The jar isn’t clear, exactly. It’s translucent, the glass frosted over like an icy breath on a below freezing day. Or, perhaps more accurately, like a spray of sea foam brushing its breathless tendrils over the swollen surface of the glass. You can barely see past the thick, clear of fingerprinted marked glass in some spaces. The lid is a dented metal, snugly ensnaring the top of the jar with it’s ribbed spirals. Someone, a previous owner, perhaps, has pasted thick brown twine not all too neatly around the lid, with a small bow affixed on one side. The bow is all but covered by small pearls, shells and trails of sand that meander up and down the jar. It looks like someone sent the jar rolling down the coast, securing ample amounts of decoration as the jar went on its journey. I, being a technician, added wires- thinner than a hair, and almost invisible unless you’re looking for them- dotted with bright, warm lamps. Fairy lights. They’re simple, but they highlight the stunning features of the jar. It’s just frosted glass bedecked by rosy pink shells and pearlescent white pearls and shimmering golden sand, but it feels different somehow. Special. Like a golden sunset on a view you have seen too many times before.
Inside the jar, the slightly eerie feeling of mystical prescience continues, and the feeling of the beach spreads further. The base of the jar is layered over by golden sand, white sand, coarse sand, fine sand. These sediments are not intentional; they are the result of a trickle of beach slipping through the grasps of the collector. But they are not unwelcome in the jar. They have been accepted and embraced into the jar’s personality and feeling. In my humble, unwanted opinion, I like this. To me, it represents moving forwards, progression, acknowledgment, but without the steep, halting price of disregarding the past. It’s the best of both worlds. It’s in between, but still decidedly firm and without regard of the instability of the human world. It’s a sharp fragment of nature, confined but thriving, in the captivity of the jar.
Those items, inconsequential to some but a lifetime to others that lay upon the sand are the actual statement pieces of the jar, but they are not the focuses. In this mystical jar, nothing seems to outweigh the other, and all are balancing steadfastedly on a strange and unprecedented seesaw.
The rose-pink shells are in a variety of shapes. Some are never ending spirals, slicing deep into your consciousness. Some are fans, open and welcoming, inviting you to take a closer look. Some are misshapen. They are of no defined figure or form. Many collectors would throw such shells aside as deformities, of shards of a true piece of beauty, but I do not believe that is so. I think, subconsciously, these anomalies are why I took this jar, even though I am a humble engineer. The imperfection is beauty to me. I’m glad I got this jar.

Daily 7/15

“A forgotten sketch book, with ominous artworks creeping out to find their old creator.” - @-PeachiiStxr-

TW: This story is an attempt at horror, and while it is probably terribly written you should still proceed with caution. Do not read if this kind of writing frightens you easily.

Emery jolted awake.

She sat up in bed, her hands damp with clammy sweat. Her eyes darted around the room, searching for what had awoken her. There was the nightstand, the writing desk, the closet door. Everything was normal, where it was supposed to be. She leaned back against the headboard, slowly relaxing. It must have just been a frightening dream, or -

Thump.

Emery jumped, her heart rattling in her throat. The sound had come from the floor above her bedroom. The attic.

Creak.

Emery swung out of bed. Her feet brushed the cold bedroom floor and she shivered, flicking on the light switch. The lamp on her ceiling flared a dull white gold, chasing away the shadows.

Thump.

Emery rummaged through her nightstand drawer, pulling out a flashlight. The hallway outside her room was dark, the only sliver of light coming in through a small window. She switched on the flashlight, shining its beam across the floorboards.

Creak.

THUMP.

She jumped again, swallowing back the terror that had risen up in her throat. Heart hammering, she walked down the hall, stopping at the attic stairs. She shone the beam up the steps, listening for any noises.

All was silent.

She stood still for a few more seconds, then placed a foot on the stairs. Slowly, she made her way up to the attic. The door was closed, its handle glinting in the beam of her flashlight. Her hand shook as she turned the knob. The hinges squealed, pulling back to reveal a dark, dust-choked room.

Emery swung her flashlight around, searching for the source of all the creaks and thumps. Boxes and crates lined the walls, stacked unevenly in teetering piles. A draft blew in through the tiny back wall window, stirring her hair. Emery shivered. She really ought to get that thing fixed - the pane had had a tendency to get unstuck since she first bought the house.

Her flashlight beam landed on a crate in the far corner. Unlike the other boxes, it sat alone, not in a wobbling stack. She walked over, curious, and knelt on the dusty floorboards. Emery’s Art Stuff, read the crate’s Sharpie label. The letters were messy and uneven, written in a child’s sloppy hand. Emery opened the box, forgetting for a moment all about the reason she had come up here to begin with. Inside were stacks of old sketchbooks and pencils and watercolor sets. She gasped, running her fingers over the dusty art supplies. Emery Black was not an artist. She hadn’t picked up a drawing pencil in years. But once, such a very long time ago… Drawing had been her obsession as a child. She had pursued that passion throughout school and beyond, only to find that it is very hard to draw for a living and find any kind of success. She had found herself another job, one that could pay the bills, and art had slowly slipped to the back corners of her life. It was something she didn’t have time for, something of the past. Now she found herself wishing she hadn’t let go of the one thing that had made her happy, the one thing that made her whole.

Emery picked up the topmost sketchbook, flipping back the cover. A dog stared up at her from the page, all rough pencil lines and big, sorrowful eyes. She read the date that had been scribbled in the corner: a few days before her thirteenth birthday. She smiled, tracing the curve of the dog’s lean tail. Not bad at all, for a twelve-year old.

Then the still drawing stretched and blinked. The dog’s back muscles twitched as he rose, his graphite eyes piercing Emery’s.

She choked on her scream, dropping the sketchbook. It clattered to the ground with a sound like ripping paper. Emery scrambled back, her heart tripping over itself as she hurtled out of the attic. The door slammed behind her and she leaned against the wall, gasping. Her flashlight was still in the room, but she wasn’t about to go back in for it. The drawing - the drawing had come alive -

Something slithered beneath her feet. She looked down and nearly fainted. The dog from her sketchbook was there, only he wasn’t on the paper, he was in front of her, he was standing right there -

“Emery…” he hissed, his penciled teeth bared. “Emery… you abandoned me…”

“You abandoned us…” another voice whispered, and another sketchbook drawing slithered out from under the door. This one was a young girl, a portrait Emery had made of her sister. She had no legs, just a half torso that cut off where the paper had ended. “You abandoned us, and now you must pay…” Her graphite arms reached out, brushing Emery’s arm. “You must PAY…”

Emery wanted to move, but her limbs felt frozen in place. A chill had begun to seep across her skin where the drawing had touched her. More pencil sketches had appeared, and now they were surrounding her, their voices cold and whispery. “Emery… abandoned us… must paaaaayyyy…”

They were coming closer now, engulfing her, her own childhood creations about to end her. “Emery…”

Her scream lodged somewhere in her throat. Why did I give up art? Emery wondered. Why did I…

It was her last thought before the graphite shadows swallowed her whole.

Word count: 896

daily 15
(539 words)

“a literal scarlet letter. like, the letter is scarlet” - Shades-Of-Blue

Bridget was supposed to be organizing some bills and other various papers her mother had plopped down in front of her about an hour earlier, but she was tired of sorting through her moms growing collection of papers she couldn't just yet get rid of. Her mom was obsessive like that, she never wanted to throw anything away. Bridget had been stuck at home all summer during her mom's chores and she was sick and tired of it. She wanted to go out and do something fun. She wanted to go on an adventure. She sighed, she wished she could do something with her summer this year. It looked like it was just going to be another boring summer of staying at home longing to go back to school while all of her friends went off on cool vacations and traveled all over the world. When she and her friends went back to school they would brag nonstop about all of the cool adventures they had been on and all the amazing places they had seen. The only thing Bridget would have to share was her struggles with getting her dog ruby to take a bath. She sighed and went back to sorting the mail. She had started to doze off when she heard the doorbell ring. “I'll get it!” She shouted as she jolted up and hurried towards the door, eager for an excuse to stop sorting.

She opened her house's green wooden door to a man wearing a black cloak holding only a scarlet-colored envelope. His whole attire seemed a little suspicious especially during summer when it was like 90 degrees every day, but Bridgett shrugged it off and took the letter. She looked at the envelope. The flat side that typically had an address and name on it was blank. She flipped it over thinking maybe they had just made a mistake, but there was nothing on that side of the letter either. “Um sir..” Bridget began as she looked up from the envelope. “Are you sure this is our-” Bridget groaned, he had already made it halfway down the driveway. She started to run after him. He turned around and started to walk faster towards his car that was parked at the curb. She sprinted after him and grabbed his arm. He tore away from her and opened his car door. “Wait Bridget said,” still trying to catch her breath. “Are you sure this is addressed to us?” He paused and turned to her looking her in the eye.
“I'm sure.”
“But I don't understand how- I- Do you at least know who this is from.”
“Me.” He then shut his car door and began to drive off. Bridget stood there and watched as he rounded the corner and drove out of sight.

Bridgett sighed and decided to open the envelope to see if whatever was inside would hold any clue as to what the purpose of the letter was. The letter strangely wasn't taped or sealed in any way, the flap was just simply folded into the inside of the envelope. Bridgett took the flap out and shielded her eyes as a sudden flash of light coming from the inside of the envelope temporarily blinded her. Out of surprise, she dropped the envelope and it dropped to the ground. After a moment she decided it was safe to uncover her eyes. The strange flash of light was gone. She peered down at the envelope on the ground and cautiously moved to pick it up. She slowly reopened it. This time she could only see a faint light coming from the envelope. She grinned, now this was going to give her the adventure she had been craving.

The Gift

Main Cabin Daily, July 15th: July 15th is Give Something Away Day! In honor of this, comment a description of a strange object in your home that you would like to “give away” for someone else to use in a story. It could be anything, from an old newspaper clipping to a weird sculpture! Then, choose someone else’s object and write a short story where it is given some significance. Your story must be 500 words to earn 700 points, and if you share your writing, you can earn an extra 200 points!

