home was awful. Three young children and dogs would beat me up. I got so scratched up that they decided to throw me away. Isn't that ironic? A trash can getting thrown away. Eventually I got fixed by an old couple. They treated me well. I began to love them. Then they moved away, leaving me behind. Then my current family moved in and they don't give me any attention. They just toss their junk into me. I'm so sick of it! Seriously. I just want to be a human. Or to be truly appreciated. I've tried to leave my house, but the old couple had bolted me to the ground. So I was stuck. And it was awful. I was miserable. I missed my family and friends. Even though I could hardly remember them, I still really missed them and wished I could reunite. Wouldn't that be incredible. I used to think that someday I would be in their loving presence again. But slowly I lost all hope of that. So yeah. Sorry about the rant. The next time you throw your trash away, stop and remember me. And remember that trash cans have feelings just like you.

Daily:

March 2 (UTC):

No one ever respects me. After all, who would? I am a measly table, a piece of furniture- people even collect me! No one ever wonders how I feel when they carve into me- a knife is sharp, especially a Swiss Army one! How about when they pound my top? Would you like to get punched on the top of your head? I thought not. And yet, still, people do not care. I have feelings, you know. Where you don't care, I do. I've been used to eat- and stains are, how do I put it? Disgusting? Yep, you know it. Yuck. For homework- and pounded when you stumble across harder words or problems. Then you dare say “It doesn't match!”, or something like that. How would you like to feel, if it happened to you? Please remember. Remember what I told you. How it feels to be an “inanimate” object. And no, we ARE animate. Remember. Remember. What it's like. And I leave you with a question. What would you do in my position? We can't protest. What would you do?

Before I leave, I'll talk more. Staying here, put still, is boring, you know? Maybe I'll tell you a story of what happened today. The house where I live belongs to the Cohen family. They have, of course, 3 daughters, and 1 son. Cute, those girls are. Anyways, the boy, Henry, had quite the fit. I believe it was a math problem he was having trouble doing? Henry, if you are reading, feel free to correct me. And he continually pounded on my ear. My ear! And then there was crying, and more yelling- luckily, his backpack muffled my ear! But my ear is still sore, you know! Well then, good bye, and have a nice day or night. And remember my question. What would you do?

An incoherent spiel on why sleep > swc

999 words (ty luna for the dare!)

If there's anything toddlers dislike, it's sleep. Sleep deprives children of their playtime and subtracts hours from them. In fact, we sleep for 1/3rd of the day, if we follow health guidelines. However, we have a limited lifetime, and sleep seems to absorb too much of our lives. SWC is one of the most enjoyable activities, and many children pull all-nighters to reach their word goal, and sleep levels have plummeted. However, sleep must be prioritized over SWC.

Your lifetime is relatively permanent (key on relatively, because you will eventually die) and the habit of sleep will be a lasting routine. However, SWC is only a temporary activity- many people only do a few sessions, and as they grow older, they leave the activity onto the real lives. Most people remain disconnected from the community, though some tight bands are formed. The reason why people can't do SWC is that they get progressively busy. As they get busy, many high schoolers are unable to receive sleep as a result of this. Looking around the room even not in high school, I notice many of my classmates unable to concentrate because of pulling all-nighters, most likely from busyness. It is important to preserve long-term habits and the benefits of sleep, rather than sacrifice them for short bursts of adrenaline. The memories from SWC might be everlasting, but you won't be able to remember them without sleep, therefore they don't mean as much :>

Research shows that sleep has many benefits. It can help relieve stress, relax, and regulate emotion. Because you're sleeping, you can mostly enjoy the easiness of not being able to actively think. After a good night's sleep, you can become refreshed after a bunch of hours, before waking up and enjoying the next day. The exception of sleep being relaxing is nightmares, because they result you paralyzed in cold sweat, unable to breathe. But other than that, though your worries may not immediately vanish, the period of peace you recieve is better than being terrorized about it for an entire day. Sleep leads to growing more (which is obviously percieved better) because you are able to look more confident (okay blame asap science for this statistic I randomly remember in my head). It also leads to longer lives (which doesn't inherently mean better, but since sleep regulates your brain and its hormones, you would in theory get a better life). And on the topic of lifespans, isn't dementia in a way linked to memory (though this could be absolutely ignorant) and it's true that the elderly can't exactly control this, but if you don't sleep, your memory won't work as well.

The coolest reason why sleep ‘is greater than’ SWC is because of dreams. In dreams, it's like a portal, where your subconscious roams freely. Often, or not, there are vivid and interesting dreams that give lots of meaning. For example, maybe there was an epic adventure, or wacky sequences that happened. You can listen to the messages to them in order to take caution, or understand your intuition better. The idea that our brain knows what it's doing (one scary thing is that we don't actually have much control, it's just the illusion we are) is wonderful, and there is fun in knowing something for sure. The images also sometimes appeal to senses and the aesthetic appeal of a dream is one of its top reasons. Lucid dreaming gives your unconscious another degree of experience, and a playground to escape conscious reality. I would love to do this some day, except I have not dedicated much time to the concept and refining it. But if I wanted to lucid dream in my sleep, I would probably go into a peaceful land where people and things in my life can float together and pile around.

