Word War 3:69 words

There was once a sound that only I could hear. I remember it as a sweet but ominous noise, the type that calls to you, makes you tempted to do something. Quickly.
Doctors said it was just my consciousness after my sister died. My friends say it was a ghost. I didn't know who to believe. But the voice seemed to come from somewhere.
That place was at the

ʚ part two ɞ
1,711 words
back to full weekly
6 events: Kill off a character, make an important object disappear into thin air, something sneaks behind your character, write a scene where a character talks with their conscience, have one of your characters receive a note, and write from the perspective of your antagonist. (Vivian is the antagonist in this story)

Final story:
1,296 new words, 409 words reused from part one

Vivian was washing her hair in the stream.
“Dinner time!” An announcement was made from near the fire.
Vivian dried her hair by thinking about it, and sat down by the fire on a log. One of the elder Aydrocotts was sat on a log across from her. She was happy, this meant that the elder was going to tell a story about the legends. From the times of the beginning of Aydrocotts, and even before. After telling everyone to gather up, the elder Aydrocott handed forth a title for everyone to grasp,

“Reliance Times, part one; Over Reliance Lesson.”

The Aydrocott began the story, now,
“Long ago, when the Aydrocotts could wield the magic of invisibility, among the times of Aydrocott legends, an Aydrocott camp was being invaded by sworn enemies. All of the Aydrocotts of the camp were overly confident in their magic and overly confident in believing that their sworn enemies had no chance at all against them. This sourced from over confidence in magic, though. Over reliance. They relied too heavily on their magic, because it didn't help them in the end. All the Aydrocotts turned mostly invisible, but still transparent, and their invisibility flickered to less transparent. All Aydrocotts were united in mind, in magic, all wanting to go invisible as a camp. Except one Aydrocott. This young boy was fooling around with a squirrel of the camp and not being focused on the magic. They were not united. The enemies invaded, and the other Aydrocotts never heard of this camp again.”
The kids gasped. The adults didn't want to admit it, but they were captivated by stories of the Aydrocottian legends too, and their eyes widened at the end.

“The second part of the Reliance times; part two, the Safe Lesson.” The older Aydrocott began the second part of the story.

“Another camp was invaded. With all of the Aydrocotts united through the terror of the invasion, all praying that their fellow Aydrocotts would be safe, that camp succeeded. They all shared a heart; one heart that just wanted the safety of others. They all turned invisible together. This is the people we descend of. The Aydrocotts.” She finished, and applause erupted. She bowed in her seat, the storyteller's bow. The storyteller's bow is traditional and used at the end of Aydrocott ancestral stories.“

Later, Vivian was still pondering on the thought of how the invisibility powers had been lost to time …

Aydrocotts woke everyone up early in the morning with terrifying yet tragic news. The elder Aydrocott that had been telling everyone the story around the campfire had been brutally murdered. The murder scene was on the ground in the middle of the forest, the Aydrocott's home. The murder looked as if committed just that night. They all looked around at each other with solemn melancholy. They grieved the loss of their fellow Aydrocott, especially since that one had been with them for a while.

All Vivian could think about was the murder. Who did it? How? Where was the weapon. She searched the forest nearby for clues and weapons, perhaps foot steps or horse tracks. Even crushed leaves from the murderer walking on them. She couldn't believe that a fellow Aydrocott had committed this terrible deed, so she believed it to be a human or a being of the forest. When she found no clues whatsoever, she headed back to the Aydrocott campsite and sat sadly on a log. Others took up her idea as well, and soon all the Aydrocotts were gone, searching in to the forest. Except Vivian. She thought sadly about how that Aydrocott had been such a great storyteller. She looked back up to the body and- it was gone. She stood up and gasped. It was right there! Not a trace stayed behind, exposing its presence ever existing there. She heard rustles through the leaves and knew Aydrocotts were coming back. She was the only one there while it disappeared! What would they think of her? Would they think that she made it disappear, somehow? She ran into the forest, acting like she had been out searching the whole time. The kind of Aydrocott magic to do that; to make objects disappear, had been lost to time. If even one of them suspected her of being able to revive dead magic … They would exile her for what she had done, naming her a tainted Aydrocott. They would send her off into the forest, to fend for herself. She shook her head, she couldn't let that happen. She couldn'- she walked right into a tree trunk.
”Ow!“ She exclaimed, rubbing her head. With all this worry clouding her thinking, she had gone farther in the forest than she ever remembered adventuring as a child.

Vivian thought that she had gone deeper into the forest than she had ever gone, because she didn't recognize her surroundings very much except for knowing she was still in the same forest, but really she was closer to the edge of the forest than she had ever been. Absorbed in her thoughts, Vivian had not payed attention to the direction she had started to go in.

”Boo!“ Vivian jumped! A human had gone into the forest and scared her. She looked around the same age as Vivian, but was shorter. Vivian laughed at the small human scaring her. It had given her a scare, but this human didn't mean any harm.

”What are you doing out here in the forest?“ Vivian asked. friendly.

”Oh, I was just exploring .. “ The human trailed off. ”What about you?“ She asked Vivian.

”Oh, I-“ Vivian was caught by surprise.

”I forgot to ask you your name. I'm Almone.“ The human, Almone introduced herself. She gave a mocking formal bow.

Vivian laughed at that. ”My name is Vivian.“ She spoke truth, because she felt like she could trust this human.

Shouts sounded from behind them both, from deeper in the forest.
”Dark magic user!“ ”Vivian!“ ”You made the body disappear!“ Her mother calling out her name hurt her heart the most. The other Alcotts were all searching for. One shout caught her by surprise. ”Murderer!“ She ran away from the shouts. Towards the outside, out of that forest, to escape the shouts. Almone ran to catch up. ”Wait! Who are they-“ Vivian stopped running when she got outside of the forest. She stared at the city, having never seen it before except for a peek at it as a child and besides, rumors she heard growing up twisted her memory of it, making her think she saw something different as a child. But not now. Now, she remembered that memory of being carried on her father's soldiers and looking out through the leaves at the city. Shouts of pursuing came from the forest, warning Almone and Vivian to run.

”They followed us!“ Almone warned her, grabbing her wrist and breaking into a run. Almone helped her escape from them by running through the street, then turning a corner and there was a huge building. The human school. Almone slowed, but kept the pace of a fast walk.

”So, you see, I left school during our lunch break to explore the forest. We need to get to class.“ She explained, as she guided Vivian through all the high schoolers crowding the school. The bell hadn't rang yet, but Almone was searching for a place Vivian could hide while she went off to class. She stopped at a janitor's closet.

”Here.“ Almone said, opening the janitor's closet.

”You can hide in here until my class is done, or you can come with me to class.“ Almone gave her two decisions.

Vivian thought about it. She looked towards the closet, then back at Vivian. She didn't know what classes were, but didn't embarrass herself with asking. I could just hide in here .. Hide, like you hide from all your problems? No, I should be brave and go to whatever this ”class“ is that she says .. You don't know what to expect. I can face anything! You don't even know what a class is. She and her conscience fought over the decision, until she finally came to a conclusion, with a final look back at the janitor's closet.

”I'll go with you.“ She decided.

”Good.“ Almone said. The bell rang for class to start.

”Let's beat the rush.“ Almone said, and grabbed Vivian's hands.

”What ru-“ Behind her a rush of highschoolers going to their classes started coming their way.

”That rush.“ Almone walked off with Vivian to their next class, science.

Almone sneaked Vivian in and Vivian took a seat next to her. No one seemed to notice, and Almone said that the kid that sat there was never there. Later, after class, Almone took Vivian to her locker. She got out her next book, and a note fell out. Vivian heard some boys across the hallway laughing. Almone picked up the note, and on the front of it it said ”to the new girl“ in handwriting. Almone gave it to Vivian. Below ”to the new girl“, the note said ”sorry almond, i put it in your locker bc idk where hers is" . Vivian flipped it over, and the note read “u r a cutie”. Vivian didn't know what the letters on the note meant, because Aydrocotts didn't read or write.

“What is this?” She asked Almone. Almone's eyes seemed to widen, understanding that she couldn't read. Almone had already guessed that Vivian was secretly another species, or a princess from a mysterious land in the forest, so it came as a bit of a shock but not nearly as much as it would have if she hadn't half expected it.

Almone found herself not wanting to tell Vivian. She had liked Vivian from when she first said hi, and didn't want her to be with these boys across the hall that wrote that note.

“Oh ..” Almone thought of something to say. She took her chance.

“Its a note from me saying I like you.” Almone confessed.

Vivian smiled, since she liked Almone too. “Well, if I could write a note back, I would write one saying I like you too.” Vivian told her.

