Cabin Wars: Write 4k As a Cabin!

“Iver!” Felicity ran to me, grabbing both my hands and squeezing them tightly. “Where's the doctor?”

She looked at me expectantly, but pulled me in for a hug a second later; my only guess as to why was that I must have looked as exhausted as I felt.

“They took him to his room,” she wrapped an arm around me, leading me out of the dining hall. “He…He's getting worse…”

She couldn't bring herself to say anything else, so the two of us walked together in silence, finding the smallest shards of comfort in one another's company.

“How's Mother handling it?” I asked.

Felicity just shook her head, and I knew that she meant that Mother was struggling to take it all in. I recalled our moment of eye contact before I'd ran out after Cyril, and it began to dawn on me that she must've been in shock.

I gulped, forcing myself to ask. “Theo?”

“Trying his best to be strong for everyone else,” Felicity answered. I glanced at her, my lip quivering. “Is it working?”

“No.”

Another moment of silence. Our footsteps were the only things that made a sound, slicing through the deathly silence with each movement.

I glanced at my sister again, noticing how she didn't look at me or the walls or the windows — she just looked straight ahead, in the direction that we were walking in, as though she were scared that looking anywhere else would force this nightmare of a reality to stay real.

“How about you?” She turned to me, gave me a tight smile, then continued forward.

I didn't say anything else after that.

There wasn't much to say. I just wanted Marcus to be okay — for him to say it was all a prank that Cyril had helped him with.

But upon entering the room — once I saw Theo with his head buried in his hands and Mother staring blankly at a wall — my heart sank again, drowning the last embers of hope with it.

“How is he?” Felicity asked, letting go off me and striding to Marcus's side.

I watched from the doorway, my hands trembling again. He looked so still on the bed, and if you pretended enough, you may have even thought he was sleeping.

And when you paid attention, it still seemed like he was asleep — just in an eternal slumber rather than a temporary one.

I swallowed the lump in my throat, walking over to Mother.

“He'll be okay, Mother,” I murmured unconvincingly. She either didn't hear me, or couldn't bring herself to respond, continuing to stare blankly at the wall.

With trembling fingers, I slipped my hand into hers, squeezing in reassurance.

She didn't squeeze back.

“Oh, my poor baby,” she whispered, more to herself than to me. “My poor, poor baby…”

I couldn't bring myself to be near here anymore.

With one final glance at her, I gently pulled myself away, walking over to Theo. “What happened whilst I was gone? How did it get this bad?”

Theo was silent for a moment. Then he sighed, answering, “I don't know…it seemed that he was about to get over it all, but then he just suddenly collapsed and…and he's been like this ever since…”

My older brother turned away, unable to look me in the eye. “I can't help feeling responsible…as though this only happened because of me-”

“You're not the one who did this, Theo,” Felicity interrupted, crossing her arms as she stared at us from the corner she was standing in. “But right now, our priority is waking Marcus up and making sure he's okay. That's all that matters.”

Theo and I nodded.

My focus went to Marcus — and he looked somewhat peaceful. But at the same time he looked as though he wanted to wake up, like he was trapped in a nightmare he couldn't break free of.

I reached for Marcus's hand. It was cold as ice, and tears gathered in the corner of my eyes as I came to terms with the fact that this was real.

This was actually happening.

“Iver?” Theo stood up, placing a hand on my shoulder. “Are you okay?”

A lump had risen in my throat so I just shook my head. Theo rested his chin on my hair, murmuring, “no, of course not. That was a stupid question. Nobody's okay right now.”

“But we will be,” Felicity spoke with determination, though she looked away from us, staring out of the window instead. "We'll all be okay. That's how we are. Marcus will wake up, and when he does we're going to find out who did this to him and…“

Her voice trailed off, but she clenched her fists, closing her eyes in what appeared to be concentration.

”Fel is right,“ I agreed, though I didn't know how much I believed my own words. ”Everything's going to be okay. It has to be."

It has to.

“But what if-” Theo started.

The sound of the door creaking open interrupted him, and we all turned to see who was standing in the doorway.

My heart skipped a beat.

Daily: Nov 28th

Hmm, interesting.

Well.

Instead of run down buildings or forest made of candy floss and the like, let's go for something a little more…Jori, I guess.

I call it the analogy of the tree~

Now, let's start from the bottom up. Imagine the roots of a tree; sturdy and strong, needing plenty of space to grow way beneath the ground. Most of these roots are culture — the ancestry, history and languages that have gathered in one place to form roots unique to, well, me.

The outer appearance of the tree is a dusty gold, lined with thousands of tiny gems that — if you're lucky — will glimmer or glow in sunlight and moonlight alike. Some of the gems are more…dull, you might say, than the others, but somewhere deep within they find the strength to shine brightly just like their brethren.

Or, at least, to shine as brightly as they can.

There are many branches, some higher than others because the tree, indeed, is a tall one that towers above the ground. Not menacingly (well. For the most part), but with some sort of curiosity.

But back to the branches.

Some of them bear fruit — of which a fair amount will be sweet, whilst others will be bitter. Amongst these fruits, there are probably those that lack taste generally, neither disgusting nor delicious.

Every so often, a fruit will fall to the ground, and if you're lucky, it will be a sweet fruit rather than a bitter one.

Quite like that saying — what was it again? — that life is a box of chocolates. A lot of things will be down to probability, and there are probably a thousand different outcomes that could have taken place.

Still. Comparing life to a box of chocolates somewhat undermines its complexity, does it not?

…That's a discussion for another time.

Right now, we're focusing on the Jorian Tree, aren't we? In all its glory and beauty, to say the least~

Each branch represents something different. One branch will extend to show memories, both good and bad, with thousands of little twigs stemming from it — like fragments of a broken glass.

Another branch will contain parts of personality; another hobbies and interests; another dislikes; another thoughts and opinions — and so much more, as one would expect.

And each branch is marked with a different type of gem (remember those from before?) to separate them from the crowd.

Now, naturally, where there is one tree, there tends to be more nearby.

For the sake of this analogy, imagine a forest surrounding the tree I've just described. In a way, this forest is symbolic of wider society — but for the sake of making this whole thing at least a little less complicated, let's narrow it down to family and friends.

With an his entire thing revolving around the Jorian Tree, and thus also the Jorian Forest, my tree is the tallest tree of all.

But the closer I am with someone, the closer their tree would be to mine, and the more likely it is that underneath the ground, a small part of our trees' roots will have the slightest amount of contact — or even begin to intertwine.

Now, for the most part Jorian weather is could be considered as neutral, in a sense.

It isn't hot, but it isn't cold either. There isn't a lot of sunshine, but there isn't an excess of the cloudy weather either. Just a general balance between opposites.

You'll get the occasional heatwave or thunderstorm, but a lot of other places are like that too, right?

The rest of the forest probably consists of grass, fallen leaves and various species of flower. Common birds — not particularly colorful or tropical — and a general ecosystem that tends to work in harmony most of the time, all with a common goal of functioning well.

There's probably some sort of stream too, one that doesn't have the clearest water you've ever seen, but isn't murky enough to be considered particularly, well, murky.

The river contains an excess of things that have been forgotten or are no longer needed in the forest.

Unnecessary stress, mediocre experiences — things that are on the record for happening, and happened regardless of where the river flows, but don't have much of a purpose anymore.

Actually…

You know what?

Maybe the forest made out of candy floss would have been a better analogy after all~

Oh well.

It's too late now ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Weekly4Pt1: So Some Dead Guys Showed Up

Have you ever wondered what would happen if some dead presidents, prime ministers and the like resurrected themselves and happened to meet at an online writing camp that was on a coding website?

No?

You haven't, that's completely absurd, and I'm probably a little insane?

Ouch.

That was harsh.

But I'm here to reveal the truth to you, because what goes on in the dark must always come to light and well, this is the kind of thing that you want to bring to light very quickly.

I mean, think about what I just said. It sounds ridiculous, I know, but it actually happened.

That's what I've been trying to tell you this whole time! The world really does keep getting stranger and stranger-

Huh?

What?

You don't believe me? You want proof that it happened?

I mean, I suppose I could screenshot the evidence if it means that much to you, but is it really that big of a deal?

It's just a couple of dead presidents and prime ministers coming back to life to interact with some writers at an online writing camp whilst simultaneously trying to catch up with each other (well. Something like that — I can't quite remember now, okay? Don't judge me) and trying to make sense of how virtual writing camps work…

Ah.

Okay, fine. You win.

I can somewhat see how this situation would kind of be a big deal. Kind of.

But, like, not really, you know?

I'm sure, had it been available during their times, President Roosevelt, Neville Chamberlain and Winston Churchill would have loved to participate in Scratch Writing Camp together at some point.

It's not like they would have had more important things to do, like supervising countries or overlooking war efforts or things like that.

In fact, the only wars they would have had to have been wary about would have been cabin wars, and everyone knows that those are just supposed to be a little bit of fun to get your writer's block activated- uh, out of the way, and your creativity flowing.

But we're getting a little off topic, aren't we?

Look, I'll just tell you who showed up, and if you're lucky I may share a little bit about what they said.

Deal?

No?

Okay, it's a deal.

See, here's the list of historical figures that happened to show up during this point in time:

• President Roosevelt
• Sir Winston Churchill
• Neville Chamberlain
• Erwin RommeI

Okay, okay, I get it — you don't believe me.

But I swear it's true; you can search for the conversations yourself if you don't believe me-

Yes, conversations. With an ‘s’ on the end because it is, indeed, plural. The first set of replies hit the reply limit you see.

Hmm?

Oh, they talked about all kinds of things! At some point they were even talking about Alexander Hamilton (Alexander Hamilton~ we are waiting in the wings for you-)!

Ahem.

Churchill said that he would quite like to watch the musical.

I'd personally recommend it to him-

Hey, just because I haven't watched it myself doesn't mean I'm completely clueless about the whole thing! YouTube exists for a reason-

Hello?

Hello??

Ugh, fine. Be like that. But it's still true that Roosevelt, Chamberlain and Churchill were at SWC, whether you believe it or not.

Good riddance to you, then.

Yours sincerely,
TUN (The Unreliable Narrator)

Weekly4Pt2: Dystopian, I'm really sorry- ರᴗರ

Dissatisfaction leads to rebellion, which inevitably leads back to dissatisfaction — and the line eventually becomes a circle that morphs into an endless cycle of constant fear and vengeance.

See, nothing in this world is free.

Or, in other words, everything comes at a price of sorts.

And sometimes that price is materialistic.

Sometimes it isn't.

You think you've put an end to corruption — but in reality, you've only removed one of its many forms.

It's essence is still there…lurking in the shadows, waiting to be set free.

One day, it will be, you know.

It's inside each and every one of us, whether we care to admit it or not. What's different, you ask?

Simple.

The difference is whether you can control it…or whether you choose not to.

It doesn't matter how many scraps you collect, nor how many marks you uncover; it doesn't matter how many fallen stars you collect when comets fall from the night sky or how many steps toward the treasure you take.

Someday, you will come across a fallen grove edged with greyish leaves* and dried up grass by a murky lake brimming with filthy waters. The dust from the fallen stars — no, from the mere rocks we call comets — will settle upon the land and hide it underneath a layer of dirt.

Someday, even the remains of glorious marble and stone temples will wither away and lose their glow, leaving nothing but a trail of fading tridents in their wake. A reminder of the brave souls who tried and failed to get back home.

Yet…

…There is always a flicker of hope, even in the darkest of nights.

In the face of corruption, the face of virtue somehow seems to rise again and again, over and over, neither breaking nor changing the cycle.

The impact of neither side is permanent, but it is there nonetheless.

Because, as we all know, the embers of a fire can be just about enough to rekindle a perfectly large blaze.

The question is, does the fire burn for the sake of all things good?

Or does it burn for the sake of all things bad?

Weekly4Pt3: The Celestial Poetry Grove~

'Celestial Poetry Grove'
That's what the place is called,
Though you really don't know
What's so celestial about it.
It's pretty, sure,
And almost somehow
Magical,
But it's not exactly
What you were looking for
When you first heard
About this place.

The stargazers name themselves
Before you.
Elfie, CC, Aela, too;
Sun and Poem to name a few —
With open arms,
They welcome you.
And shouts of joy
Invite you, warmly,
Not just to visit,
But stay.

Thirty and three astronomers
Stand before you,
Each with a telescope in hand,
Encouraging you to reach for stars —
Will you reach for the stars? —
And admire the beauty
Or the world
Above you

Just as you
Have admired the wonders
Of the world around you;
A crystal lake;
Rustling leaves;
An ancient oak
By younger trees.

