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- scratch_warrior_cat
-
Scratcher
500+ posts
Scratch Writing Camp Writing Sharing Thread (March 2022)
The Traveler’s Fate
Written by Wari
1,685 words
The white clouds are touched with orange, caught in the light of the fiery orb that sinks lower over the water. Above, the sky becomes a rich dark blue, the color of quiet reassurance and weary peace. And the day settles down, curling up to shelter under the night.
Although sunlight is fading, the village is illuminated by tiny pinpricks of light, golden reflections of the sparkling stars. Lullabies ring out from homes as young ones are put to sleep, nourished by dreams of the new day that awaits.
The sailor watches, feeling a twinge of longing for the family and friends they will leave behind. But their course is already charted to sail off into the fading horizon. So they turn away to watch the sinking sun as it casts flickering flames upon the waves.
The sailboat bobs through the endless ocean, and the navigator looks up at the moon and constellations. The company, although distant, helps chase away the flicker of loneliness and uncertainty that strikes the sailor’s heart. But memories arise nonetheless, reminding them of the land, the people, and the life that they left behind.
And they look up at the night sky and wonder if they made the right choice. What if the water never ended? Would they sail on forever, alone in the vastness? They push those thoughts away, pulling on the fierce hope that first drew them on this journey. The sailor closes their eyes, rejoicing in the sound of the wind and waves, promises of the grand destiny that will follow.
Then, as the light of dawn starts to flicker over the horizon, the sailor draws themself up and squints over the water. A muddled cloud lies in the distance, a sight that fills them with disbelief and excitement. They swing the sail, curving the boat’s course through the sea. As they approach the island, the sailor consults their compass and astrolabe, jotting the measurements onto a curled parchment.
The sailboat reaches the shore with a soft scrape, and the adventurer swings themself out, landing lightly on the soft sand. They converse with the natives, and are welcomed to the village nearby. There, they listen to the villagers’ stories, so different yet so similar to the ones they grew up with.
And they share tales of their own, telling of the life on an island far away. And they remain in the community, bonding with those who have taken the sailor into their homes and lives.
But as time passes, the explorer feels the tug of fate once more. It’s time for packing up, for final words of gratitude and tearful farewells.
So they set off again, full of new memories and experiences. And when the regret returns, the yearning for turning back and settling down, the traveler tucks the feelings back into their heart.
It was worth it once, and will be again.
* * * * *
And so they cast off, the breeze catching the sails to carry the small boat over the open water. The traveler watches and waits, taking measurements from the position of the sun and the stars to record their journey over the vast ocean.
But as hours turn into days, the sailor’s carefully prepared rations start to wane. The doubt and dread, so carefully buried, begin to rise in the sailor’s mind. The thoughts, pushed away at the start of their journey, slowly take over: What if this was a mistake? Why take a simple, foolish instinct, to leave everything they held dear? Why tempt fate, questioning the sheer luck that had already brought them to a place that was safe and happy?
The uncertainty drains the sailor’s resolve, and they wonder if they should turn back. But they leave the decision off, clinging to that irrational hope that there is something else out there, a land to be discovered in this wide, dark ocean.
Until one day, they make their morning inspection of the boat’s stores, and realize that they won’t survive a journey back. The food and water will last less than three-quarters of the distance they have already traveled.
That night, they stay awake long after the sun has set, staring up at the cold twinkles of light above. Perhaps luck will come to their rescue once more, and a fortunate alignment of the currents and wind would speed them home to the island before supplies run out. The sailor knows that it would be a more logical course of action, with better odds of survival than to continue venturing off into the unknown.
But that hidden spirit still burns within them, the desire to follow their heart wherever it takes them, no matter the cost. The sailor searches deep inside their mind, wondering if they truly would risk everything to chase a distant fantasy, to starve in the middle of the unforgiving ocean, never to speak to another soul again.
After a night of tossing and turning, the bright glow of dawn starts to peak over the horizon. The light strikes a deep emotion within them. So they make their decision, a promise to the conflicting parts of their mind. They will spend one more day on the ocean, one more day to see if what they are looking for is truly out there. One more day to find their destiny. And then they will turn back, and pray that they will be able to get back home in time.
As the day stretches on, the traveler searches tirelessly for any sign of a safe haven in the ocean. They watch for a dark blur on the horizon, a bird flying in the air, a stray leaf floating on the water. But no such omen appears.
Focused and driven by their task, the sailor fails to notice the dark clouds billowing in the sky, until they blot out even the sun. Only moments after they realize what is happening, ferocious gusts start to yank and shove at the boat’s sides, tossing it over the churning waves. The sailor abandons their search, frantically tying down and securing supplies and equipment.
The storm crackles with enraged energy, sending ripples of thunder through the air. The sailor shelters below deck, terror pulsing through their veins. For hours, the boat groans and buckles with the repeated blows from the sky and water. Then there’s a resounding crack, and water is pouring through the hull, and the wooden beams are being forced apart by the torrent, and the sailor pushes their way upwards, desperate to get out before they are dragged down beneath the sinking vessel.
They cling to the beam that was once the mast, which now floats limply beneath the tempest. And then a wave rises before them, climbing up and up until it’s taller than any tree that the sailor has ever seen. And it roars, rushing toward them at unimaginable speed. Then the world is liquid, and everything goes dark.
* * * * *
Soft rosy fingers spread across the sky, turning the clouds pink with the light of dawn. The sailor is battered and weak as they awake on rough, rocky ground. As they gaze around, they can see that the shore is littered with scraps of wood: the remains of their boat.
They rise unsteadily and inspect the wreckage, looking for anything that can possibly be salvaged. Miraculously, a container of dried food has washed up nearby, but there is no sign of any other supplies.
Still numb with shock, the castaway gathers resources from the debris. They drag usable planks and supplies to higher ground, to avoid the materials washing away with the tide. Once their task is complete, they start to construct a shelter for protection from the elements.
Over the next few days, they forage in the nearby jungle, discovering fruits and berries, as well as a spring that provides freshwater. The new resources help sustain them as weeks pass, and the castaway begins to construct a niche in the environment. But as the days go on, the castaway has time to reflect on the circumstances that had led them here. They don’t know how or why they survived that terrible storm. Perhaps fate smiled upon their courage and determination. Or maybe they just got lucky, again.
As the castaway starts to feel at home on the small, isolated island, they begin to miss the thrill of discovery. Just as before, there are mingled feelings of hope and trepidation. But this time, something new swells up as they wonder about leaving. The dark memory of feeling trapped, hopeless, and alone in the midst of the raging storm lies at the background of every thought.
The once-explorer shoves the naïve dream away bitterly. They never want to get themself into such a situation again. So they remain on the island, watching as the weeks become months, and the monotony starts to become suffocating. Their days are calm and quiet, but they start to miss even the terror of their earlier life.
Finally, one morning, watching the bright, joyful sun amble over the horizon, the desperate pull overcomes the lingering fear. So they begin to construct a new vessel.
A few weeks later, the craft is complete. It’s not as well-built as the first, but is enough to carry them on their journey. So they gather supplies once more, wishing farewell to the animals and the trees. The freedom and joy upon disembarking is enough to convince the sailor that they are making the right choice, and they steel their heart against the worry and regret that will inevitably arise.
* * * * *
Dark clouds start to cover the horizon, marking the end of the sailor’s seventh day on the sea. As the scale within their mind starts to tip towards anxiety and fear, small lights are visible on the horizon. The sailor rows their vessel closer, barely daring to breathe.
As they near, land emerges from the mist. And beyond it, more landmasses rise out of the ocean. An archipelago lays before their eyes. The traveler smiles, feeling their hope swell and grow.
Adventure awaits. The only task that remains is to embrace it.
Last edited by scratch_warrior_cat (March 24, 2022 23:38:20)
- DashingDiamonds
-
Scratcher
34 posts
Scratch Writing Camp Writing Sharing Thread (March 2022)
Weekly 3
Inspired by ‘shake it off’
People say I do too many things, try too hard, not try hard enough. That I have nothing in my brain. I have gone through so many insults. So many people tell me I do things wrong. That's what they say anyway, in hopes I will stop. I don’t. I keep going, keep climbing, keep cruising. I will never stop because of petty insults from those who know nothing about me. I won’t let them break me down, I'm too strong for that. It’s like I have a force in my mind, a music, in a way that keeps me going. And no matter what happens, that music tells me it's going to be alright. I’ve never asked myself if this voice is wrong, if I shouldn't listen to it. It's a part of me, I know it's right. I can’t listen to the fool who will never stop insulting me. The haters will hate, just like players will play. They will never stop, so why should I? I’ll shake it off, be free of hateful words and glares. When I’m on the floor, nothing can stop me. I can let go of all my troubles, why would I want to let go of that? The fakers will fake, heart-breakers will break, and I'll just brush it off like nothing ever happened. There may be insults, but at least when I'm dancing, no one can stop me. I’ve never missed a beat, and I'm fast, quick on my feet. But they don’t see that. That's what they don’t see, don't understand, and I've realized it’ll always be like that. They will never understand why I feel so happy when I am dancing, never understand how good I really am, and I've come to accept that. It's like my life is a dance. I’m dancing all alone, making up moves as I go, but I'm having fun. That's what they don’t know. I could never be happy like other people, sitting in an office all day for a living. At least in my life, I will be happy. They don’t know that, and they still never will. I won’t let that stop me. The voice in my head still guides me, and I know things will turn out alright. WHile they are going about the liars and cheats of the world, they could be dancing to this beat, being free of troubles.
Inspired by ‘Speechless’
There it is again. That wave that people send at me, in hopes of drowning me. In hopes I swallow the sand and have nothing to say, my voice being drowned out by the thunder of other voices. Speechless. That's how they want me. A doll, better to be seen than heard, more of a tool of others than a person. I won’t let them though. I won’t cry as they try to cut me down. Make me crumble into nothing. I won't let them break my spirit and shake my hands. I won’t be silenced, and nothing they can do will let me. I won’t wince when they break my words into shards. All I know is I can’t go speechless, and I won’t. I'll breathe as they try to suffocate me, and I won’t let them underestimate me. I won’t go speechless. I will make my words be heard. It's like every rule has been carved into stone, an impossible feat to destroy them. They always had a boundary I had to stay in, a trap. They may try and try again to cut me down, but they will never break my spirit. I don't go without saying my words, without having my own part. I will break down those stones like they are nothing but butter. They will shatter in my hands, and I will free myself. I don’t need anyone else to rescue me this time. This time, I will escape the trap myself, with my own will, and I will show the power they tried to take away from me. I can’t crumble to these people. They can go on and try as much as they want to cut me down, but I won’t crumble. I won’t be silenced. I know I won't let my spirit be free. You may break my body, you may break my bones, but you can’t take my mind away from me. I will never be silenced, and all I know is my voice will be heard. Let the storm in. I can’t be broken by anything anymore. Your stones are no longer powerful. I won’t live as an unspoken item in my life. You can lock me into this cage, but I won’t just give up, just lay down and plead for mercy. No, I will take my broken wings and burn across the sky. I will embody the fact that you have been trying to take away, I won’t go speechless.
I never guessed I was a demigod. I was just your standard nerd. I would read books, be good at school, and have no friends. You know, the usual. So that's why it surprised me when a centaur showed up to my house one day. It started when my mom had left for a work trip.
“I’ll be back soon.” she had said “Lock all the doors, don’t go out, and be safe. Ok honey?” After long conversations and multiple assurances I would be fine she finally left. You would have thought that a murderer ws after me, which I later found out, was not far from the truth. The first day was fine. It was spring break, and I had time to do what I pleased. I stayed home, rather having the company of myself than being stuck with girls who wanted to do nothing but cover their faces in make-up. On monday, I woke up to hear a doorbell ringing. I automatically headed towards the door, thinking it was the mailman. Needless to say, I was surprised to see a centaur in front of me. From the waist up, he was just your normal guy. A standard blue vest was wrapped around him, and a bag hung from his shoulder. He looked quite bored, as if he did this every day. AT first I just thought ‘hey, he’s got horse legs,’ until my brain finally caught up with my eyes. I pinched myself, thinking it was a dream. Nope, definitely awake. I must've taken a long time staring there, because he finally spoke
“Any problems?” He asked flatly, as if he couldn't care less.
“Y-you are part horse.” I stammered. That caught his attention. He looked at me for a few seconds, looking surprised.
“How did you know that?” He asked, his voice for the first time showing interest. Before I could respond, he pulled me along by the wrist through the hall. I was too dazed to fight, though, and I felt as if all my energy had been drained out of me. I stumbled down the hall, my eyes a mirror of mist and confusion. The centaur was muttering under his breath now, as if I was a major inconvenience to him. By the time we were down to the street, my annoying brain was still lagging behind, and I was still stuck in shock. The street was busy, yet people cruised through the streets without batting an eye at us. The centaur pulled a gold coin out of hi pocket and uttered the words “Stêthi ‘Ô hárma diabolês.” In the blink of an eye, a car appeared. I looked like a normal taxi, but when the window rolled down, it became obvious that it was anything but that. Inside the car were 3 women, one of which had an eyeball in her hand.
“To camp half-blood” the centaur said gruffly, as if he saw things like this every day. He pushed me into the car, not in an unkind way. “Y-your not coming with me?” I asked, terrified of being alone in this taxi with these people. He laughed gruffly at this. “I have other things to do,” He responded. With that the centaur walked off. Immediately after I closed the door of the car, the taxi sped fast. The ride was a nightmare at first, with the three people fighting over the eyeball while driving as fast as a cheetah. Eventually, I was able to calm down, and I learnt quite a few things. I learned that the reason all of these things that should’ve stood out were obscured by the mist, making people see nothing much out of the ordinary. I learnt that I was a demigod, and the three people were the gray sisters. The facts went on and on and on. SLowly, relaxation overtook me, and after that, the trip was a breeze. Reaching camp half-blood was a blur to me, my movements were automatic but I will never forget that feeling of belonging. I finally felt like I was around people who understood me. Later on, I called my mom, and she confessed she knew all along. I was fine though, too elated to feel betrayed.
I woke up to the soft voice of Carmen.
“Amethyst, time to wake up,” She said “We have to go soon.” I inwardly groaned, my feelings a mix of fear and sadness. It felt like only yesterday my mother was the one waking me up, and despite Carmen’s kindness to me, it didn’t pass the excitement I would feel when my mom was the first person I saw in the morning, when she took out time just for me. I wished that I hadn’t taken those moments for granted, considering them a normal thing. I would do anything so I could see my mother again, spend time with her again. I tried to bruh these thoughts off as I got up, and gave Carmen a smile. Though my smile was nothing but a costume to what I truly felt. When Carmen smiled back, it gave me a sliver of warmth and happiness. Carmen was more than a servant to me. WHen my mother died, she was the only person I felt cared for, and I still feel like that.
“Are you nervous about your coronation?” Carmen asked. I buried my head under the blanket.
“Yeah.” I said, deciding it was easier than explaining the mixed emotions stirring inside of me. I knew my mother would want me to be here, but I was scared. Scared my childhood would be gone in an instant, that I would lose who I really was in the flood of responsibilities that would come to me.
“It won’t be that bad, you know, “ Carmen said, pulling me out of my thoughts “You will make a great queen.” Shortly after, she left, leaving me to prepare myself. It won't be that bad I thought. Just stop worrying about it. I pulled myself together and got ready. As I walked down the hall to the throne room, I felt smaller than I ever had before. I was 18 at the time, but I felt as if I had no knowledge. My brain ran in circles, doing nothing but imagining the worst things that could happen. By the time I was almost in the throne room, I felt like crying. I felt alone, scared, and most of all, unready for the role that would be placed on my shoulders. I wished I was just a kid again, free of responsibility and worry. Pull yourself together, I thought You will be fine. Despite trying to make myself feel better, I was finding it harder and harder. I didn’t feel ready for the challenge, I didn’t think I was ready to do this. Once I reached the throne room, everything was a tornado of preparation. I wore a dress, and I could see people setting up tables and chairs. A shiver went down my spine as I realized how many people would be there to see me today, and how much this mattered. Seeing so many people working so hard just to make this happen gave me a sense of determination. The worries in my head faded slightly, and I made myself believe that I would do this right. An hour later, people started pouring into the throne room. WHile this was happening, I had to stand up in front of the throne, above all these people. I tried my hardest to look regal, as if I had no worries, but it felt as if I was being pinned down by a million stars. Whatever had faded started to come back, stronger than ever, as questions appeared in my head. What did they think of me? DId they think I was too young? But what scared me most of all was the idea that they could see right through my posture and clothing, and see that underneath it all, I was just a little girl. Just a girl playing dress-up, someone that wasn’t near ready. Then, before I knew it, the trumpets started playing, a sound I was more than familiar with. A man came out, wearing a formal suit. In his hands was a pillow, upon that laying a crown. My mothers crown. My heart started pounding out of my chest, and it felt as if I was a deer in headlights. After what felt like several agonizing minutes, my eye caught the sight of Carmen. She saw me, and winked at me, like everything was normal. That moment gave me the bravery I needed. Seeing someone put faith in me, belief that I would be able to do things right, was what I needed to realize the truth. At that moment, I realized I was ready. I realized I was ready to take on this new challenge. I realized that I would be okay. I had trained my entire life for this moment, and I would take it as a blessing not a curse. With comical timing, the man started speaking. “Do you, Princess Amethyst, take the role of queen?” My lips turned upward and I gave a smile -a true one- before responding “Yes, I do.” The rest of the ceremony went as a breeze, and I even was able to enjoy myself without being constantly in fear. Instead of the weight I had expected to come on my shoulders, a weight was lifted off. I had finally taken on the responsibility, becoming who I was meant to be. As the ceremony came to an end, applause filled the air. I gave a breath of relief, before smiling at the crowd. Thoughts flowed through me, but with positivity instead of fear. As I got off the platform and headed toward the crowd, I made a promise to myself, and I promised myself that I would carry on the legacy of my mother, and that I would make her proud. After that, I let myself be carried away by the celebration, and let myself be free. I had taken on the challenge, and I was given a pleasant surprise in return. The time flew by, and it felt like only a few moments when the sky darkened and stars started appearing in the sky. The sky seemed brighter, and the stars radiated pure light. I am a queen I thought, as I stared at the stars. A feeling of optimism flowed through me, and I realized that everything was going to be alright
Inspired by ‘shake it off’
People say I do too many things, try too hard, not try hard enough. That I have nothing in my brain. I have gone through so many insults. So many people tell me I do things wrong. That's what they say anyway, in hopes I will stop. I don’t. I keep going, keep climbing, keep cruising. I will never stop because of petty insults from those who know nothing about me. I won’t let them break me down, I'm too strong for that. It’s like I have a force in my mind, a music, in a way that keeps me going. And no matter what happens, that music tells me it's going to be alright. I’ve never asked myself if this voice is wrong, if I shouldn't listen to it. It's a part of me, I know it's right. I can’t listen to the fool who will never stop insulting me. The haters will hate, just like players will play. They will never stop, so why should I? I’ll shake it off, be free of hateful words and glares. When I’m on the floor, nothing can stop me. I can let go of all my troubles, why would I want to let go of that? The fakers will fake, heart-breakers will break, and I'll just brush it off like nothing ever happened. There may be insults, but at least when I'm dancing, no one can stop me. I’ve never missed a beat, and I'm fast, quick on my feet. But they don’t see that. That's what they don’t see, don't understand, and I've realized it’ll always be like that. They will never understand why I feel so happy when I am dancing, never understand how good I really am, and I've come to accept that. It's like my life is a dance. I’m dancing all alone, making up moves as I go, but I'm having fun. That's what they don’t know. I could never be happy like other people, sitting in an office all day for a living. At least in my life, I will be happy. They don’t know that, and they still never will. I won’t let that stop me. The voice in my head still guides me, and I know things will turn out alright. WHile they are going about the liars and cheats of the world, they could be dancing to this beat, being free of troubles.
Inspired by ‘Speechless’
There it is again. That wave that people send at me, in hopes of drowning me. In hopes I swallow the sand and have nothing to say, my voice being drowned out by the thunder of other voices. Speechless. That's how they want me. A doll, better to be seen than heard, more of a tool of others than a person. I won’t let them though. I won’t cry as they try to cut me down. Make me crumble into nothing. I won't let them break my spirit and shake my hands. I won’t be silenced, and nothing they can do will let me. I won’t wince when they break my words into shards. All I know is I can’t go speechless, and I won’t. I'll breathe as they try to suffocate me, and I won’t let them underestimate me. I won’t go speechless. I will make my words be heard. It's like every rule has been carved into stone, an impossible feat to destroy them. They always had a boundary I had to stay in, a trap. They may try and try again to cut me down, but they will never break my spirit. I don't go without saying my words, without having my own part. I will break down those stones like they are nothing but butter. They will shatter in my hands, and I will free myself. I don’t need anyone else to rescue me this time. This time, I will escape the trap myself, with my own will, and I will show the power they tried to take away from me. I can’t crumble to these people. They can go on and try as much as they want to cut me down, but I won’t crumble. I won’t be silenced. I know I won't let my spirit be free. You may break my body, you may break my bones, but you can’t take my mind away from me. I will never be silenced, and all I know is my voice will be heard. Let the storm in. I can’t be broken by anything anymore. Your stones are no longer powerful. I won’t live as an unspoken item in my life. You can lock me into this cage, but I won’t just give up, just lay down and plead for mercy. No, I will take my broken wings and burn across the sky. I will embody the fact that you have been trying to take away, I won’t go speechless.
I never guessed I was a demigod. I was just your standard nerd. I would read books, be good at school, and have no friends. You know, the usual. So that's why it surprised me when a centaur showed up to my house one day. It started when my mom had left for a work trip.
“I’ll be back soon.” she had said “Lock all the doors, don’t go out, and be safe. Ok honey?” After long conversations and multiple assurances I would be fine she finally left. You would have thought that a murderer ws after me, which I later found out, was not far from the truth. The first day was fine. It was spring break, and I had time to do what I pleased. I stayed home, rather having the company of myself than being stuck with girls who wanted to do nothing but cover their faces in make-up. On monday, I woke up to hear a doorbell ringing. I automatically headed towards the door, thinking it was the mailman. Needless to say, I was surprised to see a centaur in front of me. From the waist up, he was just your normal guy. A standard blue vest was wrapped around him, and a bag hung from his shoulder. He looked quite bored, as if he did this every day. AT first I just thought ‘hey, he’s got horse legs,’ until my brain finally caught up with my eyes. I pinched myself, thinking it was a dream. Nope, definitely awake. I must've taken a long time staring there, because he finally spoke
“Any problems?” He asked flatly, as if he couldn't care less.
“Y-you are part horse.” I stammered. That caught his attention. He looked at me for a few seconds, looking surprised.
“How did you know that?” He asked, his voice for the first time showing interest. Before I could respond, he pulled me along by the wrist through the hall. I was too dazed to fight, though, and I felt as if all my energy had been drained out of me. I stumbled down the hall, my eyes a mirror of mist and confusion. The centaur was muttering under his breath now, as if I was a major inconvenience to him. By the time we were down to the street, my annoying brain was still lagging behind, and I was still stuck in shock. The street was busy, yet people cruised through the streets without batting an eye at us. The centaur pulled a gold coin out of hi pocket and uttered the words “Stêthi ‘Ô hárma diabolês.” In the blink of an eye, a car appeared. I looked like a normal taxi, but when the window rolled down, it became obvious that it was anything but that. Inside the car were 3 women, one of which had an eyeball in her hand.
“To camp half-blood” the centaur said gruffly, as if he saw things like this every day. He pushed me into the car, not in an unkind way. “Y-your not coming with me?” I asked, terrified of being alone in this taxi with these people. He laughed gruffly at this. “I have other things to do,” He responded. With that the centaur walked off. Immediately after I closed the door of the car, the taxi sped fast. The ride was a nightmare at first, with the three people fighting over the eyeball while driving as fast as a cheetah. Eventually, I was able to calm down, and I learnt quite a few things. I learned that the reason all of these things that should’ve stood out were obscured by the mist, making people see nothing much out of the ordinary. I learnt that I was a demigod, and the three people were the gray sisters. The facts went on and on and on. SLowly, relaxation overtook me, and after that, the trip was a breeze. Reaching camp half-blood was a blur to me, my movements were automatic but I will never forget that feeling of belonging. I finally felt like I was around people who understood me. Later on, I called my mom, and she confessed she knew all along. I was fine though, too elated to feel betrayed.
I woke up to the soft voice of Carmen.
“Amethyst, time to wake up,” She said “We have to go soon.” I inwardly groaned, my feelings a mix of fear and sadness. It felt like only yesterday my mother was the one waking me up, and despite Carmen’s kindness to me, it didn’t pass the excitement I would feel when my mom was the first person I saw in the morning, when she took out time just for me. I wished that I hadn’t taken those moments for granted, considering them a normal thing. I would do anything so I could see my mother again, spend time with her again. I tried to bruh these thoughts off as I got up, and gave Carmen a smile. Though my smile was nothing but a costume to what I truly felt. When Carmen smiled back, it gave me a sliver of warmth and happiness. Carmen was more than a servant to me. WHen my mother died, she was the only person I felt cared for, and I still feel like that.
“Are you nervous about your coronation?” Carmen asked. I buried my head under the blanket.
“Yeah.” I said, deciding it was easier than explaining the mixed emotions stirring inside of me. I knew my mother would want me to be here, but I was scared. Scared my childhood would be gone in an instant, that I would lose who I really was in the flood of responsibilities that would come to me.
“It won’t be that bad, you know, “ Carmen said, pulling me out of my thoughts “You will make a great queen.” Shortly after, she left, leaving me to prepare myself. It won't be that bad I thought. Just stop worrying about it. I pulled myself together and got ready. As I walked down the hall to the throne room, I felt smaller than I ever had before. I was 18 at the time, but I felt as if I had no knowledge. My brain ran in circles, doing nothing but imagining the worst things that could happen. By the time I was almost in the throne room, I felt like crying. I felt alone, scared, and most of all, unready for the role that would be placed on my shoulders. I wished I was just a kid again, free of responsibility and worry. Pull yourself together, I thought You will be fine. Despite trying to make myself feel better, I was finding it harder and harder. I didn’t feel ready for the challenge, I didn’t think I was ready to do this. Once I reached the throne room, everything was a tornado of preparation. I wore a dress, and I could see people setting up tables and chairs. A shiver went down my spine as I realized how many people would be there to see me today, and how much this mattered. Seeing so many people working so hard just to make this happen gave me a sense of determination. The worries in my head faded slightly, and I made myself believe that I would do this right. An hour later, people started pouring into the throne room. WHile this was happening, I had to stand up in front of the throne, above all these people. I tried my hardest to look regal, as if I had no worries, but it felt as if I was being pinned down by a million stars. Whatever had faded started to come back, stronger than ever, as questions appeared in my head. What did they think of me? DId they think I was too young? But what scared me most of all was the idea that they could see right through my posture and clothing, and see that underneath it all, I was just a little girl. Just a girl playing dress-up, someone that wasn’t near ready. Then, before I knew it, the trumpets started playing, a sound I was more than familiar with. A man came out, wearing a formal suit. In his hands was a pillow, upon that laying a crown. My mothers crown. My heart started pounding out of my chest, and it felt as if I was a deer in headlights. After what felt like several agonizing minutes, my eye caught the sight of Carmen. She saw me, and winked at me, like everything was normal. That moment gave me the bravery I needed. Seeing someone put faith in me, belief that I would be able to do things right, was what I needed to realize the truth. At that moment, I realized I was ready. I realized I was ready to take on this new challenge. I realized that I would be okay. I had trained my entire life for this moment, and I would take it as a blessing not a curse. With comical timing, the man started speaking. “Do you, Princess Amethyst, take the role of queen?” My lips turned upward and I gave a smile -a true one- before responding “Yes, I do.” The rest of the ceremony went as a breeze, and I even was able to enjoy myself without being constantly in fear. Instead of the weight I had expected to come on my shoulders, a weight was lifted off. I had finally taken on the responsibility, becoming who I was meant to be. As the ceremony came to an end, applause filled the air. I gave a breath of relief, before smiling at the crowd. Thoughts flowed through me, but with positivity instead of fear. As I got off the platform and headed toward the crowd, I made a promise to myself, and I promised myself that I would carry on the legacy of my mother, and that I would make her proud. After that, I let myself be carried away by the celebration, and let myself be free. I had taken on the challenge, and I was given a pleasant surprise in return. The time flew by, and it felt like only a few moments when the sky darkened and stars started appearing in the sky. The sky seemed brighter, and the stars radiated pure light. I am a queen I thought, as I stared at the stars. A feeling of optimism flowed through me, and I realized that everything was going to be alright
- AmazaEevee
-
Scratcher
500+ posts
Scratch Writing Camp Writing Sharing Thread (March 2022)
March 23, 2022
Word count: 837
Week 3; Part 1, Part 2, Part 3
Weekly Part 1:
14.3 Billion Years - Andrew Prahlow (from the Outer Wilds OST)
Letters
419 words
Out of the Crowd,
I’ve seen you around. You stand out of the crowd. You stick up for yourself and others. You’re strong and brave. I don’t know if I could do that. Be bold and confident, I mean. It gets hard. People look down on me. It gets messy with those types of people. I don’t know how you do it. We’re just a bunch of misfits. Where do we fit in? There’s nothing magical or special about us. We just stick out and in doing so just cause ourselves pain. What’s the point in that? I would rather blend with the crowd than get bullied around. How do you do it? I don’t know how much I could handle being in that situation.
Blending In
Blending In,
I used to do the same. Blend in and follow the crowd. We’re a bunch of misfits and we should accept that. The bullies make you feel insecure because they are insecure. Don’t listen to what they say. You are unique and amazing, just by being your imperfect self. It can get hard, becoming a bigger target. But it’s also motivating. I help others and protect them. Seeing them be happy is more than enough of a reward for me. What makes you happy? Being yourself and becoming hurt for a short while or being someone else and hurting more in the long run? Everyone has a valuable part to contribute in. No matter how useless you think you are, there’s someone who’s going to learn from you. Whether it’s from your mistakes or your accomplishments, you can inspire someone. Standing up for what you believe shouldn’t be a regrettable choice in the long run. Do you want to stay silenced forever? Then when are you going to find your voice?
Out of the Crowd
Out of the Crowd,
What made you want to stand up for your beliefs? Who inspired you? What got you started?Why would you do it, even if you knew you would get hurt? I can’t find my place; I don’t know how to help. What do I have to contribute? I just become a nuisance to everyone, so what’s the point? I’ve tried standing up for myself! Where has that gotten me now? It hasn’t helped me find what I want to do or figure out the next step. It’s broken me down even more. I have a voice, I just can’t use it. I could hurt others more in the process.
Blending In
City of Tears - Christopher Larkin (From the Hollow Knight OST)
418 words
The water splashes against the rocks violently. The storm above isn’t getting better, the wind howling every so loudly. A large ship arises from the mist, the gold accents shining wherever the little rays of sunlight hit it. The rolling waves carry the ship in a tumbling current. The people on deck seem worried, scared for their lives. They hadn’t seen a storm like this in their careers as sailors before. It could have well been the largest storm for the century.
The captain of the ship looked worried, he didn’t know what to expect in a raging storm like this. His men were anxious, some even abandoning their jobs on deck. He had to try his best to keep the ship stable. The currents only grew stronger and the wind fiercer. A sail was ripped off of the ship and flew in the wind. The ship was slowly breaking, he could feel it. Not only the ship, but also the crew. They were in chaos, discoordination with one another. The captain alone couldn’t do it. But he could try, oh did he try. Even as his hat flew off and his eyes were squinted; he stood tall. A nasty growl came from the water and a bang sent the ship hurling to the left. The captain lost his balance and he scrambled to get back to the wheel.
“Captain, it’s no use!” his first mate called, “We have no luck here! We have no way to escape anymore!”
And as if he had jinxed it, the ship was flipped. The captain had no idea or memory of what exactly happened next. He knew when he hit the water, it was freezing cold. He had tried to swim or… He found some driftwood and held onto it. He had woken to see calm waters and a body of land not too far. The captain frantically swam to the shore, relieved to have rest. He laid down to rest and fell fast asleep.
As he was napping, a creature came out of the water. With long silky hair the color of the sea and eyes bright as the sun, it was a young woman. With the exception of the jagged purple tail attached to her body. She looked at him curiously and accidentally poked his eye.