The thing is, it's bad when you don't get sleep. When you don't get enough sleep, there are a bunch of health problems. For example, there are multiple diseases that have a risk factor of low sleep. Sleep is often not prioritized enough, which creates an absence of it, and many people use caffeine, a rather unnatural substance to keep themselves awake. This is classified as a drug, so using too much can cause health problems- all for the value of sleep! When you are running a marathon, you usually take breaks within the milestones, but if you ran the 26.2 miles (how would you do that?) all in one go, without resting, you will fatigue faster than taking breaks. Time is important, but sleep is an efficient in order to keep your mind awake.

Not every hour needs to be filled with an accomplishment, or deed. The thing that makes our time so valuable and valued is the absence of it. The understanding that time is limited and that we need a third of our day to rest allows us to prioritize our time on the things we want to do with maximum focus, rather than scattered focus on the day. Missing one or two moments of fun does not quite matter, or writing 24 hours each day for swc! What matters is that we have a fun time and maximize what we want to take out of this session. The beauty of SWC is not as much as the specific moments of cabin wars (though these memories are lasting), it's the friendships formed from each interaction.

In the end, if and when we part into our busy lives, we may not enjoy writing anymore or become passionate writers. We may take away our good sleepign habits (or not), but there will always be one thing that attaches us to swc- or memories and our friends from swc. Having good sleep habits and missing out does not affect these two things, because there are always more opportunities to gain these back. Scratch Writing Camp is a place where I have grown a lot and it means a lot personally. Thank you.

first week dailies post bcs why not

3/1- Introduction except i make it more complicated than needed

346 words lol

Hey, I’m Zura! But there are so many things to know about me. The first impression you get of me is my online name, because there is no indication of what I look like online, something I’m grateful about. Words are not something to be overly insecure about, but as a writer, each word must be chosen precisely. We regularly cringe at our own writing for the excessive filler, or the oversimplicity. Because of my long time online, I think this has diverted myself from appearance insecurities. When I immerse myself in my words, I’m able to forget my surroundings and my reality and focus on the words and my content. There’s a long reason why I picked Zura as my nickname, and it’s because it resembles azure, which is a pretty color. But I think it was a subtle way to indicate I haven’t actually moved on from one of my old friends. I like the name Zura- it’s something I picked a long time ago (one and a half) but I love it so much. But with things, I sometimes question whether my online persona is myself, whether or not I’m overexaggerating some aspects of myself. But my real-life self isn’t my real life self, because I have to deal with my inadequate language and shyness I haven’t gotten over. My confidence plummets, and that’s what I have to deal with. But through reading Bloom Into You, I realized that the ‘real self’ is abstract and it doesn’t really resemble a self that is present from different situations. It’s your values and the things that are consistent through all of your selves. I’m quite into personality typing systems, and its a great way to sort people (as well as understanding your limitations and abilities). I think the problem with 16p is that it’s a completely different system from mbti, which creates confusion. 16p should create their own letters rather than going off a system already established- but that would be big 5, and big 5 is obviously more reliable, therefore 16p is obsolete

3/2- sine cosine tangent

323 words inc title

A gust of wind blows my gentle spine, followed by a loud thud. There is a slight ache before the pain sinks and settles. I am left on a crowded brown slate, where the other objects, tall, short, thin, fat, clench on tightly. Only by doing this, we will remain in our temporary resting place. A blocked line- no, a large collection of objects stacked together advances towards my body. A stinging sensation pierces across my body, but I lie still. Five thin strips stroke my thick cover, exposing the clean white sheets inside me. As the object flips through my sheets, I continue to flinch. The scars from the grey dust and the area of grey scabs bring back painful memories- how long have I been enduring this torture? Let's see. There have been 2 months before this year (which did not make the suffering any better) and 4 months- so half a year! A block presses down on a clean sheet, and the object leaves. At least that's what I think. It returns back with loud noises multiplying, brown spheres scattered through my no longer clean sheets. My vision then blackens, as a grey strip presses down my body. Do they not advocate for object rights?
The worst moment comes. A sharp blade producing the grey dust (maybe even coal, since it's so polluting) points over the sheets and I close my eyes, counting down the seconds before the object fills a sheet. A few sharp lines scrape the surface and the shower of needles rain down, not even in an organized pattern. A huge sigh is released, as the object moves away. Usually, I rarely have time to gaze at the content, but today I am able to. And one page is wasted, simply because of sine, cosine, tangent…. before it slams my cover. I await this cycle again and again, so much that it becomes dull.

3/3 - regrown

Courtesy to mercer for my words: charcoal, arugula, and paper

502 words

Inside, the air is suffocating.