You take in all of this,
And you think,
Sure it's nice —
I guess.
But what sets is apart
From the rest?

Not much, you realise,
Though the trees insist
That this grove has shown
Many how to persist.
Not just through endless wars
Or daily struggles,
But in ways that
Cannot be described
Quite so easily.

The leader of the group
Steps out,
A young elf
With knowledge beyond
Her years,
And she welcomes you
To the humble grove.
A place to
Forget your fears.

The grove is distant
From the world,
So much so
That they wouldn't know
Of its existence
Has it not
Risen to the top,
All those eons
Ago.

Even so,
The people bustle,
Laughing and joking
In merriment.
And if ever
You felt you had no
Place to call home,
Somehow here
You feel you
Belong.

A thread of hope;
A shining light;
A silver glow to
Line the night.
A celestial river
Full of bright,
Bright
Crystals
Glowing from
Beneath the surface.

If the stars above
Are shards
Of a lost heart,
You can see why
The little ones
Twinkle twinkle
In the night.

And sometimes,
When the shoot back down
To earth,
As mysterious comets
Of little worth,
They find their way,
Once they fall and rove,
Back to the Celestial Poetry Grove.

Weekly4Pt4: TUN Doesn't Ramble At All :D

Cabin Wars.

It was a phrase that was only really used twice a session, and yet it was a phrase that everyone knew all too well.

No, literally — even non SWCers have probably heard the phrase by now, that's how widespread it is-

Ahem.

Anyway.

Every cabin prepares for those two days during the session in which they will have to fight for the points they've earned — because if they don't fight, they're more than likely to lose their hard earned points within mere hours.

Imagine that!

You get your cabin 900 points from the previous day's daily, only to get 950 points subtracted during Cabin Wars!

How unfair is that?

You could get so much taken away from you…!

But…

…Somehow, it's a time that everyone looks forward to. Maybe everyone who participates in SWC is a little insane (I mean, why on earth would you look forward to potentially getting warred?), but you'll often find people excited for Cabin Wars.

Between you and me — this is a secret, so don't ever tell anyone — that's a little, well…strange.

Campers go to the main cabin and go as far as to beg others to war their cabins.

A few, more reasonable campers may beg everyone not to beg their cabins, for fear that they are the only ones online at that particular moment.

Do the other cabins listen, though?

Eh, possibly. How would I know? I'm just the narrator.

Maybe if they're kind, sympathetic people, they'll try to understand during such trying and difficult times…

But then again, it's supposed to be a war.

Perhaps everybody is ruthless! They probably stalk each others' cabins, trying to decide the perfect time to strike, like the rude snoops they are.

Go on; admit it.

You've probably done it at least once.

Anyway, since the other cabins are boring and inferior, let's just skip to the one, truly worthy cabin~

No, it's not Adventure.

It doesn't have ‘-Fi’ in it, sorry not sorry!

The one and only cabin that's truly worthy is obviously Poetry! How did you get that wrong? All the other cabins are-

What?

I'm being biased?

Me? Are you sure? I think you're wrong. It's impossible for a wonderful narrator like me to be biased. I know everything there is to know, especially about SWC, and my word is law. So I'm right, and Poetry is superior-

I'm still being biased?

Hmph. Fine.

The Poetry cabin is amongst the many cabins that proudly fight to keep their points — or gain a few more (there. Are you happy now?)

And, since we're going to be focusing on Poetry anyway, it only makes sense that I give you a little bit of insight on what cabin wars are like within the glorious, magical grove, right?

First, though, allow me to describe the grove to you~

You know, so you can a get a bit of a feel for the setting in which all of the chaos unfolds (and I'm definitely not doing this because description is a great way to write extra words that can contribute to the word count ~Jori, an entity that is separate to the narrator of this piece)

The grove is fenced and distant from the rest of the world — and it's not much of a surprise.

Such perfection doesn't need to be contaminated by the likes of the unworthy (the most notable of which are those who call themselves ‘adventurers’. Whilst we're on the topic, beware of these individuals; they cloak themselves in green and often trespass on the wondrous land that is the Celestial Poetry Grove).

The grass of the grove is somewhat dull, despite being comparable to shards of emerald or jade — but even so, it is considerably brighter than the grass that borders it from the outside world.

Before the grove stands hills so tall they seem to touch the sky itself, hiding keeping the magical place secret. Beyond the grove continues a stream born from a crystal lake of forgotten thoughts and dreams, heading north and straight toward the horizon.

A trail that twists and turns is illuminated by fireflies — or, perhaps, welcoming spirits — that glow warmly in the night.

If you manage to listen during a moment of silence, you may even hear the whispers of the rumoured ghost of the grove.

All the while, you'll be surrounded by excited astronomers, often with telescopes at the ready, and let's be honest — you'll probably stick out like a sore thumb because you didn't realise you'd need to bring a telescope with you in the first place.

But let's just pretend you did, in fact, come prepared.

You might have the privilege of collecting a couple of comets (no constellations, though; sorry to disappoint), or the chance to interact with your fellow stargazers — but remember how this whole thing is supposed to be about cabin wars?

Oh — you forgot?

It's the first phrase of this piece of writing though. I mean, how could you possibly have forgotten?

…Huh?

I ramble too much about unnecessary things instead of just cutting to the point.

Nonsense!

Allow me to inform you that, if I were human and could snort with distaste, I would be snorting with distaste right now.

Anyway…where was I again?

Oh, right.

During the terribly terrifying — but strangely exhilarating — wars, those who live within the grove will have to step up to protect their home.

Often, you'll hear someone yelling-

Okay, fine, most people are yelling. In fact, if they were typing, everything would be in bold, italics and, most importantly, caps lock.

Constantly.

“WE NEED HELP WITH THIS WAR!”

“PLEASE HELP OUT WITH THE WAR BELOW!”

“ASHSIAHHWGAJSSHHI!!”

“Just dropping by to see the chaos unfold, lol.”

Okay, so maybe that last one didn't really happen, but I'm sure there were a couple of snoops from other cabins who were thinking exactly that at the time.

There are couple of astronomers of the grove who, given their position, tend to shout more than others *cough cough* Sun *cough cough*.

Honestly, with all the yelling that goes on, it's no wonder everyone has sore fingers- Uh, throats after typing- yelling so much.

Then you'll find other astronomers, such as Damson or Sydney, desperately trying to contribute words to the wars before the time limits are up and points are lost.

Of course, being the wonderful cabin it is, Poetry didn't lose any wars.

I'm sure Elfie, the esteemed leader, would have been proud of that fact. Especially since some other, less fortunate cabins were not able to say the same.

Hmm.

At least it's not as bad as last time — I heard a rumor that there may have been arson involved-

Eh?

You don't think that was during Cabin Wars?

…Heh, whatever. I've finished what I came here to do anyway. Complain all you like about me~ I won't be able to hear you!

Why not, you ask?

Because I'm going on a well deserved vacation!

Have a great time doing whatever it is you people like to do nowadays!

Yours insincerely,
TUN (The Unreliable Narrator)

Daily: Nov 29th

Now, this is only my second time encountering SWC myself.

I mean, sure, way back then I'd heard of it a couple times, and knew how the gist of it worked, but I hadn't actually had the pleasure or opportunity to experience it for myself.

So, given the chance to write a story about the hosts and co hosts, I may find it a little…challenging.

What?

Why're you acting like I've done something horribly, horribly wrong?

I'm a narrator, not a snoopy comment stalker like you! And I'm definitely not a storyteller. I mean, ew. Who in their right mind would invest their time into writing stories, especially for entire months at a time?

It sounds a little strange.

Well, maybe it doesn't to you, but it does to me. And no, it's not in hypocritical in the slightest.

Why on earth would you think that?

In any case, if it's stories you're after, you should probably visit my cousin SAS (Self Absorbed Storyteller — why are you laughing? It's rude to laugh at someone else's name. Didn't anyone teach you manners?)

Allow me to inform you that, if I were human and could sigh, I would be sighing right now.

…Huh?

I've said something like that before?

Well, tough. Deal with it. It's not like my repeating of certain phrases is going to hurt you or anything.

Now, be quiet and enjoy~

Ahem…

Once upon a time…In a land known to the common person as Essdoubleyousee-

Hmm? What do you mean it's not supposed to be a fairytale? I'm the narrator, not you! The story can be whatever I want it to be, and if I say it's a fairytale, then it's a fairytale! Got it?

Good.

…This story is fairytale. There. Are you happy now? No? Don't care, this is still my story.

Now, let's try that again…

Once upon a time, in a land known to the common person as Essdoubleyousee, there lived a strange bunch of people who for some unknown reason were writers (again, ew).

These writers separated themselves across the lands of Essdoubleyousee, so that certain groups lived in certain areas.

Each group consisted of people from all over the globe — people who had gathered themselves because they all shared the illness known as ‘Writer’s Block' to one place because they shared a common love for one very peculiar thing indeed: writing.

The groups referred to themselves as cabins, but this was a little misleading — you see, they weren't really cabins.

One was a celestial grove led by an ambitious elf, a panda and the sun, another was atop a mountain guarded by goats that are constantly being kidnapped and yet another was a library that may, or may not, have been set on fire at some point…although, most don't talk about that.

Anyway, I'm not telling you all this because they're the focus of the story.

Oh, no — I'm telling you all this because it's the mere setting.

Because, you see, the real story starts from behind the scenes. Or rather, if you don't mind me saying so, from behind the bushes.

It'll make sense.

I'll even let you in on part of the conversation that's going on right at this very moment:

“WE SHOULD BURN. THEM. ALL.”

“Hey, but-”

“ARSON IS THE WAY, THE ONLY WAY, AND THE RIGHT WAY! YOU CAN'T CHANGE THE LAWS OF NATURE!”

A flock of pigeons cry out from above, flying over the area and filling the silence that has fallen upon it. They drop mangoes as they fly, and one of them every drops…a watermelon?

That's not on the script-

Ahem. Anyway, the ruckus continues below.

“maybe i should-”

“Sleep Deprived People Aren't Allowed To Have A Say.”

“but-”

"No buts. I mean, you even speak in lowercase now. That's proof that it's getting worse.“

”what? you speak in bold though-“

”MWAHAHAHAHA-“

”Stop Laughing Like A Tyrant. You're Going To Scare Everyone Away.“

”Guys, this conversation isn't working out-“

”MWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!"

Do you see what I mean? The real story starts from behind the bushes, just in the outskirts of Essdoubleyousee. Who knows what they're planning? Who knows what they plan to do to succeed.

It's probably some sort of conspiracy-

What do you mean I've ruined the story? What's wrong with it? It seems fine to me.

Huh? You thought it would end up being at least decent…?

You're disappointed…??

Hmph!

Fine then! I never wanted to be a storyteller anyway. I could of done something better with my time-

It's 'could have'?

…So?

Why should I care? Same difference anyway. They literally mean the same thing. Who appointed you as the grammar police, anyway?

Eh? You don't like me?

Well, good! I don't like you either! You're always bossing me around telling me what I should or shouldn't do as though you're the boss of me.

I've had enough.

Once again, good riddance and good bye!

Yours angrily,
TUN (The Unreliable Narrator)

Word War!

A melody is more than a jumble of notes floating across the air.

A melody is the wind of the musical world, if you will. Something that sweeps across all the lands, from all four corners of the earth, and makes people unite even when they don't realise it.

It's something that will make you feel emotions you didn't know you could feel or sense something you didn't realise you had the ability to sense — just through the mere power of existence.

And it takes control of you slowly, allowing you to get used to it, guiding you through your darkest moments to a world filled with the tiniest bit more sunshine.

We all need a melody in our lives.

We all have one, too.

It's just a matter of whether we choose to listen to it.


138 words

ASHDJDHDH CURRENTLY EDITING
TW: W@r, De@th, F!re etc. To a certain degree. Proceed with caution. Also, this may be a little uncomfortable to read, so if you're not particularly accustomed to slightly heavier suggestions in writing, I wouldn't recommend reading this ^^

Random Note: This was edited to add italics and stuff after copying and pasting from Google Docs. It took a long time ;P


Monday 12th February, 1945, 10:01 am
Sometimes the world is so peaceful that I forget we're still at war.

But forgetting something, even during moments of pure bliss, doesn't mean that it goes away. It'll still be there, lurking in the shadows; waiting for the right time to remind you of its presence and ruin everything.

