ʚ delving into themes ɞ
back to full weekly

1,000 words
A year again
(a continuation of Young Success)
Theme: Coming of age
Another relative, who he thought was one of his aunts but wasn't completely sure because of the ridiculous masquerade masks they were all wearing, walked into the party and toward Jay. Jay greeted her and some other people in the party, finishing the conversation between Jay and Ran. Ran swallowed. He was feeling a mix of emotion. Perhaps sorrow, but as much of it as a stone could muster to have. He breathed in, and by his next breath out he was walking out of the party, formulating a plan in his head. With all the things going on and all the talking, no one could have really noticed either way. He had long legs, so he covered the distance quick and soon he was out of the party. He stood outside to think. Would staying here at this year's party contribute to his plan for next year's party? Or maybe it made no difference. No, it probably did make a difference actually. He thought it over in his head, back and forth, calculating and calculating until he came to a decision. He spun around to face the party. His decision would be to- His uncle Eric was there when he turned around.

“Hey, my nephew. You alright? Why you out here by yourself?” Eric looked down the sidewalk both ways. Jay hated being treated like a child. He especially disliked the assumption that he couldn't handle the dark on his own without an adult there with him.

“Just getting some air.” He flashed a fake smile to satisfy his uncle, and Eric walked back into the party.

With a breath in, he followed him. He tried to say hello to as many relatives as he could bear before he felt like spilling his guts out onto the party floor and all the fruit punch in them. By the time he got sick of all their faces, the party was near the end. He slipped out just before it ended.

Next year

Ran had became a whole different person, or on the outside, he had, at least. His outside self was warm and kind and an extrovert, but he had grew even colder and sharper on the inside. He hadn't let his sharpness show in a year, though. He believed a good mask was only good if you didn't take it off. Though tonight he would not be afraid to use his coldness if it helped him win this debate he was getting himself into. This year, the party was more casual. It was at a family member's house, and he didn't care to remember which one, really. The party was in the back of the house and in the backyard, where there was couches, a fire pit and fairy lights all around. It seemed like a fun party, so Ran hoped he would be able to just slide what he wanted into his uncle's conversation without too much notice. His money. He sat down on the couch next to his uncle, and showed his fake warm smile that he had perfected this year.

“Oh! Whats up, Ran?” Jay asked.

“Oh, so I was thinking. What if we brought back the one million dollars a month concept? You know, you didn't get me anything for my birthday this year and that really would be a fine substitute to make up for it.”

Jay had actually gotten him a gift, but he was older now and Ran knew that saying this would confuse his memory and make him feel bad for thinking he had gotten a gift for Ran if it seemed that he hadn't.

“Oh, I'm so sorry! Of course it would. Lets reestablish it, great idea.” Jay took another drink of his cup.

Ran didn't think that his uncle Jay completely understood what he was agreeing too, nor would he remember, so he asked him if he would mind announcing it to the whole family at the party. He agreed immediately, another sign that it was too late at night and he was too old to understand what he was doing, and perhaps he had had too much food or drinks that night. He told the whole party to gather around and open their ears for listening.

“We are reestablishing the one million dollars a month for everyone in the family!” With a look at the younger kids, he added “For family members seventeen and older, sorry kids!” There was some mixed emotions and reactions to that surprising announcement. Fortunately, for Ran, no one thought that it was his convincing that had inspired Jay to do so. Some adults were slightly angry, because they remembered that they had all came to an agreement just last year about how they wanted all their kids to grow up and earn their own money. Some people were worried how uncle Jay was going to keep up with this rate of thousands of dollars per month on family; he had retired from his job last year and he barely sustained the rate the first time when he had a constant pay rate. Most people there formed the common reaction, and these people were made up from the young adults, teenagers over seventeen, or children with too much sugar in their veins from that party. They all reacted by cheering and talking to themselves about what they were to do with the money they got each and every month. The older teenagers talked about saving their money up and buying something really exciting or extravagant with it, like cars, or new purses or even houses or colleges for when they grew older in later years. The kids mostly discussed getting ponies, bat caves, super hero capes, all the candy they could imagine, or made up things like a popsicle that kept respawning every time you licked it and was an infinite food source. Some of the smarter kids, though, did debate on how much they thought a car and a house would cost them.

3rd Main Weekly March 2022
Finding inspiration/meaning.
2618 words total

Part 1 - Inspiration from Music

Ziet der Stille by Kal Daniels
423 words
Everyone here is sad. That’s just a fact; it cannot be disproven. There is not a single smiling face in this entire sea of people. But that’s to be expected in a place like this.

There is, however, still light left in the area. Even if it is only a reflection, a glimmer off the sea water originating from somewhere else far away in the distance, it is still there. And it coats everything. Everything and everyone, making each person’s frown exist with an undertone of hope.

I have yet to see someone who has not been touched by this light, even if it was for only just a moment. It’s a spell cast over everyone, still to be unbroken; the reason the rooms branching off these never-ending hallways are filled with steady beeps and hopeful faces, and not paperwork of defeated declarations. Everyone can feel it, even I can, even when I’m so numbed with the medication being pumped through my veins that I can’t feel anything else. I can still feel it.

Feeling it this morning, I managed to traipse out of my room, hospital gown and all. No one stares at me when I walk the hallway like they do at school. What is there to stare at, after all? Everyone in this place is sick; I am no spectacle here. You get used to the hollow faces surrounding you, their emptiness becoming a constant rather than a confrontation after some time.

The Starlight Room is clearly meant for the younger children, but they never make me go. So I tread through the hall slowly, to the familiar purple glow of the STARLIGHT sign, to the purple door just beneath it, to the purple chair in the corner where I always sit. They really do love purple here.

“Captain Starlight” sits with five children at the art table, and I watch as he grins and goofs around over-the-top with the children, complimenting their nonsensical drawings and making sure no paint gets accidentally flicked on their arms with IVs still attached. Maybe if I was their age, I would love Captain Starlight too. But I’m not, and I can’t help but feel nothing except envy for him, jealous of his careless smile. To be him, with a home to go home to and not just a hospital bed. To sit and laugh with the kids instead of in the corner by the window, listening to the ticking of the clock as if I haven’t memorised it’s beats off by heart already.

Mechanic Vibes – The Prophecy
407 words
We were happy once.

It may be hard for outsiders to comprehend, but we truly were. All they have ever seen is the ravage of war across our entire planet, the burning buildings and the ashes they form. But they never see what once was.

But I saw it. And so that’s what I’m fighting for, with the knowledge that I’ll never win against the battle because you cannot kill something that was not alive to begin with. But still, I will fight until the conflict sends me crashing to the ground because what else can I do except try.

The spaceships are soaring across the sky faster than the frame rate of my implants can capture them. I’m half deaf from the constant explosions going off throughout the years, but I can still feel the vibrations of the bombs landing in the distance. Pulling on my visor, I think of nothing except for the longing of freedom, for an end, as I climb inside my warrior shuttle. I can’t make it all stop, but if I can kill even one enemy craft, then I will have been successful.

One second, and then it’s lift-off. Lights flash and flicker around me, beams and lazars and buttons all blending into one in the vision of the night. I try to pick out the yellow crafts in the sky, but it’s hard to differentiate colours when all I can see are the reflections of a hundred different beams against the harsh metal of the ships. Pointing my beam towards what looks like an enemy craft, I pull the trigger and a million sparks fly from the barrel, illuminating my entire windscreen. I never see the ship fall, but I assume it had to.

Two moments later, and I’m mindlessly shooting again. Flames erupt in patches throughout the sky, and all I can hear is the BANG BANG BANG of sparks and bullets and every weapon imaginable refracting off my ship. It won’t hold up for much longer.

Lights flash across my vision until my implant goes temporarily blind. The black engulfs me, and all I can do is pull the trigger over and over and over again. I can feel it shoot everything in the sky, friend or foe, it’s irrelevant now. My ship is going down. I can feel my stomach drop as it tumbles through the atmosphere. The bombs still vibrate in the distance.

And then, nothing.

Part 2 - Finding Other Inspiration
718 words
inspired by the octonauts and peppa pig

“We’re nearly there.”
“Home sweet home, at last!” Mum cried, sighing as she sat down in her chair, getting a break from the controls and letting Jim take over. He turns the steering wheel just slightly, directing the submarine to the reef in which the rest of the herd awaits our return. I smile.

“Well, that was a successful trip,” I say, looking to the back of the sub and seeing all our newfound supplies. Our home is the ocean, but we do still have to get many of our resources from the land up above. Each monthly trip to get new resources proves to be a little different, and this one was one of the most successful yet.

“I know right?” Mum agrees, hopping up from her seat and hobbling over to the cage of supplies. A gigantic pile of apples sits at the front, buzzing with fruit flies and practically swarming with incredibly appetising worms, full of protein and everything. Mum’s stomach rumbles, and she stares at the food longingly.

“Mum. Don’t.”

“But… I’m simply ravenous,” she says, looking at me earnestly. “You know that one bite won’t hurt. Come on, you can have some too!”

I roll my eyes. “No, Mum, honestly, you’re like a child! Just wait until we get home, it’s not like we’re far away. Then everyone can feast.”

Mum huffs, sitting down, defeated. I shake my head, laughing to myself before looking out the window again to see that we’ve arrived at the reef and are travelling through the seaweed belt at the moment. Several of the local piglets swim by, dodging our ship as they play underwater chasey through the coral and the kelp. A bit of algae gets stuck on our windscreen, but Jim quickly sets the wipers to work with the press of a button, and it’s gone.

“Gosh, I can’t wait to be home,” I say to no one in particular, still looking out the window. I truly do love the trips above sea; they offer a bit of excitement and adventure compared to everyday life, but nothing is quite like being back huddled in the coral with my favourite pigs. Life in the underwater pig civilisation is truly great.

Suddenly, one of the piglets playing proceeds to dart in front of the sub, and Jim has to swerve a hard right to avoid hitting them. Mum falls off her chair and rolls onto the floor with the sudden movement, and I manage to steady myself just in time by grabbing onto a nearby pole. Jim, thrown off by the abrupt turn, takes a few moments to regain control of the steering wheel. But it’s already too late.

We’re veering off course now, no longer heading towards the reef. A current is blasting through the sea, sweeping up everything in its path, all the seaweed and ocean debris… and of course, us. We’re travelling through the water at such a rapid pace that everything outside the window is a blur, and I can’t even tell which direction we’re headed. Jim tries to gain control of the wheel, but even he knows its useless to fight against the wrath of the sea. All we can do is find something to hold on to.

It feels like forever before we come to a jerking halt, but in reality, I think it’s only been a few minutes. A loud splitting sound reverberates throughout the ship as we yank to a stop, and I look up in dread to see a large crack in the windscreen. Thankfully, it’s not broken all the way and no water is spilling through. Not that we can’t swim or breathe underwater – we certainly can, but any flooding would destroy the sub and all its supplies, which are currently are only protection. And who knows what protection we need; I still have no clue where we’ve stopped.

“Are you all okay?” I stumble up from where I’ve been clutching a table leg to stable myself. Brushing off a bit of dirt and dust from the ground, I examine myself and only find a few nasty bruises starting to form, nothing broken.

“I’m okay,” Mum replies hoarsely, hobbling up from the floor.
“Me too,” Jim manages to croak from his seat at the forefront of the sub.

Part 3 - Using themes
1070 words
A direct continuation of the story in Part 2.
The theme is: “true family/friends always stick together”

“Thank goodness,” I sigh with relief. The three of us gather in the centre of the room, examining each other for any injuries. When we find nothing major, Mum pipes up on what we should do next.

“Let’s go outside!” she says, seeming a tad too excited given the situation.
“Are you crazy?” I respond immediately, looking her dead in the face. “We have no idea what’s out there! Have you forgotten how dangerous the ocean can be? Not everyone is a nice neighbourhood pig like back at home, Mum, and not every place is as safe as the reef!”
“She’s right, you know,” Jim agrees with me, also looking at Mum as if she’s going a bit insane. “If we want to go out of the sub, we’re going to have to at least prepare a little bit first.”

Mum huffs like usual, before sitting back down on her chair and crossing her arms with a pout on her face. “Fine, if you two want to be boring, go ahead. You can go prepare and I’ll be right here, possibly having a bite of those apples over there. We’re going to need sustenance for this, after all.”

I roll my eyes, knowing that it’s not worth trying to get her to budge. “Fine, Mum, you stay here. Jim and I will go to the back and get all the gear and everything for you.”

Jim faces me with a lopsided half-smile, and I shake my head, thinking about what in the world I’ve gotten myself into. While I’m still pondering that, we head to the back and grab a waterproof covering for the supply cage, just in case any flooding does occur. We don’t want all hard work of gathering during our above-sea trip to go to waste.

After covering the supplies, I head to the wardrobes and grab a waterproof outfit for both me and Mum. “Here you go,” I say, bringing it out to the main control room in which she’s still seated.
“Why do I need this?”
“So you don’t get waterlogged while swimming and drown?” I say rather sarcastically. This time, it’s Mum who rolls her eyes.

Once we’re all changed, we head over to the submarine door, none of us keen to open it. Jim’s the one to say something first.

“Well, we have get out somehow, and the engine’s certainly not working,” he explains a little awkwardly, as if we didn’t already know.

“Yup, you’re right,” I agree with him, and Mum nods her head as well. “Well, should we do it then?”

Jim shrugs a “yes” nervously, and Mum finally loses her patience. “Oh, you two with all your cautions and precautions and yada yada yada. Come on, let’s just get out!” And with that, she heaves the gear next to the door and sends it sliding open in a rush, swimming out into the open. Jim and I have no choice but to follow her, with me twisting the outside gear to close the door on my way out.

“Where are we?” I ask, looking around the water. It’s darker than I expected, with no light shining through the surface and shimmering through the currents like it usually does. In fact, it’s so black I can barely see anything, only just being able to catch sight of Jim and Mum no more than a few metres in front of me.

“Oh, I know!” Mum almost laughs with excitement. She always loves any kind of thrill, even if it’s a dangerous one like this. "We’re in an underwater cave!” she continues, voice muffled by the water slightly.

“A cave?” Jim questions, and I can sense the worry in his tone. Every underwater pig knows of how perilous caves can be, with their darkness and twisting tunnels that never seem to end. Many a pig have gone into a cave like this and never come back out.

“Yep, a cave!” Mum replies, and it’s clear she’s right. A dark ceiling hangs overhead, and I have to be careful not to bump my head on it as I swim. And who knows where the cave floor is; probably somewhere too deep down to even dive to. Underwater caves can have surprising heights at times.

“Maybe we should go back,” I say, stories of pigs getting trapped for months in caves immediately flashing in my mind. We can’t afford to just die here.

Jim, for once, doesn’t agree with me. “No, what’s the point?” he voices from far in front of me, and I start kicking faster to catch up with him. No way am I going to let myself be left behind in such a dangerous place.

“There’s no point in going back,” Jim continues, still swimming forward. “The ship won’t move no matter what, we’re definitely going nowhere in that thing. Best thing now is to find our way outta here and try get back home, I say.”

“What about our supplies?” I ask cautiously, concentrating on where to put my head so I don’t accidentally whack it against the cave roof. “We can’t just leave them there. That’s a few months worth of stuff for the whole town. Plus the submarine! We can’t lose that, you know we can’t.”

“Very true,” Jim agrees. “But if we get back home, then we can get helpers to come hoist everything out. We can’t do it on our own, so let’s just get out of here.”

With this explanation, we all come to an agreement to just keep moving forward until we find a tunnel out. I can sense this is a bad idea; who knows how many offshoots and branches the cave has, but it’s not like we have much of a choice.

I’ve been swimming for a while before I notice that it’s getting unusually quiet. “Mum?” I call out, checking to see if she’s still in front of me. No response. “Jim?” I call out again. Silence.

At this point, I begin to panic. Where am I? How did I lose them? I start swimming in the opposite direction, desperately trying to get back to where I was before, shouting all the way.