Amber's waist length golden honey brown hair flowed with the wind like an intricate sail. Her white blouse was always flowing like an ocean, and never had a stain on it. Her ripped jeans tore just at the knees, and they looked well worn and well loved. Her amber orange eyes was what got the thirteen year-old her name. She was born at the Saint Luis hospital and came to the world without a word. She had gazed at the beautiful world with awe and curiosity, drinking it all in. After her father said, ‘you are worth the most expensive amber’ Amber had said her first word, “Yes!” From a young age she enjoyed baking cakes with her mother, and working on the family farm with her father. As she grew older she began helping cook meals and tending all the chickens. Soon she came of age and it was time to send her to school. She quickly learned to become the girl in the back of the class and stopped wearing bright colors. Instead she wore grays, browns and blacks. Amber was happiest on the farm when it was just her and the chickens. By third grade she was already the friendless weirdo in the back of the class, and she was avoided like the plague. In her fourth grade year they had a new girl move to town. She was beautiful like a princess, and all the girls flocked to her. Her parents had lots of money, and the girl quickly became popular. The thing was, she didn’t like all of the attention. She was curious about the girl in the back of the class that reminded her so much of herself. One day she invited Amber over, and Amber, to her own surprise, accepted. After Amber met the girl she learned her name was Hazel, and they had many things in common. They became friends, then best friends until they were inseparable. Hazel’s mother arranged their classes so they shared every class with each other. They shared secrets and had sleepovers every night, and their parents became friends.
351 words
Hazel has hazel eyes with depths like an ocean, and is a curious kid. She sometimes wears a mustard yellow crop and jeans, sometimes she’ll wear a flowery dress. She was born into the world, crying, though when she figured out she was alive, she shut-up. From a young age she started asking questions. ‘How old are you?’ Or ‘what is that?!’ Were some of her favorite questions. Her first word was ‘wow!’ And she said it when she was getting her first try of ice-cream. Her parents home-schooled her in school so from five and up she loved books and enjoyed writing. Her father passed away when she was just nine, leaving her and her family with his money. Hazel’s mother decided to use some of the money to move and ‘start a new life’ she would call it. After moving her mother got her second job in her whole life she didn’t have time to homeschool Hazel anymore. Hazel had to start her first year of public school in a town where everyone has known each other from birth. Hazel started fourth grade in the middle of the year as a nervous, yet curious person, and quickly became popular for her money and looks. She was secretly interested in the one girl in the back of the class who was surrounded by empty chairs, and was avoided at all costs. She was surprised to become popular at school when she had expected to become the weird new girl.the girl reminded her of herself so much that she built up the courage to invite her over. Hazel learned the girl's name was Amber and they had a lot in common. She begged her mom for sleepovers and as they grew closer, to reorganize their schedules so that they had every class together. Inseparable, Amber would describe in her journal.
311 words
The story takes place over the span of their sixth grade year together, and they spend a lot of time in the warm sun of the California forests. The forests are a gateway to idea’s and writing, and the girls often spend long hours there together writing and sharing ideas. After spending so much time in the forest they discover a path leading to the center of the forest where a big tree stands alone, the dewdrops on the leaves glittering in the sunlight. After a little bit of convincing their parents and asking the city council they are allowed to build a tree-house that reaches higher than the trees. They fill the treehouse with couches, chairs, and anything else they can think of. At one point they asked Hazel to ask her mother if they could install plumbing for things like a kitchen and bathroom, but her mom quickly shot down that idea, ‘it would have to run through the tree, and we don’t want to hurt the environment!’
170 words
Amber stood outside Hazel's place, tapping her foot impatiently. She checked the watch Hazel had given her again. They were supposed to have left ten minutes ago! She tried to peek inside but the curtains were pulled shut, awaiting to be opened. She looked towards the school across the street, then back at Amber's house.
“C’mon!” Amber shouted for the third time that morning, with no response again. She sighed and went to knock on the door. She tried once with no response. She knocked again and the doors slammed up.
“Who’s there- oh, hi.” Hazel waved her friend into the grand entry hall. A curved staircase was on either side of the room, and a grand chandelier hung from the ceiling.
“Ready to go?” Amber asked, looking at her friend, who seemed a bit preoccupied.
“Huh?” Hazel said, then she added “oh, sure.”
Amber looked at her friend suspiciously, and asked “What’s bothering you?”
Hazel sighed and made a lame attempt to avoid the question, “You know what? Let's grab some breakfast before we go.”
“Sure.” Amber fulfilled her friend's obvious attempt to switch the subject and followed Hazel into the dining room, which had amazing smells coming from it. The large table was covered in platters of steaming eggs, toast, pancakes and any breakfast food you could think of. Amber sat down at one of the ends and started scooping food onto her plate. She quickly dug in, waiting to see if Hazel would say anything. After finishing her plate she helped herself to a second helping and stared as Hazel pushed the fluffy eggs around her plate. After swallowing all that she could manage Hazel looked up at amber.
“I’m sorry I’ve been acting…strange,” She began, pointedly not looking at her friend, “it's just I have this like- bad feeling, you know?”
Amber nodded even if she ‘didn’t know.’ “Ya…”
“Let's head to school now,” Hazel pushed the plate away and stood up. Amber followed and was about to grab her plate when she remembered they were already running late. They went to the door and found their bags hanging in the closet. Amber swung her on and headed outside to load her bike into Amber's car and got into the car, following Hazel. They drove to the school in silence, Amber sending pitiful glances Hazel's way. They drove up to the school and could tell classes had already started. They went into the office and filled out the ‘late?’ forms.
Hazel and Amber head into their second period class, study hall. Suddenly, a gum wad comes flying their way. Amber, being the athletic one, ducks, while Hazel gets it stuck in her hair.
“What a great way to start my day” Hazel mutters as she pulls the gum out of her hair. Amber looked around the room checking, to see if anyone saw, but the teacher was on the other side of the room, and the students were pointedly not looking their way. Grins played at the corners of each mouth as they heard the gum get dropped into the garbage. They sit down at opposite desks and open up their books.
“Boo!” Jaxon shouts, and both girls jump at the loud noise that fills the quiet room.
“Jaxon, office now.” The teacher says as she looks up from her work. Jaxon obeys but he secretly chuckles at how easy it was to sneak up on the girls. Amber realizes that Hazel’s gut feeling might have been right, as nothing was going well.
“I guess Hazel was right to want to skip school.” She mutters to herself. “Hazel got gum in her hair, and now this.” Amber blushes as she realizes she’s been talking to herself. She hears a giggle from somewhere on her right and blushes even harder. She closes her eyes and imagines she’s hanging out in the treehouse with Hazel writing a story. She can see herself going to one of the cabinets and pulling out a bag of Cheetos. Amber takes a deep breath and opens her eyes.
The teacher claps her hands. “Pack up!” Amber pulls her bookmark into her book and shoves it into her bag. Hazel does the same and they head to stand by the door. When the bell rings they rush to their next class, science.
“I really don’t feel like doing science right now.” Hazel says as she pulls out her notebook, and Amber nods her head in agreement.
The teacher stands up and claps her hands. “Class, we have a new student!” She looks expectantly at the girl standing next to her who shrinks under the teacher's gaze.
“I- I’m Devan,” the girl stutters.
The teacher points to Amber and Hazel. “You can go sit with those two!” She turns to the board and begins the lesson. Devan slowly makes her way to the back of the classroom where Amber and Hazel sit, but halfway through trips over a bag. The class giggles as Devan flushes bright pink and heads over to sit with the girls. Amber and Hazel recognize a fellow reader-writer like themselves in the girl when they nonchalantly look into her bag. It’s filled with a few books, notebooks and a whole stash of pens. Amber and Hazel grin at each other.
“I’m Hazel” Hazel holds out a hand to Devan expectantly, then pulls it away with a shake of her head.
“And I’m Amber!” Amber smiles widely at the girl.
“I- I’m Devan.” Devan looks between the two as echoes of ‘boy name’ and ‘clumsy’ echo through the room. “Uh- want to come to my house after school?”
“Sure!” The girls say in unison. The rest of the day is uneventful, thankfully, and they pile into Devan’s car after school. Amber is curious about where this new girl lives, and gasps as realization washes over her.
“Your- your the ambassador's daughter!” Amber cries.
“Well, yeah.” A sly grin spreads across Devan’s face. “Want to see my dog?”
“Yes!” Both girls shout as they pull up to a nice house. It’s white with brown shingles, with an inviting front door near the center. They step inside to a wide main foyer and Devan waves them up the stairs, leaving them no time to marvel at the expensive furniture. When they step into her room they find a mini library, the walls lined with shelves. There’s little pockets for her bed and desk. Devan waves Amber and Hazel over and points to a little doggy door that was painted to blend in with the shelves.ves.
“C’mere doggy!” Devan said, pulling a treat from a jar sitting behind one of her books. Soon a little corgi waddled out of the dog house and hopped up to grab the treat. “Meet Charli, my little corgi.”
“Charli the corgi.” Hazel tested the words out.
“Corgi the Charli” Amber teased, while petting Charli. Charli had honey brown fur with a white tummy. Devan held out the jar full of treats to her and Amber gratefully grabbed one. She sniffed the treat and wrinkled her nose. “Meat mixed with… peanut butter, gross!” Devan looked surprised as Amber successfully named the ingredients of the treat. Hazel just grins at Devan and shrugs. Amber stands up and dances around the room before stopping at a shelf.
“OMG YOU’VE GOT THE KEEPER OF THE LOST CITIES SERIES ISN’T IT THE BEST DID YOU HEAR A NEW ONE IS COMING OUT SOON?” Amber cries, waving her arms in the air like a madman.
A grin spreads across Devans face as she copies Amber's tone, “IT'S MY FAVORITE SERIES AND I'VE READ IT SO MANY TIMES I HAVE EVERY WORD IN THE FIRST BOOK MEMORIZED! DID YOU LIKE THE COVER FOR THE NEXT BOOK?”
Hazel doesn’t want to be left out and joins in. “OMG THE COVER IS FIRE I LOVE IT SO MUCH DO YOU HAVE ANY THEORIES?”
All three shake their heads and collapse in laughter.
“Is everything alright, up there?” Devans father calls as he climbs the stairs then opens the door to the room.
“Yep!” Devan says and stands up.
“I don’t think we’ve met! I’m Mr. Sawyer, as you probably know from the ads and TV and such.” He trails off and shakes his head. “But you can call me Garret!”
Amber holds out a hand and Garret takes it. “I’m Amber, and that’s Hazel.”
“I can introduce myself, thank you very much.” Hazel steps up and Garret chuckles.
“Nice to meet you, Amber and Hazel.” He pretends to sweep into a regal bow and the two girls giggle. “Can I get you anything to eat?”
Devan jumps back into the conversation. “Can we have hot chocolate?” She looks at Hazel and Amber and they both nod feverishly. “Three hot chocolates.”
“Three hot chocolates coming right up!” He saluted playfully and marched out of the room.
“Your dad is great,” Amber says longingly.
“Yeah.” Devan says, looking at the door where her father had been standing. “I guess he is.”
1503 words
Events:
Character gets gum stuck in hair
Character gets snuck up on
Character talks to herself
Describe a character in there happy place
New support character
Introduce Support animal

Acceptance in Shadows

TW: Implied abuse, manipulation

The creature reaches out its hand: “Come with us.”

Tears trickle down your face, flowing down to your neck as you sob desperately, trying to resist the temptation that radiates from the creature’s offer. You couldn't become one of these monsters.“Please, no” you beg, as the wanting, the desire fights toward you. The creature smiles at you kindly. Genuine, charming, as if it was offering you a ride home. You scream as the words rise up from your heart, threatening to force themselves out of your mouth.

“We’ll help you. You’ll have a better life. Remember when they hurt you?” the creature said, circling you.

Its words pull you closer, but you shake your head violently, hyperventilating. “I won’t listen to you.”

The creature grins wide: “But you will.”

You back away, but you are already against a wall. You try to scream but no sound comes out.

“Remember when they hurt you? We won’t let that happen to you ever again. We’ll help you.” The creature is reaching the very core of your soul, and you sob harder: “You’re lying!” The words tumble out, tangled and disorganized. “You’re trying to manipulate me, trying to fix me to break me again….”

You look up, fear and desperation chasing each other inside. And then the creature leans closer:

“We will help you.”

They will help you when your friends don't. A false voice spoke softly in your head, lies glimmering in its hopefulness, trying to convince you to join the awful creatures that had murdered your loved ones. The urge to agree was fumbling with your brain, attempting to seize it. The false logic of the creatures work with it, tying strings around your head. The truth was slowly fading, flying farther and farther away as you tried to grip onto it. Your vulnerability nudged you towards the monster. You were keeping the words of agreement down your throat, but it was bubbling up, and you weren’t sure if they’ll stay down forever.

“Nobody ever believed you,” you cry, your eyes red.

“Oh, but your family and friends did.” the monster spoke. “Come on, child, and take my hand.” You were in a corner. There was no escape. You fight to keep your hand down. But a tiny voice emerges in your head, saying: What do you have to lose? You can join them, become one of them. Acceptance was the only thing you wanted, and you’ll get it. They won’t hurt you like everyone else did. You shake your head furiously, agony ripping your heart apart. You can’t deny this forever.

The urge, the logic, the manipulation floods you all at once and pushes out everything else in your brain. They join into one and wraps around your brain, seeping in. The fake truth seizes you, and you give a watery smile. You reach up and take the creature’s hand, a warm feeling flicking into the atmosphere. A fuzzy feeling occurs to you. You stand up. You have become one of these monsters. The truth finally releases its cling on you, and as much as you try to keep it, it is now completely gone. A devious smile creeps onto the monster’s face. You wail. The truth flies back toward you, yet you can do nothing now. Nothing the creature had promised was true, just a lure to tempt you.

“Welcome. You are one of us now.”

In cabin weekly #4:

(TW: mention of d3ath)

“Hi Ash!” Fin knocked on his friend Ash’s front door.
“Oh hello Fin,” said Ash. “What brought you here?”
“I just discovered a new part of the forest. Wanna check it out with me?” Fin asked.
“Alright. I’ll just be a second.” Ash turned around and walked back into her house.
A few minutes later, she returned. “My mother said to return in half an hour. Do we have time to check out this part of the forest?”
“Yes, we do,” Fin responded.

***

“Just a little bit further…” Fin said, pushing a branch out of his way.
“I’ve told you a million times, Fin, we’ve spent 15 minutes out here! We need to go back!” exclaimed Ash.
“There it is!” Fin gestured—at what seemed like nothing.
“What? All you’re pointing at is the forest! Nothing special. This was definitely a waste of time,” Ash grumbled, annoyed.
“No, Ash. Look at this.” Fin gestured to a hollow place under a large, old tree. There, two small yellow eyes blinked at them.
“What… is that?!??” Ash exclaimed, breathlessly.
“I’ve named him Bob.” Fin patted the creature on his head, trying to coax him out of the shadows. “I’m not sure what kind of animal he is, though.”
When the creature reluctantly came out of the shadows, Ash muffled a small yelp. The creature appeared to look like either a fairly large lizard—or a baby dragon.
“Um—we probably should get going. Yeah.” Ash started to walk backwards; starting slow, then getting quicker with every step.
“What—Ash, where are you going?” Fin asked. “Bob’s not going to hurt you!”
But unbeknownst to Fin, who was looking at Ash, Bob growled and chased after Ash, who screamed and ran for her life.
“ASH!!!!!!!!!” Fin yelled, and ran after his best friend, hoping that Bob hadn’t caught her yet. But with a final, ear piercing scream, the forest became silent. “No—Ash—” Fin fell to his knees, and tears began to fall. “I’m so sorry… It was all my fault.”
Suddenly, a voice rang out through the forest. “Fin! Ash! Where are you? What happened? I heard a scream!” Fin obviously knew that voice. It belonged to his mother. He walked towards the sound, and found his mother standing there, fear in her eyes.
“I… I have something I have to tell you.” Fin barely managed to get the words out of his mouth.
“What’s wrong?” his mother asked. “Where’s Ash?”
“There’s a—a creature,” Fin stuttered. “I don’t know what kind. I’ve met him before and I named him Bob. I showed him to Ash, but as she backed away, Bob… Well, Bob chased after her. And that last I heard was a loud scream and then it was silent. I don’t know where Bob went.” Tears sprang out of his eyes once again. “It—it was all m-my f-fault.”
His mother gripped his shoulders, her expression enraged at first, but once the tears came, she hugged him.