I settled down on the yellow grass, letting out a sigh.

How long had it been since all of this had started? Just over five years? That seemed about right.

I still remembered all those moments of my childhood, laughing and playing with my family.

We'd been happy.

We'd been together.

But now we weren't, and we could never be again. I'd thought I'd run out of hope long ago, after my father's death, but it always seemed to resurface somewhere within me.

Maybe someday, this war will finally end.

It had too, right?

“Stefan? What are you doing out here?” A voice asked.

Before I could answer, Mama was sitting beside me, wrapping an arm around my shoulder and pulling me close to place a kiss on my forehead.

“People won't approve of you being so affectionate,” I commented, trying my best not to laugh. Mama only chuckled. “Well, ‘people’ aren't here,” she winked. “What they don't know won't hurt them.”

She held me close, and we were silent together for a moment, staring at the grass of our small garden, each of us deep in thought.

“I'll have to get back to the factory soon,” Mama spoke after a while, breaking the silence. My heart sank a little at her words, and I glanced at her. "Do you have to?“

”Oh, Stefan,“ she laughed softly, but not without a trace of sadness. ”Of course I do. If not for the war effort, then to keep you and your sister safe. Just like your Papa.“

I didn't know why she'd brought him up.

Papa had been a subject that we'd pushed away; we'd locked his memories into a little box and hid the key so we wouldn't have to grief over losing him so much.

But in that moment, I could see Mama was trying to be brave and face the reality, clenching her fists to encourage herself.

I rested my head on her shoulder, closing my eyes. ”I miss him, Mama.“

”Me too,“ she leaned her head against mine, somewhat pulling me an inch or two closer to her, probably as some way of comforting herself. ”Me too.“

Another silence.

Every day, I wake up terrified that the rest of my family may have disappeared, and every night I fall asleep terrified that they'll be gone by morning.

It's a horrible cycle, one that has been encoded in my brain by war.

I couldn't help but wonder if it was the same for Mama and Annika. Did they have the same fears as I did?

Part of me hoped they didn't.

At least that way, things would be more peaceful for them than they are for me.

Mama stood up, ruffling my hair as she did so. ”I really can't stay any longer. I'm going to say bye to your sister, then I'm going to head off, okay?“

I nodded, standing up myself. ”Okay…“

”Aw, don't look so disappointed, Stefan,“ Mama smiled, reaching out to pinch my cheek softly. ”I love you, okay?“

”I love you too, Mama.“

Just then, Annika came into view, tying her hair with a slightly desaturated red ribbon.

I instantly recognised it as the one from the hat Papa had given to her for her seventh birthday in 1938. She'd pulled the ribbon off the hat after hearing about his death, with the intention of getting rid of it — but in the end, she hadn't been able to bring herself to do it.

Instead, she'd punctured seven holes into it, and after a while she was able to at least look at it.

After that point, she'd started wearing it all the time.

I didn't know if the fact made me feel happy or sad; perhaps it made me feel a little bit of both.

”Mama? Are you leaving?“ Annika asked. I let them have their own conversation together, returning to staring at the grass like I'd been doing before.

Things had been peaceful for a while; Dresden had survived most of the war so far.

But how long would it last?

How many more years would we have to suffer? Five? Ten? There was no way of telling, but the acknowledgement that I didn't know and couldn't even predict an end to the war, at the very least, made me feel a little uneasy.

Annika walked over to me, breaking me out of my thoughts. ”Mama's left to go to the factory.“

”Okay.“

The two of us stood in silence, looking down at the grass as though it could provide us with answers to all the questions we had.

Why did Papa have to die?

When will the war end?

What did we do to deserve this?

Of course, the grass only stared back at us — if even that. I let out a sigh, placing a hand on my sister's shoulder. ”Come on. Let's go.“

”Do you ever get scared that something horrible is going to happen?" Annika asked, ignoring my question. A lump rose in my throat as I thought about Papa, then Mama, who had only left a couple of minutes ago.

Something horrible…

I shook my head, trying to get all the worst case scenarios out of my head. “Nothing bad is going to happen, Annika.”

My trembling voice gave me away, and my sister looked at me with an expression that was a mixture of fear and anxious anticipation. “Stefan, can…can I have a hug? Please?”

I managed a smile, pulling my little sister close. “Of course. Listen…everything's going to be okay.”

Annika was silent for a moment as she rested her head on my shoulder. When she spoke, her voice was quiet and uncertain. "Do you promise? Can you promise?"

Her words caused my heart to skip a beat, and an icy shiver dashed down my spine.

All I could do was pull her closer, close my eyes, and hope that all the trepidation that was creeping into my mind was simply that — trepidation and nothing more.




Tuesday 13th February, 1945, 10:10 pm
Smoke.

Thick smoke, so full that it sucked the oxygen out of the air and so dark that it turned a pitch black night sky into an even darker shade of midnight.

I coughed, squinting as the heat from the flames forced tears to stream down my face.

My eyes stung.

Everything ached.

But I had to keep going; I had to keep moving. Even if it took the last bit of energy out of me, I couldn't stop here.

I need to get out of here, I gritted my teeth, pushing myself onward. I need to get to-

I gasped, then choked a bit, before regaining a hold of himself.

Annika.

Where was she?

We'd been separated amidst all the panic and screaming — but that meant that she was probably nearby.

Probably.

I turned back, running in the opposite direction. “Annika…?” my voice was hoarse. Dry. Barely capable of making a sound — let alone a loud one.

I wasn't going anywhere without my sister, though, even if it meant I'd have to walk through the flames.

“Annika…!” I called again, my voice weaker this time. She has to be here. She has to be-

“Stefan?” my heart skipped a beat at the mention of my name, and moments afterward my sister came into view, stumbling toward me.

“I'm here,” I whispered, holding her close as she fell into my arms, sobbing quietly.

My heart calmed down a little, still beating loudly in my chest. I heId my sister, but her coughs reminded me that we were still in the middle of chaos, even if we'd had a brief reunion.

“We have to go,” I tugged at her gently; she shook her head, taking a step back. “My leg-”

I gripped my sister's sleeve. “We'll deal with it later. Just run, okay?”

“But it hurts, and I can't and- And maybe it'll be easier to stop here,” she paused, pushing my hand away. “I'll slow you down. Just-”

I grabbed my sister's wrist and ran, dragging her behind me.

It was cruel of me — I knew that — but what else was I supposed to do? Stand there and let the flames engulf us both?

Annika shrieked and cried from behind me. She'd stopped trying to break out of my grasp, though, and despite the fact that she was running, I still had to somewhat drag her.

I'm sorry, Annika, I closed an eye as the smoke thickened, ignoring the wails of the people around us. But you have to keep living. Du musst, Annika. You must.

Somewhere behind us, the remains of a building crashed to the ground, ablaze.

Their collision created a loud thud, spraying rubble across the sky. The flames made it look like a display of comets, and if we weren't at death's door, perhaps it would have looked strangely beautiful as well.

But we are at death's door, and I trip, crashing to the ground just as the building had done.

A sharp pain rippled through my right arm, and for a moment I was fully convinced it had been crushed.

I didn't want to get up.

What was the point?

Would it be worth it? Would be worth the pain and the torture; the grief and the trauma; the despairing loss of hope?

Part of me didn't think so.

“Stefan, get up! Get up!” Annika shook me, and some droplets of water fell on my cheeks, sliding down as they reminded me of an unspoken promise I had made even from the moment of my sister's very birth.

Flames began to lick at my skin, eager to burn it off layer by layer.

I winced, forcing myself up as Annika clung to me, sobbing. “I don't want you to burn. I don't want you to leave me…please…-”

“There's no time for this, Annika,” I prised her off me gently, taking her hand again. "Keine Zeit."

She looked up at me, her eyes welling up with tears just as something else crashed to the ground behind us.

Annika turned to look back, but I tugged her forward, acutely aware of the fact that I was already losing my grip.

My palms were slowly accumulating more and more sweat, making it more difficult to maintain a strong hold of my sister.

But I couldn’t let go.

Not now.

The screams and wails around us only got louder, some ending as abruptly as they'd started.

All I could do was keep running. For their sake, if not for my own or Annika's.

My right arm began to throb, a sharp pain slicing through at first before leaving a dull ache in its wake.

I didn't realise I'd slowed down until my sister bumped into me.

Gritting my teeth, I picked up the page again, pulling Annika along behind me as I ran.

There were all kinds of people around us; some were as determined as me, and others seemed to have given up and accepted a fate of doom.

At some point I saw a woman running with a baby in her arms. At another, I saw a little boy crying on the street, his teddy bear ablaze.

Annika had tried to tug me in his direction.

I'd tugged her forward.

At that point, her grip on my hand loosened ever so slightly, and she almost withdrew it entirely — but I held on, forcing my grip to be stronger.

I'm sorry, the thought crossed my mind just as a tear involuntarily tumbled down my cheek. I'm so, so sorry.

It didn't get any easier to deal with the smoke; even as I was running, I felt as though my mind was flying away, into the dark, orange rimmed clouds above.

I coughed, losing my balance a little. Losing my grip on reality.

“Papa, are you going to be a hero?” A young boy asks, an expression of eagerness coming across his face.

“No,” the father replies with a grave sigh, turning away. “Quite the opposite.”

The boy wrinkles his nose, confused. “But Papa-”

“Your Mama and I need to talk,” the father interrupts, his voice gentle but firm. He ruffles the boy's hair before walking out the door and round the corner, out of sight.

“Papa…?”

The little boy speaks as his father disappears from sight, hoping that he will walk back into the room.

But he doesn't come back.

My eyes snapped open in an instant, and I sat up, gasping for air — something I instantly regretted.

The smoke streamed back toward me, thicker than before and gleeful as it gathered.

I coughed, and a hand was on my shoulder, gripping me with a force just strong enough to pull me closer to reality.

“Stefan!” My sister's voice was slightly warped, but relatively clear.

My eyes wandered in her direction, my vision a little blurry. What happened? Where are we?

“Annika-”

“I couldn't leave you!” She blurted out, leaning forward to hug me. “Oh, Stefan…are you okay?”

I blinked, ignoring the pounding in my head.

The memories of the night came flooding back, and I jumped up a little too quickly. All the world seemed to spin for a moment — but for just a moment.

A lump rose in my throat as I noticed the charred edges of Annika's hair and the slightly redder patches of skin on her hands.

Why hadn't she left me? Why had she risked her own life in an attempt to save mine?

Do you know how hypocritical that is? A voice in my head asked.

I took hold of my sister's hand again, and she gave me an uncertain glance. It was all I could manage to attempt a reassuring smile.

I'd wasted enough of our precious time already, even if it had barely been twenty seconds.

…In this world, twenty seconds could be the difference between life and death.

“Stefan-”

“Shh,” I interrupted, struggling to keep my voice from trembling. “Save your energy, okay?”

If Annika responded, I didn't hear what she'd said. She squeezed my hand tightly, and I squeezed hers back, letting her know that I was there — that I would always be there as long as she needed me to be.

The two of us ran in silence, sprinting toward a place that was, at the very least, a little safer.

That's all I wanted.



“I'm…tired…” Annika rested her head on my shoulder, her voice quiet as she spoke again. “I'm tired…of running, Stefan. My…my leg hurts.”

“I know,” I murmured. “But we can't just stand around here. We have to keep going.”

“Why?” My heart skipped a beat at her question. It felt like the kind of question that, if you have the wrong answer, would change someone's decision — and their fate.

My sister looked at me with weary eyes, and I turned away.

I didn't have the answer she wanted, but I had something at the very least.

“Mama will be waiting for us,” I answered, my voice soft. Sparks of fire danced above us, deathly beautiful as they illuminated the charred bodies I refused to take notice of. I kept my eyes focused on the living; on my little sister. Her eyes conveyed no emotion as she replied, “you really think that, Stefan? Like how you thought Papa would come back? Look around!”

She coughed after snapping at me, but pushed me away before I could reach it to comfort her. "They would've targeted the factories first. Don't you get it? She's gone, Stefan! Why won't you-“

”You don't know that," I interrupted.

Her words sliced through my heart like a knife, and a part of me knew that it was more likely that she was right than wrong.

But surely the world couldn't be that cruel.

How cruel does the world need to be for you to understand, Stefan? Has it not been cruel enough already?

I shoved the thought out of my mind and back into the dark shadows it had come from. It went without protest, as though waiting for another moment to pounce.

My heart felt as though it were about to explode.

Clenching my teeth, I reached for my sister's hand again. “We have to get out of here.”

