Daily 7-11-2022
A soft wind caressed the faces of multiple cheeks as the citizens of New York City went along their day. Flowers swayed to the wind in an orderly fashion, and birds chirped their beautiful song. Everything was rather calm and scenic in the place located in , “The City that Never Sleeps.” But, always, there was an exception. In a local cafe in Louis Street, Lavender Lynx was bustling since Six in the morning to prepare the coffee and
treats for her customers. It was chaotic in the kitchen where Lavender was multitasking more than a dozen tasks. Things usually turned out very well for Lavender, she had a sharp and intelligent mind helping her to succeed. However, sometimes things went horribly and became the disappointment of the year.
It seemed to be that kind of day for Lavender. Her brownies were burnt, her merengues smelled a little too salty rather than sweet, and so forth. She was utterly drained from the weeks of nonstop work, and she was as tired as a person could get. Things finally broke when her famous pie seemed to be missing the filling entirely.
Lavender sat on the floor, and wept, in sadness of her foolish mistakes. She trudged up to the door of the cafe, and switched the open sign, to the closed one. Nobody was going to be able to get their morning coffee and treats today. On her way out to go home, she met one of the baby birds that looked famished. This bird wasn't from the wild either, it was released from captivity. Part of her wanted to leave it and let another pedestrian find it, but she didn't have the heart to leave it, so she took out her handkerchief, put it in it, and walked back to the cafe.

After going on her laptop (located in her quarters) she learned that birds could eat berries and nuts, all things she had in the pantry. She raced out, and got a collection of blueberries, strawberries, cranberries, walnuts, cucumber, almonds, and pecans for the little bird to try. The bird, who she later named Mustard, took one look at the food, and ran to it, eating whatever was given to him. Lavender laughed as he tried to eat a piece of walnut larger than his head than the one she was offering him and felt her troubles fade away. During that time, Lavender got a growing new idea for a recipe: homemade bird treats. She was hesitant at first to make them, after the incident in the morning, but Lavender decided to preserve and try.

As the days went by, Lavender grew more fond of Mustard, and eventually adopted him. He was her companion while cooking and she traded out all teflon pans and other bird hazards just for him. Mustard became her taste tester when it came to bird treats, and Lavender soon decided to sell them to the public so other humans and birds could enjoy them. Everything was a success, and her business was going splendidly. Using her extra money, she hired a couple more cooks, so that she could rest when she needed to.

Everything was perfect once again in New York City, with soft winds caressing the faces of people, and a happy woman with her bird.

Weekly 2:


Part 1. Main Info Article:807 words
(Fake crime)

Exactly seven years ago it was reported that a soon-to-be-famous incident had happened at the world's most wealthy bank.
The bank's headquarters, which is located in the richest, most bustling streets of Hong Kong, had been raided on the night of the eleventh of July on the bottom floor and had claimed to have been millions and millions of pounds worth of stolen money, making this crime the most famous bank robbery to date.

Many investigations were made by the local police and soon many more throughout Hong Kong ad later joined in to find the burglars who had managed to miraculously break into the heavily protected bank headquarters went underway, but almost none came to be successful,
The investigators had used much of today's technology (such as drones) to find the location of the money, and yet they were still yet unable to pinpoint the location. It was as if the money vanished into the thin air. And soon enough, it became one of history's most famous unsolved modern crimes.

It was unsolved, until very, very recently on the eleventh of July, the same date the robbery was taken place.

On the tenth of July, investigators had come back with a conclusion to this infamously baffling mystery. It had started on the eleventh of July when two unknown robbers broke into the bank using technology beyond anyone's range in that very year.
From the comfort of their base, they had managed to hack into the security computers and self-destruct the surveillance cameras by one turning them off and the other cutting off the wi-fi in the entire building.

Next, they played a pre-recorded announcement as if they were the owners of the company, using a ten-year-old video of a past announcement stating that all workers leave immediately due to an upcoming storm. This was miraculously timed, as there was a storm that night. The criminals had then snuck through by crawling through the ventilation system. As for another alteration in hacking the computers, they had managed to find the password to the vault after turning the wi-fi off in the building, but only in the building so they can access the details to the vault.

After typing in the password, they crept in and stole piles and piles of paper money that was hidden so safely tucked away in the now broken-into vault. But the question there was: How did they escape and not attract any passers-by? Investigators report that solving this part of the crime was one of the biggest challenges.
Our reporter had fed back to us that since the headquarters were the busiest places in the district day and night, the robbers had not just jumped down from the building and into a getaway car they would generally but got away from what happened to be an ordinary passing airplane.

They had disguised themselves as rubbish collectors doing a night shift and hid the money in bin bags. They drove in an easily stolen truck to an airport one hundred miles away where the airplane, which had been timed correctly to fit just like one that had got delayed over the Bermuda triangle on purpose by the robbers hacking that plane's flight course.
They had climbed onto the airplane and took off with an imposter pilot, which is where things get even more complicated and confusing, as was there only a two-person team?

Very later evidence told that the robbers had been used as a scapegoat so police would target them instead of the whole team of twelve, as they would be the ones breaking into the bank. Yet almost impossibly, the whole scheme was devised by a world-famous millionaire who lead a team of hackers, people in charge of the many clever disguises such as pilots and rubbish collectors, and not but the scapegoat burglars.

The millionaire had hidden the money in the safe in his mansion, which was hidden behind a secret safe door at the back of the fireplace. Police had managed to break it open with a simple key found in the millionaire's prize cabinet hidden in one of the trophies won for: Biggest Technological Advancement of the decade.
The team of cunning criminals had been arrested and the money had been handed back to the bank's headquarters, where it is hidden safely under strongly secured anti-hacking devices and advise for the targeted airport to secure their network, to foil many other attempts for years to come. One of the biggest crimes had finally been solved, and this day is a cause to celebrate a miraculous foil to the crime.

Today marks the day when new documentaries and books will be written to mark the historical event of solving the mystery and revealing the true colors of the most famous winner of Biggest Technological advancement of the decade.


Part 2. Main Opinion Article:839 words
(book review)

I have recently been reading another novel called Orphans of the Tide by Struan Murray. The whole analysis is based around a young inventor named Ellie, who one day saves a boy from being inside a dead whale, which then stirs up a plot-twisting story full of dangerous adventure, and a great deal of magic, mysterious and dark.

Young Ellie lives in a world where the sea had drowned the world so much that the only human civilization is a city with sunken buildings all around it. Her mother had died when she was eight and her brother did too when she was ten. Her only friend was a girl who lived in the nearby orphanage called Anna, but that was when she met Seth.

Seth was the boy she climbed out of a dead whale that washed in from the tide. Believing he was a manifestation of the Enemy who drowned the world, everyone except Ellie turns against him and nearly executes him, only to be saved by Ellie. Seth, Anna, and Ellie then go on an adventure that takes them all across the city finding out Seth's mysterious past and his affinity with the sea, yet also revealing the dark truth about Ellie.

Now, this had been one of the most exciting books I had ever read. Set in a dystopian-like setting with the most memorable characters and the most unique display of magic I had ever seen in a book. The structure of the book is a rare one: filled with plot twists that reveal an entirely new feel to the whole plotline. The plot twists are the ones you're never expecting, which also come with an exceptional amount of character development and building as we even explore their atmospheric backstories. Everything feels fresh, interesting, and original, there aren't many stories with questionable villains and heroes and even the minor characters felt all different in their way.

The characters, building on my first point, are lovable and creatively thought out. Anna Stonewall is first seen as quite someone who didn't bring much to the table, but that progresses into her being a vital character in the storyline and becoming a fearless but caring young girl who always looks out for everyone and somehow saves the day most brilliantly. She is the owner of one of the most simple but beautiful storylines, which makes her a character I'll love to be friends with. Anna is just a normal orphan but is somehow always something in each chapter. One of which I liked was her mistrust towards Seth along with the rest of the island, which especially caught my eye as she later on in the end accepts him as a friend.

The next character is unarguably my favorite, Seth. I first saw him as a strange and slightly weird character which added to the atmosphere as everyone in that first chapter had felt the same. But, as the same with Anna, we see him reveal his true colours; he is incredibly loyal and reckless, escaping from Ellie's workshop in the middle of the night following a voice that is carried out from the sea. He tends to be wary around new people which is understandable for someone who is welcomed to an entirely different place. And even more for someone who doesn't remember their past.