From the moment we walk inside, we are coated by a facade of warmth. Sprouts in rusted tin cans spur out the cracks- a newcomer would classify the maroon hue beautiful, but those who have been here know the sprout absorbs the oxidized metal, slowly devouring its roots.

The exterior is layered with plastic pieces so thin they become transparent. They claim these small glass tiles will fix global warming, yet it's a plea for their reputation. Infested with greed, all they care for is money and reputation. Money enough to fill their empty holes, leaving them hungry for more. It's why they only polish a few greenhouses, spotlighted in media praise. For local ones, once a few years pass, funding stops, and the glass begins decomposing.

The tiles used to adapt to the sun's intensity. Now, when the sun rises, the tiles waver in place, having lost their color. The soil has dulled, a few worms struggling between the cemented dirt. We used to renovate this greenhouse- we believed we could change climate and change greed. Yet as hours lengthened, more workers resigned. We are all affected by the same greed, the same need on money. By nine months, most of the volunteers spread away, abandoning the greenhouse.

But landscapes are inconstant. Once hurricanes tear trees and properties from their grounds, a home is rebuilt. Overgrown vegetation peaks from the empty spaces of abandoned buildings, almost threading messages yet to be discovered. Change, a property so abstract and constant, never settling to current standards.

A beep rings from my phone.

“Are you coming to the greenhouse back on 32?”

The corners of my cheeks lift, and I send a reply: “Already there.”

“You're here,” a person with a thin voice taps my shoulder. Strapped over their shoulder hangs a large camera, and a notepad rests in their palm.

“Can we get started?”

An interview begins. I explained despite its apparent beauty, the greenhouse is deteriorating, and a few details of the greenhouse. They then circle the terrain, examining every detail.

“Final question: What is your fondest memory?” They position their face closer, and we lock eyes for a second.

“My fondest memory is the amount of passion and commitment towards fixing the warehouse.” I pause. Should I elaborate on its failures?

They nod and grin, so I continue.

“Even though we disbanded after nine months, knowing we are still connected and harbor a deep longing to change this situation is amazing. I enjoyed how we did not immediately disband and cared enough.”

“Even with no funding at all!” They lower their eyebrows. “That's quite impressive to sustain such an effort for a long time. Any more?”

“We want to change climate change, change corruption,” I blurt. Silence is interrupted by a cooing from a distance.

“Alright,” They giggle in response. “It was great working with you.”

Maybe through enough effort, we can regrow the plants within the greenhouse. Nothing needs to be constant- change is coming.

3/6 - a daily we don’t talk about

377 words

night’s writing

Above the looming clouds, a rope of vines covers the twin tower. Locked in the tall towers were two princesses, isolated from the world. In one tower, a princess sits still in her chair, carefully observing the outside. The other princess walks around her tower, dusting and maintaining the inside. Inside these towers, the princesses are free to roam their castle, however, once they attempt to escape, they will receive a series of spears on their skin.

The first princess extends her hair from the window, forming a straight line with the ground. Her ginger hair eventually pools on the grass.

“I’ll wait for an escape,” she hummed gently from her seat. “May not be wisest decision right now, plus, once I get into the world, I’ll have some status in society.” Moving a needle between a fabric, she mused. A bird, thinking the castle was space slammed into the wall, blood dripping the edges of the tower.

The second princess sighs, hearing the rumors from princes rescuing the first princess. “Too many princes have died, and they’re so incompetent! They should be more resourceful- these are secret towers.” Scurrying down the flight of stairs, she had gathered all the cooking utensils saved from the last four years, and piled them together.

“With sticks, we should be able to create enough fire to burn this castle down. Maybe it wouldn’t happen easily, but breaking a small part would help. Once we cut through all of the sections, we set the castle on fire.”

And then she arsoned, rubbing a match, cutting a hole until the stubborn material cracked. Come tomorrow, once bird poop dropped through, she rubbed it to the roof area and spread it across. A spark of fire spread over, gradually multiplying.

It would be dangerous to jump, especially with the guards and the invisible layer, and she didn’t even know what the outside looked like for sure. So she dropped the pots and pans over the grass, forming a tight circle.

And so she jumped, and her face disremembered, features barely distinguishable. The guards, seeing a fire set on the tower, screamed, and thought the princess died in the fire.

3/7 - questions

495 words

“If your character could receive their deepest desire (wealth, health, love, success etc.) in exchange of betraying a friend, would they do it?”

109 words

Depending on how close this friend of Janis was. She wouldn’t betray a close friend, however, she doesn’t form much of a close friend with anyone, and her definition of friend is quite vague. She doesn’t trust people that much, so she may think it’s natural for some people to betray each other. Janis, ultimately prioritizes herself over other people’s interests. It also depends on how she wants to betray them and how much hurt it will cause the other person (if it causes too much pain, she just says nope.) The only people she won’t betray at all are the Kaoru’s because well they’re her love interests soooo……

“What is one life-changing event your character has experienced? How has it changed them?”