I wanted to add that Mama wasn't dead — that she couldn't be — but the voices in my head were telling me otherwise and deep down I knew they were right.

…But there was still a chance, even if it was small-

“Get away from me! Get away! I can't help you…I'm sorry…!” A voice screamed nearby.

The smoke was too thick to see who it was, but a moment later the presumed owner of the voice came running nearby — a middle aged woman with a burnt arm and charred pieces of hair tumbling from her head with every breath she took.

When she noticed us, she simply pointed forward, saying, "Luftschutzbunker. Run.“

Then she was gone again.

”Stefan-“

I pulled my sister along, running in the direction the woman had pointed in.

Even if what she had to say was important, we couldn't keep stopping to stand around and argue. If there was something that needed to be said, it could be said somewhere safe.

She shrieked, and I winced at the sound.

What kind of brother was I to force my sister to run on an injured leg? Could I really call it looking out for her?

Did I want to protect her for her sake, or because I didn't want to be alone?

As though on cue, the dull ache in my arm became more noticeable — a suitable price to pay for my actions. I squinted, both because of the pain and because of the smoke, but I kept going regardless.

”There it is!" A bomb drowned out the sound if my voice, but it couldn’t vanquish the relief that had flooded my heart.

The Luftschutzbunker was right in front of us, and so much closer than I would've guessed. Was the smoke that bad? Or had we just been running for the longer than it felt like we'd been running for?

I slammed my fists on the closed door, and it opened barely a moment later.

A relatively young man opened the door, a weary grin on his face. “Continue making that racket and they'll hear you up there. Come inside; you'll be safe here.”

"Danke,“ I breathed, pulling my sister in behind me. ”Dankeschön.“

The man nodded, gesturing to the people around us. ”Just doing my duty. I haven't been able to contribute much to the war effort, so this was the least I could do,“ he paused, seemingly studying us before continuing, ”I'm Günter, but the way. Give me a shout if you need something.“

I nodded, loosening my grip on Annika's hand as the door shut behind us. For the first time in a while, I felt that I could breathe properly.

Despite the stenches of blood and sweat merging together, the air inside the shelter was like heaven compared to the death cloud outside.

Other people budged up to make room for us, and I collapsed against the wall, the exhaustion finally taking hold of me.

”Stefan, are you okay? You're shaking," Annika sat beside me, and my vision blurred for a moment.

Everything seemed to sink in.

I'd left a little boy out there. A little boy. Only the merciless and inhumane could do such a thing. And I'd seen countless people drop down…I'd dropped down. What kind of miracle was it that I was still alive? Why me?

Was it worth surviving this?

All the things I'd refused to acknowledge — all the people that I'd seen — they came rushing into my head in an instant.

And I could remember every detail. Every last detail right down to the little boy's charred blond hair, tear stained face and burnt hands as he reached out, not for his teddy bear, but for…but for…-

"Stefan, you're scaring me," Annika's voice interrupted my thoughts.

I looked into her eyes and saw my face reflected in them. There were tears spilling from my own eyes — tears that, had I not been one of the lucky ones, I wouldn't have been here to cry in the first place.

My heart was heavy, as though the weight of all the bombs that had been dropped down had handed over their weight.

I don't want to die…I don't want to die… a voice kept repeating in my head. Even though we were safe and out of the firestorm, my mind almost seemed to think we were still out there, running and running and running.

“Help us,” the voices of ghosts whispered. The voices of people I'd pretended I hadn't seen — people I hadn't even realised I'd seen.

They'd come back for me now.

“Help us, Stefan,” they wept. “Why did you abandon us? Why did you live, when we did not? Why didn't you help us? You're selfish. Selfish, selfish, selfish.”

I felt as though their hands were reaching for me, trying to choke the remaining air out of my lungs, and in doing so take me with them to a realm the living could not reach.

My father's voice joined in, adding, “why did you let me go? Why didn't you stop me, Stefan? Didn't you love me?”

I wanted to tell him that I did, that I always had and always would, but my voice had deserted me and my mother had already begun to speak, saying, “I died because you stopped believing I would live. Why did you kill me, Stefan? It's your fault I'm gone. Your fault, your fault, your fault-”

“Oh, Stefan,” my sister's voice broke through to me, and it was only then that I realised all the other voices that I'd been hearing had been in my head the whole time.

Annika wrapped her arms around me, and my right arm began to ache a little, but I held on tightly, tears spilling down my cheeks as I whispered, “I'm sorry. I'm sorry…”

“Why?” My sister mumbled, pulling me close. “I'm the one who was saying horrid, despicable things…don't cry, Stefan. Why are you crying?”

“I'm sorry,” I repeated.

It was the only phrase that seemed to make everything feel a little better; the only phrase that could ease some of the guilt engraved into my heart.

“Stop apologising, Stefan,” Annika begged. "Please. I don't like it. I don't like seeing you like this."

There was too big a lump in my throat to repeat the words. I rested my head on Annika's shoulder, too exhausted to say, or even think, much else.

The tears fell silently, forming perfect circles on the dust covered ground.




Wednesday 14th February, 1945, 01:10 am

“Is it safe?”

It was the umpteenth time I'd heard that question. For the past couple of hours, people had come and gone. Many of those who left didn't return, but there hadn't been any bombs for quite a long while so I doubted that it was because of that.

Even so.

Had the firestorm stopped? How long would Dresden burn for? How long had it been burning for already?

There was no way to tell.

“I want to check if it's safe,” Annika spoke, and I glanced at her, my eyes widening.

We'd been silent for the most part, despite the fact that the hours had come and gone. In that time though, even within the small amounts of conversation we'd had, Annika hadn't suggested anything absurd.

Not until now.

“Don't,” I held her sleeve. “It's not worth the risk. We should stay here-”

“Mama could be out there looking for us,” Annika argued. “You said so yourself. And besides, there are probably some survivors out there who need help. I'm not like you, Stefan. I won't ignore them.”

A pang of guilt stabbed at my chest and I looked away.

“Still. It isn't your job to-”

“It's not your decision to make,” Annika snapped. “There have been other people going out and bringing survivors back, Stefan. Why can't I?”

She glared at me from a moment, then sighed, staring at the ground.

“I just want to make him proud,” she muttered quietly. “I just want to help people, Stefan. That's all I'm asking for.”

I didn't reply, and Annika began to stand up.

Something snapped in me at that moment.

I grabbed her wrist, a lump rising in my throat as I struggled to prevent the tears from falling. “Don't…don't go. What if something happens to you? What if you don't come back?”

Annika narrowed her eyes, trying to wriggle her wrist free. “I will. I promise, okay?”

“Can you promise that? Tell the truth. You can't, can you?”

My sister gave me another glare, icier this time, and I reluctantly let her go. She gave me a grateful smile, went up to someone at the door, and left without even turning back.

I was all alone.

My heart was in my mouth, and I felt as though I would have to spit it out at any moment. It had hardly been thirty seconds, but I was already nervous and even the slightest bit dizzy.

Minutes passed slowly.

I convinced myself that Annika would be back soon, and once she was I wouldn't let her go out again.

That's when it happened.

“They're bombing us again!” Someone yelled, and people started to raise their voices in a panic. I froze on the spot, my head spinning as I jumped up.

People were trying to calm everyone down as I rushed toward the door. “No, no! Annika! My sister is out there-!”

“Woah there, kid! Stay where you are!” The person at the door warned, blocking my way. “Are you trying to get us killed, huh? Is that what you want?”

“Please- My sister, she- I can't leave her out there!” I managed to stammer. Someone pulled me backward, pushing me back into the crowd, and I returned to my spot from earlier, defeated.

I didn't have any strength.

At least, not enough to fight back. I felt like life was going by too quickly, dragging me along behind it and ruining everything in my life as it did so.

Oh, Annika…

The sound of bombs still resounded across the city, engraving itself into my memory as I rocked myself to and fro in an aimless effort to distract myself.

It was a sound I was never going to forget — that much I could tell.

“How're you doing, kid?” The soldier from last night — Günter — sat beside me, half a weary smile sliding across his face. “Stefan, right? I heard your sister call you by that name earlier.”

I couldn't bring myself to reply, and he didn't say anything more. The two of us sat in silence for a moment; the lack of exchange in words was neither comforting nor unnerving.

Then Günter broke the silence, his voice quiet as he spoke. “I still had a sister, too, not too long ago.”

“'Had'?” I asked, glancing up. The conversation was distracting me, and that I was grateful for. Günter gave me half a smile, nodding his head. “Her name was Ilse. We hadn't always been the closest, especially before the war. But once the war began to take control of the world, we both decided to make our contributions. I suppose we somewhat bonded over that.”

Günter paused, then sighed as he continued, “I wish I had more…fond memories of her, now that she's gone. But it's both a blessing and a curse that I didn't know her as well as I could have.”

“Why're you telling me this?” I asked, ignoring the lump rising in my throat.

The soldier looked at me with weary eyes — eyes that had seen far more horrors than they should have needed to see in a single lifetime.

He looked at me, and ignored my question as he continued with his story. “She didn't die a noble death, as a hero or anything like that. She died as a civilian trying to do what everyone else was, and still is, doing: trying to survive.”

“Trying to survive isn't always enough,” I murmured. Günter nodded, hanging his head. “I was like you, back then. It was just over a year ago, so you'd think that the pain would stifle a little. But it only seems to get worse.”

“What do you mean?” I glanced at him, clenching and unclenching fists in anticipation.

I could, to an extent, guess what he was trying to say.

I just wasn't expecting it to hurt so much when he actually said it.

Günter turned away as he spoke. “Do you really think that it's possible she's still alive, kid? Do you think she's still out there-”

“Shut up,” I whispered, burying my head in my knees.

But he continued, his voice neither harsh nor gentle. “I see myself in you, you know. I see a flicker of hope and believe you me, it's better to prepare yourself for the worst than to hold on to threads of hope. I learned that the hard way.”

“I don't want your advice,” I struggled to hold back the tears, but one managed to escape. It slid down my cheek before slipping onto the ground.

“Maybe not,” Günter admitted, “but it's a lesson worth learning in a world like this, isn't it? This war could end tomorrow or continue for ten more years. But whatever the case, once someone is gone, there's no bringing them back. The sooner you understand that — the sooner you accept it — the less you'll suffer.”

I wanted to respond, but I couldn't think of anything to say.

So I didn't say anything.

The soldier sighed, placing a gentle hand on my shoulder. “Listen. I'm not trying to say that you shouldn't hope for anything at all. I'm just trying to get you to understand that you have to be reasonable with these things. Because, in the end, the only person you'll hurt is yourself.”

“I don't want to listen to you anymore,” I shrugged Günter's hand away. “Leave me alone.”

“If you think I'm just-”

“Please,” I interrupted, my voice hardly equating to a whisper. “Just stop. No more.”

Günter nodded, standing up. “I…I didn't want to hurt you, Stefan — that wasn't my intention. But I didn't want you to go about things the way I did, either: looking for signs that aren't there.”

With that, he turned on his heel and walked away, leaving me alone once again.



The bombings hadn't stopped, but they didn't seem to be as bad as before either.

Will it be over soon?

I couldn't stop the thought from crossing my mind, and though I knew that the bombings could last for days — or even weeks — more, it made me feel a little more hopeful.

A little.

People had already begun taking the risk of going outside. Maybe it was time for me to do the same.

I couldn't sit here and feel sorry for myself forever — I needed to find Annika.

Then the two of us needed to run, or flee, or seek refuge somewhere else — or whatever else you could call it.

We just needed to get away. Together.

That's all I wanted.

I stood up slowly. My legs were numb, and a wave of exhaustion washed over me, but I had to go.

“Stefan,” a voice spoke my name from behind; I didn't have to turn around to know who it was.

“What do you want, Mr Wolff?” My voice was cold — colder than I'd thought it'd be — and Günter laughed uneasily, keeping his distance. “Only to wish you luck, Stefan. I know it probably sounds hypocritical, but I really do hope you'll find her.”

He hesitated before adding quietly, “just try not to be disappointed if you don't. Best of luck. I mean it.”

I didn't turn around to look at him.

I didn't want to see his face. There was only one person I wanted to see…And I had no idea where she was.

Stefan, you don't even know if she's alive. What if Günter is right? What if-

Clenching my fists, I forced the ‘what ifs’ out of my head, swallowing the lump that had risen in my throat as I walked toward the door.

“Young man — where are you going?” A woman blocked my way, holding her two young sons close to her as she spoke. “It's dangerous out there. The horror my little boys have faced…”

Her voice trailed off, and she looked at me with pleading eyes.