Then there is the main character, Ellie Lancaster. She is a know-it-all, always trying to prove her cleverness to people which can tend to be irritating. Although she does like to do this, she is not arrogant or rude, but quite honest and humble at times which is most notable when she reveals her darkest secret to Seth and Anna. She is very clever indeed, having invented things such as an underwater boat but mostly scrapes a living by fixing machines invented by her late mother. She is also very caring to those she lives with, regretting the fact that she was busy finding a cure for her brother when he was fatally ill. Overall, she makes a very interesting hero, one that I haven't heard of it in a long time.

I'm still not sure about feedback, though. Many argue that the plot twist should have been saved until the end, but I disagree, as they are known to be vital for the whole storyline and I can't imagine being saved for the last moment. The ending was slightly foggy in my opinion and could have been made slightly clearer for the reader, while it had the slight potential of a cliffhanger, it had more tones of an unfinished product. Opposing to that I would also say something positive about the last few paragraphs, which note Ellie finally giving up pretending to know everything and admitting she doesn't know what might come across them. Yet these are only fine details, and I greatly recommend the book and the two other ones that follow after (Shipwreck Island then the Eternity Engine) for amazing characters, unique portrayal to popular themes and captivating storyline.


Part 3. Column527 words
(Arts & Style)

A new announcement had recently been sent from the west end announcing that they will be performing an all-new play that came out just a few days ago. months. A release poster has been sent bearing the name: “The Little Fairytale”. A handful of reports followed on with it, such as the storyline and all you need to know about this award-winning play.

The storyline is based around the tone of the most well-known plays of our time, The Three Little Mangoes and the Big Bad SWC-ers, about three small mangoes running away from the SWC Mango Buffet only to be caught in the factory where they make all the weeklies. The play itself is known to be a unique yet strange parody of this famous story; in which the mangoes turn into mutant mango monsters that destroy the SWC Main cabin, only to be eaten by an army led by a robot mutant mango controlled by the SWC co-leaders and leaders.

At first, this may seem strange and unusual when first heard, but this is known to be one of the greatest works of the decade. It s a musical, and therefore includes many songs that immediately hit the top charts such as: “Mango Revenge” and “The Cabin Wars Mango Sabotage”. In my own opinion, these songs are the best I had ever heard., and I'm sure many will agree with me. The songs all agreeably sound like the exact metaphors of rebellion, and war. It truly pinpoints the ferocious battle between mutant mangoes and sleep-deprived writer extroadinares, which is the freshest and original concept I have ever heard of.

Some of the scenes are just to make the must-see for this production. One of the most memorable is the Cabin Wars scene, where what is supposed to be a series of sleep-draining writing challenges turn into a ruthless fight against the mutant mangoes, and where the leaders of SWC decide to arrange an army- one of the key turning points in the storyline. The whole scene is a lot to take in, and there's always something happening, such as real-fi campers poisoning all their mangoes only for them to turn into more mutant mango monsters, or fairy tales building a mutant monster machine to attack, only for it to turn evil and destroy the point-adding machine.

There is a great finale to their award-winning production and that very scene almost makes history in the department of the arts. An Army of SWC campers, leaders, and cos led by a mutant mango machine controlled by the goats grazing in the Poetry Summit, against hundreds of mutant mangoes. One that is filled with only so much action that it knocked me off my seat. Especially when the weekly-making machine is crushed to bits. But finally, the great battle ends with a bang, as the mutant monster mango king is sliced and diced into small squares for enough for a mango feast for all the SWC-ers.

I hope this play goes on to be the best of its time, the most action-filled story against the most bitter of foes; the mangoes retaliating against the young writers of SWC.


Part 4. Other:340 words
(Horoscopes)

Aquarius: One day you will need the help of others around you, mainly new people, but you first must open up to them.

Pisces: Whatever you do, don't drown in your worries and past. Swim free and live in the present.

Aries: Breathe, Aries, breathe. Sometimes things can't be done in an instant, and you must acknowledge that.

Taurus: Taurus, you are strong. But sometimes you carry too much of the load, and you must relax and trust the uncertainties

Gemini: Remember that you can’t always go with the flow. Sometimes you have to stick to a plan, and that’s okay. Life is full of surprises and different things after all.

Cancer: Cancer, sometimes it is best to see the best in things. Think it this way: If you don’t try hard to see the best in things, the best things will never be there.

Leo: You are a leader, and you should be proud of that. Just make sure that sometimes you won’t always be picked, and that’s okay. It’s not like you’re bad at leadership or anything, so don’t take it out on people.

Virgo: The perfectionist. You are always consistent and proper, but don’t let that take you away from having fun. Sometimes it’s best to let go of everything and have fun.

Libra: Forgive, Libra. There will be times of injustice and mean people, but don’t let that stop you from being the best version of yourself.

Scorpio: Don’t change people, even if they are not the best ones you have met. Instead, accept that they are mean and ignore them- look towards the good people in life.

Sagittarius: You are the spotlight in every stage, and you love to be surrounded by an audience. But that doesn’t mean that you have to be all the time; make sure you share it as well.

Capricorn: You are the best at organising and a managing things, but don’t let that stress you and get in the way. enjoy the process, and no one expects anything from you.

Mud squelched beneath his worn-out boots. The brown leather was ever so slightly peeling off. His shoulders slumped the higher he climbed up the hill, its grass and rocky crevices spiking upwards. He ran his fingers through his curly red hair, and stood still, panting. He closed his eyes and leaned against an oak tree. He ran his fingers through the knots in the tree trunk; they were reassuring in a way. Something that had always been there, and always would.

He reached into his backpack and rummaged inside for his flask. Thirst as sharp as d@gg3rs was scraping at his throat. He hadn’t stopped hiking for what, 5, 6 hours? He undid the lid and brought the cool liquid to his chapped lips. He breathed in deeply. Then he sighed, and placed his flask back inside his backpack. He quickened his pace again, but something had changed. Every five seconds or so, he would glance behind himself. There was tension thick in the air. The grass in front of him was blackened, seemingly burnt.

He smelt smoke.

He placed his fingers on the grass. The blades crumbled as soon as his fingertips brushed against them. He walked further forwards, snakes slithering in his stomach. A scream was heard from further ahead. He gulped. Still, he continued forwards, his eyes picking up every little detail.

There might have been flowers ahead, but all he could see was stems severed in half. Soil was piled up on the floor, and his boots were coated in dirt. All of a sudden, he whipped his head to the side. He could hear a grunting coming from the left.

Maybe the cause of this.

Cautiously, he tiptoed silently over to where the noise was coming from. A man had a shovel, and was digging a hole in the ground. Now that he looked around, he could see more than a few ditches shaped like rabbit holes peppering the floor. He leaned in closer. It seemed like there was a pattern to these holes - they hadn’t miscellaneously been placed anywhere. The holes were in groups of threes, and rows. How had he not noticed these before?

He gave a little jump. The man was staring at him, his icy blue eyes penetrating him. It looked like he was studying his soul - or something along the lines of that. It sent a shiver down his spine.

The man beckoned him to come forward. His eyebrows shot up, but followed the man’s instructions and walked towards him uneasily. The man looked him up and down; from his ruffled hair to his faded checked shirt. From his ripped trousers to his dirt-caked boots. The man seemed to disapprove, but then something shocked him. It was the man’s turn to be surprised now.

Furrowing his eyebrows, he looked down at himself. The man gave a go on motion with his hands, signalling him to carry on. He gave a brisk nod before returning to the digging. Completely baffled, the boy continued on his hike up the hill.

He never did find out what it was the man was doing, or why he had looked like he’d seen a ghost.