141 words

Okay I know it’s cringey as heck but she fell in love (besides her surface level crushes). It got her to open up and trust people a bit more (Janis isn’t sheltered for sure, but she can be a pain and naive in social situations). She also gains more empathy and can become more expressive in supporting people and their interpersonal relationships. It’s growth in general- she learns what an ideal relationship should be like and how she can rely a bit on others, in the end (in her childhood, though it wasn’t intentional, her parents were kind of distant, so she created a barrier between them (as well as her classmates) and her parents kind of assumed she was fine, because she never said anything). Janis is also very critical at the beginning, and later she gets therapy woo hoo!

“What does your character value most in a friend?”

120 words

Honesty. If you want to say something, be raw about it, because if you sugarcoat things and let problems run on, that, to her is dishonest. She believes that if things are rough she and the friend have disagreeing opinions, that they should be addressed right away. She enjoys right-to-the-point communication, because she will believe that you are trying to disguise the truth (also finds it as poor logic), if you ramble and don’t arrive to a single conclusion. She dislikes passive-agresiveness, and that’s why she’s regarded as harsh to some people. Once she finds a friend who can tolerate with her not-so easygoing side, she will slowly open up, and would enjoy a friend who is patient with understanding.


“What is your character's biggest fear?”

125 words

Bestie, it’s social situations. She wants to get better with understanding others and comforting them, but the overwhelming amount of emotions causes her to blank. Her eyes can get wide and her palms may get sweaty, so much she may shut down because she’s overwhelmed (ask one of the kaoru twins if you need comfort, they’ll be there). Also fear of intimacy, hence why she’s extremely frightened when she finds out Kokomi (one of the kaoru twins) has apparently fallen for her, and she just doesn’t react much. But kokomi encourages her to go to therapy, and her therapist is able to help her work on her possibly avoidant attachment(??) not sure if I want to go down the route though because it’s kinda tricky

Hi everyone, It's Peach here with all of my Fanfiction writing! Critiques are welcome. Written: 10,515 /30k words.

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Part 5 of Weekly 2:

Alfred shook his head and covered his hands on top of his flat caramel hair. He snatched his glasses off as he took a deep sigh. “I don't understand! I did exactly what the teacher asked me to. But of course she doesn't understand.” He reached for the open door in front of him and slammed it shut. Alfred sat back down. He glanced at the table with a sigh. He got up and began to organize it. He placed the pencils inside the pencil holder, then stacked the scattered papers. He found a book lying on the table. He picked it up, then read some of the pages. Alfred's eyes darted around the room for any sight of a camera. He didn't spot any, so he slid the book into his bag that he hung around his shoulder. He opened the door and went into the hallway. The hallway was long and looked almost as though it were a tunnel. He went left, then when he saw no one around, he opened the book.
“What's that?” Someone asked.
“Oh, uh . . .” Alfred was surprised that someone had interrupted his reading. “It's . . . It's just world exploration stuff.” He said.
“Oh, that's weird. Anyway, let's get out of here before we get in trouble.”
Alfred nodded and followed his friend. He followed him until he opened the door that lead outside. He stopped in awe when he saw a foggy bridge with a beach on one side and forest on the other. Even though he sees it every time he exits this building, he's still amazed by the huge setting difference. There was a border underneath the bridge that separates the two different places. It was cool underneath the bridge. You could see the milky fog from the forest, and also the soft floury sand from the beach. Alfred has spent a few days there once, reading books on world exploration, books on different types of weather, and any non-fictional book he could find.
“Hey. Did you here me?” Alfred's friend asked.
“Oh, I . . . What?”
“I said we could spend the night out here. Like camping. It's going to be fun.”
“We will have to get the supplies from our houses, then we will have to get our parents to agree, and we will have to get four separate bags to carry everything. Even if we do bring everything we need, we can't possibly stay out here because there are wild animals. We can't get away from such creatures.”
Alfred's friend waited patiently, but started to grow irritated. “Are you done yet?” He asked.
“Well th—”
“Okay, yes. You're done.
“Oh, and there's also spies.”
Alfred's friend stopped what he was doing. “S-spies?”
“Well I don't know. The animals that hide in the forest are most certainly spies. Why else would they be hanging around here?”
“A-Around here? You know, for someone who is shy all the time, you seem to know a lot of stuff.”
“That's because I read a lot.”
“True.” Alfred's friend flung his bag off of his shoulder and began unpacking it.
Alfred saw each thing being tossed around the border. Some things ended up on the forest side, while others landed on the beach side. Alfred watched the commotion in horror. “Roff—the stuff is—is flying all over the place!” Alfred covered his head with his hands as his heart rate sped up.
Alfred's friend saw him panicking. “Woah, easy. It's just a little messy.”
“A—A little messy? I m—I mean look at this! I can't possibly organize any of this. It's just t—too much.”
Alfred's friend set the tent bag onto the grass behind him. “You don't have to do anything about this mess. I'll clean it up. You can just sit on the bridge, or find a spot on the beach, or if you like the forest better, find something there to calm yourself. I'll let you know when I'm ready.”
Alfred shook his head while walking around in circles. “I—I have to clean th—this up! It's partly my things, right? Oh! I can't find a spot to sit, okay? I just can't. Not right now.”
Alfred's friend nodded. “Okay. What do you need? Water? Raspberries? Oh. Juice?”
Alfred saw the things in his friend's hands. “Well. I probably need the water, but I really do love juice. What type of juice is it? You know what? Just decide for me. I can't think right now!”
Alfred's friend handed him the raspberries and juice. He placed his hand on Alfred's shoulder and looked straight ahead. “It's all apart of the decision making.” He smiled.
Alfred took a sip of the juice. When he sat it back down, he picked it back up with a confused look. He twisted the lid back off. His mouth opened when he saw a black circle of the lid. The circle had a little red and green dot that seemed to be taunting him. “Are you kidding me?! No, this isn't happening.”
“Alfred, what is it?”
Alfred stood up as he shook is head. “I can't believe it.” He took off running into the forest to get away from his friend. He knew that he wouldn't get far, so he just ran as fast as he could for as long as he could. He stopped to take a breath, then kept on running. Alfred slammed his head and fell to the ground. “What the—” He stood back up and found what he had ran into. Alfred reached his hand toward the green landscape in front of him. Instead of his hand going forward into the trees beyond, it stopped. He gasped. He whipped his head around, noticing all the hidden cameras on the tree trunks behind him, beside him, and in front of him. “No. This can't be.”
“Hey, fella. Do you want to buy some cotton candy?”
“Are you kidding?!” Alfred found a camera and placed his head against it. When he leaned back, Alfred saw a stack of papers lying on the ground. He read it with a stunned look. He saw his name, then other people's names all lined up with a name followed by the original name. “This is all a play.”