The captain got up, rubbing his eye, “Who, hm?” he asked, seeing the mermaid in front of him, “Oh, golly!” He jumped up and got up to ran when she grabbed his ankle.
Word count: 837
Week 3; Part 1, Part 2, Part 3
Weekly Part 1:
14.3 Billion Years - Andrew Prahlow (from the Outer Wilds OST)
Letters
419 words
Out of the Crowd,
I’ve seen you around. You stand out of the crowd. You stick up for yourself and others. You’re strong and brave. I don’t know if I could do that. Be bold and confident, I mean. It gets hard. People look down on me. It gets messy with those types of people. I don’t know how you do it. We’re just a bunch of misfits. Where do we fit in? There’s nothing magical or special about us. We just stick out and in doing so just cause ourselves pain. What’s the point in that? I would rather blend with the crowd than get bullied around. How do you do it? I don’t know how much I could handle being in that situation.
Blending In
Blending In,
I used to do the same. Blend in and follow the crowd. We’re a bunch of misfits and we should accept that. The bullies make you feel insecure because they are insecure. Don’t listen to what they say. You are unique and amazing, just by being your imperfect self. It can get hard, becoming a bigger target. But it’s also motivating. I help others and protect them. Seeing them be happy is more than enough of a reward for me. What makes you happy? Being yourself and becoming hurt for a short while or being someone else and hurting more in the long run? Everyone has a valuable part to contribute in. No matter how useless you think you are, there’s someone who’s going to learn from you. Whether it’s from your mistakes or your accomplishments, you can inspire someone. Standing up for what you believe shouldn’t be a regrettable choice in the long run. Do you want to stay silenced forever? Then when are you going to find your voice?
Out of the Crowd
Out of the Crowd,
What made you want to stand up for your beliefs? Who inspired you? What got you started?Why would you do it, even if you knew you would get hurt? I can’t find my place; I don’t know how to help. What do I have to contribute? I just become a nuisance to everyone, so what’s the point? I’ve tried standing up for myself! Where has that gotten me now? It hasn’t helped me find what I want to do or figure out the next step. It’s broken me down even more. I have a voice, I just can’t use it. I could hurt others more in the process.
Blending In
City of Tears - Christopher Larkin (From the Hollow Knight OST)
418 words
The water splashes against the rocks violently. The storm above isn’t getting better, the wind howling every so loudly. A large ship arises from the mist, the gold accents shining wherever the little rays of sunlight hit it. The rolling waves carry the ship in a tumbling current. The people on deck seem worried, scared for their lives. They hadn’t seen a storm like this in their careers as sailors before. It could have well been the largest storm for the century.
The captain of the ship looked worried, he didn’t know what to expect in a raging storm like this. His men were anxious, some even abandoning their jobs on deck. He had to try his best to keep the ship stable. The currents only grew stronger and the wind fiercer. A sail was ripped off of the ship and flew in the wind. The ship was slowly breaking, he could feel it. Not only the ship, but also the crew. They were in chaos, discoordination with one another. The captain alone couldn’t do it. But he could try, oh did he try. Even as his hat flew off and his eyes were squinted; he stood tall. A nasty growl came from the water and a bang sent the ship hurling to the left. The captain lost his balance and he scrambled to get back to the wheel.
“Captain, it’s no use!” his first mate called, “We have no luck here! We have no way to escape anymore!”
And as if he had jinxed it, the ship was flipped. The captain had no idea or memory of what exactly happened next. He knew when he hit the water, it was freezing cold. He had tried to swim or… He found some driftwood and held onto it. He had woken to see calm waters and a body of land not too far. The captain frantically swam to the shore, relieved to have rest. He laid down to rest and fell fast asleep.
As he was napping, a creature came out of the water. With long silky hair the color of the sea and eyes bright as the sun, it was a young woman. With the exception of the jagged purple tail attached to her body. She looked at him curiously and accidentally poked his eye.
The captain got up, rubbing his eye, “Who, hm?” he asked, seeing the mermaid in front of him, “Oh, golly!” He jumped up and got up to ran when she grabbed his ankle.
Last edited by AmazaEevee (March 23, 2022 23:02:27)
- AmazaEevee
-
Scratcher
500+ posts
Scratch Writing Camp Writing Sharing Thread (March 2022)
March 23, 2022
Word count: 732
Week 3; Part 1, Part 2, Part 3
Weekly Part 2:
The maze, the maze. We’ve been stuck in here forever! This mystery is taking a lot longer than I had hoped. We had solved all the clues, now what? It feels like we’ve been going in circles. I kick the rock in front of me and huff, leaning against the wall behind me.
“Li-Lina-” August says, pointing at me.
“What do you want?” I hiss, glaring at him, “Unless you know a way out of this dumb maze, you better stay- WOAH!” I tumble backwards as the wall slides back. Rubbing my bottom, I get up. August runs first.
“Lina, this is so cool! Look! It’s like,” he gasps, “A hidden tunnel!” He jumps up and down, squealing in delight. The kid did always have a passion for secrets and spies.
I follow him in, going deeper into the tunnel. I wave my hand, signaling him to come. “Come on, I think we can go this way. Let’s see where it leads.”
Soon it got dark. I pulled out a match, striking it against the rough side of the box. It burst into a flame of light, flickering shadows against the walls around us.
“Oh,” August breathed, as he saw the beauty of the old rock formations around us.
We venture forward, being careful about our steps. I speak softly. “This must have been what Mr. O meant about the maze being valuable. The rocks in here must be like artifacts or something. Whatever they are, they sure are pretty.”
We make our way over and get past a pile of fallen rocks. We both stay silent, the only sounds we hear are our footsteps and the scrapping of rocks as we push past them. I don’t know where we are going, but it has to end sometime right? If I just keep going forward, we’ll get to an exit. We continue to go on for 10 minutes or so. The rocks grew bigger and a steady drip of water could be heard.
“August?” I say, nervously, “Do you hear that?”
He nods his head, “Yes! Water! Do you think we could drink it?”
“I’m not sure,” I respond, “We’ll have to see! Let’s go!”
We follow the sound of the dripping water. Going around a large stone and over others, we found a drip of water coming from above.
“Look, it’s coming from somewhere up there.” I point in the direction of the water source. “How could we get there?”
August starts running ahead and stops after a while. “If we continue to climb up this rock star of sorts, we might be able to get up there!”
“Wait up!” I call, racing after him, carefully scaling the rocks.
We race up together and we stop at the top. There was a glittering lake, the water- a strange rose-gold color. There was a small hole I saw at the edge, that’s where the water was leaking from. I inched closer, interested in this strange place. There was an opening above, the sky was clear. Wait, the sky was clear. How long have we been gone? It was only about 5 pm when we entered the maze.
I look behind me at August. “August, what- what time is it?”
“3:27,” he replies looking at his watch, “Why?” he asks, looking up again.
“August, we’ve been gone for too long.” I start panicking. “We left the house at 4, got here by 4:30 and entered the maze at 5! We’re going to be de@d. Mom is not going to be happy. Oh no. Oh no.”
He shrugs. “You know we can just leave right?” He smiles, reaching his hand up revealing a flag hidden up his sleeve. “HEY! CAN YOU GUYS LET US OUT NOW?”
A crane came down into the opening and on the lift was a middle-aged man. He walks up to us and gives August a nudge. “You get her good?” he winks, leaving me in a sense of displeasure.
“Sure did!” August smirks.
I stare, gaping. “You- You did this? You did this. You did this! No, no. Practical pranks with slime and silly strings are one thing. Creating this maze of mystery and eeriness is no. Is the sky also an illusion?”
“Nah,” August replies and pauses, “Well yeah, it’s actually only like 7, your mom will probably be up there when we get out.”
Word count: 732
Week 3; Part 1, Part 2, Part 3
Weekly Part 2:
The maze, the maze. We’ve been stuck in here forever! This mystery is taking a lot longer than I had hoped. We had solved all the clues, now what? It feels like we’ve been going in circles. I kick the rock in front of me and huff, leaning against the wall behind me.
“Li-Lina-” August says, pointing at me.
“What do you want?” I hiss, glaring at him, “Unless you know a way out of this dumb maze, you better stay- WOAH!” I tumble backwards as the wall slides back. Rubbing my bottom, I get up. August runs first.
“Lina, this is so cool! Look! It’s like,” he gasps, “A hidden tunnel!” He jumps up and down, squealing in delight. The kid did always have a passion for secrets and spies.
I follow him in, going deeper into the tunnel. I wave my hand, signaling him to come. “Come on, I think we can go this way. Let’s see where it leads.”
Soon it got dark. I pulled out a match, striking it against the rough side of the box. It burst into a flame of light, flickering shadows against the walls around us.
“Oh,” August breathed, as he saw the beauty of the old rock formations around us.
We venture forward, being careful about our steps. I speak softly. “This must have been what Mr. O meant about the maze being valuable. The rocks in here must be like artifacts or something. Whatever they are, they sure are pretty.”
We make our way over and get past a pile of fallen rocks. We both stay silent, the only sounds we hear are our footsteps and the scrapping of rocks as we push past them. I don’t know where we are going, but it has to end sometime right? If I just keep going forward, we’ll get to an exit. We continue to go on for 10 minutes or so. The rocks grew bigger and a steady drip of water could be heard.
“August?” I say, nervously, “Do you hear that?”
He nods his head, “Yes! Water! Do you think we could drink it?”
“I’m not sure,” I respond, “We’ll have to see! Let’s go!”
We follow the sound of the dripping water. Going around a large stone and over others, we found a drip of water coming from above.
“Look, it’s coming from somewhere up there.” I point in the direction of the water source. “How could we get there?”
August starts running ahead and stops after a while. “If we continue to climb up this rock star of sorts, we might be able to get up there!”
“Wait up!” I call, racing after him, carefully scaling the rocks.
We race up together and we stop at the top. There was a glittering lake, the water- a strange rose-gold color. There was a small hole I saw at the edge, that’s where the water was leaking from. I inched closer, interested in this strange place. There was an opening above, the sky was clear. Wait, the sky was clear. How long have we been gone? It was only about 5 pm when we entered the maze.
I look behind me at August. “August, what- what time is it?”
“3:27,” he replies looking at his watch, “Why?” he asks, looking up again.
“August, we’ve been gone for too long.” I start panicking. “We left the house at 4, got here by 4:30 and entered the maze at 5! We’re going to be de@d. Mom is not going to be happy. Oh no. Oh no.”
He shrugs. “You know we can just leave right?” He smiles, reaching his hand up revealing a flag hidden up his sleeve. “HEY! CAN YOU GUYS LET US OUT NOW?”
A crane came down into the opening and on the lift was a middle-aged man. He walks up to us and gives August a nudge. “You get her good?” he winks, leaving me in a sense of displeasure.
“Sure did!” August smirks.
I stare, gaping. “You- You did this? You did this. You did this! No, no. Practical pranks with slime and silly strings are one thing. Creating this maze of mystery and eeriness is no. Is the sky also an illusion?”
“Nah,” August replies and pauses, “Well yeah, it’s actually only like 7, your mom will probably be up there when we get out.”
Last edited by AmazaEevee (March 23, 2022 23:17:41)
- AmazaEevee
-
Scratcher
500+ posts
Scratch Writing Camp Writing Sharing Thread (March 2022)
March 23, 2022
Word count: 1001
Week 3; Part 1, Part 2, Part 3
Weekly Part 3:
Continuation of the second story of the first part of the third weekly B)))
She looked at him smiling. Opening her mouth, it seemed like she was speaking, but the captain only heard melodic wails. He shook his head and she sighed. He figured that they couldn’t communicate using words, but he could probably figure something else. Something more… universal. Before he could think of anything, she broke off a piece of driftwood and snapped it in half. After leveling some sand, she started drawing pictures.
The pictures depicted what had happened to her. The captain saw a little mermaid, cast away from her family, a burden. Fleeing for home and trying to survive on her own. Then finding a group to fit into and being too curious for her own good, always getting in trouble. Seeing her flee again, going deeper and farther away from every other mermaid, but getting closer to land. He could feel her emotions in the drawings she drew. It finally ended with what he saw as himself. He looked at her and pointed to the picture, then himself. She nodded and handed him the stick.
He sighed and started his own life story, on the left of hers. He drew himself as a young lad, having dreams to venture off to the sea and be like the pirates in fairy tales. Being broken down by his parents, his dreams were crushed as they moved farther into the land. Finding his way figuring out all of the inland jobs, trying to see what else he could be. He too ran from home, as soon as he came of age. Back to the sea and struggled to move up the ranks. And finally, where he was then, a captain, who lost his ship in a terrible accident. Sharing his stories and dreams with another.
He handed the stick back to her and she gave him a sly smirk. Using the stick, she added additions to his drawings, turning his house into one with wings and giant glasses. He let out a laugh and she created more. Long pointy noses on those who made fun of her, long, spikey hair on friends and neighbors, they kept laughing as the drawings changed. The captain took a part of the driftwood and added his own additions. Giant rings and a throne of lobsters. The two laughed and rolled on the sand. Even though the drawings weren’t permanent in the sand, the memories were. They took some time to draw and learn about one another.
The captain was a giant bookworm, always ready to read. He was smart, which helped him get up the ranks quicker than some. His dream of going out as a sailor seemed small and dull to his parents, who wanted a lot more for him and his life. A captain or pirate seemed lowly for him.
The mermaid was creative. Finding loopholes and great choreography for swimming, she was loved. But her passion was a burden and her curiosity got her in trouble. Most humans wouldn’t act nicely to mermaids, but she believed differently.
The captain wondered if he would have acted differently under different circumstances. Sure, he was a nice fellow and was kind to her. But he was stranded on an island with no idea of where he was. He had no real choice. If he had met her during one of his voyages, would he have done something else? He decided he wouldn’t, he was always nice to any stray animal he found.
They spend the rest of the day, well, what was left of it, doodling in the sand. When the sun began to set, the mermaid went out to the sea. The captain sighed, shaking his head. He should have expected something like this to happen. It couldn't have been permanent after all. He walked to the stones and made a fire out of some of the dry driftwood. Finding some leaves from around the small island, he created a little fort and got a camp set up around the fire.
He stared at the sun, the reflection rippling on the water. He saw a shadow of a tail poking out. He got up, wondering if it could be. He jogged to the shore and looked into the water. It was the mermaid! She had some seaweed in her left hand and a handful of fish in her right. She gave him the fish and leaned closer to the shore. He got the fish and set up a little grill above the fire. The captain got his camp and moved it closer to the shore, where he and the mermaid shared a little dinner together. Once the sun went down and the two were full, the captain waved good night. He blew out the fire and laid down to go to bed.
Now it was time for the mermaid to leave. She felt lonely, that was the most company she had in days. She hoped he would be there tomorrow, she hoped. The mermaid dived under the water and found her cave to sleep in. She set some glowing pearls up and fell asleep, singing to herself.
The morning came and the captain woke up, feeling a bit drowsy. The sand itched his skin and the sun was in his eyes. He got up and shook off any sand. He stared at the water, hoping she would come. The sea breeze was still cool and he set up a small fire. He got a stick and started doodling again. He mostly drew ships, waves, and what had happened the day before. He had nightmares and he couldn’t help but wonder what had happened to his men. Were they safe like him? Were they going to be okay? As he started mindlessly doodling, he started doodling mermaids and images of the sea. He was taken out of his little trance when a splash of cool sea water came onto him and he turned around to see the mermaid. He laughed and went closer to the shore.
Word count: 1001
Week 3; Part 1, Part 2, Part 3
Weekly Part 3:
Continuation of the second story of the first part of the third weekly B)))
She looked at him smiling. Opening her mouth, it seemed like she was speaking, but the captain only heard melodic wails. He shook his head and she sighed. He figured that they couldn’t communicate using words, but he could probably figure something else. Something more… universal. Before he could think of anything, she broke off a piece of driftwood and snapped it in half. After leveling some sand, she started drawing pictures.
The pictures depicted what had happened to her. The captain saw a little mermaid, cast away from her family, a burden. Fleeing for home and trying to survive on her own. Then finding a group to fit into and being too curious for her own good, always getting in trouble. Seeing her flee again, going deeper and farther away from every other mermaid, but getting closer to land. He could feel her emotions in the drawings she drew. It finally ended with what he saw as himself. He looked at her and pointed to the picture, then himself. She nodded and handed him the stick.
He sighed and started his own life story, on the left of hers. He drew himself as a young lad, having dreams to venture off to the sea and be like the pirates in fairy tales. Being broken down by his parents, his dreams were crushed as they moved farther into the land. Finding his way figuring out all of the inland jobs, trying to see what else he could be. He too ran from home, as soon as he came of age. Back to the sea and struggled to move up the ranks. And finally, where he was then, a captain, who lost his ship in a terrible accident. Sharing his stories and dreams with another.
He handed the stick back to her and she gave him a sly smirk. Using the stick, she added additions to his drawings, turning his house into one with wings and giant glasses. He let out a laugh and she created more. Long pointy noses on those who made fun of her, long, spikey hair on friends and neighbors, they kept laughing as the drawings changed. The captain took a part of the driftwood and added his own additions. Giant rings and a throne of lobsters. The two laughed and rolled on the sand. Even though the drawings weren’t permanent in the sand, the memories were. They took some time to draw and learn about one another.
The captain was a giant bookworm, always ready to read. He was smart, which helped him get up the ranks quicker than some. His dream of going out as a sailor seemed small and dull to his parents, who wanted a lot more for him and his life. A captain or pirate seemed lowly for him.
The mermaid was creative. Finding loopholes and great choreography for swimming, she was loved. But her passion was a burden and her curiosity got her in trouble. Most humans wouldn’t act nicely to mermaids, but she believed differently.
The captain wondered if he would have acted differently under different circumstances. Sure, he was a nice fellow and was kind to her. But he was stranded on an island with no idea of where he was. He had no real choice. If he had met her during one of his voyages, would he have done something else? He decided he wouldn’t, he was always nice to any stray animal he found.
They spend the rest of the day, well, what was left of it, doodling in the sand. When the sun began to set, the mermaid went out to the sea. The captain sighed, shaking his head. He should have expected something like this to happen. It couldn't have been permanent after all. He walked to the stones and made a fire out of some of the dry driftwood. Finding some leaves from around the small island, he created a little fort and got a camp set up around the fire.
He stared at the sun, the reflection rippling on the water. He saw a shadow of a tail poking out. He got up, wondering if it could be. He jogged to the shore and looked into the water. It was the mermaid! She had some seaweed in her left hand and a handful of fish in her right. She gave him the fish and leaned closer to the shore. He got the fish and set up a little grill above the fire. The captain got his camp and moved it closer to the shore, where he and the mermaid shared a little dinner together. Once the sun went down and the two were full, the captain waved good night. He blew out the fire and laid down to go to bed.
Now it was time for the mermaid to leave. She felt lonely, that was the most company she had in days. She hoped he would be there tomorrow, she hoped. The mermaid dived under the water and found her cave to sleep in. She set some glowing pearls up and fell asleep, singing to herself.
The morning came and the captain woke up, feeling a bit drowsy. The sand itched his skin and the sun was in his eyes. He got up and shook off any sand. He stared at the water, hoping she would come. The sea breeze was still cool and he set up a small fire. He got a stick and started doodling again. He mostly drew ships, waves, and what had happened the day before. He had nightmares and he couldn’t help but wonder what had happened to his men. Were they safe like him? Were they going to be okay? As he started mindlessly doodling, he started doodling mermaids and images of the sea. He was taken out of his little trance when a splash of cool sea water came onto him and he turned around to see the mermaid. He laughed and went closer to the shore.
Last edited by AmazaEevee (March 23, 2022 23:54:54)
- charliesunset
-
Scratcher
100+ posts
Scratch Writing Camp Writing Sharing Thread (March 2022)
SWC March 2022 Weekly #3: Taking Inspiration
Total word count: 2574
The beams of sunlight fluttered over the newly lit city, illuminating the glimmering tips of the tall trees. A brisk autumn wind burst through their leaves, opening my eyes as I calmly began walking along the trail. The tracks of my footsteps created a bit of music within me, which seemed to be leading up to something. Everything around me seemed to glitter hopefully like something was coming. Below, I could see the peaks of houses, and as the wind took me to them, I gazed at the windows and doors and roofs in awe.
Everything was bright, colorful–I felt surrounded by hope. The late-autumn snow beneath my feet had suddenly brightened up, no longer looking somber like it had through the night. A new day had dawned, a fresh moment. I couldn’t stop there. I let my feet quickly pull me into the city, and then I was encircled by things to see. Shiny buildings among tall trees danced around me as I padded through the streets. People walking just as quickly as I was waved to me as I crossed each intersection, and suddenly I felt that I had found something indescribably perfect. Their smiles welcomed me into their world as faces filled the streets, bouncing into shops. The town was busy yet had a near-empty feel to it, as if I could slide right in and then become part of everything. As if hope was right here.
I crossed away from the streets and gazed at the sharply waving river, which almost bounced as if mountains stood within it, just waiting to show their peaks yet being happy under the water. Bubbles of sunshine burst into the water. The clouds danced their slow, glitching, spinning dance as the sun began to shimmer its rays overhead, just above me. And, in that moment, sunlight didn’t feel too far away anymore. So, standing in front of that river, at the very edge of the small town, I felt the cool wind sweep over me, as a melody began to bounce and sing in my heart that I wouldn’t lose for a while. It was like bells, like hope, like finding a forever home. And then I left, and the melody still didn’t stop. It tried to pull me back, the city tried to get me back. And for days I happily longed to feel the tune bouncing through me again–to feel bubbly, to feel home.
Inspired by the instrumental for the song Dalla Dalla by Itzy:
As the light flashed green, you accelerated the car, the tires bouncing on the bumps upon the road with every foot you drove. They had their very own dance, a song, a special type of music–a boing-like sound that made you feel rhythmic inside. You were moving at a steady pace, watching cars shoot past you in all different colors. It was almost as if you were in some sort of game–none of this felt real. Noises were sounding in the distance, and you started to wonder if something was going on.
Then something happened.
The sun broke out of the sky, and you were cruising at full speed into the light, feeling like none of this was real. It was as if summer, in all its color and beauty, had blossomed in your eyes, the ice and cold of the last few months swept into oblivion. The car kept moving, as bright colors flashed before your eyes wildly and noises beeped all around you. You checked the indicators on the car. Everything was fine. For a moment, the whole world seemed to glitch. Music sounded from somewhere outside, but it was hard to hear over the rush of the wind. You were thrilled, moving at full speed down the lane. You threw your hands out and let the car drive itself for a second–but then placed your hands back, pressing down on the gas pedal. The windshield glittered in full luminescence, setting your life aglow.
Before you, at that moment, was the most beautiful thing you’d ever seen. Tulips and wildflowers sprouted from the grass around you as you drove on a dusty path, the sand glistening and stinging your eyes a little bit. Your tires struggled through the path, stopping once or twice against the rocks, and a tiny part of you–the part that you had left behind–tried to tell you that your tires were going to pop, that your adventure was over, but you didn’t mind. You checked your watch. Some time had passed, but it didn’t matter. The car accelerated, and then you were speeding far into the distance, the sirens and noises and panic far behind you. Your keys bounced in the pocket behind you. You were driving smoothly down the dirt path, feeling like the whole world was glittering beneath you. The dot that was now the city began to fade in the dust.
And then you were gone.
Ringing, ringing, ringing, ringing, ringing–
What?
I blinked my eyes open as the wild noise infiltrated my mind. Like a thousand telephones ringing in unison. Like the sound of a bell signaling the end of the world, or the beginning of a new hour. Like a tiny triangle’s song put through a megaphone. And yet so quiet, so subtle, as if it was nothing. But it was something.
I threw the window open. It was ringing from a bush in the yard, with bright flowers that seemed as if they could fall off and still grow in the ground. A tree sprouted up from the ground and stood proudly. Maybe the ringing was coming from there–I wasn’t sure. I walked toward it and brushed my hands over the tree’s bark. It looked like cardboard, and like nothing important.
But hidden there, sandwiched between an olive-green leaf and a branch pulling itself to the sky, was a mysterious device that looked something like a cell phone. But it wasn’t. Below my feet sat a yellow dog, who looked just as bewildered as I was. Ears perked, nose high, just popping out of the ocean of leaves and little flowers. I cautiously touched the device, hoping it wouldn’t shock me immediately. Fingering the thing, which was blue and black and almost let out a light periwinkle glow, I started to wonder if there was something strange about it that I should have noticed long ago. Because hadn’t that ringing been persisting for a while? Hadn’t I seen that yellow dog, poised in the same position?
I pushed the device into my pocket, and the yellow dog followed me into the house, perching near the windowsill. I sat down on one of the magenta seats and sighed, pressing the device in my pocket that didn’t stop ringing, didn’t stop, didn’t stop, never stopped, just kept ringing, ringing, ringing–
I covered my ears with a pillow. It still thudded against the glass windows. Ringing, ringing, ringing, never stopped, never stopped, just ringing–
I shoved my head into the pillow, tired of the constant noise of the ringing, of the ringing, of the ringing–
And then I’d had enough. My ears turned hot, and I smashed the device on the ground. And then it turned into two, a harsh lightning bolt streaking across, a bolt of oblivion that split the thing into two. And the two parts kept ringing in unison.
The yellow dog cocked its head, perfectly nonchalant. I stared at the dog and stared at the device and the lightning bolt. One of the noises fell behind and at that moment I knew it was hopeless unless I tried to cut each piece up until the noise was gone. My energy drained, and it seemed to feed into the noise. And I thought.
I thought about before I had found the ridiculous device and heard the ridiculous noise, just staring down at the icy cracks on my desk. My mouth had been curved down, but I wasn’t upset, just there. Just floating through the singular moment, waiting for something to happen. And that was when the noise started.
Except it wasn’t. It started long before, with the beating of my heart. It had begun to follow a very specific pattern that I had memorized, that sounded in my ears and in my heart and reverberated in my eyes. It never felt the best but it worked just fine, and that was how it always went, the ringing and the beating. Like a drum that never created a song. Like a piano that never sounded. Like a guitar that was impossible to strum, to even touch. Because it just kept playing and would hurt too much. And when I reached down and realized, it hurt.
I picked up the two pieces of the device. As I raised them to my ears, they rang louder and louder until I could have sworn I would go deaf. And then they quieted, fell apart, and clashed to the ground.
The yellow dog leaped over cautiously and sniffed the scene. I could barely hear the quiet pad of its paws because the ringing, ringing, ringing noise just wouldn’t stop.
You glanced back, confused. Where was everything? Dust blocked the way, and as you reached your hand forward, you felt nothing. In front of you was a grand forest, with fir trees standing tall with glistening peaks covered in sparkling sand. You marveled at the sight of the sand and then turned back, your mouth falling wide open.
You were lost. The one time you had set yourself free, you had lost yourself too.
Tears spun around in your eyes like threads weaved together into an absolute mess. You felt that piece of yourself that you’d left behind seeping back in, and it almost felt comforting to have that tiny souvenir back, but that was all. Like a miniature music box, it rang inside you, but its distant noise made no impact. Instead, it scraped the crevices of your mind from which it rang, and made your head hurt.
You, the one who had never dared to drive away, lost. In a world of dust. You peeked your head through the dusty curtain, only to be smothered by darkness. As you reached out, your hands felt cold. And as you stuck your foot out, you started to feel yourself falling. There was an ear-piercing scream that you realized too late was from yourself, and then you caught the edge of whatever plateau you were standing upon, all the darkness of the newly fallen midnight sweeping you into the air.
You gripped the ground and hoisted yourself up cautiously, your weakened legs swinging. The dust had cleared, and for miles, it was simply nothing. A sea of nothing, a sky of nothing, with not even a glimmer upon the horizon. You felt as if the darkness would rush in to enclose you. Glancing back at the glimmering, freshly washed green car in the background, which seemed completely untouched by the dust. And then you knew that you only had one option.
To leave.
You sprinted to the car, trying to stop the eternal song of the music box. Quickly, you got in, pressed the wheel down, and turned the key. Soon, the car was accelerating faster than it ever had before. The world around you brightened, as your body swarmed with the poisonous thoughts that your mind had spilled out. The fir trees almost cleared for you as you dove your car around their trunks. You glanced around, trying desperately to find a clearing where you could rest. But there was no rest now, you thought.
You were reckless. You had been reckless, and then you faced the consequences. The stinging consequences that the music box sang out like laughter. Like this was so funny, just a story of karma where the villain died out. But it never stopped there, the story was never over, it went on and on because nothing was ever perfect. The box sang ever louder.
And then you saw it. Out of the trees, a silhouette that looked blurry at first in your vision, which you hadn’t realized was blurry. You swept your hands across your eyes, halting the car quickly, and the figure walked calmly toward you. For a moment your heartbeat calmed. The person was smiling. Leaves swirled around them like a sea of lost ideas.
“Who are you?” you asked, your voice annoyingly small.
“Hello,” the figure stated. Their words rang, maybe against the endless abyss or maybe simply from their own light. Nonetheless, you felt that their voice sounded strangely familiar. Maybe it was one of the people you idiotically left behind? “My name’s Roselia. But that really isn’t what matters. I’m here to show you something. Are you uncertain?”
“I’m not uncertain,” you squeaked, wanting to shatter the barrier that stopped you from projecting your voice as she did. You remembered the bounce of your tires, the freedom you felt in the car, as you stepped out.
“We all were at some point.” She grabbed your arm and didn’t seem to notice the car left in the clearing. “There is something you very much need to see.”
“What?”
“Don’t question it. Just come on.”
“Do you know anything about an endless void?”
“You’ll figure that all out,” she hissed quietly. Her footsteps were like a wild windy dance, fluttering across the twigs as she searched for an ending to the maze of trees. It seemed as if a compass rose surrounded her, and she was the center. She mesmerized you, in a way. She seemed like the type of person who could run through a cold morning as if it was nothing.
“Don’t mind the dust. It’s just here,” she stated, louder now. Her voice sounded melodic, but not like a music box. In fact, it was more like the happy strum of a guitar, the bounce of fingers on a piano. Like a somber violin at dawn, finally smiling and singing its tune again.
You flew in the wind. Roselia’s quick pace, her green shoes lined with red, they were all you saw. Your feet could lift off the ground and you wouldn’t even question it. At that moment, you felt free again, the whole world expanding around you. And then, like at a red light, you shuddered to a stop.
“Look at this.”
A lake glistened below you. Across the lake was a familiar sight, the town you had just left behind. Its buildings towered high but its small houses looked so comfortable. She seemed to be staring at it with adoration, just like you were. High skyscrapers brushed the clouds behind it, and you could almost see the petals sprinkled in the seas of grass and flowers. The lake you had jumped into so many times.
“You’ll be able to go back,” she whispered, pulling your arm. “But you will never see this again. That endless void or whatever you called it, I felt the same thing. I used to be just like you. I thought I had left, made a dire mistake. But–” she stared at you– “sometimes, sometimes it’s worth it.”
And her face fell, a purple glow to it. Her red curls danced around in the wind. Freedom, that was all you wanted to feel. The rush of your fingertips. And maybe, maybe she was right here.
But did she want it? Was it worth it?
Did it matter? Because maybe you could never go back smiling.
Total word count: 2574
Part 1: Inspiration from MusicInspired by Norway by Vexento:
811 words (406 for the first part, 405 for the second)
The beams of sunlight fluttered over the newly lit city, illuminating the glimmering tips of the tall trees. A brisk autumn wind burst through their leaves, opening my eyes as I calmly began walking along the trail. The tracks of my footsteps created a bit of music within me, which seemed to be leading up to something. Everything around me seemed to glitter hopefully like something was coming. Below, I could see the peaks of houses, and as the wind took me to them, I gazed at the windows and doors and roofs in awe.
Everything was bright, colorful–I felt surrounded by hope. The late-autumn snow beneath my feet had suddenly brightened up, no longer looking somber like it had through the night. A new day had dawned, a fresh moment. I couldn’t stop there. I let my feet quickly pull me into the city, and then I was encircled by things to see. Shiny buildings among tall trees danced around me as I padded through the streets. People walking just as quickly as I was waved to me as I crossed each intersection, and suddenly I felt that I had found something indescribably perfect. Their smiles welcomed me into their world as faces filled the streets, bouncing into shops. The town was busy yet had a near-empty feel to it, as if I could slide right in and then become part of everything. As if hope was right here.