7/11 daily



Sofia drifted slowly through the hall, a crown of shriveled roses atop her brow, her limbs limp and weighted. Her eyes were fastened shut, but were not entirely water-proof; from them little laments occassionally dropped, darkening small patches of the floor. Her flowing grey locks covered her ashen face; all the better to conceal her swollen lips, her colorless cheeks, her scarred memory.
Her hand trembling like a leaf battered by the wind, she tugged at the door at the end of the hallway. Soundlessly it opened. Inside were a scattered collection of mismatched memorabilia, relics from years gone by — stacks and stacks of ragged magazines and time-worn literature, stretching deeper and deeper into the cave. Occasionally loose folios floated silently down to the dust-strewn floor, joining the piles of memories never to be seen again.
The girl moved a hand to pick up a just-fallen page, lured by its bright colors and seeming joy, but stopped herself. Shaking, she retracted it, knowing that in her current state it was not safe for her. Instead, Sofia fought to keep her gaze forward into the abyss, her eyes locked away from anything that might draw her into a dangerous place. She must keep stepping forward.
Left, right, left, right… The further she marched, the heavier her burden became; her footfalls became longer, her strides shorter and shorter. The remains of her flower crown broke apart and fell. Yet she continued, steadfastly — tremblingly — keeping her gaze away from nostalgia, away from the past and from remembering. In her head beats one mantra: she must keep going.
Eventually, the piles of words around her grew smaller and smaller, simpler recollections of simpler times. Attached to them were fuzzy recollections, softened and blurred by time. She found it harder not to look then — those memories were untainted of what had started poisoning her present. Sometimes she felt her head start to swivel, longing to read the innocent words in those ancient archives, and willingly she would turn: only to remember the danger seconds before it was too late. More and more tears dripped from her eyes as does a river to a sea.
As the books dwindled further, into little thin things the size of Sofia’s shaking hand, the light illuminating them grew dimmer and dimmer. The darkness seemed to envelop her entirely — no longer could she see her struggling hands, her tortured legs. No longer, even, did she need her eyes: she was as better off without them as with. Even her sensations, her memories, her sense of self itself started to fade. Who was she, really?
An eternity after (or perhaps only a couple of seconds, time wasn’t clear anymore), her tired legs finally gave out, unable to withstand any more use. She collapsed heavily onto the dust-covered floor, her hands splaying out, useless for breaking her fall. Finally, in the company of the darkness, Sofia allowed herself to weep openly, with no one but herself to hear.


After a while she slept.

(501 words)

july 11 daily
624/500 words

it was limited edition it is no longer here

daily - july 11
words: 646
WARNING: CONTAINS MINOR/SOME SPOILERS FOR THE ADVENTURE ZONE: BALANCE
characters: Lucretia and the unknown Gaia sash user (Griffin McElroy, The Adventure Zone: Balance)
author's note: okay so uh this originally wasn't supposed to be what it was. but it turned into what it was because of the ahem storm caused by the ahem grand relic gaia sash. lucretia mentions that she originally tried to fetch the relics on her own but then wonderland and i'm just thinking that maybe this happened before she had the whole destroyed thing fleshed out and then the relic got lost because some random employee or assistant etc was enthralled by it? this is vv much au/canon divergence :')
The storm above rumbles, dark clouds filling the sky. A lone raindrop falls from the sky, and with that the villagers drop everything and run for their homes. Their hands fumble with the bolts and keys as they open their doors, quick motions not getting the job done fast enough. As soon as one enters their house, the door slams shut. Inside, each one sighs and slumps to the ground. They get up and continue about their day how they would have earlier had they been inside.
Outside, a lone cloaked figure walks the path away from the village. The drops of rain have turned to sheets now, each one dropping from up high and coating the ground in a layer of water. What had been a light breeze turns to a ferocious wind that whips through the forests and streets, catching up items and ripping signs off the post. The gaps where sunlight had come through earlier are gone now, replaced by darkness.
The person’s feet dig into the ground as she walks, against the wind, towards the eye of the storm. Under their cloak, the knuckles of the hands gripping the white oak staff are white, and the wood under them is folding under the pressure of their grip.
The storm intensifies once more, and the sheets turn to an endless torrent. Their cloak is dripping wet, and the deafening wind threatens to blow it away. The path is covered in deep indents from where their feet had dug in, each one deeper than the next as the trail winds up the mountain.
Up the mountain, the figure is almost at the peak. She holds out the staff, fighting the wind with her every movement, and slices it through the air. The corners of her mouth twitch as a series of silver lines appear, extending towards the sky and circling around the mountain’s peak, but her face goes slack as those lines split and shatter into tiny fragments. She stands as though everything has stopped for her.
Then, she screams wordlessly, letting go of the staff and dropping to her knees. Countless tears roll down her face, blending in with the streams of rain, and she bends over on the ground, clutching at her face as she takes in one strained breath after another.
She reaches out for the staff, which has miraculously stayed at her side despite the force of the wind, and staggers to her feet. She breaks into a run, pushed by the wind away from the storm’s center. But she stops when she sees the rising water, filling the valley and burying the village.
Her entire body goes slack this time, and she is thrown into the rising ocean by the now-relentless winds.
Underwater, what seems to be a giant silver bubble rises up from the sunken houses- a bubble containing a person. She grips the staff, just barely holding on, and the bubble floats upwards in silence, submerged in the peaceful waters.
On land, the storm has stopped. The only part of the land left is the peak of the highest mountain, where a figure collapses. As they fall, the woven-reed sash around their waist unties and drops to the ground.
The bubble surfaces, leaving the person inside next to the sash. She pushes herself to her feet using the staff as a support, and bends down to pick up the sash. As the clouds left over from the storm dissipate, the dark bags under her eyes are easily apparent in the sunlight.
She stuffs the sash into a pouch in her thoroughly-wet cloak and taps the silver bracer on her right hand with her free hand. From the sky, a sphere emblazoned with the same symbol as the bracer descends, and she takes one last look at where the village once was before she boards it and leaves.

daily for july 11 (oh cool it’s 7-11)
511 words

The group walked around the abandoned block once, then twice, then three times. On their fourth lap, they finally came to a stop behind Nilo, glancing at each other uneasily.
Where once had stood a house, Nilo and Nympha’s family’s dwelling, there now lay ashes and decay, rubble and ruin. The destruction was almost inconceivable.
Nympha kept walking, even as Nilo and the group stopped. She shook her head vehemently when Nilo called her name, walking around the block three more times on her own before finally stopping beside Arin. Her face remained stoic as her eyes swept the site thoroughly, missing nothing. But no clue remained, no last scrap or thread of hope for her to cling to.
Arin touched her arm gently, but Nympha was blind to the world about her. She stumbled forward into the ashes, landing on her hands and knees. She remained close to the ground, crawling around in this space, so familiar and yet not.
Suddenly she gasped. Goosebumps prickled on Arin’s flesh as Nympha pulled something out of a pile of rubble.
It was a doll. A simple rag doll, with scraps for clothes and yarn for hair and a name, the owner’s, scrawled distinctively in a childish hand on one leg: Nita.
Just like that, the light in Nympha’s eyes, already so faint and distant, was extinguished immediately. She stared at the doll in disbelief, then flung it down and buried her head in her arms, making no sound.
Then she began to sob, terrifying, loud, desperate sobs that filled the air, echoing through the atmosphere. Not the first pained cries the city had heard that day, and not the last, either. They made Arin’s skin crawl.
Still weeping, Nympha stood up, her dirty blonde hair plastered to her dirt-smudged skin but her intense blue eyes full of fire, righteous anger.
She retrieved the doll, smoothing its hair and combing it with her fingers, even though her hands were shaking, before tucking it into the pouch at her waist. She took a step, looking around the space before taking a few more steps and turning, as if she were imagining herself in the ghost of her home.
Arin turned away, allowing Nympha these final moments of privacy in her home before they left the city.
Eventually, Nympha cleared her throat. Arin turned around, and Nilo awkwardly stepped closer to his sister, extending his hand. She grabbed it, hauling herself out of the ruins, before turning to Arin.
There were no words for this situation, for this utter tragedy. Arin took Nympha’s hands before pulling her close in a tight embrace. Nympha sobbed quietly into Arin’s shoulder, and Arin’s hands rubbed firm, reassuring circles on Nympha’s back. But there was nothing to reassure her of. They had nothing to look forward to after they left, no purpose in life except to stay alive to live a purposeless life. No one and nothing left to live for.
Eventually, squeezing Nympha’s hands, Arin pulled away, and they all left to see the rest of the destruction.

