LAST PART! Bringing it together >: D

I used these prompts!

Premise
Character
Setting

1,026 words!!!


Open File: Voice_Log_:_Tessa_Berksen

Begin Log

Day One.
The power is still on.

Begin Voice Record.

The Explorer has been bumbling along for weeks now, and I’m not sure if it’s going to make it. The planet seems so much farther away now than it did three weeks ago. I can hear the engine breaking down. It makes sounds like this- bang! creeeak! Crsh! - and it scares me. I’m afraid we’re going to stop.
The Leaders have not come out of their quarters since the first day the engine started to break down. They made their announcement and told us not to worry, but I am scared.
Even since before the malfunctions began, the Leaders have been turning off the power when someone does something wrong. I’m afraid that all these power outages have caused the engine to stop working- all the constant on, off, on, off.
I don’t understand why the Leaders are doing this.
Frankly, I think they’re all insane.

Day Two.
The engine has stopped.

Begin Voice Record.

The Leaders finally came out again to deliver this message today. Lizzie and I heard it while we were sitting in her room, and it played on the broadcast. I think it’s ironic how they broadcasted it digitally when they keep turning off the power. Anyways, here’s the message.

‘The engine has stopped. Our hopes of reaching the planet are thinned but not yet dimmed- there is still hope. Engineers are working around the clock to fix it.’

And yet, no matter what they say, the power outages keep happening, and we all know it’s on purpose. Yesterday, Ernest Almuerza protested the power outages, and we received another, longer outage because of it. It’s ironic, really.
We haven’t seen Ernest since.

Day Three.
Longest shortage yet.

Begin Voice Record.

This last shortage lasted for three hours. I don’t know who did what this time.
It’s the longest one yet, and it was very, very scary. I was alone in my room for two of those three hours in blackness, huddling in my blanket until I finally found a light stick. It wasn’t a lot, and I was still lonely, but at least I could see.
When the power came back on, I drew this.



I know it’s an overabundance of photos, but I’m sorry to say I’m not the best photographer.

Voice Record Ends.

Enter Password For Location Clue.

********

The Written Records Are Under The Bed

Day Four.
The power has been out all day

I had to write this on paper because the power has been out all day. I haven’t seen Lizzie or anyone since this morning. I’m all alone, and it’s scary. I’m trying to be careful with the light sticks, but it’s hard to be when you don’t want to be in the dark.
I spent a lot of the day asleep. I did not want to be awake when I was so lonely and had nothing to do. I tried to draw earlier, but the light stick ran out and I went to sleep instead.
This light stick is running out, too. I have to go now.

Day Seven.
The power hasn’t been on for three days.

A girl found me hiding in my room yesterday, and I was so glad- I’d been hiding alone for days, and there wasn’t even anything to write about. She brought me with her and I was so talkative. Normally I’m careful when talking to people for fear of upsetting them, but when you’re alone for two days it’s hard not to go on and on about everything.
We met 20 others who were gathered in the mess hall, and who had managed to find a way to get the power on, but only in that one room. They asked me to try to go with them. I did not want to, but I knew I had to help.
We passed the Quarters again, and I had to stare at it and wonder: What are the Leaders doing up there?
It’s time for lights out.
I have to go.

Day Nine.
The heat went off.

When the power went off, nobody considered the heat and life support. But now we’re all freezing. We found six others, and they’re with us. While we got the lights on, we couldn't get the heat on. We have tried to pass around blankets and food, but those are quickly running out. Everything has stopped- especially the farming. How can we farm with no light?

Day Eleven.

I’m lost.
I carry this book with me wherever I go to try and mark down the people we found, but it won’t matter if I’m not found. The power was on for two hours today, so I went out, but I wasn’t watching the time, and the lights went out and I was stranded.
I don’t know what to do.

Day Twelve.

I haven’t eaten for a few days, and my water is running out. I was scavenging out around the main halls, and I saw small groups of people running away. I didn’t know where they were coming from, and when I went there, I saw that there were supplies being burnt for heat and light.
I didn’t know what to do, so I used them to my advantage.

Was that wrong?

Day Thirteen.

I’m scared.
I think the ship is going to burn down.
There are so many fires and none of them are safely contained. I’ve started making my own little ones, careful, in my own room. I’m too scared to leave it again. I don’t know what I’m going to do. I miss my parents and I miss Lizzie.
But at least I found food.


Day Fourteen.

Everything is going wrong. People found me and raided me for supplies. My food, water, matches, blankets, even paper- they’re all gone.
I was barely able to keep this book hidden.
I’m scared.
I don’t know how long we’re going to survive.

Day Fifteen.

I can’t take it anymore. I have to go to the Quarters. I have to turn on the power. Even if I die.