I crossed away from the streets and gazed at the sharply waving river, which almost bounced as if mountains stood within it, just waiting to show their peaks yet being happy under the water. Bubbles of sunshine burst into the water. The clouds danced their slow, glitching, spinning dance as the sun began to shimmer its rays overhead, just above me. And, in that moment, sunlight didn’t feel too far away anymore. So, standing in front of that river, at the very edge of the small town, I felt the cool wind sweep over me, as a melody began to bounce and sing in my heart that I wouldn’t lose for a while. It was like bells, like hope, like finding a forever home. And then I left, and the melody still didn’t stop. It tried to pull me back, the city tried to get me back. And for days I happily longed to feel the tune bouncing through me again–to feel bubbly, to feel home.
Inspired by the instrumental for the song Dalla Dalla by Itzy:
As the light flashed green, you accelerated the car, the tires bouncing on the bumps upon the road with every foot you drove. They had their very own dance, a song, a special type of music–a boing-like sound that made you feel rhythmic inside. You were moving at a steady pace, watching cars shoot past you in all different colors. It was almost as if you were in some sort of game–none of this felt real. Noises were sounding in the distance, and you started to wonder if something was going on.
Then something happened.
The sun broke out of the sky, and you were cruising at full speed into the light, feeling like none of this was real. It was as if summer, in all its color and beauty, had blossomed in your eyes, the ice and cold of the last few months swept into oblivion. The car kept moving, as bright colors flashed before your eyes wildly and noises beeped all around you. You checked the indicators on the car. Everything was fine. For a moment, the whole world seemed to glitch. Music sounded from somewhere outside, but it was hard to hear over the rush of the wind. You were thrilled, moving at full speed down the lane. You threw your hands out and let the car drive itself for a second–but then placed your hands back, pressing down on the gas pedal. The windshield glittered in full luminescence, setting your life aglow.
Before you, at that moment, was the most beautiful thing you’d ever seen. Tulips and wildflowers sprouted from the grass around you as you drove on a dusty path, the sand glistening and stinging your eyes a little bit. Your tires struggled through the path, stopping once or twice against the rocks, and a tiny part of you–the part that you had left behind–tried to tell you that your tires were going to pop, that your adventure was over, but you didn’t mind. You checked your watch. Some time had passed, but it didn’t matter. The car accelerated, and then you were speeding far into the distance, the sirens and noises and panic far behind you. Your keys bounced in the pocket behind you. You were driving smoothly down the dirt path, feeling like the whole world was glittering beneath you. The dot that was now the city began to fade in the dust.
And then you were gone.
Part 2: Inspiration from… {everything else}Inspired by a picture my dad took of my dog yesterday–
701 words
Ringing, ringing, ringing, ringing, ringing–
What?
I blinked my eyes open as the wild noise infiltrated my mind. Like a thousand telephones ringing in unison. Like the sound of a bell signaling the end of the world, or the beginning of a new hour. Like a tiny triangle’s song put through a megaphone. And yet so quiet, so subtle, as if it was nothing. But it was something.
I threw the window open. It was ringing from a bush in the yard, with bright flowers that seemed as if they could fall off and still grow in the ground. A tree sprouted up from the ground and stood proudly. Maybe the ringing was coming from there–I wasn’t sure. I walked toward it and brushed my hands over the tree’s bark. It looked like cardboard, and like nothing important.
But hidden there, sandwiched between an olive-green leaf and a branch pulling itself to the sky, was a mysterious device that looked something like a cell phone. But it wasn’t. Below my feet sat a yellow dog, who looked just as bewildered as I was. Ears perked, nose high, just popping out of the ocean of leaves and little flowers. I cautiously touched the device, hoping it wouldn’t shock me immediately. Fingering the thing, which was blue and black and almost let out a light periwinkle glow, I started to wonder if there was something strange about it that I should have noticed long ago. Because hadn’t that ringing been persisting for a while? Hadn’t I seen that yellow dog, poised in the same position?
I pushed the device into my pocket, and the yellow dog followed me into the house, perching near the windowsill. I sat down on one of the magenta seats and sighed, pressing the device in my pocket that didn’t stop ringing, didn’t stop, didn’t stop, never stopped, just kept ringing, ringing, ringing–
I covered my ears with a pillow. It still thudded against the glass windows. Ringing, ringing, ringing, never stopped, never stopped, just ringing–
I shoved my head into the pillow, tired of the constant noise of the ringing, of the ringing, of the ringing–
And then I’d had enough. My ears turned hot, and I smashed the device on the ground. And then it turned into two, a harsh lightning bolt streaking across, a bolt of oblivion that split the thing into two. And the two parts kept ringing in unison.
The yellow dog cocked its head, perfectly nonchalant. I stared at the dog and stared at the device and the lightning bolt. One of the noises fell behind and at that moment I knew it was hopeless unless I tried to cut each piece up until the noise was gone. My energy drained, and it seemed to feed into the noise. And I thought.
I thought about before I had found the ridiculous device and heard the ridiculous noise, just staring down at the icy cracks on my desk. My mouth had been curved down, but I wasn’t upset, just there. Just floating through the singular moment, waiting for something to happen. And that was when the noise started.
Except it wasn’t. It started long before, with the beating of my heart. It had begun to follow a very specific pattern that I had memorized, that sounded in my ears and in my heart and reverberated in my eyes. It never felt the best but it worked just fine, and that was how it always went, the ringing and the beating. Like a drum that never created a song. Like a piano that never sounded. Like a guitar that was impossible to strum, to even touch. Because it just kept playing and would hurt too much. And when I reached down and realized, it hurt.
I picked up the two pieces of the device. As I raised them to my ears, they rang louder and louder until I could have sworn I would go deaf. And then they quieted, fell apart, and clashed to the ground.
The yellow dog leaped over cautiously and sniffed the scene. I could barely hear the quiet pad of its paws because the ringing, ringing, ringing noise just wouldn’t stop.
Part 3: Finding ThemesA continuation of the second story from Part 1, I speedran this so it's probably quite bad
1062 words
You glanced back, confused. Where was everything? Dust blocked the way, and as you reached your hand forward, you felt nothing. In front of you was a grand forest, with fir trees standing tall with glistening peaks covered in sparkling sand. You marveled at the sight of the sand and then turned back, your mouth falling wide open.
You were lost. The one time you had set yourself free, you had lost yourself too.
Tears spun around in your eyes like threads weaved together into an absolute mess. You felt that piece of yourself that you’d left behind seeping back in, and it almost felt comforting to have that tiny souvenir back, but that was all. Like a miniature music box, it rang inside you, but its distant noise made no impact. Instead, it scraped the crevices of your mind from which it rang, and made your head hurt.
You, the one who had never dared to drive away, lost. In a world of dust. You peeked your head through the dusty curtain, only to be smothered by darkness. As you reached out, your hands felt cold. And as you stuck your foot out, you started to feel yourself falling. There was an ear-piercing scream that you realized too late was from yourself, and then you caught the edge of whatever plateau you were standing upon, all the darkness of the newly fallen midnight sweeping you into the air.
You gripped the ground and hoisted yourself up cautiously, your weakened legs swinging. The dust had cleared, and for miles, it was simply nothing. A sea of nothing, a sky of nothing, with not even a glimmer upon the horizon. You felt as if the darkness would rush in to enclose you. Glancing back at the glimmering, freshly washed green car in the background, which seemed completely untouched by the dust. And then you knew that you only had one option.
To leave.
You sprinted to the car, trying to stop the eternal song of the music box. Quickly, you got in, pressed the wheel down, and turned the key. Soon, the car was accelerating faster than it ever had before. The world around you brightened, as your body swarmed with the poisonous thoughts that your mind had spilled out. The fir trees almost cleared for you as you dove your car around their trunks. You glanced around, trying desperately to find a clearing where you could rest. But there was no rest now, you thought.
You were reckless. You had been reckless, and then you faced the consequences. The stinging consequences that the music box sang out like laughter. Like this was so funny, just a story of karma where the villain died out. But it never stopped there, the story was never over, it went on and on because nothing was ever perfect. The box sang ever louder.
And then you saw it. Out of the trees, a silhouette that looked blurry at first in your vision, which you hadn’t realized was blurry. You swept your hands across your eyes, halting the car quickly, and the figure walked calmly toward you. For a moment your heartbeat calmed. The person was smiling. Leaves swirled around them like a sea of lost ideas.
“Who are you?” you asked, your voice annoyingly small.
“Hello,” the figure stated. Their words rang, maybe against the endless abyss or maybe simply from their own light. Nonetheless, you felt that their voice sounded strangely familiar. Maybe it was one of the people you idiotically left behind? “My name’s Roselia. But that really isn’t what matters. I’m here to show you something. Are you uncertain?”
“I’m not uncertain,” you squeaked, wanting to shatter the barrier that stopped you from projecting your voice as she did. You remembered the bounce of your tires, the freedom you felt in the car, as you stepped out.
“We all were at some point.” She grabbed your arm and didn’t seem to notice the car left in the clearing. “There is something you very much need to see.”
“What?”
“Don’t question it. Just come on.”
“Do you know anything about an endless void?”
“You’ll figure that all out,” she hissed quietly. Her footsteps were like a wild windy dance, fluttering across the twigs as she searched for an ending to the maze of trees. It seemed as if a compass rose surrounded her, and she was the center. She mesmerized you, in a way. She seemed like the type of person who could run through a cold morning as if it was nothing.
“Don’t mind the dust. It’s just here,” she stated, louder now. Her voice sounded melodic, but not like a music box. In fact, it was more like the happy strum of a guitar, the bounce of fingers on a piano. Like a somber violin at dawn, finally smiling and singing its tune again.
You flew in the wind. Roselia’s quick pace, her green shoes lined with red, they were all you saw. Your feet could lift off the ground and you wouldn’t even question it. At that moment, you felt free again, the whole world expanding around you. And then, like at a red light, you shuddered to a stop.
“Look at this.”
A lake glistened below you. Across the lake was a familiar sight, the town you had just left behind. Its buildings towered high but its small houses looked so comfortable. She seemed to be staring at it with adoration, just like you were. High skyscrapers brushed the clouds behind it, and you could almost see the petals sprinkled in the seas of grass and flowers. The lake you had jumped into so many times.
“You’ll be able to go back,” she whispered, pulling your arm. “But you will never see this again. That endless void or whatever you called it, I felt the same thing. I used to be just like you. I thought I had left, made a dire mistake. But–” she stared at you– “sometimes, sometimes it’s worth it.”
And her face fell, a purple glow to it. Her red curls danced around in the wind. Freedom, that was all you wanted to feel. The rush of your fingertips. And maybe, maybe she was right here.
But did she want it? Was it worth it?
Did it matter? Because maybe you could never go back smiling.
Last edited by charliesunset (March 23, 2022 23:03:59)
- RLove10
-
Scratcher
500+ posts
Scratch Writing Camp Writing Sharing Thread (March 2022)
Daily 3/23 - words
Critique to @KitVMH
Okay, to start off I really liked this little story. It is really funny to read and quite enjoyable. It breaks the usual hero-villain interaction that I always see.
Well the first thing is the structure, I don't know if this is just me but with sentences being so close together it's pretty easy for me to get lost in what I'm reading. Maybe separating the sentences like.
In there, you can see more spacing between sentences and it doesn't look compacted to a point where it is difficult to read. Something I recommend for dialogue, is before you start any dialogue like in “That's so cliché.” or “Did you miss the part with the robot pandas?” You can type 5 spaces. That's something I usually do for spacing.
The following dialogues show really well the personality of the characters, you see that the hero is someone sarcastic and the villain is someone who is used to things going in a way.
Something I would recommend is more description. The dialogues as I just said, are pretty good at showing the characters' personalities, but what about the setting? Maybe you could show us where they are and that way give us more background in what kind of villain the villain is. Do they prefer being in a nice place or are abandoned places their style? And also like time, maybe somewhere between the dialogues you could add something like, “Yeah, wasting my time is bassicaly what you've done, but…”, just a suggestion.
At the end I just don't know what else to tell you! I really enjoyed this and I think you've done an incredible job. Another great thing I noticed is that you have different words for said/say, which is something really good when showing how the characters' are acting.
Hope this helped with something, just remember be a bit more descriptive and how you structure the writing. <33
Critique to @KitVMH
Okay, to start off I really liked this little story. It is really funny to read and quite enjoyable. It breaks the usual hero-villain interaction that I always see.
Well the first thing is the structure, I don't know if this is just me but with sentences being so close together it's pretty easy for me to get lost in what I'm reading. Maybe separating the sentences like.
“That's so cliché.” She rolls her eyes. “World domination? Come on, that’s the goal of like, every supervillain ever. Can’t you guys be original?”
“Did you miss the part with the robot pandas?” I say. “You can’t say you’ve heard of a villain using evil robot pandas before.” No one calls me unoriginal.
“And that’s another thing. Telling the hero your evil plans? They always use that knowledge to defeat you. That’s gotta be, like, villainy 101.”
I scowl. How dare this teenage upstart barge in here and tell me how to be a villain!?
“Well, at least I know how to do what I do. You aren’t acting like a proper hero! Aren’t you supposed to battle me?” I expect this to make her mad, or remind her of her purpose, but the kid just shakes her head.
“Battle you? Ha. Why bother? You suck at this. Seriously, battling you would be a total waste of time.”
In there, you can see more spacing between sentences and it doesn't look compacted to a point where it is difficult to read. Something I recommend for dialogue, is before you start any dialogue like in “That's so cliché.” or “Did you miss the part with the robot pandas?” You can type 5 spaces. That's something I usually do for spacing.
The following dialogues show really well the personality of the characters, you see that the hero is someone sarcastic and the villain is someone who is used to things going in a way.
Something I would recommend is more description. The dialogues as I just said, are pretty good at showing the characters' personalities, but what about the setting? Maybe you could show us where they are and that way give us more background in what kind of villain the villain is. Do they prefer being in a nice place or are abandoned places their style? And also like time, maybe somewhere between the dialogues you could add something like, “Yeah, wasting my time is bassicaly what you've done, but…”, just a suggestion.
At the end I just don't know what else to tell you! I really enjoyed this and I think you've done an incredible job. Another great thing I noticed is that you have different words for said/say, which is something really good when showing how the characters' are acting.
Hope this helped with something, just remember be a bit more descriptive and how you structure the writing. <33
- -vanillamochabear-
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Scratcher
500+ posts
Scratch Writing Camp Writing Sharing Thread (March 2022)
along a chain of our destinies
- ❅ -
…darkness.
Complete silence, deafening my ears. Hot tears streak against my face, my empty sobs echoing.
A laugh looms overhead, cold, heartless. It’s power hungry and haunting, sending a sharp dagger of a chill down my back.
How have I gotten here again? Had I helped the innocent, little girl to freedom, at least? Out of this horrid prison?
Chains burn, a fire on my wrist. Or was it cold? I couldn’t tell anymore.
My dress is spread like a puddle around me. Tangled in a mess of once-beautiful dandelions, yet long-ago withered into black.
It was hopeless, yet I looked upward.
Through crying my eyesight is hazy, but I can tell there is no visible sky.
Would I ever see the stars again, or a rainbow in the distance?
- ❅ -
There’s a whisper in my ear.
“I could help you.”
My voice is hoarse, having been unused for so long.
“Would it put you in danger?”
A silence follows, and I fear that neither of us knows.
Something like a memory tickled at the back of my mind. It screamed importance, begging to be known, but I couldn’t reach a firm grasp.
My whole brain is numb, and I realize it is difficult to even focus ahead. My thoughts are resembling a million butterflies free and flying, each impossible to catch.
I present a different query.
“…Are you willing?”
The voice, now recognisable as feminine, is quick to respond, not more than a heartbeat of hesitation. It’s stronger than what I first heard, expressing a firm decision.
“Yes. Nobody deserves a fate as grim as this. Forced to dwell in a pit drained of any life, sucked of nature or color.”
Color. A faint memory of it remained in my mind… a world painted in so many varieties, blue, yellow, pink, anything off the greyscale. I’m disturbed when I found the picture hard to summon, hard to tie together. Oh, how long I had come about to be imprisoned, for my deepest desire to be a glimpse of color, something that had once been so simple? But to whoever was communicating with me, what would happen to them?
In storybooks and fairy tales, nothing came free of charge. The golden threads of life would never allow happiness to come so easily ~
Perhaps it was silly of me to still believe in such concepts. I once recalled an empathetic and all too caring version of myself. Thoughtful of others, worried for anyone’s safety but my own - nonetheless, I find my lips are moving before I fully make the choice.
“Very well. I appreciate your approach, and admire your mindset…” I take a deep breath. “I accept your offer. Thank you.”
As soon as my words escape, a power envelopes the air, lacing its way around. A pang of guilt jolts through, but I can no longer take what has been said back. Without being told, I can tell whatever has occurred is irreversible.
The part of me that is overcome with desperation and insanity is genuinely excited, rebelling against the humble emotions. The spring green of the grass, the honeysuckle filled air - it was practically unbelievable that I had just opened the chance to return to the good old days. Days that were filled with immense joy and laughter, long ago reduced to no more.
A cold, delicate wind brushes my forehead. A glowing blurb of pure white is growing, swirling the surroundings into abstract, artistic strokes. I can see the speaker’s face, the one who I had been talking to - her short, messy hair frames a pale face, and she is no older than I. We meet each other's eyes for a split moment. She nods at me, and I smile back - It felt so unfamiliar to do that again.
In a blink, my vision reduced to emptiness, my thoughts floating high away in a flurry of clouds.
- ❅ -
And just like that, I found myself outside. Truly and for real outside, the rising dawn blinding to newly sensitive eyes. Cross legged in a meadow of wildflowers; so many colors I used to have on the verge of memory. On the ledge of slipping into forgotten, but they’re all here, a fresh tide.
My mind is numb but processing, slowly taking in on the wonders.
I thought I’d heard the faintest trace of a fearful shriek reverberating in my head, but I brushed it away, determined to stay with only the happy thoughts.
Why could it have been alarming, anyway?
My dress is spread in a puddle on the dew-drizzled grass, frosted with dirt, but with the addition of petals and tiny buds of leaves. Rays of sunshine are making their way into the world, smiling fondly into nature. The sky, far above, is a mystical watercolor gradient: whimsical cotton-candy pink sweeping onto rolling hills, royal purple reaching into the galaxy. Stars are twinkling merrily, struggling to keep their ground under arriving daylight, but resilient and loyal as ever to stay with their constellations.
I push off the ground and twirl, enjoying the air flowing through my hair, my clothing. I laugh, and it must’ve spread all the way through the field - birds scatter in the far distance, but I only subconsciously notice.
To once again be free… it felt so good, so wonderfully painless, I almost felt afraid that I’d stay here forever, twirling in the dawn and laughing, face wet once again with tears of bliss.
But alas, I eventually settled, lying flat and gazing upward. A bunny has found its way onto my chest, and I gently brush it with my fingertips. Soft and warm, it refreshes another category of the things I’ve missed out on, texture.
The world has lulled off into the early morning cycle of off and on sleep. I find that I have lots to think of, the thoughts flowing back into my mind like a dam at last broken.
How was my family? Are they doing fine, without me? They’d think I’m dead, for how long I’ve disappeared. When I come home, I assumed there’d be so many rumors, spreading comparably to seeds in the wind. Am I a fake, had I been kidnapped by a dragon, or was everybody dreaming?
Another individual circled its way into my mind. The girl who had freed me and her kind heart, I wondered where she was now. I hoped to pay her a visit once I found my way back to my own village, and give her a proper thanks.
Yet sudden and unpleasant, the last pieces of a puzzle drop into place. My grin sank into a frown of dread. I’m staring at what completes the mystery of my savior, and understand that I perhaps would never see her again, at least soon. And no, she couldn’t be okay…
The consequence for my escape, the shriek drowning in fear, it all flawlessly fits. The price would not be anything of my belongings. In a new weight of guilt, I realize what would be the payment - else, who.
My happily ever after was now written crystal clear, yet someone else’s in this world had not. I no longer held onto my destiny to be held as eternal prisoner,
yet had just continued to pass it down the line.
- ❅ -
thank you so so much to some irl friends for critiquing <3
Last edited by -vanillamochabear- (March 24, 2022 23:09:27)
- RLove10
-
Scratcher
500+ posts
Scratch Writing Camp Writing Sharing Thread (March 2022)
Daily 3/23
Critique to @Kiju_the_RainWing
So, the story is really nice. It reminded me of Dart (Stranger Things), and what happened with Mews. I really liked the way you described the plant, really good description.
In the first sentence when you say: I called into the empty field, but the only reply was the soft padding of my footsteps on the grass, and the only thing I saw was, well, grass Maybe you could replace the ,and by a semicolon. After plant in the second paragraph: That’s why I had returned to the market to ask a few follow-up questions on why the plant, you can also add a semicolon.
Here: and found his fluffy cream-colored tail hanging limp from its beautiful, terrifying petal-y jaws. You can change the “and” by “I”
In here: “Oh, hi. I was looking for if the farmers market was happening? I don't know if it's a typo or someting, but it doesn't make a lot of sense.
Critique to @Kiju_the_RainWing
So, the story is really nice. It reminded me of Dart (Stranger Things), and what happened with Mews. I really liked the way you described the plant, really good description.
In the first sentence when you say: I called into the empty field, but the only reply was the soft padding of my footsteps on the grass, and the only thing I saw was, well, grass Maybe you could replace the ,and by a semicolon. After plant in the second paragraph: That’s why I had returned to the market to ask a few follow-up questions on why the plant, you can also add a semicolon.
Here: and found his fluffy cream-colored tail hanging limp from its beautiful, terrifying petal-y jaws. You can change the “and” by “I”
In here: “Oh, hi. I was looking for if the farmers market was happening? I don't know if it's a typo or someting, but it doesn't make a lot of sense.
- Cru-mble
-
Scratcher
100+ posts
Scratch Writing Camp Writing Sharing Thread (March 2022)
weekly. march 23
3625 words total
1: 1159/800 words (596 & 564)
2: 822/700 words
3: 1644/1000 words
inspiration from music (part 1)
1159/800 words total
Piece - Der Erlkönig - Franz Schubert
595/400 words
I woke up to a bright morning, eager to kickstart the newest adventure. Hurriedly, I shoved some clothes on and ran down the stairs, jumping the last four or five steps. I skidded by the kitchen table, grabbing a couple pieces of bread and I was off, not even hearing what my mom was about to say. I was by the door, almost out of it when I remembered by backpack, and flung my hand inside, pulling it by one strap and onto myself. I stepped into my shoes, hopping out the doorstep as I tried to get the end of the shoe onto my heel. I didn’t stop and ignored the sounds of cawing crows and my father’s protest and ran at a fast jog to the forest in the distance.
By the time I reached the meeting point we had planned out yesterday, I was already out of breath. I sat on a cold rock, relieved to be out of the house. It’s a good thing I had packed long lasting food—who knew how long this adventure could last.
A couple minutes later, my companion strolled into the clearing. I got up quickly, stowing my meal and shouldering my pack.
“Woah, slow down,” She said, pulling her hair into a ponytail, obviously not in as much of a rush.
“It’s almost six thirty,” I complained, kicking some dirt and pebbles with the tip of my shoe. “If we don’t get a move on, we’re not going to get anywhere before dark,” I reminded her. I walked around, antsy and excited.
“All right, all right!” She chided, finally standing up and walking to the left, following a narrow path we had spotted yesterday. I caught up with her, and we trekked along the path silently. The happy energy had faded slightly after an hour or so, and when the trees’ leaves started to gather and block out the light, the eagerness had switched to trepidation. Before long, we reached a crossroads.
“Where to?” I asked quietly. The sound of a bird taking off didn’t settle my nerves, and I shifted foot to foot.
Sheila shrugged. She’d been my friend since forever, and I could tell when she was indecisive, or when something was up. Earlier, I had thought I’d notice something was off, but I didn’t question it. Now, it started to concern me. This was supposed to be our first real adventure, and I didn’t want it to go wrong. Suddenly, without a word, Sheila jogged off in one direction, leaving me surprised and having to sprint before she could get out of my sight. I decided to drop the subject of choosing which way, and walked a few feet behind her.
The only noises were rustling branches as we pushed them aside and our own footsteps. When a loud crashing came from my left, I jumped, staring off into the darkness. I slowed, peering into the gloom, but Sheila wasn’t waiting. I glanced once more at where the sound had came from, but had to run hard again to catch up. Something was definitely off, and the tension between her and me was bothersome. I became annoyed at how little she was saying. It was like she had forgotten this journey was for two.
It was only a few minutes later when I heard her yelp and stop, causing me to crash into her. For a second, I couldn’t see anything. Then, I heard a roar—and the mass of black in front of Sheila turned, the faint light catching on its fur.
Piece - Cassini: The Grand Finale - Sleeping at Last
564/400 words
warning! talk of war aftermath
The land is as devastated as we are. Craters embedded in the ground from being constantly bombarded. The nights have only brought us death and hopelessness. We cower low to the earth, smelling the dust and sweat and oil, and then a warmth hits us. We all raise our heads cautiously awaiting enemy fire. The sun blazes, rising from the horizon. For a moment, all is still. The wind quiets and the faint sounds of battle fade out. The full light of the sun reaches the peak of the skinny trees, and we must cover our eyes as it begins its ascent.
Slowly, the sounds of our pain disappears. The dawn of the morning washes our fates away, the aura of the star giving us renewed strength and life. While our foes cannot stand the blaze, we embrace it every time. The sun brings life. Puddles from the cold, harsh rain of the night dry up, floating to the orange sky. Our fear has shaded us from what we used to welcome, and I can spot members starting to turn away, not believing in the wonders a giant ball of fire can do for us.
It’s sunrise, and our enemy has retreated. No one is confident enough to say that they are gone forever, and everyone is scared to rebuild. To try again. They are afraid of what awaits them. They do not want to feel safe behind their walls, to lay down and sleep, to accept that no dangers will follow.
They believe as soon as we fix something, it will only go down as fast as the others. They’ve lost enough, and they’re afraid to lose again.
How can I blame them if part of me feels the same way?
I can’t be sure that I’ll ever recover from what has happened to us. Relentlessness has tired us, broken us down to the bone. What choices do we have left—to fall further or try to climb?
How can I encourage them to succeed when we have only failed? It is as if our hope has been ripped from our hearts and shoved into the earth, suffocated and continued to be buried deep, where it cannot escape.
After days of sitting in our makeshift structures, some of the braver ones declare it is safe now, but our whole is not sure. I wake in the next morning to loud clanging and grunts. In a panic, I get up hastily, preparing myself for the worst.
When I burst out of my tent, what I see forces me still. A group of men are hauling a large wall up to the sky. I stare as it gains altitude, a large black shadow against the bright, hot sun. Three more walls follow, and I notice others—they too, are looking in awe.
By the time the sun is beginning to set, the majority of the people are bustling around or lounging inside, grateful for the large shelter.
How long it will last, no one knows.
I tell myself not to get hung up about it—not to churn the dark earth and bring up my hope, where it has stayed, undisturbed, for over a year. But somehow, it works its way up on its own, and my heart feels full with bloom, showering out feelings that I thought were long destroyed.
It feels nice to finally be saved.
inspiration from anything (part 2)
822/700 words total
inspiration: simulation (from The Maze Runner book plot)
warning! talk of semi-dark subjects/going crazy
I’ve always felt like someone was controlling my life, but it wasn’t me. It’s like having a toy, but when you instruct it to do one thing, it doesn’t listen. It’s like you’re missing a sensor, a big sign that says “hey, I’m in charge!” or an array of buttons labeling what each one does. Imagine that a mini version of yourself has the power to decide your actions based on your thoughts, but the larger version of yourself is taking over, and that panel of buttons suddenly stops working.
That’s how my life went, in simple terms. Someone was always there to monitor me and change my mind, no matter what I thought was right. It was my mother, who basically had every second of my unimportant life planned, written, and told. I was constantly steered away from the things I enjoyed and was forced to sit, study, be good, and don’t question anything. Ever. At all. It would cause my parents to lose control of themselves, in a way. Asking why we had something for dinner, or why it was raining though no one said it would. It was like they were a ticking time bomb, ready to explode whenever the curious part of a child started to come out.
It became easier to just not talk. From six on, I had learned that wondering about our world only led to anger and panic from my mother and father. I knew that I needed to behave, because you learn fairly quickly that you should keep your mouth shut if you don’t want psycho parents.
I never figured out if they had some mental disorder or were simply paranoid, or maybe blackmailed or threatened. It was scary. I was so young, but I couldn’t get any comfort when I was supposed to comfort my guardians so they didn’t boil over. I couldn’t talk about my problems, about my wonders, about school or the ways of teaching. I couldn’t question how the government was run or how my bacon was cooked.
So this lead to me being closed in, mysterious. I wasn’t even the daughter anymore; there weren’t any characteristics that proved it. I was just a shy girl, afraid of what monsters my father and especially my mother would turn into. It was a nightmare in real life.
Except it wasn’t real.
It was all fake.
Everything I knew was a plain lie.
Covered up by the smooth demands of children to not ask, to not wonder.
And what good did that do for me? For my friends that I used to have?
My family was a nervous wreck. I was torn in two, by ten stressed and having to remind my father to pay the bills, to sweep the floor and to prepare dinner.
Several days I went to bed hungry, too scared of the outcome. Too scared of the cloud of rage that would follow them if I asked for something to eat.
So I began to take over the job they had dismissed.
I had no choice—I couldn’t let them starve, and I couldn’t sit around, waiting for them to wake up from their daze. And yet I still could not make my own decisions.
It was like my mother would suddenly jolt awake, eyes and mouth wide from terror as she screeched at me whenever I went near the door.I would have to remind her I was going to school, but it would take minutes to calm her down and reassure nothing was out of the ordinary.
I was still trapped, hopeless, stuck with two maniacs as caretakers that stared at the wall for hours on end, drooling and unblinking.
It only seemed to get worse. It didn’t help that they would be startled awake more easily, asking questions of their own that clearly weren’t forbidden for them. Why was it only me that couldn’t wonder, when they asked so many of me? Did they not realize how they had failed to raise me in this miserable life?
I was only twelve but was on the verge of tears and insanity at every turn—by the end of the day, or when I dreaded the start of one. I couldn’t leave. I couldn’t put this in my past. I was encased in this loop of waking up, making breakfast, not being able to fix my parents.
All this time, and I hadn’t mentioned a thing to anyone else. I kept it inside, and there was definitely something holding me back when I tried. My voice would catch and I’d start coughing, or I would suddenly forget what I wanted to say, remembering it just as I turned away.
There were no openings to figure out more.
No way out.
No one to look to for help.
The world was a dull mass of unanswered queries mounting up that no one ever acknowledged.
That no one ever noticed.
continuation (part 3)
1644/1000 words total
theme used: friendship is the most superior value.
warning! slight mention of death/violence (but no blood or weapons)
okay so I started it in present tense but switched sometime to past tense so ignore that I’m lazy to fix it
continuation from part 1, (Der Erlkönig - Franz Schubert)
Beady yellow eyes focused on me, and as the beast straightened to full height, I was barely breathing. Everything around me went silent. All I could see was the giant animal, and the danger I was in, not anyone else. I didn’t think about what happened next. I took my chance and leaped to the right, inside the thick area of trees.
I ran. I heard more roaring, but didn’t stop. I kept running, dodging trees and bushes and taking sharp turns, hoping to lose the beast. When I turned to see my progress, nothing was there. I stopped dead, listening for the first time. This patch of forest was almost completely dark, the trees so thick that it felt like an enclosure. Then I smiled, happy that I wasn’t dead. All I needed to do was find a different way back on the path, and everything would be fine! I began to back track, but angled in a direction ahead of where I’d entered, so I wouldn’t come in contact with the monstrous creature. The trees’ thicknesses began to lighten, and the afternoon light lit up some of the interesting plants along the forest floor. It was beautiful, like a small sanctuary. I decided it was safe enough, and sat on a log, sighing and drinking my stored water. I was about to suggest camping here for the rest of the day, because I didn’t think the odds proved there would be other places like this.
It was then I realized Sheila wasn’t there. I gazed around the clearing, looking end to end, but my companion wasn’t anywhere. I panicked—had she not followed me? It occurred to me that I’d never explained what I had planned to do—to escape. But surely, shouldn’t she have followed me? I remembered the roaring noises.