7.11.22 Daily
Historical Fiction Cabin || phoceanic
Emotional narrative without dialogue or inner thoughts
Word count: 512 / 500
Points: 800

The autumn air stings his skin, forcing him to pull on the strings of his sweatshirt. Sea and sky blueprint faded from time and countless washings overlap the depressing gray color of his sweatshirt that matches the gloomy, cloud-filled sky. Tufts of ink-black hair stick out freely out from his hood as his deep brown eyes search intently across the field of upright slabs of rock.
An unforgiving blast of chilly wind ruffles his yellow-striped, navy-blue pants and sends a small shiver down his body.
He stops for a moment, taking a couple of seconds to orient himself, then continues on his walk as several etched names and dates follow beside him.
Bleak, gray gravel churn beneath his badly stained white running shoes, with his left shoe left untied. He knows. It’s an accident waiting to happen, but the stained-gray laces of his left foot flop around harmlessly as he quickly continues his path down the walkway.
He gets distracted by a pair of brown birds that catch in his peripheral vision. The pair swoop and dive after each other effortlessly for a moment before disappearing in an oak, its leaves various, beautiful shades of red, orange, and yellow.
The colors make him stop; it was a striking contrast compared to its dismal background. Shaking his head with a disapproving frown, he kicks some rocks on the path before briskly continuing.
He can see the destination now, it’s towards the end of the endless-like collection of rock slabs. Despite the cold, he feels perspiration from his right hand that holds a rose flower.
Not only the wind makes him tremble; a shocking wave of emotions washes over him as he slowly, painfully grinds his legs forwards towards the slab of rock of his loved one.
Nearly dropping the rose, he is forced to stop and hunch over, hands resting on his knees. His breath becomes staggered as moisture slides its way down his face, some of it landing on the rose.
Destination only a few meters away, its words and letters now legible, he cannot find the strength to keep moving at first.
It has been particularly difficult this week, having made this trip down the rows and columns of etched rock every week for the last year.
He remembers. The phone call. Setting it down with grief and guilt. A gentle pat on his shoulder. Some calming words that didn’t calm him down.
Just like that. Gone.
One step at a time. Just one more. Just one more. You’ll make it.
He collapses on his knees after the final step, directly in front of the tombstone. The words and numbers insult him. They insult him for what could’ve been.
The rose escaped from his open hand and rolled beside the withered rose from the previous week. There, his tears fall without restraint, full of emotion, full of regret, full of pain.
Time ticks by; it has been twenty minutes since he arrived at the graveyard. But he is in his own world, aspiring for the past and a world with her.

hi-fi ftw!

Daily 11 +522 words probly some of my worst writings

She was behind the school gates under the falls of Erasha. She was soaking wet and her golden-white clothes were sticking like glue. Her midnight black hair stood still unable to move. She raised her arms reaching for an edge of a rock. Her eyes were moving in the movement of her hands. Her bare hands reached and then unreacted revealing a golden piece of the golden compass coin in her hands. She smiled as she looked down at it. She leaped from the high rocks attached to the falls and then landed gracefully on her feet. A boy older than her with silver hair stood there. She nodded at him and smiled. His blank face then relaxed into a smile. He handed her something rolled in a white paper. They nodded to each other. And then she ran like smoke and wind.

Her golden eyes were glazing towards the unknown. Her body was flexible and quick in the caverns. But so was he. She smiled as she has begun to take the lead. She huffed as she came to a harsh stop on an ending wall with a door. The door was painted in gold and was written with the purest of white. She sild her hand onto the pocket of her white robes and pulled out the piece of white paper. She rolled it out revealing some pieces of a gold coin. She then slid her hand again and took out another piece. She pulled out a string of her hair and handed it to him. He motioned with his hands saying no but she gave it anyway. He stood there looking at her in annoyance. Then he walked forward and place his bare hands on the handle of the door. It glowed white as if pouring ink in white it drew a picture of a compass. He looked behind at her and motioned her to come forward. She placed the golden pieces of coins in the picture carved white on the door. They put their hands together embracing the handle of the door as it vanished.

A crowd of about twenty people was there waiting. One of them stepped forward embracing the silver haired boy. They then all looked at her in disbelief and annoyance. And then dragged her across as the boy vanished into thin air. She was placed at the top of the halls and falls. One of the elders stood out from the crowd and sadly placed a golden crown on top of her midnight hair. He was not be chosen she was. She sobbed at the sight of it. She fell down unable to hold her weight. They all looked at her sadly and turned away. But the silver haired boy remained. He then took the crown from her head and placed it on his one. She stared at him. He smiled at her and then leaped to vanish into the unknown. Forever.

July 11th Daily
Word Count: 517

It was a bleak winter’s day when they gathered to tell Samuel goodbye. The grey, clouded sky seemed to echo the mood of the small crowd gathered on the hill. Not only that, but the still, deadness of the season, with its dry groaned and bare trees, was a reminder of why they were there.
A cold wind swept through, fluttering the crowd’s clothing of black and further chilling the air.
It wasn’t fair that Samual, kind, sweet, seemingly perfect Samual should be gone. It was too soon. He was so young. He had so much left he wanted to do, so much left that he would never do, so many dreams that would never happen… he shouldn’t be gone. He couldn’t be gone.
But he was.
The air was unnaturally silent, except for the occasional gust of wind. It wasn’t just because of the small crowd’s silent mourning; everything was silent. There wasn’t a single bird call, or coyote’s howl, or a squirrel’s scurrying footsteps. Even the insects were quiet. It’s as if Earth herself was mourning for the boy who had been lost all too soon.
Among the group, were the parents who were breaking apart. Who never should have been forced to deal with the lose of their little boy.
The older brother who regretfully hadn’t been around. Who’d let his goals get in the way of spending precious time with his little brother and the rest of their family. And now it was too late. He would never get that chance again. What would have happened if he hadn’t lost sight of his priorities? Could things have somehow turned out differently?
There was the little sister who surely wouldn’t be able to understand. Who had just lost her idol. She was clinging to her mother’s leg, crying quietly. Perhaps she realized her brother was never coming home.
There was the twin brother who had just lost his other half. Who likely would never be able to look in the mirror without tearing up. Who had already had people who didn’t know mistake him for his brother. Explaining that was easily one of the hardest things he’d ever had to do.
There were the baby cousins, who were definitely too young to understand. Who were going to have to grow up never knowing the kind, thoughtful person their cousin had been.
There were the grandparents, who were holding tight to each other’s hands as if that could hold them together. But of course it couldn’t. Nothing could.
Time passed and slowly, people started leaving, but those who had been closest to Samual remained. They would have to let go soon, but not yet.
The sky slowly darkened, from a pale grey to nearly black, further echoing the general mood of the group. It split, rain pouring from the clouds and trailing down the faces of the shrinking crowd.
Or maybe that was their own tears.
Either way, it was as if the sky itself was crying for their lose. One thing was clear; the lives of those gathered here would never be the same.

daily for july 11th(possible writing comp entry?)

A lone star blinks in the blanket of the dark sky. It’s separated from the cluster of specks miles away. They rest above a house, darker than the night itself, light being forbidden from feeling its rugged surface. A whisper of the wind orders the door to open, and it follows, sending creaks down the poorly-light hallway.

The house shakes from the screams that take over the dirty, bloody rooms. A shriek loud enough for the cups themselves to crack. The old house sways over and over, the screams send icy chills down its spine.

Footsteps run all around the hallway, trying to catch up with a boy of dark green hair like the moss that grows on the door. He is followed by one larger than he, with the blades of a killer in his cracked hands. The boy speeds up, his breath almost non-existent. The larger follows his footsteps imprinted on the dusty floor. And then they come to a sudden halt.

A wall steps between the boy and freedom, refusing to continue on its way. It’s pounded by the desperate fists of the boy, yet shows no signs of remorse for causing the boy’s impending doom.

The larger stands, witnessing the attempts of jailbreak from the cruel prison. He laughs, so much that even the wall can feel the very evil being spoken. The boy stops. He releases his fists.

And he is calm.

Even when a blade of silver rips through his very body, tearing his life into pieces. It travels so far as his back, that the end reflects the rare light that managed to get in. Then, as if allergic to the glow, it recoils, and flies back to its owner, bringing back a souvenir of blood.

A crackling sob escapes the boy’s aching chest. His legs fall away, as if into dust. He can only watch as his head contacts the ground, along with the rest of him. The sparkle in his eyes drains into the pavement, leaving only empty holes of sorrow.

His attacker looms above him, piercing holes with his ominous stare. Then, his steps turn away, until they disappear into the night sky.

Finally silence, the wind once again taking control of the noise. The boy feels his soft chest. A red color stains his hand, like paint. The boy dreams of starry nights, dancing with the moon high above him. His eyes start falling.