“Honey? Is that you?”

I nearly scream a sigh of relief at Mum’s voice. “Yes, it’s me!” I manage to cry out.

“Thank goodness! We thought we’d lost you, we had to come back!” she shouts back. I smile

excerpt for daily, 3.23 (from the second weekly!)
Emery was running around the track like she always did, smelling the fresh air of Ilarion. Tonight would be the night of the festival, which Emery personally thought was stupid. It wasn’t like anyone on Ilarion was honored like those who died on Taiga’s Bane. Why was there a festival in the first place? It was forbidden to enter the isle after the deaths that followed the ones who did, so why celebrate their deeds, being evil and wrong? Emery always found the subject backwards, but she never questioned the tradition. She stopped to take a break, veering off the path she herself had worn into the ground, into an area where the trees shaded the ground. Emery sat on the soft leaves that had drifted to the floor, taking a drink of water at staring up at the houses strung up as canopies.
Technically, Emery wasn’t supposed to be on the ground. The trees were pretty thick, but there was always a few clusters with breaks in the leaves, where she could see above, and where the light could come in.
The reason the houses had been built up on the longest, strongest branches, was because there wasn’t enough room on the island floor. The homes formed a perfect circle around an area of trees, with walkways built across the center for easier access to places across the way.
This was where Emery lived, one small enclosure of houses. Another ring of buildings was located not too far off in either direction—so if you had a bird’s eye view, you’d see large circles, evenly spaced from each other, like the coin slots in the Connect Four game.
There was a thin, rickety ladder placed at the eastern side of each circle, providing ground access if necessary. Emery probably shouldn’t have been using it, but after a couple years, it seemed that no one cared if she went down it or not. So, practically every morning, Emery made the journey from her house to another a couple doors down to the wooden ladder for her short jog.
After a few minutes of rest and listening to the silence of the early day, Emery made her way back to the ladder, hoping her mother hadn’t decided to wake up sooner to prepare for the festival.
As she was pulling herself over the ladder, a sudden jangling and the sound of a heavy object hitting a leaf of a plant made her look down in surprise. Shining on the floor a few feet beneath her was the necklace her mother had gifted to her just last night.
Emery hopped off the ladder to retrieve the jewelry, and picked it up, holding the sparkling gem in her palm. For a second, Emery stared admiringly at the crystal necklace, then shook her head, blinking. She had never had a liking for jewelry, why was this different? She fingered the clasp and pulled it toward the front of her neck, clicking each end into place before sliding it behind her head again. Emery tucked the pendant into her shirt, not wanting it to get in the way.
As she made her way home, her mind drifted back to the festival that would happen later. If the people that didn’t obey the rules get honored yearly, why don’t we all just follow their path to get some credit? She thought bitterly. The gentle wind stopped, the rustling leaves and chirping birds went silent.
Emery herself paused, confused, but ignored it and opened her front door, which creaked slightly.
“Mom?” Emery called, her voice echoing slightly in the hall. Silence.
She poked her head inside the doorway to her mother’s room, but found the bed nicely made and no one to be seen.
Curious, Emery stepped further into the room, letting the door swing quietly shut behind her. Her eyes searched the room, and landed on the askew papers on the desk in the corner. Oddly, her mother’s favorite plant was on the ground, the pot cracked along one side with dirt spilled all over the floor.
First, Emery examined the pages on top of the desk. Most of them were folded and creased, some torn. Hasty writing was scrawled all over the small sheets. She analyzed the familiar script, glancing at some legible writing at the top of one of the papers.
A spell, a wish…long forgotten curse…Emery skimmed over the words, had her mother been writing a story? She’d always wanted to, but why these notes? Emery knew that her mother didn’t like her current job much, just helping everyday people with their illnesses and injuries. She had been naturally gifted at healing, so her job was given automatically.
Over time, her joy for the work dwindled, and she grew impatient and angry. If she had been writing a book of sorts, Emery was happy that she finally got around to it.
Emery was about to read more, but she spotted something at the corner of her eye, something reflecting the sunlight.
She turned to where it was coming from, and found the broken pot she’d seen earlier. Emery bent to inspect it, pulling a piece of the clay pot that had been broken off. Underneath the piece was something white—something tiny. Emery shifted the dirt around it away, and found a diamond—if it was real she didn’t know it—and plucked it with her fingers. It looked like a part of something bigger. As she hunched over the broken pot, something came swinging out in front of her: the necklace. Emery grabbed it to stop it from moving, but then realized something. There was a chip in the gem in the pendant, just around the size of the small rock.
Cautiously, Emery oriented the smaller piece to fit in the larger one, and placed it in the cavity. As soon as it was in place, a gust of air blew into her face, and the gem glowed. She heard the pages flapping, and looked up, to see writing illuminated across the papers. Whatever her mother had planned, Emery was about to find out.

The young girl looked at her reflection, the inspiring picture of a ballet dancer, ruined. She had mud on her red checks and yellowish pimpled face. She wanted to be like Emma Grace, an idol for so many dancers, Queen in the classical dance but she was just a high schooler in America. The disappointment in her face was like a balloon being punctured, the shining eyes of a 13 year old dimmed like a light. She had always struggled getting into the best ballet squad, as her apearance  had
always been judged. The hardness of her mental health had been impacting on her ballet performance. Her stick figure, and shy personality made her anerexic but she was a fierce dancer, she could do the best pirruets and routines. She had a secret, that only she and her best friend knew.
It was stored in her heart, locked away by her pale lips.
On the other side of the world, in the sunny Australia, was a young teenager, who was smoking the toxic tobacco to drown the voices that echoed in her head as if someone was mimicking her last words before her father left forever. It wasn't easy being Emma Grace's only daughter or her husband. Drug and alcohol abuse was a few of the crimes that Emma used. The press was looking for pictures for Emma and Richard, her parents, but Emma drunk without Richard knowing drove and crashed into another car. Emma was of lightly, fracturing her neck but her father was hurt and had crashed his head open. The anger issues of Rebecca, their daughter, had been out of hand, she had just been discharged of a Mental heath pq. She was kicked out of her house, and living on the ground, smoking cigars and weed. The emptiness in her eyes spoke a thousand words.
There was a little hope in Vivian's heart as she went school, her handbag carrying her acne cream and a few plasters. The mobile phone that the rest of the girls carried didn't exist. Vivian was poor, which she didn't mind really except when she had rare seizures from the constant bullying. Then she would wake in the nurses office, confused and stressed. She would wish her mother could collect her, which made her blush and cry even more. Her only respite was the ballet room, she could endlessly go over the dance moves.
“Vivian, I can't believe you, you're just like Emma Grace! So beautiful.” That was the words she wished that the teacher cd make her life by saying. Emma Grace was beautiful, slim and without a spot anywhere on her face. Her hair was platimund blond and she had red lips, red as roses. But the teacher only said.
“You're dance moves are perfect, it's a shame you can't go on the stage, you're too ugly,” She said. Like a bullet had hit her heart it made her tear up.  In the toilets she howled silently, staying there all day. The body image of being a bad ballerina, teared her up. But the thoughts that searched and wiggled inside in her head made her stop eating much. Sometimes it was the weight loss, and sometimes the punishing voice, the hunger pang made her sometimes feel something in her heart. It was specially excessive after her mother's death of belimia to eat. The many hard days of locking herself in her room send having mental breakdowns. The only escape was her ballet, at that point she was 5 and too young to join the competitive clubs but as she grew older age began to drain herself.
    School. Vivian groaned, it was the library day, the day when they were expected to explore musuems though. Vivian could hide away in the scenery. Luckily, for the only time in her life, being thin was a good thing as she could hide behind things. Her teacher caught her last time though as she tried to pluck her eyebrows behind a knight in armour. That wasn't a pleasent memory for her,
“What are you doing! For goodness sake, children these ages are gaga, hurry yourself up,” The unkindness shot an arrow in her heart. Vivian sighed and put her baggy black dress with yellow stockings and heels that made Vivian feel uneasy. She never touched her breakfast, and with her mother's echoes of screams she dashed to the bus shelter. She checked her misty watch that had a broken strap so was kept alongside with the Acne Cream and broken heart locket. 8:13, two more minutes. A big red bus drove past and stopped infront of her, she let the crowd scram into the bus before going.
Rachel rubbed her eyes at the crack of dawn. Today, she was sleeping in the library, the security guards hadn't kicked her out yet. She was with a pet palimino cat, with red eyes and white fluff. It's teeth looked sharp and bloody. It was a cat that had died in the inside. Rachel had only saved the cat as she felt for it. She felt like the demons inside were like the cats red eyes, she wasn't scared. The love in her hug of it was truly dangerous. Rachel knew what it was like to be the dangerous outcast, to be feared when all she wanted was love. Rachels hair was like a messy knot of brunette hair and her once chubby cheeks were gaunt. Her eyes looked liked she was a hundred and she always had the skin that was touchable was no longer containable as it was cracked and rough. She heard laughter, children playing and the voice of a teacher telling them of. Rachel quickly crawled, carrying the spitting cat behind a knight in armour. The voices passed, but a thin girl slid beside her and a ear piercing scream came out of Rachels mouth, traumatised at a young age it scared the wits out of her.
“Sshhh.” Whispered the girl. Her eyes were wide with shock as she took in the sight of a skinny girl like herself. The excitement was racing inside her.weekly

Daily for the 23rd

Keep in mind that my examples do not follow every suggestion I give, they're just there to help clarify what I mean and give you an idea on what you can do.

Suddenly, an old woman appears walking down the path towards the two friends.

You should add a comma between ‘appears’ and ‘walking’ to make it flow better. It to prevent it from getting wordy, try replacing ‘the two friends’ with ‘them’ (I assume since this is an excerpt you wouldn't need to specify more than that).

The old woman asks “What are you girls talking about?”

You've already established that the woman is old, and since you were just writing about her you can simply put ‘she’. It might also sound better if you write it like: “What are you girls talking about?” she asks. You don't really want to write it the other way unless you're writing without quotation marks (ex. She asks what they were doing). You can also specify if she's already approached them or if she's calling from a distance (ex. She walks up to them; “What are you girls talking about?”). I assume ‘you girls’ is an example of character voice? If that is not her character voice, however, perhaps replace it with just ‘you’. Maybe also add what tone of voice she had, was it nosy? Curious? Inquisitive? (ex. “What are you girls talking about?” she asks curiously)

Isa froze for a minute and replied in an uncertain way, “Uh, we are just planning for a picnic.”

You changed from present to past tense here (don't worry it happens to all of us, especially when writing in present tense), and since the rest is written in present tense I figure you want to change back to that. It might work better if you specify some things; why did she freeze? Is she trying to come up with a convincing lie? Is she trying to word it so it doesn't sound weird? Is she not quite sure how to answer? Taken aback by the old woman appearing so out of the blue? Formatting could also be changed (ex. (using the last guess since I don't know what's going on fully) Isa froze, taken aback by how the old woman appeared so suddenly. For a minute, she struggled to form a coherent sentence. “Uh, we are just planning for a picnic?” she replied uncertainly). I changed the period for a question mark since she's responding uncertainly, that way the reader will read it correctly. I don't know what your setting is, but for a young person ‘we’re' is a better option than ‘we are’ (Unless you're working with a fantasy-type world where they speak differently, or if Isa comes from a more formal-speaking family or something. It can be a good use of character voice if she doesn't use apostrophes, but if she does you should probably change it). You might also want to replace the word ‘froze’. It implies that she is scared, or doing something wrong, and while she might be (yet again, I'm not sure the context), it's better to use a different word if she isn't (you can always google synonyms).

The old woman asks, “What is that piece of paper in your hand?”

Yet again, put the writing in quotation marks first. You might also want to use a different word than ‘asks’ for variation. You've already established that the woman is old, so that you can remove, but since you were just talking about Isa, it's important to say it's the old woman speaking (ex. “What is that piece of paper in your hand?” the woman asks). The woman seems quite pushy and nosy, so if that wasn't your intention you should something to break it up (ex. “How lovely,” the woman smiles, eyes wandering to the map in (it'd be good to specify who's holding it)'s hand. Her brow furrows curiously; “What is that piece of paper in your hand?” she asks (the one holding it)).

Isa panics while Sophie replies, “Oh, that's the map to our respective homes.”

Since I still don't know quite the setting you're going for, I don't know if ‘our respective homes’ is just normal speak for kids/teenagers in said setting, but if it isn't you can probably change that up a bit (ex. “Oh that's the map to our houses”) Why did Isa panic? Explain and try to incorporate it. You might want to have a comma, punctuation mark or something separating Sophie's replying and Isa's panicking (ex. Isa panics, and Sophie steps in; “Oh, that's the map to our respective homes”). It's also important to specify in who's POV this is. I'm guessing it's Isa, since we get more detail in her reactions to things. You are going to have to establish a more steadfast POV (although they can change, although I'm not going to rant about that too much), try adding in her emotions or thoughts. There are also different types of POV's and ways you can write them (see this video on youtube and watch the Limited vs. Omniscient part, as it can be very useful. This text seems a bit blurry on which one you're using, so try to establish that (I know this is only an excerpt so I can't be certain but it's something to think about)). You might also want to establish what tone of voice Sophie's using, and use a different word than replies (ex.states).

The old woman says, “Ok girls, be careful as this forest is very dense and dangerous.”

Again, quotation marks first. This seems a little robotic and forced, as if it's just stuffed there for the readers. You have to keep in mind that it should be realistic. Don't ever make characters say something just for the readers benefit. Perhaps have her wish them good luck and give them a word of warning (ex. “Well then girls, good luck with your picnic,” the woman says, turning to leave, but before she starts walking away, she twists her head around to face them; “And be careful, surely you know about the dangers in this forest?” The girls nod, and she turns away again, satisfied.) Here I tried to make it less of an explanation and more of a warning. I also added the detail of her starting to leave, as that was not very elaborated on before. I don't know what you want her personality to be but I went for a little bit concerned. The old woman in herself feels a little forced and put there for the reader's benefit, but if you write her not just as a warning who tells you what you need to know but as a person trying to help the mc's out, she feels more real.

The woman sings a song loudly while walking down the path-

You might want to change this - to this : (sorry I forgot what the last one's called). I feel you can rephrase this to be more realistic (again with forcing characters in for plot convenience), perhaps she's singing the song to herself? (ex. As she walks away, the old woman starts singing to herself, it's not very loud per se, but in the quiet it's easy to make out). I also added ‘old’, because while it characteristics shouldn't be listed all too often, it's good to remind the readers from time to time.

“The magic starts from the land
Mysterious things will begin now
You know what to do
You’ll fade away
If you’re not strong enough
Mysterious things will begin now”.

This feels very forced, and while I'm all for mysterious foreboding songs/poems/prophecies, it seems to be screaming in the reader's faces. I'm not quite sure how you should change it because I don't know how it's supposed to be sung or how many syllables you need and so forth, so no examples for this part. I do think you should make it more hard to understand, like a puzzle. Maybe make it written like a prophecy or poem? It shouldn't be too obvious, but enough to make it mysterious and foreboding. Sorry I can't be much help on this one, poems and stuff like that aren't really my strong suit.

The woman disappears.

Be more specific. Is she disappearing around a corner? Out of sight? (ok technically those are the same thing but it's all about how you decide to write it) Is she fading away? Simply gone?

More general recommendations I can't make for specific sentences (even though I did one of those for a specific sentence-):
Try to be more detailed. What does the old woman look like? What is she wearing? What do Isa and Sophie look like? What's the forest like?
While you don't want to go off topic, it's good to add unrelated things sometimes. Did a breeze sweep through? Is Isa surprised that she's not chewing at her nails like she usually does when she's scared or frustrated? (She might not do that, but you get the point, right?)
Character voice. I revisited that one a couple times, here's a workshop from last session if you want to learn more about it.

And that's all! Sorry if any of this comes off as rude, I'm just trying to help ^^. I may have gone slightly overboard but I really like critiquing (and receiving it), so I hope this helps!