560 words

“A palm-sized brown leather horse with miniscule details like tiny stirrups and fragile strands of leather for a mane and tail, lovingly handcrafted and sent from overseas” – @Aliana_Cantu

There was a knock at the door. A young woman jolted from her seat, where she had been tracing her fingers dreamily over the table, her mind lost in the clouds. The rush made her feel light-headed, and she gripped the edge of the table to keep her balance.

Another rap sounded, and she flinched again, anxiety and many other mixed emotions bubbling up inside her. She closed her eyes, fighting to compose herself. Just calm down, she ordered herself, trying to drown out the tiny voice that screamed at her to hurry.

Once her heartbeat had slowed, she made her way toward the other side of the room, where a knock sounded at the door for the third time. She peered through the window, and felt a stab of disappointment as she realized that the visitor was not who she had been expecting. Nevertheless, she reached for the latch and pulled the door open.

A messenger boy fidgeted in the doorway, evidently pleased that she had finally answered. “Message for you, Ma’am.”

He held out a small parcel wrapped in crinkled brown paper, with a golden envelope tied to the top. The woman smiled. “Thank you.”

As she took the package, she suddenly remembered something. “One moment,” she told the boy, before turning back inside. As she passed the table, she set the package and envelope gingerly down, but didn’t stop to give it a closer look. Not yet, at least.

She entered the storeroom, and rummaged around for a few moments. Then she found the bag she was looking for, and strode back toward the door.

“For your family,” she told the boy, handing him the bag of cookies that she had baked that morning. The boy nodded, his eyes and smile growing wide as he saw what was inside. “Thank you!” he called, racing off with his reward.

The young woman stood there for a few moments, watching him disappear down the hallway. Then she slid the door closed, smiling slightly, and turned her attention to the package she had gotten.

There was no sender name on the envelope, but as soon as she pulled out the letter, she knew who exactly had written it. Her eyes flicked hungrily over the paper, her heart light as she read the familiarly etched words.

After she had finished reading (and re-reading it), she clutched it to her chest and closed her eyes for a moment. Then she reached for the package, gently pulling apart the twine. After the small object had been fully unwrapped, her breath caught in her throat as she lifted it to the light.

The small leather figure nestled perfectly in the palm of her hand. It was a horse, complete with an intricately braided mane and tail, and a tiny leather saddle and stirrups. There was a sort of pull to it, and the young woman closed her eyes and concentrated. Her hands tingled, and as she breathed, she could feel energy running through the precious object.

When she opened her eyes, the little horse was glowing, every groove shining with blue light. As she inhaled, the light intensified, and as she exhaled, it dimmed.

He always sent the perfect gifts. She smiled, closing her eyes again to focus and forge the connection between herself and the small object. She would treasure the figure forever.

Main Cabin Weekly 2
Part 1: 802 words
Part 2​​: 820 words
Part 3: 530 words
Part 4: 201 words
Total: 2353 words

Part 1
Fake Crime: 802 words

Last night, a citizen of SWCountry was taken to court for breaking the guidelines set in the Mango Bill. This created a boiling outrage across the entire country, sparking protests against the bill that campers claimed was “unjust” and “unlawful”.
When asked about the case, authorities declined to comment, claiming that they were simply carrying out the commands of the tyrants and would not speak further on the matter. Many called them out for attempting to hide something; they were attacked with rotten mangoes as a form of rebellion against the Mango Bill when exiting the courtroom where the convict was being held. One guard stationed at the front of the courtroom said that this was a “disgusting form of showing aversion to the law”, explaining later that they “could have at least thrown good mangoes instead, those rotten ones were nasty, great technique though”.
If you haven’t heard already, the Mango Bill is a recent bill requiring every citizen to have at least fifty-two mangoes with them at all times. Many didn’t mind this law as SWCountrians were lovers of mangoes and often had more than this number on them just for snacking. The record for mangoes carried just in someone’s hands is eighty-seven, which had been carefully stacked up like a Jenga tower. However, few citizens had this ability and people had difficulty following the law during the adjustment period that the tyrants allowed. The government began selling mango backpacks, with room for up to sixty mangoes at once, for a hefty price; however, a price that was lower for that of bail for being arrested if you didn’t have enough mangoes. Citizens flocked to buying these in hopes of avoiding jail time, but some were angered and called out the government for using the bill to make money. These citizens were imprisoned inside a giant mango for speaking out.
The crime in question happened by accident. The woman who was taken to court had earlier brushed her own mango pack on the tyrants’ spiked fence, tearing a hole in the fabric. As she didn’t take it off for the rest of the day, she didn’t notice this. This is what caused the problem that led to her conviction: as she walked around all day, mangoes slowly dropped out of her pack and onto the ground until she was left with forty-two mangoes in the pack.
She passed by the courthouse around three o’clock in the afternoon, where guards stood outside. They noticed that her pack looked considerably more empty than it should and asked her to stop so that they could investigate to find out if their hunch was correct. As expected, she was nine mangoes away from the requirement, making her one of the first lawbreakers in the context of the Mango Bill. As onlookers watched, she was taken into the courthouse to face a trial.
“It’s scary, because it could have been any of us with holes in our mango packs,” said one of those who saw her being taken in.
“You’d think that they would have let her go with forty-two, seeing as that’s the answer to life, the universe, and everything,” explained another as he shrugged. “But no, they didn’t. I feel personally offended that this wasn’t acknowledged.”
The trial is currently ongoing in the Mangoey Courthouse. It is not open to visitors, but spectators are standing outside and giving commentary on what’s going on— if you’d like to watch this, you can find it on Channel 52 on the Fruity News Network. It’s unsure whether this broadcast is legal or not, so you should hurry if you want to catch it!
The hosts have been happy to comment on the matter. Birdi nearly dictated an entire essay to reporters who asked her for her view on the issue. However, the essay is questionable as it reused the line “Tyrants like mangoes” at least thirty-six times throughout. Some host sympathizers called it a “beautiful spoken word poem” that “utilized many SWC worthy techniques” and “really went directly to the heart” with its “tear-jerking lines and stanzas”. For the sake of the article length, we won’t detail the full essay here, but Channel 36 on the Fruity News Network is playing the full recording on repeat.
Robin was reported to have screamed “How could she?” before breaking down in tears on the floor in front of the courthouse. The co-hosts seemed to be generally more reasonable on the issue but agreed with Birdi that “Tyrants like mangoes”. While Birdi and Robin are currently working on restocking the quickly deplenishing mango stores (fifty-two mangoes for every citizen requires a lot of mango trees) Honey and Bakie will be watching the trial and potentially yelling at the judge during the course of it. Stay tuned on this issue!

Part 2
TV Show Review: 820 words
I meant to make this more interesting and coherent and funny in general but I did not have time to work that out </3

Last week, I watched the first season of the new reality TV show, Scratch Writing Combat. I have mixed opinions on it; while it was interesting, there seemed to be something missing.
The first episode introduces us to the Scratch Writing Combat Main Cabin, where the contestants, all participants in the widely popular Scratch Writing Camp, begin. Each of them had very distinct personalities; it was quite easy to tell that this had been set up by the producers of the show. This made me slightly less interested; but I continued to watch. Despite the overdone personas of the contestants, I was quickly roped in.
For those of you who haven’t gotten the chance to watch the show, the game is as follows: Thirty contestants, in pairs with each representing a cabin, have to earn as many points as possible. The bottom five cabins are all in danger of being eliminated; the other cabins vote on two to banish from the show. I think that the entire process could have been more intriguing, as this seemed like a regular classic reality show.
In the first episode— spoiler warning!— some cabins really racked up the points immediately. Moss, one of the myth representatives, was determined to get to the top. As I was rooting for Myth, I was quite pleased to see this. However, I was devastated when Thriller was eliminated. I understand that many of the cabins have personal grudges against Thriller, thus the common censoring of the cabin name, but I was disgusted to see this bias make its way into the show. It’s fair to dislike a certain cabin; it’s not fair to have that cabin start with an immediate disadvantage because of it. This was also the episode where Horror was eliminated, which made me unhappy as their neon costumes were such a bright part of the show. Literally.
I’ll move on to the next episodes now; once again, spoiler warning! I recommend that you watch the show yourself before reading this article. You can watch it on Hostios, or if you don’t have that, I’m sure it’s on all your favorite pirating websites.
In the second episode, Myth continued to stay in the lead. Though I was excited that this was happening, I was less than excited to see Sci-Fi coming up right behind them. Since Myth has ultimate superiority, I don’t think it’s quite fair that another cabin can compete with them for the top spot. This episode was quite boring. I found it overemphasized the Sci-Fi contestants saying that they would beat Myth, and underemphasized the Myth contestants girlbossing their way through all the challenges. I believe I would have appreciated it more had Thriller still been in the mix. In this episode, Non-Fi and Fairy Tales left the show, leaving eleven cabins left competing.
If I’m being honest, I didn’t enjoy the following two episodes. I thought they were quite mundane and repetitive. The third episode saw Fan-Fi and Mystery eliminated, and the fourth removed Dystopian and Script. Seven cabins remained, meaning more than half had been voted out. If you didn’t manage to keep track, these were Myth, Real-Fi, Poetry, Hi-Fi, Adventure, Fantasy, and Sci-Fi.
So the fifth episode had these seven cabins compete in a different way. They called it the Mango Showdown. It was a much needed energizer and I appreciated that it wasn’t the same thing over again. The Mango Showdown was a challenge in which the cabins needed to find hidden mangoes around the cabin. Sci-Fi lost a lot of their lead here, which I was happy to see. Contestants who found mangoes then needed to throw them at other contestants. The two pairs who did not find mangoes would have a huge disadvantage in the next episode, though the nature of this disadvantage wasn’t revealed. I found that this was a good technique for intrigue, as I immediately was excited to watch the next episode and find out. However, knowing this show didn’t do the best job at staying interesting, I was thoroughly surprised when the sixth episode forced the lower two pairs, Fantasy and Sci-Fi, to get a full night’s sleep.
This was a very SWC punishment and I was happy that they hadn’t ruined their moment of success. Fantasy and Sci-Fi were, predictably, eliminated in that round because they had just gotten so much sleep. This came down to the top five left over in the seventh episode, which was similar to the earlier ones, but with double points. I thought it was altogether an uncreative twist. Hi-Fi and Adventure were dropped here.
I was overjoyed to see Myth, Real-Fi, and Poetry make it into the top three of the show. I won’t give you any spoilers for the finale, but it was a rollercoaster! Overall, I did generally enjoy the show— but I think I could have done a better job setting it up.