The bear.
Was there a scream?
How could I have not realized, all the while? Sheila had been left behind.
I sat down miserably, holding my head in my hands. I felt guilty for not thinking of her, after all we’d been through. How could I have been so stupid to only think for my safety?
After staring glumly at the ground, whose beauty had now dimmed, I didn’t hear the noises of something approaching. A loud twig cracking and the sound of bushes being pushed through finally made me snap to attention. I was alarmed, thinking that the bear had somehow followed me. I started to get up, preparing to run in the other direction, but as the loud, heavy breathing became louder, I recognized it was a human noise, not an animal’s.
To my relief, a scratched up and panting Sheila emerged from the darkness. Immediately, I thought everything was fine, and went over to greet her.
“I thought you were dead,” I spoke, smiling. I stopped a couple feet away, and she began to come closer. For some reason, I thought she was coming to hug me, but to my shock, I got slapped across my face. I stumbled backward, speechless and confused. I didn’t know whether to feel angry or surprised. “What did you do that for?” I spluttered, rubbing my left cheek.
I noticed then that Sheila was steaming, a grim expression on her face. “How could you?” She stuttered. She looked torn between emotions as well. “We come on this nice and easy adventure, but as soon as you get a bit scared over nothing, you run in the other direction!” She yelled, gritting her teeth and balling her fists, like she wasn’t going to settle for one slap.
“Well, how was I supposed to know what to do? I thought you were smart enough to follow me!” I shot back, the fury beginning to mount.
“Good thing I did, then,” Sheila said sarcastically, rolling her eyes and crossing her arms. “You left me, and it doesn’t change anything. You didn’t warn me or pull me along with you. You didn’t care,” She insisted, and I knew her mind wouldn’t be changed so soon.
“So what do you want me to do about it?” I murmured quietly, staring into her eyes that wouldn’t meet mine.
“I’m going,” Sheila finally decided after a while. “I don’t want to do this anymore if you’re going to keep abandoning me.”
My mouth was probably wide open, but no words formed. A real life brain freeze, immobilized, watching her go back the way she came.
I wanted to go after her and apologize, but what good would that do now? She’d find another way to blame me and still run off. Slowly, the anger that had simmered down began to rise again.
“Good riddance,” I said, but she was already too far for her to hear me.
I ended up staying the night, but I couldn’t fall asleep. My mind was bustling with disturbing thoughts about our—my encounter with the bear. Every time I tried to turn away from it, Sheila would pop back into my mind. Knowing her, she’d be blinded by her anger and wake up or infuriate more creatures. I shivered, pulling my blanket further up, staring at the dark blue inside of my tent. It felt empty, even though Sheila would never stay in my tent. My heart felt empty without her presence nearby. I hadn’t expected—of all things—that Sheila would run off like that. If only I had said something to fix things, but I hadn’t.
My mad feelings had completely diminished now, and all I felt was regret and sadness. How could I go on without her? Was she sleeping in the forest, like me, or was she forging on in the dark?
It must have been close to midnight, but I still couldn’t find sleep. I was tired and worn out from the day, but I got up anyway. I opened the tent flap on my way out, laying on my stomach with my head resting over folded arms. I stared at the luminescent plants that had come to life when the sun set. Now, the only sounds were the crickets and small bugs zipping around. This area was truly pretty, but everything had lost its flare.
The world seemed dull, like someone had hacked into my brain and turned down the vibrance and saturation. I was seeing through sad, cold eyes, full of mistakes.
I had to forget about it, and believe I could sew together the rip that formed hours ago. We shouldn’t have argued, I shouldn’t have defended my choice. Sheila was right: I had put myself before her.
Sadness flipped to shame. I closed my eyes, blocking out everything from this adventure. It had failed, and I was to blame.
—
The next second, it was morning, and someone was shaking me. No—everything was shaking, and I was bouncing on the surface.
I got up with panic before being jostled right back to the floor. Earthquake. For a change, I didn’t think of what trouble I could be in with the trees around me. I thought of Sheila. What if she decided to stay the night, and hadn’t woken up yet? She was such a hard sleeper. I had to help, but how would I ever find her? And what if I left this spot? Would I run into bigger trouble and only get myself hurt?
Sheila could be long gone by now. Possibly. Should I risk looking? I almost had convinced myself to stay put, but then I relived the moments of yesterday. Sheila was annoyed at me not being responsible and being selfish—would I prove that now?
I got up before thinking further and ran, right through the shrubbery that she had left through. I didn’t know where to go next, so I took the practical direction. After many turns and stumbling, I made it to an area with more light. I stared up at the sky, catching my breath.
Then the sunlight began to fade. The circle of trees began to cave, and cracking noises sounded around me. It was a horrible, wailing sound. I dashed away from the place before I could be trapped, and didn’t stop again.
I didn’t know what to look for, but eventually, something registered in my mind. The light blue color of Sheila tent. I turned, backtracking before I saw it again. The trees were unstable, I could see one not too far off fallen on the ground. I skidded to a halt by her tent, and unzipped it hastily, peering inside. Sure enough, Sheila was sleeping, oblivious to the destruction. I shook her hard, and she blinked at me, confused.
“There’s a freak earthquake, we have to get out!” I shouted over the ruckus. Suddenly, Sheila noticed the shaking and nodded, leaving the tent. We ran hand in hand, back the way we had come yesterday. Trees were still falling, but we managed to avoid them, finding a path and taking it, following the downward slope back home.
A burst of sun caused me to slow down, covering my eyes with my hand, straining to see. It took me a second to realize this was our meeting spot. I sighed, breathing heavily from all the running. I sat on a cool rock in the shade, wanting to flop over from exhaustion. When I got up again, Sheila was still standing and staring at me with a look of awe on her face.
“You came back for me,” She whispered, rubbing one arm shyly. “Why?”
“I figured you wouldn’t hear the noise,” I managed, wiping off sweat, staring at the dirt on the ground.
“But how did you know I was there?”
“I didn’t.”
“You realize you could have been killed.”
“…Yeah.”
“So why’d you come?”
It took me a couple minutes to sort out my thoughts. After a while, I looked up. I said sheepishly, “Because that’s what friends do.”
- piggy_puppy
-
Scratcher
41 posts
Scratch Writing Camp Writing Sharing Thread (March 2022)
hahahaha starting the weekly the day before it's due… :000
Weekly
I'm not even going to do a big introduction because the weekly is due tomorrow and I'm RUSHING. So if this seems desperate and hastily written, that's because it is. Okay, so… I'm going to get started!
Part 1
I am using the song ‘Into the Sky’ by Brian Balmages. This song I actually learned on my violin like… a month ago? *thinks back* I have no idea, actually, but it reminds me of flying and fairy castles and a bunch of other fantastical things, so I'm just going to get writing! (Also if you want to here the song, look it up on jwpepper.com)
Part 1 Still, But the Second Song
The second song I am using is Bud For String Quartet??. Honestly, I've never heard this song until I was scrolling on JW Pepper and thought it sounded cool
. The song is by Gavin F. Brown.
Part 2: Inspiration
I took inspiration from this picture.
Part Three: Theme
The theme I chose was truth and growing up. I'm finishing my story from the second part of the song part (yeah I'm really bad at explaining, also I'm rushing. I have 45 minutes to finish this and turn it in). It wasn't required, but I did use inspiration from the second part of the song I used before (The Bud for String Quartet Part 2)
Oh my gosh I finished! I didn't think I'd have time but I did!! YAAAY!
My total words is 3107, so I'm going to turn this in before it's to late.
Bye!
Weekly
I'm not even going to do a big introduction because the weekly is due tomorrow and I'm RUSHING. So if this seems desperate and hastily written, that's because it is. Okay, so… I'm going to get started!
Part 1
I am using the song ‘Into the Sky’ by Brian Balmages. This song I actually learned on my violin like… a month ago? *thinks back* I have no idea, actually, but it reminds me of flying and fairy castles and a bunch of other fantastical things, so I'm just going to get writing! (Also if you want to here the song, look it up on jwpepper.com)
Faye tossed her long red hair over her shoulder and laughed aloud. It was a mellifluous, pleasant sound that you would hear a lot if you were ever around her. Faye ran, barefoot, in the dewy evening grass, up the mountain edge and then she jumped into the air. She tossed her arms into the air and shrieked with excitement as the wind cushioned her fall. It was as if she was laying on an invisible bed. Her arms were outstretched behind her like she was on a waterslide, but her features were relaxed yet enthralled at the same time. A gentle breeze knocked her backwards and Faye tumbled in midair. If the wind wasn’t holding her up, Faye would’ve been dead. The mountain went down several thousand feet, but Faye didn’t seem worried about that at all. She soared upwards, into the sky, which was twinkling with hundreds of tiny pinpricks of light.
Delighted, Faye soared downwards, toward the mountain's ledge where she had jumped. The wind nudged her gently to the ground until she was completely off of the wind. “I need to get back to the palace,” Faye murmured. She turned toward the woods behind her, and, still smiling, raced into it, her auburn hair flowing behind her.
The Palatium Nympharum or the Palace of the Nymphs was a beautiful palace in the middle of the woods. It had white-washed bricks, entwisted with vines, and several balconies overlooking the Grand Courtyard, which had gazebos and fountains and gardens to behold.
Faye ran past some of the nymphs who were gardening and others who were painting the stars when she heard a voice, soft yet crystal clear.
“Faye Nymphanne, where have you been?”
Faye turned to see a nymph, with blonde hair streaked with green and wearing a mint colored chiton approaching her. “Hi Andromeda,” Faye said. “I was out by the mountain, why? What’s going on?”
“There’s a lot going on, actually,” Andromeda said. “One of the trees on the other side of the forest has been struck by lightning. Obviously one of those ‘static-nymph’ upstarts, but now Clover is feeling dreadfully ill.”
Faye gasps. “Oh no! Is Clover going to be okay?:”
“Hopefully,” Andromeda said. “Ally said that she might’ve done some nerve damage which she’s trying to reset, but even our best medic can only do so much.”
Faye nodded. “Well, I’ve got to be going to bed now. Give Clover my best wishes.”
Andromeda nods, and Faye walked to the Palace.
Inside was a cozy foyer with a kitchen to one side and a communal dining room to the other. At the very end of the room was a tall, spiral staircase which Faye began to climb, stopping to wave to some other nymphs on the way up. Once she got to the top, she turned toward her Dome, which was something like a rounded pod in which nymphs slept. Each of the Domes hovered around the upper floor, but if a nymph wished for some privacy, he or she could get a private corridor to themselves.
Faye walked toward her Dome and while she walked her day clothes morphed into more casual night clothes, a long, silky dress with leaves embroidered onto it. Faye settled into her Dome which floated over to the window, at Faye’s wishes. She opened the curtain a little bit and the gentle wind blew her hair back and whispered sweet dreams around her face.
Faye curled up in her Dome and went to sleep, promising to see the wind tomorrow.
Part 1 Still, But the Second Song
The second song I am using is Bud For String Quartet??. Honestly, I've never heard this song until I was scrolling on JW Pepper and thought it sounded cool
. The song is by Gavin F. Brown.There’s something in these woods that no one knows about. There’s something in these woods that makes the flowers bloom and the vines to grow. There’s something in these woods that makes the wind blow fierce and makes the leaves turn from green to red to gold to brown and then to disappear altogether.
That thing in the woods is a witch. And I’m going to find her.
Hello. My name is Valerie Havens.
Everyone in my town wonders what’s in the woods. Some say it’s a dragon. Others say it’s spirits, whispering and nurturing the plants. Others say that it’s a leopard camel, a tall, yet gentle beast. Though most, most think it's a witch.
And boy, do I want to meet her! I want to ask her about her magic and how she brings life to what would be a sad woodland area. I want to see her thatched roof house that everyone says she has. I want to talk to her, mostly. Does she ever have company or is she all alone in the woods?
So, to complete this quest (that sounds very official, don’t you think?) I must go into these woods and search. I exit the cottage through my bedroom window, just as the witch is painting the sky fiery pink and dabbling little glinting specks along the darker part of it. I find it incredibly fascinating.
I have to walk a little ways to get to the woods, but I don’t mind. It gives me time to rehearse what I’m going to say to the witch when I meet her.
Hello, I’m going to say. My name is Valerie, and I’ve waited a very long time to meet you.
And the witch will laugh and gesture for me to come into her cottage. She’ll hand me a cup of tea and show me the magic and tell me about her time in the woods.
I can picture her voice. It’s gentle and ethereal and I could listen to it for hours and hours if I wanted to.
By this time I have entered the woods. Sticks crunch under my feet and something hoots softly in the distance. I’ll bet it’s the witches' pets. She lets them out every night to get exercise and she lets them back inside in the morning, while she paints the rising sun and leaves thousands of humans awestruck in magnificence.
Part 2: Inspiration
I took inspiration from this picture.
Humans. Dirty, rotten, no-good humans. I suppose I’m being a teensy bit harsh. But they’ve ruined my home, polluted my land and destroyed every friend or family member I’ve ever had. Still think I’m being cruel? Well, it was no accident. The humans have poisoned my home and everything I love. And this, this is how it happened.
My name is Anahita, named after the Iranian goddess of water. It’s a fitting name for me but most just call me Ana. Easier to remember I suppose. I’m a water spirit, a Nereid, one who is tied to the lifeforce of the water. At least, that was the legend.
I live in the sea called Corpus Aqua. It’s a decently sized place, where my sisters and I all live in harmony with the environment. I have six sisters and the seven of us are called the Septem Sorores Maris, or the Seven Sisters of the Sea.
We rule the parts of the Corpus Aqua together. Our parents live in the deeper depths of the sea. They were done with ruling and retired to their underwater palace. Though they visit often, they do not help me or my sisters with any of our ruling decisions.
I live in a cavern in a part of the sea close to the land. There’s a piece of land that’s by the water, but still underground, where I can stretch my legs and relax after being underwater for days or weeks at a time.
Yes, we have legs. We aren’t mermaids after all. Mermaids are silly, ridiculous myths that humans made up.
I love my home. Along with a bit of greenery, there is also a small waterfall that cascades along the underside of my bed and lots of fish and marine life tickle my feet when I'm under the water.
As a Nereid, I have long black hair, streaked with a soft aquamarine color. I have deep blue eyes that reflect the sea and I mostly wear waterproof tunics and no shoes, as I never need them in the water.
No human knows that we are down here, but that doesn’t stop them from tearing up my home. One day, I went to the underwater cafe with my dear friend Anisha and then went back to my home, when I found that a large hole had been cut into the roof of my home. I have never been aboveground, but I have a feeling that hole was put there for more than a simple swimming hole.
No human can ever even glimpse me. One of my cousins lives down in a lake called Lac Ness. She took her seahorse for a ride once and one of the humans saw her… The publicity was wild!
So, to help with this problem, I leave my home for several weeks, only returning when I have to, to receive items, or warn the fish to swim in the opposite direction. Some lobsters are to fix up the hole as best as they can. In the meantime, I stay with my sister Quartis, one who generally has the same underwater political beliefs as I. She lives in a luxury cottage underwater and gave me a suite to stay in.
A few weeks later, I swam back to my home to see if the lobsters had made any progress, when I see a bucket, tied onto a rope, dangling from the hole, which was bigger than it ever was before. “I’m incredibly sorry ma’am.” a lobster says, scuttling by nervously. “We tried as best we could to patch up the hole, but the humans just blasted us back and continued. We didn’t know what else to do.”
I look at the lobster in sympathy. “I understand,” I say. “Thank you for your assistance.”
I wonder what the humans could possibly be using the bucket for. I must admit, the sunlight coming from the hole is refreshing, but still, this was an invasion of privacy. And property too I suppose.
I decided to take matters into my own hands. I coax the water to give me a boost up to the hole and with, what I didn’t know would be my last, look at my home, I climb out of the hole and into the light.
Part Three: Theme
The theme I chose was truth and growing up. I'm finishing my story from the second part of the song part (yeah I'm really bad at explaining, also I'm rushing. I have 45 minutes to finish this and turn it in). It wasn't required, but I did use inspiration from the second part of the song I used before (The Bud for String Quartet Part 2)
As I walk through the woods, the sky slowly darkens until I can barely see my hands in front of me. The witch casts spells on the trees casting dark shapes along the path. I start to jog a bit until I’m nearing the end of the path. I’m feeling simply ebullient! I’ve never done anything like this before.
The end of the path is where the witch will meet you. Nobody, as far as I know, has met the witch and I’m going to be the first! But, everyone says that the witch will meet you at the end of the path. It’s custom, I suppose, but I’m not sure how someone would find that out.
The path suddenly takes a sharp turn and then ends abruptly at an old willow tree. The witch will be here any minute I just know it! My legs are feeling rather tired, from walking so far, so I sit against the tree, waiting for the witch to come.
Every sound I hear, I turn my head, expecting to see her, but each time I am disappointed and keep on waiting. I wait. And wait. And wait some more. The witch hasn’t come. Perhaps she came and I didn’t see her? But no. She would’ve seen me here, leaning against the willow tree.
I keep my eyes peeled for her, trying to stay awake. I imagine what my mother would say if she knew I was up this late. I can picture her voice in my head.
“Valerie Amalia Havens! When I was your age, I was up at the crack of dawn for work and you think I could stay up until the middle of the night. For the witch of all things! She’ll find you in the morning, I’m sure.”
And then she would try to convince me to go to sleep. But I must stay awake! I need to see the witch!
But of course, sleep finds me eventually. Hours later, I awake with a crick in my neck and an aching back. I stretch my legs out and look around. The witch has just started to paint the sky. It’s still rather dark, but the sky is tinged with pink and orange. I’ll bet she’ll come for me when she’s done.
I wish I brought something to eat. Or drink. There’s a stream around her somewhere, where the witch gathers water to sprinkle on our town from time to time. My stomach growls contemptuously. I suppose I could just get some water from the stream and then come back right away. I really don’t want to miss any chance I have at seeing the witch.
I stand up, stretch and walk left where I can hear the faint trickle of running water. After a few minutes, I see a bubbling frothy brook that stretched about ten yards wide. I kneel down, in the mud, and scoop some water up in my hands and then move it to my lips. Water has never tasted so good. I take a couple more scoopfuls and find my way back to the willow tree. No witch here yet.
So I sit back down and wait. I wait for what feels like days. Around noon, at least that’s when I think it is, the sun is high in the sky, cast up by the witch that never came to see me.
I don’t know how I feel. I waited for hours and hours, for a witch that never came. I can’t help it. I let a few tears trickle down my cheek in despair. I was hungry and sleep-deprived and dirty. A few seconds later, I’m sobbing against the tree. The witch isn’t real. Otherwise she would’ve seen me or I would’ve at least glimpsed her. I don’t know what makes the sky change from night to day, or what makes the leaves change colors or what makes the sky cry over our village sometimes, but it sure isn’t the witch.
I guess I should just go home.
Give up.
It was all I ever wanted. I’ve always looked up to the witch. Looked up to someone who doesn’t even exist.
And then I realized. I’d been lied to. The entire town, my parents, my friends, the neighbors and even the mayor himself.
Slowly, very slowly, I get up. And I run.
I run down the path I came. I run past the trees and the brook and the non-magic flowers and vines and everything that everyone had lied to me about. LIES UPON LIES!
I don’t stop running until I reach the village. By the time I stop, my throat burns and my knees are shaky with exhaustion. I jog the rest of the way to my house and throw open the door.
My mother is sitting on the couch, sewing the knee of a pair of trousers. She looks up at me and smiles. Smiles! As if she hadn’t lied to me for twelve years. LIES!
“Well, there you are.” she says, pleasantly. “I was worried last night, but I figured you’d be home soon enough. Where did you go to adventure this time?”
And I explode.
“WHERE DO YOU THINK?” I yelled. “I KNOW YOU’VE BEEN LYING TO ME AND THE WITCH ISN’T REAL AND YOU’VE BEEN LYING AND LYING AND LYING AND MY IDOL DOESN’T EVEN EXIST! HOW EXACTLY DO YOU THINK I FEEL ABOUT THIS?”
My mother sets down the trousers and closes her eyes, gesturing for me to come toward her. I’m hesitant, but I sit on a chair across from her, sticking out my bottom lip like I’m five.
“The witch is real.” my mother says, opening her eyes.
“No she’s not.” I say. “Last night proved it! And you-”
My mother holds up her hand. “The witch herself may or may not be real. But her spirit is. Truthfully, no one has ever seen the witch and I don’t know if anyone ever will. But her spirit is what makes the flowers bloom and the vines grow and it’s her spirit that makes the wind blow fierce and makes the leaves change from green to red to gold to brown and then disappear all together.”
My mother stares at me intently and continues. “Don’t you see it? It’s the witches spirit! She helps nature to take its course and all of the magnificent changes around here are from the spirit of nature. I never lied. I just didn’t tell you the details.”
And with this, my mother picks up the trousers and continues to stitch.
I take a deep breath and look out the window, looking for anything to distract me. A tear rolls down my cheek. I can see a tiny bit of the woods from this window. And no one will ever believe me, but I saw a shadow wave to me from behind a willow tree.
Oh my gosh I finished! I didn't think I'd have time but I did!! YAAAY!
My total words is 3107, so I'm going to turn this in before it's to late.
Bye!
Last edited by piggy_puppy (March 23, 2022 23:19:48)
- cheeseloverwv
-
Scratcher
100+ posts
Scratch Writing Camp Writing Sharing Thread (March 2022)
3/23/22 - SWC daily #23 | critique for Vi:
For the daily, I critiqued this story.
New total: 22309
For the daily, I critiqued this story.
I really liked the idea of your piece. But the first thing I have to say is that it’s too redundant. There are a lot of extra words that don’t really do anything for the piece, except make it more confusing. I think that if you cut down on some of the extra ‘fluff’ (as my ELA teacher likes to call it), your story could pack much more of a punch.Word count: 501
For example: the phrase ‘fake illusions.’ All illusions are fake!
Another sentence: ‘They are the ones who both utilize Me to their fullest potential in which they believe they can achieve when by using Me to their needs, I only become less of use and karma punches them in the face when their self-absorbed nature ends up turning them loose.’ You used a lot of words to say something that would be more simply stated: ‘They are the ones who believe they can utilize Me to achieve their fullest potential, when in truth I only become less of use and their self-absorbed nature ends up ruining them.’ (Obviously, using those exact words is plagiarism, but I think the example helps put my point of ‘simplifying’ across.)
It might seem like more words sound better, but really the sentences are wordy and don't add anything to your story.
Other than that, I loved your piece! You did a good job at keeping the reader interested. Your introductory paragraph was really good. All throughout the story, I was wondering who ‘Me’ was, and I didn’t lose interest the whole time (which is saying something for my short attention span xD)
Your second paragraph was a little confusing and hard to follow, but I think you can remedy that by simplifying your text just a bit. I also think that, before you enter this, you should go back through the piece and make sure that you’re consistently capitalizing ‘Me’ when it refers to the main character.
This is just me being particular, but in the spot where you are listing your three reasons, I would add a colon before you list the reasons. You don’t really have to do this, but I think it would help set up the list a little better. I would also add a colon right before your final line, just to set up your finale.
This was a seriously good piece of writing. I’d have to say that my favorite thing about it is the way you sort of build up momentum through the story, slowly revealing bits and pieces about your character until readers realize who it is. I also loved your imagery. You did an excellent job of painting a picture of a concept that is quite abstract. And that final sentence was superb; a satisfying conclusion that is sure to stop the writing contest judges in their tracks.
I think that if you make a few minor edits for readability (is that even a word?!), your entry will be sure to shine in the competition.
Good luck!
New total: 22309
- MoonlitSeas
-
Scratcher
500+ posts
Scratch Writing Camp Writing Sharing Thread (March 2022)
Weekly 3
Part 1- (403 and 407, 810 total)
Smoke Like Rising Hands (Oh Hellos) - The wind blows across the campsite, lifting smoke and bits of ash from the campfire further into the air. The tents sway gently, their stakes holding firm, keeping them planted to the ground. The edges of the picnic blanket ripple as the wind lifts them gently into the air, then sets them back on the slightly muddy ground with surprising ease. The grass, which is mostly flattened from animals and, well, us, stopping across it, stays firm, laying against the ground in its misery. It can’t be helped at this point in time. The fire flickers, changing direction. It moves from burning more or less straight up to a more diagonal approach, nudged by the wind. A child’s marshmallow burns in the shift, lighting up like a torch before she hurries to blow it out. Fire is a beautiful thing, full of life. It’s got an almost playful quality to it, like it’s constantly dancing around without a care in the world. Fire is dangerous, yet not at all so all at once. It’s constantly hungry, constantly yearning for more, more. In certain ways, fire is much like mankind, always looking for something better, full of ambition, and yet so easily extinguished, until it gains proper momentum. In the beginning, humans too were easily controlled by nature, their lives light sparks of fire, easily put out with so little as a drop of water. Yet humans have evolved, and forced nature to play by their rules while often disregarding the more fundamental aspects of life. Much like fire, humans have the ability to consume an insurmountable amount of life, giving and taking breaths in the blink of an eye. Fire even appears to almost have a mind of its own as it performs its breathtaking ballet of action. Still, neither is entirely destructive, as fire helps to establish new life and encourages organisms to evolve. Regardless, the differences continue to separate the two. Fire helped create the human species, while humans are in no way responsible for the pure existence of fire. Humans are dependent on heat, both for energy and warmth. Without fire, mankind would cease to exist. While human beings are not necessarily openly destructive creatures, they remain unaware of the consequences of their every action in a concerning number of scenarios. Fire, on the other hand, isn’t at all intentionally destructive, as it is an element, not a living thing.
Paradise - Instrumentals (Coldplay) - She starts off slowly, testing her new strength. She gently lets the air rise and fall around her, feeling how it glides under and soars over her, pushing her up while keeping her balance. It was a childhood dream, the ability to fly. She’d always envied the birds, wishing she had their freedom, wishing she could soar to unbelievable heights with a birds eye view of it all. Despite her vivid imagination, she’d never hoped that she might someday actually have the ability, here she was, the Skybird, soaring above the rural countryside. It was almost surreal, like she had fallen asleep and never quite fully awoken. Gaining confidence, she let the wind carry her higher, bringing her to new heights. The details of the land far, far below her had begun to shrink out of view, leaving her with a less detailed but larger map. She felt her heartbeat steady out into a consistent rhythm as she grew more comfortable. From her vantage point, she could see it all, from the hills to the lake to the streets of the town. She was a hawk- nothing could escape her notice from her perch in the sky. She dove down, cherishing the rush of exhilaration and adrenaline that came with it. The sun was beginning to set around her, but she realized she wasn’t shivering, despite the atmosphere’s reputation for growing increasingly chilling as the altitude of the troposphere increased. She soared up, then dropped back down and gilded in a graceful circle, enjoying her own personal roller coaster, created and designed by her. She sighed happily. There was nothing, nothing in this world that could ever compare to the joy of the skies. She continued dipping down and rising up as she made a much wider circle, purely for the pleasure of it. After all, she could fly. What was the point of it if she wasn’t going to have fun? Here, she was wholly and completely free, well beyond all barriers and restrictions. She could truly go anywhere in the world she wanted, anytime she wanted. Then a thought struck her. The sun had fully set around her, leaving the air dim. She soared upwards, just passed the clouds, before turning back slightly as a new idea entered her mind. She lazily drifted down, landing gracefully on a cloud without sinking through it. Then she gazed up, admiring the night sky in its full beauty.
Part 2 - 788 words (+280 not already counted in word counts - this was originally written as a daily)
You take a step back, unsure of whether to continue forward or turn back. These people- Sensei- SENSEI Vi, she called herself, and the others, Samurai Birdi and Samurai Butter- had just, well, appeared in front of you. One moment there was only a pool of shadows, the next, this mysterious trio stood in front of you. Seeing you hesitate, Birdi steps forward, offering you her hand.
“It’s alright. We’re here to teach you,” she says kindly, smiling gently. Butter smiles reassuringly, and you relax a little. Taking Birdi’s outstretched hand, you step forward, prompting Vi to reach farther into the shadows, opening a door you hadn’t realized was there. If nothing else, you have a lot to learn. You can’t fully see the doorframe, but fortunately Birdi guides you forward, ensuring you don’t crash into it.
The door leads to a dimly lit wide room with a handful of couches. Shadows gather in the corners, while the middle of the room is slightly more visible. You shiver, realizing there isn’t an obvious heat source. No blasting heating system, no crackling inviting fireplace. Well, Vi did say this was the Mystery Monastery. After all, silence is far more eerie than the welcome crackle of a fireplace. Wishing you had brought a coat of some sort, you rub your arms, hoping the friction will warm you up a little.
Butter silently slips away, reappearing seconds later with a dark black coat. You gratefully slip it on, glad for the extra warmth. Either Butter has exceptionally keen eyesight, or they realize that others might find the room cold. You can’t actually see their clothing, it blends in so well with the walls surrounding them.
Birdi lets go of your hand, and the trio gathers into a huddle, discussing softly enough that you can’t hear them. Two of them nod, and Vi steps back towards you while the others remain where they are. She smiles.
“Congrats on being the first camper to arrive,” she says. “You’ll be in my group, but since you actually managed to find your way here on time, I’m going to wait for a few of your roommates before showing you your bunk and giving you a tour of the monastery.”
“You’re welcome to make yourself comfortable,” Butter adds, speaking for the first time. “By the way, what’s your name? As Vi said, I’m Butter.”
“I’m Moonlit,” you answer.
“Well then, welcome Moonlit,” Birdi says. “Oh, and by the way, we’ve got some ice cream hidden somewhere in this room if you’d like some entertainment.”
“Good luck finding it,” Vi adds with a wicked grin. She and the others walk back outside, presumably to wait for the others. You get the feeling you’re gonna need it in this room. There are an uncountable number of hiding spots… under the couches, inside the couches, in the shadows along the edges of the room, wherever the exits are, possibly secret compartments along the floor, couches, ceiling, doors, and wall, under the floorboards… the better question would be where she couldn’t hide the ice cream. Well, you think you’d better get to work then.
You start by walking around the edges of the room, feeling out the edges where the floor meets the wall at first, then adding sight to the mix as your eyes adjust to the lack of light. Clearly the ice cream isn’t lying in one of the corners. You should have known that would be too obvious for this bunch. Moving on to the walls, you realize they stretch far higher than you originally realized. Fortunately, you find a long stick that might be used for tightrope walking resting parallel to the walls in a corner. You use it to scrape up and down the enormous walls, listening intently for any disturbance. You finish a full circle of the room’s wall with no results. Either any hidden doors are made exceptionally well, or the walls are simply not the answer.
You make your way back to the couches in the center and collapse on one, your arms tired from holding the stick up. Your stomach growls so loudly that the sound echoes around the room, and although it probably doesn’t take much to send an echo, you realize how hungry you are.
Butter, Birdi, and Vi walk back into the room, bringing a hooded figure with them. Seeing you sprawled out across the couch, Vi sighs. “Still haven’t found the ice cream?” she asks. When you shake your head, she groans. She gracefully hops on the top of the couch, then leaps up, bringing several pints of ice cream with her as she touches back down on the ground. “You’ve got a lot to learn.”
Part 3 - 1001 words :0 (Continuation of Paradise inspired story from part 1)
(A bit rushed, totally didn't procrastinate xD)
Only here could she really do that, free of all the limitations of light pollution, smoke, and other nasty gasses. Sitting there, staring at the constellations, she realized that as a child, she’d always wished for the ability to fly. So what had she really wanted in that? Freedom? Adventure? Or simply to test the limits? Fully knowing her, the possibilities were endless. She was, and still is, if she’d been honest with herself, quite the chaotic child.
She wondered what she could do with this newfound freedom, away from prying eyes. Up here, people would be hard pressed to set up surveillance, so she would remain blissfully unwatched, free of all real responsibility. She could go anywhere, see anything, do anything… no one could stop her now. She could rob banks, vanishing into thin air. She could swoop down and assassinate anyone she’d like, leaving little trace of her presence. She could fly away into the night and create a new, nearly perfect life for herself. And yet something held her back. No matter how much she could want, no matter how far she went, she would always be dragged back to this lonesome countryside by unmovable loyalty. Even with her head in the clouds, she would always be grounded by her ties to the world below. But for what? That same world down below would shun her in an instant if they realized what she was, what she could do. She could already hear their voices in her head.
Freak!