Partnered story with @violent-measures: my part 366 words
Me:
The sky was on fire. Often the Vaeíti would say this in reference to the vibrant vermilion hues the atmosphere would take on at that golden hour as the sun set. But there was no figurative meaning here, this time. The sky blazed scarlet, bright and dangerous, flames hanging where clouds should be.
Vi:
A petite girl with dark hair that fell lankly to her shoulders stood with wide eyes transfixed on the burning sky. “Lana!” a man’s voice cried out, husky with panic. She turned sharply, blinking slowly as if shaking out of a stupor. “Dad?” she asked nervously. Hands grasped her shoulders, strong and calloused. “Come on. Get inside. The smoke is bad for your lungs,” her dad said, tone sharp with half-hidden irritation.
Me:
Lana's gaze remained on the sky as she was numbly forced indoors. “What's going on?” she pleaded, urgent despite her feeling completely disjointed from the world actively falling apart before her very eyes.
Vi:
“I—not right now, Lana,” her dad insisted, tugging her towards the small, thatch-roofed building they called home. Slowly, she followed him, almost in a daze, her eyes still fixed on the burning sky. Lana inhaled sharply as she stumbled over a rock, then began to cough, the smoke making her lungs burn. Suddenly, she much more willingly followed her father, whose expression had turned from harried irritation to intense anxiety.
Me:
Lana bit back a whimper as the sky crackled, almost as though with thunder but more sinister. Her father's rough hands ushered her inside where her mother was already frantically gathering supplies from shelves and cabinets. The ground rippled with a force, sending everyone bracing themselves, as the sky flared brightly outside.
Vi:
Lana’s older sister helped their mom, carrying piles of clothes out of their rooms as Lana and her dad entered. Everything was quiet in the house as the family set about wordlessly to fulfill separate tasks. That is, everyone but Lana, who simply stood with her back to the window and her hands clasped over her ears to shut out the roar of the burning sky. Her parents exchanged a worried glance, but nothing more, unable to focus on comforting their youngest child just then.
Me:
The house shook with a crack, jarring each of its occupants and knocking Lana's father off his feet. The glass windows rattled in their panes; books shuddered and fell off their shelves; their family photo tumbled off of its perch on the counter and fractured on the ground. Lana's father grabbed her wrist and yanked her to her feet, shouting mumbled words that she couldn't decipher as she was dragged forward, everything in a haze as if her head were underwater. Some water might be good right about now, she thought deliriously in the muddle of the commotion.
Vi:
Lana’s mom slid a backpack around Lana’s shoulders. “Just carry it for me for a while, honey,” she whispered, and Lana nodded hesitantly. Lana’s dad led her outside. “I thought we weren’t supposed to—?” she started, but her dad just shook his head. “We need to leave,” he said sternly, looking with worry back into the shadowed doorway. He had two satchels slung across his chest, a backpack on his shoulder, and two bags in the hand that wasn’t grasping Lana’s. Lana shuddered, hunching her shoulders and hugging herself with one hand. They were leaving, really leaving. And she wasn’t sure when, if ever, they’d be back. It felt wrong. As did the fire burning relentlessly in the sky.
Me:
She looked down towards the horizon, where their closest neighbors called home, and witnessed them likewise abandoning the lives they had made for themselves. How could anyone stand to simply pack up and leave so quickly? Lana certainly couldn't bear it, she knew that much. She spared a glance back to her own house, which grew smaller and smaller with each step. All of her memories were there; and they were just leaving? She stifled a whimper as she watched some embers tumble down and extinguish themselves on the roof. “Where are we going?” she asked timidly, turning back toward her dad resolutely leading the four of them forward. “Aredor,” he responded roughly, not even moving his eyes from where they'd fixed on the horizon. “They have a shelter there.”
Vi:
Lana nodded dumbly, her throat constricting as she hugged her dad’s arm, drawing herself closer and matching his resolute, unyielding pace. “Don’t look back,” she told herself. “Don’t look back…” It would only make everything worse. Aredor…she’d never been, though she knew her dad had lived there before he’d met her mom. Perhaps this was like going home for him, instead of leaving it. Lana had to close her eyes to keep herself from looking over her shoulder. Don’t look back.

Character: 648 words
Name: Eidrich L’aeren
Age: 31 (that’s relatively young)
Species: Elf
Personality and traits: 288 words
Eidrich is a relatively laid back kind of guy. Shorter than average for an elf, he stands at 6’3, though he does tend to slouch a little bit. He has long pale hair falling to his mid-back, usually sporting at least two mini braids. He hates formal clothing, and as such typically wears whatever is loosest and most comfortable while still being somewhat socially acceptable. Somewhat. He’s quite a go-with-the-flow kind of person, and hates his people’s uptight nature. Eidrich is the kind to crack a joke, the awful kind that will be followed by nothing but chirping crickets. Then he himself would laugh to fill the silence. He’s not the greatest problem solver, either not taking something seriously enough or just not being able to think it through rationally. He’s not the kind to think step-by-step, but rather wants to skip to the end. He’s definitely not a socialite, either. He doesn’t dislike interaction, it’s just that most people tend not to find him very likable (since he has a hard time taking anything seriously) and he doesn’t exactly go out of his way to make a good impression on anyone. He doesn’t like to conform to societal standards, especially gender norms. Toxic masculinity? Never heard of her. Not afraid to scream, not afraid to cry, not afraid to giggle– he giggles a lot. It’s a really cute and endearing sort of giggle, sounding like birdsong (since he’s an elf and all; they’re just magical in general). As a whole, Eidrich is something of a loner, not upset to be on his own, yet he does enjoy the company of others. He’s typically thought of as “that one guy”, the one everyone knows of but nobody knows.
Wants, Hopes, and Strengths: 206 words
Eidrich really just wants to enjoy life. He’s got an especially long one, given the lifespan of elves, and he wants to make it count. It’s not that he wants a life of adventure– that’s far too unpredictable, and he does not have the skill to make it through and come out on top, he is quite aware of that. He does, however, wish to travel the world. He wants to see just how vast it is, how different it is from the land wherein he was raised and continues to remain. He hears old stories and folktales about other places, and dreams of going there himself. The sea in particular is an idea which fascinates him. He hopes to someday be able to make a plan to find the sea, wherever that may be, but that is quite the task to undertake considering his difficulty in making step-by-step plans– and, furthermore, executing them. For what it’s worth, though, he is good at coming up with ideas. Not thinking them through, no, but concepts come naturally to him. And, he’ll often start anything that comes to mind. The problem, however, is finishing. Thus, he ends up with a surplus of unfinished projects at any given moment.
Dislikes and Fears: 128 words
As said, Eidrich hates conformity. He finds it all unnecessary, and expresses his own individuality whenever possible as a sort of rebellion. He also hates formality. Why waste time sugarcoating things in ten layers of politesse and pomp when you can just say what’s on your mind? He also tends to see rules and norms as more of a suggestion. A suggestion for him to completely ignore. His fears are often based in myths he hears from old tales passed down through the generations (unicorns? They sound like little monster demons). His largest fear, however, is death– a fear rather uncommon among elves due to their long lives. Perhaps this further alienates him from his people, but he can’t help dreading the day he draws his last breath.