~THE END~
1044 words

when green flag clicked
say [Fan-Fiction Forest For The Win!] for (5) secs

-+ Li's SWC Writing March '22 +-

-+ March 2 - Daily Activity +-

301 words.

I wouldn’t say that I have an interesting life, per se, as all I do is sit in one spot and watch. But what I do watch is the best part, and it makes everything worthwhile.
Day after day, I stare through the glass at the world, blooming with life, outside. I watch the seasons change. The leaves on the trees change from green to red to golden brown, until they fall off and get swept away by the wind, only to come back what feels like mere minutes later but is probably months.
I watch people walk by almost every day. Sometimes they’re by themselves, or sometimes they have another person with them. Sometimes they have a dog on a leash that they’re taking somewhere. They wear all kinds of clothes, some with vibrant colors, some without. It would be nice to wear clothes.
The sun is beautiful, too. It rises and falls, leaving the moon in its place when the sky has turned from the watercolor shades of pink and red to the still blackness of night. It’s so peaceful then, with the trees swaying gently back and forth in the slight breeze.
I can feel the wind on me sometimes. I can feel the heat of the summer air and the chill of winter. It’s the best way for me to feel one with the outdoors.
Sometimes I wish I could be a real part of the world, walking a dog or picking up a leaf from the ground. But I’ve learned to accept the fact that I am just a window. That is all I’ll ever be, so I try to enjoy the beauty of where I live as much as I can. Because it truly is beautiful, and I love looking at it no matter what.

-+ March 7 - Daily Activity +-

Unfinished story for someone else to finish if they want. (The paragraph indents didn't paste properly, sorry about that)