Weekly #3

Part 1:
Music: The Greatest Show (421 words)
I stood in front of her door, my heart beating faster and faster every moment. I had finally been invited to a ‘cool kids’ party. I was standing and waiting in front of Lilly's door waiting for her to let me in. I highly doubt she would let me in as I wasn't the most popular person, so it would be likely if she just left me waiting. I was only here because Lilly's cousin Mirabel was good friends with me and insisted I be invited. Glad of the invitation, I hastily accepted and turned up here. I had my doubts from the start about Lilly letting me in, but waiting for her only proved it to me. Every second, my heart beat faster and I began to worry more. My parents knew I was here. If I left and went home, they would know something was up and complain. Then Lilly would think of me as the snitch and spoilsport again and get everyone in the class to ignore and hurt me. I really was in a pickle. My only hope was that someone would let me in. As the seconds turned into minutes, I continued doubting I would get let it, but with my doubt growing every second. I knew Lilly must be trying to annoy me or something, so that I ended up leaving. But, I knew that I wouldn't leave. I had been waiting for about 3 minutes, when I heard voices coming near me. Not voices from outside. Voices from inside the house! I was elated, though I tried my best not to show it. The door opened and I found myself face to face with Lilly and Mirabel. “Uh.. Hi guys!”, I cheerfully said as if I hadn't just been waiting outside for ages. “Hey! Come in!”, Mirabel responded. I saw Lilly flinch a bit at the last bit even though she tried not to show it. “Yeah…Come in”, Lilly added, not pleased to see me. I stepped through the door into the house. It felt like a whole other world. Outside there was the cool breeze, the singing of birds and the quietness. Inside, it was warm. There was the loud chatter of girls and boys talking and joking loudly. I took off my shoes and nervously stepped through the door to the living room. As soon as I entered, the room went quite. Some people looked up and glared at me with hatred, others acted neutral and the odd few smiled at me.

Pink Floyd ~ Interstellar Overdrive (479 words)
I stared by as the soldiers lining our streets began to move forwards. It was Independence Day today, and in honor of that we were having a parade. Personally, the loud noises were unnecessary. The streets were lined with soldiers banging their drums. Some soldiers stood in their army uniform looking as if they were ready to fight. Others looked like they were rich and noble lords in their fancy attire. They wore blue suits flecked with red and white accessories. And of course, the badges. Each of the soldiers wore at least three badges on their suit jacket. It was all too formal for me. In the center walked the soldiers in their fancy clothes. On the outside, were the soldiers in their army attire. However, every ten minutes they changed places so that the soldiers in the army clothes would be on the inside and the soldiers in the smart uniform were on the outside. At the front and back of the parade were soldiers in suite riding horses. The horses were lavishly dressed up in a fancy saddle, expensive looking reins and harnesses. Walking alongside the horses were more men dressed in suits playing trumpets and drums. The sound of the loud drums echoed all through the city as the parade continued. They would all walk to the town square where there would be food, drinks, games and more music. The women and children would perform a traditional dance. As the soldiers made their way to the town's square, we walked alongside them on the pavement. The roads had been closed the day before so the people could celebrate without worrying that a car will hit them. The roads had also been closed that the soldiers could walk on the road and we on the pavement so it wouldn't get too crowded. The walk down to the town square took about 40 minutes but most people didn't walk in the parade, but met the soldiers at the town square, or they dropped out early or only started late. I walked along the pavement, the sound of the drums pounding in my ears. Thank goodness that at the end they wouldn't play loud drum music. After a fourth minute walk, we had finally arrived at the town square. There were programms project onto the building and a few copies lying around so everyone could see the schedule for today. It was eleven am now, so a traditional dance would be performed by the women who worked in the town. I was glad of this dance, as it would be the only thing preformed now so there would be any drum music as the style of music the needed was softer and calmer. Everyone took their seats on the chairs which were at the stage and on the cushions and blankets which were spread out on the floor.

Part 2:
Inspo: London Train Station (740 words)

She grimly stared down at this bit of paper with coloured squiggles drawn across it and text next to the lines. And this thing was called a tube map!? She had no idea how Londoners managed to get around the city with this lousy bit of paper. She had entered Kings Cross & St.Pancras International station after arriving from the continent. She had felt very smart at the beginning when trying to get to Sloane Square. She had picked up a tube map and studied it very professionally in the hope that she would look like an expert. But not for long. After a good five minutes of studying the map, she had no idea how to get to Sloane Square. She decided to ask someone. Boldly, she walked up to a man working at the station and asked him. “Excuse me. I was wondering how to get to Sloane Square from here.”she politely asked. “ Ah. Take the southbound Victoria line to Victoria. From there, change into either the eastbound Circle line or Eastbound District line and ride one stop to Sloane Square'', the man told her. As confused as before, she thanked the man and followed the signs to the victoria line. She didn't want to continue standing there and look like someone who doesn't understand anything. She tried to remember what the man told her. Southbound Victoria? She decided to take the victoria line southbound and in the time, consult her map. She managed to make it to the platform. Down there it was another scene all together. The ticket hall was full of people talking. The platform was like a market with all the market vendors advertising their stuff. There were announcements every five seconds. From ”This is ", to This is a train to “ and ”The next station is . Change here for the “ were said on the train. On the platform, there were announcements of ”You must wear a face covering over your nose and mouth at all times when using any TfL services and stations. Some exemptions apply, please be considerate and remember that exemptions may not always be visible or obvious“, to ”Please let customers off the train first please“, at crowded stations. And everyone's favourite: ”Please mind the gap between the trains and the platform". They were two different worlds. As she waited at the platform, she was told about five times to stand behind the yellow line. She got on and found herself face to face with a pile of people. She didn't think the Victoria line was going to be this full. But the doors were closing so she stayed in and tried to make herself as comfortable as possible. Now, she thought. Where do I get off so I can get to Sloane Square. She decided to give the sheet of paper another chance. Holding it between her hands, she found Kings Cross & St.Pancras International. She then found Sloane Square on the map. Now that she knew to take the Victoria line to the south, she started understanding how to use the map. ‘I get it!’, she exclaimed, but maybe a bit too loudly. The coloured lines were different tube lines for which there was a key at the side. When two or more lines intersected eachother and there was a which circle over the intersection, you could change into the other line there. Finally understanding it, she figured out how she would get to Sloane Square. She would have to change Stube lines. The lines which ran to Sloane Square were the Circle and District lines. And the place where they intersected with the Victoria line was at Victoria Station. Proud of herself, she continued her journey. She took the train to Victoria and got off there safely. However, she got lost in the station, so she had to ask someone where to go. After they pointed her into the right direction, she was off! She waited for the train and in the time, checked multiple times if she was on the platform going in the right direction. She was and stood there waiting for the train like everyone else. After a few minutes wait she got on and road all the way to Sloane Square. She got off and was really proud of herself. A newcomer in London managed to find their way to a station using a tube map.

Part 3:
Continued part 1 piece 1
Theme: good VS evil
(1152 words)
I nervously stepped further into the room, aware that I wasn't the most popular person in here. In fact, it was probably and obviously Lilly. She was like the top predator in a food chain. Everyone tried to be like her. Everyone tried to be friends with her. And there were three different outcomes. Either she would just rudely push you away and then get her minions to tease you. Or, she would accept you as a friend for a while, turn you into one of her minions and then get rid of you after a while. And the final likely option was she would make you part of her minions and keep you as that. Her minions were basically people who attempted to be like her and who looked up at her. They would do anything for her, but they wouldn't mean anything for her. They would just be more people who she could use to bully people or more people to directly bully. And there is the fourth option. An option which far less than one percent of people who were her minions become. It was being close friends with her. She didn't let anyone become close friends with her easily. They had to do a lot of things for her. And now you wonder why she invited all those people to a party? Well, the answer is simple. She would invite them so either people who are already her minions stick around and stay. Or people who aren't already her minions to know how cool she is and follow her.
I nervously stood waiting until the people would start talking again so I could slip into the corner of the room. To my utter relief they got bored of looking at me after a few minutes and decided to commence talking. I slowly looked around so I didn't look like I was waiting for them to do something for me. Which I actually was. I was waiting for them to become fully engaged in their conversations again so they wouldn't notice when I slipped by. After a few minutes, they did decide to continue speaking. Mirabel was still standing next to me impatiently waiting if I was going to move or not. Lilly, the not caring about people who aren't meant to be here or aren't my minions, had already walked into the room and made herself comfortable with some people. When other people arrived, she would show them into the room and tell everyone who they were. But for me she just left me at the door. Left me and expected me to get along alone. Seeing Mirabel about to yell at me for taking so long, I slipped through the room and made my way to the far corner trying not to be noticed. I think people probably did see me but they didn't really care. I didn’t dare loom over my shoulder to see if Mirabel was following until I got to the corner. To my utter surprise she wasn’t. I had always thought of her as a loyal and faithful friend, but maybe she wasn’t that friendly after all. I sat down and gave that matter some thought. After a while, Mirabel had not come back. I ended up concluding that she must probably be fed up with spending time with me, as an unspoken rule stated that if you spent time with the ‘not cool kids’ (aka me), you couldn’t hang out with the ‘cool kids’. It hurt that Mirabel left me here. Here of all places. She knew i didn't have friends here. But I could kind of understand it. She had popular friends here. She probably wanted to spend time with them for once in her life. She already spent so much time with me at school. I looked around to see if Mirabel was still in the room, but she wasn’t. Lilly wasn’t in the room either even though she was hosting the party. I assumed Lilly was probably talking to Mirabel. Talking about me. Why I shouldn’t be here. I sat in the corner trying to make myself as small as possible and trying not to cry. I felt like screaming. Yelling. Telling everyone how rude Lilly was to me. Lilly and I were friends for the first day in Middle School, but she dumped me on day two and started gathering her minions together. I was really slow at taking the hint at that time. And when I say really slow, I mean super slow. I never took the hint unless someone told me. Being the dumb person I was, I didnt realise Lilly wanted to get rid of me. I just continued hanging out with her until that day. The day where she bullied me. She had gotten her minions together and when I was at my locker in the morning, she ‘accidentally’ rammed into me and started bullying me. Ever since that day, she’s been bullying me on a daily basis. Sometimes subtle, sometimes full out. Mirabels tried talking to her, but Lillys as stubborn as a mule. She won’t give in. As I was recalling those thoughts, I realised something suspicious. Why would Lilly have let Mirabel invite me though? No matter how much Mirabel would’ve bugged her, she wouldn’t have given in. And she wasn’t surprised when she saw me at the door. What if she was planning something? I sat up in alarm, but it was too late. I had realised this trap to late. ‘Hello. I hope you’re enjoying yourself’, Lilly said in a voice intending to tease me. ‘Come with me.’ I opened my mouth to protest, but the cunning Lilly saw what I was doing. ‘And no. Don’t try to protest or I’ll publicly humiliate you. You’ll be best off cooperating’ Fuming with rage, I followed. I didn’t want to be publically humiliated. We crossed through the room. Lilly was smirking intensely. Even though I kept my head up to make it seem like I didn't care and I tried to not look at anyone, I could help but see the giggles of people enjoying my plight as I walked by. We left the room and I followed Lilly to her bedroom. Very reluctantly I entered and she locked the door. I stayed by the door, not wanting Lilly to seal of my only possible exit route - even if it was a locked door. “Now. You may be wondering where your ‘faithful’ friend Mirabel is. You needn't worry. Shes been taken care of”, Lilly told me with a giggle. ‘Taken care of! What did she mean?!’, I though in panic. The worst possible options raced through my head. She stayed quiet for a few seconds to let her words sink in. “And now”, she said with a laugh while rubbing her hands together, “I can do what I want with you!”

ʚ Maya's audition critique ɞ
go back to my main post
413 words total

Critique for this story:
https://scratch.mit.edu/discuss/topic/585231/?page=1#post-6090709

Very captivating plot! I haven't heard a storyline like this before, and I find it very unique and interesting. This would be exceptional in script format as well as a fiction story, (perhaps you could make one version that was a script and one version that was a story of fiction) because it does consist of a lot of dialogue to move the story along. Though I do think that in the beginning there could be more clarification to who Teresa was and how she was on TV and not in the setting, because at first I was confused and thought that Teresa was the name of Maya's mom, and she was playing Maya's grandfather's guitar. It also seems that Maya overreacted a little when she saw Teresa on the bus to summer school, because all Teresa did was play a song on a guitar while Maya could have done the same thing, just with a piano. Teresa could have done more at her performance on Sing for a Show, to make her a more exciting character, like perhaps singing a rock song and playing it on an electric guitar. Or if the similarities between Teresa and Maya are one of the main reasons that Maya looks up to her, and the similarities of what they do on Sing for a Show bond them, perhaps that could be more thoroughly expressed in your writing, to show that as the clear reason behind why Maya looks up to her and admires her. To add some conflict, possibly later in the story you could add in some mean kids at summer school who mock Maya for watching the show and for admiring this “nobody” (Teresa, because no one else really recognizes her as a celebrity in their eyes) and acting like she is a celebrity. An alternate but similar suggestion I have for this situation is to have mean kids at summer school that are bullying Maya for a different reason, and then Teresa comes up to them and then all of the mean kids at the summer school freak out because they also know that she is a celebrity from Sing for a Show. I think that the similarity of Maya and Teresa both not having fathers (I think they don't have fathers, please correct me if this is incorrect) is also a good part of the plot and put another reason to why Maya and Teresa bond so quickly at this summer school.

Daily 3/23/22, some fairly recent writings to be critiqued

Energy thrummed throughout the Arena, branching in my limbs like lightning. I shouldn’t have been so excited, but all those who needed a place in the world and true respect made their way here.
The announcer’s mic rang with interference for a painful moment, echoing through the metal bars easily thirty feet up until the announcer spoke.
“Welcome, everyone, to another battle in the Arena! What will our first fighter face? WILL IT BE THE DRAGON?”
The crowd roared with cheering, but I knew this was only a quarter of the noise they could make. They were still sizing me up, and waiting for my opposer. The real cheering came if I got something good to fight. I scoffed a little at the idea of fighting a dragon. It had been a year and they were still advertising some deal where if you successfully killed the dragon (assuming you got it at all, which no one has) you could have a baby dragon to do whatever you like with, which lined up with the Arena’s rule that you could keep any weapons earned while fighting and the corpse of the beast you’d slain, plus a reward of usually gold.
I scanned the arena, scouting out the available weapons that lay just out of reach, deciding how I could make my way up to them in the seconds of peace I had left. I’d get a random weapon to start with, but unless that was awesome, I’d have to get one of those eventually.
Finally, the gate at the other end of the wide space in the Arena shifted, creaking open. I tried to peer behind it as it lifted up, and I could feel the crowd’s hushed silence and curiosity.
Once a month, ten people got to try their luck at the Arena. I exhaled softly, this was my chance.
The gate opened completely with a dull thud, and I squinted into the shadows, hoping I’d get something big to fight against.
A large head poked out of the shadows, slowly followed by the rest of its long neck and huge body. The crowd gasped collectively.
A pure black dragon slid out of the gate, three times my size and ten times more dangerous. It slowly unfurled its webbed wings, ice blue eyes narrowed maliciously as it advanced, long tail trailing behind it with a finned end and sharp spikes protruding in a line from the top of its head to its tail tip.
The crowd roared. They screamed with excitement and the announcer talked as if in a frenzy.
“LADIES AND GENTLEMEN,” he yelled over the cheering, “THE DRAGON!”
I scrambled backwards as the dragon approached, smoke trailing from its half-open mouth, and looked up just in time to see my weapon drop a couple feet away from me.
I stared at it in despair.
“Aaaand our fighter’s weapon!” the announcer said, almost gleefully, “A house phone!”
I yanked it off the ground, fumbling with the wire and its plastic holder.
What was I supposed to do with this?! Put in my one call?!
Nope, it was broken because of the fall.
I glanced desperately towards the swords, shields, bows and arrows lined up on the walls, and nothing looked more appealing than those weapons, which were tantalizingly out of reach.
“I’m dead,” I whispered, my eyes darting around the arena until I was looking back into the eyes of the dragon which was coming closer,
closer, like a hunter stalking prey. “I am so dead.”