Part 3
Tech: 530 words

The Antibroom has been booming— or should I say brooming— in the Scratch Writing Camp camper market recently. Birdi, one of the hosts of the coding-website-based organization, is notorious for wielding a broom against sleep deprived campers. The Antibroom, invented by horrorian Luna, defends against Birdi’s broom.
Sleep deprivation is common when it comes to the participants of Scratch Writing Camp. The widely popular cabin wars often see them staying up late to defend their cabin. However, even outside of the cabin wars event, campers have widely varying sleep schedules. Some regularly stay up until early hours of the morning, precisely what Birdi meant to fix with the creation of her broom. The broom can be used to bop people on the head, automatically forcing them to get a full night’s sleep. Many campers protested against this, as they saw it a violation of the human right to be sleep deprived. However, being the tyrant that she was, Birdi did not change her mind based on the protests and continued to use her broom against campers she thought deserved it.
Luna was one such camper, and after being bopped on the head one too many times, xe finally decided to come up with a way to counter these personal attacks. She reports that she “spent hours working on it, prototyping and testing, and I stayed up extremely late on most nights… sometimes was even broom-bopped while working on it, but this gave a perfect opportunity to test the product and know what changes to make.” After many weeks of working on it, she finally released it to the market.
Many campers were skeptical at first, as they had tried everything they could to escape Birdi’s broom. However, those who bought the Antibroom claimed “immediate and effective results”. Eventually, Luna was getting a lot of business from campers all across SWCountry. Birdi, horrified by this turn of events, banned them from being sold; but Luna transferred them to the black market and continued to distribute.
The workings of the Antibroom are, in fact, quite simple. It comes in a can, much like spray paint would, where you can press down on the nozzle to shoot. However, unlike spray paint, the contents inside are not liquid. Antibroom is a powder— an un-sweepable dust found on the highest mountains of the Scratch Writing Camp campus. When shot at Birdi’s broom, the broom will go insane trying to sweep the dust that is impossible to sweep, thus blocking it from bopping the user of the dust.
“The trick is timing,” Luna says. “It takes a bit of practice.”
Campers everywhere in SWCountry feel indebted to Luna. “She’s my idol!” one screamed, with tears gushing down their face. “Luna is cooler than the hosts!” another exclaimed, to which Birdi responded by bopping their head with her broom.
Luna plans to go on a product tour sometime before the next cabin wars take place, so stay tuned to find out if she’ll be visiting your cabin!
If you would like to buy a bottle of Antibroom, just go to your local black market. Stock is running out fast, so we recommend snagging some quick!

Part 4
Advertisement: 201 words

Hey there! Have you been going through your mornings with boring breakfasts? Have you had no energy throughout the day? Have you been way too bored lately? And lastly… do you love cereal? If the answer to all of those questions is yes, we’ve got just the thing for you. Hostios™ are one of the best breakfasts of the millennia. You’ll get an immediate energy boost and superiority complex. You can eat them straight, with milk, or crushed on top of any other food! They’re made with real, 100% organic, USDA certified, gluten-free, non-GMO hosts with no artificial flavors, colors, or preservatives.
Allergens: If you are allergic to screaming campers, elevated stress levels, an abundance of mangoes, tyranny, being a fairy, rubber ducks, Pacific Standard Time, or responsibility, please do not consume Hostios™.
Disclaimer: Keep in mind that you should use your Hostios​​™ before the (hypothetical) perishing date. We take no responsibility for any side effects you may receive by consuming Hostios™. We take no responsibility for any Scratch Writing Camp hosts who have gone missing since the beginning of the company. We do not promote the cooking of Scratch Writing Camp hosts, which, of course, we have not done. Obviously.

Daily #15 15/07/2022 Give Away

Description:
July 15th is Give Something Away Day! In honor of this, comment a description of a strange object in your home that you would like to “give away” for someone else to use in a story. It could be anything, from an old newspaper clipping to a weird sculpture! Then, choose someone else’s object and write a short story where it is given some significance. Your story must be 500 words to earn 700 points, and if you share your writing, you can earn an extra 200 points!

Prompt I chose (given by @_kittykay_): a pair of round glasses with a golden-brown frame, slightly scraped on the lenses
Prompt I gave (Claimed by @koolkatz38): A long blue bottle vase filled with daffodils



Cliera spins around as the soft clink of a coin hitting the pavement rings through the air. She instinctively whips her hand around to check her pocket, then rolls her eyes, feeling the empty space where a certain 2 dollars should be. She kneels down, reaching out to grab her little gold coin, stopping to watch it roll around, spinning before it comes to a complete stop and hits the gravel with a clink. Slowly, she bends over further, one hand pushing her hair back in an effort to stop it from falling into her face; the other picking up the little piece of metal. Fingers wrapping around the cool disk Cliera turns her head, looking up to smile at Claudie and Scarlet. She springs up into a standing position and quickens her pace to catch up with her friends. Claudie turns to her, impatiently, smiling a little. Claudie tilts her head, allowing the thin golden rim of her glasses to glow in direct sunlight. Cleiera looks up at her, but no smile can be returned, as she lifts her gaze Clieras face contorts with terror.

The hollow screech of car brakes rattles through the air, sending all but else into silence. Cliera
turns away and twists down into a crouch, her backpack weighing her over and pulling her onto her side. Face hitting the asphalt, as she lets out a gasp. Her hands slide over her head, acting on instinct, and she curls further into herself, watching helplessly as the gold coin, that seemed so important earlier slides out of her pocket and bounges along the ground with an inaudible clink. Everything seems to disconnect. She can’t see anyone, only peoples feet, frozen, and unmoving as they wait in terror, looking at what she can’t see. As crashing noise erupts, screaming through the air, and echoing in the silence now filled with screams. Cliera presses her hands against her ears, the noise so thunderingly loud that it snaps reality, splintering the air and freezing the world. Staying frozen as a rush of air filled with flecks of glass, and metal, passes over.



Everything rushes back, she lays floored for a moment longer, trembling as someone leans over her, helping her stand, as she scrambles up she sees scarlet, sitting down as a lady in her mid thirties leans over her, in an effort to comfort. Wincing at the bruises beginning to form and taking in rattling breaths, she stares at the blood dripping from her knees and hands. She shudders before realizing that someone is missing. Claudie is missing. Cliera shifts her gaze from scarlet, pushing the hand on her shoulder away and searching. Her eyes dart from side to side as she scans the ground frantically. Pieces of debris litter the concrete underfoot and the road to her side; good samaritans help people up. Still no Claudie. A boy who must have fallen off his bike starts to cry; she bites her lip, holding back her own sobs, but is unable to stop the silent tears. She spots something to her left, glowing, reflecting the light. She stands stunned, staring at the little pair of round glasses, the golden rimming unmistakeable even with the lenses scratched, and scuffed. and she knows that it's Cladies glasses that sit before her.

551 words

daily 15/7/2022 - 536 words

I wandered through the house that we were renting for the week, eyeing the decoration choices curiously. Almost everything in the house seemed to be an antique. I went into the room that my parents had informed me was mine to explore, and found a strange mirror hanging on the wall. Unlike everything else in the house, it seemed to be almost modern. Except, of course, for the giant crack running through the middle of it. That made it look much older than it probably actually was. I wondered who would want to keep a broken mirror hanging up in their house, and why they would do that. It looked like someone had tried to stick it back together using a sticker, which I found slightly funny. It was an amazing sticker though; a cartoonish mango wearing sunglasses. It truly didn’t fit the whole vibe of the house, but it gave the room a strange comforting feel, and I was not quite sure why. I did not know what the mirror was meant to be used for, since it seemed rather useless what with the incredibly long crack running right through the exact middle of it. I tapped it cautiously, wondering if it could maybe just be a cleverly hidden cabinet of some sort, but it did not really seem like it was. I tried pulling on it a few times just to be extra sure, but there was definitely nothing special about this mirror. At least it initially seemed to be that way. Until it was no longer ordinary. The mirror began to twist and swirl before my eyes, and I stared at it in shock and amazement. What was going on? And more importantly, how had no one noticed this before? Or maybe that was why the strange decoration had been left hanging on the wall of the room. Or maybe it was permanently stuck on the wall… I stopped myself from further speculation, since that was very unlikely. It was probably just the combination of a totally normal although strange looking mirror and a rather oddly coincidental trick of the light. Or perhaps I was just seeing things. After all, I had woken up far too early this morning, and it was already almost half past twelve in the morning. I could very easily just be experiencing a slight hallucination caused by a severe lack of sleep over the past few days. I blinked and rubbed my eyes a few times to get them to clear, but it still seemed to be swirling in front of me! I edged backwards nervously as I felt a strange vortex of wind appearing around me. Okay, now I definitely could not be making this up - it was totally and one hundred percent real. Okay, I thought, sighing deeply. I could do this, I knew I could. It was very simple, really, when I thought about it. I mean, I had to do a lot of thinking to come to that conclusion, but that was perfectly okay, right? There was nothing wrong with being a little slow. And I was fine. I had imagined the whole thing and really needed to get more sleep. The end.