Setting: 404 words
The story will take place in the halls of your choice of either a local middle or high school. It’s an odd hour to be at the school, though. We’re talking about in the dead of night. Through the windows you (as in, your character) can see the chilling gray atmosphere, the thick black clouds shrouding the moonless sky. The grass out front which you could have sworn a mere couple of hours ago had been perfectly green and healthy is now shriveled and husky, the trees likewise blackened and spindly. Crows cackle and cry faintly outside. The halls are terribly vast and spacious, seemingly far more so than any typical school’s halls should be. The fluorescent lights overhead buzz and flicker unhelpfully– those that work, anyway. A little more than half of them don’t, regardless of however many combinations of light switches you try. This place seems like it hasn’t been cleaned for weeks. Dust clings to the edges of the floors, some of the walls have sticky streaks on the plaster, and certain hallways smell faintly of mold and mildew. A couple of ceiling tiles up above are either missing or broken, revealing exposed wires and tubing running through them. Sometimes a few of them spit a spark or two. The dirty linoleum tiles glint with a sinister light, reflected from the dim bulbs above. The air conditioner system rattles to life with a sudden WHUMP, followed by a whoosh as it pumps out chill air through the passageways. Most of the classroom doors are locked, though the ones lining a particular hallway on the way to the cafeteria hang ajar off of broken rusty hinges. Nothing else seems too terribly off about the rooms, though, other than the fact that no lights will work in them. In the cafeteria itself, one of the industrial freezers is busted open. There’s some sort of chanting or singing coming from the theater room, echoing faintly off the walls. All the lockers lining one particular wall are dented and smashed, locker 138 in particular hanging open, strangely not damaged. Why? No clue. For all its horror movie vibes, however, one thing strikes you as peculiar and almost laughable. Colorful tubes run through the ceilings and even some walls, and the sound you once assumed must be rats or perhaps roaches scurrying through the crumbling infrastructure you now realize to have been a bunch of hamsters.

Premise: 172 words
Your character has not slept in two days. For some reason or another (be it school, work, other external factors or simply repeated mental breakdowns every five minutes) they simply haven’t slept. They finally get to curl up in their bed, all their blankets nestled warmly around them, the pillow perfectly fluffed and flipped on the cool side, and are just on the cusp of sweet sweet unconsciousness… when another character starts practicing French horn in the next room over (or somewhere nearby where it would be heard). Unbelievable! Try as your character might to ignore it, that brass blaring is nothing if not insistent. After grunting in frustration and tossing and turning in bed a couple times, your character finally snaps. With a cry of outrage, they jump out of bed and stomp over to the other room and bust in. However, instead of finding the other character with that accursed instrument, they stumble upon a glowing pink and black and blue cosmic portal, everything in the nearby vicinity floating weightlessly.