Yo, this is old
572 words
chapter 1
In a very mysterious town, there lived a man, a very old man. He was known by the name Mr: Roderick, his sharp eyes saw anything within a mile, his ears could hear anything within a mile. He knew every bit of secret that belonged to the town, big or small. If you ever told him any of your secrets it would be safe as long as it exists. If you ever wanted to know the mystery behind this man, he would say “Finish your journey, before you seek others.” But, that was not all, the strangest thing was how he would close up his ‘Everything you need’ shop every Saturday at noon into a ticked selling station in the blink of an eye. Will anyone figure out the mystery behind this man, ever?

As usual, Mr: Roderick’s ‘Everything you need’ store was crowded and for all the other businessmen in the town, good luck! Even though Mr: Roderick is the town's favorite man he had some unusual habits such as he would always speaking as if there were hypocrites hidden among us and how he would talk to his black goldish cat as if he was one of them but the strangest habit of them all was how he would close his ‘Everything you need’ store into a ticket selling station every Saturday at noon. Mr: Roderick’s full name was Roderick Booth but instead of calling him Mr: Booth he preferred it Mr: Roderick. So, that's how it went.


And, today was Saturday, the day of his strange behavior. His store was packed with people trying to get what they wanted before noon, his store was the most reliable of them all. “Mr: Rodrick, have you heard ‘bout the newcomer in ‘he town? Heard ‘er name is Rocksana .” Ms. Garret said to Mr. Roderick. “Heard of ‘em. They say they're in the Growgeg house.” Mr. Roderick responded to her. Ms. Garret was Mr.Roderick S regular customer. She went by every day to buy some that and that for her house. “The Growgeg house? Oh, how awful must it be in there? You do know what rumor says about the Growgeg’s?” Ms. Grorgeg stopped, shocked she was, who on earth would want to live in that crumbled house at the end of the town? She was a giant red-haired woman who was the kindest woman you ever met. “Yes, I lived enough to see them with my own eyes, Miriam.” Mr.Roderick said, his gray hair was now all over his head and only 2 or 3 golden streaks of hair remained. “Well, bye now, Mr. Roderick.” Ms. Miriam left with a bag full of bell peppers and onion for her famous Miriam Rice Soup.


“Morning Mr. Roderick!” A crooked-nosed boy entered the shop. “Am I late?” The short brunette boy asked. His ginormous hat that probably belonged to an adult was falling off his small head. “As usual.” Mr. Roderick said completely ignoring what the boy said. The boy stood there hoping that Mr. Roderick would reply. “Come on now, what are you doing standing there like a fool?” Mr. Roderick said to the boy. He gave the boy a bunch of sealed boxes, in that box was written ‘R’. “What are these? Mr. Rodreick.” The boy picked up a box examining it. “None of your concern is it, Will.” Mr. Roderick was seeing off the last of his customers

Unmasked
My Kirby fanfiction Writing Contest Entre
Tw:Contains violence, blood/gore(not intense), and mentions of death.
Enjoy :]

BOOM

Galacta Knight jumped up in surprise when he heard the sudden loud sound.

“You alright?” A quiet voice next to Galacta asked. It was Morpho Knight, who was partially asleep when the sound occurred.

Galacta looked over at Morpho and slightly nodded. He then sighed quietly before pushing himself out of bed. He didn't bother to realize that Morpho was following him.

Galacta thought about the noise, and what it meant. If his suspicion was right, chaos lies ahead. He quietly snuck into the baby's room. He walked over towards the small little crib and peered inside.

Baby Metallo was sleeping, as peaceful as one can be. Galacta let out a sigh of relief. He stood there for a while, lost in thought. He knew what was ahead of him, but he didn't want to admit it.

Morpho, who was standing amongst the shadows, emerged and walked towards Galacta. He put his hand on his shoulder pad.

“I know what your thinking.” He whispered. Galacta turned to face him, worry consuming him.

“Why won't you tell me?” He asked. He reached over and grabbed his hand tight, and gave it a light squeeze. Galacta sighed and finally decided to tell him.

“It's coming.” He said quietly. “It's coming… for me.”

Morpho's red eyes widened as he looked at Galacta in shock.

“What are you going to do?” He asked, desperately trying to stay calm.

Galacta simply shook his head. “I must go deal with it. Someone betrayed us.” He said. He turned to face the crib again, and looked down at Metallo. “Someone told it who we really are.”

Morpho shook his head rapidly. “No… that couldn't be. There's only one person who knows what we really look like.” He said.

“I hate to admit it, but this is the reality.” Galacta told him. “I must leave here, or else it'll find you and Metallo.”

Morpho just kept shaking his head. “But how am I supposed to care for Metallo?” He paused, and glanced down at the ground, still in disbelief. “What about you? Will I ever see you again?”

Galacta put his hand on Morpho's mask. “Don't worry about me.” He reassured.

Morpho looked up at Galacta. Even with his mask on, Galacta could tell he was crying. “I'll come back, I promise. And Metallo is safest with you. I'm sure you'll take good care of him.” He quickly added.

Morpho gave a slight nod, still overly emotional. He took Galacta by the hand, and they walked outside where the stars were twinkling like diamonds. Morpho stood by the door of the house as Galacta walked away.

He starred at Morpho hard for a few moments before his cape suddenly transformed into graceful angel-like wings. Galacta starred hard at Morpho for one final time.

“We'll meet again.” He said. With that, he flew off into the shimmering sky.

***********
8 years later…

WHAM

Laughter fills the surrounding area as Bonkers, Burning Leo, and Bugzzy laugh at Bonker's direct hit on Metallo. Metallo was flace-flat on the ground, and his side left a mark from the hammer hit. He tried to push himself to sit up, but Leo put his foot on his back, preventing him from doing so.

“You think your so brave for not whining like most kids do after we hit ‘em.” Bonkers said. “But your just as big of a baby as the rest of ’em. And you know why? It's because your pathetic!” He yelled, as he slammed his hammer into Metallo again. The three of them roared with laughter.

Metallo rolled out of Bonker's reach and pushed himself up. His silver eyes were glowing and his face was bright red. The trio stopped laughing for a moment, but immediately continued when they saw Metallo's face.

“Why do you look like such a baby?” Bugzzy teasingly asked. Leo approached Metallo, who remained motionless.

Bonkers started nodding at that. “I bet he's a monster, just look at that face!” The three of them started howling once more.

Metallo took this as the opportunity to try and escape from them. Bugzzy was the only one who realized this, and he reached out and grabbed Metallo's paw tightly.

“Where do you think your going, loser?” He asked. Metallo flinched his paw out of Bugzzy's grasp. He turned to face the three of them.

“I'm heading to the arena battle.” He informed them. The trio eyed each other for a moment, their eyes widening. That had been the first time Metallo had said something directly to them, and this fact both shocked and horrified them.

Leo slowly approached Metallo, still in partial shock. “Wait, cutey-face can talk?” He asked, and that sent the other two into laughter.

Metallo sighed and started to walk away. He had enough with trying to deal with people.

“Hey! If you think your going to enter or soemthing, then get lost!” Bonkers shouted as the three of them laughed.

Metallo continued to walk towards the town center. He thought about what just happened. He didn't want to admit it, but he knew that the three of them had a point. He was so pathetic and weak, he didn't have a shot at winning.

Worst of all, they thought he was cute. How would be ever gain respect and not be bullied if the had this face? He despised looking like this deeply. Metallo paused for a moment, thinking about how he would give anything to not look the way he did. Then he would be stronger, so strong that people might even fear him.

With little confidence, Metallo kept going. He reasoned that the only way to grow stronger is by fighting against powerful beings.

And the only way to fight against powerful beings on Popstar was to become a knight.
***********
“Ladies and gentlemen, I welcome you all to the knighting ceremony, ran by Sir Kibble!” An up-beat Waddle Dee announced. A large crowd was whooping and cheering.

“Today, Sir Kibble is putting the strength of one lucky townsfolk to the test! If they win, the will be knighted to help protect our planet. And if they don't… that's another win for Kibble.” It said happily.

"Now, let's meet our fighters! On this side of the arena we have the former-apprentice of the great Sir Arthur himself, Sir Kibbles!“ Sir Kibbles appears from one end of the arena. He's armed with his sword, and looks confident. The crowd cheered loudly.

”Anddddd on the other side we have our wanna-be knight. Everyone, meet Metallo!“ Metallo walks out, desperately trying to hold the iron sword he was given to fight with.

”Look, it's the loser!“ Bugzzy's recognizable voice rang out. With that, laughter arose from the crowd. Metallo tried his best to ignore them and focus on the fight. The odds were against him, but he wanted to try anyway.

”3, 2, 1, FIGHT!" The Waddle Dee announced.

Kibbles dashed forward towards Metallo, and quickly tried to land a strike. Metallo, who wasn't used to fighting, tried his best to shield with the sword. He tried to push forward, but he wasn't strong enough. Kibbles quickly overpowered him, and pushed him to the ground. The crowd let out a roar of laughter.

No. Metallo thought. I'm not letting it end like this. Never again. He pushed himself back up, and held the sword tightly in his paws. Kibbles charged forward again. This time, Metallo had somewhat of a plan.

He quickly let Kibbles lunge forward, and he moved out of the way. When Kibbles had fallen, Metallo raised his sword, and cut hard into Kibble's skin. The crowd gasped in surprise. Kibbles flipped himself over, his eyes watering with pain.

The Waddle Dee waddled over to them, and examined Kibbles. “K-Kibbles is unable to fight.” It announced in shock. “Th-The winner is M-M-Metallo.”

“This isn't right!” Leo called out from the crowd. “That loser couldn't have won!” The crowd was now cheering for Metallo.

Metallo looked at the crowd, his eyes wide. He had not much clue what just happened, but he really did it. He reached over for Sir Kibbles, and pulled him up. His back was bleeding slightly, but he didn't flinch in pain.

“You fought good, kid.” He said. Metallo beamed, and then turned to wave at the crowd, who was applauding.
**********
“Congrats on winning.” Someone complemented. It was Blade Knight, one of the many people who had come to congratulate Metallo.

“Thanks.” He said. They were in the underground layer of the knights of Dreamland. After Metallo won, he was invited to stay there to train.

“So now your Metallo Knight.” Blade pointed out. “That must feel nice.”

Metallo thought about it for a moment, before shrugging. “I guess..” He said quietly.

Just then, Sir Arthur came walking in. Blade's eyes widened. He jumped up from his seat, and saluted.

“Wh-What is is, Sir?” He asked.

Arthur gave Blade a slight smile. “I cam to congratulate our newest knight.” He said, gesturing towards Metallo. Metallo just starred at the ground, not sure what to do.

“Mind if I talk to him alone?” He asked Blade. Blade shook his head. “Not at all, Sir.” He said, before leaving.

Arthur, who Metallo noticed was carrying something, sat down next to him. “Congrats on winning. That must have been a challenge for you.” He said.

Metallo bit his lip and nodded, still looking at the ground. Arthur noticed, and gently moved Metallo's head to face him.

“I want you to make eye contact with me when I'm talking to you, is that clear?” He asked.

“Yes sir.”

“Good.” His face softened a little. “Metallo, I have a question for you.” He said.

Metallo nodded. “What is it, sir?”

Arthur thought for a moment. “How old are you?”

“Ten years old, sir.”

Arthur looked a bit taken back. “You beat one of my best knights, and your only ten years old?” He asked.

“I suppose so, sir.”

“Well then, you must have had training since you were little. Did your parents teach you?”

“No sir.”

Arthur nodded, thinking. “Speaking of your parents, where are they?”

Metallo's silver eyes glowed slightly. “Dead, sir.”

Arthur's eyes widened. “Then were did you learn to fight like that?”

Metallo shrugged. “I don't know, sir. I'm not usually that confident in myself…” He paused, and thought back to earlier that day.

“Sir, do you think I look like some monster?” He asked, gesturing to his face.

Arthur looked at Metallo for a moment, before shacking his head. “No… why would you think that? If anything, you look like one of those cutesy things.”

Metallo sighed. “I don't like it, sir. I don't like when people look at me and they think I'm a cute little monster or something.”

Arthur nodded, and held something in his hand. “This is why I brought you this.” He said.

He handed Metallo a metal mask. It was heavy, and it had small spikes surrounding it. Metallo looked up at him.

“Go ahead, try it on.”

Metallo gave a half smile, and put the mask on. The moment he did, his silver eyes glowed gold. The mask covered his entire body excluding his paws and feet.

“How does it feel?” Arthur asked.

Metallo nodded. “It's really good, sir. Th-Thank you.”

Arthur nodded. “Well then, you should get some rest. You've had a long day. And tomorrow, Metallo Knight, you shall learn how to be a proper knight.” He said, while standing up. He was almost out the door when Metallo stopped him.

“Uh sir? Could you- could you not call me Metallo Knight? It sounds kind of baby-ish.” He said, thinking back to what Blade had said.

Arthur nodded. “Okay then, what would you like to be called?”

Metallo thought for a moment. Then, the most perfect idea hit him.

“Meta Knight.” He said, sounding confident for the first time that night.

Arthur gave him a smile. “Alright then, Meta Knight it is.”

*********
2000 Words, Exact

The Author of this pog fanfiction wrote:

Hi
This was really something, wasn't it?
Also, to the SWC-ers: Now you all know what my pfp is xD
Uh
Yeah
Something
And also today's Meta's 29th b-day, so guess what? BIRTHDAY LUCK FOR MEH B)
There's this one quote out there, that says “Sometimes all you need to win is just dedication, precision, and just a bit of (birthday) luck”
That's my quote I present to everyone today.

GOOD LUCK PEPS!!!

~Amy, who kinda wishes to be Meta Knight at times, your Fan-Fiction Queen from the Glorious Thriller Cabin
I'm a bit vain, deal with it :>

(unfinished critique) for mabshurah

In a very mysterious town, there lived a man, a very old man. He was known by the name Mr: Roderick, his sharp eyes saw anything within a mile, his ears could hear anything within a mile.

I think you meant “Mr. Roderick” instead of “Mr: Roderick” (a period instead of a colon). And instead of the comma after “Mr: Roderick” it should be a colon/semicolon/just end the comma there. After the comma after the eyes part maybe you could add “and”, and because you said “sharp” eyes you should also say ears. Also, “within a mile” twice is a bit repetitive, so you could either swap one of them out for a different choice of words, or just combine the two clauses. Something like this: “His sharp eyes and fine ears could hear anything within a mile”.

Critique for this piece!

WC 513

I'm going to try to be as gentle and yet also as truthful as I can because I feel really bad doing anything that might seem mean haha.

Time to jump right in! Overall, your story is quite interesting! I love the dragon and I LOVE the twist ending (Was not expecting that at all, it's a good one). However, there are a few flaws. First of all, the first sentence is a bit difficult to read. Rather than “branching in” I'd say something like “flowing through” or “spreading through,” or something similar. While branching is a fun metaphor it takes a few read to make sense of it.

Secondly, “mic rang with interference.” On their own, the first two words would make sense, but in that sentence they seem to stand out too much and confuse our paths. Usually we'd say “Mic whined” or “echoed.” The sentence seems a bit hard to read, still, so I'd suggest maybe something along the lines of “The mic whined, the interference echoing through the Arena.” It seems to fit better, be a bit longer, (word counts, yay!) and also fit the style of writing. Also along this line, “Roared with cheering” is something that doesn’t make a lot of sense. There are a few “____ with ____” that don’t make sense, so I’d suggest trying to remove with and make the sentence sound more like above. Up to you, of course! (Perhaps “screaming with excitement” could be turned into “in excitement?” or perhaps “rowdy with excitement”)

Thirdly, there are a few sentences in your writing that are simpler than others. For example, you’ve painted this picture of the dragon and the main character’s despair, but then there’s the unexpected “which was coming closer” to describe the dragon. Knowing you’ve used colorful adjectives in the few sentences before and also right after, it would make more sense to say something like “Creeping closer.”