weekly

Part 1 (modern AU!)
YOUNG GIRLS SOLVE THE CHOCOLATE CHIP SHORTAGE CRISIS
She twirled her rainbow lollipop in her mouth. A candy jar was on the desk, filled with lollies and stale hard candy. The yellowish dork board, filled with names, pictures, and lines drawn in red sat at the right of the room, hoisted up using push pins and glue. A phone with the number to her house and parents sat on her desk as well.
Ring ring! The phone started playing the Care Bears theme song, and she immediately picked it up.
“What ish it, cwient?”
“Sweetie, you’re late!” It was Daddy.
“The name’s Wea. Detectiwe Wea.”
“Lea, honey, get that lollipop out of your mouth! I can’t understand a word you’re saying.”
Reluctantly, Lea took the lollipop out.
“I’m five yeaws owd! I can hang ouwt by mysewf.”
“But—“
“Besides, what do you want from me?”
On Daddy’s end, Appa started shouting for help. Lea couldn’t exactly make out what he said, but immediately—
“Sorry sweetie, I have to go now, see you soon!” Daddy disconnected from the call, leaving Lea even more confused.
This was a mystery that required more than one person. Why Daddy wanted her to come in the first place, and why Appa was shouting for help. She decided the only reasonable approach was to call her detective arch nemesis. Fifteen year old Dawn Faye.
With brown hair with shimmering natural red streaks, Ms. Faye was very alluring. So much that she got all the detective business, leaving Lea with literally nothing. It definitely didn’t have to do with Dawn being older, wiser, and better at solving mysteries. When the best case you’ve ever had is finding your Daddy’s neon butterfly clips, you know something’s off.
Lea pulled out a UV pen and shined the light. Picking up her phone, Lea inputted in Dawn’s number. It was written in invisible ink on the bottom of her desk, for dire emergencies. Such as this. Impatiently, Lea waited for Dawn to pick up. After calling a second time, the connecting sound played.
“Um, hello?” Dawn seemed busy, but Lea didn’t exactly care.
“Hewo~”
“Oh, it’s you. Hii.”
“Hey, Dawwwwn…” Lea trailed off, sheepishly.
“Look, it’s come to everyone’s understanding that, well, you hate me. I don’t know why, but I know. So, what do you want?”
I don’t hate wou, Lea thought. Who said that?
Lea took a deep breath. This was it. “I—I need wour hewp.”
Dawn was quiet for a few seconds. Probably a bit surprised. It had been ages since she and Lea talked.
“Uh, okay. I don’t normally help five year olds, me being eight, but okayyy.”
“I wanna sowve a mystahwy.”
“What mystery?”
Lea had so many questions about what the mystery was, that she couldn’t pick one to explore. “Appa and Daddy.”
“Your parents? What’s the mystery?”
“They committed a cwime.”
“You’re joking.”
“They did, I can pwove it!”
“Well, what crime?”
“They didn’t add a wholwe cupo ob choco chips! Onwy a half!!”
“Oh. My. Gosh. That is the most serious crime E-V-E-R evah! We need to start gathering info asap. Do you have a lead?”
“Da cookies.” Lea pulled a unicorn shaped cookie with the head bitten off. “Wook, it don’t hab as many chips as usuwal.”
“That’s not exactly evidence. Was there anyone else at the scene of the crime?”
“Ya. Mrs. Crumble.”
“Okay, let’s talk to her.”
The two girls, remaining a distance of seven feet, walked toward the pale blue house. There, they rang the cookie shaped door bell.
“Hi, girls!” Mrs. Crumble grinned, as she welcomed the girls inside. Lea and Dawn placed their shoes on the shoe rack that sat on the porch, and walked inside.
“What can I do for you on this fine day? Oh, and Lea, your parents are watching some aesthetic decor videos on the couch.”
“Da Cookie Crime.” Lea said, standing her ground.
“Are you okay, sweetie?” Mrs. Crumble replied, placing the back of her hand on Lea’s forehead.
“Mrs. Crumble, don’t act like you didn’t see it.” Dawn scoffed rudely. She could be a bit sassy.
“See what though, honey?” Mrs. Crumble was very perplexed.
“The half cup of chocolate chips, obviously!”
“I–? What?”
Lea started crying, wailing, and screaming. “Waaaaaaa, the chipos!!!!”
Appa and Daddy rushed over, only to see Dawn on the floor, biting her fingers. “Girls, are you okay??”
Lea kicked and screeched. “YOU ONLY PUT A HALF CUP ON MY UNICORNS!!!”
Appa sat down and looked at both of them. “Can you please explain what happened?”
Lea sat on Appa’s lap and explained. Her unicorn’s lack of vitamin C (chocolate) was very very important, after all.
“Oh.” Daddy started to giggle.
“It’s not funny!” Dawn muttered.
“Lea, the chocolate is on the inside! It’s a creampuff, with chocolate cream. It’s very deflated though. That’s why you couldn’t see the chocolate too much!” Appa laughed.
Soon, all the adults started laughing hysterically, while Lea and Dawn walked off in a huff, their mystery solved.


Part 2:

SCRATCH PROGRAMMING - ARTICLE BY FAMOUS MANGO EATER TEN ALICORN
Scratch is a fun and interesting platform that encourages people to try coding even at a young age. Scratch has definitely made its way into my heart and I’m happy to be here, sharing my journey.
I started scratch when I was seven years old, and this is my fifth year! I love how it supports remix culture and the sharing of assets and code. When I was first starting out, I definitely remixed several projects (although most of them weren’t shared) and my beginning projects often had a Totoro sprite which I backpacked from a different project. I was also a major fan of Geometry Dash– and, Griffpatch made his own version! This inspired me to create my own Geometry Dash style project. I made it in 2.0, and it definitely broke, but I still remember the memories I made when I was first starting out. I know I still have so much to learn and do!
The Scratch interface is really easy to navigate, even for beginners! I was quickly able to find out what most buttons do, and how to find my projects, or the explore page. It’s also a very cutesy and childish display which makes me smile. Compared to other coding interfaces, Scratch’s makes me feel the most safe and comfortable trying new things. There are no error messages which scare the heck out of me or anything like that, and I’m very grateful for that.
Cute lil blocks! Scratch uses blocks instead of type out code, which is very convenient, especially for beginners to coding. It’s very simple; just drag and drop a block into the coding section! It’s easy and fun, but at the same time, these blocks are very good at teaching new things! They are categorized by color, which is very effective for me because I don’t forget where to find a block. I tend to get different things mixed up in python (I’m getting better!) but in scratch I rarely do.
Pop! Plink! Woosh! The sound effects in scratch are very fun to use. There are so so many effects to pick from for your projects. From loops to notes to just silly sounds, the options seem endless. What’s more is that you can record your own sounds, as well as edit them! The editing feature is very easy to use, providing almost effortless editing. You may also upload your own sounds or music, providing for a more customizable project. Using all of this, there are several ways to enhance your project. You can add music to the background of a project, maybe some Nintendo sound tracks for a Mario Kart inspired game, or a bit of soft and relaxing music for a cafe simulator.
The art interface! Not only can you choose premade costumes, but you can draw your own too! Some people, such as myself, have made art one of their top things to do in scatch! Even though the scratch art tools seem simple and minimal, you can use them to create very beautiful, high tech art. Don’t believe me? Look at Rosyda’s work! You don’t ne
Fun and easy to follow tutorials are very helpful, even if you aren’t a newbie! Scratch has a set of tutorials to make several different easy to customize projects. My personal favorite, all the way since I first started, has got to be the ‘Make It Fly’ tutorial. No joke, I have at least twenty ‘Make It Fly’ projects in my unshared section! There are many tutorials that cater to a lot of interests, such as story telling, game creation, and animation. The tutorials are also very simple and straightforward, making them easy for even younger scratch users.
The community on scratch really puts the cherry on top, for they’re the ones that so many of us find support in! I have made many good friends on scratch, who cheer me on even today! Why, I have friends from 2020! 2 years! These, and all my followers and aquaintances, keep pushing me on to strive to be even better at what I do. I used to make poorly coded with lazy art games, but now? I’m coding games all by myself, with better art! I’m also more comfortable on scratch, knowing that I have people to support me. And, it’s pretty simple to find people who share similar interests, for the most part. Try searching for studios that discuss your interests, or even just strike up a conversation. I’m sure you can find someone. ❤
Creativity is a major part of scratch. There are many premade costumes, an editor to create your own, sound effects, blocks, extension blocks, and so much more! I think that’s why people are still on scratch even when they’re in university, or have a job. It’s because there is so much room to grow and improve. There is so much more to create and explore. So why don’t YOU continue, or even start your scratch journey? Right now!

BREAKING NEWS: CELEBRITY MANGOTASIA AND POEMELLA BREAK UP?

“I just wasn’t feeling the vibe anymore,” says famous S-POP (SWC pop) singer Mangotasia. This little line of dialogue was heard by their bodyguard Papa-Ya while Mangotasia (MT) was on a phone call with, well, we don’t know. But, we have narrowed it down to a few fruits of the kingdom of Swiss Cheese. And by a few fruits, we mean one. Back to you, Chelsea.
Thank you, Darrel. And yes, we have been hearing about this sudden and unexpected breakup between the two. They seemed so devoted in their relationship, and now, boom, they’ve broken up. I did have a talk with PM about this, and they have quite the response. Here’s the talk I had with her, printed out for you all:
“Hi, Poemella!”
“Ohmahgosh heyyy Chelsea! What up yo?”
“Well, a bit of…well… how do I say this…”
“Just spill the spleens, Chels. What is it?”
“We heard you and Mangostasia broke up.”
“Ugh, honestly MT is being such a sore loserr. I don’t know anymore! Don’t all couples get into fights thoughhh…”
“Yeah, but, like. Not in your case, no.”
“Oh. I guess this is prettay serious. But okay.”
“So, who do you think Mangotasia has an eensy teensy crush on now?”
“Uh, gee, I dunno. I think we’re jumping to conclusions right now.”
“Fineee.”
Wow, Chelsea. It seems Poemella really truly doesn’t wanna gossip about Mangotasia.
Yeah, Darrel. It seems the two are really into their ‘friendship’ right now. I mean, I’m a gossip girl by heart!
Are you sure that they broke up, Chelsea? I dunno, gurl.
Yeah, they just don’t wanna make it public.
Okay, if you sayyyy so. It seems the kingdom of Swhuck—
You mean Swiss Cheese.
Yeah, sorry C. It seems Swiss Cheese is really against their breakup. We’ve seen at least thirty pieces of ship art in the last week!
Darrell, I think I know who MT secretly admires.
It’s not really a secret though- it’s probably Poeme-
Néon
Néon? I doubt it, C.
Well, our readers will find out next time, on the Gossipelle!
Uh, C?
Edward, you don’t need to call me C anymore. We’re off voice typing live. Just call me Martha like uszh.
Chelsea! You’ve spoiled everything! We haven’t reached the word count for this session of the Gossipelle!
Ooooops. Hehe. Let’s keep talking, I guess. We can always cut it off later!
IT’S LIVE FOR GOODNESS SAKE.
How can writing be live?
I dunno, C. Anyways, viewers, sorry for the voice break. Chelsea will be giving you all some of her theories about the ‘Breakup Bonanza’.
Thank you, Darrel. I think that this is just a staged thing so that Martin V Papa-ya can confess his unrequited love to Mangostasia. After all, I’m sure he hates Poemgranate with every seed in his pulp.
So several hundred seeds?
That’s right, D.
But their love is unrequited, so… What’s the point?
That’s it for today viewers. We’ll see you again on the next issue of the Gossipelle!
Uh, C? I think our boss just fired us.
Oh. Oops.