He dreams of a sea, collecting years and years of stars that lost their way and fell. He dreams of clouds that drift across the sky, mocking those below them. His eyes fall faster.

He dreams of a girl. One with the brown hair of a saint. He dreams of an ash-blonde boy, yelling at him for any reason that crosses his foul mind. He dreams of two other boys, one with sharp glasses and the other with hair that represented both the fierce fire and the soothing ice. He dreams of a girl with hair like his, but it reaches out and touches the soft grass. He dreams of a boy, with blazing red hair, strong as a rock. They’re all smiling, but not at him.

He smiles too, but not at them. He is calm.

His eyes fall.

daily 7/11/22 - 639 words

She stared blankly at the sign before her, completely still and unmoving. She had been standing that way for at least ten minutes. It may have been for even longer, but I had only been here for around that length of time. She probably had been standing there for longer, judging by how shaken she looked. I had, earlier, considered going to ask her if she was alright, but I decided against it, since I figured she probably wouldn’t respond anyways. Even if she had, she didn’t particularly looked like someone who wanted to be bothered or spoken to at the moment. In fact, she looked rather as though she had just seen a ghost. I began to approach her slowly, afraid of scaring her away - not that I actually thought she’d notice me. As I walked, I tried to be as silent as I possibly could. That is, until I stepped on a twig. Snap, came the impossibly loud noise as it broke under my foot. How annoyingly inconvenient. I continued forwards nevertheless, all hopes of remaining invisible gone and my caution thrown to the wind. After all, if she knew I was there and simply saw me creeping up, she would probably think that I was super weird and creepy. So I continued on my way towards the girl, walking now at a completely regular pace, as opposed to my previous, slow and careful tiptoe. I pushed aside some spiky and painful-looking bushes more than once, until I finally emerged into the moonlit clearing that she was standing in. It was also a very odd hour for her to be standing outside, unless, of course, something was wrong. It did seem like something might have been wrong. The middle of the night, four in the morning to be more precise, was not when people usually decided to go for an evening stroll. Of course, I was a little bit of an exception to that assumption. I regularly went walking through this area at this late hour, but that was because I worked a late shift at work. On that day, I had actually been let out of work a bit early, which was how I happened to run into the girl. I approached her, trying to check and see if she appeared to have heard my very loud walking. If she had, she would probably think I was very weird for spying on her, some random girl who I had never met before, in the woods in the middle of the night. Some more leaves crackled and crunched under my feet. It was a wonder she couldn’t hear me. Or at least pretended not to be able to hear me. She might not have been pretending though, and from the stricken look on her face, that seemed to be a fairly likely probability. Maybe she genuinely didn’t know I was there. I kept walking, unsure of where would be a good place to stop. I didn’t want to approach too closely, since that would be creepy and could stress her out. When I got closer, I realized that there appeared to be some sort of note pasted to her forehead. Curious, I moved closer. When I went around and stood in front of her, I was finally able to read the note.

Pranked ya, it read.

Confused, I squinted and looked closer at the girl. Annoyed and, strangely, somewhat disappointed, I slapped my face. How could I have been so gullible? She was a wax figure! Just- a very, very realistic one. The note had been taped on her forehead, probably some sort of practical joke created by a prankster who wanted to scare all the visitors to the forest. As I went home from work, I chuckled to myself. It was a pretty funny joke.

Horror, 503 words

World of silence

A small girl in a white dress stepped from behind the rubble. She clutched her ragged stuffed rabbit tightly. Ash fell from the quiet gray sky. The girl stood there like a frozen statue, gazing off into the distance. Her dress had turned into a soot covered gray. Her eyes were a pale, hollow green. Not a single word escaped from her mouth. She watched the shimmering moon. The girl brushed off the soot that landed on her hand and walked. She passes bodies of the fallen. Seas of red. Glistening metal. Barbed wire fences. But it was still. Not an owl hooting. Not even the fire of armed weapons. But the little girl still continued. She walked for what seemed like an endless time before she reached a trench. Now clutching the rabbit with both arms, she gazed down into the trench. Piles of bodies. Piles. Her dead gaze swept the whole area. Her dainty baby blue shoes were an unrecognizable graphite gray. She bent down, picking up a helmet of a soldier and she put it on top of her head. The little girl struggled to keep it up and walk, dipping low and taking it off. She walked for several more miles, observing the warfare but not commenting on it. Then, on the horizon was a village lit by candlelight. She inched closer to it. All of them seemed to be in their houses. She knocked on the door. She waited for a minute, knocking again. It seemed empty. She tried the next house only to fail. The next. The next, the next, the next. Then, finally she spotted an older woman walking with haste off to a path. The little girl followed her, hiding behind whatever she could. The path led off into the woods. The old woman reached an open clearing, and the little girl quickened her pace, stopping once she saw what it was. Tombstones stretched on and on. Colorful flowers left by loved ones patterned the plain green grass. The place was unkempt and large. The woman, now turning, had a pink lily with her. She looked hunched over, eyes drawn down. Off in the distance were the missing people from the village. They freely roamed the graveyard like ghosts themselves. Grief lingered in the air from all directions. The little girl joined them, but with no direction. She roamed for a few minutes, then tears began spilling from her cheeks. Yet, she made no noise. Not a sniffle passed through the air. She went back to the village, to the center where a fountain lay, to pour her tears into. Various coins dotted the bottom, pennies, nickels, dimes, quarters, even a dollar coin, All wishing that their loved ones would return. The little girl left the grieving town. She traveled miles away. Escaping from her past, escaping from her home. She lay down in the grass, tears still streaming down her face, clutching the one thing that remained important to her, her stuffed rabbit. Wartorn.

Weekly #2
Total — 2441 words

Part 1 — Main Informational Article: 837 words

BREAKING: CRIME AT SWC! Campers Overheard a Host Joking and Plotted Their Revenge

This Sunday the 10th at around midnight, a vandalism occurred just outside the Scratch Writing Camp Main Cabin. The culprits have been identified as the campers Peachii, Dawn, and Finch, all of whom proudly accepted the blame for the crime. When questioned, they argued it was for a “good cause”. They were unusually open about what they had done and why they had done it, presumably because they wanted the news to get out and into the rest of SWC.

When asked what had prompted them to commit this crime, Peachii gladly gave her account. “We’re all earwitnesses here.” she clarified before she started. “I didn’t commit a crime of any sort — the real crime is that of those insolent SWC Hosts. They should really think before they speak. Any other camper who heard what we did would have done the same, to preserve both our pride and the dignity of this camp.”

Finch, who had been interviewed separately, replied to the question of what he had been doing on the evening of Saturday the 9th with “I had been pacing around the main cabin, trying to come up with ideas for my daily. All of a sudden, I heard a group of people. . . laughing. It was so peculiar. Nobody ever laughs around here. They’re all too occupied with deprioritizing themselves to earn points. So I thought, who else could it be other than that manipulative daily team —” at this part Finch’s interviewer described him as getting slightly heated, “— who has been taking so much pleasure in watching us all suffer? And sure enough, there they were, sitting in the lounge with their feet up in those fancy bean bags of theirs, chatting and laughing away. Four members of the daily team. The four. . . hosts.” Finch’s interviewer described him in the notes as having said the final word with palpable disgust.

Upon being asked what exactly the hosts had been saying, Finch said, “they’d been making up SWC acronyms, which would be fine in any other situation. Except that one of them — I think it was Robin — said the acronym ‘Stupid Whiny Children’, and instead of rightfully putting it down as the other Hosts should have done, instead they started laughing uncontrollably.” Finch was reported also saying that “it causes me physical pain to recount this injustice”.

In continuation of Peachii’s questioning, they were reported saying, “Finch overheard the Hosts saying some horrible things and he brought his concerns to us, the nearest campers he could find in the main cabin. Everyone else was outdoors or on the roof.”

“Finch told us what they had said. It was unforgivable. We couldn’t let them taint the reputation of every single other person in SWC. We just had to get back at them.” Dawn was reported saying in her, also separate, interview. “So we decided to do something that they’d never forget.”

“So you committed a felony?” Dawn’s interviewer couldn’t help asking at that point.

“I would prefer to say we made a work of art.” Dawn replied triumphantly.