Instantly, I could tell that she was someone who had experienced great losses — losses caused in the midst of war.

Somehow, we almost bonded over that.

Almost.

“It's not safe out there,” the woman continued. “You need to stay here, at least until-”

“I have to go,” I interrupted, my voice soft. The woman lowered her gaze, either in understanding or disappointment, and moved out of my way.

I wanted to give her a reassuring smile — but I couldn't manage it and in the end, I just hurried out of the shelter, my head down.

The second I stepped outside, warm air slapped my face, reminding me of the firestorms from the night before.

Even now, the flames still licked at the remains of my once beautiful home — the remains of the once gorgeous Florence on the Elbe.

A lump rose in my throat.

How could someone do this? Why would someone do this? We didn't ask for this war either.

An image formed in my head, one complete with burning buildings…burning people…

And Annika, all alone, surrounded by our burning town with nowhere to run and nobody to turn to.

Annika, whose wrist I never should've let go of.

I walked slowly, barely noticing that my palms had become sweatier and my breathing heavier. With every step I looked around, hopeful that my sister would jump out and run to me.

Then we could be together again, and I would know she was safe.

“Annika?” I called. My voice was weak, and so quiet that even the mice that scurried underground — if there were any left — wouldn't have heard it.

Of course, no response came.

But I kept trying — I had to keep trying — because who else would look if I didn't?

A flash of red caught my eye, and I looked down to see a charred red ribbon stuck underneath a rock.

My heart skipped a beat.

No. No. No, no, no, it can't be…

With trembling hands, I picked up the ribbon and brushed the dust off of it, squinting up to study it properly.

Eins, zwei, drei, vier, fünf, sechs…

Sieben.

Seven holes, just like the ribbon Annika had. I tried to come up with a thousand excuses, doing useless sums in my head to calculate the probability of someone who'd been in the same situation as us doing the same thing.

A tear tumbled down my cheek.

“No, Stefan,” I mumbled aloud, trying and failing to convince myself. “It just shows that she was probably here. It doesn't prove anything. It doesn't…”

Oh, Annika…please. Please be alive.




Wednesday 13th February, 1946, 12:00 pm

The tram rattled as it moved. I gazed out of the window, at the rubble that had been formed from the buildings of Dresden a year ago.

Of course, they weren't on fire now.

The image of a young boy with blond hair, a tear stained face and burnt hands reaching out for an unmoving woman with a Teddy bear beside her forced its way into my mind.

A shiver dashed down my spine as I pushed the thought back out.

I reached for the red ribbon tied around my wrist; the only source of comfort I'd had over the past year.

The only thing I had at all, really.

Our house had burnt with the rest of the buildings, run to the ground and leaving only ashes behind.

Germany had suffered the humiliation of losing the war.

I felt no humiliation, but I did feel grief — whenever I felt anything at all. For the most part, I just felt numb and empty…as though I were watching life rather than living it.

My mind cast back to the people I'd known in Dresden: Mama, Papa, Annika…even Günter.

I'd found myself wondering several times whether he'd survived or not.

But I hadn't seen him ever since that dreadful day, and the same went for my mother and sister. Both of them had disappeared without a trace, and looking back on it now, I remember all that Günter had said.

He'd been right.

He'd been so, so right.

A tear trickled down my cheek as I took in the rubble and the murmurs around me as the tram bumped up and down, along the tracks.

I miss you. I miss you all so much.

If I could trade my life for theirs, I would. I hadn't realised what it meant to be alone until I was truly alone — and what was left of me now?

Shards of my shattered heart.

That and haunting memories, things that I'd wished I could erase from my mind on more than one occasion.

Things that reminded me that being alive didn't always mean you'd been the lucky one. Some could say it was the opposite, that you'd been cursed with life rather than blessed with death.

I didn't want one particular thing over the other.

I just wanted my family back.

Mama…Annika…I hope that, somehow — somewhere — you're alive and well, a voice of hope murmured in my head.

My naïve, younger self, perhaps?

I'd been a dreamer, back then. I'd been filled with so much hope, hope that had only ended up hurting me in the end. But I didn't want to let go of it regardless, because that same hope was the only thing giving me the strength to get up every day.

Goodbye, Dresden.

It was just as that thought entered my mind that I realised there was someone who had walked up beside me, hesitant and uncertain.

I turned to face them, and my heart skipped a beat as they spoke.

“Stefan? Is that you?”
___________________________________________________________

Annika • In reference to ‘anicca’ which is, in Buddhism, impermanence

German Words:
• Du musst: You must
• Keine Zeit: No time
• Luftschutzbunker: Air raid shelter
• Danke: Thank you
• Dankeschön: Thank you very much

DISCLAIMER: I don't speak fluent German, so my translations skill may be a little, uh, dodgy ◉‿◉ Mein Deutsch ist nie richtig XP

Jusst gonna use this thread for SWC stuff from now on XD (1029 words;1k word intro challenge)
Hi there! I’m Jori and I’m going to attempt the one thousand word introduction challenge!

Okay, this is an introduction, so naturally we’re going to have to include some facts in it. Specifically, facts about myself. If I didn’t do that, this would just be a ramble and - if you couldn’t tell from this paragraph - I tend to be quite good at going off the circle in a tangent (ha, get it? Cause tangents meet the circle at a point? Okay, yeah, you’re right; that wasn’t funny.)

So, a bit about myself. I joined Scratch about three years and five months ago - that’s almost three point five whole years! I stuck around for much longer than I needed and expected to stick around for, and I can’t say I regret it.

Most of the time.

A majority of my projects are writing based, with a few random bits and bobs in there. Most of the said bits and bobs are from quite some time ago (a phrase which here means ‘several years ago’), but not all of them are. I’m decent at vector art and animating, but only when it comes to Scratch. Of course, my forte is writing - which is why I joined SWC in the first place!

In terms of coding, ‘amateur’ barely makes the cut. I can do a decent job with Scratch coding, I have a tiny (and by tiny, I really do mean incredibly small) amount of skill with HTML and C(+?++? I don’t even know) and I’m good enough at python coding to not be considered a beginner, but not quite skilled enough to be considered an expert. So I guess the word ‘amateur’ kind of makes the cut? ‘Intermediate’, maybe? Eh, whatever. At the end of the day, I guess it doesn’t matter all that much, does it?

Back to the writing bit of things.

When I first heard about SWC (which was maybe about a year or so after joining Scratch?) I didn’t have any intention of joining.

I can’t quite remember why, but I’m guessing that it had something to do with the fact that I hadn’t been expecting to be on Scratch for as long as I had been, and was probably thinking of leaving at some point in the near future. Evidently, though, that didn’t happen~

Now, being a writer on Scratch, I was a member of quite a number of writing studios. And naturally, people in said studios would join SWC, and there would often be comments like ‘who’s excited for the next session of SWC?’ and ‘is anyone here joining the current session of SWC?’ Being the somewhat inquisitive person that I am, hearing all this talk of a ‘scratch writing camp’ sparked my interest. I learned enough to know the basic facts about SWC, and by 2021, I knew quite a lot about the camp.

Even so, it was only in 2021 that I joined SWC for the first time in the July session - so I guess this makes this session my first-session anniversary!

I feel like that sentence is difficult to read-

Anyway, that’s not the point.

If I had been in Sci-fi this session, it would basically be identical to my first session a year ago. I can’t believe it’s already been that long! Regardless, I’m in Fantasy this time, and we’re definitely gonna win!


But now that I’ve told you about howI came to join SWC for the first time and whatnot, I need to add more information about myself to reach the one thousand word target~

So, as a small number of people here will know, I manage a writing studio called ‘Scratch’s World of Writers’ or, as it is much more commonly called, ‘SWOW’! Right now, the studio’s committee (a group of people who work alongside the managers to help improve the studio and raise the activity, as well as general interaction, of the members of the studio) are hosting a prompt contest.

It seems to be going well so far, with a decent amount of entries and an even better number of people applying to enter.

For most studios, interaction is important, but I think I try to put a lot of emphasis on this with SWOW, since the community isn’t as lively - for lack of a better word - as I aspire for it to be. I have doubts in my abilities to make this aspiration of mine a reality, but hey: if you have a small shot at making it all work out, where’s the harm in giving it a go? I mean, who knows? The future may surprise you~

SWOW has a magazine that releases toward the end of each month. It took forever to plan out the design, content and blah blah blah for it. A good couple of months if I recall correctly (which I hope I do. Would? No, do. I’m sticking with ‘do’)

So far, this magazine only has two issues (as in magazine issues, not as in problems. In case anyone was about to make that mistake) released. To be honest, most of the coding, GUI and content selection is done by me, but I’m guessing that this is just because nobody is used to the concept of consistently working on the magazine, month after month. With time, the collaboration aspect will probably grow, and I’m really looking forward to a time in which magazine issues are done earlier and are easier to code!

Random fun fact: I used to help manage the biggest writing studio on Scratch (if you know, you know. I mean the whole story, not just random snippets).

What else should I add?

I am learning German. I’m not very good at it, and the stuff I learn probably isn’t even enough to have a proper conversation with someone who speaks the language . One day, though, I want to be able to write a fictional scene in German. That would really be the cherry on top for all this writing business!

Anyway, I did it! A 1k word long introduction! If you’ve read this far: 1) Wow, I’m actually kinda impressed and 2) Thanks for reading! Bye!

Daily; July 2nd
Today, ask the ball a plot-related question, which will be related to your prompt. The outcome will then influence what happens in the story. For example, I could ask “Will I meet aliens?” and the answer could be “Most likely”, and then I could write a scene about meeting aliens. For 500 points, write at least 400 words with this prompt, and 100 extra points if you provide proof of your writing!
Question: Will my character actually be happy for once?
Answer: As I see it, yes.
(Submitting so that I don't accidentally delete everything)
———————————————————————-
“You coming, Jaquelin?” Christopher asked, trying — and failing — to hide his impatience. “We'll have to go home soon, you know.”

“I know, I know. I'm just trying to tie my hair properly,” I replied, straightening out my yellow ribbon for the fourth time. “I just can't get it right…-”

"Hair? Really?“ Christopher muttered under his breath crossing his arms. ”Of all things-“

”Leave her alone, Christopher,“ Julie, his twin, interrupted. She took hold of my ribbon and began tying my hair for me. ”How many times do I have to tell you? You'll never understand us girls.“

Christopher muttered something that I didn't catch onto as Julie linked her arm with mine, rolling her eyes. ”Oh, stop your wittering and let's go! You wanted to leave, right?“

”Don't forget who has the money here,“ Christopher warned, patting his pocket. ”You might want to be nice to me today, Julie.“

She snorted, holding her head high. ”Yeah, right. Keep dreaming!“

”Have it your way,“ Christopher shrugged. ”We'll see who's laughing when we get to the corner shop, won't we?“

”Yes, we will!“

Julie marched forward in front of her twin, practically dragging me with her. I couldn't help bursting into laughter at how silly their bickering was.

”Hey, what's so funny?“ Christopher called from behind.

I stifled my laughter, answering, ”oh, nothing.“

”What she meant to say was ‘none of your business’,“ Julie — for lack of a better word — corrected.

”Jaquelin isn't as rude as you, Julie,“ Christopher answered, catching up with us. He fell into step on with us on my right just as Julie said, ”thank goodness she isn't as airheaded as you either!“

”Julie!“ Her name came out as something between a gasp and a giggle. A smirk spread across her face as she rolled her eyes at Christopher. ”How is it possible for you to be so…narbo?“

This time both me and Christopher gasped. ”If Dad ever heard you say that word-“ Christopher started.

”Dad's not here, is he?“ Julie interrupted. ”Besides, everyone says that word these days.“

”I don't,“ Christopher answered. ”Neither do I,“ I added. Julie sighed, pulling me closer to her. ”You're you, Jaquelin. The goody-two-shoes who always does what's right. You know, the kind of girl who would never do anything daring.“

”That's not necessarily a bad thing-“

”That's not true!“ I cut Christopher off, unlinking my arm. ”I could so be as outgoing and as…as gnarly as you, Julie!“

”Pfft!“ Julie laughed, clutching her sides. ”Okay, okay! No need to get so worked up about it!“

I pouted, feeling the blood rushing to my face. I wasn't exactly sure what ‘worked up’ meant — I hadn't really heard anybody use a phrase like that — but I had the feeling that it wasn't exactly a compliment.