Fourthly, a few other critiques- minor ones that don’t encompass the whole. When the announcer is yelling, the words “he yelled” doesn’t actually fit there. It would be “he shouted.” or “he roared.” “Yelled” sounds more like a purely vocal, nonverbal sound, because that’s usually how we differentiate shout and yell. Onto the next one: “Exhaled softly, this was my chance.” While this doesn’t seem wrong initially, I feel that the comma should be replaced with either a period or a semicolon. Seeing as you like to connect sentences together with a comma more than you cut them off with a period (my style includes more cutting off sentences, which is fine!), I’d suggest you use a semicolon. It’s a mix between comma and period and is also a longer pause. One more to last, don’t worry! Just the sentence that says “unless that was awesome-” knowing you’re talking about the weapon directly, this sentence would make more sense saying “it.” Lastly, that one sentence, about the dragon’s spikes? I’d suggest you make the end “tip of its tail” rather than “tail tip,” because of how the rest of the sentence is structured.


Still such a cool idea! Love it <3

Main Cabin Weekly Two - Inspiration and Themes

This was a fun weekly! :D xD

Story inspired by ‘Rogue One’ from Rogue One: A Star Wars Story - 465 words
The empire advanced. A kingdom of rules and blood and unjust laws. The soldiers marched ever forth, armor clad, possessing no hesitation to kill. They quickly advanced through cities and states, towns and villages, destroying all those who got in their way. People hid in their houses as the soldiers marched through the streets, fear forcing them into the shadows of dark rooms. Any who were perceived as a threat were hunted down - people begged for mercy, but were cut down.
One family hid in the corners and cupboards of their house, afraid to make a sound. The empire’s soldiers knocked down the door, searched every corner, and found the baby girl first. Her parents left their hiding spots immediately. The mother waved her hands in specific motions, and golden power spread from her fingertips. It sprang towards a soldier, who held up his violently shiny shield - and blocked the spell. The woman gasped. She and the father were lying on the floor within seconds. The other children stayed hidden, afraid to breathe as metal footsteps clanged through the house. In the end, a neighbor found them all three days later, dead on the floor.
News of it spread. This family had been the latest in a long line of sorcerers, starting with the great Almeline Lemiza of legend. People shrunk in fear when they heard that such powerful people had been taken out by the king’s soldiers. In a way, it was what let the empire take over so quickly - the people’s loss of hope.
But not everyone despaired. A small group of people, most of them thieves and mercenaries, who by their nature held freedom at a great value, decided that they knew they must fight. They gathered their forces, trained in many fighting arts, and prepared their attack. Their target was the royal palace - “Take out the king, and the whole empire falls,” said their leader, a youth who was no more than eighteen years old. He’d been raised on the street, raised by no one but himself.
Ropes were thrown up the palace walls, dark-clad figures snuck through the halls, and twenty-seven fighters ended up in the king's throne room. He was nearly alone, with no one to protect him but advisors with no knowledge in combat. The king slowly turned to face them, a dark light in his eyes.
“So you’ve come at last.”
“We’ve come to end your reign of terror and destruction,” the young rebel leader spat, clutching a long dagger in each of their hands.
“What a sweet sentiment - if only you actually had the means to do so.”
The leader ran forward, blades ready -
The king lifted his hands, and darkness enveloped the room -
And every consciousness in it.

Story inspired by ‘Ezra and Leia’ from Star Wars Rebels - 556 words
I stumble through the shadows, many times almost slipping on the wet grass under my feet. I stumble forwards with no end in sight, no end ‘cause where I started from didn’t leave me anywhere to go.
I’ve lost everyone.
And now I’m alone.
Utterly alone.
I stretch a hand forwards, as if to stop myself, and my hand collides with something rough - the bark of a tree? I stop and lift my head to see dark, wet bark.
Suddenly I find I can no longer stand. The world falls away as I slip to the ground, my head banging against the tree trunk, only a moment passing before everything goes black.

I awaken with a cloudiness in my mind, and the feeling that someone is watching me. I slowly try to look from side to side, groaning as my neck bursts into pain, not letting me move much. Slowly, I register the rest of my aching body, but there’s no one to be seen.
Then bushes rustle.
“Who’s there?” I croak.
No response.
“Come out.”
Now someone darts across the clearing, then out of my range of vision once more. I try to turn my head again, but before I can hurt myself anymore, someone is leaning over me, putting a cool hand to my forehead.
After a moment, whoever it is steps back. I see that it’s a girl, about my age - that is, sixteen - with dark hair and light brown skin. Her clothes are dark and, somehow, look… shadowy? I can’t explain it. And there seems to be something in a sheath at her side.
Her dark eyes meet mine, and before I can have another thought, it all comes rushing back like a violent knife-stab to the heart or brain - or both, like in the case of my uncle.
“Who are you?” I ask quietly, eyes stinging as tears push their way out of me. “Are you - doing this?”
She shakes her head. “Those who did may take a long time to leave you - but not forever. As for me, I am only a friend.”
She extends a hand, and for some reason, I accept it without hesitation. She pulls me to my feet, and when I stagger, she puts an arm firmly under each of mine and helps me walk through the jungle.
It’s morning, and only now do I think to wonder how long I was asleep. But the thought soon slips away, it’s unimportance not giving it a place in my crowded mind. I can barely focus on my surroundings as the girl leads me on.
But finally we reach a clearing, a clean break in the trees that somehow feels natural all the same. She helps me forward, until suddenly, but gently, pulling to an abrupt stop.
“Here we are.”
“Here…?”
Then I take in a painfully sharp breath. The land spread out before me is like nothing I’ve ever seen. Below my feet, it drops into a valley, long and sprawling and full of life. And sound. Movement.
I cry.
She holds me tight as I try to choke out an explanation.
“It’s just - I haven’t seen… so beautiful - in so long - “
“I know,” she says simply, a single tear slipping down her own cheek. “I know.”

Story inspired by something from a board game. - 761 words
The candles bled.
They always bled.
Whenever we were at war, they dripped blood in place of melted wax.
And one girl - me - sat watching one candle perform this vile habit. She sat up late, wondering who was dying while she sat warm under those blankets.
I never liked the night, or the dark, or safety when I knew others didn’t have it - which was always true, of course, for somebody, somewhere. And I often couldn’t sleep, no matter how hard my mother urged me to lay down and ‘stop staring at that dang candle!’
I, the girl, obeyed at times, but at others her eyes seemed glued to the candle’s flame. A simple wax stub made from the sap of one of her family’s trees, but a stub that told a much darker story. People were dying, and she couldn’t sleep.
On nights when she didn’t eventually drift off where she sat, she’d be awake to see the early morning light. The candle was usually out, and she’d slide from her covers, creeping quietly out the door. On the front step sat a bucket, filled nearly to the brim with blood. She poured the red liquid from the candle holder into the bucket, watching it swirl darkly. This blood wouldn’t dry up.
She slid her hand firmly into place under the bucket’s handle, hefted it off the ground and, still in a nightgown, made her way slowly down the street.
The bucket swung from side to side in her hand, as her head did the same, looking around to see the town emerging from its nightly slumber. Doors creaked, revealing the many expressions of people who glanced at the buckets on their doorsteps; some sad, some annoyed, some defeated. And the fearful faces of those who did not know whether the blood they emptied from the small tin candle holders that morning belonged to one of their own.
Everyone in my town had a bucket in those days, kept on the doorstep and added to each morning. And each day, a crowd would trudge down the street, buckets in hand, making our way to the giant hole on the edge of town. Lining the edge, we’d pour the contents into the shallow reservoir, watching as the blood sunk into the ground. We’d tried to dig the whole far from our fields, but still it sickened the plant life around it, and sickened us with the knowledge of whose blood watered our land.
That morning I, a young girl pouring her bucket into the hole, was approached by a neighbor. The neighbor, a woman whom the girl and her brother called Aunty Myra, smiled, the wrinkles in her face not hiding the perpetual sadness that was always in her eyes. “How is your morning, my dear? I see you did not have much sleep.”
She shrugged as Myra brushed a finger gently across the shadows that must have been under her eyes. “My mother says not to think of those who are lost.”
She knew the coldness of her words, since her own family had sent no one to fight, and Aunty Myra’s own son was in the midst of the faraway battles, but also that Myra knew her well.
“Your mother says many things. Did you notice that the candles burned brighter last night?”
“No - what do you think it means?”
“I am not nearly knowledgeable enough to know. You young one, on the other, have much time and opportunity ahead of you. Go learn something, and perhaps you’ll be able to figure it out. Now, get on home.”
“Thanks, Aunt Myra.”
As she walked away from the hole, she felt lighter, if only because the bucket she carried was empty. But she also felt less tired, more awake with determined energy.
After that day the girl, me, decided to borrow some books. Books on magic, and warfare, and the world. I had many questions, as Myra knew, and her statement that day, to ‘go learn something,’ had struck me. I was going to do what she said. Any knowledgeable adults who would have been qualified to teach any advanced subjects at the school had left either to fight or to work in the Great City when the war began. Now most children were taught simple reading and writing at home, or else not taught at all. The girl, me, knew enough at that point to get through most books, even if she didn’t know how to pronounce all the new words she read in them.

Continuation of the 700 word story - 2961 words

Themes
The themes in this story take the forms of ideas and questions, such as the idea of ‘Your view of the world versus someone else’s view of the world,' and ‘Your view of yourself versus someone else’s view of you,' (which I attempted to embody in the switching between first and third person) and the question of ‘Who’s right?' I also tried to explore themes involving the question of ‘Is it better to know about hardships others face, in situations when you can’t do anything about it? Is it better to know, or to stick to your own business and not feel their pain?' And, lastly, ‘Can these questions ever be answered?’

Sorry, I know that's a lot of things, I hope that's okay. Also, I wrote WAY more for this than I needed to or thought I would lol.

Village Girl

The girl sat up late one night, reading. A candle burned steadily nearby, slow trickles of red liquid dancing down its sides. The girl took in every word she read, looking in the dictionary to learn the meaning of ones she didn’t know, for she was truly me.
Me. Who, the more I read, the more conflicted I became, and the more sadness filled my every waking minute.
Any book she owned that the girl, me, wanted, Myra gladly lent to her, and she was learning much. But not all of it was good - in fact, much of it was not.
There was war in the world, she knew that, and now she learnt about the weapons used in warfare, and how battles were fought. She learned of hostages and sieges, lack of resources and the most likely causes of death.
I learned of magic and weapons to be made with it - I even tried a few charms myself. I even read a recent essay on the weapons the Great Sorcerer gave to the army at the start of the war.
I, the girl, finally started to get a picture of why the blood dripping candles bothered her so.
That night, she sighed at reaching the end of a paragraph, and laid her head on the table.
“It’s all too much,” she muttered.
“Then stop reading,” came a reply from the couch. She looked to her young brother lying there, snuggled in a blanket and with his eyes closed; it was late at night. “Everyone thinks you're such a book-girl - you don’t pay enough attention to real life.”
“These books are helping me learn about real life.” She waited for a response, but eventually realized her brother had fallen asleep. She let out a small grumble.
“Go to sleep,” called her mother, also in bed. Then, more softly, “You need your rest, dear.”
The girl sighed. But, not exactly knowing nor necessarily caring why she was listening, she closed her book and, after a long moment…
Blew out the candle.

Sorcerer

I was a great sorcerer, and I sat in my tower, a room filled with candelabras burning bright. The Sorcerer’s elegant beeswax candles did not drip blood, like those of the people - No, he was saved from that hardship by his work. He had been the one to supply the soldiers with enchanted weapons to begin with, and he had been the first one to feel the ensuing pain.
All magic has consequences, and the first time the outcome of this spell showed itself was during the first true battle of the war. The Sorcerer had been sitting in his study when he felt a tiny stab of pain. Turning his hand over, he saw that there was a pinprick of blood on his palm. Confused, he pressed a finger to it, but a few minutes later another spot of blood appeared. After half an hour, they were appearing all over his body.
The healers had no solution but to wrap him in bandages, which of course did not help. But I was the Great Sorcerer, and it didn’t take long to realize what the cause of my pain was. Perhaps it was magician’s instinct, or perhaps I’d known all along, but I knew; every time someone died in this war, died because of my magic’s interference in the lives of others, I would feel it. Whether it was an enemy, one of our own soldiers, or a civilian caught in the crossfire, a pinprick of blood would appear to mark their death.
At first I bore it - this was the consequence of my magic.
But to know every death, to feel the thousands who suffered at my hands - that would be too much for any person to bear. And it was hurting me physically; if a large battle occurred, who knew whether I’d survive it?
So the Sorcerer, me, searched his books. Finally he found a spell to share his pain. He cast it without hesitation, knowing that the people would understand. He’d done much to aid them in the war, and they could take some of his pain in return.
So from then on, for all those deaths, the people’s candles bled. The Sorcerer sat back in relief - the streets smelled of blood, but he was in his tower, and no longer dying a million deaths.
His tears were still blood, however.
But that didn’t really matter,
since I tried to never cry.

Village Girl

One morning, as the girl studied in Myra’s small house, a child ran through the open door.
“Ma’am, a wagon just appeared on the edge of town. Ralf… You’d better come see, Ma’am.”
Myra was on her feet before the boy was finished speaking. The girl slammed her book closed, and within seconds they were sprinting down the street at a fast pace. By this time the wagon had made it down the main street. As soon as she saw the soldier sitting at the front, steering the horses, she knew what was going on. She fell in step beside Myra as the older woman anxiously followed the wagon down the street. Soon they stopped in front of Myra’s house, and, with help from a neighbor, the soldier carried a stretcher out from the back of the wagon, on which lay a young man - Myra’s son.
I, only a girl then, felt as if I’d turned to stone. In the coming days, I remained a statue, even as I came to Aunty Myra’s house each day. Her son lay there, usually unconscious, but sometimes waking to moan from his many, many wounds. The girl, me, would follow Myra’s instructions, mixing remedies or sometimes just making her dinner. Myra would take the girl’s hands in her own and thank her, then get her another thick book from the shelf. She dove into her studies, reading day and night, trying to find something to help.
See, she knew where Ralf’s wounds came from. Either from intuition or perhaps a little magic of her own, she knew it was the same thing that made the candles drip blood. And now, despite her mother’s continuous instructions to come home, ‘stop reading all those useless books,’ and ‘stop helping that old woman and her reckless son,’ she continued her work, though her frustration only grew - and her despair. With what she’d learned about the war, she wanted so badly to change things, to do something with the knowledge she had. But there didn’t seem to be anything - nothing a village girl could do to change the actions of a war-starting king and his sorcerer.
The shadows under her eyes deepened as she stayed up later and later at night, more and more nights in a row.
Would it never end, I, the girl, wondered? Sometimes I threw my book to the floor in a fit of rage. Were things any better than before, when all I’d known were the bleeding candles? I would never give up my knowledge, but - I couldn’t do anything with it. Ralf had made me want to change things, but I’d found I could change nothing at all. Was my mother right, that I shouldn’t have delved into it, instead sticking to my own affairs?
I didn’t know.