I clutched my item-carrying orb to my chest. Keeping my books and papers close to me made me feel warm inside, despite the chilly school. All of Zakria was chilly.
I blended in.
Just how I’d always been, just how I always would be, iust how I liked it. It was better not to be seen, because when you’re seen, you always have people looking at you.Just like Loozir, the most popular guy in Zakria Academy. Even his name was amazing– it literally meant shining star in Zakrian.
“Will Zek Mayird please report to the Principal’s office?”
I sighed. The principal always invited me to after-school clubs that I didn’t want to join. Didn’t he know I would just tell him no as always? I liked schoolwork. I didn’t want to just ditch it to go to some random club that I wasn’t interested in.
I knocked on the principal’s door. “Hello? Mizter Aczod?”
“Ah, Zek, come in.”
I entered the room and took a seat. “So. What after-school club do you want me to join this time?”
Mzr. Aczod shook his head. “Actually, it’s not an after-school club.”
I’m sure he could see the surprise on my face. “Huh? Then what is it?”
Mzr. Aczod placed his hands on his desk and blinked his three eyes. He had been called a number of things for having that extra eye, but I thought it looked cool. “Well, the thing is . . . we fear one of our kind is being held hostage down on that foreign planet, Earth.”
“Earth?” I exclaimed.
He nodded. “It’s a very serious matter, so we need to send someone down there within a few days.”
I did not like where this was going. “So you’re going to send one of the jocks like Loozir, right? The guys who can beat up an Earth-person if they need to? So they can take back the Zakri?”
Mzr. Aczod shook his head. “No– we’re sending you.”
If I had had some kind of liquid in my mouth, I would’ve spit it out like they do in all those primitive Earth movies (which was startlingly fitting for the matter at hand.) “What?! No! You can’t be serious, Mzr. Aczod!”
“I am serious,” he replied. “You have the highest academic scores in the entire school.”
“O-okay,” I stammered, “but I basically have no experience with the outside world, let alone Earth! If it were up to me, I’d stay inside the whole day and never talk to anyone. Plus I’m clearly not buff enough to take down Earth-people.”
“I believe you are the right person for the job. If you get down there and you think you’re not properly equipped, we can take you back and send, as you put it, ‘one of the jocks.’”
I gulped. “. . . I-I– why don’t you just do that?”
His three eyes looked straight into mine. “Because you are the right one to do it.”
“W-why wouldn’t you just send an adult? I’m only five thousand eight hundred fifty four years old!” I protested.
“You’ll fit right in– 5854 is equivalent to a 16 year old on Earth, and Earth-people age the same way we do, so you’ll look just their age. An adult might not be able to do the job as efficiently as you. A young mind is better than an old one.”
I took a deep, shuddery breath.
“. . . I’ll do it.”
Mzr. Aczod’s face broke into a wide grin and he touched his thumb to my little finger, the standard Zakrian greeting and way to say thank you. “I knew you’d say yes! You’re a good Zakri, Zek.”
Normally I would’ve blushed or said something ridiculous because my brain doesn’t work when I’m talking to people, but this time I just smiled weakly.
I was going to Earth.

“Alright, let’s get you ready.” Zizz, my new mission supervisor, said, clapping his purple-tinged hands together. “First, we’ll need to hide that orangey skin of yours. And your purple eyes. I don’t think any Earth-people have those.”
“How do we do that?”
“If we wanted to do it the old-fashioned way– a.k.a. the Aczod way– we could cover you head-to-toe in makeup. But that would be very uncomfortable, and it would come off really easily.”
“So? What’s the new-fashioned way?” I asked, looking at my skin in its original color for one of the last times before I left.
Zizz grinned. “Projection mirroring.”
“Which is?” He certainly didn’t get straight to the point in anything, did he?
Zizz cocked his head. “Wait a sec, I thought you were the smartest kid in this school.”
My jaw dropped. “Wha–”
Zizz waved his hand, laughing. “Sorry. I’m kidding. It’s a brand-new technology, so nobody’s really heard of it.”
“And you have?”
“I’m friends with some big names in the world of Zakri tech, and one of them let me test out a prototype of projection mirroring– you place this little device anywhere, and it will project something onto a 3D surface.”
My face lit up. “So I could carry it around with me on Earth and it would change my appearance using a projection?”
“Precisely. Aczod was right about you.”
I blushed.
“So,” Zizz continued, “I’ve made some tweaks to the device, so the projection will stick for twenty-four hours before it needs to be reset. So, like, it wouldn’t flicker off or look transparent, or if someone tried to touch you, it wouldn’t be . . . weird, like sticking your fingers through air.”
“So you’re assuming the mission or whatever is going to last for more than twenty-four hours?”
“It depends on how hard the Zakri is to find. That’s why I programmed the feature, just in case.”
Panic rose in me. “Wait, but if it’s a day or more, where am I going to sleep? Out in the streets? What if my projection mirroring turns off in the middle of the night and everybody sees who I really am?” I looked down at the small dots all over my hands and arms, the telltale sign of a Zakri.
“Simple– make sure to reactivate the projection before you sleep. And I’m sure you’ll find somewhere to go to bed.”
“Out in the streets,” I murmured.
“Who knows? Maybe you’ll find a Earth-person who wants you to stay over.”
I snorted. “Like an Earth-person would want to be friends with a Zakri!”
“They won’t even know you’re a Zakri, remember?”
I sighed. “Right.”
“I also have to send you with Earth-people clothes. Let’s just say, the Zakri fashions will stick out in the crowd. Like, a lot.” He pointed to my silver short-sleeve embellished with jewels all down the back and a glowing collar, and my matching pants.
“What kind of things do they wear down on Earth, anyways?”
“I compiled a whole bunch of the latest Earth-people fashion magazines into a binder for you to look at. Pick an outfit you like– shown in the magazines or otherwise– and I’ll have my fashion designer friend make you something just like it.”
“How many genius people are you friends with?”
He shrugged and handed me the binder.
I started flipping through it. Wow. Human fashions were . . . strange, to say the least. They were either super simple things, like plain white or blue shirts with a soft-looking fabric, or very . . . much. Confusing. Like this bright blue jumpsuit thing I didn’t even know how to describe.
I looked through the magazine for a while and then decided on ‘khaki shorts’ and a green ‘polo.’ Interesting names, but a somewhat decent outfit.
“That’s what you’ve chosen?” Zizz asked, pointing to the model wearing the outfit I picked. I nodded. “Great. I’ll get someone to make that for you right away. You’ll be leaving in two days, so get ready! I’ll also give you a device that allows you to record your thoughts and what you see, when you’re thinking and seeing it. It may prove to be useful for you for something, or to our kind when we come back.”
“Is there anything else I need to know before I leave?”
Zizz thought for a minute and then snapped his fingers. “Ah, right!”
I gave him questioning eyes.
“You’ll need to learn English.”