The Story: 1415 words
Character by FrogandChick, found here
Setting by Piper_Camps, found here
Premise by majesticMiddleschool, found here
Times were bleak. Everyone knew that. That’s what happens when you survive the Dark Days, as everyone had taken to calling the nuclear warfare and its aftermath that had begun over a decade ago. Well, really, the Dark Days were just the times now, the modern day. Half of civilization had been reduced to ash. The other half– well, they were just barely scraping by. The greatest cities in the United States had been decimated, once great societies now nothing more than crumbling infrastructure with too many people to house. It was pathetic, depressing. At every turn, dirty children would scurry in and out of packed rotting warehouses, hunting for any scrap of food, medical supply, or artifact of a loved one they could chance upon. The children were the majority of the ones left.
With the economy all but in shambles, kids all across the country created multiple black markets of sorts to sell off resources or any found personal memorabilia– family photos, half-destroyed jewelry, tattered diaries and scrapbooks– to the people to which they belonged for a near unreasonable price. Kids were crafty like that. They formed groups for the purpose of foraging for goods to sell or barter and further divided themselves according to which tasks they could best perform, be it scavenging, restoring damaged treasures, or negotiating for the highest price. With little time or use for hobbies, kids put their innate skills towards work that would make a profit, namely in these black markets. It was as a restorer that artistically-inclined Jason Alexander found himself spending his talent.
Jason was good at it, remarkably so. He’d spent the past three years of his juvenile life using paintbrushes he’d been lucky enough to chance upon in decently good condition when he was six to return color to faded and charred photographs. His work had become both an envy and a curse, as he adamantly refused to rush any details and as such put twice the time and care into a single piece that any other artist would have done. This meant that images restored by him often sold for nearly double the average going price, however. His gang found his work too valuable to replace.
It was a rather normal day– normal for a post-apocalyptic world struggling to rebuild itself, that is. Jason walked his normal route home from school through the battered roadways all but devoid of working cars; automobiles had become a costly luxury, a rarity only affordable to those on the top of the top. A mere couple of years after nuclear war had unleashed and wrapped itself up and left the globe devastated as a living hell, the remains of the state and federal governments had put reinstating the education system as their first priority once basic needs were generally met and what relief programs they could manage picked up steam in an attempt by the relatively few adults remaining to quell the violent gangs of kids rearing their heads in cities all over the country. After a few years, school helped, a little bit. Personally, Jason found that he quite liked it, if not for the time it took away from his work.
The boy traveled his usual path through the remnants of the riverwalk running through the refugee hub that was once a bustling, lively city known as San Antonio, Texas. Jason had learned in his history class that this very riverwalk used to be the greatest tourist attraction in the town, thrumming with activity all throughout the tens and hundreds of stores and restaurants and sights-to-see patterned along both sides of the river. There certainly was none of that now; no boats ferrying passengers back and forth in either direction, no light shows reflecting brilliantly on the water, no markets blasting their preferred taste of music over souped-up speakers. The desecrated city had become a center of refuge for exactly two reasons: its comparatively less-obliterated buildings, and its water supply. Said water supply could be generously described as questionable at times, either flooding or running nearly dry and nigh on half the time consisting of toxins rendering it unfit for consumption. Still, the inhabitants of this city had it better off than most.
Truthfully, regardless of whether it often tried to drown or dehydrate or poison him or not, Jason loved the water. He was fascinated by the ebb and flow and the way it reflected the sun just right, and it served as his primary inspiration for creating art in the rare moment he was free from work or school or other social or survival obligations. As of late, more than ever, the river tickled his fancy as every day for the past week he heard odd clinking noises through the half-demolished pipes running below the pavement, if he strained his ears enough. Not yet had he had the proper time to conduct a personal investigation to figure out what this strange sound could possibly be or what could be causing it, but today he made a mental note to check it out the following day, on his day off for Remembrance and Honor Day.
He made his way to his shack of a home, getting immediately to work with his brushes fine-tuning the coloring job on a scrap of burned photo paper depicting an old man holding a little boy Jason assumed to be his grandson. The child in the picture smiled so brightly; Jason doubled the tender care he spent in restoring the faded tones and hoped they would be able to find the person to which this treasure belonged. He passed the long hours doing just that until the sun sank below the horizon, greedily taking every bit of its light with him. Electric energy was costly to distribute on a wide scale, so local governments essentially implemented a curfew from sundown to sunup. It saved energy, money, and helped everyone get a proper amount of sleep with nothing else to do. As such, with nothing else to do, Jason retired to bed with the last dregs of sunlight, just as he had for every day of the fifteen years of his life.
He didn’t expect to be woken in the middle of the night by the sound of glass breaking.
His first instinct was fear. That’s what happens when you’ve been raised in an era imagined only by dystopian authors decades ago. This sudden alert could have been caused by any number of things going wrong. Panicking just a little, Jason rolled over in his deflated bed and fumbled blindly in the pitch blackness of his small room for the flashlight running on backup batteries that he kept solely for the direst of emergencies. Switching it on with clumsy hands sorely uncoordinated in his fright, he flashed the dull beam around every inch of his room. His alarm gave way to uneasiness as he located the smashed window situated in his deteriorating wall, the glass shards both remaining in the pane and those scattered on the floor glinting back at him, but not the object that could have shattered it.
With bated breath he scanned the space again, when he heard that same curious clinking that had captured his attention for the past week at the riverwalk. Dragging his gaze and shaft of light to face the source of the sound, he went utterly still as he spotted an unassuming ceramic lawn gnome sitting there on the floor. Jason had seen these once or twice, stumbled upon them in dumps or buried under collapsed homes. They were never pristine or complete like the one before him, however, their blue paint faded and chipped and chunks of their hats or faces or torsos fractured or missing. However, the gnome in front of him looked rather perfect. It was almost as though it were a living entity.
Jason’s heart pounded its way up into his throat as suddenly the gnome moved, its eyes flicking up to pierce into his. Despite living in a world where the new “normal” looked nothing like that of a mere thirty years ago, he knew that that definitely was not normal. He hardly had time to register it before the gnome hopped a few steps forward on the ground with that ceramic clink-clink-clinking, then abruptly launched itself directly at Jason’s face with a shrill war cry sounding like two stones grating at each other. Jason let out a yelp of shock and braced himself for impact.

THIS IS A WIP!!

Part One: My partner was @scratch_warrior_cat : SussyLegWarmers- That one cat who everyone calls “Grump” is watching me while I sit and work. scratch_warrior_cat
I try to concentrate, but I keep looking up to meet his unnerving gaze. I shiver, even though I'm not sure exactly why I feel creeped out
SussyLegWarmers-
I don't know what I did to make him despise me. All I know is that he likes staring…which is very creepy
scratch_warrior_cat
I get up, moving my chair so I am no longer facing him. But as I continue my work, I can feel the hair on the back of my neck rise up.
SussyLegWarmers-
He is still watching me through the window. Why? I don't even know. I need to finish my homework. But I can't if he is watching. What to do..
scratch_warrior_cat
Maybe he's hungry. Maybe he'll go away if I feed him. I rustle in my backpack, looking for something to give him.
SussyLegWarmers-
All I find is chocolate. I can't give him this. Let me go down to the kitchen and find something edible to give him.
scratch_warrior_cat
The only problem is, I have to walk past the window to get to the kitchen. I try to walk quickly and keep my gaze down, but I can feel those piercing eyes glaring, boring deep into my soul. A shiver of relief passes through me as I reach the kitchen, out of sight of the cat.
SussyLegWarmers- Suddenly, the feeling is back. I turn around and see that the cat is inches away from my door. Now I'm scared. What do I do? I reach into the fridge and look for food. What do cats like again? Wait, fish! I grab a container of canned fish and put it outside and shut the door.
scratch_warrior_cat
Even though I would rather get far away from the unsettling cat, a sudden curiosity draws me to the window. Just one peek, to see if he eats it, I promise myself.
SussyLegWarmers-
I go to the window and see that the cat is gone. And so is the fish. All that is left is the container. Suddenly I hear a crash. I turn around and see…GRUMP? Why is he in here. What did I do for this to happen I wonder. scratch_warrior_cat
“Uhh, good kitty?” I stammer, backing up. I remember learning that cats can smell fear, but there's nothing I can do to stop my quavering. “D-did you like t-the fish?”
SussyLegWarmers-
He just sits there “W-Why don't you l-like m-me?” I know. I'm talking to a cat. THE GRUMPIEST ONE. I don't know what he wants but I need him to get out. FAST
scratch_warrior_cat
I edge toward the kitchen, not taking my eyes off Grump. Maybe I can get more fish to lure him out. As I move inside, he just sits there; the only part of him that's moving is his burning yellow eyes. Then he's out of sight, and I risk turning my back to frantically open and rummage through the fridge.
SussyLegWarmers-
I found some more fish. I opened the can and left it right in front of me.“ Come on cat” I yell. “I have more food for you”
scratch_warrior_cat
The moment I look up, the cat is standing three feet in front of me, watching me intently with all his fur puffed out. He glares at the can. I slowly pick it up, then back away toward the door. We have a silent staring contest as I reach for the doorknob.