Sorcerer

The Sorcerer, me, spent his days in his tower. He studied his books and experimented with his magic, occasionally working spells at the king's command. It was good work, a position he was lucky to have, but it was hard, sometimes lonely, and the tower was undeniably stuffy. On some mornings, he all but fled from his reclusive study to take walks through the Great City.
The marketplace at that time was a bustling hub of trade and communication. With the war going on, supplies and information were making their way through the city constantly. And I, the Sorcerer, loved it. I loved the smells and sights and life of the people I did my best to serve. I served the king and his wishes, of course, but he served the people, and the people were who I did it all for.
I, a great Sorcerer, walked slowly down a market street, listening to the music of a hundred conversations mixing into one familiar sound. The market stalls displayed all kinds of goods - food, furniture, books, instruments - and he stopped at one that sold some type of foreign fruit.
“Would you like to sample a slice of something?” a woman behind the counter asked.
“Please.”
She called one of her employees, who brought over a plate of fruit. The man held the plate forward, smiling until he saw the Sorcerer's face. Then he gasped.
“You - you monster!” he cried. “You’re the one who causes all of this!”
The Sorcerer took a step back.
“Vyn,” the woman in charge called out, “What’s going on?”
“My daughter is out there on the warfields,” he continued, voice rising as he ignored the question. “I fear for her every day, because of those weapons you created!”
Now the shopkeeper came back over to them and pushed the man back into the shop, muttering something sternly. He disappeared into the back as she apologized to the Sorcerer, again offering him the plate of fruit.
But a moment later the man returned, a lit, dripping candle in hand.
“See this?” he yelled. “This is my daughter’s blood! This is the blood of all our children, spilt by your hand!”
“I created the weapons they use to win!” the Great Sorcerer, me, finally cried. “I gave them the tools to stop us all from being slain at our enemies’ hands!”
“Ha,” the man said, tears now spilling down his face as the woman in charge tried to shove him back from the counter. “The only reason the war has escalated this much is you. The only reason our enemies fight this hard is that we gave them reason to. I watch candles drip every night, scared for my child’s life, because you have too much power. You are the monster here, you ‘Great Sorcerer.”
The shopkeeper finally managed, with the help of another employee, to remove the man from the shop. But the Sorcerer, me, declined when she offered me a free basket of plums, instead making my way back through the streets, back to my tower, to my space of solitary thought.
I’d done so much to help the kingdom, and this was how people saw me?

Village Girl

In the coming months the girl, me, watched as more and more soldiers were carried through town on stretchers. The war was coming to a close, people said, or at least a standstill while the leaders attempted to negotiate. It was now safe for injured soldiers to travel back to the towns and cities, to be cared for at home.
The girl watched as they returned with their gory wounds, wondering how she could have let this happen, and feeling anger as she knew that there was absolutely nothing she could have done.
So she spent her time rushing from house to house, mixing remedies and making people dinner and doing what she could to help the families who had been hit by the war. She still spent afternoons at Myra’s house, studying as she watched Ralf heal; but often, she found herself closing whatever book she’d been given, and staring out the window at the younger children who played in the street.
I, the girl, remembered what I’d learned about the origins of the ball game they played. It had been an interesting book, and I thought vaguely of retrieving it from the shelf for a re-read - but in truth, I wanted more to play it.
The girl was me, sitting at a desk, with an aching back, and she sighed. Just as she did so, Myra’s front door creaked open.
“Hey sis, you wanna come play?”
A strange expression came upon her face, and it was a long moment before she answered her younger brother. “Yes.”
Her hair flew in the wind as she held the muddy ball in her hands, and she smiled at the world. She’d missed this, much more than she’d ever been aware of. Maybe her brother and everyone else had been right about her being too much of a book-girl.
But as she played she wondered about all those soldiers coming back from the front. Should she have kept to her own business, and not learned about their struggles? That didn’t seem right. Being oblivious was one thing, and ignoring hardship was another. If you could learn about something, you should - but that pain she’d felt as being able to do nothing… would it have been better if the girl had ignored anything beyond her own, decent life?
These thoughts all but haunted her for the next few weeks, turning sideways and upside down in her mind, another thing to which she feared there would be no end.
But later that month, I, the girl, learned that my mother was pregnant - I was going to have a new baby sibling.
And in a way, all those thoughts righted themselves. I had a life, a life that was important, and I thought perhaps my mother had been right that I needed to focus more on it. But I wasn’t ashamed of my studies and knowledge, and I would never altogether stop them. The question of whether it was better to know of the hardships in the war, or be oblivious - whether it was better to know but be able to do nothing - would forever inhabit my mind. The questions of whether I knew what was right, or whether I should listen to the world.
But I began to realize that maybe there were no answers to these questions. Maybe they were meant to just be. I needed to live life, to see things from my own perspective like my mother, but also look outside myself like Myra taught, and let things be.
And when I say let things be, I mean let myself be me.

Sorcerer

I sat with these thoughts for weeks, months. My king and the ruler of our enemy kingdom agreed to a meeting of negotiation - the war might be coming to an end. I continued my job, working spells at the king’s demand, trying not to think of that day at the fruit stall.
But the Sorcerer, me, was not blessed with the ability to ignore his internal questions, and one day he found himself purchasing a single candle from a small market stall. Returning quickly to his tower, he lit it, and instead of reading by its light as he normally would have, he sat and stared at its almost living glow.
After a few moments, a drop of blood ran down its side.
For more long moments he stared.
He, the Sorcerer, was me, and I wondered. These candles, which were the sign of all I did for the kingdom - did the people see them as a manifestation of their pain? As the cause of it? Because that wasn’t what they were - that wasn’t what I was.
Was it?
I had given them the weapons. I had given them that pain to share. But that was because it was too much to bear by oneself!
But is it better that I’ve shared my pain? A small part of the Sorcerer, me, wondered. Is it better that I no longer feel that pain at all?
He was only doing his best, but could the man at the fruit stand have been right, and he’d done wrong?
He imagined their sons, daughters, and children out there on the battlefield, fighting for their lives, while their parents sat at home, not knowing if they’d ever see their loved ones’ faces again. All those children who had once played catch in the streets, and now fought in a game of death.
For the first time in many years, that man who is me, cried.
Fat red tears that stained his cheeks.
He was hurting people.
Maybe the world was right, and he just hadn’t seen it all along.
The candle went out.

The war did indeed end, and the candles stopped bleeding, at least mostly; once, there was a huge avalanche up in the mountains, and the candles bled for the people who died there.
But the Sorcerer couldn’t sleep at night. He tossed and turned, thoughts roiling through his mind in a storm.
Then one night he had a dream, a dream in which a man - who, once he awoke, he was very certain had been himself - had spoken to him.
“The world sees you one way and you see yourself another way. You see the world one way, and, again, they see themselves in another. But all you can be is you, and many questions can never be answered. You shut yourself off from feeling the ramifications of your actions, but now you hurt for the things you had a part in. Hurt, but do not feel agony.”
The dream then dissolved into the chaos of most nightly imaginings, and in the morning he’d forgotten every word the man in his dream had said. But he felt different, remembering he’d heard something important.
The war had ended, and, indeed, years passed. The Sorcerer, me, made many mistakes, but tried never again to fall away from the world of the people he served. No matter who was right, the world was much wider than his own view; that was something he never forgot.
And now, when he cried for others, his tears were no longer blood.

shortening -AMETHYSTQUEEN-’s writing
i hope this gave you a general idea on what to shorten!! i did not shorten all of it, but if you still need help lmk

Galacta Knight jumped up in mid air when he heard the loud sound. He wasn't expecting for something like this to happen.

you dont need “mid air”. you could also combine your first two sentence maybe like this: “galacta knight jumped up in surprise when the loud sound reached his ears”, “in surprise” substitute for “he wasn't expecting for something like this to happen”.

Galacta looked over at Morpho and gave a slight nod.

“galacta looked over at morpho, and nodded subtly” or something like that.

He had a feeling he knew what it meant, and if his suspicion was right, chaos lies ahead.

you can take out “he had a feeling he knew what it meant” altogether. the previous sentence already indicates he knows what it means. just “if his suspicion was right, chaos lies ahead” is fine.

Galacta let out a sigh of relief that the baby didn't wake up.

you don’t need “that the baby didnt wake up”.

He reached into the crib and took little Metallo out, and held him in his arms.

you can replace “and” with a comma.

[b]Metallo in his hands as Galacta took a few steps away.

“walked forward” or something like that instead of “took a few steps away”.

Morpho for one more time.

maybe “morpho one last time”.

Encore
Golden light spilled through the screen door as I tugged at the laces of my hiking boots, fumbling with the knots. Did my fingers not remember how to tie them?
I tried not to think about how much sense that would make. No scrapes or scuff marks striped the rubber soles. The boots had been sitting in my closet all year, dreaming of dirt smears and summer night choruses like I had. Dreaming of earlier days that shouldn’t have felt like they were over.
It had taken me all year to do something about that.
“I’m going out.” I craned my neck towards the couch in the next room, forcing myself to meet my brother’s eyes. Shadows cast by the setting sun made them look far away. “Do you… want to come? Maybe?”
Marco snorted, poking at the phone he’d gotten last month. “No.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes! Why would I not be…”
“Maybe…” My voice caught. “Maybe if you remembered ever going out to the woods. With me. Remember me?”
“Daisy… I remember. Sure.” He looked up at me, scribbling a faint smile across his face. “We used to… you know. Dance.”
As though the dancing was what we loved out there under the trees, and not the birdsong and our songs, the ones we’d half-memorized from the radio, and the bursts of bubbling laughter. Not the way we’d let the lyrics fly until they filled the night.
Or maybe I was the only one who’d loved all that. He’d been the one to announce last year that he wanted to stay inside. I’d been the one who’d packed away my new hiking boots and eventually stopped asking.
I mirrored his faded grin, breath slipping in my throat. Going out alone. Was I that desperate for the past? “See you later, then.”
He flapped a hand, already reattached to his screen.
I didn’t let the door bang behind me the way we used to.
The soil-dusted steppingstone path wound out of our backyard, worming its way into the forest until you couldn’t tell you stood behind the neighbors’ house instead of ours. The thick, dusky green web of foliage still felt like the roof of a home to me. Even though I’d learned last year that the vines dripping from the tree branches were invasive and not a specially-planted stage curtain just for us, the way I’d always promised my brother. Even though the clearing we always used for a stage had shrunk at some point. Even though Marco wasn’t with me.
I stepped into the circle of trees. Or—heptagon of trees, or something. We’d called it a circle.
The non-magical vines scraped my head. Where our feet had stomped the leaf litter smooth, a fresh layer of fluff sat rotting. Birds still warbled overhead, but the only ones cheering were the crickets.
Peaceful, I guess. But this was my life, not a nature documentary, and I wasn’t feeling very serene.
So sing, I heard myself think.
I almost smirked. Yeah. Easy. For years these woods had only held duets. Was it ever worth singing alone? Why would I ever try without the creaking accidental harmonies, without the snickers at every mixed-up lyric and the way we’d yelp out the choruses together?
You can choose the song, the thought insisted.
Twilight shivered at my back. I stared into the last specks of liquid gold sunlight between the trees. Marco usually had gotten to choose what we sang. I had never really minded, but now…
“How many ways are there to change…?”
My voice wavered, nearly a squeak. I cleared my throat and pulled in a full breath.
“That’s—”
A pure note. Quiet, though—no one would hear.
No one needs to hear, said the thought. Keep going.
I obeyed.
“—what I asked you every day,
until you turned and said to me,
‘Too many…’”
The melody curled invisibly through the trees, intertwining with the sound of the crickets. I pushed forward, ignoring the falters in my voice. The lonely prickles of sun burned like stage lights.
“You’d fulfill all my hopes and fears…”
My voice spiked, volume twisting out of my grip.
I winced and fell silent. What if someone did hear? I wasn’t one of “those crazy kids” anymore. I’d become a lone teenager, pouring her heart out in the trees. Odd. Exposed. No laughing anymore.
I whispered out the next lyric. The words hovered, tuneless, wreathed in hush. Flat. Did it really matter if someone heard? Would it be worse than this? Worse than standing silent, alone?
Couldn’t I at least try to give a decent performance?
“EV-ery single FLASH of color…”
I didn’t quite yelp out the chorus. But it sounded, for the first time, as bright as the vanishing sun in my eyes. I dared a twirl, and dry leaves burst around my boots in confetti arcs.
The last lines tamed my voice, turning it back to something alone and longing. But… maybe not something hurting, anymore.
“Every single quiet hour
became my home.”
The final word faded, and I stood alone in the woods.

daily. march 23
455 words

critiquing @equestrian5810’s writing!

Three Hours

You might not believe me, my dear child, but I’ve learned from experience that having the knowledge of the future is a curse unlike any other. I’ve carried it with me in my purse since my mother’s death when I was fourteen, and not until yesterday had it ever treated me like anything but a best friend.

I feel like you should continue the statement “Three Hours” to something like “Three Hours Remaining” because it doesn’t stand alone very well.

“my dear child” also seems a bit extra, unless the narrator is telling a story, because the child isn’t exactly defined.

Maybe get rid of “from experience”.

“I’ve carried it with me in my purse” to “I’ve carried it since I was fourteen in my {insert adjective} purse. Since my mother died”
Just try to break up the sentence a bit more, it’s good to have variation. ^^

Also watch out for wordy statements, like “and not until yesterday had it ever treated me like anything but a best friend.” should be more like “It had always treated me as a best friend, until yesterday {insert time of day}.”

I had seen something terrible through my handheld mirror of the future, but nobody gave a da** about the destruction of the Earth. Even though everyone else pressed on as if there was nothing wrong, I decided that I was going to live my last three hours without regrets or guilt.

Add something like this to the beginning of paragraph: While it was in my possession “I had seen terrible things through my mirror. Nobody…”

“I decided that I was going to live out…”

Again, vary sentence structure, add some interesting adjectives?

With so little time left, I was running non-stop. You might think that making choices about what to do in my last moments would be the most difficult decision of my life, but it really wasn’t. Of everything I’d wanted to do before I disintegrated into nothingness, the pledge I made once upon a time on the grave of the man I loved was most important.

This paragraph seems like it is in need of some sort of transition statement? Or combine this one with the one above.

Delete “about what to do” and change “be the most difficult decision of my life” to “be the most difficult decisions on my life” since before you put choices, not choice. You could also change choices to choice if that fits better.

“Of everything I’d wanted to do before I disintegrated into nothingness, the pledge I made once upon a time on the grave of the man I loved was most important.”
Doesn’t make much sense here. “Of everything…” suggests an explanation, but there isn’t one here. It sounds like the character is remembering something, so rephrase the sentence after, maybe like “to fulfill the pledge…”

I’d been on his trail since the day my stained-glass life shattered into a million jagged pieces. He told me he’d done it for me, but what man says that they love you and then goes on to shoot your fiance through the heart? Only a man who deserves to die.

Describe what he did, because right now it’s a mystery that may need a bit more context.
It’s also a bit confusing—so there are two men, who’s who and what exactly happened. Try to clear it up with more defining words or names.

Okay so this is sort of long for me to critique fully, but I would just work on how your structure your sentences and try to make it not so wordy! I confess I do this a bit myself, but try not to separate your writing into so many paragraphs, because a lot of them go hand in hand. Only make a new paragraph if the subject changes pretty drastically, or you are trying to exaggerate a point of interest. I noticed a lot of long, twisty sentences were used, but I would break them up with shorter ones, these tend to exaggerate parts as needed. At the very end, it’s a little confusing for me (maybe because I didn’t really read everything), but I would work on explaining some of the details here and there so it is easier to understand.

Weekly done!!!!!