Abomination!
Mutant!
The world had never been kind to her. It had been jealous, unforgiving, and criticizing. No matter what she did, she would never be perfect enough for their ironically imperfect world. So why should she be kind in return? Why should she help the people who would scorn her, cast her out if they knew what she could do? Her talent could never be celebrated, if only because of jealousy. Stupid jealousy. Manipulative, condescending, overbearing jealousy. If only this world could be rid of it.
She sighed, wondering if she would literally fall out of the sky if she tried to sleep up here. Well, no time like the present to try. Even if she died tonight, no one besides her handful of half-fake friends and her family would miss her, and that was only because they didn’t realize what she could do now. Besides, she was fairly certain that she would be awakened by the rush of air around her long before she hit the ground. In any case, she really didn’t want to return to the surface now. She slowly laid back, testing her weight on the cloud, and gently closed her eyes, letting herself slip into the world of dreams.
She was soaring, drifting atop a jet stream, letting herself be carried across America, from California to New York island. As she passed by, countless birds would wave at her, some even go so far as to bow and curtsy. Here, she was the Queen of Birds. Looking over her shoulder, she realized that she too had wings. An army of birds slowly amassed behind her, and the wind shifted directions, carefully lowering her down to a massive tree. As she stood, she regained her balance, and her wings folded meticulously behind her. The tiny birds remain airborne, hovering around her. As one, they all moved forward, into a room with a massive throne. They set themselves down, once again bowing as she approached the throne, an intricately woven collection of sticks, twigs, and jewels, almost like a nest. She cautiously sat down, not quite so sure of herself.
In an instant, the floor dropped out from under her, sending her and the throne plummeting down, down, down, towards a surface that never seemed to arrive. She screamed, trying to spread her wings. She opened her eyes, realizing that she really was falling. This wasn’t a dream anymore.
She screamed. This was it. This was how she was going to die. Here and now.
As panic overtook her, her instincts took over. She spread her arms wide, feeling for the rush of air under her. Concentrating on that, ignoring the pull of gravity and air above her, she let herself be pushed back up, until she was once again level with the highest clouds.
Looking around, she realized it was still the middle of the night, with no signs of sunrise. She glided over to a cloud, carefully laying on it. The adrenaline continued to rush through her veins, keeping her wide awake. What would happen when it faded, she didn’t know.
The rational thing to do would be to set herself back on the ground, but she couldn’t stand the thought of giving in to rationality after carefully avoiding it all night. She sighed, wishing she had a watch. If she had to guess, she’d say it was around two, maybe three in the morning, which gave her around another three hours before the sun rose. She’d have to make it work.
That left her with a handful of options. Should she take the risk of sleep? The obvious benefit to this was not looking like a sleep-deprived monster the next morning, but it carried the ominous possibility of the death she had narrowly avoided just moments ago. Clearly that was not the ideal situation, which left her with the task of staying awake. If only she had a friend. A real friend, not just someone who smiled at the right times and pretended to like everything she did. Right now more than ever, she needed someone to talk to. Specifically, in this moment she needed someone to distract her from the call of sleep as her adrenaline wore off. But more generally speaking, she needed someone to rely on. Someone who she could trust with her secrets, and could trust her with theirs. Someone to be there for, someone to fight for. Now more than ever, she needed a companion, a friend.
Part 1- (403 and 407, 810 total)
Smoke Like Rising Hands (Oh Hellos) - The wind blows across the campsite, lifting smoke and bits of ash from the campfire further into the air. The tents sway gently, their stakes holding firm, keeping them planted to the ground. The edges of the picnic blanket ripple as the wind lifts them gently into the air, then sets them back on the slightly muddy ground with surprising ease. The grass, which is mostly flattened from animals and, well, us, stopping across it, stays firm, laying against the ground in its misery. It can’t be helped at this point in time. The fire flickers, changing direction. It moves from burning more or less straight up to a more diagonal approach, nudged by the wind. A child’s marshmallow burns in the shift, lighting up like a torch before she hurries to blow it out. Fire is a beautiful thing, full of life. It’s got an almost playful quality to it, like it’s constantly dancing around without a care in the world. Fire is dangerous, yet not at all so all at once. It’s constantly hungry, constantly yearning for more, more. In certain ways, fire is much like mankind, always looking for something better, full of ambition, and yet so easily extinguished, until it gains proper momentum. In the beginning, humans too were easily controlled by nature, their lives light sparks of fire, easily put out with so little as a drop of water. Yet humans have evolved, and forced nature to play by their rules while often disregarding the more fundamental aspects of life. Much like fire, humans have the ability to consume an insurmountable amount of life, giving and taking breaths in the blink of an eye. Fire even appears to almost have a mind of its own as it performs its breathtaking ballet of action. Still, neither is entirely destructive, as fire helps to establish new life and encourages organisms to evolve. Regardless, the differences continue to separate the two. Fire helped create the human species, while humans are in no way responsible for the pure existence of fire. Humans are dependent on heat, both for energy and warmth. Without fire, mankind would cease to exist. While human beings are not necessarily openly destructive creatures, they remain unaware of the consequences of their every action in a concerning number of scenarios. Fire, on the other hand, isn’t at all intentionally destructive, as it is an element, not a living thing.
Paradise - Instrumentals (Coldplay) - She starts off slowly, testing her new strength. She gently lets the air rise and fall around her, feeling how it glides under and soars over her, pushing her up while keeping her balance. It was a childhood dream, the ability to fly. She’d always envied the birds, wishing she had their freedom, wishing she could soar to unbelievable heights with a birds eye view of it all. Despite her vivid imagination, she’d never hoped that she might someday actually have the ability, here she was, the Skybird, soaring above the rural countryside. It was almost surreal, like she had fallen asleep and never quite fully awoken. Gaining confidence, she let the wind carry her higher, bringing her to new heights. The details of the land far, far below her had begun to shrink out of view, leaving her with a less detailed but larger map. She felt her heartbeat steady out into a consistent rhythm as she grew more comfortable. From her vantage point, she could see it all, from the hills to the lake to the streets of the town. She was a hawk- nothing could escape her notice from her perch in the sky. She dove down, cherishing the rush of exhilaration and adrenaline that came with it. The sun was beginning to set around her, but she realized she wasn’t shivering, despite the atmosphere’s reputation for growing increasingly chilling as the altitude of the troposphere increased. She soared up, then dropped back down and gilded in a graceful circle, enjoying her own personal roller coaster, created and designed by her. She sighed happily. There was nothing, nothing in this world that could ever compare to the joy of the skies. She continued dipping down and rising up as she made a much wider circle, purely for the pleasure of it. After all, she could fly. What was the point of it if she wasn’t going to have fun? Here, she was wholly and completely free, well beyond all barriers and restrictions. She could truly go anywhere in the world she wanted, anytime she wanted. Then a thought struck her. The sun had fully set around her, leaving the air dim. She soared upwards, just passed the clouds, before turning back slightly as a new idea entered her mind. She lazily drifted down, landing gracefully on a cloud without sinking through it. Then she gazed up, admiring the night sky in its full beauty.
Part 2 - 788 words (+280 not already counted in word counts - this was originally written as a daily)
You take a step back, unsure of whether to continue forward or turn back. These people- Sensei- SENSEI Vi, she called herself, and the others, Samurai Birdi and Samurai Butter- had just, well, appeared in front of you. One moment there was only a pool of shadows, the next, this mysterious trio stood in front of you. Seeing you hesitate, Birdi steps forward, offering you her hand.
“It’s alright. We’re here to teach you,” she says kindly, smiling gently. Butter smiles reassuringly, and you relax a little. Taking Birdi’s outstretched hand, you step forward, prompting Vi to reach farther into the shadows, opening a door you hadn’t realized was there. If nothing else, you have a lot to learn. You can’t fully see the doorframe, but fortunately Birdi guides you forward, ensuring you don’t crash into it.
The door leads to a dimly lit wide room with a handful of couches. Shadows gather in the corners, while the middle of the room is slightly more visible. You shiver, realizing there isn’t an obvious heat source. No blasting heating system, no crackling inviting fireplace. Well, Vi did say this was the Mystery Monastery. After all, silence is far more eerie than the welcome crackle of a fireplace. Wishing you had brought a coat of some sort, you rub your arms, hoping the friction will warm you up a little.
Butter silently slips away, reappearing seconds later with a dark black coat. You gratefully slip it on, glad for the extra warmth. Either Butter has exceptionally keen eyesight, or they realize that others might find the room cold. You can’t actually see their clothing, it blends in so well with the walls surrounding them.
Birdi lets go of your hand, and the trio gathers into a huddle, discussing softly enough that you can’t hear them. Two of them nod, and Vi steps back towards you while the others remain where they are. She smiles.
“Congrats on being the first camper to arrive,” she says. “You’ll be in my group, but since you actually managed to find your way here on time, I’m going to wait for a few of your roommates before showing you your bunk and giving you a tour of the monastery.”
“You’re welcome to make yourself comfortable,” Butter adds, speaking for the first time. “By the way, what’s your name? As Vi said, I’m Butter.”
“I’m Moonlit,” you answer.
“Well then, welcome Moonlit,” Birdi says. “Oh, and by the way, we’ve got some ice cream hidden somewhere in this room if you’d like some entertainment.”
“Good luck finding it,” Vi adds with a wicked grin. She and the others walk back outside, presumably to wait for the others. You get the feeling you’re gonna need it in this room. There are an uncountable number of hiding spots… under the couches, inside the couches, in the shadows along the edges of the room, wherever the exits are, possibly secret compartments along the floor, couches, ceiling, doors, and wall, under the floorboards… the better question would be where she couldn’t hide the ice cream. Well, you think you’d better get to work then.
You start by walking around the edges of the room, feeling out the edges where the floor meets the wall at first, then adding sight to the mix as your eyes adjust to the lack of light. Clearly the ice cream isn’t lying in one of the corners. You should have known that would be too obvious for this bunch. Moving on to the walls, you realize they stretch far higher than you originally realized. Fortunately, you find a long stick that might be used for tightrope walking resting parallel to the walls in a corner. You use it to scrape up and down the enormous walls, listening intently for any disturbance. You finish a full circle of the room’s wall with no results. Either any hidden doors are made exceptionally well, or the walls are simply not the answer.
You make your way back to the couches in the center and collapse on one, your arms tired from holding the stick up. Your stomach growls so loudly that the sound echoes around the room, and although it probably doesn’t take much to send an echo, you realize how hungry you are.
Butter, Birdi, and Vi walk back into the room, bringing a hooded figure with them. Seeing you sprawled out across the couch, Vi sighs. “Still haven’t found the ice cream?” she asks. When you shake your head, she groans. She gracefully hops on the top of the couch, then leaps up, bringing several pints of ice cream with her as she touches back down on the ground. “You’ve got a lot to learn.”
Part 3 - 1001 words :0 (Continuation of Paradise inspired story from part 1)
(A bit rushed, totally didn't procrastinate xD)
Only here could she really do that, free of all the limitations of light pollution, smoke, and other nasty gasses. Sitting there, staring at the constellations, she realized that as a child, she’d always wished for the ability to fly. So what had she really wanted in that? Freedom? Adventure? Or simply to test the limits? Fully knowing her, the possibilities were endless. She was, and still is, if she’d been honest with herself, quite the chaotic child.
She wondered what she could do with this newfound freedom, away from prying eyes. Up here, people would be hard pressed to set up surveillance, so she would remain blissfully unwatched, free of all real responsibility. She could go anywhere, see anything, do anything… no one could stop her now. She could rob banks, vanishing into thin air. She could swoop down and assassinate anyone she’d like, leaving little trace of her presence. She could fly away into the night and create a new, nearly perfect life for herself. And yet something held her back. No matter how much she could want, no matter how far she went, she would always be dragged back to this lonesome countryside by unmovable loyalty. Even with her head in the clouds, she would always be grounded by her ties to the world below. But for what? That same world down below would shun her in an instant if they realized what she was, what she could do. She could already hear their voices in her head.
Freak!
Abomination!
Mutant!
The world had never been kind to her. It had been jealous, unforgiving, and criticizing. No matter what she did, she would never be perfect enough for their ironically imperfect world. So why should she be kind in return? Why should she help the people who would scorn her, cast her out if they knew what she could do? Her talent could never be celebrated, if only because of jealousy. Stupid jealousy. Manipulative, condescending, overbearing jealousy. If only this world could be rid of it.
She sighed, wondering if she would literally fall out of the sky if she tried to sleep up here. Well, no time like the present to try. Even if she died tonight, no one besides her handful of half-fake friends and her family would miss her, and that was only because they didn’t realize what she could do now. Besides, she was fairly certain that she would be awakened by the rush of air around her long before she hit the ground. In any case, she really didn’t want to return to the surface now. She slowly laid back, testing her weight on the cloud, and gently closed her eyes, letting herself slip into the world of dreams.
She was soaring, drifting atop a jet stream, letting herself be carried across America, from California to New York island. As she passed by, countless birds would wave at her, some even go so far as to bow and curtsy. Here, she was the Queen of Birds. Looking over her shoulder, she realized that she too had wings. An army of birds slowly amassed behind her, and the wind shifted directions, carefully lowering her down to a massive tree. As she stood, she regained her balance, and her wings folded meticulously behind her. The tiny birds remain airborne, hovering around her. As one, they all moved forward, into a room with a massive throne. They set themselves down, once again bowing as she approached the throne, an intricately woven collection of sticks, twigs, and jewels, almost like a nest. She cautiously sat down, not quite so sure of herself.
In an instant, the floor dropped out from under her, sending her and the throne plummeting down, down, down, towards a surface that never seemed to arrive. She screamed, trying to spread her wings. She opened her eyes, realizing that she really was falling. This wasn’t a dream anymore.
She screamed. This was it. This was how she was going to die. Here and now.
As panic overtook her, her instincts took over. She spread her arms wide, feeling for the rush of air under her. Concentrating on that, ignoring the pull of gravity and air above her, she let herself be pushed back up, until she was once again level with the highest clouds.
Looking around, she realized it was still the middle of the night, with no signs of sunrise. She glided over to a cloud, carefully laying on it. The adrenaline continued to rush through her veins, keeping her wide awake. What would happen when it faded, she didn’t know.
The rational thing to do would be to set herself back on the ground, but she couldn’t stand the thought of giving in to rationality after carefully avoiding it all night. She sighed, wishing she had a watch. If she had to guess, she’d say it was around two, maybe three in the morning, which gave her around another three hours before the sun rose. She’d have to make it work.
That left her with a handful of options. Should she take the risk of sleep? The obvious benefit to this was not looking like a sleep-deprived monster the next morning, but it carried the ominous possibility of the death she had narrowly avoided just moments ago. Clearly that was not the ideal situation, which left her with the task of staying awake. If only she had a friend. A real friend, not just someone who smiled at the right times and pretended to like everything she did. Right now more than ever, she needed someone to talk to. Specifically, in this moment she needed someone to distract her from the call of sleep as her adrenaline wore off. But more generally speaking, she needed someone to rely on. Someone who she could trust with her secrets, and could trust her with theirs. Someone to be there for, someone to fight for. Now more than ever, she needed a companion, a friend.
- opheliio
-
Scratcher
100+ posts
Scratch Writing Camp Writing Sharing Thread (March 2022)
critique daily! 427 words total
Now moving into some more critical observations / suggestions! One thing that made this story unnecessarily difficult to read was the lack of paragraph breaks. I would suggest adding them and using them in your future writing; a good rule of thumb for when to change paragraphs is whenever you would imagine a camera change / change of angle if the story were a movie. Additionally, I would love if this story were longer and had more depth in content. It says that hybrids are teased for being so, but why? What are the other characters like, and what motivates them to be mean to the protagonist? How does Alex feel about all of this? Is there a reason that strawberries are sweet while tomatoes are bitter?
On the whole, this story left me wanting for more, and I mean that in a good way! I am intrigued by the world of the supermarket produce aisle and the unique social struggles found there. Your ideas and writing are both great, keep up the good work!
Onto a few nitpicks. The first may seem contrary to one of my praises, but as someone who isn't entirely in touch with Star Wars, I was slightly lost while reading, though this says more about me than it does about your writing. However, few cursory explanations could add a lot to the feel of the story, without making it unreadable. This leads well into my next point of creating an atmosphere. While I certainly understand what happens, I don't understand why or where or much about the characters, all of which could be added with some more description.
On the whole, I really liked reading this little excerpt. Keep up the great work!
Lilac the PeppergranateStarting off with some positives, I love how expressive your writing is. It is very fun to read, which is always good with more humorous pieces like this one. I also enjoy the references to fruits and vegetables sprinkled throughout the story, they really sell the fact that our narrator is a piece of produce rather than a human or other creature.
I stuck out my pink tongue at the tomato. Tim.
Tim the tomato. He was teasing me, again,
because I am a hybrid. A hybrid
pepper-pomegranate. A peppergranate. Ha ha,
very funny for Tim, you get it. Ugh. I didn’t
choose to be a hybrid. Why can’t Tim see that? He
didn’t choose what he was. But… I can choose my
attitude towards him. And It won’t be mean.
I’m Lilac. Lilac the peppergranate. I’m red with
little pomegranate seeds that taste like peppers,
and I have a pepper stem. I try to ignore Tim and
the others, like Mo, Sally, Josh, and all the other
fruits and vegetables at the supermarket, but
sometimes they really get under my peel. The
other day I snapped at them like crisp celery. I
want it to be a secret, but nothing is with Tim
around. I just… feel bad. I know they’re rotten,
but I am supposed to be Lilac, calm and cool. I
don’t know what got into me. Not a worm, I hope.
I think Tim’s crawling with worms. I have one
friend. Alex. She’s a strawberry, and the best one,
of course! She’s one of the only nice ones here.
Now moving into some more critical observations / suggestions! One thing that made this story unnecessarily difficult to read was the lack of paragraph breaks. I would suggest adding them and using them in your future writing; a good rule of thumb for when to change paragraphs is whenever you would imagine a camera change / change of angle if the story were a movie. Additionally, I would love if this story were longer and had more depth in content. It says that hybrids are teased for being so, but why? What are the other characters like, and what motivates them to be mean to the protagonist? How does Alex feel about all of this? Is there a reason that strawberries are sweet while tomatoes are bitter?
On the whole, this story left me wanting for more, and I mean that in a good way! I am intrigued by the world of the supermarket produce aisle and the unique social struggles found there. Your ideas and writing are both great, keep up the good work!
(original writing)Once again, I'll start with some commendations! You seem very confident in your writing and your style, and your confidence is clear from the very first line. Your dialogue is also quite nice, and I enjoy how there is no forced explanations of the terms used; it is much more realistic than if there had been a dump of information every few sentences. While your prose is simple, it fits the story and leaves nothing to be desired.
Jedi Knight Laer Krenn was meditating while sitting on the floor of the guest room in Theed Royal Palace.
The Force was at peace, and it had been for a few centuries. Laer was thankful for that, as it hadn’t been peaceful since before the High Republic. Well, there had been times between the High Republic and the times of the First Order when the Force was at peace, but it didn’t stay that way for long.
Laer was visiting his cousin, Norele Thessalana, Queen of Naboo. During his stay, he had experienced a strange vision of some unknown humanoid species traveling in space. Through meditating, he was hoping to discover what it meant.
So far, he was unsuccessful as the Force showed him nothing. It remained a mystery.
Suddenly, Laer had a vision: the same strange spaceship was going to Naboo, which was unusual.
He opened his eyes slowly and stood up. Earlier, he had told Norele that he would tell her about his meditative experience. He walked out of his room, and up the staircase to the level of the Queen’s apartment. A few Royal Security Forces guards stood in front of the door.
“I need to see Her Highness,” Laer told the guards.
A guard knocked on the door, it opened and a Royal Handmaiden poked her head out. “The Queen is busy right now, but she will be available shortly.”
Laer nodded, and waited patiently.
Five minutes later, the handmaiden let the Jedi inside.
He walked in, did a short bow and greeted the Queen, who was seated on a couch in the sitting room with her handmaidens surrounding her.
Queen Thessalana laughed and said, “Laer, you’re my cousin, and my friend. There’s no need to do that in private.” Her voice turned serious. “Did you find out anything else?”
Laer said, “No, but I had another vision of the same humanoid aliens. They came here, to Naboo, but the Force is telling me that they won’t come for a while—probably a year, or even a year and a half,” he added hastily.
The Queen’s face showed no reaction at all. “We do not know who they are, so if they do arrive here, we need to be prepared for anything they might want from us, the Gungans, or the planet. Stingré? Please go tell Captain Susset that we need to be prepared for intruders in a year’s time—but we need to stay prepared for a couple years, not just a few weeks.”
The handmaiden silently exited the apartment.
“Thank you for your time, Nor.” Laer inclined his head slightly, then turned on his heel and exited the apartment.
Once the door was shut, the Queen said to her remaining handmaidens, “I hope those strange humans don’t invade our planet, as Naboo is our home and the Gungans’ home. But if they do attempt an invasion, I know that all of you will defend our home. If they do invade, Aquwé, you will probably be needed to double as the Queen.”
A human with short, sky blue hair poking out of their hood nodded loyally to their friend and Queen.
Onto a few nitpicks. The first may seem contrary to one of my praises, but as someone who isn't entirely in touch with Star Wars, I was slightly lost while reading, though this says more about me than it does about your writing. However, few cursory explanations could add a lot to the feel of the story, without making it unreadable. This leads well into my next point of creating an atmosphere. While I certainly understand what happens, I don't understand why or where or much about the characters, all of which could be added with some more description.
On the whole, I really liked reading this little excerpt. Keep up the great work!
- p-e-p-p-p-e-r
-
Scratcher
8 posts
Scratch Writing Camp Writing Sharing Thread (March 2022)
Writing Comp Entry
My silent steps sweeping through the shallow puddles seemed to echo in the empty temple chamber. Its massive stone walls formed the inside of a pyramid towering above me with its vines running upward farther than I could see. Each wall was engraved with the names of those who had entered the temple and been killed by Phiton, the great water spirit, known to be able to restore a life. For thousands of years my people have sent a young warrior on the summer solstice, when Phiton is at his weakest to slay his soul in order to capture his power. Today I am the young warrior.
◆ ◆ ◆
I stop my silent walking as I reach one of the three walls, I examine the engravings, the first on I see reads the name: Ahana Coleri Egaler
I’ve heard of her, I never knew her but the night a new warrior is sent to slay Phiton our town holds a ceremony for them, Ahana was the daughter of a rich father and she was a strong fighter. Her family organized a parade on the night of her departure and it marched through all of our land shooting brightly colored streamers out onto the houses to make what everyone knew would be her last night alive a little more bearable.
My ceremony was not as extravagant. My brother had been a warrior once before 7 years ago. After his failure the town had no faith in my success. Of course they still sent me their prayers and good fortune but they all knew my fight would not last.
I continued to examine the stone wall. Ahana was the chosen warrior 3 years ago, her name was the third before the names carved in stone and traced in a red liquid stopped abruptly. The most recent name on the list was one I also knew as the warrior before me. Suddenly a realization hit me, the names carved in the walls were written in chronological order, that meant that my brother's name had to be here. I didn’t want to find his name written in blood on the wall but I couldn't stop myself. I knew he was dead but I couldn't be sure, he could have never fought Phiton and never came back to our town because he didn’t want to be labeled as cowardly, surely he would do that. I ran my fingers along the names scanning for his name: Jangol Krisan Liken
I read two full rows of names twice over, still not seeing anything. A heart beat of relife entered my chest as I cupped my hands to my mouth in shock. Tears welled into my eyes as I realized the truth. Jangol was alive, my tears broke like a rushing river melting in spring.
But my joy was short lived, as I cried and I felt a wave of water wash over my ankles. It was not much but compared to the calm puddles the water felt unnatural. I turned around and to my horror I locked eyes with the swirling water monster towering above me. Phiton.
◆ ◆ ◆
“Another warrior, I see. . .” Phiton whispered in a hushed intimidating tone. “You look familiar.”
‘’Stay back!” I yelled with fear.
“Really? Are you demanding that I stay back?” Phiton said with amusement “Now where were we? Because I know that I have seen you before. Perhaps we should get a closer look, no?”
Phiton bent down as water splashed down wetting my knees. Everything in me told me to run and move my legs but I was frozen. I looked down. No! I was really frozen, ice had climbed up my feet gluing me to the ground. My head whipped up in a panic as more water splashed my face, which was now in alignment with Phiton’s.
“Oh! I know your brother, boy. Jangol Krisan Liken. . . Perhaps you won’t be as bad as I thought.”
“Jangol Krisan Liken never came here.”
“Is that really what you think?”
“You don’t know anything about my brother!”
“I was wrong then you're going to be just as bad as I thought.” Phiton said, ending the conversation.
And with that his massive flowy body rose from my height to farther than I could see, my feet were still trapped in the ice. I looked up and for a moment thought I was alone once more in the chamber, but that thought quickly subsided and I was able to make out the sharp icels falling in my direction.
“NO! NO! HELP!” I screamed with nothing but fear.
◆ ◆ ◆
“Phiton, wait!” a voice said, a voice I knew too well. The voice of my brother.
I looked up to see the icicles hanging in mid air just above my head. In front of Phiton was a silhouette outlined in his harsh glow.
“What” I said in shock as the ice around my legs melted into water in an instant.
“Why would you do that? Trap his feet again now!” remarked Phiton angrily.
“Phiton” my brother said “I am sure you understand that this is my brother, he means no harm to you, or any of us. I will send him on his way, you have better things to do with your time.”
Philton grunted and reluctantly disappeared in the puddles. My legs trembled at the sign of my brother. But my excitement took over and I tackled him with a hug
“You’re alive!” I squealed through more tears.
_______________________________________
Word Count: 909
My silent steps sweeping through the shallow puddles seemed to echo in the empty temple chamber. Its massive stone walls formed the inside of a pyramid towering above me with its vines running upward farther than I could see. Each wall was engraved with the names of those who had entered the temple and been killed by Phiton, the great water spirit, known to be able to restore a life. For thousands of years my people have sent a young warrior on the summer solstice, when Phiton is at his weakest to slay his soul in order to capture his power. Today I am the young warrior.
◆ ◆ ◆
I stop my silent walking as I reach one of the three walls, I examine the engravings, the first on I see reads the name: Ahana Coleri Egaler
I’ve heard of her, I never knew her but the night a new warrior is sent to slay Phiton our town holds a ceremony for them, Ahana was the daughter of a rich father and she was a strong fighter. Her family organized a parade on the night of her departure and it marched through all of our land shooting brightly colored streamers out onto the houses to make what everyone knew would be her last night alive a little more bearable.
My ceremony was not as extravagant. My brother had been a warrior once before 7 years ago. After his failure the town had no faith in my success. Of course they still sent me their prayers and good fortune but they all knew my fight would not last.
I continued to examine the stone wall. Ahana was the chosen warrior 3 years ago, her name was the third before the names carved in stone and traced in a red liquid stopped abruptly. The most recent name on the list was one I also knew as the warrior before me. Suddenly a realization hit me, the names carved in the walls were written in chronological order, that meant that my brother's name had to be here. I didn’t want to find his name written in blood on the wall but I couldn't stop myself. I knew he was dead but I couldn't be sure, he could have never fought Phiton and never came back to our town because he didn’t want to be labeled as cowardly, surely he would do that. I ran my fingers along the names scanning for his name: Jangol Krisan Liken
I read two full rows of names twice over, still not seeing anything. A heart beat of relife entered my chest as I cupped my hands to my mouth in shock. Tears welled into my eyes as I realized the truth. Jangol was alive, my tears broke like a rushing river melting in spring.
But my joy was short lived, as I cried and I felt a wave of water wash over my ankles. It was not much but compared to the calm puddles the water felt unnatural. I turned around and to my horror I locked eyes with the swirling water monster towering above me. Phiton.
◆ ◆ ◆
“Another warrior, I see. . .” Phiton whispered in a hushed intimidating tone. “You look familiar.”
‘’Stay back!” I yelled with fear.
“Really? Are you demanding that I stay back?” Phiton said with amusement “Now where were we? Because I know that I have seen you before. Perhaps we should get a closer look, no?”
Phiton bent down as water splashed down wetting my knees. Everything in me told me to run and move my legs but I was frozen. I looked down. No! I was really frozen, ice had climbed up my feet gluing me to the ground. My head whipped up in a panic as more water splashed my face, which was now in alignment with Phiton’s.
“Oh! I know your brother, boy. Jangol Krisan Liken. . . Perhaps you won’t be as bad as I thought.”
“Jangol Krisan Liken never came here.”
“Is that really what you think?”
“You don’t know anything about my brother!”
“I was wrong then you're going to be just as bad as I thought.” Phiton said, ending the conversation.
And with that his massive flowy body rose from my height to farther than I could see, my feet were still trapped in the ice. I looked up and for a moment thought I was alone once more in the chamber, but that thought quickly subsided and I was able to make out the sharp icels falling in my direction.
“NO! NO! HELP!” I screamed with nothing but fear.
◆ ◆ ◆
“Phiton, wait!” a voice said, a voice I knew too well. The voice of my brother.
I looked up to see the icicles hanging in mid air just above my head. In front of Phiton was a silhouette outlined in his harsh glow.
“What” I said in shock as the ice around my legs melted into water in an instant.
“Why would you do that? Trap his feet again now!” remarked Phiton angrily.
“Phiton” my brother said “I am sure you understand that this is my brother, he means no harm to you, or any of us. I will send him on his way, you have better things to do with your time.”
Philton grunted and reluctantly disappeared in the puddles. My legs trembled at the sign of my brother. But my excitement took over and I tackled him with a hug
“You’re alive!” I squealed through more tears.
_______________________________________
Word Count: 909
- Peach_Drawing
-
Scratcher
1000+ posts
Scratch Writing Camp Writing Sharing Thread (March 2022)
swc word war - march 23
words: 295
time: 5 minutes
with: @artisticcreator34, who wrote 266 words
According to legend, there once was and currently is a book that held every single one of the world’s secrets. This book was supposedly larger than a human and could not be opened by any number of humans attempting to pry open the cover, though that has yet to be verified by modern book-seekers. The pages were assumed by most people to be made of some type of plants or ancient material, but in reality the book was currently just a large computer. The book’s appearance was determined by the most defining feature or technology of the year that it was currently in, and so had lots of different appearances. Nobody could come up with one clear definition or impression of what the book looked like: a computer, a paperback novel, a hardcover novel, plant leaves bound together, etcetera. Everyone still called it a book, though. The people who sought the book always had to carefully pay attention to the work of others and make sure to follow the trail left by other people who sought the same thing. Even if it is deemed impossible to open the book, people still seek it because they believe that it will boost their knowledge or uncover one of the world's great mysteries and help them find the truth in things that are unclear. People often turn to looking for the book because they want the book’s power to help them uncover something that is being hidden from them, or they might just want to prove that it doesn’t exist. A large community has developed around the people who are in search of the book and the secrets within it, though they don’t have a large membership and often seem eccentric or strange to people who don’t know
words: 295
time: 5 minutes
with: @artisticcreator34, who wrote 266 words
According to legend, there once was and currently is a book that held every single one of the world’s secrets. This book was supposedly larger than a human and could not be opened by any number of humans attempting to pry open the cover, though that has yet to be verified by modern book-seekers. The pages were assumed by most people to be made of some type of plants or ancient material, but in reality the book was currently just a large computer. The book’s appearance was determined by the most defining feature or technology of the year that it was currently in, and so had lots of different appearances. Nobody could come up with one clear definition or impression of what the book looked like: a computer, a paperback novel, a hardcover novel, plant leaves bound together, etcetera. Everyone still called it a book, though. The people who sought the book always had to carefully pay attention to the work of others and make sure to follow the trail left by other people who sought the same thing. Even if it is deemed impossible to open the book, people still seek it because they believe that it will boost their knowledge or uncover one of the world's great mysteries and help them find the truth in things that are unclear. People often turn to looking for the book because they want the book’s power to help them uncover something that is being hidden from them, or they might just want to prove that it doesn’t exist. A large community has developed around the people who are in search of the book and the secrets within it, though they don’t have a large membership and often seem eccentric or strange to people who don’t know
Last edited by Peach_Drawing (March 23, 2022 23:45:45)
- --cherrykitty--
-
Scratcher
500+ posts
Scratch Writing Camp Writing Sharing Thread (March 2022)
Writing Competition - Voluntary Exile
Life in the city was good, or maybe because it was the only life I knew. 2 years ago, I was sent to “The Garden”, a special institution for raising girls. Upon arrival, all our names changed to fit the theme of the garden. We were never really educated, only taught to do simple household chores, cooking and in general how we can keep out man happy. Told that if we pleased our husband, he would give us a good life, and maybe keep us as his forever wife. Being a man's forever wife was the best a women can achieve. Only the most powerful people will be able to afford keeping a girl forever, and only the best girls are bestowed the honor. Many just end up back in the system to be sold to another man. The Garden is for the “Unpromised”. We have never been sold off before and must stay pure. No normal males are ever allowed in; our male guards are all genetically modified to ensure they will never harbor feelings for us. Once admitted to the facility at 10, the staff there will use genetic engineering to weed out the undesirable parts of our appearance, and any body fat is either shaped, or killed off. From then, we are shown how to properly groom ourselves, and are inspected at the end of each day or any injuries or untidiness. Despite being treated like life-stock, we believed that this was how the world worked, and hence never questioned.