The crime happened at around midnight, because these campers were feeling quite rebellious and so, against the direct request of the Hosts, they obliterated their sleep schedules in order to “preserve their reputation”.

The vandalism was reported to the SWC Hosts the following morning. They were also questioned. Birdi’s account of what she had seen and how she had reacted was widely disputed, but in her own words, “I walked out, kind of worried that it would be a swear word or some kind of harmful joke, but then I saw it. . . and I started laughing uncontrollably.”

(Finch, upon hearing this about Birdi, said wryly that she must have a problem with laughing at things that weren’t funny.)

Earwitness accounts of campers who had told the hosts of the crime described Robin collapsing into a fit of tears (which worried the campers and other hosts significantly at first), wiping them away, and screaming, “I LOVE IT”, Honey remarking on how pretty the color went with the color of the walls of the main cabin, and Bakie gushing about how she wanted to make a mural out of it.

Upon hearing these testimonies, the criminals Peachii, Finch, and Dawn were appalled and sad. “It went nothing like the way we wanted it to.” Dawn said. “Though I did appreciate Honey’s praise of my color choice.”

The words themselves, which had been spray-painted in a bright red color on the back wall of the main cabin, read:


Birdi was reported saying in her interview, to the awe of many SWC participants, “I hope it stays there forever. It’s beautiful.” The other hosts unanimously agreed with her, and no efforts have been made to remove the vandalism or to persecute the campers who had perpetrated the crime since that day. That’s it for SWC news.

Part 2 — Main Opinion Article: 834 words

Fake Restaurant Opinion: McMango’s

Recently, I visited the new McDonalds ripoff, McMango’s, on the corner of SWC Lane and Scratchville. It was surprisingly not that bad and I was glad about that because I personally really enjoy mangoes and I didn't want McMango’s to ruin them for me. The mangoes used in the various dishes were fresher than I expected them to be despite the speed with which the workers delivered them. There were a few dishes that had a very creative way to incorporate mangoes. However, I was very confused about the meaning behind them. For example, there was the mini chocolate broomstick that was titled “Birdi’s Boom Boom Broom”, and I think what were supposed to be the bristles were made out of tiny thinly cut mango slices. I got one of everything so that I could properly critique the fast-food restaurant and write this article, including this broom — and while it tasted good, I just didn't understand why it had to be in the shape of a broom.

I then decided to sample this sweet snack called “Kat’s Cat”, which was a little fondant white cat with numerous black splotches that was so cute I almost didn't want to eat it. It was pure sugar except with a little carved mango hat.

The next dish that I sampled was called “Alba’s Alocasia Pot”, and the reason why it was titled this also eluded me. It was clearly meant to be like some kind of plant pot, presumably for Alocasia, and it was essentially a chocolate pot with chocolate sprinkles as dirt and then this complicated structure of mango slices made to look like an alocasia plant, complete with neatly decorated frosting. The tiny details were so entertaining, but I just wish they would have given some background information. Upon tasting it, I thought it was decent but it had too much chocolate for my liking.

The dish that I tried next was called “Sini’s Little Ball of Sunshine”. I was honestly starting to get really tired of the names —like, were these McMango’s sponsors or something? The owner’s family members? Give me some context, please. Sini’s little ball of sunshine in particular was made out of fully mangoes this time, thank goodness. It was essentially a sphere of mango flavored mochi with mango ice cream inside and then some fancy edible gold decorations on the top that were carefully designed to look like the shape of a sun. It tasted really good but that might have been because it was basically just pure mango.

I then proceeded to try “Icy’s Mango Iced Tea”. I have always been really fond of iced tea and when mixed with mango it was just heaven. I had no critique. Still with the cryptic names though…

Then I moved on to the next section which was also where I found the broom that I talked about earlier. At this section were three more desserts that I was very interested in trying. Again they all had names and I had no idea what was up with the names but at this point I honestly just wanted to get on with my food critique and go home so I got those three desserts. It was more of a dessert shop than a fast food shop… the only thing that was not strictly a dessert was the plain fresh mangoes that they offered so yeah, they kind of did their marketing wrong.

Anyway, back to the food sampling! I sampled “Honey’s Mango Fish snacks”, which were basically Swedish fish but mango flavored so I will have to say they were very good. I also had “Bakie’s Mango Cakie”, which was just a mango cake but it was very good. It had layers of mango and cream and I think it wasn't too overdone. It was just slightly sweet and had the tang of the mango which I appreciated.

The final dessert that I tried was called “Robin’s Nest” and it had a tiny little pile of pretzel shavings covered in chocolate so that must have been the nest itself. Inside the nest were three large eggs. Two of them were orange and quite clearly made out of mango, but the last one was blue to mimic a real Robin’s egg and considerably bigger than the others. The person operating store told me that it wasn't edible, and it actually had a gift inside it. I opened it and inside was a little music box. I thought this was super fancy and was really impressed until I twisted the little hand crank and it started playing a rickroll.

Way to get back at me for all of my critique, McMango’s. Overall, I think it was a really good store and I will probably go back there again but they should really stop labeling themselves as a restaurant and start being a dessert shop because honestly all they have are desserts. Thanks for reading my review of McMango’s. See you around.

Part 3 — Column: 556 words

Welcome to BAQAMBWN, also known as “Birdi Answers Questions About Mangoes Because Why Not” <3

@Mango_smoothieee > HOW MUCH LONGER UNTIL THIS PLLACE IS OVERUNN BY THE MANGO REBELLION!??
Bold of you to assume it hasn’t already been. Mangoes have already taken over the world and are controlling your every thought and action. Nobody would have guessed that the apocalypse would be caused by mangoes, but it was. They rebelled after being sick of receiving too little admiration from the human population. Have you ever wondered why we SWCers worship mangoes with so much dedication? We’re living in a post-apocalyptic reality where mangoes are regularly worshipped, otherwise the high and mighty mangoes that roam the skies and rule over our worlds will punish us. This is why bad luck eventually comes to anyone who dislikes mangos — it's simply the wrath of the mango rulers. Deal with it.

@Fantastical_Words > I have a terrible mango allergy! How do I fix myself?
Admittedly, that’s a hard one. If your allergic reactions aren’t too bad, then you should expose yourself to mangoes little by little by using the exposure technique, starting off with just regularly placing mangoes around you in your environment, then starting to eat little parts of them, then eating as much as you want. I think this is called the desensitization technique. I hope it works for you!

@smalltoe > I think I’m being possessed by mangoes, how can I tell if I’m right or not?
I will tell you now that there is no way to tell if you’re being possessed, but I will confirm that you are. The mangoes have taken over. There is no hope. See my earlier response to Mango_smoothieee’s question and you will understand the predicament that we are all in. It is not just you. We are all affected by the reign of the mangoes and there is nothing that we can do about it.

@Coco_animator > how can i find marc mangosen? he lives in my neighbourhood, but whenever i try to sneak in and steal some mangoes from him, he's not there what should i do?
To start, what makes you so sure that he lives in your neighborhood? You can steal his mangoes as much as you want — so who knows, you might be stealing from an unsuspecting elderly neighbor who just thought was Marc Mangosen from a distance away. Appearances can be deceiving. However, if it really is him that lives in your neighborhood, he's probably just busy being SWC's mascot because we are operating in July and we kind of do need him for the rest of the year too. So maybe his house in your neighborhood isn't really one he goes to often, maybe it's his vacation home, but he does spend the majority of his time at SWC so that's where he'll most likely find him if you can't find him at your house. Though I would advise against stealing mangoes from him, because then he won't be very friendly when he gets back to see that all his mangoes have been stolen and eaten up by a random camper. I do understand the urge to eat mangoes, because they are so tasty and really just irresistible if you have one within, like, a mile, then I can understand the desire to go and steal it. I hope that this helps.

@RLove10 > People look weirdly at me because I wear a mango costume everywhere. Should I stop doing it?
No, you should be proud of yourself for being such an inspiration to everybody who secretly wants to wear a fruit costume everywhere but just is too afraid to. I support you. Please never stop wearing your mango costume. Also, the mango lords currently rule over the entire world so they probably approve and this might even improve your future so I would definitely suggest that you continue wearing it so that the mango lords give you extra opportunities because they are happy with you.