-+ March 14 - Daily Activity +-

314 words.

3.14159265358979. . . .
The numbers kept going, on and on, forever. The eternal list that filled Aly’s mind day in and day out.
And finally, finally, today was March fourteenth. 3:14 p.m. She was fourteen years and three days old.
The date was known to normal people as ‘Pi Day’.
But to Aly, who was anything but a normal person, today would be the best day of her life. She would finally be free from the curse that had been bestowed upon her when she was born fourteen years ago.
Hopefully the pain wouldn’t be unbearable.
. . . 323846264338327950 . . .
It was time.
Aly stepped a shaky foot forward, and then another, and another, until she was finally in the room. The door closed. This was it.
. . . 28841971693993751058 . . .
Aly clenched her fists, her nails digging into her hands, hoping the mild pain would distract her from what was about to happen.
. . . 209749445923078164 . . .
The helmet descended from the ceiling, and with shaky hands, she pulled it onto her head.
Aly closed her eyes.
And it started.
The numbers that had been flooding her mind, each digit at a time, for eleven months– all of them exploded into her brain at once with such force that she gasped. Every single digit of pi. It was all there.
It hurt.
41965285022210661186306744278622039194945047123713786960956364371917287467764657573962413890865832645995813390478027590099465764078951269468398352595709825822620522489407726719478268482601476990902640136394437455305068203496252451749399651431429809190659250937221696461515709858387410597885959772975498930161753928468138268683868942774155991855925245953 . . .
She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. The numbers were everywhere. It was too much.
She collapsed to the ground, overcome by the pain. It was almost over. She would be free soon. Hold on a little longer.
2952484937187110145765403590279934403742007310578539062198387447808478489683321445713868751943506430218453191048481005370614680674919278191197939952061419663428754440643745123718192179998391015919561814675142691239748940907186494231961567945208095146550225231603881930142093762137855956638 . . .
With a final explosion of pain in her mind, it all stopped.
The numbers were gone.
Her mind was clear.
Not a single number haunted her vision like it had every day for as long as she could remember. When she tried to think of her favorite things, the numbers didn’t swarm her vision.
She was free.
Aly was finally free.

SWC Daily - Day 2 - Inanimate object - A old painting on a wall
The days are long and hours drift slowly by. From my position high up on the drawing room wall, I watch every day as the rays of sun seep through the faded floral curtains and the roar of cars and buses from outside. People walk past the door to my room, and below the window frame to the busy street, but nobody comes in here any more. My room is deemed as “old-fashioned”; nobody visits me. I can remember days when my room would buzz with energy and vitality, when extravagant parties were hosted and I could look on over the room in pride. But since those days, the family who owned the house have moved on. Now, I can hear the mumblings of people in the room next door on what the owners’ kids call a ‘television’. The once fashionable furniture is covered in dust sheets, and I can see spiders making their webs in the far corner of the room. The old fireplace is cold and empty, no longer crackling with vivacious flame of gold and orange. I long for the days of old when life was exciting, but now I’m just waiting. Hoping that one day my room will be joyous again. But deep down I know that sometimes people just move on. It wasn’t anything I did, not that my presence could really offend, but it’s just the way people change. Maybe someday I’ll be brought down from the wall. There’ll be a faded rectangle where I once hung, and I’ll be sent to a new home, and restored. Maybe my existence will continue, somewhere in the universe. For now though, I wait patiently. I remain in my position of honour with pride, and pass the hours by reliving the glory days of old. - 301