One evening, a new girl was being brought in unconscious. She was clearly from one of the outer villages as she had a dark tan, dull tangled hair, calluses all over her hands, and blisters on her feet. She was being taken to the lab, where they would “perfect” her appearance. That was my first time witnessing a village girl being taken in. Birth rates had fallen, and the supply needed to come from somewhere, hence The Garden has resorted to hunting down girls from the villages living in the forests. That night, although I was clean, I felt an itch all over my body, excited to meet the village girl the next day.
In the morning, I jumped out of bed. Carefully getting dressed, I rushed out of the bedroom and made for the canteen. I was keen on finally meeting the new girl, there was so much I wanted to ask her about her life in the village. Were there really scary man-eating beasts in the forest? Why do they live so far away? My thoughts were interrupted by 2 guards escorting a girl in. Even after the complete makeover, I knew it had to be her. She stomped and wore a frown on her face. All girls in the garden knew that stomping and frowning aren't considered “feminine” by the governess, and anyone caught would be chained in the detention yard for as long as the governess liked. After I got my breakfast from the counter, I waited for the new girl who managed to get in the queue after the guards believed that she had calmed down a little. Once she took a seat at an empty table, I sat down next to her, hoping it would give me a chance to approach her.
“Hi, I'm Lily, what's your name?”
“My real name is Atalanta, but they call me Azalea.”
“Nice to meet you! What's your life in the village like? Is it very hot and uncomfortable out there?”
“A city dweller like you will never understand. You feel hot, but I feel warmth and life. You feel tired, but I feel freedom. This place is so chilly and small it feels deader than a grave.”
We fell silent after that. I didn't understand much of what she said as many of the words were foreign to me, the concepts she mentioned were too much for me to handle. Freedom, especially was something I never really had a grasp on, it was as though I knew it and didn't know at the same time, a foggy feeling. Eventually, I just pretended to get what she was saying, nod, and we quietly ate our oats with berries.
That evening, as I was chatting with my dormmates, we were talking about the village girl. How she was acting strange all day, forever staring out the windows at the open fields beyond. We couldn't understand why she liked the outside so much when it only gets us all tired and sweaty. She had a lost look in her eyes, but at the same time, her fists would be clenched in determination. It was as though she wanted to break out, just that she was too tightly surveyed. Just then, our door burst open. The governess was standing there with the new girl.
“Girls, this is Azelea. From today on, she will be your dormmate. I hope you have been keeping that empty bed tidy. Please make her feel welcome and treat her as one of your own.” The governess announced in her artificially sweet voice. It sounded so fake, it actually made her sound scarier than if she just stuck to her own voice.
I didn't know what to feel about the new dormmate. I was fascinated by her, but at the same time, her mere presence made me nervous, certain that she knew much much more than me. It had just been the 5 of us for so long, and it had been perfect, we had grown used to each other. Now with her, the whole atmosphere just felt different. After the governess showed the girl her new bed and reminding her to keep her area neat, she simply nodded obediently and the governess left. There was a long awkward silence in the room as we all tried to digest the news. Even the new girl was visibly shocked when she recognised me as the person who first approached her in the morning. Finally, she broke the silence, “Wanna play a game I used to play back home?”
Azelea suggested that we play Catching. As we ran around the room, we felt hotter and all sticky. As we lay exhausted on the floor, we glanced at each other and shared a moment.
Finally, it was almost lights out. We went to the showers to clean up and brush our teeth, all the while I was thinking about our game just now. Even though we were tired and sweaty, I felt happier and more alive than ever. Beginning to understand Azelea, I started thinking whether there was indeed a better life out of this system.
The next day, it was announced that we, those 12 years and above, would be put on auction at next week's market day. I was extremely excited, that soon I would be promised, betrothed to another. However, Azelea doesn't seem too happy about being sold off, staring into the distance longingly. Even though I've only been with her for a day, as I stared out at the open field, I felt a similar sense of longing. I wasn't so sure I wanted to be promised after all…
As the days to market day counted down, I could sense Azelea getting moodier by the moment. Each night, we got to play a new game, ones that she had once enjoyed with her fellow villages in the lush forests and open fields. The more we interacted with her, the more we doubted this system, the more we wanted to see the outside world. Concepts like freedom and fun started making sense to us, allowing us to see through the guise of the home. Although it claimed to help us find better husbands and hence better lives, it was really just raising us to sell for profit. We were fed and clothed, however, we were never given the chance to lead our own lives.
On the day of the auction, we were prepared for the big day. Our nails were trimmed and our hair combed. We were also checked for any visible injuries, ensuring that the girls up for sale upholds the Garden's good name. All the girls were excited about finally having a chance to move in to a family, the atmosphere was unusually lively. However, Azelea's mood clearly couldn't be lifted, looking glummer than ever. The Governess noticed that, and strode right up to Azelea, ‘Look, you are not going to ruin this big day with that frown of yours. I will make sure you are promised today and you will be thankful for it.“ Clearly, whatever the governess had said played no part whatsoever on Azelea who was still down as ever. My dormmates and I had mixed emotions. While we were always taught to believe that being promised and making our man happy was the secret to a good life, Azelea had clearly made her mark on us. Even though I have never experienced it, I was convinced of a better life beyond the city’s walls. I knew how Azelea felt, that she would never be able to return to her past life once promised. As the carriages pulled up to bring us to the marketplace, I watched Azelea's face suddenly light up, brighter than I have ever seen. We followed her onto the last carriage, drawn by a chestnut mare with large dark brown eyes. Azelea glanced at the horse before explaining, ”This is a horse I used to ride at the village. It was a wild horse, but apparently the city wanted horses as much as it wanted girls…“
The journey to the marketplace was a relatively long one, as the marketplace was located at the city center while The Garden was further off. Along the way, we passed by lush plains and dense forests. All the while, Azelea was staring out of the window, longing to go home. Finally, as we passed a slightly thinner part of the forest, Azelea pointed, ”This was where I used to live…“ As if on que, the horse flung the driver right off his back, slipping into the greenery with us in tow. We continued at a gallop, until it came to a small village, before the horse halted.
Climbing out of the carriage, we set our foot on natural soil for the first time. Azelea was emotional upon seeing that the horse had helped us break out. She stroked the horse and hugged it to express her gratitude, before making for her family members and fellow villagers who had come to see the commotion.
”Atalanta! It's so good to have you back. I promise we will ensure this never happens again,' pledged her father.
“Who are the rest of them?” questioned her mother. Clearly they weren't very trusting of city dwellers.
“They are my friends, do you think we can take them in?”
“I would love to, but it's finally up to them if they want to return to the city.”
“We'd love to stay, mister.”
“Alright then, so it shall be.”
That night, we shared a room with Atalanta, since our room hasn't been built yet. We talked about all the fun we would have together in our new lives, and how we could learn new things at school starting the next day. With education, our possibilities are limitless. It was raining that night, and we fell asleep listening to the rhythm of the raindrops.
We awoke to the fresh air in the mornings, and had a simple breakfast. Although it was simple, it was the best I've ever had, sitting with my new family who sees me as a child and not a product. After getting dressed for school, we walked to the school building as dew and raindrops fell from leaves, making us feel more alive than ever. Stepping into the classroom for the first time, we brought with us our hopes and aspirations for this fresh start into a new chapter of our lives.
Here's the project version of this story: https://scratch.mit.edu/projects/659833469/
Life in the city was good, or maybe because it was the only life I knew. 2 years ago, I was sent to “The Garden”, a special institution for raising girls. Upon arrival, all our names changed to fit the theme of the garden. We were never really educated, only taught to do simple household chores, cooking and in general how we can keep out man happy. Told that if we pleased our husband, he would give us a good life, and maybe keep us as his forever wife. Being a man's forever wife was the best a women can achieve. Only the most powerful people will be able to afford keeping a girl forever, and only the best girls are bestowed the honor. Many just end up back in the system to be sold to another man. The Garden is for the “Unpromised”. We have never been sold off before and must stay pure. No normal males are ever allowed in; our male guards are all genetically modified to ensure they will never harbor feelings for us. Once admitted to the facility at 10, the staff there will use genetic engineering to weed out the undesirable parts of our appearance, and any body fat is either shaped, or killed off. From then, we are shown how to properly groom ourselves, and are inspected at the end of each day or any injuries or untidiness. Despite being treated like life-stock, we believed that this was how the world worked, and hence never questioned.
One evening, a new girl was being brought in unconscious. She was clearly from one of the outer villages as she had a dark tan, dull tangled hair, calluses all over her hands, and blisters on her feet. She was being taken to the lab, where they would “perfect” her appearance. That was my first time witnessing a village girl being taken in. Birth rates had fallen, and the supply needed to come from somewhere, hence The Garden has resorted to hunting down girls from the villages living in the forests. That night, although I was clean, I felt an itch all over my body, excited to meet the village girl the next day.
In the morning, I jumped out of bed. Carefully getting dressed, I rushed out of the bedroom and made for the canteen. I was keen on finally meeting the new girl, there was so much I wanted to ask her about her life in the village. Were there really scary man-eating beasts in the forest? Why do they live so far away? My thoughts were interrupted by 2 guards escorting a girl in. Even after the complete makeover, I knew it had to be her. She stomped and wore a frown on her face. All girls in the garden knew that stomping and frowning aren't considered “feminine” by the governess, and anyone caught would be chained in the detention yard for as long as the governess liked. After I got my breakfast from the counter, I waited for the new girl who managed to get in the queue after the guards believed that she had calmed down a little. Once she took a seat at an empty table, I sat down next to her, hoping it would give me a chance to approach her.
“Hi, I'm Lily, what's your name?”
“My real name is Atalanta, but they call me Azalea.”
“Nice to meet you! What's your life in the village like? Is it very hot and uncomfortable out there?”
“A city dweller like you will never understand. You feel hot, but I feel warmth and life. You feel tired, but I feel freedom. This place is so chilly and small it feels deader than a grave.”
We fell silent after that. I didn't understand much of what she said as many of the words were foreign to me, the concepts she mentioned were too much for me to handle. Freedom, especially was something I never really had a grasp on, it was as though I knew it and didn't know at the same time, a foggy feeling. Eventually, I just pretended to get what she was saying, nod, and we quietly ate our oats with berries.
That evening, as I was chatting with my dormmates, we were talking about the village girl. How she was acting strange all day, forever staring out the windows at the open fields beyond. We couldn't understand why she liked the outside so much when it only gets us all tired and sweaty. She had a lost look in her eyes, but at the same time, her fists would be clenched in determination. It was as though she wanted to break out, just that she was too tightly surveyed. Just then, our door burst open. The governess was standing there with the new girl.
“Girls, this is Azelea. From today on, she will be your dormmate. I hope you have been keeping that empty bed tidy. Please make her feel welcome and treat her as one of your own.” The governess announced in her artificially sweet voice. It sounded so fake, it actually made her sound scarier than if she just stuck to her own voice.
I didn't know what to feel about the new dormmate. I was fascinated by her, but at the same time, her mere presence made me nervous, certain that she knew much much more than me. It had just been the 5 of us for so long, and it had been perfect, we had grown used to each other. Now with her, the whole atmosphere just felt different. After the governess showed the girl her new bed and reminding her to keep her area neat, she simply nodded obediently and the governess left. There was a long awkward silence in the room as we all tried to digest the news. Even the new girl was visibly shocked when she recognised me as the person who first approached her in the morning. Finally, she broke the silence, “Wanna play a game I used to play back home?”
Azelea suggested that we play Catching. As we ran around the room, we felt hotter and all sticky. As we lay exhausted on the floor, we glanced at each other and shared a moment.
Finally, it was almost lights out. We went to the showers to clean up and brush our teeth, all the while I was thinking about our game just now. Even though we were tired and sweaty, I felt happier and more alive than ever. Beginning to understand Azelea, I started thinking whether there was indeed a better life out of this system.
The next day, it was announced that we, those 12 years and above, would be put on auction at next week's market day. I was extremely excited, that soon I would be promised, betrothed to another. However, Azelea doesn't seem too happy about being sold off, staring into the distance longingly. Even though I've only been with her for a day, as I stared out at the open field, I felt a similar sense of longing. I wasn't so sure I wanted to be promised after all…
As the days to market day counted down, I could sense Azelea getting moodier by the moment. Each night, we got to play a new game, ones that she had once enjoyed with her fellow villages in the lush forests and open fields. The more we interacted with her, the more we doubted this system, the more we wanted to see the outside world. Concepts like freedom and fun started making sense to us, allowing us to see through the guise of the home. Although it claimed to help us find better husbands and hence better lives, it was really just raising us to sell for profit. We were fed and clothed, however, we were never given the chance to lead our own lives.
On the day of the auction, we were prepared for the big day. Our nails were trimmed and our hair combed. We were also checked for any visible injuries, ensuring that the girls up for sale upholds the Garden's good name. All the girls were excited about finally having a chance to move in to a family, the atmosphere was unusually lively. However, Azelea's mood clearly couldn't be lifted, looking glummer than ever. The Governess noticed that, and strode right up to Azelea, ‘Look, you are not going to ruin this big day with that frown of yours. I will make sure you are promised today and you will be thankful for it.“ Clearly, whatever the governess had said played no part whatsoever on Azelea who was still down as ever. My dormmates and I had mixed emotions. While we were always taught to believe that being promised and making our man happy was the secret to a good life, Azelea had clearly made her mark on us. Even though I have never experienced it, I was convinced of a better life beyond the city’s walls. I knew how Azelea felt, that she would never be able to return to her past life once promised. As the carriages pulled up to bring us to the marketplace, I watched Azelea's face suddenly light up, brighter than I have ever seen. We followed her onto the last carriage, drawn by a chestnut mare with large dark brown eyes. Azelea glanced at the horse before explaining, ”This is a horse I used to ride at the village. It was a wild horse, but apparently the city wanted horses as much as it wanted girls…“
The journey to the marketplace was a relatively long one, as the marketplace was located at the city center while The Garden was further off. Along the way, we passed by lush plains and dense forests. All the while, Azelea was staring out of the window, longing to go home. Finally, as we passed a slightly thinner part of the forest, Azelea pointed, ”This was where I used to live…“ As if on que, the horse flung the driver right off his back, slipping into the greenery with us in tow. We continued at a gallop, until it came to a small village, before the horse halted.
Climbing out of the carriage, we set our foot on natural soil for the first time. Azelea was emotional upon seeing that the horse had helped us break out. She stroked the horse and hugged it to express her gratitude, before making for her family members and fellow villagers who had come to see the commotion.
”Atalanta! It's so good to have you back. I promise we will ensure this never happens again,' pledged her father.
“Who are the rest of them?” questioned her mother. Clearly they weren't very trusting of city dwellers.
“They are my friends, do you think we can take them in?”
“I would love to, but it's finally up to them if they want to return to the city.”
“We'd love to stay, mister.”
“Alright then, so it shall be.”
That night, we shared a room with Atalanta, since our room hasn't been built yet. We talked about all the fun we would have together in our new lives, and how we could learn new things at school starting the next day. With education, our possibilities are limitless. It was raining that night, and we fell asleep listening to the rhythm of the raindrops.
We awoke to the fresh air in the mornings, and had a simple breakfast. Although it was simple, it was the best I've ever had, sitting with my new family who sees me as a child and not a product. After getting dressed for school, we walked to the school building as dew and raindrops fell from leaves, making us feel more alive than ever. Stepping into the classroom for the first time, we brought with us our hopes and aspirations for this fresh start into a new chapter of our lives.
Here's the project version of this story: https://scratch.mit.edu/projects/659833469/
Last edited by --cherrykitty-- (March 27, 2022 05:57:27)
- Starfox74
-
Scratcher
58 posts
Scratch Writing Camp Writing Sharing Thread (March 2022)
3/16-23/22
Total words: 3200
-Part 1-
Story one: 400 words exactly wow
I used the instrumental of I Hear a Symphony by Cody Fry
Erin doesn’t really know for sure how to describe Hanoki Village. Perhaps that’s a little odd, because he’s been here for over a year now. Over a year since Jaren broke him out of chains, dragged him into the wonderful world of sunshine and grass and birdsong, and brought him to live in the most wonderful village Erin’s ever seen. (Not that there was a lot of competition. Almost anything can beat blistering heat, jeering faces, and whistling whips. He doesn’t like to think about those villages.)
Life moves in a gentle, repetitive manner. The everyday motions of running to the store for Grandma and watching the sheep graze in the pasture soothe Erin’s agonized soul like cold water on a burn. The squeaky giggle of the little girl who greets him every morning replaces the harsh growl of the Asavailans. The rumble of the waterfall in the distance is a ever-present reassurance, unlike the roar of rusty, old machinery. The villagers who wave and smile at him are so startlingly different from the faces that used to gaze down at him and spit on him in disgust that sometimes Erin has to double-take, just to make sure what he’s seeing is real.
It’s peaceful, he supposes the word is. It’s balm to the soul, water to parched lips, air to suffocating lungs. Everything he desperately and unknowingly needed.
He isn’t all fine and dandy, though. He still jumps at even the softest of touches. He can’t look the baker in the eye, because she looks exactly like her. The reek of the Blacksmith’s shop leaves him a trembling heap on the floor, desperately trying to suck in air as he throws his guts up. He’s different and scared and traumatized, and he’s nothing but an ugly stain on such a kind, perfect village.
But Grandma hates it when he thinks like that, so he tries his best not to. And he’s getting better! The dark thoughts, while ever-present, don’t nag his heels every step. When he knocks over a display in the store, his first thought isn’t I’m going to die. His heart still thrums in his chest, and he still apologizes profusely, but it isn’t the same mind-numbing terror he’s so used to.
He steps out into the pasture with the sheep in his care and breathes in the light, springtime air before smiling and counting his sheep.
Story two: 436 words
Used the Apotheosis from Sun’s workshop because I like it
Cave. That’s all I’ve ever known.
Well, perhaps that’s a lie. I can remember… somewhere else. I can remember a ray of blinding light and a color that I’ve never seen in the Cave before. It was bright and so, so different from the never ending gray of the Cave walls and the glowing blue stones. I refer to it as the Color of Somewhere. And the light? The Light of Somewhere. The names aren’t very creative, but I see no need for them to be. Besides, they’re only my dreams. Close enough I can see them, imagine them, yearn for them, but far enough that I can’t ever hope of reaching them. It’s a cruel game, but it’s the only game there is to play.
The Cave isn’t so terrible, as bad as I might make it seem. There’s the comforting presence of water, always swishing and splashing at my knees. The light of the Blue Stones guides me through the Cave’s twisting, turning tunnels and caverns. I have safety. From what, I know not, for I cannot imagine any sort of threat or danger, but I know I cannot be harmed here.
So alone I wander my home. I listen to dripping water from the ceiling, I swim in the deeper waters in one of the big caverns, and I play the game of Dreams and Wants. It’s my life, and while I may yearn for more, I know I must be content.
Then the wall explodes.
I hear the sound echo down the tunnels and nearly jump out of my skin. For a moment, all I can do is stand and stare, because this is different. This is not the same, constant monotony I’ve know forever. This is strange and weird, and that makes it terrifying.
I run toward the noise, and now the Cave is silent save for the water splashing beneath me. I run and search and splash for so long, I almost believe I imagined the noise, but then I see it in a tunnel ahead.
Light. Light from Somewhere.
I stop dead in my tracks. The Light is warm, not at all like the Blue Stones. It’s cheery and bright and a million other things I can’t describe.
I inch forward, closer to the Light I have spent my entire life yearning for. The brightness increases tenfold, and I cry out as it sears my eyes and blinds me. Stumbling back, I attempt to blink away the pain.
“Hello?” A voice calls.
A voice. A voice, a voice, a voice.
I want to respond, but I don’t know how.
-Part 2-
Words: 787
I’m taking inspiration from Marvel’s Red Room. This is a Hunger Games AU, just btw
Katniss stares at the batch. While a couple of them are starting to grow, most of them are tiny, pathetic, and breakable. A couple of them shift, obviously realizing their inferiority. Katniss figures those ones will be gone before long.
Scanning the line to figure out what she has to work with, her eyes land on one girl in particular. The number on her sleeve designates her number twelve. She’s much smaller than all the rest, and she’s terribly scrawny. Her eye is swollen shut, and she has to lick up the blood dribbling from her lip, lest it drip down her chin. Katniss figures it’s from a training exercise; most of the other have some form of injury. It’s a miracle the kid survived at all, really. At least half the other girls could snap her neck in an instant.
For the briefest moment, they make eye contact, and Katniss blinks in surprise at the soulful brown eyes.
But she breaks the contact as quickly as it began. She cannot allow herself to become attached, and she certainly can’t allow the girl to either.
The handler finally finishes the introduction, and Katniss steps forward, schooling her face to a harsher look.
“I’m Katniss, Batch Seventy-four, number twelve. I’m here to teach you how to shoot a bow. Watch carefully.”
She demonstrates pulling the string taut and releasing. She explains the proper way to hold the bow, and the ideal way to pull arrows out of a quiver. The girls watch her every move, and the urge to shiver the intense gazes is strong. Katniss has had years of experience with such looks, and she keeps her body carefully still.
Finished with her demonstration, she gestures to the boxes behind her. “Grab a bow and a quiver, then go over to the targets and shoot.
Obedience is immediate, and in mere moments the room is full of the twanging of bows. She hears a couple hisses as the whiplash strikes bare skin, but no complaint is raised. Pain is a weakness, and despite their youth, the girls know this just as well as Katniss does.
A couple pick up the skill quickly, but most struggle. The art requires a lot of muscle and concentration, more so than what a gun takes. Katniss steps in where necessary, fixing postures and straightening arms.
Her eyes wander to Twelve. She’s one of the few doing pretty decent, despite the obvious strain it takes her to pull the string taut. Her arms hold steady, and her arrows consistently land in the red. Not at all the best, but still one of the best of the group.
After an hour, the girls begin packing up, a couple yawns carefully disguised as coughs. Katniss has all the time in the world to talk to promising students, but she waits for number twelve.
“You have good form,” Katniss says as greeting. The girl looks up in brief surprise before straightening her posture and blinking back to a blank face.
“Thank you, ma’am.”
“At ease,” Katniss insists, burying her discomfort at being respected so formally. Is this what their handlers saw every day? Little children with their back painfully straight and eyes blanker than unused printer paper?
Twelve relaxes minisculely. Katniss really needs to start some conversation instead of just awkwardly staring, so she blurts out, “How are you not dead yet?”
That’s a really terrible introduction, and Peeta would probably give her a look for it. The girl doesn’t seem terribly offended, however, and simply shrugs. “I’m quiet. The handlers don’t notice me so long as I’m good enough.”
“There’s only thirteen left in your batch, and you’re obviously the smallest. I’m surprised they don’t pay you mind.”
Twelve bites her lip, a habit that’s going to have to get beat out of her soon. Katniss is a little surprised it isn’t already.
“There were a couple other small ones. They left last night.”
More like killed. But saying left is easier, Katniss knows.
“Well, you’re doing good. Keep it up, and maybe you’ll make it to the end.”
She laughs without a hint of humor, and she sags a little. “Yeah. That’s the goal.”
An overpowering urge to protect rushes through her veins, and it takes all of Katniss’ power not to whisk up the little girl and shield her from every evil thing in this world. No child should look so resigned about their own death.
So, for little number twelve, Katniss sticks her hand out.
“I’m Katniss, but you already know that. What’s your name?”
She places her terribly fragile hand into Katniss’. “I’m Rue.”
“Nice to meet you, Rue. I’m going to get you to the end, I swear it.”
-Part 3-
Words: 1518
Essentially, is it better to live miserably in safety or to live happily in danger? Continutaion of part one: story two
I peak my head back into the blinding Light. The haziness obscuring my vision begins to clear, and I see the silhouette of… something. It stands on two legs, and two arms droop down its sides.
A human, a part of my brain I didn’t know existed supplies. The word sings in my soul, but at the same time, some heaviness tries to silence the song. I don’t like the heaviness, and I shove it as deep down as I can.
Slowly, I begin to wade closer to the human. I open my mouth to call something, a greeting, perhaps, but I close it just as quickly as I opened it. Their language is unfamiliar on my tongue, and I can already tell anything I attempt to say will come out distorted and warbled.
Before I can ponder how to greet this new creature, an ear-splitting screech echoes through the Cave. Heart leaping up my throat, I scurry back to the safety of the shadows.
“What was that?” The human cries, fear lacing their voice. I frown, because I don’t like that the human is afraid. It’s a little baffling, if I’m being honest. This Cave is as safe as safe can be. Nothing can harm the human here. Although, I suppose the human doesn’t know that.
That’s fine, though. I’ll just… tell them. Somehow.
Splashing back out into the Light, I try to gesture to the human, but they only screech again, this time throwing themselves farther out to the Light. I warble, a bit concerned and a bit sad. I don’t want the human to leave, and I don’t want them to hurt themselves.
Then it occurs to me. The human isn’t afraid of the Cave. The human is afraid of me.
I glance down. My tall, spindly two legs and two tentacle looking arms are, admittedly, rather different than that of the human’s. That’s not really something I can fix, however.
The only thing I can think of doing is trying to reassure the human through words. There’s a huge chance I could make the situation worse than it already is, but the human will run away in fear if I don’t act quickly.
So, tongue tripping over the foreign words, I say, “N — ot bad. Not go-in’ to h’rt you.”
I wince. It sounds terrible in my own ears.
Silence drags on for so long that I’m half certain the human has left, but eventually a quivering voice asks, “What — who — what are you?”
What am I? I suppose I don’t know. Something weird. Something different. Something I’m both proud of being, yet terribly ashamed.
“Do not kn — know.” I slowly stutter out.
The silhouette appears again, dark against the blinding light.
“You don’t know? How do you not know?”
I only shrug. I am what I am. I’ve never had to think about it before.
More silence before a hesitant, “Are you gonna kill me?”
“No!” I warble out, the word falling clumsily out of my lips. “Not go-ing to h’rt.”
“Are you sure?”
How many reassurances did the human need? “Y’s.”
The human, finally content with his answer, scoots further into the Cave. I take a step forward, and when no scream accompanies, I move up to more fully see the human.
His blond hair is a tousled mess on his head. He wears something with long-sleeves and shorts. He sits on the edge of the hole he made, legs dangling just above the water below. I’m tall enough I can look him in the eye without craning my neck.
“Well, uh, my name’s Evan,” the boy greets. “Do you have a name?”
Do I? I don’t know. I feel as if I must, and I feel as if my name was very precious to me. It frustrates me that I can’t for the life of me remember.
“Y—es” I hesitantly warble, because I do. “I d’n’t reme— remebe— r’mb’r—“
“You don’t remember?”
“Yes!”
The boy — Evan — tilts his head. “You’re pretty weird, you know. How can you not remember your own name? Or even what you are? ‘Cause I’ll tell you right now, you ain’t human.”
I laugh. It sounds unnatural, but Evan doesn’t seem to mind. “‘M n’t. Not human. Somethin’ el— else. Can’t re — reme — remember what.”
Evan wrinkles his nose and scrunches his eyes, but then shrugs.
“The elders at my village said to never even touch this cave, because some terrible monster lives in it. I guess you’re that monster.”
I open my mouth to be offended, but he hurriedly continues, “But I know you’re not! Or, I know now anyway. Honestly, I haven’t known you that long, but you seem like a massive pushover.”
I snort, but I don’t correct him. I have no idea whether or not I’m a pushover. There wasn’t exactly a whole lot to bully me in my lonely Cave.
“Well… since you’re not a monster, do you want to come back to the village with me? I mean, they’ll be pretty shocked, but I’m sure I can convince ‘em you’re alright. Besides, we’ve had weirder creatures stop at the inn. I’m sure it’ll be fine, and my mom makes really casserole.”
I peer out behind Evan, but can’t see anything. Just Light from Somewhere. If I can see the Light from Somewhere, then surely the Color from Somwhere will be there too, right?
I nod, and Evan grins as he scurries to his feet. “Alright, come on! Do you need… help?”
I shake my head and easily climb up onto the ledge he had been perched on. Following him out, I step out into what must be Somewhere.
It’s bright, but my eyes have adjusted enough that the pain isn’t unbearable. Once they adjust, I gasp.
The Color of Somewhere is all over the place.
On the ground and floating in the air on dark trunks. I spin around, because everything here is beautiful and I’ve missed this place so much.
“Are you okay?” Evan asks. I’m about to explain that I’ve never been better, but then a loud voice interrupts us both.
“Go back to the Cave, brother.”
We both whip around and are met with a giant, black looming figure floating above us. Some deep memory stirs within me. I know this… this being. I know him.
“Who are you?” Evan asks incredulously.
The being looks down at Evan and seems to scowl. “His brother.”
I have a brother?
“You’re my brother?” Somehow, the words flow perfectly now, as if I’d been speaking this language for decades.
My supposed brother stares at me. “Stop playing games Aversin.”
“I don’t— what games?”
The being blinks at me, and I think he’s shocked. He floats down to me, and even with his feet on the ground, he still towers over both of us.
“Do you truly not remember me? Lifalsal?”
I search my mind desperately for a Lifalsal. I search and search and search, but all I can come back with is vague familiarity.
“I can’t,” I admit, and Lifalsal’s face drops. “I… think I knew you once. But I don’t remember anymore.”
Lifalsal sighs. It sounds tired, sad, and pained all at the same time. “I suppose… I suppose it has been quite a long time. But Aversin, I’m your brother. You’re under my care, and I must keep you safe.”
He rests a hand on my shoulder and gestures around us. “And safe is not out here. It’s in that cave. This, this is the world of the humans, and humans bring nothing but pain and death and suffering. You cannot remember, but I swear to you. They do.”
Somehow, I can almost remember this conversation. Or, one like it anyway. I glance down at Evan, who looks at us both with wide eyes. Evan, who offered to bring me to his village. To his family.
“They don’t seem very bad,” I reason. “I don’t— I was in the Cave for so long. I want to be here.”
“You cannot be here! You can’t. Go back, Aversin. Go.”
The voice is threatening, and it makes shivers crawl up my back, but I hold my ground. “No. No, I followed your rules for… for forever. Or, what felt like it, anyway. I’m going to— I’m going to go now. I want to see… all of this.”
Lifalsal stares at me and blinks owlishly. I’m scared he’s going to make me go back, but he only sighs. “Go,” he growls, “Go and feel the agony this world will bring.”
“I will,” I say. I wrap a tentacle around Evan’s arm and begin walking far, far away.
“That was weird,” Evan breathes out after they walk for several minutes, Evan now leading the way. “You really… really want to come out here?”
“Yes. Yes, I do. It’s… it’s nice, out here. I think I’m happy. And I’d rather die happy out here than go back to that prison.”
Evan looks up at him thoughtfully. Then he nods, and says, “Let’s get back quickly. Dinner will be soon, and it’s always best warm.”
Total words: 3200
-Part 1-
Story one: 400 words exactly wow
I used the instrumental of I Hear a Symphony by Cody Fry
Erin doesn’t really know for sure how to describe Hanoki Village. Perhaps that’s a little odd, because he’s been here for over a year now. Over a year since Jaren broke him out of chains, dragged him into the wonderful world of sunshine and grass and birdsong, and brought him to live in the most wonderful village Erin’s ever seen. (Not that there was a lot of competition. Almost anything can beat blistering heat, jeering faces, and whistling whips. He doesn’t like to think about those villages.)