”Ha, your face!“ Julie laughed more, and I crossed my arms, turning away from her. ”Hmph!“

”Give her a break, Julie,“ Christopher sighed. ”It's not like anyone would ever want to be like you anyway,“ he added under his breath.

”Well, maybe I would!“ I spoke involuntarily. He seemed surprised, either by my response or the fact that I had heard him (perhaps maybe even both). Then he shrugged. ”I suppose that makes you the exception, Jaquelin.“

”What're you two talking about?“ Julie asked, raising her eyebrow. She shook her head, dismissing the thought. Then her eyes seemed to focus on something behind us, and a grin settled on her face. ”Hey, Jaquelin…if you think you can be as daring as me, you really ought to prove it.“

Christopher and I shared a puzzled glance. He spoke first, narrowing his eyes. ”You're… you're not thinking of doing something dangerous or illegal, are you?“

Julie wrinkled her nose, putting her hands on her hips. ”Of course not! Why would I want to put Jaquelin in danger? Is that what you think of me, Christopher?“

”No, I just-“

”Save it. Some brother you are,“ Julie huffed. She placed a hand on my shoulder, resting her head on mine. ”I wish Jaquelin were my twin instead of you, sometimes. Besides, I've always wanted a sister, and we're practically sisters already anyway.“

”Julie, don't say things like that!“ I hissed.

”Why not? It's true."

A flicker of… something passed across Christopher's face. I can't tell if it's hurt or sadness, but regardless of what it was I felt a sense of guilt.

“Christopher, I-”

"Hey, I said sometimes,“ Julie interrupted, moving across to her twin and nudging him with her elbow. ”You're still my favorite sibling, Chrissy.“

”I'm your only sibling,“ Christopher muttered.

Julie linked her arm with his, but he pushed her away. ”Get off me.“

”Aw, come on, don't be like that! You know that I wouldn't trade us being twins for anything. Well, maybe for a couple thousand — or million — pounds, but other than that-"

The two began to bicker again, and I rolled my eyes, a fond smile settling on my lips.

Would Michael, Susan and I be like this too if we were all the same age?

I can't help but ponder over the be question. I push it out of my mind though, turning to the twins. “Aren't we supposed to be going to the corner shop? You two said that you would buy me those everlasting bogstoppers or whatever they're called.”

"Gobstoppers,“ Julie corrected me as Christopher laughed at my mistake. I just shrugged. ”That's what I meant.“

”Well, if we run there and back, we could probably make it back before our Dad starts to get worried-“ Christopher began. Julie spoke over him, walking forward to grab my hand. ”Oh come on, Christopher. We can't let Dad's worrying over the little things control our lives, can we? Besides, I want to see what Jaquelin's gonna do to prove herself!“

”No,“ Christopher replied firmly. ”We're either going to the corner shop then going straight home or going home now. You can't do this to Dad, Julie. It's not fair.“

”Dad this, Dad that, enough about Dad!“ Julie snapped. ”I'm so sick of basing every little decision on how he may or may not react! Besides, it's not like we're going to be gone all night, is it?“

”No, but you know what he's like. Because of what happened in the war-“

”That was almost forty years ago!“ Julie crossed her arms, exasperated. ”Can't he just — I don't know — get over it or something?“

”Come on Julie, you know it's not that simple-“

”Well, why not?“ She narrowed her gaze, looking Christopher up and down. He looked as though he wanted to respond, but he didn't have a proper answer to her question, so he kept his mouth shut.

I sighed, speaking up awkwardly. ”Julie, let's just go. I don't want to worry your dad.“

I take a step forward, but she grabs my wrist, pulling me back gently and keeping her gaze fixed on Christopher all the while. ”No, don't go. My brother is just exaggerating. Our Dad will be just be fine, so don't you worry about that.“

Christopher looked away. ”Fine. Just be back soon, okay? I'm going home.“

”Fine,“ Julie replied.

I wanted to say something to break the tension in the air, but I couldn't think off anything that would make things better. Instead, I watched as Christopher started to walk away. He hesitated, turning back to glance at us.

”What are you waiting for? Go on, then.“ Julie spoke as soon as he turned around. He just shook his head — in disbelief? Disappointment? — and continued down the street.

He didn't turn back again after that.

”Julie…are you sure this is okay?“ I fiddled with my thumbs as I asked, unable to look her in the eye. ”Christopher seemed really serious…“

”Come on, Jaquelin,“ Julie snorted. ”Isn't this whole thing about you proving that you're not always such a goody-two-shoes? Don't be so worried about things like that! You have to enjoy the moment!“

”By doing what exactly?“ I raised an eyebrow and Julie smirked. ”Well, at first I was just going to tell you to climb that tree over there," she made a point of nodding in the direction Christopher had gone in. That must have been what she was looking at before, when she said I ought to prove that I'm as daring as her, I realised.

Would I really climb a tree just because Julie told me to?

I opened my mouth to object, but she spoke first. “Now, though, I've got something else in mind.”

A small sigh of relief escaped me as I linked my arm with hers. “And what might that be?”

She grinned again. It was a cunning, somewhat devious kind of grin; the kind of grin that people tell you means trouble. I could have sworn that her eyes twinkled for a moment when she looked at me, answering, “let's stay out until nightfall.”

***

We shouldn't be here, should we? We should be at home, eating dinner or getting ready for bed or…or doing something that isn't what we're doing right now.

“This is great!” Julie laughed as she came down the slide for the umpteenth time. Seeing her have so much fun eased my worries a little though, admittedly, it didn't do much to completely get rid of them.

"Hey, you could at least pretend to he enjoying yourself,“ she pouted as she plopped down beside me on the wooden bench. ”Do you not like spending time with me anymore or something?“

I knew she was just teasing, but somehow her question still bothered me a little. ”No! I mean, it's not like that. I am having fun, it's just that, well…I feel a bit guilty. After all, Christopher said-“

”He's not here,“ Julie frowned. ”It's just us now. The world is basically ours, and we don't have to share it with anyone. Don't you see? Look around!“

A gentle breeze whistled as it passed us by just as she finished her sentence, carrying away with it the last traces of the reds, yellows and oranges that had made a canvas of the sky just mere moments earlier.

The sun was gone now, and the moon shared her light in place of it, the only other soul in this new world just for us.

I snuck a glance at Julie.

Her expression was softer than I'd ever seen it before, awestruck and glad for the moment.

I looked away as I noticed her turn in my direction. She took both my hands in hers, smiling at me. ”You get it now, don't you? Right now, the world is ours. We can do whatever we want. No rules, no nothing; just Julie and Jaquelin. So come on, enjoy it.“

…She was right.

In that moment, the world belonged just to the two of us.

But how long did a moment last? And if the world was ours right now, how much longer until it was everyone's again? When that time came, would we be hurting the people that are important to us?

My mind drifted to Michael and Susan, my younger siblings.

Were they worried about me? Were they wondering where I was and why I hadn't gone home yet?

I sighed, slipping out of Julie's grasp. ”I have. But we can't stay here forever, Julie. Your dad loves you a lot, right? Do you really want to take the risk of leaving him worried sick about where you are?“

Julie fixed her brown eyed gaze on me for a second before standing up. ”I…I guess not.“

A relieved smile spread across my face as I also got up, linking arms with her the way she does with me. ”Then let's go."

She nodded, and we walked in silence for a while. The street lamps lit our way back, and the silver moon concealed itself behind clouds, no longer willing to share the night with us.

The moment was gone.

But that was okay, wasn't it?

After all, moments are special. But the thing that makes them special is the people you spend them with-

“Ha…I guess you must think me to be selfish now, right?” Julie's question both interrupted my train of thought and took me by surprise. “What?”

“Not only was I only thinking of myself, I managed to drag you into its didn't I?” She glanced at me, unlinking her arm. "You don't really think you'd be here if I hadn't persuaded you to be, do you?“

I blinked, trying to see what she was saying. ”I…I mean, I guess not. But-“

”The reason that Christopher didn't want us to stay late is because Dad gets a really worried. During the air raids in the war, his older brother went out looking for their younger sister, who hadn't come back home yet. And, well…“

”…Neither of them came back,“ I finished quietly.

We slowed to a halt. Julie hugged herself, unable to face me. ”It happened around this time of year. Dad always seems a little out of it at this point in time, so I try to avoid him. I guess I don't know how to handle it.“

”Oh, Julie,“ I whisper.

”Don't get me wrong — that's not the only reason. I had fun today, with you. And you're still a goody-two-shoes, no doubt! But now I have this feeling that something bad is happening and I think…I think I'm scared.“ She laughed half-heartedly. ”Can you believe that? I'm scared. Because of an irritating little voice in my head!“

”Julie…?“ I'd never seen her act this way before. She was still the same old Julie — still smiling — but this time she seemed anxious.

And frightened.

”Should we…?“

Our eyes meet before I finish asking my question. In that moment though, I didn't need to ask. It was clear, just from the gaze, that we were thinking the same thing.

We started running.

***

My heart was beating so loudly that I could hardly hear myself think. Julie and I turned the last corner.

A small crowd of people were gathered outside our houses. When they saw us, most of them either shook their heads or sighed — either in relief or disappointment.

Andrew — a watchman in the neighborhood watch — walked up to us, his expression stern. ”Would you two young ladies like to explain where you've been for the past four hours?“

”Just…around town,“ Julie muttered, still panting for air.

The watchman frowned at us. ”Why were you running? Were you being chased?“

”We realised how silly it was for us to stay out for so long and came back as quickly as possible to say sorry,“ I answered quickly. Andrew raised an eyebrow, but nodded in approval after a moment. ”Good, good. You've been very irresponsible, staying out for so long, in the winter no less. Your…guardians have been very worried.“

He looked pointedly at Julie, another frown passing across his face. ”How old are you to again? 15?“

”Yes.“

”Almost. I mean, I will be. Next month,“ I muttered my answer at the same time Julie said hers, but I still got a disappointed look from Andrew.

”Don't do this again. Mark my words: the world can be a very, very cruel place. Especially for children like you.“

He turned on his heel, shouting at the crowd to leave.

I turned to Julie, about to say something, but a familiar voice spoke before I could. ”How could you?“

”Christopher?" Julie and I spoke in unison, our voices sharing the same amount of disbelief.

His hair was disheveled and his eyes were red. He looked as though he hadn't gone to sleep in years — or as if he hadn't woken up in years. I couldn't quite tell, but either way, he did not look the same as he had looked only a few hours earlier.

“I can't believe you two,” he turned to Julie, his eyes growing more weary by the second. “I need to show you something.”

He nodded in their direction of their father, who was standing in the corner, trembling. His hands covered his eyes, and the contempt of the older neighbors — those who had lived through the horrors of the war — gave the air an icy touch as they stared in our direction.

“Dad?” Julie whispered. She ran toward him, wrapping her arms around him in a hug that was not returned. “What's wrong? I'm sorry! I won't ever do it again, I promise! Dad? Why won't you talk to me?”

I couldn't hear any more over her sobs and I turned away, guilt taking hold of me. “Do you hate me now?” I whispered. Christopher shook his head. “Don't be silly, Jaquelin. I'm glad you're both safe,” he hesitated before speaking again. “I have to go.”

I nodded, trying to follow behind him as he left, but a hand grabbed my shoulder, spinning me around. "Jaquelin Karter, have you any idea how worried I was?“

”Aunt Patricia, I-“

”No, I don't want to hear it. Not a word out of you, young lady. You are in so much trouble!“

She hugged me tightly, before returning to a firm demeanor. ”You're supposed to be reasonable, Jaquelin. I was so sure that someone had taken you away and I…“ Her voice trailed off, and she shook her head. ”What would your mother say if that had happened? How would I explain it tomorrow?“

My ears perked up at her words, my heart beating faster in anticipation. ”What's happening tomorrow?“

”You would know if you had come home on time,“ Aunt Patricia sighed. She managed a smile though, patting my head fondly. ”I received a letter from Penelope today. You're going home.“

”Really? I get to see Ma again?“

”You're still in trouble, Jaquelin! I'll make sure she hears about this, you know!"

I wasn't really listening to my Aunt anymore. My head was telling me that after what I'd done, I didn't deserve to be happy. But my heart was soaring and my lips were beaming.

I couldn't help it.

I'm finally going home to Ma…!

Could you blame me for being happy? After six long months…

But still, after today…

I guess it was a very bittersweet kind of happy. Even so, the smile wouldn't leave my lips.

.