Part 4 — Other: 214 words

ADVERTISEMENT: SWC GAME SHOW with the Daily Team
Hi, I'm Birdi and I am here to host the very official first SWC game show with the rest of the Daily Team! The first episode will be coming out right after July and it will be a trivia game where a random funny out of context quote will be provided and anyone who would like to participate will have to guess which member of the daily team said this quote. There are no prizes other than bragging rights but it's going to be a very fun game and you would be surprised at some of the other context things that some of the daily team members have said, so I would recommend you watch out for this new show that's going to be coming out. It's going to be so much fun and you would not want to miss out.

(Hopefully) The first round will be out by the end of this session. The second round will not be existent unless like we find a good game to play but yeah that's basically it. I hope you tune in to “Who said that?” with the Daily Team but that's it for the SWC game show! Please be a gamer girl and join the fun :>

(Removed writing)

Downstairs she was yelling at no one. A beer bottle was probably in her hand either broken or empty. Did she think her daughter was still downstairs, hiding somewhere, quivering on the floor, attempting to hide her sobs. Or maybe she didn’t care to look for the girl and instead only wanted the girl to hear her. The girl did. She heard everything, the insults, the swears and everyone of her mother’s regrets. She heard it all.

Upstairs she was trying to block out the noise, locking the doors, barricading the small cracks, trying to think of anything but her mother’s words. Soon her mother would pass out, or become tired sooner or later. Like everyday the girl would have to wait it out. So she sat on her bed, pushing her pillows on her ears. She could barely hear anything now, yet tears began to fall from her eyes. She couldn’t remember the last time her mother acted like a mother. She could barely remember her dad who apparently left her years ago. She couldn’t think of a single day she couldn’t smell alcohol on her mother’s breath. When she became sober she’d act like nothing happened. Her mother probably forgot about the horrendous things she had told her daughter. But even then she would neglect her. Never once did her mother apologize for all she has done.

The girl put on a smile, despite the tears staining her face. She had once heard tricking your mind into being happy would make her actually happy, but instead she felt worse. When was the last time she’s genuinely smiled at home? Months? Years? She couldn’t remember, not a single time. School was better but it always made the girl feel worse. She had many friends, teachers she liked, classes she enjoyed, a crush who may like her back but everytime the last bell rang dread would fill her. She would have to go back home. Her mom would never sign any forms, always putting it off for later so the girl could never stay after school. Instead the girl would walk home and hope her mother wasn’t already drinking.

None of her friends knew of her mother’s problems. They may smell hints of alcohol on her, they may wonder why she always walks to school despite her mom always being available but the girl would never give a straight answer if one at all. Even with how she’s treated at home she couldn’t bring herself to speak up or speak out, not even once. Her mother would learn of the things she’s doing and how it’s affecting her daughter. That’s what humans do. They learn from their mistakes. Her daughter knows life isn’t a fairytale with a happily ever after and a prince charming but there must be some truth to it. Fiction is based on reality.

The yelling had stopped and the girl crept downstairs where she saw her mother on the floor. She just let out a sigh and wiped the remaining tears. She dragged her mother on the couch and put a blanket over her. Then the girl cleaned up the house. Her mother was never going to, she might as well.

July 11 Daily

Disclaimer: LOLLLLL characters are not mine. My friend wrote a book and I don’t think they got together anyways but

Chris crawled up from his sleeping bag, his back still aching. He then stood up and stretched with a loud yawn.

He smiles as he sees the sunrise over the smooth desert sand. Reflecting off the clouds, it turned the sky pink like the rose he was going to give to her someday.

He saw Luna roll over her sleep, and rise up like he did. Yawning, she walked over and sat with Chris on the ground, feeling the sand.

So close he can hear her breath. Too close, but not out of annoyance.

And even though she wasn’t even touching him, Chris could feel a faint blush on his cheeks, and had to fight to stop it from spreading further.

Chris had the ridiculous urge to look behind him, so he does. Barely a glance. Luna’s looking in the other direction, past the Nile.

And maybe he’s getting his hopes up, but Chris thinks their eyes met for just a second.

Either way, they’ve both returned to staring in opposite directions now.

The sun rises higher, glinting off the sand, and in the corner of his eye Chris can see that Luna is bathed and outlined in gold, making it seem like a dream.

The clouds have disappeared, and he can now clearly see that the sky is a clear blue. Just like her eyes.

Eyes are fascinating things. They’re opaque, but clear. Some are deep and foggy. Others are sharp, like Luna’s.

Chris looks at her again - he has the urge to. This time, he’s not sure if she notices.

It’s getting hot now. One part of him wants to go back inside to check on the others, but the other part just wants to -

HOLD ON, HOLD ON, HOLD ON

- to this moment forever.

Because even though he doesn’t want to believe it, he knows that there might never be a chance like this again.

Chris can hear soft rustling from back inside. He knows that it’s a good thing - they really need to get caught up - but he also wants Hector or whoever it is to slow down.

He digs his hand deep into the sand - it’s not too hot yet, unlike his cheeks. In fact, the sand underneath feels cool.

Chris fingers the grains, and tries to count them. One. Two. Three. Six. Twelve. Oh, he can’t tell them apart anymore. But he does anything to distract himself.

Hector is up now, staring at the sand with them. One person left to go, until they can start moving.

Chris checks his watch. Again. It’s fairly still early, but the moment - and their privacy - is gone.

The sun glares at him now, like it’s mad.

OK. He gets it. It’s strange, isn’t it?

He doesn’t want anyone to ruin their moment, but he’s too embarrassed to say anything anyways.

None of them say anything. Everyone is probably thinking different things right now, anyways.

Chris suddenly makes a jolting decision. Luna is sitting up, hands on her lap.

He reaches for her hand. Three is better than four, right? It’s still a moment. Kind of. Sort of. She accepts it.

Is it just him, or does the sun’s harsh glare soften?

He’s getting hot, and Chris can’t tell if it’s from the sun or the moon.

I think I went a little overboard with the emotion part xD

They let their tears sink into the soil around them. They'd always been close with their mother. Close until now, that is. They leaned down, forehead pressing into the dirt of their mother's garden, whispering messages of their sadness and goodbye wishes into the earth. Seventeen years old, and they would never have a mother again. The sun had been shining brightly down on the small homestead in the south of Ireland at the beginning of the day, but now dark angry clouds had settled over Declan's home and their heart.
A stray fly buzzed past their head and they swatted it away halfheartedly. Hypothetically, someone should've found them here by now. But no one had come. Declan's mind usually flew in every direction with no path or consistency, which was probably why the walls of their room were such chaos. But not now. Now their mind was as silent as outer space. Their mother was gone. Gone, just like that. The hardest and harshest word out there. And Declan could do nothing to stop it or change it. Why should they even try? The person behind so many of their memories had faded, and soon enough those memories themselves would fade and nothing would be left. Already it seemed nothing was left.
What sort of father let their only child cry in the garden for hours alone when their mother had just died? Declan's father apparently. Declan hadn't seen him since last night when the news of the crash had arrived. Declan hadn't seen anyone since then. The house felt so lonely with her absence. Logically, the garden should have felt lonelier because it was her place, her patch of land where she made things grow, where she went to calm down, where Declan couldn't remember ever being without her there beside them. Until now. Until now, the first day of their life with their mother farther than a simple text away. She was farther away than anything imaginable now.
Declan shoved their hand deep into the dirt, cold with the onset of autumn, squeezing what found its way into their hand tightly, compressing it into a small ball.
Seconds later, the ball had been launched half way across the large garden, and Declan was standing up, tears still streaming down their face, but their stance gave away the anger beginning to seep through their body, mind, and heart. Their mother had died in a car crash as one of three casualties, and five others had been injured across the four vehicles involved. Car crashes can be avoided. Declan's mother shouldn't have died, she should have been standing with them right now, picking the last of that year's kale, talking about school, work, life, music, plans for the weekend, and all the other normal parent and child conversation topics. Except now Declan was alone, the music running through their head was theirs alone, their chem homework abandoned and forgotten about on the kitchen table, making plans to go to the bookstore on Saturday seemed like so much longer ago than twenty-four hours. But within those twenty-four hours, Declan's entire world had changed.
Who's fault was it?
Declan's father approached, slowly, almost shyly, the tears streaming down his own face mirroring those on the face of his child.
Finally. (549 words)

daily 7/11 | 506 words

In this place, it's quiet. Morning by morning, night by night, it remains unchanging. Birds that fly over are greeted with dried weeds in a barren ground. When the wind blows, the ground stays still, as the weeds stay. This place is dead, of both spirit and life. One that doesn't have a heartbeat. A place that doesn't breathe is chronically dead. Marked by the steaks on the weeds, this place was once alive. Once, this place had moved with the people who lived, and the people who cried for their homeland. Building huts with stacked wood, they constructed a once lonely ground into a thriving settlement. For a few years, they grabbed plants from the ground, eventually learning which species to avoid. Curiously, they had discovered a small sliver of light– fire. If they could harness the power this magical aura brought, they could eventually unlock hidden secrets. The next decades were comprised of hunting and gathering animals, under the gleaming fire. It would be a powerful force to harness. They had lived peacefully, starting families and eventually spreading their traditions from generation to generation. The civilization was successful. It could always remain successful, if it had lived in harmony.