THE FORTUNE PIZZA - A READING BY CD.

Hello, young adepts. It is I, Chelsea.
Hello, simple children. I am Darrel.
Today, we have both come to read your horoscopes. We are not biased. We have unattached ourselves from the zodiac. We have a podcast on that in the links and credits down below. Please subscribe to our channel and click the notifications. Let us begin. Darrel, why don’t you read the first one?
Of course, madam Chelsea. Our first reading is for the… Aquarius. I shall contact the spirits immediately. Let me get my phone. I’ll go ahead and call them up.
NARRATOR: A few minutes passed, before the spirits answered.
Darrel, Whad’dya want? I’m on lunch break.
Frank! We’re broadcasting live right now!!!
Oh. KK. Uh, ~Hello, my handsome connoisseur.~
Hi, spirit!
~What would you like from me today?~
Could you please send me the horoscope readings for today via Whatsapp?
~Got it, oh precious child.~
Bye!!!
~Good day~
NARRATOR: Darrel and Chelsea, the fortune tellers, frantically scrolled through their phones, looking for the text. Chelsea’s phone made a plink sound, and she handed it to Darrel.
Thank you, Chelsea. Aquarius, here is your reading: Hello, quiet, friendly, and bubbly Aquarius. On August eleventh, you shall return to a place filled with maths, language arts, science, physical education, and more. You will be a bit lost in the huge place unless you go to the place and do a quick walkthrough of your schedule. Your sense of navigation is just awful.
Thank you Darrel, for that amazing reading. Pay attention, Aquarius! Next up, we have Pisces. Here is your reading: Hello, cute, silly, and shy Pisces. You will be going to the same place as the Aquarius. You both hope to have the same schedule, and I’m sure you will. Together, you both will brave the darkness of the mysterious place. I believe in you both whole heartedly. I do notice that you aren’t exactly trying your best in some subjects. Try to be a bit more studious if you would like straight As.
Alright, Chelsea, time for Aries: Hello, strong, funny, and pretty popular Aries. You too will be going to this strange place, but you will use your extroverted sense to help you swiftly branch out. I know you will make more friends. You can be a bit mischievous, which may get you into trouble with the supervisors. Try to be a bit more mature about those things, but still be a child. You only have so long to do that.
Okay, Darrel! Time for Taurus: Hello, adorable, helpful, and ambiverted Taurus! You will be going to a similar, but not exact place as the rest of the zodiac so far. You are very funny, but you too know how to keep calm, which helps you attract friends. I have noticed you do have anger attacks quite a bit, so try to stay cool and collected when something gets in your way.
Good work, Chelsea. Next, we have the Gemini: Hello, upstandinding, quirky, and selfless Gemini. You have good friends dating from several years back to help you get through the strange place so many of the zodiac are going to. You try your best and are very good and comforting people, which makes you a true friend. You have made friends with some new people, I see! Try to spend a little bit more time with your other friends, as they miss you very dearly.
Cool, Darrel! Next up, Cancer: Hello, interesting, sweet, and studious Cancer! You have been a very fun friend to your good pals, especially letting yourself free on Google Hangouts. You’re always up for a chat, but make sure to have time to do your homework from the strange place and other assignments. We have noticed that grades mean the world to you. Try to let lose a little bit, but still make sure to try your very best. You’re only going to seventh grade, so try to stay a bit more calm and less pressured.
Kay, Chelsea. Time for Leo: Hello, lovable, sincere, and happy Leo! You are very sweet and make people who are your friends comfortable with just a look at your smile. Your love for cats (very very huge love) makes you very interesting to talk to. We have noticed that you get embarrassed very quickly, which is a human quality, but try to let lose and spread your wings, instead of getting stuck by embarrassment.
Yas, Darrel! Virgo, you’re up: Hello, fashionable, athletic, and kind Virgo! You are very popular among everyone, and that popularity is definitely earned. You try your very hardest, work very hard, and are extremely friendly. You are very very perfect, but sometime it’s important to make mistakes, so why don’t you try something new? Any hobby is fine! We know you have the capability.
Thanks, Chelsea. Time for Libra: Hello, trendy, stylish, and affectionate Libra! You are very energetic and affable, and make your friends want to stay your friends! You do try your best to be the best student you can be. We have noticed that you can use some words that aren’t exactly the best (if you know what I mean) so try to tone down on those if possible as they can make people feel uncomfortable.
Cool, Darrel. Scorpio in the house: Hello, artistic, affable, and gentle Scorpio! You might be really shy, but your friends absolutely love you for who you are. Your rocking personality is seen by your friends, even if you don’t realize it. You are very empowering. We do notice that you don’t exactly participate in class, so maybe try working on that! Starting with little steps can be very helpful.
Thank you, Chelsea. Come on in, Sagittarius: Hello, fun, cutesy, and enthusiastic Sagittarius! As soon as people get to know you, your colorful personality bursts in their face (in a beautiful way)! You are very fun to hangout with, and your friends love to play games that involve chasing people, among other various things! We have noticed that sometimes you’re a bit picky, so maybe try to compromise with others in those situations.
Good work, Darrel! Finally, last but not least, we have Capricorn: Hello, ambitious, hardworking, and passionate Capricorn! You are very very hardworking and you want to keep your honor. You want to be a good child who fulfills their duty. You also can be a quirky but awesome friend when you feel like you can trust. You can be a bit stiff though, so try to loosen up, whether it’s going to get some boba with a friend or even just video chatting them. You’ve got this!
And that wraps up today’s episode of THE FORTUNE PIZZA! See ya next time!!
Narrator: Darrel sees a text message from Frank. He reads it in horror.
Uh, C? Frank just quit.
Oh. Oops.

My item: a pile of old children's books that haven't been opened in years. (Suggested by @Shadow-of-a-kitten)

Memories and dust clung to the thick, square cardboard pages, awkward in my now-grown hands. Blowing the dust off, gently, I wondered if the breath would disrupt the old ghosts that seemed to hover in the ancient, musty attic as well. I doubted it, frankly. A quick glance around the unpainted, rickety room, lit by a single, flickering bulb, would conjure up phantoms where there were none. The dark shadows seeped into the floorboards, their clinging so constant they would be hard to banish. In fact, it would seem wrong to.
Instead of lighting the flashlight I had brought up, I decided to make due with the prehistoric fluorescent lightbulb. Grabbing as many of the old children’s books, most of which I hadn’t touched in years, I walked closer to the unsteady light source and sat down on a crate full of who-knows-what.
Opening past the once-bright cover of the book, I began to read. The simple, playful phrases danced through my brain, familiar and distant at once.
Goodnight, Moon was set carefully on the growing stack of books beside me. I wasn’t sure why, but the books were fun to read, even though they were far easier than anything else I read. They brought back memories, moments of time I had forgotten but were now captured forever in that dust-ridden attic. Besides, once a book was set in front of me, I couldn’t help but read it. Technically I was looking for the first draft of my novel to compare with my most recent one, but, failing to find the box, I’d settle for this instead.
I picked the last one up and set it on my lap, studying the intricate and still bright cover. It had been hidden under the others and seemed as though it were stuffed away more recently by the meager coat of dust it wore by comparison with its brethren. It also looked like it belonged in a different box, to be honest. It had real paper in it, and the cover was frankly a little disturbing. I wouldn’t have shown it to three year-old me, at least.
The bright and disturbing cover stared back at me. A woman with pale skin and closed eyes, holding a needle. In her dreadfully thin arms was what looked like a cross between a rat and a rather demented teddy bear. Weird. Creepy.
Perhaps it was time to get out of that phantom-filled attic. I nervously scanned the walls, feeling as though spiders would begin pouring out the cracks. But nothing moved.
The cover, if strange, was also curious. It had no title or author name, nor was there one on the spine. No blurb was written over the back. Opening it, my curiosity getting the better of me, I was greeted by what should have been the title page. On it, in jagged cursive handwriting, was a slightly smudged signature.
Amelia H. Gomez. Or at least, I thought that was a G. Not only was I rusty on my cursive, but the handwriting wasn’t very good or legible.
With a shrug, I put the book with no title among the others.