Daily; July 3rd
Have you ever seen a sentence that could be interpreted in two or more ways? That’s ambiguity. However, that's different from a sentence that just doesn't have the details necessary to understand it, which is vagueness. The difference between the two is what we will be focusing on today. Today, write two separate dialogues, the first one where a character is being vague, and the second where a character is being ambiguous. Each dialogue must be at least 250 words long, for 500 points. Sharing your writing will earn you 200 bonus points!
Vague
Danny is sorting out the tennis balls and the basketball balls. He thinks he's almost done when he sees one more tennis ball from the corner of his eye.

He can't be bothered to walk over to it, but luckily his friend Ryan is walking by, and he's much closer.

“Hey, Ryan! Could you pass me that ball?”

Ryan looks over in Danny's direction and calls back, “sure!”

He looks in front of him. There's a tennis ball next to his foot, a basketball near the hoop a bit further ahead and to the right, and a baseball that was also his right, under a tree, but closer than the basketball was.

He sighs, calling out to Danny, “which one?”

Danny points in Ryan's direction and replies, “that one!”

Ryan is confused. Which one? They were all roughly in the area Danny had pointed in, after all. So which was the right one, and why couldn't he be more specific.

“Which one is that?” Ryan called again.

Danny was starting to get tired of repeating himself. He pointed again, a little more frustrated. "That one! The one I'm pointing to! Can't you see it? It's right there!“

Why couldn't Ryan see the tennis ball? And why did he seem so confused? There was only one ball there, after all?

Ryan was also getting frustrated. Were the trees blocking Danny's vision? If so, which ball could he be talking about? It would probably be easy to figure out, if he put things into perspective.

But that would take effort.

And why should he do that, anyway? Danny should have been more clear!

Besides, what if he guessed wrong and threw the wrong ball? Nobody wants to be in a situation like that!

Fine, then. It was clear what he had to do.

”Look, Dan, I've got to go now. Get it yourself, will you?“

”Hey-!“ Danny started, furrowing his eyebrows. But Ryan was already running round the corner. He sighed, still a bit angry. ”How hard is it to get a tennis ball that's right next to you?"
(347 words)

Ambiguous
Nora is on a phone call with ehr older brother. They haven't seen each other in a while, and they're excited to finally meet up.

Harry speaks first. “How've you been? Everything's all good, I hope?”

“Yep! My job's boring, but it brings in the money, and, well, that's the most important thing these days, isn't it?”

“Ha!” Harry laughs a little. “I guess so.”

“How about you? Is everything going okay?”

“Yes, everything's great! I just got a promotion!”

“Wow!” Nora claps in delight, nearly dropping her phone in the process. “That really is great! I'm so proud of you!”

"Hey, I'm the older sibling — isn't that supposed to be my line?“

Nora laughs. ”Well, you're not wrong. There's not really a good reason for you to use it yet, but I'll make sure to do something that'll let you use it in the future!“

”That's what I like to hear!“ Harry replied. ”Wanna switch to video call?“

Nora checks her battery and sighs. ”I can't, my battery's about to die. I'll need to turn off my phone soon.“

”Nora! You knew we'd be meeting up today! How could you forget to charge your phone?“

”I don't know! Sorry, alright!“

Harry sighs, smiling fondly as he shakes his head. ”I guess you'll never change, huh?“

”What's that supposed to mean?“

”Oh, nothing,“ Harry chuckles. ”Where should we meet up?“

Nora checks the clock on the wall. Her break is almost over, and the end of her shift seems even further away. Still, at least her brother's visit will make her day a little better.

”How about at the bank? Four pm?“

”Yeah, sounds good. See you then!“

”Yep, bye! Can't wait to meet up!“

”Me neither!"

Harry cuts the call, excited to see his little sister after so long. At four o'clock, he's waiting for her at the riverbank.

Nora is waiting for Harry outside the local bank, where she's just finished her shift.

Needless to say, they do not end up meeting at the scheduled time.
(338 words)

Extra daily stuff cause why not:
At the same time, Ana and Lyra are sorting out the blue balls with white, striped patterns and the blue balls with white, dotted patterns.

Ana is almost done when she realizes that she's missing a ball. There's an empty spot and if she doesn't finish on time, she'll get in trouble! To make matters worse, she'll get in trouble anyway if any of the balls are missing!

Thankfully, she spots the blue ball (with stripes) she needs under a yellow blanket, next to a blue ball with a dotted pattern, which was under a purple blanket.

“Hey, Lyra!”

“Yeah, what's up?”

“Could you pass me the blue ball, please?”

All the balls here are blue, Lyra thinks to herself. But she wants to help out a friend, so she decides that she'll look for the ball anyway. “Where is it?”

Ana glances up. “Under the blanket!”

Lyra walks toward the two blankets and sighs, raising an eyebrow as she calls back, “which one?”

Ana looked up again, squinting at the two blankets. She focuses on the yellow one for a moment, before replying, “um, the one that looks like it has cupcakes printed on it?”

Lyra peered at the blankets.

Of course they both had cupcake patterns.

Of course they did.

“They both have cupcake patterns on them, Ana!”

“Oh!” Ana gasps. “Sorry, I didn't realize! Then can you just pass me the one I've been sorting out?”

“Which one would that be?”

“The blue ones!”

Lyra gave an exasperated sigh. She wanted to kick the blankets out of the way, but it wasn't their fault, so she pretended to kick them before picking them up and throwing both balls to Ana.

“Here! Just take whichever one you were sorting!”

Ana picked up the right ball, a grin on her face. “Thanks, Lyra!”

“Yeah, no problem,” Lyra muttered under her breath.
(312 words)

Daily; July 5th
Ah yes, proverbs. We all have in some way heard of these pieces of wisdom passed through short sentences. Today, we will be using them! For 400 points, write at least 300 words of a story that takes inspiration from a proverb (perhaps using it as the story's moral, perhaps incorporating it into the story somehow - it's up to you).
Proverb: Love is blind

“Come on. Take my hand.”

“…Can I trust you?”

“That's something you have to decide on your own.”

I hesitate. The darkness around me can be comforting at times — a friend, even — but sometimes it can bring about a sense of loneliness, too. And loneliness always longs for a companion.

But should I trust this voice?

“Are you coming?”

I slowly hold my hand out. A strange breeze seems to accompany it as it travels outward. I leave it lingering in the air for a moment, anxious about the reaction.

Then a spark of warmth.

A hand clasped around my own, as though they were destined to fit together. Like two pieces of a puzzle, or a key to a lock.

And the sensation — it was like a soft buzz of electricity, starting at the fingertips then shooting through my arm before spreading everywhere, as warm and sweet and kind and gentle as ever.

In that moment, a small smile began to settle on my lips.

All at once, the darkness seemed to be a little bit brighter.

***

I can't see what lies ahead, but I get the feeling that it's some sort of cliff. My hand is empty nos, but the warmth of my companion has not left it.

“There's a bridge. You need to cross it.”

Their voice comes drifting across the air, dancing on it as an aroma wafts or a whistling breeze travels.

Elegant.

Graceful.

Comforting.

But at the same time, oh so far away. A voice so warm and so delicate oughtn't be ignored — and yet I find myself hesitating once more.

“Come on… that's right, you're almost there.”

My feet have been moving without my instructing them to. Each step seems to take an eon to complete, but you cannot walk without stepping forward, can you? I am still unsure of what the best course of action is, but my instinct tells me to carry on.

I stop when I hear the creaking of the bridge. It sounds fragile; held together by ropes and wood alone.

Would it fall under my weight?

“You'll be okay,” the voice reassures. It's a little closer now, but still far, far away.

Still on the other side.

“…Will I fall?” I ask.

I don't get a response. Perhaps they did not hear me. But some sort of reply comes anyway: “I promise you'll be safe. Just…trust me, okay? I'll guide you.”

Part of me remains doubtful; there are still so many questions that need to be asked, and so many answers I've yet to receive.

Once more, though, my instinct acts faster than my mind.

I take a step forward.

***

“What happens if the blindfold falls?” The question slips out without me intending it to.

My companion's hand is in my own, and we had been walking together, but they slow to a halt when I ask. They're silent for a moment, seemingly considering how to respond.

Then, at last, they answer, “you'll start to see.”

I tilt my head, intertwining our fingers tightly to lessen the sensation of apprehension that is taking hold of me. “See what?”

“Everything.”

We walk together in silence for a while, enjoying one other's company. But the moment is fleeting, and I soon bring us to another stop.

“Do you…do you want to see?” My companion asks, their voice tender and somewhat anxious.

I simply nod.

“…Alright. If that's what you want. Stay still.”

Our hands are no longer intertwined. The warmth lessens — but does not disappear — in that second. I take a deep breath.

Then the blindfold falls.

Late Daily; July 8th
Today is another classic SWC daily — copy and paste a song into Google Translate, translate it into a few different languages, and then translate it back to English and use the messed-up lyrics as a writing prompt. Write at least 400 words to earn 500 points for your cabin
OG Lyrics: Even when the dark comes crashing through || when you need a friend to carry you || when you're broken on the ground || you will be found

New Lyrics: Darkness came and went || If you need a friend, he will find you || And when it comes to land || You understand
—————————————————————————————————–

The last hints of color faded from the sky as the remains of dusk slowly but surely ceased to exist.

Every wave rocked the boat to and fro, as though trying and failing to capsize it. A gentle breeze came by, cooling me down a little as it passed. Each star was shining a little less brightly than the the ones around it, like they had all come to the conclusion that, as long as one star shone, the rest of them only needed to put in the bate minimum of effort as contribution.

On that night, the moon had been hidden by silver clouds and in the place of the stars who could barely be bothered to shine, was the lighthouse, as tall and as reliable as ever.

“Little boats like this one aren't supposed to be all the way out here, you know,” a voice reminded me. I glanced at Jax; I'd thought that he was asleep, but clearly he wasn't.

He was leaning back with both eyes closed, resting his head on my bag. I wanted to get up and grab it, but I didn't have the energy — so I stayed where I was.

“Don't act like you didn't agree to come with me,” this time, it as my turn to do the reminding. Jax only chuckled. “Just don't say that I didn't warn you back then if worst comes to worst.”

I fiddled with a rope, trying to appear preoccupied with something of relevant importance. “And what exactly is the worst case scenario?”

Jax chuckled again, a little louder this time. “Isn't it obvious?” I shrugged in response, though I knew he couldn't see me — he still wasn't looking. Upon hearing the silence, though, he spoke again, this time with mock disbelief. "What? No way! You really don't know, Kai?“

”How you can act like that with your eyes closed is beyond me, I muttered under my breath.

Jax, who seemingly hadn't heard me, continued, “should I tell you what the worst case scenario is, Kai?”

“…Go on.” I ignored that my hands were a little sweaty with anticipation. After all, it was Jax I was talking to. He was probably going to say something random anyway. Regardless, the hairs on my head were standing on edge.

Opening an eye to look at me with, Jax simply stated, “whatever it is, I'm sure you don't want to find out.”

He yawned and shut his again, settling back down. I sighed, rolling my eyes. “I don't know why even bother with you sometimes.”

“Yeah, well-”

A flash of lightning interrupted him, swiftly followed by loud thunder. Jax jumped up at the light, and we glanced at each other as the first drops of rain began to fall.

“…Well then. That's not good,” Jax sighed, rubbing his nose as a tiny raindrop splattered on it. He picked up my bag and chucked it to me, barely giving me enough time to catch it. “Come on, let's go inside.”

I walked forward, opening the door to the tiny cabin. Jax came in behind me, and this time we both sighed as he shut the door behind us.

We listened to the pitter patter of the rain for a while. Occasionally, there was a strike of lightning or the sound of thunder, too. “I could have sworn that there weren't supposed to be any thunderstorms for another week…” I murmur, watching the rain through the window.

“Well, that's weather for you,” Jax replied, pulling out the blankets. “It's unpredictable sometimes.”

He threw one of the blankets over my head, and I pushed it off, too tired to be annoyed. “I guess this is the part where we try to sleep?”

"It's the part where you try. I shouldn't have too much trouble.“

”What does that even mean- Oh.“

Somehow, he had already fallen asleep, leaning against the wall. I didn't question why or how. I just shrugged, listening to the rain as it pattered away.

**

Daylight comes slowly when you can't sleep. I walked onto the deck, sighing once again at all that the rain had left behind. Land was up ahead and I sighed again.

It would take a while to get there.

”Hey, you're awake,“ Jax yawned behind me. I turned to see him grinning, holding out some food. ”Breakfast?"

I was half asleep whilst writing this lol

Cabin Wars!