***

Later that evening, after Fin and Ash’s parents both searched the forest endlessly, there was no trace of the creature.
Fin sat on the steps of the patio right behind his house, eyes red from weeping.
“Son…” his father said as he approached Fin. “We haven’t found Ash or the…the monster yet.”
“Bob is not a monster.” Fin sniffled. “He was nice to me. I’m going to find him.”
“Fin, you can’t. It’s too late. It’s really dark and you’ll lose your way in the forest,” his father warned him.
But Fin didn’t listen, and picked up a lantern that was sitting beside him. Without a word, he walked past his father and ran into the forest.
“FIN!” his father yelled after him, but it was no use. Fin had already entered the flower garden, which led to the forest.

***

“Bob?” Fin called, stumbling through the forest. The lantern didn’t give him much light. He eventually reached the tree with the hollowed-out spot at the base of the trunk. He sat on a log, leaning his back against the tree. “I just wish you were there, Bob. Then I’d ask you to give back Ash.”
Swiftly, something nudged Fin’s left leg.
Fin turned his head in surprise and said, “Bob?!” It really was Bob. His glowing yellow eyes looked Fin in the eye, and he patted a foot (or paw…?) on top of Fin’s.
“Bob, why’d you have to take away Ash’s life?” Fin asked. He waited a moment, and Bob tilted his head on the side as if saying, What do you mean? Fin figured that either Bob didn’t understand, or he really didn’t kill Ash. Fin decided to pick the latter.
“Wait, you actually didn’t kill Ash?” Fin was confused.
Bob shook his head. Now Fin was certain that Bob could understand him. Bob moved his arms as if he was a more menacing creature and growled.
“Are you trying to say that there was a bigger, more powerful creature out there than you who killed Ash?” Fin asked. “And I’m guessing you tried to save her?”
Bob shook his head, then quickly switched to nodding.
“Now that changes things a lot.” Fin thought about it for a moment. Then he realized something. “Wait, you shook your head, then nodded. So are you saying that that big creature didn’t kill Ash?”
Bob nodded.
“Can you take me to it?” Fin sought. After Bob nodded once again, Fin stood up, grabbed the lantern and followed as Bob led him into the forest. “Revenge…is what I need.”

(917 words)

Weekly!

1st character:
Evie Clark is an introverted fourteen year old girl. She is incredibly shy, and likes to keep a lot of things to herself, but she occasionally shares her feelings with her best friend, Olivia Lee. Evie has a relatively small family that consists of her two moms and her older sister named Sabrina who is in college.
Evie is a kind of person who has very few, but very close friends. She is an overall nice person, but it can be hard being her friend because of her severe shyness. At her school, she rarely shares her work, but is an incredibly talented artist, but the art teacher doesn't seem to notice. Evie’s preferred art style is realism, but she also enjoys drawing manga style.
Evie also has a passion for animals ever since she got her first cat, Milo when she was only three years old. Evie would spend hours playing with Milo. At the time, Milo was her only ‘friend’. Sadly, Milo died of a tumor when Evie was nine. But on her eleventh birthday, Evie was gifted Muffin, a light brown maine coon kitten with white mittens.
Along with Evie’s nice personality, she also has some bad traits. First, because of her shyness, Evie doesn't like to ask for help. Evie is not the best at math, so this has been a problem for her ever since entering middle school two years ago. Second, Evie is very insecure about what people think of her. Most people in her homeroom would describe Evie as shy and closed off, but this is not how Evie wants to be seen. As a result, Evie constantly tries to follow new trends and fads in the hope that it will boost her popularity.
Overall, Evie is a kind, shy, and insecure person with amazing artistic skills and a love for animals.

2nd character:
Olivia Lee is an enthusiastic fourteen year old girl. She is unique, bold, and not afraid to speak up for herself. She has a lot of friends- but her absolute best friend is Evie Clark, even though their personalities are polar opposites. Olivia likes to share everything with her friends from what she had for breakfast to her deepest secrets.
She lives with her mom, dad, two older brothers and her nǎinai, the Chinese word for grandmother. They live in the same apartment as Evie.
Olivia is a creative person, and she likes to express herself through her clothes. Her usual outfit is a colorful headband, red converse high tops, overalls, and friendship bracelets. Even though her outfits aren’t particularly trendy, she likes them, and they perfectly match her unique personality. Olivia also likes expressing herself through art, and she loves filling canvases with splatters of colorful paint. She hates detailed art, and prefers abstract art.
Olivia isn’t afraid to express her opinions. Recently, her school shut down the debate club, but she reopened it, for it was her favorite thing to do in school. Olivia cares deeply about the environment, and participates in a lot of beach clean-ups and climate summits.
Olivia is also a very brave person, and she is always up to accepting dares. She is also an avid skateboarder, and doesn't care if she’s the only girl at the skate park. She has also been doing it for a really long time, and it is one of her favorite activities. Unlike Evie, Olivia is really good at standing up for herself. If someone judges her for being the only skateboarding girl, she will always come up with a snappy comeback.
In conclusion, Olivia Lee is an enthusiastic, unique, creative, and expressive person who is never afraid to be herself.

Setting- I got two shades of green, light green and dark green, so I chose a forest loosely based after one I live near!
The setting is in a deep evergreen forest in Washington. The sky is foggy and gray, and there are a few crows in the sky. The forest’s only inhabitants are black bears, deer, and bats. There are no specifically designated trails, but you can find the occasional hiker or two. If you were to walk in the forest, you would be going a long time walking past tall, moss-covered trees. Eventually, you might find a beautiful creek with a majestic, flowing waterfall. Surrounded by the almost identical trees, the creek is like a diamond in the rough.
In one part of the creek, there is a toppled tree covered in English ivy, a fast spreading, invasive species in Washington. The water in the creek is painfully cold, and it hurts if you place your hand in it. The creek goes on for about twenty miles, and then the forest of trees continues.
Deeper into the forest, there is a small cave that’s occupied by a colony of bats that are an obvious rabies hazard.

Story (spontaneous snowball fight! or mud ball, space junk, magic ball, dodgeball, main character receives a letter, main character meets a long lost friend, write from another character's pov, write a scene where they confront their fatal flaw, include three similes and a metaphor in what you've written so far)

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” asks Evie, nervously playing with her long, light brown hair. Evie Clark and Olivia Lee stand in front of the entrance of a dark forest, not too far away from their campsite.
“No, actually. I’m not sure.” says Olivia, stepping into the forest. “But I’m willing to go anyway. Come on, it will be fun, Eves!” Olivia motions for Evie to follow her, but she stays put.
Evie knew better than to trust her best friend’s judgments. Olivia was always the adventurous one, and Evie has always been the more cautious one.
“But what if we get lost? Or trip on a root?” asks Evie.
“We might!” says Olivia. “But if we do, we have a first aid kit in my backpack, remember?”
“Okay. I guess.” Evie sighs, and takes a leap- well, a step, actually,- of faith into the forest.
“Sorry for pressuring you, Eves.” apologizes Olivia.
“It’s fine! You’re not pressuring me,” Evie lies.
“Great! Let’s go!” announces Olivia, and she walks deeper into the forest, Evie trying to catch up with Olivia’s long strides.
The forest is dark, and mysterious. There is no hiking trail, so the two of them are careful not to step on large roots or fallen trees. All of the trees are almost identical, all evergreen and very tall. The moss on the ground looks like a fluffy green carpet, and Evie feels lighter when she steps on it.
“It’s so cool in here,” says Olivia, admiring the setting of the forest.
Somehow, the light in the forest seems darker than it was outside of the forest. That was strange, because they have only been hiking for about ten minutes. Suddenly, a loud howl came wafting from a distance. Evie and Olivia stopped walking.
“What do you think that was?” asks Evie, searching for clues around the forest.
“A wolf?” Olivia suggests.
“Maybe,” says Evie. “But it sounded more deep. More desperate, if you know what I mean”
Olivia nods. “Maybe it’s a warning.”
“But a warning for what?” Evie asks.
“Let’s go investigate.” orders Olivia, and she heads to the source of the sound.
Olivia and Evie walk for about fifteen minutes, staying silent just in case they hear the howl again. They walk past deer and elk, until they hear the sound again. This time, the sound is even louder than before, which probably means that it was close to where she was standing.
“Look!” says Olivia, pointing her finger at a nearby brook.
Wading in the water was a black hooded figure, with a red orb in its hand. Olivia and Evie run towards the figure. Inside her head, Evie knows this is a bad idea, but for once, she doesn't care.
The two of them stop running when they’re about ten feet away from the mysterious thing.
“Let’s hide behind here,” whispers Evie, pointing to a fat tree next to them.
They watched the figure move around the creek, gliding over the water like a bird. Every once in a while, the figure would stop, and bend down to sip the cold water. Human was not a good word to describe the thing. It was more like a ghost, or a shadow.
“I’m going closer.” says Olivia, and without Evie’s approval, she walks away from the tree and towards the shadow.
“No! Come back!” says Evie a little too loudly, and the shadow turned its head towards Olivia, its red eyes glaring at her.
Olivia stopped dead in her tracks. The ghost doesn't do anything. It just keeps staring at her with its red eyes that were so bright that they were visible beneath the hooded cloak. All of a sudden, the ghost takes the red orb it was holding, and throws it at Olivia. The orb hits her right in the arm.
Olivia lets out an ear splitting scream. Evie runs over to her friend, gasping. Where the orb hit her arm, there was an ugly red burn. The burn was incredibly deep, and there was no skin left in the spot.
“Are you okay?” Evie asks, knowing what the answer is going to be.
“No,” says Olivia weakly. “But we will fight back.”
Olivia picks up the orb before it can burn her hand, and throws it back at the shadow. It hits the ghost’s chest, and burns through its cloak, revealing a wispy, white substance instead of a body.
“Oh my gosh,” says Olivia. “It really is a ghost.”
The ghost stares at her with a look of defeat. It slowly disappears into thin air, gone forever.
“Does it hurt?” asks Evie, already digging through Olivia’s backpack, looking for the first aid kit.
“Oh yeah. It hurts.” says Olivia, studying the burn on her arm. “It won't stop throbbing,”
Evie finally finds the first aid kit. She opens its plastic lid, expecting to find bandages and ointments, but there is only a single, yellowed slip of paper. She turns it over, and the paper is covered by slanted, cursive writing.
“Olivia! Look!” says Evie, showing her the paper.
“I think it's a note,” says Olivia, observing the writing. “But that’s strange. Right before the hike, I made sure we had all of the first aid stuff we needed. It never had a note.” Olivia stares reading the note, and gasps.
“What does it say?” asks Evie.
“It says: You have defeated me easily. I’m just warning you, there are stronger ones out there, and you will not leave alive, foolish humans.” reads Olivia.
Evie pauses for a second, processing what she just heard.
“I think the ghost wrote it.” she says, not completely believing what she is saying.
“But how? I literally just defeated it! It can’t teleport paper, can it?” asks Olivia in shock.
“Yeah, and I thought ghosts were extinct in Washington state!” says Evie.
“But maybe this one is different. Maybe the forest is haunted.” suggests Olivia.
“Let’s just focus on getting out of here.” says Evie. “But where did we come from?” asks Evie, searching for landmarks she might remember, but nothing looks familiar.
Evie realizes that they are lost.
“So, what do we do now?” asks Olivia. “Try to find our way back? I really need to get my arm treated soon. This is what people consider a second degree burn. This sure will leave a scar.”
“I guess we could go that way,” suggests Evie, pointing away from the creek.
“Okay,” says Olivia, and she starts walking, arm throbbing like crazy.
Olivia and Evie walk for what seems to be half an hour, but they’re still stuck in the mysterious forest.
“Obviously, we went the wrong way. Now what do we do? I have a burn that should be treated by medical professionals and their are actual GHOSTS in this stupid forest!” yells Olivia, face as red as a tomato.
Evie backs away from her. The last time she’d seen Olivia like this is when they got in a fight in fifth grade.
“I know it hurts, but we have to be quiet! If another ghost hears us, we’re doomed.” says Evie.
Olivia sighs. “I have a radio in my backpack that we can use to leave a message for help. Maybe one of the forest rangers will hear it.” says Olivia, and she pulls out a bulky radio, a better version of a walkie-talkie.
She presses some buttons, and says to the radio, “Please send help. There are ghosts in this forest, and one of them burned me.”
“You really think that they’re going to believe that there are ghosts in this forest? They’re supposed to be extinct here.” says Evie.
“Listen,” says Olivia.
Sounds start coming out of the radio. It sounds like a teenage girl is talking.
“Olivia Lee? Is that you?” asks the staticky voice.
Olivia gasps.
“Yes?” she says into the radio, a little bit shocked. “How do you know my name?”
“It’s me, Harper. Harper Brown. We used to go to the same school! I didn’t know you went camping here! And are there really ghosts in the woods? Are you okay?” asks Harper through the radio.
“No. I’m not okay. Can you please send help- and yes,- there are still ghosts here.” says Olivia to the radio.
“Okay. I’m sending help.” says Harper.
“Who was that?” asks Evie. Was it a stalker? A phony?
“It’s my old friend, Harper. She went to my elementary school. She’s sending help.” says Olivia.
Harper’s POV
I can’t believe that Olivia Lee is here, too. But what I really can’t believe is that there still are ghosts left! I thought they went extinct in the wild in Washington, but I guess not. Maybe Olivia is exaggerating. She used to do it a lot.
I’m really worried about Olivia. She literally got BURNED by a GHOST! I’ve read news articles about that happening, and it’s supposed to hurt really bad. But I’m also glad I was on my radio, or else I wouldn’t have heard her help call!
I told my dad what I heard, and at first, he didn’t believe me. Then I told him that she got burned, and he went completely crazy and called the police. He had a good reason to worry as much as I am right now, because my mom got killed by a ghost when I was two. This was before they supposedly went extinct in the wild, though.
So far, this is the weirdest day of my life. And the most scary one, not counting the day my mom got murdered. I really hope that doesn't happen to Olivia and her friend. (I think her name is Evie.)
An hour ago, the whole campground shut down and the police came into the forest, searching for Olivia and Evie. My dad said that they got in contact with Olivia using her radio, but soon, all the police could hear was static white noise.
I really wanted to help the police, but obviously, they won’t let a thirteen year old girl help them. But when I told them that I knew Olivia, they asked me to describe her. Unfortunately, I haven’t seen her since fourth grade, and I expect that she’s changed a lot since then.
Right now, I can only hope that they’re okay.