Life moves in a gentle, repetitive manner. The everyday motions of running to the store for Grandma and watching the sheep graze in the pasture soothe Erin’s agonized soul like cold water on a burn. The squeaky giggle of the little girl who greets him every morning replaces the harsh growl of the Asavailans. The rumble of the waterfall in the distance is a ever-present reassurance, unlike the roar of rusty, old machinery. The villagers who wave and smile at him are so startlingly different from the faces that used to gaze down at him and spit on him in disgust that sometimes Erin has to double-take, just to make sure what he’s seeing is real.
It’s peaceful, he supposes the word is. It’s balm to the soul, water to parched lips, air to suffocating lungs. Everything he desperately and unknowingly needed.
He isn’t all fine and dandy, though. He still jumps at even the softest of touches. He can’t look the baker in the eye, because she looks exactly like her. The reek of the Blacksmith’s shop leaves him a trembling heap on the floor, desperately trying to suck in air as he throws his guts up. He’s different and scared and traumatized, and he’s nothing but an ugly stain on such a kind, perfect village.
But Grandma hates it when he thinks like that, so he tries his best not to. And he’s getting better! The dark thoughts, while ever-present, don’t nag his heels every step. When he knocks over a display in the store, his first thought isn’t I’m going to die. His heart still thrums in his chest, and he still apologizes profusely, but it isn’t the same mind-numbing terror he’s so used to.
He steps out into the pasture with the sheep in his care and breathes in the light, springtime air before smiling and counting his sheep.
Story two: 436 words
Used the Apotheosis from Sun’s workshop because I like it
Cave. That’s all I’ve ever known.
Well, perhaps that’s a lie. I can remember… somewhere else. I can remember a ray of blinding light and a color that I’ve never seen in the Cave before. It was bright and so, so different from the never ending gray of the Cave walls and the glowing blue stones. I refer to it as the Color of Somewhere. And the light? The Light of Somewhere. The names aren’t very creative, but I see no need for them to be. Besides, they’re only my dreams. Close enough I can see them, imagine them, yearn for them, but far enough that I can’t ever hope of reaching them. It’s a cruel game, but it’s the only game there is to play.
The Cave isn’t so terrible, as bad as I might make it seem. There’s the comforting presence of water, always swishing and splashing at my knees. The light of the Blue Stones guides me through the Cave’s twisting, turning tunnels and caverns. I have safety. From what, I know not, for I cannot imagine any sort of threat or danger, but I know I cannot be harmed here.
So alone I wander my home. I listen to dripping water from the ceiling, I swim in the deeper waters in one of the big caverns, and I play the game of Dreams and Wants. It’s my life, and while I may yearn for more, I know I must be content.
Then the wall explodes.
I hear the sound echo down the tunnels and nearly jump out of my skin. For a moment, all I can do is stand and stare, because this is different. This is not the same, constant monotony I’ve know forever. This is strange and weird, and that makes it terrifying.
I run toward the noise, and now the Cave is silent save for the water splashing beneath me. I run and search and splash for so long, I almost believe I imagined the noise, but then I see it in a tunnel ahead.
Light. Light from Somewhere.
I stop dead in my tracks. The Light is warm, not at all like the Blue Stones. It’s cheery and bright and a million other things I can’t describe.
I inch forward, closer to the Light I have spent my entire life yearning for. The brightness increases tenfold, and I cry out as it sears my eyes and blinds me. Stumbling back, I attempt to blink away the pain.
“Hello?” A voice calls.
A voice. A voice, a voice, a voice.
I want to respond, but I don’t know how.
-Part 2-
Words: 787
I’m taking inspiration from Marvel’s Red Room. This is a Hunger Games AU, just btw
Katniss stares at the batch. While a couple of them are starting to grow, most of them are tiny, pathetic, and breakable. A couple of them shift, obviously realizing their inferiority. Katniss figures those ones will be gone before long.
Scanning the line to figure out what she has to work with, her eyes land on one girl in particular. The number on her sleeve designates her number twelve. She’s much smaller than all the rest, and she’s terribly scrawny. Her eye is swollen shut, and she has to lick up the blood dribbling from her lip, lest it drip down her chin. Katniss figures it’s from a training exercise; most of the other have some form of injury. It’s a miracle the kid survived at all, really. At least half the other girls could snap her neck in an instant.
For the briefest moment, they make eye contact, and Katniss blinks in surprise at the soulful brown eyes.
But she breaks the contact as quickly as it began. She cannot allow herself to become attached, and she certainly can’t allow the girl to either.
The handler finally finishes the introduction, and Katniss steps forward, schooling her face to a harsher look.
“I’m Katniss, Batch Seventy-four, number twelve. I’m here to teach you how to shoot a bow. Watch carefully.”
She demonstrates pulling the string taut and releasing. She explains the proper way to hold the bow, and the ideal way to pull arrows out of a quiver. The girls watch her every move, and the urge to shiver the intense gazes is strong. Katniss has had years of experience with such looks, and she keeps her body carefully still.
Finished with her demonstration, she gestures to the boxes behind her. “Grab a bow and a quiver, then go over to the targets and shoot.
Obedience is immediate, and in mere moments the room is full of the twanging of bows. She hears a couple hisses as the whiplash strikes bare skin, but no complaint is raised. Pain is a weakness, and despite their youth, the girls know this just as well as Katniss does.
A couple pick up the skill quickly, but most struggle. The art requires a lot of muscle and concentration, more so than what a gun takes. Katniss steps in where necessary, fixing postures and straightening arms.
Her eyes wander to Twelve. She’s one of the few doing pretty decent, despite the obvious strain it takes her to pull the string taut. Her arms hold steady, and her arrows consistently land in the red. Not at all the best, but still one of the best of the group.
After an hour, the girls begin packing up, a couple yawns carefully disguised as coughs. Katniss has all the time in the world to talk to promising students, but she waits for number twelve.
“You have good form,” Katniss says as greeting. The girl looks up in brief surprise before straightening her posture and blinking back to a blank face.
“Thank you, ma’am.”
“At ease,” Katniss insists, burying her discomfort at being respected so formally. Is this what their handlers saw every day? Little children with their back painfully straight and eyes blanker than unused printer paper?
Twelve relaxes minisculely. Katniss really needs to start some conversation instead of just awkwardly staring, so she blurts out, “How are you not dead yet?”
That’s a really terrible introduction, and Peeta would probably give her a look for it. The girl doesn’t seem terribly offended, however, and simply shrugs. “I’m quiet. The handlers don’t notice me so long as I’m good enough.”
“There’s only thirteen left in your batch, and you’re obviously the smallest. I’m surprised they don’t pay you mind.”
Twelve bites her lip, a habit that’s going to have to get beat out of her soon. Katniss is a little surprised it isn’t already.
“There were a couple other small ones. They left last night.”
More like killed. But saying left is easier, Katniss knows.
“Well, you’re doing good. Keep it up, and maybe you’ll make it to the end.”
She laughs without a hint of humor, and she sags a little. “Yeah. That’s the goal.”
An overpowering urge to protect rushes through her veins, and it takes all of Katniss’ power not to whisk up the little girl and shield her from every evil thing in this world. No child should look so resigned about their own death.
So, for little number twelve, Katniss sticks her hand out.
“I’m Katniss, but you already know that. What’s your name?”
She places her terribly fragile hand into Katniss’. “I’m Rue.”
“Nice to meet you, Rue. I’m going to get you to the end, I swear it.”
-Part 3-
Words: 1518
Essentially, is it better to live miserably in safety or to live happily in danger? Continutaion of part one: story two
I peak my head back into the blinding Light. The haziness obscuring my vision begins to clear, and I see the silhouette of… something. It stands on two legs, and two arms droop down its sides.
A human, a part of my brain I didn’t know existed supplies. The word sings in my soul, but at the same time, some heaviness tries to silence the song. I don’t like the heaviness, and I shove it as deep down as I can.
Slowly, I begin to wade closer to the human. I open my mouth to call something, a greeting, perhaps, but I close it just as quickly as I opened it. Their language is unfamiliar on my tongue, and I can already tell anything I attempt to say will come out distorted and warbled.
Before I can ponder how to greet this new creature, an ear-splitting screech echoes through the Cave. Heart leaping up my throat, I scurry back to the safety of the shadows.
“What was that?” The human cries, fear lacing their voice. I frown, because I don’t like that the human is afraid. It’s a little baffling, if I’m being honest. This Cave is as safe as safe can be. Nothing can harm the human here. Although, I suppose the human doesn’t know that.
That’s fine, though. I’ll just… tell them. Somehow.
Splashing back out into the Light, I try to gesture to the human, but they only screech again, this time throwing themselves farther out to the Light. I warble, a bit concerned and a bit sad. I don’t want the human to leave, and I don’t want them to hurt themselves.
Then it occurs to me. The human isn’t afraid of the Cave. The human is afraid of me.
I glance down. My tall, spindly two legs and two tentacle looking arms are, admittedly, rather different than that of the human’s. That’s not really something I can fix, however.
The only thing I can think of doing is trying to reassure the human through words. There’s a huge chance I could make the situation worse than it already is, but the human will run away in fear if I don’t act quickly.
So, tongue tripping over the foreign words, I say, “N — ot bad. Not go-in’ to h’rt you.”
I wince. It sounds terrible in my own ears.
Silence drags on for so long that I’m half certain the human has left, but eventually a quivering voice asks, “What — who — what are you?”
What am I? I suppose I don’t know. Something weird. Something different. Something I’m both proud of being, yet terribly ashamed.
“Do not kn — know.” I slowly stutter out.
The silhouette appears again, dark against the blinding light.
“You don’t know? How do you not know?”
I only shrug. I am what I am. I’ve never had to think about it before.
More silence before a hesitant, “Are you gonna kill me?”
“No!” I warble out, the word falling clumsily out of my lips. “Not go-ing to h’rt.”
“Are you sure?”
How many reassurances did the human need? “Y’s.”
The human, finally content with his answer, scoots further into the Cave. I take a step forward, and when no scream accompanies, I move up to more fully see the human.
His blond hair is a tousled mess on his head. He wears something with long-sleeves and shorts. He sits on the edge of the hole he made, legs dangling just above the water below. I’m tall enough I can look him in the eye without craning my neck.
“Well, uh, my name’s Evan,” the boy greets. “Do you have a name?”
Do I? I don’t know. I feel as if I must, and I feel as if my name was very precious to me. It frustrates me that I can’t for the life of me remember.
“Y—es” I hesitantly warble, because I do. “I d’n’t reme— remebe— r’mb’r—“
“You don’t remember?”
“Yes!”
The boy — Evan — tilts his head. “You’re pretty weird, you know. How can you not remember your own name? Or even what you are? ‘Cause I’ll tell you right now, you ain’t human.”
I laugh. It sounds unnatural, but Evan doesn’t seem to mind. “‘M n’t. Not human. Somethin’ el— else. Can’t re — reme — remember what.”
Evan wrinkles his nose and scrunches his eyes, but then shrugs.
“The elders at my village said to never even touch this cave, because some terrible monster lives in it. I guess you’re that monster.”
I open my mouth to be offended, but he hurriedly continues, “But I know you’re not! Or, I know now anyway. Honestly, I haven’t known you that long, but you seem like a massive pushover.”
I snort, but I don’t correct him. I have no idea whether or not I’m a pushover. There wasn’t exactly a whole lot to bully me in my lonely Cave.
“Well… since you’re not a monster, do you want to come back to the village with me? I mean, they’ll be pretty shocked, but I’m sure I can convince ‘em you’re alright. Besides, we’ve had weirder creatures stop at the inn. I’m sure it’ll be fine, and my mom makes really casserole.”
I peer out behind Evan, but can’t see anything. Just Light from Somewhere. If I can see the Light from Somewhere, then surely the Color from Somwhere will be there too, right?
I nod, and Evan grins as he scurries to his feet. “Alright, come on! Do you need… help?”
I shake my head and easily climb up onto the ledge he had been perched on. Following him out, I step out into what must be Somewhere.
It’s bright, but my eyes have adjusted enough that the pain isn’t unbearable. Once they adjust, I gasp.
The Color of Somewhere is all over the place.
On the ground and floating in the air on dark trunks. I spin around, because everything here is beautiful and I’ve missed this place so much.
“Are you okay?” Evan asks. I’m about to explain that I’ve never been better, but then a loud voice interrupts us both.
“Go back to the Cave, brother.”
We both whip around and are met with a giant, black looming figure floating above us. Some deep memory stirs within me. I know this… this being. I know him.
“Who are you?” Evan asks incredulously.
The being looks down at Evan and seems to scowl. “His brother.”
I have a brother?
“You’re my brother?” Somehow, the words flow perfectly now, as if I’d been speaking this language for decades.
My supposed brother stares at me. “Stop playing games Aversin.”
“I don’t— what games?”
The being blinks at me, and I think he’s shocked. He floats down to me, and even with his feet on the ground, he still towers over both of us.
“Do you truly not remember me? Lifalsal?”
I search my mind desperately for a Lifalsal. I search and search and search, but all I can come back with is vague familiarity.
“I can’t,” I admit, and Lifalsal’s face drops. “I… think I knew you once. But I don’t remember anymore.”
Lifalsal sighs. It sounds tired, sad, and pained all at the same time. “I suppose… I suppose it has been quite a long time. But Aversin, I’m your brother. You’re under my care, and I must keep you safe.”
He rests a hand on my shoulder and gestures around us. “And safe is not out here. It’s in that cave. This, this is the world of the humans, and humans bring nothing but pain and death and suffering. You cannot remember, but I swear to you. They do.”
Somehow, I can almost remember this conversation. Or, one like it anyway. I glance down at Evan, who looks at us both with wide eyes. Evan, who offered to bring me to his village. To his family.
“They don’t seem very bad,” I reason. “I don’t— I was in the Cave for so long. I want to be here.”
“You cannot be here! You can’t. Go back, Aversin. Go.”
The voice is threatening, and it makes shivers crawl up my back, but I hold my ground. “No. No, I followed your rules for… for forever. Or, what felt like it, anyway. I’m going to— I’m going to go now. I want to see… all of this.”
Lifalsal stares at me and blinks owlishly. I’m scared he’s going to make me go back, but he only sighs. “Go,” he growls, “Go and feel the agony this world will bring.”
“I will,” I say. I wrap a tentacle around Evan’s arm and begin walking far, far away.
“That was weird,” Evan breathes out after they walk for several minutes, Evan now leading the way. “You really… really want to come out here?”
“Yes. Yes, I do. It’s… it’s nice, out here. I think I’m happy. And I’d rather die happy out here than go back to that prison.”
Evan looks up at him thoughtfully. Then he nods, and says, “Let’s get back quickly. Dinner will be soon, and it’s always best warm.”
- YorkiesAreAmazing123
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Scratcher
100+ posts
Scratch Writing Camp Writing Sharing Thread (March 2022)
~~~LOL LOL LOL- I JUST REALIZED I LIED TO ALL MY LEADERS AND MYSELF AND SAID I STARTED THIS 6 DAYS AGO TO FEEL ORGANIZED. WELLL THAT DID NOT WORK WELL FOR YOU DID IT? LETS RUSH IT IN ONE DAY LETSSS GOOOOOO~~
Song: Firefly (403 WORDS YAYYY EPICCC JUST UHH *COGH* 4 HOURS LEFT TILL ITS 12 AM UTC… HEHE. *cRi AND ALSO THE SONG WAS MADE BY THE NORTH TEXAS WIND SYMPHONY. AND THEEE EPIC LINK HEREE https://scratch.mit.edu/discuss/youtube/Ev0VBYCzsvk/ )
As you walk into an empty large room, you notice a heard of all kinds of mysterious animals staring into your broken eyes. They seem traumatized, almost frazzled. They then all start to glow up all at the same time, as if asking something from you. A blue bird then appears from the distance, acting very rushed and desperate. Then the bird starts to cry as a herd of other animals start to whimper with it.
Every animal then started to prance around, as if they were being led by something greater than themselves. You then spot a small, grey, bird lying in the sun. The animals do as well. They start to gain shock. They even start to run over, thinking the bird might have been dying. And they were right to think so. The bird had been killed by her very, very, old age.
Almost as if they are hypnotized, they then start to sit down in a cult-like manner, all doing the same things. Then a light appeared, a bright, dim, light that is hard to describe. It seems shiny, almost peculiar, but it was definitely a life-bringing light. The light enlightens them all, making them smile a bit more. The old, grey, bird then put on a smirk, a great, big, smirk.
All of the animals became shocked. They would have never thought that an old dead bird that looked like that would become alive once more. They then started to bolt over to the bird, checking if she was okay. They all then saw it move a little, so little that she almost looked like a fish out of water. First the bird’s head moved, then the chest, then the legs. All of the animals were so glad that the bird was alive, even if it was still unable to move too much.
All of the sudden, a large gorilla appeared from the distance. It ran over and was followed by a swarm of animals. All of the troublesome animals then walk over to the gorilla and start to make a bow-like motion. Then a face of worry starts to be worn on them all. Little did they know, the gorilla was more than happy with them. He was ecstatic actually. He could not believe that this little animal gang he had raised would have been able to bring alive the bird he found when he was young.
~~~
PART TWO OF PART ONE NOICE 410 WORDS LETS GOO MEEE
The sound of horse hooves on mt. paektu was the song AND HERE IS THE EPIC LINKK https://scratch.mit.edu/discuss/youtube/IWIzCF8SdkU/
~~
As I see a grand queen walk around her castle with pure dignity and happiness, I notice a tall owl watching over me. Just by looking at his face, I could already tell that this was no ordinary owl. This owl was prim and proper. Well controlled as well.
The queen then saw a young boy walk in her garden and then she sent one of her servants, Diana, to tell him he was trespassing. The queen was furious at this young boy, especially because he was wearing the clothes of a commoner.
Diana then walked over to the young boy, acting rather civil and told him kindly to leave. The young boy then looked Diana straight in the eyes and asked “Why must I leave? I am one of the queen’s son’s friends.”
It was that very moment when the queen became concerned about her dear son. The queen never ever thought that her son would make friends with such commoners. She felt betrayed, tricked even. She then thought back to a memory she had as a young girl, a memory that she had always thought of as a curse. The memory of the one and only commoner friend she had ever had in her life.
She then asked the boy while standing in her straightest posture “How do I know you are my son’s friend? You may just be an evil commoner from the village who wishes to come into my castle and do no good.”
The boy then told the queen “Well, if you really want to know for sure, let me see your son. He can tell us if I am his friend.” The boy then slyly smiled at the queen, as if he was plotting something she could not even notice.
The queen then observed the boy’s face and chuckled. She knew this was almost definitely one of many plots that were planned from her ex-husband to enter her castle and take her precious valued expensive items.
“Like I, the queen of this place, would ever let a commoner like you enter my building. You wish, country boy.” The queen said as she chuckled once more and sent a guard with her smart owl to take the boy away.
“Curse you, queen Silvia!” the boy screamed as he cried a bit inside. He just wanted to see his friend that he had met on the training course he had took a month ago once more.
~~
OH MY ACTUAL DOGGIES 789 WORDS WOWWWWWW LETS GO PART 3 NEXT AND IT IS ONLY 1 HOUR LEFTTTT YAYYY
FREAKING OUT INSIDE BUT THAT IS A OK. ANYWAYSSS, I AM TAKING INSPERATION FROM A GOOD COUSIN OF MINE’S WHOS NAME IS SIERRA.
~~~
My heart was racing. I felt so stressed. I had never been so scared before. Right now, at this moment this truly will show whether I was worthy of joining this cabin or not.
I felt as if someone were tugging on my shirt- trying to choke me and put me into despair and try to get me to not do what I came here for. But I would not let them do so. I fought bac- “Hi Lia!” Tori said as she interrupted my thoughts. “Oh h- hi Tori!” I said as I closed all of my tabs on my computer. Tori then said “Why do you seem so stressed?” and I knew exactly why. After all, I had been doing my favorite secret hobby- playing video games.
Nobody in my house or even in SWC knew that I played video games. They all thought that I only drew and wrote stuff and did school work. But I had a passion for video games. They take you to an alternate reality with no stress where you can simply just have fun and not worry so much. But if I told anybody about that I am sure they would just think I was super weird and not want to talk to me anymore. I have made quite a few sacrifices to hide this secret- turning in assignments late, doing things in a stressful manner, and even not doing dailies. But I knew that since I joined SWC I had to do these things since it was important to do.
Anyways there was no time to think about that now. I had to do a weekly and there was no time to waste. I am kind of grateful that Tori randomly showed up in my room. I mean I probably would not complete much without her reminding me about the weekly by showing up. I was in a real intense fighting video game though and exiting it probably lowered my experience points by a hundred. Anyways as soon as I snapped out of that train of thought, I realized Tori had been staring at my face for the past two minutes waiting for a response.
My first response was shock since I realized that I literally had been staring into space for so long but well now I had to give an answer. I just said “I was doing a school assignment and it is very hard.” like I usually do. Sometimes I get tired of giving such lies. It is true that I do have hard classes and study very hard and draw and write a lot but I make it seem like it is literally my life. Maybe it would be if I were some kind of responsible freak but I am not- I am just a kid who has a life. Anyways no time to drown in that pit of despair.
Tori then said “Alrighty!” and left. What a kind kid. Anyways I then went back to what I should have been doing for a while now and it was the weekly. I quickly realized that it was 6 P.M. in UTC time and I had not even started it and it was due today. “AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH” was the first thought that came into my head. But I knew I would finish it- I mean after all I always finish weeklies when I am in a rush. I then opened word and got to work. After finishing parts one and two I got quite bored. I then went to my fridge to have a snack break when I saw Lori just casually standing right next to it looking as cool as ever with that new short haircut. I then walked over there and said hi since it seemed like the appropriate thing to do when you randomly see one of your cabin members in your area. They then responded back very quickly with a hello and we went ahead and chatted a bit. Lori was one of the kinder people in the cabin. They always could put a smile on your face while you were doing a weekly.
I chatted and chatted with them for hours. Lena then came into the room with a smirk on her face with her semi-dark blonde hair shining in the bright sun and her bright blue eyes twinkling. Lena was different than different than other people I have met. “Hiii Lia and Lori!” Lena said as she interrupted my thoughts. Wow, why is that happening so much today? Anyways Lena then said “Soo are you almost done with your weekly Lia? I have heard that you have been working on it as much as you could today!” I then remembered- the weekly.
Theme: the problems procrastination makes occur
(WORD COUNT AAA IM ON FOUR PART ALSO HERE IS THE WORD COUNT: 1001 WORDS YASS AND IM CONTINUING THE LAST PART!!!)
I had been procrastinating on it for the whole week. I thought because Contemporary had been writing so much that we would be fine but I was wrong-there are so many cabins also writing a lot and have so much more points as well. Ugh, why did I do this to myself? I had a whole WEEK to write this out and yet I threw it away in the garbage just to play some stupid video game. I then quickly rushed to my computer to search up what time was it in UTC and realized that it was 10:58 P.M. in UTC time. I would have screamed as loud as I could but that would make me seem like a freak especially since my friends were around.
Lena then entered the room and Lori followed. Lena then said “Do you need any help, Li?” and I thought to myself how on Earth could she help me finish this? She does not know anything about the ideas I have and even if I were to explain them to her it would probably already be 11:30 P.M by then. And besides, this is probably what I deserve for procrastinating the week away. Not being able to complete the weekly at all.
I then told them to leave since I really had to finish this as soon as I could, I wanted contemporary to get more points. Every word I wrote made me stress more and more and more. At some point in time I felt as if I was about to have a heart attack.
I the started to wonder where I had messed up. What could have made me, the kid the teacher brags about all the time be rushing her weekly at the last minute. It just.. did not make sense. I felt ashamed.
This was not the first time this happened after all. Similar scenarios have occurred before and this was one of them. As I redirected my focus to finishing my weekly, plently of distractions came to me. The birds chirping, the music in the background, and every single noise from the outdoors were just some of them. I then started to wonder if this was the reason why I had always procrastinated. That it was because my mind was wandering around, looking for other things to think about.
It made me feel annoyed. I felt annoyed that I was this unfocused at simple tasks like completing a three part weekly for a writing camp I voluntarily joined. I mean, if I can complete school literay fair assignments in four hours then why can I not write a 2500 weekly with clear instructions and have a whole week to do it.
I then started to question myself. Questioning my ways of doing things. Maybe procrastinating on things and waiting until the last day was wrong. I mean, what is the point of writing if I can’t do it without feeling happy and relaxed. Should I even be in a writing camp? Was I unworthy?
All of these thoughts came hitting at me like a bomb. I then checked my word count and read over what I was semi-mindlessly writing as I thought all of these things. 300 words. That is the amount of words I had written for the last part of the weekly and I needed 1000.
I felt like my soul left my body for a second.
I had to finish my weekly now. If I did not the Contemporary cabin might lose their chances of winning and nobody would want that. I then went ahead, tightened my keyboard, and focused on my work! This was a key moment for me. I wanted to see if I could write those 700 words in 40 minutes and this was a great time to test it. For me to see if whether I was a focused writer, no even better, a focused human being!
If you had entered my room at that moment all you would have heard was a bunch of taps coming from my wireless keyboard. That was all I heard as well and I had my door and window open. This was probably the most focused I had been since the time I rushed my homework at 7:00 A.M.
That is a whole other procrastination story.
Even though I was becoming more productive by the second, I could not help but feel tired and ashamed of me being so careless about my time. I mean, how would this work in a job scenario? Would I be the worker who rushes their email’s and submits them at 11:59 P.M? I mean, I don’t want to be that kind of person. That feels.. dirty.
After all, I knew plenty of people who complete weeklies six days ahead. To know that I might be the last person to submit this and I will still get the same amount of praise and awards, well that feels just so messed up.
A sudden feeling of anger and sadness then showed up in my body. I then started to laugh. I started to laugh more than I ever had before, and more messed up than ever. This was not your typical “I’m so happy!” laugh. The reason why I was laughing was because even though I had my thoughts literally right in me, my body did not know how to react so it just, well, laughed.
After a few seconds of that murderous laugh, I came back to my ‘senses’ and breathed deeply, in and out through my mouth and out through my nose. Even though it is so simple, meditating has always helped me relax and focus on things. It was, well, amazing.
I then checked my word count on the last part of the weekly once more. It was only 823 words. I sighed. There was only 12 minutes to complete it and well with my words per minute there was no way I would be able to finish it.
Song: Firefly (403 WORDS YAYYY EPICCC JUST UHH *COGH* 4 HOURS LEFT TILL ITS 12 AM UTC… HEHE. *cRi AND ALSO THE SONG WAS MADE BY THE NORTH TEXAS WIND SYMPHONY. AND THEEE EPIC LINK HEREE https://scratch.mit.edu/discuss/youtube/Ev0VBYCzsvk/ )
As you walk into an empty large room, you notice a heard of all kinds of mysterious animals staring into your broken eyes. They seem traumatized, almost frazzled. They then all start to glow up all at the same time, as if asking something from you. A blue bird then appears from the distance, acting very rushed and desperate. Then the bird starts to cry as a herd of other animals start to whimper with it.
Every animal then started to prance around, as if they were being led by something greater than themselves. You then spot a small, grey, bird lying in the sun. The animals do as well. They start to gain shock. They even start to run over, thinking the bird might have been dying. And they were right to think so. The bird had been killed by her very, very, old age.
Almost as if they are hypnotized, they then start to sit down in a cult-like manner, all doing the same things. Then a light appeared, a bright, dim, light that is hard to describe. It seems shiny, almost peculiar, but it was definitely a life-bringing light. The light enlightens them all, making them smile a bit more. The old, grey, bird then put on a smirk, a great, big, smirk.
All of the animals became shocked. They would have never thought that an old dead bird that looked like that would become alive once more. They then started to bolt over to the bird, checking if she was okay. They all then saw it move a little, so little that she almost looked like a fish out of water. First the bird’s head moved, then the chest, then the legs. All of the animals were so glad that the bird was alive, even if it was still unable to move too much.
All of the sudden, a large gorilla appeared from the distance. It ran over and was followed by a swarm of animals. All of the troublesome animals then walk over to the gorilla and start to make a bow-like motion. Then a face of worry starts to be worn on them all. Little did they know, the gorilla was more than happy with them. He was ecstatic actually. He could not believe that this little animal gang he had raised would have been able to bring alive the bird he found when he was young.
~~~
PART TWO OF PART ONE NOICE 410 WORDS LETS GOO MEEE
The sound of horse hooves on mt. paektu was the song AND HERE IS THE EPIC LINKK https://scratch.mit.edu/discuss/youtube/IWIzCF8SdkU/
~~
As I see a grand queen walk around her castle with pure dignity and happiness, I notice a tall owl watching over me. Just by looking at his face, I could already tell that this was no ordinary owl. This owl was prim and proper. Well controlled as well.
The queen then saw a young boy walk in her garden and then she sent one of her servants, Diana, to tell him he was trespassing. The queen was furious at this young boy, especially because he was wearing the clothes of a commoner.
Diana then walked over to the young boy, acting rather civil and told him kindly to leave. The young boy then looked Diana straight in the eyes and asked “Why must I leave? I am one of the queen’s son’s friends.”
It was that very moment when the queen became concerned about her dear son. The queen never ever thought that her son would make friends with such commoners. She felt betrayed, tricked even. She then thought back to a memory she had as a young girl, a memory that she had always thought of as a curse. The memory of the one and only commoner friend she had ever had in her life.
She then asked the boy while standing in her straightest posture “How do I know you are my son’s friend? You may just be an evil commoner from the village who wishes to come into my castle and do no good.”
The boy then told the queen “Well, if you really want to know for sure, let me see your son. He can tell us if I am his friend.” The boy then slyly smiled at the queen, as if he was plotting something she could not even notice.
The queen then observed the boy’s face and chuckled. She knew this was almost definitely one of many plots that were planned from her ex-husband to enter her castle and take her precious valued expensive items.
“Like I, the queen of this place, would ever let a commoner like you enter my building. You wish, country boy.” The queen said as she chuckled once more and sent a guard with her smart owl to take the boy away.
“Curse you, queen Silvia!” the boy screamed as he cried a bit inside. He just wanted to see his friend that he had met on the training course he had took a month ago once more.
~~
OH MY ACTUAL DOGGIES 789 WORDS WOWWWWWW LETS GO PART 3 NEXT AND IT IS ONLY 1 HOUR LEFTTTT YAYYY
FREAKING OUT INSIDE BUT THAT IS A OK. ANYWAYSSS, I AM TAKING INSPERATION FROM A GOOD COUSIN OF MINE’S WHOS NAME IS SIERRA.
~~~
My heart was racing. I felt so stressed. I had never been so scared before. Right now, at this moment this truly will show whether I was worthy of joining this cabin or not.
I felt as if someone were tugging on my shirt- trying to choke me and put me into despair and try to get me to not do what I came here for. But I would not let them do so. I fought bac- “Hi Lia!” Tori said as she interrupted my thoughts. “Oh h- hi Tori!” I said as I closed all of my tabs on my computer. Tori then said “Why do you seem so stressed?” and I knew exactly why. After all, I had been doing my favorite secret hobby- playing video games.
Nobody in my house or even in SWC knew that I played video games. They all thought that I only drew and wrote stuff and did school work. But I had a passion for video games. They take you to an alternate reality with no stress where you can simply just have fun and not worry so much. But if I told anybody about that I am sure they would just think I was super weird and not want to talk to me anymore. I have made quite a few sacrifices to hide this secret- turning in assignments late, doing things in a stressful manner, and even not doing dailies. But I knew that since I joined SWC I had to do these things since it was important to do.
Anyways there was no time to think about that now. I had to do a weekly and there was no time to waste. I am kind of grateful that Tori randomly showed up in my room. I mean I probably would not complete much without her reminding me about the weekly by showing up. I was in a real intense fighting video game though and exiting it probably lowered my experience points by a hundred. Anyways as soon as I snapped out of that train of thought, I realized Tori had been staring at my face for the past two minutes waiting for a response.
My first response was shock since I realized that I literally had been staring into space for so long but well now I had to give an answer. I just said “I was doing a school assignment and it is very hard.” like I usually do. Sometimes I get tired of giving such lies. It is true that I do have hard classes and study very hard and draw and write a lot but I make it seem like it is literally my life. Maybe it would be if I were some kind of responsible freak but I am not- I am just a kid who has a life. Anyways no time to drown in that pit of despair.