Taking inspiration from music…. https://scratch.mit.edu/discuss/youtube/ypNgvc6c6Cc/
442 words
I glance around, taking note of everything around me. Not one day has ever passed without me being grateful for living in Ierdain. It isn’t always peaceful, but it’s beautiful. The sunlight lifts over the horizon, illuminating the grasses with brilliant golden light.
A wind blows through my hair, and I laugh as the pixies dance around my head, touching the flowing dark strands. I begin to run, bounding over the field, the grasses tickling my bare feet, the stones sure and strong below my feet. I run, and then stop at the edge of the bluff, looking out at the sea.
The sight is calming, golden light on the water, the wind caressing my face. Everything is beautiful, and clear. Astounding clarity fills me, and my mind and my soul are as clear to me as the transparent water and the sharp wind, or the pixie’s chime-like laughter. This is where I belong, here among Ierdain’s beautiful landscape, surrounded by strong stone and raging water. A place where very few belong, and those who do belong; we treasure it. This natural beauty is precious to me, its balance and peace more valuable than my life. The wind dies for a moment, and I stand on the edge of the far drop, still. A longing fills my heart, not the common longing of humans, for cities and glory and wars. I yearn to reach past that horizon, fly with dragons and faeries, drown in the beauty that Ierdain has to offer. The pixies fly through the grasses, chattering in my ears. The mountains are to my back, and the fields, glowing in the sunlight.
I turn back to the sea, and the salty wind blows around me. This… this is my paradise.
I stand there, a lone figure on a lonely cliff, watching the sun pull herself over the horizon, her fiery light bathing the world in a pink glow. A smile spreads across my face, and I kneel down to place my hand on the stone of the cliff, already warming under the sun’s light. My fingers trace the ancient cracks, and the salty water below roars as its waves crash against the cliffs, unrivaled strength that I admire.
I believe that every being only has one home. Some never find it. Those who always spend their lives in one, dreary spot, they never find where they truly belong. Others only find their home when it is too late. But some, like me, know where they’re home is. They know that one place, the only place in the world, where they feel alive.
The wild lands of Ierdain are my home.

——————————————————————————————————
409 words: inspired by https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SWHGt-WVZKA

I ride through the forest at a gentle pace, until I reach the stable, and the small market that surrounds it. It is shrouded in the trees, hiding under the eaves of the forest. The candles glow in the windows. I dismount from my horse as I reach the stable, and hand over the reins to Meldan, my childhood friend. He greets me with a smile.
“Out into the plains again?” He asks. He is one of the few who doesn’t tease me for my frequent visits to the faeries who dance in the long grasses. I’ve brought him to them before, and we both know that nightfall is the best time to see them.
“Yes,” I say. “Is Balixn here?”
“Yes, in fact. He’s been waiting for you.”
I grin. Balixn and I are to be married, but his work in another kingdom often takes him far from here. Every moment I get to spend with him is like paradise.
“He has a bit of bad news.” Meldan warns. “But bad news can be good, when turned around.”
I raise an eyebrow, and he just shakes his head. “Go, he’ll tell you.”
He gestures towards the stableyard, and I go.
As he said, Balixn is waiting. He runs to me, and takes my hand.
“Meila!” He kisses my cheek gently, and I blush a bit. “I’ve missed you so much!”
“Meldan says you have bad news.”
“A bit.” Balixn says, laughing. “It’s not that worrisome, believe me. I haven’t got a job anymore, but that’s not of importance. Now, I can spend every moment with you.”
I laugh. We may never be rich, but having each other is more important. Holding his hand tightly, I pull him across the stableyard.
“Come on!” I said. “It’s almost nightfall, and you have yet to see the faeries dance!”
Balixn looks up to the moon, then turns back to me. “Let’s go, then.”
I pull him under the cover of the trees, and when we enter the field his eyes widen in awe. The faeries are gathering on the tall stalks of grass, glowing like little candles. The night is completely dark as the sun sinks over the horizon, and we stand under the trees in silence, waiting. The final rays of the sun disappear, and moonlight begins to illuminate the fields though the thin wisps of cloud.
But when the moon comes out from behind the clouds, the dancing begins.
——————————————————————————————————
Continuation of the above, because the inspiration came from three places: the video above, and Dustfinger from the Inkheart trilogy, and Romeo and Juliet, which I just finished watching. My characters don’t die, though.
721 words
I pull Balixn into the clearing as they begin to whirl around, chattering in the moonlight. I gently release his hand, then approach the fairies. They turn to me, continuing their dance, but keeping their eyes on me.
“May I join you?” I ask.
They are silent for a moment, but then, they swirl around me, pulling me into the frey.
I spin among them, in a well known dance that I’ve done a million times over. The faeries know me, and they accept me into their dance. I twirl and they spin around me, little spirals and wisps of flame that flow through the air. This is what it feels like to lose yourself, truly become someone you’re not.
The dance grows more aggressive, and my feet begin to move faster. I grab Balixn’s arm and drag him into the spiraling flames that light the grasses. I move slower, guiding him until he has a feel for the nonexistent melodies.
“How do you dance without music?” he asks.
“You can feel it in the air.” I begin the faster pace, and the faeries angry dance and the music of the wild fills my soul.
Then something unexpected happens.
The faeries glow a brighter gold then I have ever seen before, until their golden light begins to spread onto the stalks of tall grass. A golden shower seems to have coated the plains, and it spreads into the eaves of the forest. Everywhere that my feet land, a golden shower explodes. I almost stop to marvel, but Balixn pulls me along.
“Keep dancing!” he says, awe written on his face. And I do. I push myself harder, until I’m no longer dancing. I run through the grasses, hand in hand with Balixn. Gold light explodes around us, faeries fly and dance. I leap into the air, and he catches me, spinning me around, laughing. The golden light rivals that of the sun.
The faeries suddenly disappear, and the dance ends with one last explosion of gold as my bare feet touch the ground again. Balixn pulls me close, and presses his lips against mine as the golden lights fade.
“I love you.” he whispers, holding me tightly. “I love you more than anything.”
“I love you, too.” I say. The night is dark, and the magic of the dance still unexplained, but Balixn is with me. And this time, he’s not going to leave. He doesn’t have to go away on another assignment from a far off king. He can stay here with me, wander with me into unknown lands. We can see things that no one else has seen before, together.
“I’m glad you don’t have a job.” I say, and he laughs.
“Really?” He sounds a bit surprised, but only a bit.I hated it when he had to leave, and he knows that very well. “Now we have no money, no home, no one who knows our names besides each other and a stable boy we grew up with. Is that what we want?”
“Do we want money?” I counter. “Do we want to be surrounded by trampling soldiers, stuffy nobles, and people who don’t care about us? Do we want the world to know us, and hate us? Or are we better alone?”
“Maybe we are better off alone.” Balixn responds, but he says it with a smile. “But where do we go?”
“Back to the stable to get our horses.”
Balixn laughs. “Then?”
I smile. “Then? I don’t know. That’s the fun of it, in a way. Then, we might get swept off into the fields, and run away into the morning sun, never to be seen again.”
“It’ll be dangerous.”
“Isn’t it always? That’s what makes it so exciting.”
“Well, yes.” Balixn seems to give up in his argument. “We’d best go get the horses then.”
When we return to the stableyard, Meldan looks up from the counter. “How was it?” he asks Balixn.
“Beautiful.” is all he can say in response.
“Will you be staying the night, or are you going to be off already?”
“Leaving.” I say. “And if we do not return, please don’t be worried.”
Meldan raises an eyebrow, but fetches the horses. “I shall still hope to see the two of you again.” he says.
“Perhaps.” is my only response.
—————————————————————————————————————————–
Continuation of other story above. Theme: Not all people are bad. (spoilers here)The main character distrusts and hates humans, but comes to trust the prince.
1012 words
One day, I awake to smoke rising above the trees.
My eyes widen in shock. Humans, in the forest? No one has dared to enter the forest before, besides its inhabitants. If the human soldiers reach these fields, these unprotected, wild lands, rich in resources, they will destroy it. Build fortresses and cities of ugly stone. Tear apart the mountains in search of ore and gold. Their axes will bring the forest to the ground. Their feet will trample the grasses, and the cliffs will become their ports. The waters will be muddied by their ships. No. This cannot happen.
But who will stop it? Me? All by myself?
Of course, I chide myself. Who else would? The elves? They disappear into the mountains more and more every year.
But I’m just… me. I don’t know who I am, or where I came from. I have no name, no race. No definition. I’m not an animal, or a human, or an elf. I’m just… me. I learned human and elvish language from the elves when I was still a child. I can understand the needs of the pixies and wild animals more than some of the elves can.
If anyone should defend these lands, it’s me.
I make for the forest, nervously. I have never entered the forest before, and I’ve always been careful around it. But today, I will have to risk it.
At first, the trees dislike me. Roots trip me, and branches lash my face, but I keep my anger and frustration in check.
“I’m on your side.” I whisper in elvish. “I’m trying to help.”
At first, the forest doesn’t listen, but eventually, a few of the trees begin to heed my repeated words. They push me along, clear my path, and guide me towards the increasing shouts of the human soldiers.
I crouch behind a tree as they set up their camp. Soldiers, yes, but a boy stands off to the side, only a few paces from me. He is frightened, I can see it in his eyes.
“Why don’t we go back?” he asks.
“Your father commands us to take this wilderness for ourselves.” a soldier responds. “Would you rather have the people starve? Not taking what we need has already killed your mother. Shall we heed your advice again, my prince? Next time you make an unwise decision, you will pay the consequences. If someone dies because of you, your life will be ended. Do not think that you are above the law.”
The boy turned away, angry. “We don’t need this land! If my father would put our kingdom’s already vast resources to better use-”
“Shut up!” the soldier snapped, and the boy fell silent. “Your father is wiser than you are, that is why he is king. Do as he commands, or I will not hesitate to punish you accordingly. Now, be silent.”
The soldiers finished setting up their camp, and the boy, the prince, was left as the only guard. “As punishment for your stubborn foolishness.” the soldier had said, and when the boy had protested yet again against the mission they were on, the soldier had punched him. The boy sat in the shadow of a tree, glaring at the soldiers sleeping on the ground. Every so often, he would touch the large bruise on his cheek.
Eventually, I decided to take my chances with this boy.
I crept out of the cover of the trees, and as soon as he saw me, the boy stood up, drawing a small knife. “Who are you, and where did you come from?” he whispers, afraid.
“I do not mean you any harm!” I whisper.
“Then why are you here?”
“To stop these soldiers from claiming this forest, and the land on the other side of it.”
The prince lowered his knife, but kept it in hand. “Are you an elf?” he asks.
“I do not know.” I say. “I have no idea who I am, or where I come from, because I have lived in the wilderness for my entire life.”
“Then how do you know our language?”
“The elves taught me, very long ago. Before they disappeared into the mountains.”
The prince studied me for a moment, then sheathed his knife. “You seem to be a human boy, and you could have come from any city in my father’s kingdom. How do I know that you do not lie?”
“I can speak elvish, too.” I say. “I can convince the trees to stop their attacks, and guide me. They led me here, because I said that I would help them. They don’t want to be invaded, any more than you want your father to claim them.”
The prince is silent for a moment. When he speaks, his voice is pleading.
“Take me away from here.” he begs. “I will help you stop my father’s men, but take me with you. I have no desire to return to the city, and my father’s stone fortresses. He and his men only abuse me and blame me for my mother’s death. My father will have me killed as soon as his new wife gives birth to another son. He will kill me without a second thought, so long as there is another who can take the throne in his place. He killed my elder sister only last year, and no one knows the reason. He killed my mother because she did not obey him. He is dangerous, and cannot be stopped or reasoned with. Please, help me!”
I have no idea what to say.
The prince’s face has become stained with tears. Any doubt he had of me, or I of him, has vanished. I saw how the soldier threatened his life, as casually as though he would cut him down without hesitation. I saw the fear in his eyes, and I see his tears. And if he did not trust me, why would he have told me this, begged me to help him.
I hold out my hand to him, and he takes it.

Total of 2584 words!

Random piece I wrote. Critique welcome! It sucks…

I lay on the grass, staring up at the bright sky, taking in the sunlight and heat. I love summer. I heard the constant chip of my brother carving, and the singing of the birds. I rolled onto my front and got a book out of the wicker basket which contained lunch, my watercolour set and my brother’s tools. My eyes skimmed over the pages, but i couldn't concentrate, so i got up and went to the stream. It glistened in the sunlight. Neither me or my brother talked, just taking in nature, and i cupped my hands and filled them with the pure water. It was cold and smooth, so drinking from it felt blissful. I went back over the meadow of daisies and dandelions and got my watercolour set out. I looked up at my brother carving in the tree, and started to paint. Soon, i finished doing a close up of a cornflower, detailing its intricate petals and seeds. I sighed. Tomorrow i would have to go back to school. School where everyone was rude and inappropriate and all they cared about was their phones and ‘jokes’ that were sexist and racist. School where all people cared about was social media and being cool. I mean, yes i have a couple of friends, but i never truly feel like i fit in. I go to school on the bus, but it takes 45 minutes since i live on a farm. I just listen to podcasts for half and chat to my friends for the other. Still - i hate school. Lessons are boring except from Drama, and my grades are not the best. No one notices me for what i do right, only the things i do wrong. I wish i could be as carefree as i wanted without the rest of the class being judgemental. First day of term. Non-school-uniform day. Oh no. Last time, i wore a t-shirt (purple and blue pastel tie-dye) and some denim shorts. Some of my friends wore similar - white lacy tops and shorts, surf shorts and crop top, relatively cool stuff. We all got teased. Apparently you wear tracksuits, things that are literally the same colours! Why? It clashes! Well okay, my style is different, but still! We got rude “jokes” coming at us all day. Mostly me though, cause my other friends are relatively popular. Not me. Because i’m unpopular.

3rd Weekly
2862 words

Part 1:

“Apotheosis” by Austin Wintory
465 words

The sand enters your eyes as you rub them to gain relief from the scorching sand. The vast Savanah stretches in front of you. You are lost there, with no means of communication nor food or water to survive for even a day. But, with no animals and trees the lands almost baren with life. You walk slowly crunching the grass underneath your feet. You go near tree to get some shade from the scorching heat but the tree has no leaves for it to give you shade, it is almost no longer alive. You are thirsty as your throat grows drier and drier. You falter, accidentally tripping over the rotten roots of a tree. You stumble, you don’t have the energy to walk anymore nor do you have the will to live. You give up and surrender to the will of life, thinking you would still be some kind of food for the carnivores. The last thing you hear before closing your eyes are screeches of an eagle. You slowly open your eyes, finding yourself in a cart, felling refreshed and not at all thirsty. A man sitting in front of you asks if you’re alright or not. You reply nodding slowly that you are alright. You than ask the man how he found you. The man replies that his pet eagle was the one who find him. The eagle screeches loudly flying from the sky towards the man as it sits on its arms obediently. You thank the man and leave. You still don’t have any place to go, as you are about to leave the man calls from the back and asks if you have any food or water and know where the path will lead you. You reluctantly reply that you do not know, the man laughs at hearing this and asks that what were you going to do then. You reply that you would follow the path you die even after someone else like the man saves them from the brink of death. The man seems amused at your answer and offers to provide you with shelter, food and water for a few days. You agree without a second thought, knowing that you would either way have to go away and follow your path later on. Your journey once again begins with the man as a companion, you share your various stories with him about this and that. The cart finally makes a stop, a stop near small lake as you see fishes jumping out from it. You are mesmerised by the beauty of nature both life and death as you go on and take a sip from it. The water tastes a bit salty but totally cool to you as you somewhat feel a cool breeze from the north.

Counting cars by The Oh Hellos
570 words

You feel a heartbeat like its beating in your head and not your chest. It feels as if some ones pulling your heart strings like a harp, creating a melody you have never heard before, it feels sweet but still sour as you stare at the stars from your balcony. Had I fallen in love you ask yourself, but you had none to fall for in your town. Then how could you possibly have fallen in love you think to yourself. But still, you feel your heart beating louder and louder with every second. You decide to go to bed for now any find about the mystery later on. The next day you see a man, ominously staring at you. You looked him in the eye and your heart just started beating like a harp being played. The man then walked away to another stall as you followed him. He was covered from head to toe with clothes, no way for you to see his face. You walk over to the man, following him for some time. The notices you , taking you to a street with no one but him and you. He turns around and asks why you’re following him, you hesitantly reply that you want to know who he is. The man laughs at listening to this and removes his cloak as he introduces himself as the prince of the land. You are shocked at hearing this as you bow in front of him asking for forgiveness for your behaviour. The prince says that you don’t need to ask for forgiveness as he is the one behaving like someone suspicious and you would get curious to see someone wear full sleeved clothes in this heat. You agree with him as you glance at his face as your heart suddenly starts beating like crazy again as you think to yourself how handsome the prince is. Trying to forget what you just thought about you ask the prince why he came to town. The prince at first being hesitant replies after looking at you with your eyes sparkling with curiosity that he just didn’t know why but he knew he needed to come here for someone. After he finishes speaking, he feels a heartbeat, a heartbeat louder and faster as he keeps staring at you. You than ask that he means his soulmate. The prince replies with a nod as you think about it to yourself, what if both of you were experiencing the same thing. While the prince is still confused as to why he feels this emotion he has never had felt such a strong and powerful emotion to make his face flush red like roses. You look at him and tell him how cute he looks like this, with saying this you also realise your mistake as you ask for forgiveness and say you didn’t mean it or anything. The prince asks with a straight face that does that mean he isn’t cute. Your hesitant at first but as he stares at you intensely you blurt out yes. Your face feels hot like the scorching sun shinning above you. While the prince is secretly amused at your answer as he by mistake blurts out that it’s the first time someone described him that way, laughing. You heart flutters looking at him laughing as your head almost bursts with this emotion, which you can’t at all describe.