Weekly for Sci-Fi!

641 words in two character biographies:

10-20 extrovert:
Sapphire is a fourteen year old girl, the oldest of six siblings. In sixth grade she chose to try being homeschooled, and has kept with it ever since. Her main quality is determination, and it doesn't take long after meeting her to realize that is the case. She excitedly tackles anything life decided to throw at her with speed and focus.She's close with all of her siblings and they love her very dearly. She has a lot of friends and is well-liked by everyone, but she only lets a few people get close to her. She's energetic but also quite a bookworm, and everyone knows not to bother her when she's reading. Most of what she reads is action-adventure or romance. She isn't one to back down from a challenge, and she prides herself on pushing through and overcoming obstacles. One of the ways her determination and effort pays off is with school, she's a very good student and she enjoys school too. Her family recently moved away from the town where she's lived her entire life up to this point, so she's having to try to make new friends and get settled into a new life. She's a natural leader though and makes friends easily, so she isn't struggling with that too much. She doesn't really care what people think of her because she believes that if someone is going to like her, they might as well like her for exactly who she is, and if someone's going to dislike her, she can't control that and it's their fault rather than hers. She's also very musical. She writes her own songs and can play both the guitar and the piano quite well. Sapphire moves through life very quickly but despite that she doesn't miss details, she's a very observant person. She has a unique and personal fashion sense and much of her clothing is hand made or at least hand modified. (323)

10-20 Omnivert:
Lila is a genius. Or at least that's what everyone around her always says. She's sixteen years old and almost always is at the top of her class. All of them. She's somewhat shy though, and so she often struggles with the pressure from this. She's lived in the same house all her life, with her single mother and older brother, and she's had the same two best friends almost as long. She's friendly around people but she isn't the kind of person who likes to hang out at parties or in large crowds. Instead she likes to hang out with her two close friends, her brother, and a few of his friends. Lila, similar to Sapphire, writes her own songs, but they usually just find their place in the world as simply poetry. Good poetry, in the opinion of the few people she's trusted enough to read them. This isn't because she can't play an instrument, she can. She playes the ukulele. It's because she's too nervous to put her words to music and share them out loud. When we meet her in the story, the amount she's trying to accomplish is starting to catch up with her and her family and friends are trying to convince her to slow down. Then Sapphire steps into her life. With Sapphire she learns to open up a bit and the two quickly become close friends and then more. Through Sapphire she begins to relax a bit and also starts putting her songs to music and even singing them. Sapphire helps Lila embrace her creativity and stop being as shy and soon Lila is designing her own clothes like Sapphire and even entering poems and shorts stories into writing competitions, which naturally she wins regularly. Also Sapphire introduces Lila to Hamilton and she loves it. I'm pretty sure that's not important but I felt like adding that bit of information. (318)

153 words in settings description:
For my setting I got a pink and red colour and a bright purple and my mind immediately went to Valentine's day. I don't like Valentine's day very much but I do like the way my local youth centre handles it so this is inspired by that. The youth centre in the town where Lila and Sapphire live is hosting a Valentine's day dance party. It's not really a dance dance, and the majority of people going don't even have dates, it's really just a dance party where you can have fun, eat candy hearts, and listen to sappy love songs. There's little paper decorations hanging up around the palce that a few of the youth centre kids made a few days earlier, and someone brought a party light. There are a lot more kids here tonight than on most nights and there's a lot of junk food available because it's a party. (153)

1623 words in free write and story from sawyer's game:

There's so many people here tonight. I come here nearly every evening for at least a bit and we haven't seen this much activity in… months, I think. The three rooms that make up the youth centre are all pretty nearly filled with kids between the ages of ten and nineteen, but there's only one I'm looking for. Sapphire. Where is she? After a few minutes of searching I finally spot her. She's right by the kitchen, fixing one of the strings of paper hearts that appears to have fallen off its tape on the wall. She's wearing a long purple dress that shimmers and seems to flow out around her like there's a soft breeze. There are butterfly wings attached to the back as well. It's very pretty and looks almost magical. My dress is short, simple, soft, and blue. I approach Sapphire quietly from behind and place my hands over her eyes. It's a bit of a challenge to do this with her because she wears glasses but by now I've figured out how to make it so she still can't see anything.
“Your hands smell like chocolate,” she says, laughing.
“My family made chocolate cupcakes,” I explain, not caring that it gives away who I am. I'm pretty sure Sapphire knew already anyway.
“That makes sense,” she says, twisting around to free herself. “Did you bring any?”
I smile mysteriously, reaching behind me into my backpack to pull out a plastic container with two chocolate cupcakes inside. “I don't know,” I say, handing the container to Sapphire, “Did I?”
Sapphire immediately takes a bite of one of the cupcakes. “You're amazing,” she says, her mouth still full of chocolate.
I smile, grab her hand, and gently pull her toward the centre of the room. “Come on, people are starting to dance.”
“Can't we just sit over here and eat junk food?” She complains overdramatically.
“I mean yes, but that would defeat the point of this being a dance. Besides if you stuff yourself with junk food you won't want to dance later. Besides, you were the one who convinced me to come today,” I point out.
“Fine,” Sapphire grumbles. But she's smiling.
It's not even fifteen minutes before we get tired of dancing and tired in general and do exactly what Sapphire suggested. We sit in the corner of the least crowded room with Sapphire's eleven-year-old sister Joye, making weird sandwiches with various types of chips and whatever other food we decide to add. They taste weird, but for some reason it's quite fun.
“Want to go outside?” Sapphire asks after actually eating all of a particularly unusual sandwich consisting of Doritos and cinnamon hearts. “Well… after I drink water of course.”
It takes me a few seconds to stop laughing at her reaction to the sandwich. “Sure!” I say when I finally calm down. (478)

(“Your character does something that is against what they would usually do” “describe something without mentioning its appearance” “write a scene where they confront their fatal flaw” “start a section from a different character or object's perspective” “have the lights suddenly go out in the next scene” “write a scene where a character talks with their conscience”)

Joye decides not to come with us, so it's just Sapphire and me outside. The weather's pretty nice for february, we're having a weird warm period for a few days, so we don't even need our coats. We both lean against the railing of the small porch outside the youth centre building. We're silent for several moments, just standing there, looking out at the melting snow in the yard.
“Have you written any more poetry recently?” Sapphire finally asks, breaking the silence.
“Yeah,” I admit. I don't know why, but even though I've only known Sapphire for a few months, I still trust her enough to read my poetry. I don't know why. I pull the mini notebook I always have on my out of my sweater pocket and hand it over. I watch Sapphire opens it and carefully flips through the pages until she reaches a page she hasn't read. I watch as her eyes scan the words and I see a smile appear on her lips. “This is beautiful, Lila,” she says, “you should put it to music.”
I immediately start to shake my head. Not vigorously or anything, but clear enough. She's asked this question many times before and my answer has always been the same. I just can't put my writing to music.
“Then let me do it! I'll put one poem to music and show you how incredible it is. Maybe then you'll see it won't be such a bad thing if you write music for the rest.”
I can't even explain it, but before I can think better of it and back out, the words “okay, sure,” slip out of my mouth.
Sapphire smiles. When she smiles her eyes shine and you can see the depths of her creativity glowing through them. You can always tell a creative person by their eyes, at least in my experience. Usually it's very beautiful.
She puts my notebook into her own jacket pocket and it's the first time in months I haven't been in possession of it. Immediately everything in me screams that this, sharing my poetry with her and letting her turn it into a song is a terrible idea. I take deep breaths, trying to calm down. This is Sapphire. She's the most amazing, most kind person to ever have walked this earth and I trust her completely. She's read the poems already and no harm came from that. The only difference now is she's adding to them. I should be excited about this. I work up my courage and say nothing, letting the notebook of poetry stay with Sapphire.

The power's out. Fantastic. It almost makes me want to laugh. My sister Sapphire told me that the power never went out when she was here before I was old enough. But since last year when I started coming, the power has gone out three times. I'm afraid of the power going out. I know, I'm eleven. I'm also supposed to be Joye-Who's-Afraid-Of-Nothing. But here we are. The lights flicker and then go out completely. It startles me and try hard to stifle a scream. I don't see Sapphire anywhere.
Okay, I tell myself. Calm down. This can't be that bad. It's just the power going out.
And you have no idea where your sister is, another part of me adds.
Not helpful! I respond to myself. She's probably fine. She'll be back soon. Notice how Lila's gone too? They're probably together, fully safe.
I take a deep breath. I'm surounded by friends. It's just a power outage and it'll be over any minute anyway. This is normal. This is to be expected. This is fine.