SussyLegWarmers-
I open the door and place the canned fish outside. Grump runs outside and starts eating the fish. I decided to shut the door and all the windows. What does this cat have against me, I LITERALLY DID NOTHING TO HIM, I wonder. I see Grump finish eating it and looking sad. Aw now I feel bad. Let me get some yarn. I get some yarn and open the door. I place the yarn on the floor and Grump slowly walks in. He saw the yarn and started dashing to it. He looked so cute playing with it!

scratch_warrior_cat
I sit there watching him, and wondering if all the cat had wanted was a little love.



Part 2:
Character: Amazon Watts
Age: 15
Species: Human

Personality and Traits: 202 words
Wants, Hopes, and Strengths: 205 words
Dislikes and Fears: 100 words (WIP)

Personality and Traits: Amazon is a very brave type of person. She is a calm and collected person and very rarely loses her temper. She would rather work by herself than with a few people. Amazon is very punctual and if something is late she goes bonkers. Being by herself allows her to stay sane and calm. Other people aggravate her. A LOT. She loves to write. She is a bookworm as well. Amazon gets her name from the Amazon Rainforest. She also is very determined when it comes to things. If someone tells her “Oh you can’t do that,”, she loves proving them wrong. She is also very strong and smart. She once finished a 10 page test, in 30 minutes. She loves to wander in places she isn’t familiar with. She also can’t sit in one place. It is impossible, she has to be tapping her foot or something. Her memory is as sharp as a piece of broken glass. She has photographic memory..Like Cam Jansen and Nancy Drew. She is also a very mystery induced person. She loves helping the police, and maybe proving she is better than them. She also is very athletic and likes to run and climb mountains.

Wants, Hopes, and Strengths: Amazon wants world peace. “When the power of love overcomes the love of power, the world will know peace. -Jimi Hendrix” is her favorite quote. She also wants her parents to take her on ventures. She hopes that the world stops fighting wars. She hopes that that one bully in her school decides to change. She hopes to become better in science. She is very strong in math. She is also very strong in PE. She can run a lot of laps in the pacer without stopping. Amazon wants the world to find love. She wants to see the world. Instead of her one town. She wants to meet new people. She wants to share her ideas with the world. She wants to show the world that She is Amazon. She is also very strong in reading. She aces all of her classes, especially math. She can calculate in her brain. She also hopes for my cheetos in the world. She can’t get enough of them. She also wants the world to embrace themselves. To let people be who they are without being scared. She believes that love is love, and you can’t change her mind. She also wishes for people to respect each other.

Dislikes and fears: Amazon hates bullies and negativity. She tends to avoid them. She also is afraid of letting people down. She has the fear of losing loved ones as well. She tries to calm down in the middle of the night, but the nightmares make her shoot out of bed. She despises her “friend’ who blames her for everything. When someone makes her feel like she disappointed them, she has a panic attack. She hates how life just takes someone she loves. She sometimes wants to yell “LIFE, YOU ARE THE BIGGEST BULLY FOR EVERYONE. STOP BEING A NUSICANE” she then falls to the ground.

Part 3:


Part 4:


Part 5:

PART 1:
Name: Fox Buttons
Age: 12
Species: human
Personality and traits: (211 words)
• Fox is very introverted. Because of her sass, quick temper, and lack of socializing, she has no friends and finds it hard to make them.
• She’s extremely smart and perceptive, noticing every small detail consciously and subconsciously, and because of this can easily find her way in a new environment.
• She loves a good adventure, and no matter how dangerous, will never turn one down or hesitate to accept, whether it’s a dare or an epic quest.
• She always carries a knife, a pen, a piece of string, and a coin in her pocket, and never goes anywhere without her charm necklace.
• She’s nimble, quick, and stealthy, able to sneak around next to silently anywhere.
• She can hold a serious grudge for years, and will always seek revenge.
• She’s very blunt and doesn’t get embarrassed easily—or at all, really.
• She loves making crafts in the outdoors, and enjoys skipping rocks, making grass baskets, and carving wood.
• She’s happiest outside where she can see the sky, therefore making her claustrophobic, and she dislikes basements and caves.
• She loves foraging and can identify almost every plant just by looking at it
• She loves whoppers.
• She loves bullet lists
Wants, hopes, and strengths: (204 words)
Fox wants a real friend more than anything, but she keeps this want buried deep down, and hardly ever acknowledges to herself that she has it. She tells herself that she just wants an adventure, and keeps herself busy every day. She hopes that she could meet one thing that proves that there is magic out there somewhere before she dies. She’s an amazing artist, and can draw anything. She taught herself by drawing things she saw outdoors. She enjoys swinging and flying in airplanes once they get off of the ground. Fox loves planting and taking care of gardens, and can literally make any plant healthy. She got her green thumb from her mother. She can build anything and is really good at wood carving, a skill her father taught her. Her favorite carving she has made is an imperfect wolf she carved when she was eight. She calls it Grey and has also carved a den and prey for him, and is in the process of making Grey a family. While Grey is unpainted, the landscape is not; full of colors that Fox is very proud of. She uses acrylic paints, but also loves to make paints out of things in nature.

Dislikes and fears: (100 words)
Fox hates anyone who litters or otherwise harms nature. She’s afraid of heavy equipment like cars, construction vehicles, and helicopters, but likes airplanes once they get off the ground. She hates crowds and loud noises, and she hates cats… any type of cat. (Housecats she hates more than wild cats.) She hates humans because of what they are doing to the planet, and can be very passionate about the planet. Sometimes she wishes she wasn’t human, instead wishing she was an otter, beaver, hawk, or a wolf. She hates school, paperwork, and grapes; doing everything she can to avoid them.