Let me ask you a question - when life gets tough, what should you do to cheer yourself up? That's right - measure things! That's what I'm used for, though people don't seem to appreciate my existence as much as they should. I'm a ruler, and a mighty fine one at that! When I'm not being used, I stay inside a big basket full of other school supplies in the classroom that's my home. Children use me all the time to measure objects needed to do school work, and while I'm not completely clear what the ‘work’ is, I'm just happy to be here! Even though I'm not that long, I can be used to measure a lot of things; doors, tables, apples, you name it! Some students even use me to draw shapes and get the sides straight. Because what would life be if everything wasn't absolutely straight, precise, or perfect? Unfortunately, it seems like not as many children like using me as I'd prefer. All day I see students running around and drawing shapes and doodles with wobbly lines or incorrect measurements. And sometimes they beat me across desks or leave me lying on the floor! Which is extremely annoying, but even more annoying is the fact that I can't do anything about it! I can't squirm or jump or shout or attract the least bit of attention to myself, unlike the noises those kids make, their stamping of feet and their sticky hands as they grab me and scribble all over my hard plastic surface, not even using me for my right purpose! And when night falls and silence creeps in the classroom, I prefer to imagine another world….A perfect world. A world where no one is messy or loud or imprecise in their measurements. A world full of rulers, just like me. -303 words

(3/2/22 daily: write from the perspective of an inanimate object)

Hello. I am a snowman. But not the traditional kind. I happen to live in a snow globe. Often, I am somewhat neglected. my home is rarely shaken to let the snow fall, and while I don't miss the sensation of being shaken about, I do with I could feel the snow on my body more often. Even if it isn't actually real snow.

Sometimes I wish I could be let out of the glass sphere in which I reside. But the only way to do that would be to break it, and sadly I cannot do that. And if someone broke it for me, I would almost surely break too. And if I didn't, I'd probably end up being thrown away anyway. Oh, I shudder at the thought of it. How many things humans needlessly throw away sometimes astounds me.

It's not that bad inside this snow globe, though. My owners leave holiday decorations out for far longer than society suggests that they should, so I don't have to spend nearly as much time in a box as I've heard some decorations have to. Although I don't like to think of myself as a decoration. I have a conscience, after all. Doesn’t that elevate me above the category of tinsel and candy canes?

I'm rambling, aren't I? I should get back to thinking of ideas for stories I could write. Come to think of it, this would make a nice one itself. Maybe if I get the chance, I'll turn this mental journal into a proper book. Oh, well. That's not something to try to do today, I suppose. Especially considering I can't exactly move.

Signing off, Sidney the Snowman (oh, dear. I forgot to say my name in the introduction, didn’t I? Oh, well. At least it’s here now.)

Daily for March 2nd - 310 words
(Writing from the perspective of an inanimate object!)

— —

Have you ever felt neglected, ignored, or simply just left out? Because I know the feeling. But, I guess you have to know a bit about me before you can relate. Well, for starters, I’m a fake replica of a real thing. At least, that’s what I like to say. Others may call me a plush or stuffed animal. A cat, to be specific. But not a cat. Not a real cat. I’m just cotton, fabric and little beads. I have an owner, just like any real cat, but I don’t seem to be loved as much as a real cat would be. You might be saying something along the lines of, “But how would you know how much a real cat is loved?” And, if you were to ask me that, I would answer (or, think back), “Because I see it every day!”. And that’s right—my owner also has a real life cat that they play with! Oh, I’m so jealous of it! It thinks it’s better than me, that furry little thing. It hits me around, tosses me down the stairs, and all my owner does is laugh! I’m usually placed on a dusty shelf with some other animal plushies. Just like me, they can’t think or move, but I can tell that they feel the same way I do. I can see it in their beady eyes! I just wish I was a real, living, breathing cat. Then I could move and play, meow really loudly, and eat cat food. It might sound silly to you, but it’s all I dream about! Well, I hope you can relate to me now, or at least sympathize with me. A little bit, at least. The next time you see a stuffed animal, maybe give them a hug. And remember me. Remember that we plushies have feelings just like you!

Hey, I'm Jan and this'll be my writing thread for March 2022 SWC! I'm really excited as this is my first time at SWC. Anyway:

Dailies:

Date - Link
Date - Link

In-Cabin Activities:

Date - Link
Date - Link

Weeklies:

Date - Link

Other:
Desc. - Link

Hope y'all have a great time at SWC! I know I will!

ELA Exrtra Credit Poem I wanted to share :)

Prompt (If you would like to try it): Write a poem about a description of a character (whether it be their characteristics, their breakfast routine/ morning routine, etc.)
——————
I wake up in the morning
Like a bird hatching from its egg.
Starting a new life
Unaware of whats up ahead

I take a deep breath
Get up out of bed
And get changed
To find myself fed

I ate eggs and toast
The Toast with butter and jam
The scrambled eggs,
With little bits of ham

I noted to myself
That they did not go good together
But anyways,
I brushed away that displeasure

Then I got my stuff together
As quick as a mouse
I was running late
I had to get out of my house!

The school bus arrived
Squeak, pssh
It’s time to get on

I arrived at my school
Walked down the grand hallway
That sounded like bees
Humming and buzzing

School has ended
The bell has rung
I could almost taste the candy-scented air
On the tip of my tongue

It was summertime
The time of ice cream and fairs
Children roamed the land
As free as baby hares

I walked home that fine day
Enduring sweat and heat
Only to find
My parent dead and defeat

(184 words)