“Is it just me or did the lights go out inside just now?” Lila asks after a second. It snaps me out of thoughts of Lila and how incredible her poetry and how I can tell she was hesitant to let me read them and even more so to let me turn one into a song. But she's right. There are no lights on inside the youth centre now, which is weird even for a dance night. The lights are supposed to be dimmed for the colourful dance light to be visible, but now all of them are completely out. The power must have taken a vacation.
“Joye,” I whisper. I know how much she hates outages.
Lila nods.
In seconds we're both inside. In only a few more seconds, Joye has run over to us. I pull her into my arms. “I feel so stupid to be afraid of this,” she whispers.
I'm just about to respond when Lila beats me to it. “It's not stupid,” my best friend assures my little sister. “There are rational fears and there are irrational fears. But there are no stupid fears, I promise.”
Joye pulls away from my grasp. “Thanks. I kind of want to go home now though”
I laugh. “So do I. Lila?”
“What?”
I cock my head at her. “the sleepover?”
“Oh, right. Yes let's go.”

“We're home!” Sapphire calls into the house as she opens the door. “Well, two of us are,” she adds, glancing at Lila. “One of us isn't.”
It's mere seconds before we're surrounded by the rest of our siblings. Well, more accurately, Lila's the one surrounded. I guess Saphire and I are boring older sisters whom they see every day. Lila's the cool older friend so she's exciting. I suppose.
“Mom and dad aren't back yet,” Meggy, who's nine years old, informs us. “They should be back soon though.”
“Sounds good,” Sapphire says. Even though I can't see my sister's face, I know she's smiling. She adores each of her younger siblings with everything she is. It's something to be greatful for I guess. “In the mean time,” Lila adds, “Are any of you hungry?” The way she says it implies treat.
Cheers and screams and chants of “Yes!” erupt from the younger kids. They're all so close to Lila that she struggles to remove her backpack and take out a container of cupcakes from inside it. She then hands one to each of Sapphire's younger siblings, including me.
Sapphire laughs. “I was wondering why you only had two.”
Lila laughs too. “Well, now you know.”

This night shapes up to be one of the best I can remember for a long, long time. Lila and Sapphire let me in on most of their activities, and it's a lot of fun. I still have to sleep in my Sapphire's and my bedroom though, instead of on the floor in the basement where Sapphire and Lila are sleeping. And in the morning, I can tell something has changed. (1148)

writing competition entry ⍋ 03.27.22
word count: 1762

The whispers snake across the walls, between the vents and through the pipes. They haunt them with every step, every movement, every breath.

They can’t shake it off, no matter where they turn, no matter where they go.

So they decide to follow it instead.

Ells drifts through the silver, gleaming halls of the castle, listening for the hushed tones of the spirits. It seems to shift, move; grow louder and softer, misleading them.

They make their way into an open part of the castle, a sleek stone canopy bridge stretched across the towers. The fuscia leaves of the winding trees seem to move with the murmurs. The aegean waterfall thunders to mask their sounds. The world; both inside and out, seems to hang on the very whispers that stalk Ells.

Yet, they grow louder as they cross the bridge. Greater as they turn the halls. Pulsing, growing as they descend down the stairs, until they are indeafeaning from behind the mahogany door.

The room is filled with more sound than it is mass. The room is barren, abandoned; except for a rickety, opalite machine. It looks uncared for, beridden, cast aside. Like Ells.

Ells approaches the maching cautiously, peering through the glass visor it equips- and gasps. They recognize the machinery instantly as a redrawer- the only thing, apart from the god, that can transport one to another realm. The presence of such a rare, esteemed machine, so battered, was beyond peculiar. Ells, in their century, had witnessed lives lost and loves broken over the fates that the world managers and their machines had enforced on the people.

The whispers quieted for a breaf moment, leaving Ells alone in tumultuous silence. And then they rose, infinitely harsher than before, slicing through the air.

In five days time, the sin will be redeemed,
Or in twin time, failure will be achieved.
A chance to save a life, a chance to crash and fall,
In five days time, the blood will call.

The whispers vanish, and their prophecy rings clear thrugh Ells’ ears like a ricoheting echo. A chance to save a life. A chance for a sin to be redeemed.

Ells knew exactly what it meant.

The temptation was right there in front of them; taunting them. Leading them here, setting forth a choice that was inexcusably wrong but utterly ingenious. It was a matter of a few steps.

Ells glanced over their shoulder, double checking to make sure that nobody had trailed after them. The answer was obvious, no one ever took a special attention to Ells. Except for him.

And so, Ells stepped into the opalite machine and activated the controls, prepared to lift the greatest regret they burdened.

. . .

Ells forgot how painful the process of being redrawn was.

Having each of your particles broken apart, smudging and grating against each other like lead marks on an eraser. Being twisted and contorted, tangled and warped. Morphing into a figure that was both the same yet different, unique in its own mundane way.

It was both a relief and worse fate when their feet resolidified on the ground, body reforming from the bottom up. As Ells’ senses returned, they couldn’t help but grimace at their new location. The hazy mist blanketed the ground, leaving them wondering at what squelched so fulsomely beneath them. The world was painted in shades of grey and black, haunted with the whispers that had trailed Ells in their previous paradise.

The dead are everywhere. Ghostly whispers rise in hushed voices and crackly shouts, pastel translucent figures floating along the landscape. Deep afar, a cavern awaits, holding endless darkness.

It calls Ells in. And so they submit.

. . .

Ells collapses against the rough, jagged walls, sinking to its rocky surface shakily. Their skin is pallor, their eyes droop; they shiver with every chilling breath and tremble as each moment passes by. Their sense of time is shattered in the endless maze of the cavern; the minutes turned into days, and suddenly a second felt like an hour. Perhaps their five days had already run out. Perhaps death had finally befallen them. As it did him.

Ells, five times as young and not any less shorter, panted as they tore through the forest as fast as they could. Wind whipping their face, laughter dancing around their ears, they couldn’t help but turn back and grin at the boy racing frantically behind them.

“Ells- wait- up!” Kadir cried as he chased after them. As they exited the trees and approached the cliffside, Ells screeched to a halt. But not Kadir. He would have gone right over if they hadn’t grabbed him by the back and pulled him towards them, toppling them both atop each other on the grassy cliffside.

They stayed that way for a few beats, until Kadir rolled off Ells and looked at them with sparkling, dancing lavender eyes. They couldn’t keep a straight face any longer, before the two burst out into loud, uncontrolled shouts of laughter.

Their laughs carried off the cliffsides and faded into the air, but it didn’t matter to them. All that mattered was here, now; best friends, enjoying their final moments in their world before being redrawn to one rumored far worse.

“I hope it’s not too horrid of a realm that we’re going to,” Ells said, pondering thoughtfully. “I’d hate to spend the rest of my life in agony.”

“That’d be impossible,” Kadir countered, shaking his obsidian hair out of his eyes. “We’re best friends, we’re always going to be together. And as long as we’re together, no matter what world we wind up in- it’s going to be the most wonderful.”

Those words were the very pact that had shattered their bond in the next morning.

“I’m sorry, Kadir,” Ells said, a pained expression on their face.

“But- but-” Kadir stumbled over his words, frantically looking for a way to deflect the brutal truth that was being thrown at him. “You can’t! You can’t!”

“The castle world is a once in a lifetime opportunity,” Ells said, choking out their words with the most stoic expression they could muster. “You know I have to take it. The world managers won’t let me decline.”

“But you don’t!” Kadir cried out. “You don’t have to leave me! We’re best friends- we’re always going to be together, right? Right?”

Ells met him with silence.

Ells left him in silence as they turned their back on Kadir and left him standing speechless.

Ells ignored him in silence as they carried on with their final day in the forest, duly completing their tasks and tying up all loose ends until only one remained.

Ells departed to the castle world of paradise in silence.

And Ells stared blankly in silence when he received the news of Kadir’s death from a world manager several days after.

The burden of Kadir was one that had haunted them for many decades to come, just as the whispers had them previously. The regret of abandoning the only person who had truly paid them any mind in an ever-shifting, ever-changing life. A person so loud, so kind, so wild and fiery and wonderful. A friend.

That was all the retrospection Ells needed to stand up and keep moving forward.

. . .

A long tirade, a treacherous journey, an exhaustive trial, and Ells finally arrives at the heart of the spirits’ whispers. Pure black water undulates around the narrow stretch of land, rippling like melted onyx. The stalactites, coated in a pearly silver, hang from the ceiling of the cavern and gleam in the darkness. A long, narrow stretch of land acts as a bridge to a worn, mossy pedestal, crudely carved of rock and quartz.

Ells crosses the land, approaching the pedestal hesitantly. Their shoulders still tremble from the cold every so often, but they make do with what victory they have. They lay a hand on the pedestal, examining the runes that inscribe it.

As soon as they touch it, the whispers fall silent. The carvings glow in a deep, rich purple. Ells leaves their hand on the pedestal, heart thumping in their chest violently.

And finally, the voice they hadn’t heard in so long returns. “You came back for me.”

Light and airy, his unmistakable crisp accent echoing through the cavern. Ells lets a wide grin spread across their face, searching for a physical sign of Kadir. “Of course I did. W-” they scanned the cavern. “Where are you?”

“None of your concern.” Ells’ expression falls. “I know what I did was wrong, Kadir,” they tried. “I was foolish. I abandoned you, just like they all did to us. And I’m so sorry- but I’m here to save you. Please, just come out,” they begged.

“Save me from what?” Kadir’s voice cuts across the cavern like a knife to skin. “Do you know what they redrew me as? Do you know what I’ve become?”

Kadir emerges from the shadows of the cavern, and Ells can’t help but stare blankly in horror. The once handsome young man they knew had transformed into a ghastly, petrifying monster, his copper skin ripped and scarred, his obsidian hair endlessly long and wild, his dazzling lavender eyes now a dark, daunting violet. His lanky frame had been replaced with that of an arachnid, making him grow ten-fold in size as he emerged. He loomed over Ells, his translucent spirit glaring with a raging spite fueled by the very thing Ells seeked to repair.

Before Ells can utter a word, the spirit of Kadir lifts a large, pointed claw, holding a shimmering stone the size no larger than Ells’ palm. It looks so small, helpless in Kadir’s claws.

As Ells peers at it closer, they recognize the iridescent shimmer. The gleam of all colors. The beauty of an opalite stone. Identical to the material a redrawer was recrafted of.

“No,” Ells said, stepping backwards. “No, it can’t- Kadir-”

Ells meets Kadir’s gaze with desolate desperation, and he returns it with one of burning hatred. His voice shifts to a harsh, rich rasp, perfectly mimicking that of the whispers that haunted Ells throughout the castle. “In five days time, the blood will call,” he hisses.

The final thing Ells sees are the eyes of a monster flashing violet.

“This is the monster you created.”

fin.

protagonist: ells, a century-old dwarf; created by the wonderful robin! ( https://scratch.mit.edu/discuss/topic/582424/?page=66#post-6112069 )
setting: a world inside a sketchbook; crafted by the awesome damian! ( https://scratch.mit.edu/discuss/post/6112721/ )
premise: in which the main character embarks on a high-stake quest for redemption, written by the spectacular sandy! ( https://scratch.mit.edu/discuss/topic/549873/?page=3#post-6104262 )

Note: Ahh I'm surprisingly proud of this! Everyone's creations for the previous parts of the weekly were so rich and talented, and I adored being able to use them to craft a story. It was so much fun! And I 100% did not name my story after an Arcane song haha what no B)

Some sad accidental lunar chronicles fanfiction
joint word-war and daily !
Once upon a time in the great kingdom of Tarry, there lived a princess named Peary. Peary was a very beautiful princess with long, flowing golden hair and dazzling blue eyes. SHe had beautiful fair skin and beautiful red lips. Her heart was pure and kind, and every thought that went through her mind was totally pure.
Except for the fact that this Pary was also quite crazy, which did not help her case much. You see, Peary was a lunar. She could make herself look like anyone, which was something that everylunar could do- except that she did not like using her gift. She liked to be like her Mother- Winter. Winter had never used her lunar gift- she had never once tried to glamor someone and fool them. She did not believe in that. She was such a sweet girl, and also quite silly. Of course, her mother was no longer here, so there was no one to help her choose what she was supposed to do. It didn’t make any
WC is 173- STATUS, won

Memories Sleep With Fishes Too (writing comp entry)

March. The details of that month’s scenario is a one-way glass from two years ago,
But I can just barely descry two events; first, the start of all the pandemic’s woes,
And through all that, never have I had the occasion to mention the second:
The death of the fish in my marine exhibit.