SETTING: (405 words)
CAVE SYSTEM
The cave mouth is on a grassy mountain, scattered with rocks and a hotspot for elk and bighorn sheep. It’s a bit difficult to find the mouth of the cave, and inside its completely dark… no sunlight seems to be able to penetrate the mouth. Crystals glitter from spots in the walls stalactites and stalagmites reach from the ceiling and floor. Four other openings lead off from this main cavern. The first opening, farthest to the left, leads off to an abandoned mine system, twisting and turning deep into the earth. Old wooden beams support most of the ceiling, and some of the paths are caved in. The occasional skeleton can be found the deeper you go, and there are only three exits from the mine: the one you came in from, one at the bottom of the mountain that you might stumble across if you’re exceptionally lucky, and one that they say has caved in, but people say that they found this mysterious exit when they got lost in the mine. The second cave leads to a humongous second cave, so large that fog collects around the ceiling so you really don’t know how big it actually is. The walls are rough and cracked, full of hiding places and the room seems impenetrable by a flashlight. The cave echoes so well that your footsteps sound magnified—and so does every other sound. The dripping of water can be heard, coming from somewhere out of sight. The third cave is narrow but long, ending I a seemingly bottomless pit about one and a half miles in. The pit goes out of sight, with nothing on sight on the other side—or even another side in sight. The fourth cave is completely made out of crystals, these seeming to glow from the inside. It’s shaped like a ball, so you have to slide to reach the bottom—and take your socks and shoes off and run up the wall to get out. Inside the crystal cave it’s soundless, even if you scream at the top of your voice. You can’t even hear yourself breathing. There is a place at the ceiling that looks like you might be able to crawl out—if you could fly. The room occasionally fills completely with a heavy fog from this gap—fog so thick you can’t see your hand in front of your face even if you touch your nose.




PART 4: (IDK if I did it right ^^” 160 words)
“Your sibling goes missing… and you know that they were kidnapped”
When your main character returns home from , they go into their and realize something’s wrong. Everything’s quiet—too quiet. They’re sibling is usually all the time. It’s really annoying, but now the lack of it makes your character scared, your sibling had nothing they were doing. They check every corner of their house, but their sibling isn’t there… but a note is, challenging them to find their sibling before a deadline—or the sibling dies. Now your main character has to find them, even though the task is impossible. They embark to first find out who the signature on the note belongs to, and then they travel out on a dangerous quest, finding their sibling seconds before the deadline. The kidnapper is angry they succeeded, and starts a battle. You and your sibling fight, and win—but just barely. Injured, you and your sibling return home, barely making it.



Part 5: (THIS IS RUSHED AND I DON’T EVEN KNOW WHO’S CHARACTERS THESE ARE ANYMORE THEY MIGHT BE MY BFF’S IDK IF THEY FINISHED BUT THEY SAID I COULD USE THEM OR THEY MIGHT BE SOMEONE ELSE’S NO TIME TO CHECK I’M SO SORRY IF THEY WERE YOURS LMK THIS IS 1,014 WORDS IT’S ABOUT TIGERS THAT ARE (SADLY) ABUSED. THIS IS BAD BUT IT’S SO RUSHED I REALLY HOPE IT COUNTS)
I was born minutes before it happened. My mother licked my head, and I felt warm and… Happy. But then something grabbed me, and lifted me up into the air, away from my mother.
Now I’m in a pool, and a human female handed paper to a male, and is coming towards me. Oh no. Not again. The female jumps into the water and paddles at me. I try to swim away, but she is fast, and catches up to me quickly. She plays with me, and I suppose it is fun for her, but I’m outraged. She throws things into the pool that she wants me to chase, and when I don’t, she pulls me underwater, down, down, down. My lungs scream for air, and I kick and struggle, but I can’t get away. She puts something in my mouth, and lets me go. I swim frantically to the surface, gulping breaths of fresh air. She throws the toy again, and when I don’t chase it, pulls me under again. The next time she throws it, I swim after it, terrified of being dragged under again. She squeals in delight. I want to hurt her, but I’ve been de-clawed and my teeth have been filed down, and even if I did have something to attack her with, I’m too tired to even try. She plays with me a bit longer, and then leaves. My owner pulls me out of the pool, and into the cool breeze, shoving me into a cage, next to the cage of a shivering tiger named Jake, and gives us each a small piece of chicken. I’m too cold and scared and tried to cry for more. The man walks away.
It begins to rain. Tired, cold, and hungry, I talk to Jake. “There was an awful lady trying to drown me today.” I tell him.
“Oh. Five toddlers for me.”
“Oof. Although I wish I could have had the toddlers instead of the lady I had.” “It was really that bad?” “Whatever you’re imagining, it was worse. I don’t know what to do.” “Whatever happens, just keep breathing. Never give up. Enjoy the small things, the little luck you have. And hope. Just hope.”
“… Jake? D-Do you think we’ll ever be free?” He didn’t answer. Shivering, I fall into a fitful sleep.
They next day, it rained all day, so there are no visitors. There is no food, either. I think I’m getting hypothermia and my stomach growls angrily. Looking out of the bars, I wonder if there’s something more than cement and metal bars. I glance over at Jake, and see that he’s sleeping. I sigh and try to do the same, but I can’t, and I just sit down and listen. The humans are blasting a song, and I cock my head to listen to the lyrics.
“What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, stand a little taller, doesn’t mean I’m lonely when I’m alone, what doesn’t kill you makes a fighter, footsteps even lighter, doesn’t mean I’m over ‘cause your gone.”
I absorb the lyrics, and whisper them to myself. “What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.” I smile. They seemed so … right. One of the men comes out and gives Jake two pieces of chicken, but gives me nothing. Jake notices this, and gives me the bigger piece. When I try to offer it back, he says no. I feel warm inside from his kindness, and eat the chicken in three bites. It doesn’t help much.
“Just keep breathing.” Jake whispers. “Just keep breathing.”
“What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.” I reply. He smiles at me. Jake has been my best and only friend for forever. He’s the only reason I keep fighting. Lightning lights up the sky, and I don’t even flinch. I nestle closer to the bars and put my paw out. Jake puts his paw on mine, and I fall asleep, pressed against the bars–and Jake.
The next day is sunny – and HOT. It’s almost a relief to be pushed into the pool. Until the tourists get in, that is. They start laughing and splashing. I swim away from them, terrified. They chase after me, laughing. After a bit, they take me out and put Jake in. My stomach growls painfully, and I cry for food, but my owner thinks I want to get back in the pool. My life is a nightmare. If only humans could understand.