525 words

Daily 7/15
568 words
Horror cabin

“a blue-and-white striped bookmark that i was gifted at the beijing airport by a college student from turkey who liked the fact that i wasn't illiterate (it has a pelican on the wheel of an old ship)”

My eyes half opened, I heard the loud buzzing of an alarm. I turned over and looked at the red glowing letters reading 3:45 am. My still waking mind took a few moments to process what it meant, but then I realized, I’m flying to China today! And I had 15 minutes before our cab came!
I looked over to my chair where a pair of joggers and a thin hoodie were, the outfit I had prepared the previous night. I quickly got dressed and checked my backpack. This was the flight of a lifetime, and it would take 12 hours. Still, my excitement peaked. I brushed my teeth, greeting my parents, who had been up for half an hour more than I was.
15 minutes came and went, and our cab luckily was on time. We rolled out our luggage and stuffed it in the back, me keeping my backpack with me. The drive was only paired with random pop music, but it was mostly silent, and I took some time to rest my eyes.
“Wake up, it’s time to go,” the voice of my mother said, and I rubbed my eyes to see that we were at the airport. I dragged myself out of the car. We weren’t running late for once, but nonetheless rushed through security. The line stretched all the way back into the random hallways by the elevators, and then back around.
I sighed, and could feel the gloomy mood reflected around me. The line was to be expected. Spring break was a big holiday after all. I opened up my phone and turned it on silent mode, playing some games on my phone, although airport wifi was not good enough to support any online games, and my data had almost run out.
Finally, we got through security with ease, and headed to one of the shops to pick up some breakfast sandwiches and a fruit cup. They were devoured as soon as we got to our gate. We were still a good 40 minutes early, so we had a bit of time before they would be boarding passengers.
I plugged my headphones into my phone and listened to some spotify while sketching in my sketchbook. I sketched out some faces and objects that I saw around the airport.
Then, “Now docking flight 362 to Bejing, China!” A loud announcement said.
We hopped up, boarding when it was our turn. I got in my seat, and well, to be honest, I sleep the whole time. We would have to adjust to timezones, so I saved up all of my energy.
In what felt for me like a blink of an eye, we landed down. As the passengers scurried out of the plane, admiring the beautiful country they were in, I was hungry, and my parents gave me some cash to go to a nearby restaurant.
The man asked what I would like in Chinese, and I gave him my order.
As I was going back, someone tapped on my shoulder and I turned around to look at them. They introduced themselves as a student from Turkey, and gave me a bookmark for being able to speak some basic Chinese. I thanked them, and was on my way back.
And that’s the story of how I received this bookmark of a pelican on the wheel of an old ship. It’s quite the memory!

July 15th Daily

Object: really old book

Is a book still a book if it can not be read?

I am still full of words, but no one can read them. I am still full of facts, but no one will know them.

Maybe one day scientists will ‘recover’ me. I am still a book. I am still full of words and knowledge.

I was made a long time ago. Why I was made, I still do not know. But I know that I was made.

Some people still open me up. What they see, I do not know. I am still full of words, but no one can read them.

Some say they see unicorns and fairies. Others say they see ancient knowledge. Most see what they wish for the most.

My first reader was long ago. By that time, I was already unreadable. He said he saw dragons, towers, and a princess that he knew he had to save.

“I wish there was someone out there,” he said to me once, “That I could save. Maybe then I could be happy forever.”

Halfway through, the story turned around and the princess died. He left after that.

I do believe there was a girl out there at that time who wished for a boy who could take her away, and she would be happy forever.

I never saw him again, but I like to think that he did meet a girl and lived happily ever after, just like all of the fairy-tales.

One slave boy saw a girl in a happy home.

“Wouldn’t it be nice to run away?” he said one day. He dripped blood on my pages.

Halfway through, the story turned around and the girl’s parents died. He left after that too - almost all of them did.

I like to think he did make it somewhere. Somewhere he could be happy.

I know you wish for something too. A companion? Are you lonely? Am I your companion? You need stories to pass the time. A friend to play with.

You are fighting for this story to not turn around too. Well. We can do one more.

One girl was very similar to you. She was lonely. She wanted a friend, and saw a friend in me.

She got what she wanted, for a few days.

The funny thing about making up your own story is that something bad always ends up happening. Like a dream.

Eventually, the story got mad at her and refused to tell her anything. The stories she tried to imagine did not make sense.

You do not want this story to do that. But let me tell you a little secret: do not be afraid to start over. Flip to the beginning. New stories will come.

I have words, but no one can read them. Some people have made up their own endings here. Happy endings. They can read me, so I am still a book.

Those who made their own endings made up the happy ending of their life.

Pete Vinoya was walking down the street, it was just an ordinary day for him when something caught his eye. He quickly glanced at the alleyway and saw something shiny. He leaned in to inspect it closer and discovered an old, broken blender. Shrugging, he picked it up. Maybe he could tinker with it. It would be cool to see how a blender worked. He brought it home and plugged it in. He might as well try it first. The blender whirred to life, then a clunk sounded and it died. He frowned. Well, at least he could use it for parts. He unplugged it and brought it to his garage. Inside the garage, there were hundreds of old machine parts and odds and ends. he carefully stepped around them until he reached an old work table. He gently place the blender on it, then switched on a light. He grabbed a screwdriver and flipped the blender over to reveal the bottom. He unscrewed the plate and placed it to the side. He stooped over, inspecting the inside. He started pulling things out then stopped and realized something. He ran over to a big, cloth-covered lump. He pulled off the tarp and revealed the machine underneath. He grabbed the blender and pulled parts out, tossing them carelessly aside. Having nothing but the frame of the blender left, he held the frame in one hand while he grabbed some loose wires hanging off the machine with the other hand. He connected them with the blender frame. Then he placed the frame on the top of the machine and grabbed a welding mask. With a blow torch, he welded the blender in place. Then, hurriedly removing his mask and tossing the blowtorch carelessly aside, he pressed a button and the machine came to life. It beeped and hummed, lighting up. Pete held his breath and slid the door open. He stepped inside and sat down in the single armchair. He shut the door and turned to a panel of buttons on the side of the wall. He punched in a few buttons then buckled himself in and waited. His grin faded into a frown when nothing happened. he was about to unbuckle when the machine shook. The quiet beeping grew louder and more rapid. Pete squeezed his eyes shut. It lasted about 30 seconds before stopping. Pete pried open one eye, then the other. He was still whole and in the machine. He unclenched his hands and shakily unbuckled. Punching a button, the door slid open. Pete gasped as he viewed his surrounding. A Plesiosaur was swimming in the ocean right in front of him. While a Pterodactyl flew high up above the machine. Pete couldn't believe his eyes. He had invented the world's first time machine! After years worth of work, he had done it! And all because of a broken down blender someone had abandoned in an alleyway. Pete hurriedly shut the door and punched 2022 into the time machine. He couldn't wait to share his invention with the world!

Main Cabin Daily 7/15
609 words

”postcard with a llama on it that I put in a white picture frame” from @shes-a-lady

The attic is dusty— far dustier that I would’ve hoped it to be at this point. I’ve cleaned it so often that the old duster is nearly falling apart. I know I’ll keep using it until all the feathers fall out and litter the creaking floorboards and masking-taped boxes, so why bother getting a new one?
I reach out and try to brush the dust away from behind a closed box, one I don’t remember the contents of. I’m not quite getting to the crack between the floor and the wall, so I stretch my arm out further. With a thud, and my hand stuck behind the box, I fall on it. The tape tears unpleasantly and the flaps cave in, so my elbow is resting on whatever’s been in there for the last five years. I withdraw my hand from where it was behind the box and stand up straight, brushing myself off.
I can’t help but be curious about what's actually inside the box, so I open the flaps outward, blinking rapidly to get the dust away from my eyes. Lying on top is a picture frame— one I know well. It’s from six years ago. The frame, once smooth and white, is now a gray splinter hazard. I rub the dust off of the glass in the center, even though there’s no point. I know exactly what’s inside.
It’s a picture of a llama. It’s actually a postcard, but anyone just looking at the front wouldn’t know that. I memorized the words on the back when I was twelve. ”Hey, sis. Just got to Peru. Tell Mom hi from me, if she’s not still on the verge of murdering me for up and leaving. I’m going to be living in the middle of nowhere, but here’s a phone number for a shop in the city. If you just say you want to leave a message for me, they’ll write it down for me to read next time I’m there. Hope middle school is fun. Love you.” Then there’s a phone number. I still haven’t forgotten a single digit.
I framed that postcard the minute I got it. I tried calling that number. No one picked up. I tried it for a week straight, I tried every digit that he could have miswritten, and I never got a response.
After four months I hid the frame in the attic. I never got another postcard.
I’m tempted, now, to dial again. The irony that today, six years later, I might get to leave him a message. I type in the numbers, watching each one flash as my finger hits it. Taking a deep breath, I hit the green button. The phone rings. And rings. The same sound I spent hours listening to with my fingers crossed when I was twelve.
This is dumb. I move to hit the “end call” button.
But then I don’t. I lay back, close my eyes, and cross my fingers. It rings. It rings. It— goes through?
“¿Hola?” comes a voice. “¿Le puedo ayudar en algo?”
I draw in a sharp breath. “Can I leave a message? For Nate? It’s Allie.”
The speaker switches languages, speaking slowly in a thick accent. “Nate, he…”
I’m suddenly worried. Is he okay? Is he dead?
“…is at the shop next door. I will bring him. You can talk. He always said you would call.”
“Thank you, sir.” I can feel my fingers trembling. After all these years. I wait in a deafening silence.
The phone crackles. “Al?”
“Nate!”
Three thousand and five hundred miles away, I can see his grin. “So, kid, how’s middle school going?”

Daily July 15

I yawned, looking at the clock. It was half past one. “I'd better sleep,” I told myself, blinking my eyes very fast for no reason whatsoever, and then tucking myself in bed.
Just as I was drifting off to bed, the doorbell rang, making me jerk so hard that I hurt my head. Lightly rubbing it, I took a deep breath and went to open the door. When I unlocked it, I saw nothing but a deep black blankness. There seemed to be no human being in sight. I took a step outside to see if anyone was standing. There was no one. How odd. As I was turning back, my ankle hit something hard. Rubbing my sore ankle, I kneeled down to see what it was. Two dolls? I didn't remember placing an order for two clowns!
Too tired to think much about it, I grabbed the dolls and tossed them on the table.
The next morning when i woke up, I decided to examine the dolls. I turned to my table, trying to find the two dolls. They weren't there, not even a single one of them. I remembered putting them on the table. So where had they gone? And how?
I searched around the whole house but I didn't see them.They were so well-hidden that I had no idea where it was. Those clown dolls were there last night! As I sat down to take a small break, I saw a surprising thing.
The clown dolls in the kitchen?
But how? I was sure last night it was on my table, so how had it reached all the way to the kitchen? Bewildered, I picked the dolls up and examined them. They have red, fluffy hair and clown-like eyes. It looked obvious they were jokers.
I looked around the dolls to see if there was something – anything – against on them, maybe a sticker, that gave away something about the sender. But no, there was nothing.
Not knowing what to do with them, I stashed them in my bookshelf and went to work.
When I came back, I was absolutely exhausted and surprised by what awaited me. The dolls were on the couch? How? I took a step back in fright, and my heart was pounding so loudly I could almost hear it. I closed my eyes, trembling with fear, and went inside. I gripped the couch slowly, and felt around the area for the dolls. But no, they were not there. I opened my eyes. Maybe I had just missed them. Alas, I had not, they were not there at all. I took quick breaths and blinked my eyes continuously, which I often did when I was tired or scared, and at that moment, I was both of those things, so my eyes were blinking extra fast. “I must throw those dolls away,” I told myself, getting up to start searching for them. That's when I found a note lying around. It said: “Good job. Now another person must face this fate,”
I was confused, but also really relieved of those dolls.