You know you are dying when you first lose the sense of direction—
Pellucid tank water transform into warped mirrors; contorted reflections
Are telescopes observed in reverse; beginning with viewing the objective lens,
then descending the optical shaft, minimizing the vision until a small margin

Remains, resembling the miniature eyepiece. Are you looking in or out, now?
At the perimeters of the transparent partition, sometimes fingertips pin down
On the surface, and fish become fingerprints smearing close behind the tracer,
Pursuing every silver lining with the final aim of escaping this crystal container.

If they knew the fragility of their captivity, they will kamikaze to forever break free,
Creating thin veins on the invisible panel, an aneurysm with blood ready to breach;
if it takes an explosive to have self-destructed for me to be safe and unbounded,
Then tenderly trap me with tinder and embers and saturate me with gunpowder.

Death is a reticent deity compelling us to send obscure prayers up to the mystifying heavens.
We are vessels careening our bodies in order to face the robed reaper with passive expressions.
If life is abducted at this exact moment, at least it would be while worshiping towards the sky.
We levitate to the ceiling like childhood memories to be exhumed from the waters and analyzed

Carefully, reminisced over our sentimentality, only to be forgotten and discarded right after—
I was the one who found the body of the first dead fish, its corpse attempting to flee its captor—
Allegedly in the universe, everything should be expected to exist as energy and matter—
However, this carcass was deprived of the former, only being composed of the latter.

Prodding the motionless carp, the first aspect I discerned of death is the dryness of the scales;
The wood floor became its mattress for eternal sleep, a tinder blanket wrapping it from head to tail.
My first instinct was to seize the koi by its fin and hurl it hastily back into the nearby tank,
An abrupt plunk as the fish plunged nose-first like a crash landing. I stared as it sank

Like an impending shipwreck, the bow’s snake eyes set on impacting into the gravel beneath—
This rescue attempt was like thrusting a drowned child into the air, screaming for them to breathe
The restorative oxygen around. So close to revival, yet, the inability to respond makes any effort
Futile. You can not save anything when, at the time most dire, you had left them in the lurch.

That same day, I had enshrouded the remains with soil, embedded deep into the roots of the backyard,
Allowing the corpse to have another taste of submergence, establishing an experience that will restart
All over again. The only difference between drowning and suffocation is what you are able to see—
We still choke the same. Our interiors may be overcrowded with weight, but our exteriors never bleed.

The inhabitants of the aquarium appear unphased of the incident that had happened;
they proceed their habitual motions of circle-swimming, and I wonder who is the captain,
For everyone follows the other, but even so, someone must have started the movement.
And while their friends around belly-up, the constant cycle shows no sign of displacement.

The center decor’s circumference generates the ideal racetrack for the residents to run the good race,
A perfect masquerade encouraging relishing life in rotations but never in revolution, and just in case
Of an insurgence, there is still only one method of successful liberty: an uprising
Out the waters, because oftentimes to regain control, one must sacrifice surviving.

However, only death can whisper this turbid solution into the ears of those with a foot in the grave,
So these aimless creatures continue on with their monotonous life until the Rainbow Bridge awaits—
For now, the only gesture from above are meteorite pellets, the closest concept to melancholic rain,
And we intercept these symbols of rejection and defeat, for our only source of nourishment is pain.

Little do they know, they are feasting on the scrapped entrails of their distant relatives,
But what else is there to ingest when circumventing starvation is your primal objective?
When desperation prevails, you will consume anything, even the aquarium substrate
Bestrewed across the floor, choking on the pebbles until you eventually expectorate.

The next two fish encountered similar fates—both caught in the claws of the siphoning tube dangling
From the hang on back filtration system, violently mangled by the upward force, the suction strangling
The heart beats out of their melodies, disowning the tempo of breathing until you are left with a caesura.
Streams of bubbles are ejected from the filter’s outlet waterfall, like round broken shards from a plethora

Of mirrors. At first, these meager effervescences drop like flies, then proceed to fly like raindrops;
It is a shame these fish followed the same trajectory—falling from pressure, then gliding to the top.
At least they inadvertently outline the usual path of a forced grin, a parabolic graph of resignation,
Because when destiny has a master plan, the best one can do is smile with submissive patience.

I could not fetch the fish with a net as they were attached to the pipe like handcuffs to a pole,
So instead I wielded a bamboo skewer to nudge their pitiful limbs out of the narrow slot hole
Until they were finally unshackled. I buried them both in the backyard beside the other fish.
At that rate, I should have left the corpses exposed for nature to establish a mass burial ditch.

The purpose behind a fish funeral defines whether it is a graveyard or a garden—
Natives used these carcasses as fertilizer to germinate new life out of the old dead,
But no real beauty will sprout from these residues of sorrows; it is proven that unhappiness
Stunts the growth of the griever. Perhaps my yard can become a landscape inflicted with paralysis,

The ravishing environment around shriveling to form the wilted dust of a bone-dry desert,
But the present is already burdensome enough, so what the future holds is not of my concern.
When both the present and the future are nuances, the only jubilation is found in the past,
But with every demise I must confront, a bit of my history seems to crumble and collapse…

Am I forgetting? The only indications of childhood are embodied in the beings of the water,
And with every spontaneous assassination, one must wonder who is behind all the slaughters.
Recurring coincidences become inflating suspicion, so is the pandemic the only culprit to blame,
Or was this destiny bound to occur, regardless of my attempts to reroute the currents? We try to explain

Phenomena we do not understand with speculative assumptions, so do we truly comprehend anything?
These aquatic pets are mementos of a juvenescence I can no longer recall; I am not just burying
The souls of these creatures six feet below the surface, but also the reminders that come with them.
The sound of their unintelligible voices dampen with every shovel until they become a distant rhythm,

Like stretching for early memories that have decomposed into something unrecognizable,
Or struggling to demonstrate an unpracticed talent that is no longer reproducible.
Life is irreplaceable. So, when someone suggested I head to the pet store to replace,
I questioned if they would replace a missing, priceless painting with a blank slate.

They do not know that replacing is not the same as preserving.
They do not know that preserving is not the same as returning.
They do not know that returning is not the same as revival.
They do not know that revival is not the same as survival.

For the next death, I witnessed the robed reaper murmuring to the fish to pray upwards,
And I fought back with a stake, using the stick to readjust to the proper orientation of forwards.
Death can twirl the hands of my fish, but I can hold the hands of the minute on the clock,
And I can jam the filled chambers of the gun’s cylinder to prevent it from going off.

If I can just cease death’s turning, I can delay the time from reaching its schedule,
Because I refuse to believe that the clock has run out of ticks to hold back the devil.
But it is exhausting to continue obstructing the reaper, and at some point, I must let go—
Let go, let go, how many times can you let go before you are left with just a hollow?

As a last resort, I relocated the fish to an isolated fishbowl, hoping it will get better on its own—
But separation is not any type of remedy, and this quarantine only caused it to perish alone.
I stopped tallying the body count after that, for the reaper discovers ways to bypass any barrier,
And every defense to justify the motive behind his murders always winds up ulterior.

I will sit back and watch every relic in my recollection disappear with its history,
A museum of truth disintegrating to leave behind an unsolved mystery,
As every fossil of evidence cremates into the ashes of an esoteric forest,
And the stronghold memorial abandons the wreckage of something once important.

I will scrutinize every keepsake of innocence as they rise past the surface to be forgotten,
Until not knowing will be the only characteristic we have left in common.
I trudge past my marine exhibit and inquire how emptiness came to be on display,
And a mirror-shard part of me wonders if something was once in its place.

Not even a telescope can find all the scattered particles to piece together what happened—
I constantly revolve the focusing knob and readjust the lenses, but it is impossible to examine
A subject that is missing. What is erased from consciousness can never be recovered;
The plot holes in the mind’s timeline is a bone-dry desert with skeletons forever undiscovered.

What constitutes a memory? It is not based on the conjectured idea’s value nor content;
Perhaps a memory is any thought that has the capability to die in a mass burial ditch,
Something that is meant to be treasured close and dearly then be buried soon after,
Something that loses its initial energy and therefore no longer is the same matter…

It is only a matter of time before virtuous intentions morph into ill motives,
Before the foundations encompassing become tinders for self-destructing explosives,
Until a straightforward journey is terminated by an imminent obstacle,
And you believe that from all this despair, you are the only one responsible.

I have never properly mourned all of my fish who have passed,
So take this elegy as an in-depth apology to the deaths of the past.
We spend our lives behind masquerades, always trying to cover up imperfections with masks,
Refusing to reveal the whole story underneath the guise, never truly realizing the proper facts…

March. As clocks were shifted forward, perhaps something inside of me shifted too.
There is a sharp disconnection from my old self, a new apparent breakthrough
That I can not express when there are already so many burdens in the present,
But if I keep one hand on the glass partition, maybe one day I can escape to that other side of me again.