At the end of the day, Jake and I receive a hunk of cold chicken each. A lady in an orange shirt walks over to our cages with our owner in tow. She examines us and then asks our owner some questions. They begin to argue. I tune them out and fall asleep.

The next day is raining—AGAIN! I shiver and curl closer to Jake, who is leaning against the bars, murmuring ‘Just keep breathing’ I curl up next to him, and sigh.

“I wonder… if there’s something more.” Jake interrupts my thoughts.
“What do you mean?” “Well, I think that… maybe there’s something more than bars and cages. Maybe there are… other tigers. Who roam free.” “Wow. That sounds amazing.” “Yeah. I’ve been imagining it for a while now. I call it Wonderland. Almost every day, I’ve thought of something new it would have.” “Oooh that’s so cool, Jake! Can I help you imagine it?” “Of course!!!”
We talk late into the night about Wonderland. It would have a soft ground, and things to climb on and play with, and lots of food. It would be safe, and other tigers would roam free with us. There would be a small pool that we were never forced to swim in, and we would have the option to go in a warm, covered area when it rained. And there would be no bars. We could finally play together, like we could when we were very little. And, still thinking about Wonderland and all of the things it must have, wondering about a life without any cages, we fall asleep.

I KNOW THAT WAS BAD I'M SORRY.
BUT I THINK I DID THE WHOLE WEEKLY.
I THINK I SHOULD TURN OFF CAPS LOCK.

–Mouse

PART 1 O FHTE WEEKLY:
@Ham-19-01-2011
Lucy walked out of the office, sighing. It had been a stressful day at work and all she was looking forward to was a good nap and rest.

@Mouseloverr
Getting in her blue car, she drove home, planning what she would do when she got there: first, take a long hot shower, then make some tea, and finally, have a nap until dinnertime, when she would make a grilled cheese.

@Ham-19-01-2011
Her eyes fell on a woman crossing the road. Gasping, she somehow managed to brake suddenly, allowing her to pass. That was close! She must have been distracted by her thoughts. Deciding to actually WATCH the road, she continued to drive.

@Mouseloverr
She was delayed once more by a family of ducks crossing the road to get to the pond she lived by, and finally, she got home. She took her shower and started to heat up the water for the tea when the power went out.

@Ham-19-01-2011
“Ugh!” she thought. “Maybe this is just an unlucky day for me.” Shrugging the feeling off, she went up to her window. A nearby lamppost simply fell, followed by several others. Lucy rubbed her eyes: they were still lying on the floor.

@Mouseloverr
Turning away from the window, she told herself it was an illusion, caused by tiredness. Turning back to the dark kitchen, Lucy sees little floating lights. It's an illusion. she tells herself, hands shaking. The lights surround her and start spinning, faster and faster. All she can see is a bright glow. Then it stopped, and everything went dark.

@Ham-19-01-2011
Taking a deep breath and swallowing, she opens her eyes. “This place is marvelous!” she says to herself, amazed by how serene and picturesque the garden is. The grass tickles her feet and the euphonious melody of birds soothes her. This is perfect; maybe it was not her unlucky day after all.

@Mouseloverr
But… how did she get there? The question flashed across her mind like a bolt of lightning, and all feelings of peace left her as a flood of questions filled her mind. How… and why was she here? What took her here? Was this garden a trap, meant to look pretty but eating something meant instant death? Panicking, she drew her hand away from a flower. Be rational, she told herself. Taking a deep breath, she took in her surroundings. First, there was the garden, then on her left was a large grassy field, and on her right was a sprawling forest. Directly in front of her was the gate to the garden, leading to a road that disappeared out of sight, and a distant mountain range rising up in the distance. Behind her, after the garden fence was… nothing. There was no other way to explain it. She walked over to get a closer look. It was really just nothing.Is this place real? She thought, staring at the nothingness. And if it is… did those lights take me here… to save it?

@Ham-19-01-2011
Suddenly, a mysterious voice floated through the air, “Pick up the flower, do not hesitate. It will do nothing to you. Say ‘avada kedavra’ and you will be there; I will tell you what to do there.” She did as the voice instructed her to do. Quietly, she mumbled, “Avada kedavra,” not at all prepared for what she was about to witness.As soon as she said the word, the garden faded away and for a single moment, she thought that she would be transported back to her house, not able to return ever again. She shouted, “No!” To her surprise, she was not taken back to her house, but to the nothingness. Everything was dark, she could not see anything: Lucy started to wish she HAD gone back home after all. “What should I do now?” she cried, frightened.
The voice simply laughed evilly; she had fallen into the trap laid by that voice, it did not want to guide her, but mislead her!

657 words total!

The Gnome - 1415 words

Times were bleak. Everyone knew that. That’s what happens when you survive the Dark Days, as everyone had taken to calling the nuclear warfare and its aftermath that had begun over a decade ago. Well, really, the Dark Days were just the times now, the modern day. Half of civilization had been reduced to ash. The other half– well, they were just barely scraping by. The greatest cities in the United States had been decimated, once great societies now nothing more than crumbling infrastructure with too many people to house. It was pathetic, depressing. At every turn, dirty children would scurry in and out of packed rotting warehouses, hunting for any scrap of food, medical supply, or artifact of a loved one they could chance upon. The children were the majority of the ones left.