July 15th Daily
Word Count: 504

The shards of mirror were scattered across the floor, some still big enough to see yourself in, others glimmering like tiny pieces of glass. He took a breath. Had he just saw what he thought he saw? That couldn’t be possible, could it?
He couldn’t have seen his mother’s eyes. He couldn’t have. They must have been his own.
But they hadn’t looked like it…
He bent down and stared at the glass fragments. Cautiously, he reached out to touch one, dropping it instantly and snatching his hand back as a small trace of red trickling from it. He put his finger in his mouth, wincing. How was it fair that glass was so fragile yet so harmful?
The fragments of the glass mirror continued to glitter in the light, almost taunting him in a way. He thought about how the mirror had come to be in bits.
He’d been holding the mirror, staring into it. It was the only thing he had left of his mother. The only thing left of the person he loved most in the world who he was never going to see again.
At least, he wasn’t supposed to be able to see her.
But he had.
Or so he thought.
He’d been staring at the mirror, when suddenly he saw a pair of piercing green eyes, striking in the way only his mothers had been. He had been so shocked that he had dropped the mirror, and it had hit the floor, shattering into a countless number of pieces.
He knew he had to clean it up, but he still couldn’t get himself to. It was as if he was stuck, trapped staring at the remains of the last gift his mother had given him before her untimely death.
It really had been untimely. She never should have died, not yet. She had still been in her early 40s when she had gotten sick, leaving this world all too soon. Leaving her husband and son trying to fend for themselves and missing her terribly.
And, evidently, leaving her son hallucinating her likeness in mirrors.
But what if he hadn’t been? What if he had actually seen her eyes? What if somehow, someway, he could reach his mother through this mirror? He knew how impossible it sounded, knew the likeness was pretty much none. But it was still a chance. So how could he ignore it? How could he ignore it if it meant that he might, at the very least, be able to see her again? That seemed like such a small, simple thing, but he would have given anything for it.
Of course, there was still the possibility that if there had ever been a chance, it was gone now. What if by carelessly allowing the mirror to break, he had lost his only chance? He couldn’t bare the thought that his own clumsiness may have wrecked this.
And so he remained there, staring at the fragments of what was now a shattered mirror and nothing more.

Daily July 15

        I lay curled on my bed, the broken remnants of my past life scattered around my dark room. A sliver of sunlight cast onto my face from the crack in my curtains and I turned my head away, eyelashes still wet from last night's pain, raw and brutal and fleshy and unforgiving. Rouge and kohl melted on my face like candy left out in the sun for too long, and the silk from my prom dress clung to my starving figure like golden waves to a sinking ship. I followed the sun's rays with my eyes, watching it glint across my phone screen and, next to it, the pieces of broken glass across my floor, threatening anyone who tried to enter my room with the surety of bleeding pain and the struggle to walk for weeks.

        Events from last night flashed in my mind's eye. My voice was still raw from the screaming. I saw Sasha's vicious eyes, felt her stinging palm across my cheek. I bit my lip, another wave of sobs wracking my body. I had been.. the Queen. I had been the girl every guy wanted to be with and every girl wanted to be. I had been confident, I had been fierce, I had been proud.. I had been beautiful.

        I could still see the blood on my face, running down from my eye the day it happened. I had only been ten, naïve and confused and scared. I had thought I could hide it, thought no one would notice. In fact, most people didn't.. Until Sasha had showed them. She had showed them all, and she hadn't given it back even after. She still had my eye.

        I remember staring at myself in the mirror after once I got home.. The mirror that lay in shards on the ground, now.

        I rubbed my eye, sitting up on my bed and taking in a couple of trembling breaths. And what about Erin? What had she done? Whenever she saw all the cruel, heartless things Sasha had done to her, heard the things she called her, she had done.. nothing. She had only stood back and watched. I knew she was scared but.. it was Erin. I thought she would be better than Sasha. Better than me.

        I turned myself so that my feet hung off the bed, swaying beside my lace up golden heels. We had all picked out our shoes together. We had been so excited, giggling and gossiping about who we thought would ask us to prom, Sasha giving us cruel but honest tips about what would look the best on us, gossiping about Harrison and Nerris afterwards over sushi and salads.. Did I really mean that little to them?

        I let my feet touch the ground, hanging my head and closing my eyes. I had to get up eventually. This would not be the end of Tabii (with two i's). I sucked in a breath and pushed myself to my feet, surprised by how much strength it was taking me to just do the simplest task. I dragged myself over to the mirror and my phone, seeing that Erin had texted me, asking if we could talk. I pushed my phone away, picking up the shattered glass and trying to put it back together, catching glimpses of my fractured, broken face in the process.

        Once I had most of the pieces laying out like a puzzle before me, I looked at myself, feeling tears pool in my eyes. Whenever it had first happened, Erin had comforted me. She had told me that I only thought I was ugly. That I was still beautiful.

        Unable to contain my grief any longer, I let my head fall until it rested against the broken pieces, sobs shaking my hungry form. What had changed?

644 words

I shelved the boxes full of memories. I debated keeping them in the same place, so when she comes back home, they’d be just where they were left. That just made me feel like I was stuck in the past though, my daughter didn’t seem to care what happened to all her stuff. She’s in college, meeting new friends, partying, and studying, not thinking of her old toys and books she used to read.

I looked at the boxes, they were going to be collecting dust for months, probably even more. The idea of keeping some of her special items out tugged at my my but I shook them away. What would I even do with them? Play dress up? I sighed to myself, climbed down the ladder and closed the attic. Packing up all of her things really stole a lot of time, last time I checked it was bright, the sun high in the sky, now the house was dark and I needed to sleep. Maybe catching some Z’s would help clear my mind, or better give me an answer on what to do with this stuff. I can’t throw them away! Maybe some of the neighbor’s kids would like them.

I walked to my room and got on my bed, tossing a turning like Alexa did back when she was younger. I guess I’m not used to sleeping alone just yet. It didn’t feel this lonely when I lived alone back in college. Daryl, my husband flew to campus with Alexa, coincidently he also had business there and he’d be there for a week, maybe even longer. I glanced over at the clock, it was really late and Daryl is probably going to need to be awake for his meetings. I thought about reaching over to my phone to call him, just a short chat about what Alexa’s campus looks like or how his first few meetings went, but I didn’t. Instead I laid in bed and stared at the ceiling. I need to sleep anyway, I have work tomorrow too.

Then I heard a noise. It was small and distant, a laugh? No, It was sobbing, high pitched like a child. Then there was another, and another, and then they screamed.

“Who is that!” I yelled jolting up, but the noise was gone. Just my imagination, that noise was just a figment of my imagination, I repeated to myself, loneliness did affect the mind in weird ways, but it's only been two days. I’m not that desperate, am I? Then I heard the noise again. It was coming from the basement, people were in my house.

I grabbed my phone, turned on the flashlight and headed towards the noise. The noises got louder, fear and loneliness spilling out. When I reached below the attic door I hesitated until I heard whispering, quiet and scared.

“Alex… Where did you go? I-It's so dark in here. I’m cold.” It whimpered. Immediately I busted it open and climbed up, shining the light at the person that just said my daughter’s name. Except it wasn’t a person at all, I didn’t know what it was. They looked like doodles, somehow two dimensional, scribbles of what looked like crayons or markers. The things were all different, some were humanlike with scribbled on hair and clothes, while some were monsterish, not scary in any way, they were children doodles with tentacles and sharp teeth. All of them are more cute than creepy. And all of them were crying, until I popped in shining the light, then they all scurried back into a corner. All of them but the whispering one, the doodle that said Alexa’s name.

“Alexa… Come back… I’m scared.” It was neither a monster or human, but some kind of original creation. A light on her forehead, stick legs and a small tail, almost pixie like. She was green and light blue, the most well made of the doodles. Then I noticed the box I shelved was open, on the ground with a sketchbook opened on top. I stepped near it, causing all the doodle’s in the corner to step farther back, shaking. The sketch book was almost empty, except for one character, the pixie. She was on almost all the newer pages, smiling, laughing, sitting, flying, dancing.

The whole thing creeped me out. My mind was still racing, my heart thumping loudly in my chest and cold sweat dripping down my forehead. Despite all this, I pitied the creatures, the date on the sketch book was more than a decade ago, Alex must’ve never touched it since. I wasn’t going to get any sleep if they stayed up here, whispering and crying, so without even thinking, I kneeled down and held out my hands to them.

“Hello, I heard all of you crying up here, are you okay? I’m Ella, Alexa mom. Are you her drawings?” I said, trying my best to muster a smile. All of them stilled, fear still evident on their scribbled faces. Then I realized I still had my phone’s light flashing at them, so I quickly put it away and searched for the light switch, flicking it on and turning my phone off. “Is that better,” I asked and then went back to them and sat down.

They seemed to be a bit calmer, though still on edge. Then one of the doodles pushed through the small crowd. It looked like a dinosaur, bright red with pointed yellow eyes. It had sharp teeth and even sharper tail spikes, each on a different color of the rainbow. Its voice rough yet boyish as he yelled, “Where’s Alex, what did you do to her? She’s never been gone for so long before!” He waved his stick arms around and I had to stop myself from laughing. All the fear I used to have seemed to flow away.

“Alex has grown up and she’s gone somewhere far away. I’m sorry, don’t worry she’s safe,” I told them, and some of them burst into tears. The dinosaur frowned and started shaking. The weeping pixie didn’t seem to hear anything, still whispering to herself like she was before. I started to panic, I didn’t know how I thought they would react but it wasn’t like this. They were even louder than before.