— 1936 words

AUTHOR’S NOTE
Okay okay I’m rushing this really badly so I’ll ask Sea if I can finish this author’s note with coherency after I post this in the writing thread ahahaha xD
So anyway, you’re free to interpret this poem in any way you want, the beauty of poetry is that you can interpret language in different ways so feel free to just ignore everything I say down here—
This poem is actually a metaphor of the onset of depression, I used the fish tank and my fish dying as a conceit metaphor for depression, so this poem serves as both an elegy narrative about my fish dying, but also a didactic poem that talks about depression (notice how I never mentioned the word depression throughout my poem since I really wanted that sub-meaning to be hidden in my poem and not be too obvious)
Two years ago was when the pandemic started, and yes, my fish all began dying too, everything said in this poem is factual, rest in peace fishies but when the pandemic started, I also started to get really depressed and my mental health started declining, and honestly, the start of the pandemic was probably where all my happiness and innocence ended — I’ve wanted to write a memoir about this for a long time, and I tried to do that last session in November, but I was never happy with the concepts I settled with. I’ve finally settled on telling that story through the poem you just read, which is probably like the fifth version of this story I’ve written (the first three versions were all written in prose, and then I decided to switch to my favorite form of writing, poetry, for my final version)
Ahhh I’m running out of time so I’m submitting this into the forum, if Sea lets me finish my author’s note (which is basically me just rambling lol) I’ll edit this post meows
SEA LET ME EDIT THANKS <333
So yes let me ramble all about the rhyme scheme now B)) it's a constant AABB pattern and there's a total of 32 quatrains (yes 32 stanzas and 4 lines each, very nice number ahahaha that was on purpose meows) – ALSO the internal rhyming, I tried not only to do a rhyme scheme but have lots of internal half and perfect rhymes as well which is meant to symbolize how depression is something internal, and it would've been much better if i had time to record me reciting the poem since it was originally meant to be a spoken word poem but I ran out of time ahahaha xD but yeah just imagine there's a polar bear meowing this poem out loud to you, this poem was really meant to be read and I made sure there was a constant rhythm and and flow throughout the poem since it was supposed to be a spoken word poem and yeah xD i don't know how people manage to make coherent author note's, honestly I am tired from all the thought that went into my poem to be saying anything coherent let alone use proper punctuation and grammar
BUT anyway, lots of metaphors too, and some idioms sprinkled in, and some alliteration as well since why not B))))) there's three idioms I used that some people might not understand so if you're reading this hopefully this will clear up some confusion:
“Rainbow Bridge” is an idiom for a place where pets go once they die, “left in the lurch” is when you leave somebody with protection when they need it the most, and “run the good race” means to live life to the fullest and with meaning, I was worried some people wouldn't understand those idioms (since well idioms by definition don't make sense unless you know them beforehand ahahaha) so yeah that's what those mean
Stanza 1 uses a metaphor of a one-way window, basically how the memories of what happened are not that clear and are like behind a one-way window and it's hard to see through that window since it's reflective but if any of you have seen one-way windows you can still see through it barely, like you can make out the faint shadows and forms of things and stuff so YeaH that's what i compared my faulty memory to LOL
And for Stanza 2, so you know how I said the water transforms into mirrors, will that's basically just mirrors surrounding you right, and if you have ever seen two mirrors facing each other you'll know what an infinite reflection thingy looks like, so I compared those endless reflections to looking at a telescope in reverse since it goes from big to small that way fksdlfhsldfsdfsl i thought it was a cool metaphor lol but maybe not idk so yeah basically since fish turn upside down when they die I was trying to refer to the sense of directional loss with being surrounded with mirrors and then MetAphoriCalLy this refers to how you lose your sense of direction (purpose) in life because of depression and everything gets confusing and all that stuff
Stanza 3, I tried really hard not to refer to the glass itself so I used a bunch of metonymies to refer to the glass so that’s what invisible partition means, this stanza talks about fish following your finger when you move it around on the glass — for the depression metaphor, this refers to how you see these good things on the “outside” and you want to get into all that good stuff so when you see something from the outside that you can follow you chase after it even though it’s pointless and impossible to actually get to that other side so yeah
Stanza 4, the aneurysm and veins refers to glass breaking so basically veins is the glass cracking and the aneurysm is the water that finally gushes out of the broken glass and basically fish tank glass is fragile so if the fish knew it was really fragile it’ll practically injure itself bumping into the glass in order to break it if it wanted freedom, and this self-sabotaging I compare it to self-destructing explosives and you being that tinder for those explosives so YeaH it’s hard to explain without scratch censoring me lol and for the depression metaphor, well, let’s just say people find their freedom from depression in some not-so-good methods and that’s all I’m going to say about that since I don’t want to get banned LOL
Stanza 5 and 6, basically just saying how when fish turning upside down, it’s like they’re praying to the sky and it’s like they’re turning towards death (I don’t need to explain the correlation to depression here I hope it’s self-explanatory) and then when they die the float to the surface of the water and they end up getting scooped out and thrown off somewhere, and for the depression metaphor the death of the fish is basically just the death of childhood and innocence and how all the good memories and good vibes and nice things all of a sudden float to the surface and go poof and then more good stuff and innocence disappears until the fish tank is empty it’s depressing ik
Stanza 7 and 8, ahhh stanza 8 contains my favorite line of telling a drowned child to breathe idk that line resonates with me a lot and yes ik I wrote it but I like my writing sometimes okay!!! So basically true story, I found the fish on the floor and it was clearly dead but for some reason I picked it back up and put it in the water and thought it would just revive itself LOL I know it was so stupid and thinking about it now I’m laughing at how dumb that was LOL so anyway there’s a reference back to stanza 4 of wrapping itself in tinder because self-destruction stuff and also this is referring to how in depression you try going back to all the good things and memories and nice stuff in life but they don’t feel the same anymore and they don’t have the same effect and you no longer get happy from then and they lose their meaning and yeah I’m literally giving the most basic info you can interpret it further if you’d like since I don’t have time to give a full in-depth explanation LOL OH and a bow is the front of a ship if you didn’t know that, and snake eyes is a double meaning — eyes are referring to like the ship looking at the ground and heading to the bottom, but snake eyes also means the worst possible outcome so YEAH I hope you liked that double meaning thing lol
Stanza 9, basically I buried the fish in the backyard since duh and technically the fish is “drowning” again but this time in dirt instead of air so yeah this basically refers to good things getting buried and whatnot I want to sleep so I’m going to lessen my explanations lol
Stanza 10, fish swim in circles omg who would’ve known lol, stanza 11 ahhhh I thought I was really clever with my double meaning with “run the good race” so like how the fish tank is formatted so the fish can only go in circles and then I mentioned what that idiom means earlier, and then circles are technically rotations and revolutions are synonymous for rotations but I USED A PUN!!! and revolution becomes like a rebellion, and then ANOTHER PUN GJDFHHEHFHFA I love this stanza so much uprising is synonymous for revolution but also this refers to how freedom (getting out the tank and ending the cycle) can only be achieved by dying and thus rising to the surface to be removed out the fish tank I THOUGHT IT WAS CLEVER OK I should stop praising myself I promise I’m not this egotistical I actually self-deprecate a lot and am really insecure LOL
Stanza 12 just refers to how escape only comes with death and whatnot, and then it refers to fish food !! And how it’s like rain which is sad and the fish eat the sadness rain LOL and then stanza 13, FUN FACT FISH FOOD IS MADE PARTIALLY OF OTHER FISH!!! you will never look at pet fish the same now huh and then if you own fish you know that fish like to eat the rocks on the floor and spit them out for some reason lol apparently it’s because bacteria and stuff grows on these rocks and the fish like to scrape them off to eat vnfgjjfhfheksa I did my research for this poem see !!
Stanza 14, two more fish died since they got stuck in the filter tube thing (yes true story it was really sad) and then stanza 15 talks about the bubbles from the filter, and stanza 16 is TRUE STORY I had to use a bamboo skewer to move the fishes out of the tube since they were stuck in it and I didn’t want to just put my hand in the water and grab them out so xD anyways they got buried too rip please have some pity for my poor fish, at least they make a great metaphor for depression lol
Stanza 17-18 I want to sleep but they’re pretty much clear enough I think, it just talks about gardens vs. graveyards and deserts and the environment and whatnot lol I’m too tired to talk about this ahhh
Stanza 19 is my attempt to discreetly tie the metaphor to depression if you didn’t realize it earlier and it also re-emphasizes how it all began with the pandemic — or did it because depression isn’t something that just comes or go so yeah
Stanza 20, another discreet attempt to tie it to the underlying meaning lol goodbye to all them good things lol
Stanza 21-22 OMG people actually did tell me to replace my fish and I was like . bruh I’m sad right now and you just expect me to find some random fish to replace them ??? That’s literally not the same lol and besides my fish were old and big and the fish in the store are so small lol so yeah — this refers to people who tell you to just be happy LOL
Stanza 23-24 so yes another fish death but THIS TIME I SAW THE FISH TURNING UPSIDE DOWN AND I WAS LIKE nope not today not on my watch so I tried making it upright and it worked somewhat !! The fish lived ! … for like two more days and then it died when I wasn’t watching CRIII TnT I LOVE THE TWO METAPHORS I USED AT THE BOTTOM OF THE STANZA I like it a lot pat on the back to myself
Stanza 25 okay so yeah I moved the dying fish to a separate fish bowl and it died by itself in there ripppp </333 why am I talking like I’m texting my friends I should be serious but I’m not LOL
Stanzas 26-30 is basically tying everything together and my final attempt to get people to realize the deeper meaning ahaha am I grouping those stanzas together because I’m tired and want to sleep and don’t want to explain them? Totally not !
Stanza 31 OKAY this is literally just irony lol it’s literally telling you the fish tank is a masquerade/cover up for the overall underlying meaning about depression fvjdfkfkcxja also did you like my homophone use of “depth” and “death” they sound almost the same okay
Stanza 32 is the closing and it refers to daylight savings time as well LOL and yeah I’m done analyzing time to sleep !!!
OH and the title refers to the idiom “sleeping with the fishes” which refers to dumping a murdered body into ocean so basically memories sleep with fishes so basically the good things and good vibes and happiness and innocence have been “murdered” and thrown away and forgotten and nowhere to be found and blah blah blah
Do I have anything else to say OH RIGHT thank you to everybody who critiqued my writing @Stariqe @-redredrobin- @seventene @Cherrie_Tree thanks now I will sleep ahahahaha — PLEASE DONT DEDUCT POINTS FOR MY RAMBLING AUTHORS NOTE ILL REMOVE IT IF YOU WANT </333

Daily for the 27th: (I really liked this one, it was so fun to write and remember )

1: Doing the second weekly was a lot of fun in general, but I really liked doing part one. I already do some roleplay, so I was used to the format of it and I enjoyed it a lot. For those who don't remember, it was to write a story totalling in three hundred words each with another camper. I did it with @hamilchaos (whose account name was @-MyNewAccount- at the time), who I knew from last session since we were cabin mates and got along pretty well. We were in Myth, and I have a lot of nice memories including her from that session, so it was nice to make one this time as well. We wrote about some guy named Chase who was visited by this weird creature and told he needed to find it a place to hide, or else… It was never specified what the creature looked like but I pictured an all-black humanoid thing with limbs that didn't quite move as they should, and a blank space where its face was supposed to be, apart from a gaping mouth with sharp, dark teeth. It was a lot of fun to write, and made much better by the fact I was doing it with someone, especially Cami.

2: Sometime last session I had an idea to write a story in dialogue, and once I had I thought it was fun, so I suggested it as a daily in the suggestions forum. The spots for dailies were already full for that session and I knew if it was going to be used, it would be this month, or even the next. Nedless to say I forgot all about it until the first day of the fourth week when I went to check the daily and there it was! I was really surprised, but what made this memory so much better was that people were liking it! I saw several comments that were saying that the daily was fun, or that they liked it. It made me feel really good about myself and I was quite proud of it. Even my own cabin leader commented on how awesome it was in at least two separate comments! And I wasn't even actively looking for praise. It made my day and still boosts my serotonin every time I think about it. I'd have been plenty happy that they chose to use my idea, but then people went out of their way to say that they liked my daily!

3: I love cabin wars. It is one of my favourite parts of swc, and I always get really excited when I see we're going to have them. Sure, they stress me out sometimes, especially when I'm working on a war alone, but there's just something so great about putting a day aside for writing with cool challenges under pressure. But I have to say, the second one was definitely better this session. I had more time to write, and the only breaks I really took were to eat, when I went on a walk, and between wars. I was really active and it great, I got to meet some people who aren't usually active in the Adventure cabin. What's more, we (Adventure) didn't loose a single war that day! There were a couple times I thought we might, but we managed to win every one of them, and gain points while we were at it! It made me really happy, but even if we had lost a war or two, it's still cabin wars, and I love it either way. Besides, I wrote 4922 words in total, and as someone with a fairly low wpm, that was amazing!

Updated daily:

1: I read through the first part of the weekly, and was struck by how much it resembled a roleplay. Well, I did like doing those, I decided I'd give it a try. All I needed was a partner, so I opened a new tab and went to the main cabin, scrolling through to see if anyone was asking. There was one person who was, and I responded saying I could. Sadly they told me they'd already found someone, so I went to check to see if anyone in Adventure wanted to. There weren't any rules against writing with someone in your cabin, and I thought it was a good thing to get to know some of the people in it. No one was responding quick enough, and I went back to the main cabin to hang out a bit. There, I came across someone I knew: Cami! She'd been in my cabin last session and I had some good memories with her. We ended up doing the weekly together, and it was a lot of fun! We wrote about Chase, who was visited by a creature that needed a place to hide, or else… I was really glad I got to make another good memory with her this session.

2: Disappointed I didn't finish the weekly on time, I went to check the new daily. It seemed to have a rather long description, and I was curious. About one sentence in, I realized: this was my daily! I'd come up with this and given it as a suggestion last session! I'd forgotten all about it, until now. I read through it, a small smile dawning on my face. They used my idea! And it was worth a lot of points too! There was no way I wasn't doing it. But being the procrastinator I was, I decided to scroll down the comments a little bit first. There, a person was saying they really liked the new weekly and daily! I was stunned, not only had they chosen my idea, but people liked it? This was amazing! I wrote the daily quickly, empowered by the fact I knew what exactly what I was doing. When I came back to post it, there were even more comments about how they liked my daily. I felt giddy, they actually liked it! What's more, the next day, I saw none other than my cabin leader praising the daily in not one but two comments!

3: Cabin wars! I absolutely loved them, they were probably one of my favourite parts of swc, and they'd just started! I checked to see if there were any wars in Adventure, and sure enough. I opened a new doc and started writing. I'd have to go to sleep soon, but I wanted to help out in at least the first war before then, after all: swc > life when it's cabin wars. I ranted about random stuff and got a few hundred words before I decided it was too late and that if I slept well I'd have more energy for writing non-stop the next day. Sure enough, a good night's sleep payed off when I wrote over a thousand words for the first war I came across in the morning. The whole day, all I stopped for was food, a walk, and the break between wars. When it was almost over, I felt a sense of relief flood over me. I'd added to every war I'd been awake for, and the other's seemed to have the last war handled, it only needed three people anyway. That was it, we were going to get out of this without loosing a single war. Yes!