With the economy all but in shambles, kids all across the country created multiple black markets of sorts to sell off resources or any found personal memorabilia– family photos, half-destroyed jewelry, tattered diaries and scrapbooks– to the people to which they belonged for a near unreasonable price. Kids were crafty like that. They formed groups for the purpose of foraging for goods to sell or barter and further divided themselves according to which tasks they could best perform, be it scavenging, restoring damaged treasures, or negotiating for the highest price. With little time or use for hobbies, kids put their innate skills towards work that would make a profit, namely in these black markets. It was as a restorer that artistically-inclined Jason Alexander found himself spending his talent.

Jason was good at it, remarkably so. He’d spent the past three years of his juvenile life using paintbrushes he’d been lucky enough to chance upon in decently good condition when he was six to return color to faded and charred photographs. His work had become both an envy and a curse, as he adamantly refused to rush any details and as such put twice the time and care into a single piece that any other artist would have done. This meant that images restored by him often sold for nearly double the average going price, however. His gang found his work too valuable to replace.
It was a rather normal day– normal for a post-apocalyptic world struggling to rebuild itself, that is. Jason walked his normal route home from school through the battered roadways all but devoid of working cars; automobiles had become a costly luxury, a rarity only affordable to those on the top of the top. A mere couple of years after nuclear war had unleashed and wrapped itself up and left the globe devastated as a living hell, the remains of the state and federal governments had put reinstating the education system as their first priority once basic needs were generally met and what relief programs they could manage picked up steam in an attempt by the relatively few adults remaining to quell the violent gangs of kids rearing their heads in cities all over the country. After a few years, school helped, a little bit. Personally, Jason found that he quite liked it, if not for the time it took away from his work.

The boy traveled his usual path through the remnants of the riverwalk running through the refugee hub that was once a bustling, lively city known as San Antonio, Texas. Jason had learned in his history class that this very riverwalk used to be the greatest tourist attraction in the town, thrumming with activity all throughout the tens and hundreds of stores and restaurants and sights-to-see patterned along both sides of the river. There certainly was none of that now; no boats ferrying passengers back and forth in either direction, no light shows reflecting brilliantly on the water, no markets blasting their preferred taste of music over souped-up speakers. The desecrated city had become a center of refuge for exactly two reasons: its comparatively less-obliterated buildings, and its water supply. Said water supply could be generously described as questionable at times, either flooding or running nearly dry and nigh on half the time consisting of toxins rendering it unfit for consumption. Still, the inhabitants of this city had it better off than most.
Truthfully, regardless of whether it often tried to drown or dehydrate or poison him or not, Jason loved the water. He was fascinated by the ebb and flow and the way it reflected the sun just right, and it served as his primary inspiration for creating art in the rare moment he was free from work or school or other social or survival obligations. As of late, more than ever, the river tickled his fancy as every day for the past week he heard odd clinking noises through the half-demolished pipes running below the pavement, if he strained his ears enough. Not yet had he had the proper time to conduct a personal investigation to figure out what this strange sound could possibly be or what could be causing it, but today he made a mental note to check it out the following day, on his day off for Remembrance and Honor Day.

He made his way to his shack of a home, getting immediately to work with his brushes fine-tuning the coloring job on a scrap of burned photo paper depicting an old man holding a little boy Jason assumed to be his grandson. The child in the picture smiled so brightly; Jason doubled the tender care he spent in restoring the faded tones and hoped they would be able to find the person to which this treasure belonged. He passed the long hours doing just that until the sun sank below the horizon, greedily taking every bit of its light with him. Electric energy was costly to distribute on a wide scale, so local governments essentially implemented a curfew from sundown to sunup. It saved energy, money, and helped everyone get a proper amount of sleep with nothing else to do. As such, with nothing else to do, Jason retired to bed with the last dregs of sunlight, just as he had for every day of the fifteen years of his life.

He didn’t expect to be woken in the middle of the night by the sound of glass breaking.

His first instinct was fear. That’s what happens when you’ve been raised in an era imagined only by dystopian authors decades ago. This sudden alert could have been caused by any number of things going wrong. Panicking just a little, Jason rolled over in his deflated bed and fumbled blindly in the pitch blackness of his small room for the flashlight running on backup batteries that he kept solely for the direst of emergencies. Switching it on with clumsy hands sorely uncoordinated in his fright, he flashed the dull beam around every inch of his room. His alarm gave way to uneasiness as he located the smashed window situated in his deteriorating wall, the glass shards both remaining in the pane and those scattered on the floor glinting back at him, but not the object that could have shattered it.

With bated breath he scanned the space again, when he heard that same curious clinking that had captured his attention for the past week at the riverwalk. Dragging his gaze and shaft of light to face the source of the sound, he went utterly still as he spotted an unassuming ceramic lawn gnome sitting there on the floor. Jason had seen these once or twice, stumbled upon them in dumps or buried under collapsed homes. They were never pristine or complete like the one before him, however, their blue paint faded and chipped and chunks of their hats or faces or torsos fractured or missing. However, the gnome in front of him looked rather perfect. It was almost as though it were a living entity.

Jason’s heart pounded its way up into his throat as suddenly the gnome moved, its eyes flicking up to pierce into his. Despite living in a world where the new “normal” looked nothing like that of a mere thirty years ago, he knew that that definitely was not normal. He hardly had time to register it before the gnome hopped a few steps forward on the ground with that ceramic clink-clink-clinking, then abruptly launched itself directly at Jason’s face with a shrill war cry sounding like two stones grating at each other. Jason let out a yelp of shock and braced himself for impact.