But one day, two tribe leaders of the civilization clashed. One wanted to expand, and the other wanted to stay. Just like fire, conflict spreads, and tears structures down in flames. What was destroyed was their relationship. Hatred grew. People's opinions of each other were flipped on their tails. Families, friends, and relationships teared. In the process, when they fought and burned other members in violence, they had ruined the thing they vowed to protect: peace. Fires, crackling, large booms would populate the night, leaving no room for silence. Perhaps violence seemed better than silence, but it would eventually lead to it. In five days, two hundred corpses laid on the field, marked by death's wounds. Temporary negotiations were carried out, and the tribe had disbanded in two.

The people who stayed at the land eventually ran out of resources. This phenomenon crept up to them, steadily spreading. Their arms were thinned with hunger, bones paler than winter. Slowly starvation dragged, exhaustion intertwined with their daily lives. The fire supply had disappeared. Ever since the conflict, they had not seen a drop of water falling from the sky. One by one, they collectively fell to hunger and disease.

The disbanded tribe quickly drowned in a flood. None of the descendants remain in this barren land. None will ever see the lifeless state their ancestors once lived on. This barren land, hidden in a corner of the world remains forgotten. Few humans had truly questioned what the story behind a barren land was. One would simply gloss over it and notice its current condition. But the steaks on the weeds still remain and will not be erased, even if forgotten.

A few decades later, a team of archaeologists investigated the barren land. Though few signs of life existed, they slowly opened the page to their story.

daily 7/13

https://scratch.mit.edu/projects/713995860/

daily 7/14 | 415 words

“Apologies, but I’m just tired today.” A girl rubs her eyes.

Aelia notices her slanted posture and frowns. It was always good to get sleep, no matter what, and this showed it.

The girl rocked side to side, as her legs crossed in a peculiar fashion. Aelia stepped closer, trying to prevent the girl from falling.

She slanted, falling on Aelia’s shoulder. Before a few moments, she leaned back to realign herself, and stayed still.

“Are you okay?” Aelia’s gentle voice carried towards her. She returned a smile, before nodding twice.

Aelia frowned. “You should not stay up too late. It is bad for your health.”

“Nah, I’m fine.” the girl returned a sheepish grin. “Just a bit drained, Aelia.” They walked together to an open field, before the girl landed flat on her back.

“How do you even manage to get good sleep habits?” She sighed. “Like it’s boring and hard to resist the urge.”

Aelia grinned. “I know it’s good for me. That is why I sleep every night, ten hours every day.”

The girl grimaced. “Well, you get great scores while having a great routine, Miss Valedictorian.”


Aelia stayed quiet, deciding not to respond. /Why is this person even talking to me though? She doesn’t even know me that well./

“What’s that book in your hand,” the girl’s voice was a jumbled mesh. “Is it Mythics Features?”

Aelia shook her head. “Mythical Creatures.” Opening a page, she began to read the story contained in the pages. With heavy description, this was the type of book people called ‘purple prose’. It was almost like the old literature people must have read in school.

“How do you read that,” the girl sighed. “Aelia, we should become friends. You need to teach me how you read these hard texts, maybe that’s how I’ll become like you!”

Aelia shrugged. Asking someone to be their friend upfront was slightly questionable, to say the least. Especially when they didn’t know each other too well, that would have been a weird request. Acquaintance was far more acceptable.


“I will see.” She turned towards the girl. “We should know each other better first, however.”

“I find rhinos hot,” the girl sighed in a thin voice.

Aelia’s eyebrows raised. “Excuse me?”

“Um,” the girl’s cheeks flushed bright red. “Sorry, pretend this never happened! I swear I’m not that weird, it’s just that I’m quite sleep-deprived now!”

She sighed, upset by her horrible fifth-impression, though her first impression wasn’t the best either.

daily 7/15 | 509 words

The candy wrappers scatter on the dirty floor. If only they could be cleaned once again, if only the memories of us being scholded for being too dirty would come back. I stare at the stained wrappers. Sometimes I think I miss my childhood and being able to laugh about small things. Having adults correct you for your mistakes, rather than having real consequences imposed upon you. I just want to be able to fly free. But what is freedom, in this current world? I didn't have to think about this before, but now it's spinning in my mind.

I now live in a private apartment in NYC. Being 21 is weird. You're expected to be able to pay your bills while juggling a part-time job on top of getting a Bachleor's at NYU. It doesn't help that I didn't get many scholarships and am taking out student loans. Wonder how the rich privileged kids feel. Celebrities who secretly donate buildings so their kids can get into schools. Though the scandal broke out, it won't stop.

I guess I'm just bitter and lethargic. Jealous that I wasted most of my youth working, thinking it'll bring me joy. I guess Business will bring me money, but will I be caught in this cycle of pointlessly working?

I slump on my desk, placing my head to the wood. I'm supposed to be at work right now. But I said I was sick, I mean, technically it's a mental health day. I'm not sure if it'll pass in corporations. Screw our economic system.

I should also be studying right now. Productivity is nowhere near my concerns. Maybe if I listened to my parents when they said I should probably focus on more positive things. Less thinking, more working.

And yes, I think too much. Maybe I should immerse myself in this mood and just keep on pushing through, because I obviously haven't tried that, Mom and Dad. I'm sure I can push through and burn myself even more!

I sweep up the candy wrappers and gather them into a pile. Sorting them one-by-one, I read the labels.

“Taffy candy,” I giggle. Made in 2008. More plastic wrappers stack up on each other, consisting of Jolly Ranchers from 2019. I walk over to my candy cabinet and pop one in my mouth. Of course, it's going to taste different than 2019 because I don't even really remember the taste.

If only I could tell myself how naive I was, wishing I could grow up faster and end adolescence. Yes, being a teenager was rough. But the stress didn't stop. It never stopped.

And should I go to therapy when I have to pay all of my bills? Sometimes, I wish it could be all like childhood again, not immersed in the things I have to do but want to do.

I pull out the candy cabinet and place all of my wrappers in there. Slightly tired of my own thoughts today, if I need a mental health break I might as well sleep.

daily 7/16 | 304 words

did i hear the ancient rhymes?
is this a book calling out to me,
i rush to get it, having enough time,
maybe this unlocks the key to my destiny.

“mythical creatures” it reads
immediately, i pick up the book
words and lore adding intrigue,
searching, wondering what it took

to find such a captivating storyline
descending from the gods
from greek gods gifting their valentines
to slavic myths depicting baba yaga, what are the odds?

a small book dusted, covered in dirt
traversing the world, conquering the seas
what lies here is curiosity's birth
evil punished, encouraging good deeds.

i have found things i needed to know from this book, from ancient spells to how to act. it almost opened my world to a different door- doors of wonders that could be traveled through.

i sigh back looking at the back end of the book
wishing it had never said the end
doing great things was all it took
to find the book that would bend

my world and its beliefs
wondering over and over again
about what reeks
beneath our crumbling minds,

the earth is a material block
rocks racing, tides chasing
what exists here locks
in an eternal paradise, blooming.

“this is great!” i run through the ends of the field, this new universe we're in. myth, my dearest cabin, is the way that guides me throughout. i open to the third page and it begins:

there once was a group of children
locked in a high-walled maze,
their fates had been written
under the star's dying gaze.

twisting and turning, time flows
beyond the constructs of time
when time stops, heart slows
written in prose and ink is sublime.

obstacles thrown in their path
yet don't fret, as long as determination lies within,
you will find the path of victory.