Tori then said “Alrighty!” and left. What a kind kid. Anyways I then went back to what I should have been doing for a while now and it was the weekly. I quickly realized that it was 6 P.M. in UTC time and I had not even started it and it was due today. “AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH” was the first thought that came into my head. But I knew I would finish it- I mean after all I always finish weeklies when I am in a rush. I then opened word and got to work. After finishing parts one and two I got quite bored. I then went to my fridge to have a snack break when I saw Lori just casually standing right next to it looking as cool as ever with that new short haircut. I then walked over there and said hi since it seemed like the appropriate thing to do when you randomly see one of your cabin members in your area. They then responded back very quickly with a hello and we went ahead and chatted a bit. Lori was one of the kinder people in the cabin. They always could put a smile on your face while you were doing a weekly.
I chatted and chatted with them for hours. Lena then came into the room with a smirk on her face with her semi-dark blonde hair shining in the bright sun and her bright blue eyes twinkling. Lena was different than different than other people I have met. “Hiii Lia and Lori!” Lena said as she interrupted my thoughts. Wow, why is that happening so much today? Anyways Lena then said “Soo are you almost done with your weekly Lia? I have heard that you have been working on it as much as you could today!” I then remembered- the weekly.
Theme: the problems procrastination makes occur
(WORD COUNT AAA IM ON FOUR PART ALSO HERE IS THE WORD COUNT: 1001 WORDS YASS AND IM CONTINUING THE LAST PART!!!)
I had been procrastinating on it for the whole week. I thought because Contemporary had been writing so much that we would be fine but I was wrong-there are so many cabins also writing a lot and have so much more points as well. Ugh, why did I do this to myself? I had a whole WEEK to write this out and yet I threw it away in the garbage just to play some stupid video game. I then quickly rushed to my computer to search up what time was it in UTC and realized that it was 10:58 P.M. in UTC time. I would have screamed as loud as I could but that would make me seem like a freak especially since my friends were around.
Lena then entered the room and Lori followed. Lena then said “Do you need any help, Li?” and I thought to myself how on Earth could she help me finish this? She does not know anything about the ideas I have and even if I were to explain them to her it would probably already be 11:30 P.M by then. And besides, this is probably what I deserve for procrastinating the week away. Not being able to complete the weekly at all.
I then told them to leave since I really had to finish this as soon as I could, I wanted contemporary to get more points. Every word I wrote made me stress more and more and more. At some point in time I felt as if I was about to have a heart attack.
I the started to wonder where I had messed up. What could have made me, the kid the teacher brags about all the time be rushing her weekly at the last minute. It just.. did not make sense. I felt ashamed.
This was not the first time this happened after all. Similar scenarios have occurred before and this was one of them. As I redirected my focus to finishing my weekly, plently of distractions came to me. The birds chirping, the music in the background, and every single noise from the outdoors were just some of them. I then started to wonder if this was the reason why I had always procrastinated. That it was because my mind was wandering around, looking for other things to think about.
It made me feel annoyed. I felt annoyed that I was this unfocused at simple tasks like completing a three part weekly for a writing camp I voluntarily joined. I mean, if I can complete school literay fair assignments in four hours then why can I not write a 2500 weekly with clear instructions and have a whole week to do it.
I then started to question myself. Questioning my ways of doing things. Maybe procrastinating on things and waiting until the last day was wrong. I mean, what is the point of writing if I can’t do it without feeling happy and relaxed. Should I even be in a writing camp? Was I unworthy?
All of these thoughts came hitting at me like a bomb. I then checked my word count and read over what I was semi-mindlessly writing as I thought all of these things. 300 words. That is the amount of words I had written for the last part of the weekly and I needed 1000.
I felt like my soul left my body for a second.
I had to finish my weekly now. If I did not the Contemporary cabin might lose their chances of winning and nobody would want that. I then went ahead, tightened my keyboard, and focused on my work! This was a key moment for me. I wanted to see if I could write those 700 words in 40 minutes and this was a great time to test it. For me to see if whether I was a focused writer, no even better, a focused human being!
If you had entered my room at that moment all you would have heard was a bunch of taps coming from my wireless keyboard. That was all I heard as well and I had my door and window open. This was probably the most focused I had been since the time I rushed my homework at 7:00 A.M.
That is a whole other procrastination story.
Even though I was becoming more productive by the second, I could not help but feel tired and ashamed of me being so careless about my time. I mean, how would this work in a job scenario? Would I be the worker who rushes their email’s and submits them at 11:59 P.M? I mean, I don’t want to be that kind of person. That feels.. dirty.
After all, I knew plenty of people who complete weeklies six days ahead. To know that I might be the last person to submit this and I will still get the same amount of praise and awards, well that feels just so messed up.
A sudden feeling of anger and sadness then showed up in my body. I then started to laugh. I started to laugh more than I ever had before, and more messed up than ever. This was not your typical “I’m so happy!” laugh. The reason why I was laughing was because even though I had my thoughts literally right in me, my body did not know how to react so it just, well, laughed.
After a few seconds of that murderous laugh, I came back to my ‘senses’ and breathed deeply, in and out through my mouth and out through my nose. Even though it is so simple, meditating has always helped me relax and focus on things. It was, well, amazing.
I then checked my word count on the last part of the weekly once more. It was only 823 words. I sighed. There was only 12 minutes to complete it and well with my words per minute there was no way I would be able to finish it.
- Cherrie_Tree
-
Scratcher
1000+ posts
Scratch Writing Camp Writing Sharing Thread (March 2022)
Note: This is like pretty rushed writing, would not recommend
For the first part of my weekly, I chose ninelie by Aimer (I don’t actually know any Japanese despite that being my primary music taste)
424 words
The night is quiet. Every few nights, darkness resurfaces, then sinks like a fleeting tide- gone. My feet touch the glass-filled tiles, stung by ice cold chills.
Do I remember?
My fingers trace the cracks of the window. The surface heats and cools. Something is burning.
“Car,” I call out. The terracotta ground withers, a shade of red spreading across.
No response. Can I understand- trust that each step is not a misstep? My limbs twist in an organized sequence. I can feel each placement, that it leads to a path.
“Have you heard of the arson legend?” The faint voice from the wall concaves.
“What’s that?” My head tilts. Through the shaking house, each sound is pinched, trapped by the narrow pores.
“Yes, Ceece.” She pauses, beginning to explain. “Our village was a dark one- we never saw light from anywhere. Only when a nearby village was consumed with fire did we realize light exist.”
But who is the arson legend? “Tell me about the person who set the fire.”
“She was an enraged spirit, vengeance-filled once her love had been taken away. The guards of the Salem Territory- they framed her, leaving her to burn.”
“And what did you see?” My voice goes quiet and round.
“The burning light from the villages, and the dark smoke which clouded them. The people were reduced to bone pieces, and not a word of them survives.”
I place my hand on the thin walls. A piece of light shreds through, revealing a tanned tone. “Can I see your face?”
She peels the layer open. Scars tear her scalp, a field of red. Her strands wilt, greyed by the amount of smoke.
“Do you dislike her?” I ask, staring into her gentle eyes.
“There still is resentment.”
I ask the question. “Do you think she still exists, then?”
“Yes, the arson legend lives on. No matter what occurs, nothing can kill her- not even her murderous fire.”
And I feel the strong medicinal smell. Dust swells in my lungs, clogging my throat. For a moment, I want to run, but a part of me wants to examine the magic of her fire.
I hear the voice of Car in my head, the voice telling me to run, but my legs stay in place. The fire is building, sizzling as it consumes the thin paper walls. In three seconds, I will be burned down to dust. And yet, there’s the same curiosity, the same curiosity when she first picked up the match.
The flames are wonderfully warm.
/
The second I used ラグトレイン, by INABAKUMORI
435 words
The wind wraps itself around my hair. I clutch the pole, spinning three times before steadying. There’s a special magnetism to the pole- once you touch it, you cannot exit the train.
A gray figure sighs. “You’ll be here for the rest of your life. This is an endless ride, extending from each end of the world.”
“Then how do people leave the train?” My voice heightens, and I tilt my head. The figure tilts its head and sighs.
“That’s because we disappear when they see us; only when you touch the pole you stay.”
I survey the train and the compacted spaces between. Scattered behind the seats are old dusty belongings and the creakings of those left behind. I inspect the gray figure gently, staring at its features.
“Were you one of the people trapped?” I asked. “Or are you an object.”
The gray figure grimaces. “Are my features not human enough? Or do you have poor recognition?”
“Sorry,” I mutter. “It’s just that you’re a bit still and gray.” On their bracelet, the letters ELLE spread across the string.
I sit beside them, and our knees are stationary. “You have a nice name. Two letters positioned right next to each other. It’s Elle, right?”
A high pitched laugh escapes them. “I’d prefer you pronounce it as Ay-yay, which means them in Spanish.”
“Right, Ay-yay.”
“Plus the name wouldn’t bother me as much as a parasite.”
I stare at their thinned body. “Why does your name bother you? It’s a great name, the symbol of neutrality.”
“My skin is grey and dull- the color associated with neutrality.” They pause, joints folding. “But it helps me to separate from myself.”
I lean forward. They won’t open up and tell me this, but I inquire anyway. “Why do you want to separate from yourself?”
Their hand rests on their temple, and a sigh releases. “She,” each pause is filled with a meaningful thought.
“She stood right next to me, smiling.” Their cheeks heat. “We stood near the pole; she hung on tight to the bus rails.”
“What happened next?”
“I had liked her for a long time, so I tried to reach her hand. Instead, her hand flew away and I had touched the pole.”
Their hands bury their face. “Then she giggled, but humiliation was all over my face. She saw me, a fool, dancing by the pole.”
“And you didn’t want to face her,” I finish. “You must be lonely, trapped here.”
THey nod. “OF course it is, but loneliness was a choice. And I’ll have to live it, no matter how I feel.”
-
I’m taking inspiration from the short story, lose now, pay later.
707 words
In a field by an empty playground, three children gather. The afternoon sun tilted, casting a large shadow over the hill.
“Have you heard of Candy Eyes before?” A girl with pigtails leans in.
A smirk spreads across Evelyn’s face. “Clara, of course everyone has heard of it before! There’s buzz all over the town!”
Two weeks ago, a store opened. Unlike the other buildings around, it had a large and beast-like claw. The appearance attracted many, yet it was the candy, the premise of bliss which multiplied their profits.
Clara’s voice lowers down into a whisper. “You know, no citizen of Florville has ever tasted this candy. But the celebrities on TV described it as bubbling euphoria!”
“It’s just amazing,” Evelyn beams on her toes. “The candy gives you power to see through walls and grants any wish.”
The third girl, bespeckled, kept quiet. First of all, magic in an isolated town was unrealistic. Second, magic. Had it even existed? As she questioned, a gust of wind swept across, sending chills behind her back.
“Oh and the best part is! There’s a contest next week, and whoever wins will taste the candy! Sounds good?”
Evelyn snorts, and folds her arms. “I’ll win for sure!”
“And how about you, Lucy?” Clara folds her eyebrows, seeing Lucy dozed off. “Lucy!”
Her eyes widen, zooming back. “If it’s about the candy, I’ll pass.”
They sigh. Of course their friend had been like that, cautious and careful, unwilling to try. But her suspicion was quite frankly, lame. After all, this new candy, flashy and freshly manufactured was their first chance to taste a fairy tale.
“That’s fine, Lucy, we’ll have fun.”
The two friends skip out of the fields, returning home. As the sky darkened, Lucy sat, alone, waiting for her master’s arrival. Within a few moments, she sat at the table, tired and grumpy.
The exterior of the house was a row of wood, neatly stacked to form a house. But what held the house together was a ferocious leg, constantly rampaging the lands.
The master’s pointed nose extends the dinner table. “Where were you?” The tone is deceptively soothing, but a number of years under her told Lucy otherwise.
There was no point of lying to Baba Yaga- either tell her the truth or punishment will follow.
“I was playing at the field,” she pauses. “and didn’t get back until night.”
Her eyes narrow. “Did you see anyone?” Her voice thins.
And if Lucy doesn’t tell the truth, she faces punishment. So she begins, “Yes, with my friends.”
Baba Yaga’s face twists, scrunches dotting her face. “I’ve been too lenient on you, Lucy, you’ve been enjoying your time there for too long. I’ve seen what you’ve talked with your friends.”
If she knew from the beginning, why did she ask? To test me? And yet Lucy keeps quiet, leaving these questions unanswered. Yaga’s fingers bend, nails sinking into Lucy’s skin.
Her voice lowers into a whisper, and Lucy shrieks. She may not go in and out of the house, unless Baba Yaga allows her to.
-
A week had passed, and the sun had shown brightly today. The two girls hopped out of their beds and dressed with the finest clothing ever. Along the way, they exchanged jokes, poking each other and laughing.
Clara stared at her shoes, decorated by a new coat of polish. “Diya suppose Lucy’s mad at us?”
“Could be,” Evelyn shrugged. “Whatever, it’s her loss not to come.”
Clara sighed. “I know right, it’s so melodramatic of her to ignore us! We should just have fun in spite of her caution.
A field of grass extended, and rows of people stood by, registering themself in the competition. Next to it featured glasses of lemonade, each with different sized lemons.
Clara hopped in the line, but a sense of uneasiness crept over her. She had hoped Lucy would possibly reconsider, and maybe they could apologize. On the other hand, Evelyn skipped happily, thinking about how easy her goals could become. If only she could consume this candy and control its power.
A flag spanned across the pole. All the children gathered, excited. Even adults were ecstatic, hoping they could have a piece of their child’s luck.
-
1047 words, the theme is questioning whether or not actions are worth it
A striking woman walked onto the center stage. As she stood, whispers began to circulate, and people began to question her looks.
“Welcome to the opening of Sweet Syrup,” her voice was raspy and thick, but each sound was clear enough to understand.
At times, when she continued, the audience members grimaced and giggled.
“You know what they say,” Clara shrugs. “The geniuses always look crazy.”
And that was true. Her hair was fuzzy white and unkempt, but resembled a mad scientist. So the people accepted it, because it appealed to their image.
The sun intensified, and words over the microphone dulled. But as she said the word challenge, many ears perked up. Seeing the positive reaction, the speaker continued.
“Your job is to drink as much lemonade as possible.”
Some parents in the crowd cheered, others parent’s faces soured.
“Oh! You don’t have to drink everything, but you can steal other people’s lemonade! If your lemonade gets taken, you’re eliminated. However, this type of lemonade is special- drink too much, you may stop moving. Drink too little, and it gets stolen.”
A grin spreads across her face. “Oh and the only rule is no killing or injuring. Eliminated people must stay eliminated.”
“Let’s team up,” Evelyn smirks towards Clara. “Two is better than one; much more effective.”
Clara nods, but sighs. “I don’t really want to-”
“Huh?” Evelyn shouts, running over to grab her cup of lemonade.
“Nevermind,” Clara lowers her head, sighing. Her friend would not easily understand why she wouldn’t want to compete.
Over the loudspeaker, the woman’s hands began to curl in a folded position. “When I say go, you may begin!”
The crowd fell silent, and then she shouted go. The crowd began to scatter across the field. Kids tripped ovr each other. Some took an offensive strategy, and the others sat, guarding their lemonades. As time passed, the number of players thinned, and each player was identifiable.
Clara stood in the corner. In the beginning she drank her glass of lemonade. She was plagued with tiredness for sure, but these were decently bearable.
Evelyn had sprinted, zomming around the people and stealing their lemonades. She had poured the liquid into a plastic bag, sagging over her shoulder.
Clara stepped forward. I could end this, but watching the people move and participating seems in a way, fun.
A person zooms in front of her, and she stares for a few moments.
I could trip them and they could fall. As long as I don’t injure them or send them to the hospital, I’ll be excused.
Evelyn, within a few hours, had become feared. No one deared to step near her, because of her athleticism- and the risk of losing all they had. That was severely undesirable, and no one wanted to lose the chance to explore candy.
Clara had just felt, tired. She didn’t want to continue on this everlasting hassle.
Evelyn skipped across the field, waving towards Clara. When she stole the little boy’s lemonade, she stopped by Clara.
“Hey, you good?”
Clara nodded. “Looks like you’ve gotten very far, quite impressive.”
“Where’s your lemonade? Have you stolen any?”
Clara shakes her head. “I drunk my lemonade the hour it started. Have you begun to?”
Evelyn narrowed her eyes and smirked. “Haven’t touched a single sip. I’m there to win, and they can’t steal anything from me.”
“I just want this to be over with.” She sighed. “HWhat a trivial game, the prize isn’t even that valuable.”
“What do you mean?” Evelyn raised her voice and furrowdd her eyebrows. “This is fun, just like a game of tag! And the idea of winning, becoming powerful!”
A kid circled near, and seeing evelyn, he shrunk.
“Lemme show you how it’s done,” she steps forward.
“No, I’d prefer to do it myself.”
She walked up towards the kid. He sprinted away, but Clara placed a hand on his shoulder, stopping him from moving further.
“I believe you have misplaced your lemonade. It’s actually that lemon over there.” She pointed at a piece of dust.
The boy turned around, and as he did, Clara grabbed the cup out of his hands. She walked away, pouring the glass into her stomach.
She wasn’t as tired as before. The lemonade was not sour at all and instead was a sweet, useless solution.
She tossed her glasses in the used lemonade crate. She technically didn’t have to get rid of the cups, because they all had been used.
By the end of the night, there had already been 10 people left, nine including the one Evelyn caught.
The skies darkneed, and huge clouds loomed over the atmosphere. The announcer sighed, a tiredness spreading across all that attended.
“Sadly, we only have a piece of the Candyeye, but we can always split the prize.”
Clara had no interest anymore. She just wanted to go home, sleep in her pajamas and forget about this day.
She could end it, maybe by forfeiting, or by injuring someone. It’d be easy- but did she want to be remmebered that way?
Clara walked up to a kid and snatched her lemmonade. The kid burst in tears, and rightfully slow. A larger kid has stolen her chance at the candy.
By 30 minutes, only four people had remained; Evelyn, Clara, and two older boys, with heavy bags of lemonade weighing against their shoulders.
Of course, Evelyn was too clever. Targeting Clara was the sensible option. She watched the two older boys advance.
She could end this. She really could.
“Do you want my lemonade?” She states plainly.
“Huh?” They raise an eyebrow. “Who would willingly give away their lemonade. You must be joking.”
“It’s not a joke-”
Behind, gigantic pools of yellow peaked behind. Their bags had exploded, and there had been an eopened bag, collecting all their profits.
The boys cursed and stormed off the stage.
Evelyn and Clara stood a feet apart. Evelyn jumped up and down. “Yay, we did ti together, Clara!”
She shook her head. “I don’t want the candy at all. You may have it.”
The woman grinned. “Not so fast, girl. You’re also getting a taste.”
Clara flinched, but the overwhelming strength of the woman voerpowered. In a moment, they blanked, locked up in the chicken house.
For the first part of my weekly, I chose ninelie by Aimer (I don’t actually know any Japanese despite that being my primary music taste)
424 words
The night is quiet. Every few nights, darkness resurfaces, then sinks like a fleeting tide- gone. My feet touch the glass-filled tiles, stung by ice cold chills.
Do I remember?
My fingers trace the cracks of the window. The surface heats and cools. Something is burning.
“Car,” I call out. The terracotta ground withers, a shade of red spreading across.
No response. Can I understand- trust that each step is not a misstep? My limbs twist in an organized sequence. I can feel each placement, that it leads to a path.
“Have you heard of the arson legend?” The faint voice from the wall concaves.
“What’s that?” My head tilts. Through the shaking house, each sound is pinched, trapped by the narrow pores.
“Yes, Ceece.” She pauses, beginning to explain. “Our village was a dark one- we never saw light from anywhere. Only when a nearby village was consumed with fire did we realize light exist.”
But who is the arson legend? “Tell me about the person who set the fire.”
“She was an enraged spirit, vengeance-filled once her love had been taken away. The guards of the Salem Territory- they framed her, leaving her to burn.”
“And what did you see?” My voice goes quiet and round.
“The burning light from the villages, and the dark smoke which clouded them. The people were reduced to bone pieces, and not a word of them survives.”
I place my hand on the thin walls. A piece of light shreds through, revealing a tanned tone. “Can I see your face?”
She peels the layer open. Scars tear her scalp, a field of red. Her strands wilt, greyed by the amount of smoke.
“Do you dislike her?” I ask, staring into her gentle eyes.
“There still is resentment.”
I ask the question. “Do you think she still exists, then?”
“Yes, the arson legend lives on. No matter what occurs, nothing can kill her- not even her murderous fire.”
And I feel the strong medicinal smell. Dust swells in my lungs, clogging my throat. For a moment, I want to run, but a part of me wants to examine the magic of her fire.
I hear the voice of Car in my head, the voice telling me to run, but my legs stay in place. The fire is building, sizzling as it consumes the thin paper walls. In three seconds, I will be burned down to dust. And yet, there’s the same curiosity, the same curiosity when she first picked up the match.
The flames are wonderfully warm.
/
The second I used ラグトレイン, by INABAKUMORI
435 words
The wind wraps itself around my hair. I clutch the pole, spinning three times before steadying. There’s a special magnetism to the pole- once you touch it, you cannot exit the train.
A gray figure sighs. “You’ll be here for the rest of your life. This is an endless ride, extending from each end of the world.”
“Then how do people leave the train?” My voice heightens, and I tilt my head. The figure tilts its head and sighs.
“That’s because we disappear when they see us; only when you touch the pole you stay.”
I survey the train and the compacted spaces between. Scattered behind the seats are old dusty belongings and the creakings of those left behind. I inspect the gray figure gently, staring at its features.
“Were you one of the people trapped?” I asked. “Or are you an object.”
The gray figure grimaces. “Are my features not human enough? Or do you have poor recognition?”
“Sorry,” I mutter. “It’s just that you’re a bit still and gray.” On their bracelet, the letters ELLE spread across the string.
I sit beside them, and our knees are stationary. “You have a nice name. Two letters positioned right next to each other. It’s Elle, right?”
A high pitched laugh escapes them. “I’d prefer you pronounce it as Ay-yay, which means them in Spanish.”
“Right, Ay-yay.”
“Plus the name wouldn’t bother me as much as a parasite.”
I stare at their thinned body. “Why does your name bother you? It’s a great name, the symbol of neutrality.”
“My skin is grey and dull- the color associated with neutrality.” They pause, joints folding. “But it helps me to separate from myself.”
I lean forward. They won’t open up and tell me this, but I inquire anyway. “Why do you want to separate from yourself?”
Their hand rests on their temple, and a sigh releases. “She,” each pause is filled with a meaningful thought.
“She stood right next to me, smiling.” Their cheeks heat. “We stood near the pole; she hung on tight to the bus rails.”
“What happened next?”
“I had liked her for a long time, so I tried to reach her hand. Instead, her hand flew away and I had touched the pole.”
Their hands bury their face. “Then she giggled, but humiliation was all over my face. She saw me, a fool, dancing by the pole.”
“And you didn’t want to face her,” I finish. “You must be lonely, trapped here.”
THey nod. “OF course it is, but loneliness was a choice. And I’ll have to live it, no matter how I feel.”
-
I’m taking inspiration from the short story, lose now, pay later.
707 words
In a field by an empty playground, three children gather. The afternoon sun tilted, casting a large shadow over the hill.
“Have you heard of Candy Eyes before?” A girl with pigtails leans in.
A smirk spreads across Evelyn’s face. “Clara, of course everyone has heard of it before! There’s buzz all over the town!”
Two weeks ago, a store opened. Unlike the other buildings around, it had a large and beast-like claw. The appearance attracted many, yet it was the candy, the premise of bliss which multiplied their profits.
Clara’s voice lowers down into a whisper. “You know, no citizen of Florville has ever tasted this candy. But the celebrities on TV described it as bubbling euphoria!”
“It’s just amazing,” Evelyn beams on her toes. “The candy gives you power to see through walls and grants any wish.”
The third girl, bespeckled, kept quiet. First of all, magic in an isolated town was unrealistic. Second, magic. Had it even existed? As she questioned, a gust of wind swept across, sending chills behind her back.
“Oh and the best part is! There’s a contest next week, and whoever wins will taste the candy! Sounds good?”
Evelyn snorts, and folds her arms. “I’ll win for sure!”
“And how about you, Lucy?” Clara folds her eyebrows, seeing Lucy dozed off. “Lucy!”
Her eyes widen, zooming back. “If it’s about the candy, I’ll pass.”
They sigh. Of course their friend had been like that, cautious and careful, unwilling to try. But her suspicion was quite frankly, lame. After all, this new candy, flashy and freshly manufactured was their first chance to taste a fairy tale.
“That’s fine, Lucy, we’ll have fun.”
The two friends skip out of the fields, returning home. As the sky darkened, Lucy sat, alone, waiting for her master’s arrival. Within a few moments, she sat at the table, tired and grumpy.
The exterior of the house was a row of wood, neatly stacked to form a house. But what held the house together was a ferocious leg, constantly rampaging the lands.
The master’s pointed nose extends the dinner table. “Where were you?” The tone is deceptively soothing, but a number of years under her told Lucy otherwise.
There was no point of lying to Baba Yaga- either tell her the truth or punishment will follow.
“I was playing at the field,” she pauses. “and didn’t get back until night.”
Her eyes narrow. “Did you see anyone?” Her voice thins.
And if Lucy doesn’t tell the truth, she faces punishment. So she begins, “Yes, with my friends.”
Baba Yaga’s face twists, scrunches dotting her face. “I’ve been too lenient on you, Lucy, you’ve been enjoying your time there for too long. I’ve seen what you’ve talked with your friends.”
If she knew from the beginning, why did she ask? To test me? And yet Lucy keeps quiet, leaving these questions unanswered. Yaga’s fingers bend, nails sinking into Lucy’s skin.
Her voice lowers into a whisper, and Lucy shrieks. She may not go in and out of the house, unless Baba Yaga allows her to.
-
A week had passed, and the sun had shown brightly today. The two girls hopped out of their beds and dressed with the finest clothing ever. Along the way, they exchanged jokes, poking each other and laughing.
Clara stared at her shoes, decorated by a new coat of polish. “Diya suppose Lucy’s mad at us?”
“Could be,” Evelyn shrugged. “Whatever, it’s her loss not to come.”
Clara sighed. “I know right, it’s so melodramatic of her to ignore us! We should just have fun in spite of her caution.
A field of grass extended, and rows of people stood by, registering themself in the competition. Next to it featured glasses of lemonade, each with different sized lemons.
Clara hopped in the line, but a sense of uneasiness crept over her. She had hoped Lucy would possibly reconsider, and maybe they could apologize. On the other hand, Evelyn skipped happily, thinking about how easy her goals could become. If only she could consume this candy and control its power.
A flag spanned across the pole. All the children gathered, excited. Even adults were ecstatic, hoping they could have a piece of their child’s luck.
-
1047 words, the theme is questioning whether or not actions are worth it
A striking woman walked onto the center stage. As she stood, whispers began to circulate, and people began to question her looks.
“Welcome to the opening of Sweet Syrup,” her voice was raspy and thick, but each sound was clear enough to understand.
At times, when she continued, the audience members grimaced and giggled.
“You know what they say,” Clara shrugs. “The geniuses always look crazy.”
And that was true. Her hair was fuzzy white and unkempt, but resembled a mad scientist. So the people accepted it, because it appealed to their image.
The sun intensified, and words over the microphone dulled. But as she said the word challenge, many ears perked up. Seeing the positive reaction, the speaker continued.
“Your job is to drink as much lemonade as possible.”
Some parents in the crowd cheered, others parent’s faces soured.
“Oh! You don’t have to drink everything, but you can steal other people’s lemonade! If your lemonade gets taken, you’re eliminated. However, this type of lemonade is special- drink too much, you may stop moving. Drink too little, and it gets stolen.”
A grin spreads across her face. “Oh and the only rule is no killing or injuring. Eliminated people must stay eliminated.”
“Let’s team up,” Evelyn smirks towards Clara. “Two is better than one; much more effective.”
Clara nods, but sighs. “I don’t really want to-”
“Huh?” Evelyn shouts, running over to grab her cup of lemonade.
“Nevermind,” Clara lowers her head, sighing. Her friend would not easily understand why she wouldn’t want to compete.
Over the loudspeaker, the woman’s hands began to curl in a folded position. “When I say go, you may begin!”
The crowd fell silent, and then she shouted go. The crowd began to scatter across the field. Kids tripped ovr each other. Some took an offensive strategy, and the others sat, guarding their lemonades. As time passed, the number of players thinned, and each player was identifiable.
Clara stood in the corner. In the beginning she drank her glass of lemonade. She was plagued with tiredness for sure, but these were decently bearable.
Evelyn had sprinted, zomming around the people and stealing their lemonades. She had poured the liquid into a plastic bag, sagging over her shoulder.
Clara stepped forward. I could end this, but watching the people move and participating seems in a way, fun.
A person zooms in front of her, and she stares for a few moments.
I could trip them and they could fall. As long as I don’t injure them or send them to the hospital, I’ll be excused.
Evelyn, within a few hours, had become feared. No one deared to step near her, because of her athleticism- and the risk of losing all they had. That was severely undesirable, and no one wanted to lose the chance to explore candy.
Clara had just felt, tired. She didn’t want to continue on this everlasting hassle.
Evelyn skipped across the field, waving towards Clara. When she stole the little boy’s lemonade, she stopped by Clara.
“Hey, you good?”
Clara nodded. “Looks like you’ve gotten very far, quite impressive.”
“Where’s your lemonade? Have you stolen any?”
Clara shakes her head. “I drunk my lemonade the hour it started. Have you begun to?”
Evelyn narrowed her eyes and smirked. “Haven’t touched a single sip. I’m there to win, and they can’t steal anything from me.”
“I just want this to be over with.” She sighed. “HWhat a trivial game, the prize isn’t even that valuable.”
“What do you mean?” Evelyn raised her voice and furrowdd her eyebrows. “This is fun, just like a game of tag! And the idea of winning, becoming powerful!”
A kid circled near, and seeing evelyn, he shrunk.
“Lemme show you how it’s done,” she steps forward.
“No, I’d prefer to do it myself.”
She walked up towards the kid. He sprinted away, but Clara placed a hand on his shoulder, stopping him from moving further.
“I believe you have misplaced your lemonade. It’s actually that lemon over there.” She pointed at a piece of dust.
The boy turned around, and as he did, Clara grabbed the cup out of his hands. She walked away, pouring the glass into her stomach.
She wasn’t as tired as before. The lemonade was not sour at all and instead was a sweet, useless solution.
She tossed her glasses in the used lemonade crate. She technically didn’t have to get rid of the cups, because they all had been used.
By the end of the night, there had already been 10 people left, nine including the one Evelyn caught.
The skies darkneed, and huge clouds loomed over the atmosphere. The announcer sighed, a tiredness spreading across all that attended.
“Sadly, we only have a piece of the Candyeye, but we can always split the prize.”
Clara had no interest anymore. She just wanted to go home, sleep in her pajamas and forget about this day.
She could end it, maybe by forfeiting, or by injuring someone. It’d be easy- but did she want to be remmebered that way?
Clara walked up to a kid and snatched her lemmonade. The kid burst in tears, and rightfully slow. A larger kid has stolen her chance at the candy.
By 30 minutes, only four people had remained; Evelyn, Clara, and two older boys, with heavy bags of lemonade weighing against their shoulders.
Of course, Evelyn was too clever. Targeting Clara was the sensible option. She watched the two older boys advance.
She could end this. She really could.
“Do you want my lemonade?” She states plainly.
“Huh?” They raise an eyebrow. “Who would willingly give away their lemonade. You must be joking.”
“It’s not a joke-”
Behind, gigantic pools of yellow peaked behind. Their bags had exploded, and there had been an eopened bag, collecting all their profits.
The boys cursed and stormed off the stage.
Evelyn and Clara stood a feet apart. Evelyn jumped up and down. “Yay, we did ti together, Clara!”
She shook her head. “I don’t want the candy at all. You may have it.”
The woman grinned. “Not so fast, girl. You’re also getting a taste.”
Clara flinched, but the overwhelming strength of the woman voerpowered. In a moment, they blanked, locked up in the chicken house.
Last edited by Cherrie_Tree (March 24, 2022 12:51:34)