“SHE ABANDONED US!”

“I THOUGHT SHE WOULD COME BACK!”

“WE WAITED SO LONG!”

They yelled. It was horrible. I don’t know how they’re alive or how they even got out of the book. But right now they felt like real people, with real emotions. I needed to cheer them up.

“No no no, she didn’t abandon you guys. She loved all of you. It’s just that– Well, humans grow up, and the sketchbook ran out of space, she couldn’t draw in it forever. I know how being lonely feels like, but don’t worry, you all have each other.

A few of them stopped crying, sniffling quietly. Then some ran up and hugged my arms, then more did. Soon all but the dinosaur were hugging some part of me, some crying or laughing into my arm, hand or leg. I couldn’t help but smile widely.

“You’re nice, just like Alex was. I guess that means you’re worthy of knowing my name. I’m Fang, the ruler of all dragons!” He hollered, though it was still high pitched, and forcefully raspy. He paused and mumbled something, his head down. Way less confident than just a second ago.

“Sorry what did you say? I couldn’t hear you, your majesty,” I giggled.

“I want a hug too!” He yelled, his face now a deep shade of pink. Apparently doodles could blush.

“What are you waiting for Fang?” I said, opening my arms wider. He jumped into me and I squeezed them all tightly. I never thought I’d be in my attic, in the middle of the night, hugging what used to be just crayons on a page. Yet somehow it's just what I needed and what everyone else seemed to need too. Fang squirmed out and cleared is throat..

“We should go back home now. Alex’s mom can’t hug you guys forever!” He said. I let go of them, and they let go of me. Well most, some held on, whining, until Fang pulled them off me. They began to say goodbye and jumped into the sketchbook. Some of them took more hugs and more convincing than others. Finally it was just fang left.

He stared into the almost full sketchbook and hesitated. Then he turned back to look at me. He jumped off the box, and towards me. He hugged, or at least tried to hug my face. I laughed, and slowly took him off and cupped him in my hand.

“You’ll visit us again right? I mean, you have to, this is a royal order!” He commanded, I laughed and set him aback on the box.

“Don’t worry, I will” I said gently and he smiled at me and jumped back into the sketchbook. Everyone was back in the sketch book. Then I heard a girl weeping. I had almost forgotten. The pixie was the only one left.

July 15 Daily: Piece of Petrified Wood
603 words

The wind stung my face as I trudged through the endless snow. Each step took more effort than the previous, like the snow was preventing us from going any further. The snow was like thick, hard, and mushy ice.
My eyes squinted to the surroundings ahead of me. So far, there was nothing in sight except for endless white plains. I couldn’t feel any part of my body. My fingers were numb and the color of frozen blueberries. My eyelids were layered with tiny snow particles making them feel heavy even though I wasn’t sleepy. My legs were in autopilot mode. They just kept putting one foot in front of the other, not caring about how frigid or tired they felt.
I reached for the piece of petrified wood through a pocket inside of my coat. I got it out and held it in my cold hands. If only I could find something that could be used to light it.
Suddenly, I spotted a dark, blurry shape in the distance through the wind and snow. As I got closer, I realized it was a small brown shack.
My heart started to feel a bit of hope. Does it have a fireplace? Will there be anything to eat?
I got to the wooden front door of the rickety shack and pushed it open, which barely took any effort.
The floor creaked as I stepped inside. My eyes caught a warm candlelight in the corner. The orange, subtle flames full of warmth and life. I stepped toward and was about to light the piece of petrified wood until I heard:
“Who do we got here?”
I jumped.
A small man with a beard stepped out of the darkness. He wore a black coat and leather shoes.
“Sorry,” the man said. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”
I stammered, still in shock.
“Uh- uh it’s fine.”
“What are you doing in the middle of these icy plains?”
“L-long story actually.”
The man headed to a cabinet and took out a paper sack with a sandwich inside. It took me a moment to realize how hungry I actually was.
The man followed my eyes to the sandwich.
“Hungry, huh?”
He tossed me the sandwich. I was already gulping it down before I got to say ‘thank you’.
Once my hunger was cured, I felt warm and full. My brain started to function again and all these questions popped in my head like an exploding popcorn machine.
“So what are you doing here?” I asked.
Before he could reply, his eyes darted to the petrified wood piece in my hands.
“Where'd you get that?” He asked.
“I just found it in the snow.”
He pointed to the wood, his face astonished.
“Do you even know how much they’re worth?”
I shook my head.
The man crouched in front of me.
“Listen kid, if you give me that wood, I will get you out of here to your home.”
That was a good deal. Just give a piece of wood to go home, but for some reason I felt a little reluctant to give that piece of wood. Something in that man’s eyes troubled me. His eyes looked fierce and full of hunger. On the other hand, I couldn’t wait to get home and out of this place that was turning me into an ice cube.
I gave him the wood.
He looked at it as if the whole world was in his hands. Then he looked at me and said,
“See ya.”
He went outside of the shack.
I ran after him screaming, “WAIT!”
He didn’t even look back.

Cobwebs lined up the walls, covering the ceiling, wrapping around objects littered around on the floor, heaped into piles, scattered on a retired old bed in the corner. The stairs creaked as Melanie climbed, stopping short in sight of the mess, a musty old smell circling up to her nose.
“Oh.”
“I know it’s a bit messy, dear,” her mother called from downstairs, the aroma from the kitchen swirling up and clashing with the stench from the attic. “Good luck, I know you can do it!”
“Yeah,” Melanie groaned halfheartedly, picking up an old sock in her way and flinging it downstairs, a dead beetle dropping out of it as it bounced down and landed at the bottom. “Ew,” she muttered, flinching as she trudged up and started to sweep the dusty floors, picking cobwebs with a wrinkled nose.
Twenty minutes later, she tromped down again, in her hands a small tin box, painted to look like a Japanese geisha, the face ghostly white with a creepy leer.
“Mom, do you need this?”
“Huh?” her mom turned, her eyes resting onto the box a second later. In a flurry of seconds, Melanie saw a flash of expressions cross her mother’s face- from flitting surprise, to bewilderment, which quickly transformed to fear, a twinge of pain, then recovered into indifference and a mask of confusion.
“Ah,” she said, her left eye twitching before she pulled it down with her hand and stopped it. “That.”
Melanie waited for her mom to continue.
“Yeah. Just- put it back. Leave it.”
Melanie pretended not to notice the way her eyes jumped around, her hand scratching her head, the way it did when she was lying. About something so big, it was too hard for her to hide it.
She raised her eyebrows slowly, then turned to walk away and up the stairs again, still holding the box.
“Mellie?”
Melanie turned. “Yes?”
“Don’t open it,” her mother said breathlessly, her hands now frantically wiping on her apron, even though they were clean and nice and dry. “Just ignore it.”
Melanie studied her mother, frowning. “Sure.”
But all this warning had on her was more fiery, burning curiosity, sparked by her mother’s frantic attempts to hide her fear and overly excessive reactions at it. It was like Pandora’s Box, causing her to become more curious, adding fire to the whole situation.
She walked over to the small table in the corner of the room, hidden behind the ashy furniture that covered everything else.
She looked at the box, thinking of her mother’s words.
Her hand wavered in midair, her fingers poised as if reaching out to touch the box, open the lid.
She put it back.
But not before she made a mental note to check it out later.
Downstairs, Melanie’s mother had her eyes closed, leaning against the counter for support while forcing herself to take deep, painful breaths.
It had still appeared, after all she had done to run away from it.
No matter what she had tried to do, she still couldn’t be able to run away from him.

Writing Competition Entry <3

621 Words

Bridget was supposed to be organizing some bills and other various papers her mother had plopped down in front of her about an hour earlier, but she was tired of sorting through her moms growing collection of papers she couldn't just yet get rid of. Her mom was obsessive like that, she never wanted to throw anything away. Bridget had been stuck at home all summer during her mom's chores and she was sick and tired of it. She wanted to go out and do something fun. She wanted to go on an adventure. She sighed, she wished she could do something with her summer this year. It looked like it was just going to be another boring summer of staying at home longing to go back to school while all of her friends went off on cool vacations and traveled all over the world. When she and her friends went back to school they would brag nonstop about all of the cool adventures they had been on and all the amazing places they had seen. The only thing Bridget would have to share was her struggles with getting her dog ruby to take a bath. She sighed and went back to sorting the mail. She had started to doze off when she heard the doorbell ring. “I'll get it!” She shouted as she jolted up and hurried towards the door, eager for an excuse to stop sorting.

She opened her house's green wooden door to a man wearing a black cloak holding only a scarlet-colored envelope. His whole attire seemed a little suspicious especially during summer when it was like 90 degrees every day, but Bridget shrugged it off and took the letter. She looked at the envelope. The flat side that typically had an address and name on it was blank. She flipped it over thinking maybe they had just made a mistake, but there was nothing on that side of the letter either. “Um, sir..” Bridget began as she looked up from the envelope. “Are you sure this is our-” Bridget groaned, he had already made it halfway down the driveway. She started to run after him. He turned around and started to walk faster towards his car which was parked at the curb. She sprinted after him and grabbed his arm. He tore away from her and opened his car door. “Wait Bridget said,” still trying to catch her breath. “Are you sure this is addressed to us?” He paused and turned to her looking her in the eye.
“I'm sure.”
“But I don't understand how- I- Do you at least know who this is from.”
“Me.” He then shut his car door and began to drive off. Bridget stood there and watched as he rounded the corner and drove out of sight.

Bridget sighed and decided to open the envelope to see if whatever was inside would hold any clue as to what the purpose of the letter was. The letter strangely wasn't taped or sealed in any way, the flap was just simply folded into the inside of the envelope. Bridget took the flap out and shielded her eyes as a sudden flash of light coming from the inside of the envelope temporarily blinded her. Out of surprise, she dropped the envelope and it dropped to the ground. After a moment she decided it was safe to uncover her eyes. The strange flash of light was gone. She peered down at the envelope on the ground and cautiously moved to pick it up. She slowly reopened it. This time she could only see a faint light coming from the envelope. She grinned, now this was going to give her the adventure she had been craving.