“I…I don't understand,” a tear tumbled down his cheek as he turned away, unable to look at me. “You were…we were friends, Iris. So why? Why now? Why like this?”

“You have no one but yourself to be blame,” I answered, increasing my grip on the necklace subconsciously. “How many times did I warn you? Be careful who you trust. And better yet, don't trust anyone. ‘Not even your own reflection’ — that's what I said, right?”

He slowly turned around, the tears gone. “I didn't think that ‘anyone’ included you, Iris.”

“Then that was your mistake,” I replied coldly, putting the necklace around my neck.

“Take that off,” Allan whispered. “It doesn't belong to you. You know that I would've happily given that to you, Iris. But now that you've done this…”

I smirk, taking a step backward. "Oh, don't be fooled; it's not really the necklace I want.“

”Then what else-“

I put up a hand to silence him, eyeing the movement in the shadows. Then I return my focus to my dearest, oldest friend, smiling at him for what could be the last time. ”Just your attention.“

He drops to the ground before he can question me.

***

”These people aren't going to be your friends, Allan,“ I warned, leaning against the bookshelf. ”It's far more likely for there to be traitors or threats among than potential allies or friends.“

Allan turns the globe on the desk round several times before looking up at me, leaving it to spin. ”And why can't we turn those threats into allies? Why do we have to assume the worst in people before giving them the chance to prove themselves?“

I let out a sigh, walking over to place an arm around Allan's shoulder. ”Because given the chance, these people will only prove that they're dangerous.“

”But-“

”Listen, Allan,“ I move away, reaching forward to slide a book out from its position on the shelf. ”You're too naive; too…trusting. And believe you me, people will take advantage of your kindness if you let them.“

”… You're saying it's my weakness, aren't you?“ Allan glanced at me as he walked over to the cracked mirror hanging on the wall. ”I see where you're coming from. But we can easily turn the tide on them, if the worst comes to pass. If they think I'm too trusting, they won't be prepared for me to suddenly attack them."

I thought it over.

It was a smart idea, that much was clear. Except, it was only effective if it was put into place by someone who could unleash its full potential.

Someone calculating and, if necessary, manipulative.

Someone who wasn't Allan.

“You're just too gullible, Allan. What happens if you start to think that this dangerous person is no longer a threat? You're just too kindhearted to believe that anyone is fully bad, aren't you?”

He gave a weary laugh. “I can see myself doing that.”

His expression turns grave as he focused on himself through the broken shards. “But still; if that's the case, then I need to find a way make sure that I can't be taken advantage of. If I don't-”

“Hey, hey — one step at a time, Allan,” I tapped his head gently with the book in my hand. “You'll get there. For now, though, I think it's best to make sure that you don't trust anyone,” I gaze into the mirror, right at my ‘trustworthy’ gaze. “Not even your own reflection.”

Allan laughs a little and I smile as he moves away, heading back to the globe. “Not even my own reflection, huh? I'll bear that in mind.”

Whilst he's preoccupied, I open the book in my hand to page 57 and take out the note that has been placed in between the pages.



“What're you holding, Iris?” Allan asked, a quizzical look on his face. I walked over to the candle, holding it out to late the flames burn it. “Oh, this? Nothing you need to know about. At least… Not just yet.”

He tilted his head at ne, clearly confused, but he smiled anyway. “If you say so, Iris. I trust you.”

**

Two eight year olds chase each around the tree, laughing and smiling with at another. Their parents watch from a distance.

“Iris, Iris! I'll only play the next round if you promise to be my best friend forever and ever and ever!”

Iris stops in her tracks and thinks about it no for a while. Then she smiles, nodding her head. “Okay! I promise! Can we play another round of-”

“No! You have to pinky swear first!” Allan held out his pinkie for Iris to hold with her own, and she does so, squeezing it a little. “There, I pinky swear. Now…tag! You're it!”

I took the necklace off, dropping it to the ground. The chain snapped, and I rolled my eyes. He'd told me all about it once — about how my mother had given it to his mother back in their childhood.

Then he'd gone on about how we must have been destined to meet and how, one day, he'd like to give it to me to keep.

If I had been a different person, would It have liked that?

Perhaps.

But really? Did he actually believe that someone would go to such lengths just for a puny necklace? I knew he'd be easy to lure into the trap, but he'd proven to be at least a little smarter than that, at the very least.

“It's too bad things turned out this way,” I murmured.

I glanced down, at an unconscious Allan next to the two split parts of the chain. Maybe if I'd had a better relationship with my mother, I wouldn't have been so careless with it.

But it was too late now, and frankly, there was other work that needed to be done. Walking out, I hesitated, almost certain that I'd heard rustling behind me. I didn't get to turn around before I knew why.

“Oh, I couldn't agree more, Iris. You should really learn to take your own advice.”

A shiver dashed down my spine.

Cabin Wars!

Every wave that met the shore was more playful than the last. They lapped against the golden sand, enticing each grain, inciting them to come along and explore the ocean with them. Only some grains left, and very few of those that did returned to the shore — much less the same shore they had come from — but they had spent decades, centuries, millennia, even, traveling from beach to beach; shore to shore.

This time was no different.

The moon's gentle glow rested on the surface of the ocean, allowing it to glimmer like a thousand gems. It was a blanket of perfect blue, one that was familiar to all the world.

And yet, only the moon's hypnotic gaze could cause its tides to turn and its waves to tumble — for no-one and nothing else would this be the case.

Since the dawn of the time, the oceans had been loyal to the moonlight's tender smile. For the moon belonged to the ocean and the ocean to the moon. That was the way it had been for eons, and that was the way it would remain for eons to come.

Pale grey and deep, sapphire blue; a perfect combination.

Alas though, the clouds arrived to claim the sky, hiding the moon from the world. Her quiet protests remained unheard by all that lived beneath her. In a mere matter of seconds, what was once a perfect circle was simply an irregular crescent.

The sky cried for her, sending down drops of rain that tumbled through air until they met the ocean or the sand.

Some droplets, though, fell onto the trees nearby, where they resided until a gentle breeze pushed them away. The branches of the trees swayed in quiet protest, reaching for each other, whispering secrets that mankind was yet to decipher.

Perhaps the birds of the air could understand, though, for they spread their wings and flew up, ever graceful, gliding across the scarcely moonlit sky.

They called to each other, with tweets of joy as they danced through the night before settling on the branches or their nests, silent once more.

The leaves continued to rustle, and the trunks stood on edge. Even when the towered above the earth, they were never completely safe. And now, more than ever, they wished to shrink, their instincts warning them that something was coming.

Once again, the birds rose and flew away.

Once again, the breeze began to blow, no longer gentle but bringing a sensation of violence. It picked up speed, tearing first the leaves, then the branches, from their homes.

They yelled and shrieked and cried, but the wind did not stop, raising its own voice as though to warn the world; to apologize for its actions, which it could no longer control.

It was only a few more seconds before the first flash came.

In a way, it was both beguiling and terrifying, reaching out like a trident hanging from the sky, tinting the world violet.

The rumble that followed was not as enticing.

In fact, it was more of a roar than a rumble, one that seemed to make the earth itself quake with fear. Rocks from the caves nearby collided with the ground and broke themselves into two.

Another roar resounded as the rain fell harder, threatening to tear the world apart if it refused to do its bidding.

Up above the world, the stars began to twinkle with alarm, their eyes unable to ignore the horrors that were occuring below. They each sung a tune of warning, to each other and to the world — but they were too far apart to hear anything but their own the voices.

None of them could hear each other, much less the world, which was even further away.

But alas, no warning was needed, for the moon revealed herself again triumphantly, her silver light descending to the earth once more.

The waves stopped crashing against the shore and were playful once again. The wind's rampage ceased as it began to whistle. The trees settled down and relaxed, grateful to see that they were all still standing.

With that, the moon's eventful reign came to an end.

She was tired, and in need of dire sleep after her victory. The waves begged her not to go, but she was already making a descent; stepping down from her throne in the sky.

Try as she might to console them, the waves continued to protest, even as the next monarch revealed himself.

They only stopped when they looked up to see that the sky had become a canvas. Shades of red, gold, pink, purple, orange — they had all been painted across it in a gorgeous array of color.

Even the clouds had been dyed and thus born anew, no longer sending down tears of wrath to disrupt the peace.

The ocean looked on in awe as the sun began to rise, his golden magnificence unfamiliar and unmatched. He gave a very different aura to the queen; whilst her light had been cool and gentle, his was warm and brilliant, unafraid to declare its glory.

The stars twinkled in uncertainty, unsure of what would become of them if this brilliant light reigned the skies.

Before, they could shine as the moon's loyal subjects. They were the ones at her side, the ones who looked over the kingdom that was the world with her as their leader.

But now…

What would become of them when the king had fully ascended the throne? Would he din his own light to allow them the opportunity to shine, too?

Or…or would they vanish from the world?

Once more, the stars tried to sing a warning, to the world and each other — and once more, they were too far apart to hear anything other than their own voices. Even though they could faintly see one another, it simply wasn't enough — and it grew harder and harder to do even that with every moment that passed them by.

Down below, the ocean admired its new glitter, somewhat excited to see how this new light would make it look.

Still, this ‘sun’ was nothing like the moon. It didn't have that same familiarity; that same ‘pull’, even. The waves longed for the time to arrive in which they would finally be able to look upon the moon's silver face again, for she and she alone was the image of perfection in their eyes.

Returning to the trees, the birds began to greet each other, each species competing, in a way, to see who could create the loudest symphony.

Some of them did not care for a melody. Those that did tended to be the quieter of the groups, their voices lost in a strange kind of harmonious cacophony.

The sun continued to rise, sending forth beams of light to represent him. He looked other the world that his co-ruler had left for him to look after.

It wasn't perfect. There were plenty of areas that could do with some… improvement.

But alas, his job was to watch over the kingdom, not to touch it. He allowed his light to reach even further, searching for every possible crevice to lighten. It had been a while since he had ruled, and in a way, he had missed the place, too.


And now, well…

…He was finally home.

With a loud whistle, the wind announced the king's arrival to all the earth.

Dawn had arrived.

Incomplete Daily; July 17th
The meaning of a phrase can be immensely impacted by the experiences of the person saying it, the relation of the person they’re speaking to, and the situation in which it’s said. Today, write a story in which the first and last lines are the same. How do your characters’ and the reader’s interpretations of the sentence change? Your story must be at least 700 words to earn 900 points.
“Better late than never. That's what they say, right?” Aaron smiled, nudging me gently. “It's just a little delay, Susie. They'll be back soon, don't worry.”

“But-”

“Look, the others are always like this. Besides, they know what they're doing, okay? So try to cheer up.”

I glance at the dirt path that leads into the forest and up into the mountains. Deep down, I know that my brother is right — and I also know that I'm probably making a fuss about nothing — but this time there's just something that feels…off about everything.

“I know that it's not exactly uncommon for them to be back late, but to be gone for this long is…”

“Hey, if they come back late, they come back late,” Aaron passes me some equipment, gesturing for me to follow him. “Like you said, it's not uncommon. And I won't complain if destiny wants me to enjoy more marshmallows-”

"Come on, Aaron, be a little more serious,“ I set down the equipment beside the rest of the stuff, frowning a little. ”I'm telling you, I feel really uneasy about all this.“

”Yeah, well, that's not exactly uncommon either,“ Aaron replied. ”They'll be back in time for our family time around the fire. That's what you want, right?“

”I mean, yes, I don't want them to miss that like they did yesterday. But this time-“

Aaron shakes his head at me, leaning against the trunk of a tree as he pushes his green scarf out of his face before speaking. ”I told you, it's just a little delay, that's all. You're right, they're not usually back this late. But they're probably on their way back as we speak. And when they get here, you'll get the family time you've been waiting for.“

I force a smile and nod, trying to keep myself from glancing at the path again.

A wave of foreboding washes over me, though, and I feel as though my stomach has been filled with rocks. Aaron tilts his head at me, and a shiver dashes down my spine.

”…You good, Susie?“

”Yeah! Yeah, I just… I think I'll go up the path. They're probably on their way back, like you said, so we'll meet halfway, right?“

”I'll go,“ Aaron sighs. ”You look like you need to sit down. Start setting up without me. This probably won't take long anyway-“

He's interrupted by a shrill scream somewhere in the forest. We both jump, then glance at each other, both us instantly having the same fear ignited.

”Do you really think they'll be on the path…?“

”They'll be back soon,“ Aaron repeats. ”Better late than never, right?"