Daily 2/38/22 - Memory Skewers

Moonlit opened up her recipe book to a random page, finding an entry titled “Memory Skewers.” She frowned, wondering what a memory skewer was. As she looked closer, her confusion soon turned to delight as she realized what this snack had in store.

As she skimmed over the recipe, the first ingredient she noticed was cabin wars, because, of course, cabin wars are ICONIC. Staying up far, far too late, epic rants about the most random things, campers, co’s, leaders, and hosts, all running around screaming… She loves cabin wars. But she also hates them at the same time. It’s a bit of a love hate relationship, you know? In order to make the cabin wars, you must find the perfect balance of sweet, sweet revenge, sleep deprivation, rage filled betrayal, sheer joy of warring enemies in the middle of the night, desperation, and of course, chaos. Each part of this concoction must be carefully captured and contained in order to achieve a perfect cabin war.

Next up was Dora. Yup, that’s right, DORA DORA DORA THE EXPLORERRRRRRR! SWIPER NO SWIPING! SWIPER NO SWIPING! SWIPER NO SWIPING! DO DO DO DO DORAAAAAA! Aahhahaha anyways, adding wars. Moonlit’s absolute favorites were Waterfall and Eevee’s wars. No one else could ever compete with their mischief and determination… They were the greatest of all time. No swiping adding! She wasn’t sure what made it such an iconic moment, but something about it was just so special, and well… iconic. And of course, it started the DORA DORA DORA THE EXPLORERRRRR! The childhood memories… She remembers when she used to watch Dora the Explorer as a little kid… oh the memories. She used to curl up into a ball on the couch, cover herself in a blanket, and stare intently at the TV screen, watching the little cartoon figures fly across the screen. Maybe it was that that made Dora so special… or maybe it was just DORA DORA DORA THE EXPLORERRRRRRR xD In any case, she has no doubt about the fact that Dora truly is an iconic memory that has a well deserved place on the memory skewer.

And of course, after much debate, last but certainly not least, weekly procrastination. Why? Because YES! Weekly procrastination was undoubtedly an essential part of Moonlit’s Scratch Writing Camp experience, whether or not the current weekly was something she particularly enjoyed or was particularly good at. As an accomplished procrastinator, she knows how to get things done at the last possible second. And that’s where weeklies come in! From the very first weekly, she had made sure to put off the weekly as long as she possibly could without risking not finishing it, carefully awaiting the large amounts of work, in particular the scriptwriting and non fiction, until the last second. On to the second weekly, which she never actually finished. She doesn’t talk about that one, no, no, no… we don’t talk about that one! It was the second weekly (it was the second weekly) and there wasn’t a cloud in the sky (no clouds allowed in the sky). Procrastination walked in, with a mischievous grin (thunder)… anyways, we’re not going to talk about that. Moving on to the third weekly, she just barely finished this one, barely managing to scrape together the final part on theme’s before it was due. She had worked on it on her phone on the way to school, and again on the way back… in the end it had all worked out. And finally, the current weekly! Shockingly enough, she’s just barely halfway through the first part with around half the week left!

Moonlit pulled out all the necessary ingredients from the cabinet, still lost in the memories. She carefully stuck a few of each on each stick, creating some phenomenal memory skewers.

Main Cabin Daily 3/28
Topic: Memories on a stick
Word Count: 655
Redirect to main page


Ah, memories. Let’s begin. We start off with my very own megathread link being on my birthday. Swc actually started about right as the teachers went on strike, so I had plenty of time to write up. I have visited the megathread main page at least 19 times, visited Main cabin 57 times, and visited myth 77 times. Staring at Feb 22, I have had a total of 541 scratch visits (this computer only.) At the time of writing this, I’ll be back to school on Tuesday. Now, who could forget about the infamous SWS, or scratch writing swamp. Good times. On weekends, I have to clean and such, which always sucks for swc. Now back to memories. I think every day is a new memory of me never completing the “go to bed before 10:30 challenge” it’s 10:23 as these words are being written - or at least, this section, and I’m four thousand words behind. A great memory is me posting in Main Cabin that I hated writing in 2nd person and and hoped we didn’t get that war, and even a minute before I posted that comment, someone from Mystery posted that war. We’ve never recieved it again. Cabin wars are iconic in every way. It forces you to write, it makes you loose massive points, and yesterday we lost a war because I fell asleep. I hate cabin wars so much that I wrote a 390 word essay in suggestions forum about how I wanted it improved. A very iconic thing was me being the second to last to submit both of my writing comp entires (they were both submitted in like the last 15 to 30 minutes, the last one was within like 5). I actually had to rush downstairs for better internet, which, granted, worked, because it got in. Admittedly, not my best writing because it was rushed. What really felt good though, were co-op stories. It’s fun to build off of other people’s ideas, and it is stressful to find timezones and such. I think that the weekly with the two people was easier than the daily with two people. Something apparently happened with Dora that I missed- oh well. I guess I got too caught up in Pokemon GO. A very Iconic thing is my tabs being a hideous mess. Right now one is my megathread, one is my weekly (unfinished but I will finish today) and oops, just spotted a spelling mistake, The project for part two of the weekly, this tab, main cabin, a random good doc I yoinked to use for word wars (still have to post my words in a forums post). That google doc is assorted random things that are confiscated , an unfinished cabin wars story I’m also planning to finish (yes, that is the one I fell asleep to.), a five minute word wars timer that I just closed out because I’m probably not going to do word wars again, a 3 minute timer that I also Xed out, same reason, the exact ready post I was going to do for the war we lost because I feel alseep, and word wars, which is being changed to my messages and probably either word wars again or it’s going to be deleted. I remember the good old days when I used watpad to write and keep track of my words and it didn’t match what google doc had as a word count (I tried typing “google”, but accidentally typed food, and this computer doesn’t have autocorrect, mind you) I used another website as a test, and dude, watpad has been scamming me. Somehow, I’ve managed 600 words in my ramblings of memories. When I have a clear topic to rant about, I can do it for long. This was actually very theraputic (can’t spell) and I enjoyed this kind of non-story. Hope anyone reading this has a great rest of swc!

Word Wars Log #1
Total Words here: 126
Redirect back to main page

vs no one. No one responded to my war but I finished my side

I sighed, kicking sand. After all this time, my best friend had finally let me. Was it for the best for him? Was I just blindly cursed to have everyone I loved torn apart and flung to the side like a ragdoll. I’m not dangerous, am I? No one for guidance. My parents are already gone. Is there anything I can even hope to do to get them back? No, I believe not. They’re lost in the abyss. Forever to be unseen. Cold shore water lapped at my feet, not helping numb my pain. I’d tried medication. I don’t even know if medication helps. So many questions, so little answers. I can’t see my own face in the mirror. I think I’m a monster. But, why?

Word Wars Log #2
Total Words here: 241
Redirect back to main page

Vs Dystopian
LINK TO THREAD
Result: Won


Long night. I see the stars in the sky as cool grass caresses my sides. I’m laying on my back, waiting to see a shooting star. Grandma was always fond of them. Every night, I come out here to see one. And every night, I do. The midnight beach is not too far- a mere 50 feel from where I lay on my back. It’s got white sand, so pale that you could mistake it for clouds. It’s even as soft as clouds, though I think real clouds are just water vapor, and they just feel like water. I can feel the waves lapping back and forth, up and down. They’re my background music. Nature already provides you with these sounds, why not listen? The water under the sky is pitch black, but in the distance with the industrial city, it reflects off of their artificial oranges and yellows. The waves are hardly anything tonight, and it could be prime for picking sea shells. I am tempted to go over there and grab them, but I don’t let my mind wander. Shooting stars are most important. It may take me many, many hours here, and every single day, but boredom is not what I worry about. I worry that this tradition may be lost to time, or that I may not be able to see one, or forget. I’ve never been on planes that fly at night for this exact reason.

Word Wars Log #3
Total Words here: 133
Redirect back to main page


Vs Thriller
Result: Lost

Peel, banana, peel peel banana.
It’s at these times I wonder why my brain gets hooked on to random sounds. And out of all of them, why is it this? This was from when I was five! Brain! You’re not supposed to remember such oddities! What are you doing back there? I’ve tried to cover my ears before, but it doesn’t work. The sound is inside my head, it’s not coming from outside. It’s like if a constant jukebox were to be placed in your ear, either blasting your favorite pop song, or a simple nursery rhyme. Sometimes on repeat. I have no idea if it stops, but it’s really hard to sleep. I have to put my very own mind into the mix of white noise, blend it in to the background.

Word Wars Log #4
Total Words here: 167
Redirect back to main page

Vs Poetry
Result: Lost

Spring cleaning. Oh it’s so dreaded to me that I have to play music and use candy as a motivation. Every section I clean, I get one chocolate. My bed is made, my books are organized neatly on the shelf with my stuffed animals, and my desk- well, we’ll get to it later. I still need to vacuum the floor, but maybe I can get away with not doing it. It’s not really all that dirty. I’m moving to my bedside table right now. It’s white with my clock and some other assorted randomness. I swipe them off and spritz some cleaning spray, moving it around with my paper towel. Time to sort the drawers, my least favorite part. I open them up and jump back in surprise. It’s my old warrior cats fanfic! Or at least, the organizer that I stuffed it in. The organizer is black with lots of fuzzies on it. It doesn’t really matter to be, and I open it. Oh my gosh-

March 28th Daily
704 words

Birdi inhaled, filling her lungs with the wonderfully refreshing spring night air. It was nearing the end of March and the atmosphere around the main cabin was calming and fragrant. She neared some daffodils, and she lightly plucked one off its stem, twirling it around in her fingers thoughtfully. As she proceeded through the main cabin, she decided to pay a little visit to Memory Hall. The place where she kept all of her favorite memories from SWC. This session, it was larger than ever. She took a few steps toward the long hall, then decided that perhaps maybe she shouldn’t go all the way down the colossal. Perhaps she would visit just a few memories. After all, she had a lot of work to do. It was late and she was not quite finished with the daily. But perhaps taking a stroll down memory lane would help.

As she took step after step and the distance from her to the hall of memories gradually grew lesser and lesser, the silhouette of the hall formed itself and she could see the elaborate patterns carved on the side and above it. It was her own private place – only she could ever find it, because after all, it housed her own memories. It was painted a mixture of dark green, gold and off white, and she found herself relaxing as she opened the glassy white doors and stepped inside.

Instantly, she found herself immersed in memory. The first: the amazing feeling of being witness to the joy and gratitude that the leaders expressed to her when they found out that they had been selected as leader for this session. This session particularly, due to all the new faces, was very full of this lovely feeling of gratitude, and she was looking forward to experiencing it once again as she had when she had shared it with the chosen leaders. She reflected on her and her fellow hosts’ leader choices for March, amazed at how they had managed to choose from all of the different applicants. In the end, she was confident that these fifteen deserved it, and their cos deserved every credit as well. She remembered how she had been so excited to tell them, and how they had been so excited when they found out. Birdi laughed at a flashback to her own experience when she had been told she was leader. It feels so long ago that it could be referred to as simple fragments of a dream.

Birdi then fast-forwarded to a memory that was newer in formation. It was when Mystery had risen to the top after her diligent completing of dailies and weeklies. She had never been this strict about making herself complete SWC activities before, but this session she was proud to say she had a streak of completing every single daily with points and all four weeklies. She twirled her daffodil into her memory, which she still clutched in her palm, pointing it at Mystery’s place on the main cabin rankings. She and the Mystery team had truly worked hard to make this happen, and she was proud of them all.

Finally, Birdi moved on to a memory that had barely formed two days ago. It was fresh and beautiful, and she laughed at the childishness and simultaneous incredible connection to others that it held for her. To put a name on it, it was everybody pasting the lyrics of “We Don’t Talk About Cabin Wars”, an SWC parody of the popular song that had been infiltrating the main cabin for almost half an hour after Cabin Wars began at 12 AM UTC. She was very proud of herself for being a part of that memory and hoped she would be able to cherish it for a long while.

She glanced at the time and sighed. Just three memories would have to do for today. It was time to go to sleep, and besides, she hadn’t even finished the daily yet. She exited memory hall and walked back to the Mystery cabin, a smile on her face after having chosen to take a stroll down the lane, hoping that the marvelous feeling of connection to the past would last.