Part 2: Inspiration
784 WORDS

Someone shot from the back as my heart felt restless. I took cover trying not to get shot gain. I clenched my fist as I thought, I had known Fin for years but I couldn’t believe how he turned on me and fought from the enemy’s side, I thought we were friends and would be till a loong time. But, I guess fate had other plans for us. Oh yeah, I might have forgot to mention that this was water fight not actual shooting fights, I mean who would have thought of that and anyway were still underaged. (Probably the ones reading this lol)
I heard a rustling in the bushes. Acckk I left my guard down in the heroic moment for to long. Stacey was already a few seconds away from shooting as I ran behind and sprayed her first.
“Aren’t we comrades?” Stacey said with puppy dog eyes, but it didn’t work on me
I gave her a hand getting up and said, “Don’t you know that trick doesn’t work on me”
“Yeah right! You’re cruel Liz” shouted Stacey
“Don’t’ shout-” but it was too late we were already surrounded and nothing could stop it from happening.
“Get ready to be drenched” said Jet running towards us
“Better be!” added Max
But they were unfortunately to slow for Ren who came in at zooming speed and splashed both of them before they could have splashed us. Though that wasn’t exactly the end…
“Now your turn” said Ren pointing it towards Stacey and me as he pulled the trigger but some shot him from the back, someone with incredible reflexes. That was Dawn, girl with superb athletic powers but no brains in studying, I know it sounds disappointing.
“Your all losers!” screamed Dawn, dancing like crazy
“Did you forget about the most important rule…” said Max as he looked at the sun
“…the game doesn’t end until sun set!” I added as I grabbed my gun ready to spray all four of them
S
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“That was a lot of fun, wasn’t it?” I said smiling cheerfully
“Of course, it was fun for you, you’re the only one who isn’t drenched,” said Max frowning
“Totally that is, otherwise you’re no different from us!” added Jet laughing as we walked drenched, towards my house.
My younger sister rushed out, covered in full sleeves.
Ok don’t get the idea that it was winter, it was clearly summer at its peak, “WHY ARE YOU COVERED IN FULL SLEEVES??” I asked with no bounds to my anger
“So that I wouldn’t get drenched like you all…” she replied mumbling
“Aren’t you feeling hot?” asked Stacey
“Nope not at all!” replied my sister giggling
“Your sister really is out of this world, isn’t she?” gestured Dawn
“Umm…you could say she’s temperature confused or something like that” I replied as we went inside the room to change our drenched clothes.
After some time…
I brought the juice with some ice cream, placing them on the table eating it with all pleasantry. The others where already asleep after playing, well except for my sister who was staring at the TV like the TV would respond to her intense staring.
I took the spoon, ate a bite of the ice cream, and came up with a brain freeze. I shivered all over, now I felt like I was sick. I took the thermometer to check my temperature….and unfortunately, I was right, I had a summer flu.
“Urr…ummm” mumbled Dawn in her sleep, while I wondered what she would have been dreaming about to make her mumble in her sleep.
I tried to wake her up, I splashed water on her face, put some ice on her head, still nothing worked. Finally, I took a feather and tickled her with it.
“Huh…haha, haaha” she started laughing so loud that everyone was woken awaken, well at first thinking she had gone crazy. Even so, she didn’t wake up. I told the others to experiment with the opportunity, we were all experiment lovers, well except for the one whom we were tickling that is.
Stacey brought a stinky sock and placed it on her face, she didn’t wake up. Max and Jet carried her and swung her, here from here and almost made her crash into the wall, still no reaction from her. In the end Ren brought a trumpet, placed her ear near it, still there was no reaction. I had given up all hope of waking her up, when my sister turned up the volume and Dawn woke up yawning.
Our jaws dropped, we tried different ways but she didn’t wake up, nevertheless she woke up with an increase in sound.
“WHAT THE-!”

Part 3: Delving into Themes
1043 words

Lena’s heart was beating, beating loud enough for her to her it in her head and not her chest. She felt that someone was pulling her heart strings like a harp, creating a melody she had never heard before but it sounded sweet and yet sour at the same time. She gazed ahead at the stars from her balcony wondering.

“Did I, of all people fall in love?” Lena asks herself thinking she would get a reply

“But there isn’t anyone my age or preference in this town, then how could I possibly be in love” Lena explained to herself trying to find a logical explanation for it, “It must be some disease than…”. She knew that there was no logical explanation for this but she insisted to keep believing it. Feed up from dwelling on her thoughts, she went to bed and decided to figure out the mystery later, or maybe at a time when she did fall in love.
The next day, Lena woke up in the morning, even before the roster crowed. Though she was surprised at the fact herself she didn’t feel sleep, nevertheless she felt more relaxed than ever before.

She set up her stall when she found a man unusually staring at her. Lena starts to scream internally while her heart keeps beating louder and louder with each passing moment. Lena stealthily peeks to look at the man, finding him covered from head to toe with a cloak. The man noticing Lean starts to move to another stall but Lena on the other hand unaware, that she’s following him, starts to follow him.

The man goes over to man stalls checking out items of different kinds, Lena thinks of the man to be a traveller. When the suddenly stops walking. Lena is startled, as the man turns around and asks, “Why are you following me?”

Lena hesitantly replies, “I-I wanted to know who you are?”

The man hearing this removed his cloak and says, “Dear maiden I’m the prince of this land, Ethan.”

Lena’s heart suddenly starts beating faster than the possible human heart can. She snaps out of it and bows, “I am sorry for my rude behaviour dear prince”.

The prince gladly accepts the apology, “But you don’t to be sorry for that…I mean I was covered from head to toe in this heat” he said sweating.

Lena nods to agree with him, as she glances over his face. When her suddenly starts to beat like crazy again. she feels she heart being pulled again, but this time the strings are very loose and don’t have any emotion to it. Yet you feel sweet inside like she ate a box of chocolates.

Lena beats at her chest hard but instead of her heart stopping to beat fast she feels internal pain.

Lena tries to contain herself as she asks the prince, “What did you come here, I mean what business do you have here prince”, she asks with her eyes filled with curiosity.

The prince hesitant at first replies as he looks as at Lena’s curious eyes, “I’m looking for something or someone and for the reason why I came here its basically on impulse”

“So umm…do you mean soulmate?” Lena asks

“Well maybe something like that…” the prince replies as he feels his heart starting to beat faster and faster as he stares at Lena. While Lena in her own world thinks to herself if the case between her and Ethan is the same.

Ethan is though still confused as to why he’s feeling this way as his face becomes flushed as the red in roses. Lena looks at him accidentally blurting out
“You look cute—uhh I didn’t mean that I meant…I meant-”

“Do you mean I don’t look cute?” asked Ethan with the face of a rejected puppy but a strait and serous expression.

Lena not being able to resist replies, “Yes, yes! I meant you look cute” as she said those words her cheeks became as red as tomatoes.

Ethan amused at her answer thinks to himself, “That’s the first time someone described him that way” as he starts to laugh not knowing that he spoke it out, laughing. Lena feels her heart clutching, as if it would burst right out if not tamed at the very moment. Her face feels hot, hot as the bright sun above her. She says to herself, “It’s all because of the sun nothing else, nothing else…”

When she suddenly hears a melody, one never heard before, it captivates her as she is taken into a trans. She moves forward, slowly towards the back of the alley. Ethan notices this, but doesn’t do anything as he observes Lena walking towards the back of the alley.

As she walks in that direction, shadows lurk out like monsters from stories. Ethan quickly takes out his word slashing thorough the shadows as he screams out, “LENA WAKE UP!”.

Unfortunately, Lena doesn’t come to her senses as Ethan helpless at the fact keeps a close watch on her.

Finally, Lena stops walking, in the middle of the desert which surrounds her town with Ethan still following her. Ethan comes up to her and shakes her, trying to wake her up but it doesn’t work. While inside Lena’s subconscious mind she keeps running and running, running towards the heartbeat that she hears. But to no end. She starts to lose her glimmer of hope when she feels it again, that sensation that someone’s waiting for her out there when she opens her eyes. She puts all her effort into it, shattering the trans created by the melody.

She opens her eyes to see a worried Ethan, walking around with no reason. She sits up straight and says “Why are you walking around Ethan, I mean prince”
Ethan hearing this, runs offer replying “Because you fainted all of a sudden”.

Lena looks at his worried expression, as she comes closer and says “No need to fret I’m not going to give up on life that easily” as she starts laughing.

Her starts beating, while the prince feels his heart beating as well louder and louder…until it fades away. It seems like the heartbeats connected somehow, someway linked both Lena and Ethan.

Piece to critique for the daily - It's from this week's weekly

Tw- Violence and death

The scream echoes out, Angeline falling to the ground beside me, bleeding. Suddenly everything is chaos. It takes me a moment to think through what could possibly have lead up to this moment. Disaster, violence, death. All at a simple party.
Music, gentle dancing. Celebration. Now all of that has crashed.
I've always loved music, and I've always loved being with people. Standing next to Angeline as the sun sets, dancing a little to the music being played by whatever artist or band is taking their turn on the stage at the time, laughing and smiling. That's how tonight began, and that's how it was supposed to have ended. But now this has happened. I kneel down beside my girlfriend, blinking through the tears blurring my eyes. She's struggling to breathe. “Hold on,” I whisper, clinging to her hand as if to illustrate what I mean.
“Allie,” she whispers, breath hitching, “It's too late.”
“No,” I say, “No, no, I will help you, you will live.” Even as I say it I feel her starting to slip away. The tears escape. I can't loose Angeline. After all this, I thought we were free, safe. Now I'm loosing the one person who's loved me through everything, who's been there my whole life. It feels like I'm the one bleeding out, not her. I wish it was me, not her.
“Allie,” she whispers again, “Promise me something, okay?”
I nod, unable to take my eyes off her beautiful face now twisted in pain and smeared with red. “Yes, anything.”
“Don't try to get revenge. No matter what. It will only make the pain of the world worse.”
I nod again. “No revenge, I promise.”
“I love you,” Angeline says.
“I love you too,” I respond.
She smiles, then her hand goes limp in mine, and the brilliant light leaves her beautiful green eyes. She's gone.
I lean my head down on her chest, no longer rising and falling, and let the tears stream out. I don't know how long I stay there. All I know is that by the time I look up, I'm alone. Just me and the carnage left behind at what was supposed to be a celebration. I'm sure everyone else fled.
Something compels me to glance up at the sky. When I do, I gasp. Colourful flames shoot through the heavens, surging, like breaths, like what no longer flows through Angeline. And green. Green like Angeline's eyes.

– – –

Seventeen people died. I hate numbers. But there it is. “Seventeen people died.” It doesn't say “Angeline, a sixteen-year-old amazing artist who had a girlfriend” or “Thomas, an eight-year-old who was dearly loved by his two brothers” all it says is “seventeen people.”
It mentions who killed them by name, because it's so much more important who's fault it was that seventeen people died than who died and who's grieving. At least, that's what they think.
I have now lived five days without my Angeline. That's the longest I've ever been apart from her. Our mothers were best friends. I was born two weeks after her. We practically lived together our whole lives. Until now. Now she's gone. She's up in the sky, maybe. Maybe she's watching me. Maybe she's somewhere completely separate from me. Maybe she's nowhere at all. I don't know. All I do know is that she isn't here, and that it hurts.
No revenge.
I have never been one to break a promise, and I have no intention of starting now. We know who did it. But no revenge.
Our meeting that night is seventeen people short, we all feel it. The spaces around the table, the lack of different opinions and the lack of ideas, even from those of us still here. We have holes dug into our souls.
Finally, an argument strikes up. It's never good to argue, but in this situation it not only seems appropriate that our meeting have an element of conflict, but it doesn't seem that bad since at least we're talking. Until I realize what the argument's really about, at its centre.
We're going after the ones who killed the seventeen missing voices. We're going to get revenge.
I listen as the voices scream louder and louder, everyone tossing their opinions, their frustrations, their grief, all onto one large pile that if it were tangible I'm sure it would be explosive. Angeline would have hated it. I hate it too.
“No,” I say. It's quiet. A harsh kind of quiet. And it's all the people need to silence themselves, to listen to me for a moment.
“No revenge. That was Angeline's last request. She told me to promise her not to get revenge. And I did.”
“Angeline though!” Someone shouts from across the table. It's Stanley. “After all she went through she still managed to be unbearably soft.”
“Angeline was a beauty,” I say, “she was the kindest soul in the world. I believe honouring her request would be the best thing for us to do, for all seventeen of our fallen siblings.”
My argument fails. The revenge is planned. Detailed. The three men responsible for the deaths of seventeen will now die. The twenty-one of us remaining will now be responsible for the deaths of three. And then the ones who loved those three will end up responsible for the deaths of twenty-one. It will never end. But by the time I get a chance to speak again, it's beyond too late.
The plan is set. I cannot stop it from being carried out.
But wait.
I can stop it from succeeding.
Three days later the plan is officially underway. I have no role. I'm fully and adamantly against it and everyone else knows that. But I'm the only one, my voice too small to make a difference here and now. As soon as I get a chance, I slip away. I walk slowly through the woods, parallel to the path they are set to follow, twenty minutes from now. I only barely have enough time. I reach my destination with four minutes to spare. The rest of them will be here sooner than is ideal for my plan, but just on time for theirs. Here is where they are. The three people responsible for the deaths of seventeen. And I'm here to warn them.
Miraculously, they believe me. All three of them set to work to avoid their own demise. They plan defense tactics and escape routes and explanations that seem a lot like lies. The way they say it, it sounds so horrible. And at that moment, I realize how horrible these people really are. And at that moment I realize I messed up, I realize I failed.
A fight, a terrible fight, is inevitable now.
They've called for backup. Three becomes thirty-nine. Twenty is still twenty. And battle engages.
Screams, shots, blood, all the things that terrified me the night Angeline died are back. All the things I tried to escape are here, and they're my fault.
I watch as, around me, people start dying again. Collapsing. Trampled. Forgotten, it seems. And more keep coming. Before long, people who have no bearance on the conflict, people who probably have no idea what's really going on here, have joined the fight from both sides. And finally I no longer have a choice. I end up in the fight as well. I don't have a weapon so I fight with my fists and my wit. And I loose.
Pain arcs through my left leg, piercing through everything else in my mind. I think i scream, but I really have no way to know. I lay there, I don't know how long, and I watch my friends, the twenty, get slaughtered. By the time the fighting lets up there are fourteen survivors, largely unharmed. None of them are of the twenty. Another shot rings out, the loud noise briefly shocking me away from my pain and I only have a split second to wonder why before it hits me. Literally. The pain in my leg feels like nothing now, not compared to the absolute fire in my chest. I'm fading fast. The last thought I ever have is failure. I failed Angeline and I failed myself. All I did was bring more pain into the world. I thought I was doing the right thing. I thought I was stoping this, stoping revenge. All I did was cause more harm, less joy, more pain, less justice.
“I'm sorry”
Thirteen survivors.