July 2022 SWC Writing Megathread

Magnolia012

Daily:

Based on The Wizard of Oz

Modern day -

In a farmhouse in Kansas was a girl named Dorthy and her dog, Toto. She had long blond hair, stunning blue eyes, and was one of the smartest girls in her neighborhood. However, all of her bubbly personality drained from her very soul by the move of her dear friend Delilah. Delilah had moved to New York, the state they both dream of living together, but their dreams seemed to be hopeless. With Dorthy in Kansas and Delilah in New York, it seemed that keeping their friendship would be terribly difficult.
“Oh dear Delilah, what will we do without one another?” Dorthy had said before Delilah left.
Dorthy looked out into the farm, and saw Uncle Henry in the pastures, shearing the sheep. Next to the pastures, the horses were in the stables, waiting patiently for their breakfast of grain. The chickens were in their coop, and the cows were lazily lounging in the fields. Downstairs, was Aunt Em, busily bustling in the kitchen, making lunch, and cleaning up the remnants of their breakfast. Toto licked her hand.
Dorthy was bored out of her mind, and plopped down on her bed and laid there, closing her eyes.
Suddenly, there was a buzz in her pocket and soon, the soundtrack “Raging Love” started to play. Quickly, Dorthy got her phone, and saw that it was Delilah.
“Hello?” she joked, “Who may you be?”
“I am your acquaintance, Delilah, have you forgotten me already?” she responded.
Dorthy laughed hard.
“Of course not! I've been thinking about you!”
“Great! I was too. I really missed you… Alright, alright, down to business,” Delilah said,
“It's Cabin Wars!”
“Aaaggghhh, really?” Dorthy cried, “I need to go then! Thanks for reminding me!”
“No problem!” Delilah said, and hung up.

“Aunt Em! Aunt Em!” Dorthy yelled as she went downstairs, “It's Cabin Wars, can I use the computer?”
“Sure thing, Dorthy,” Aunt Em responded.

Dorthy rushed up to her Aunt and Uncle's bedroom, and turned on the computer. She logged on to Scratch. Delilah was right! It was Cabin Wars!

“Toto!” she yelled, and soon came the small Yorkshire Terrier.

As Dorthy stroked Toto's fur occasionally, she started to write her share of 1,000 words. However, during her last ten words, she could hear Aunt Em call for her very hurriely.

“Dorthy, the twister they predicted would come next week is coming, now! Get into the storm cellar!”

It was a sudden twist of events, and Dorthy quickly typed her last words and rushed downstairs. Uncle Henry and Aunt Em were both there, and opened the hatch leading to the cellar. But Dorthy realized something: She had forgotten to press save. Unconsciously, she raced back to her Aunt and Uncle's bedroom, Toto following behind her.
“Get back here Dorthy!” Both Aunt Em and Uncle Henry cried.
“It will only be a second!” she yelled back.

Just as she clicked save, she felt a strong gust of wind blowing through the windows. In fear, she sat down and cowarded behind her bed. Toto barked loudly, and soon after, Dorthy found herself on the other side of the room, and the house in the air. The house dived up and down, and Dorthy held onto Toto tight. Minutes later there was a thump, everything stopped. Dorthy opened her eyes, and stood up. She gazed out the window, and yelped in shock. She wasn't in Kansas anymore, but instead in a green forest.

“Welcome to SWC!” someone yelled.

***Notes

For the ones critiquing this, can you please suggest how to better write the dialogue, and how to transition the twister a little bit smoother?

Last edited by Magnolia012 (July 19, 2022 15:04:38)

mossflower29

Moss and the Maze

A retelling of Jack and the Beanstalk

Featuring @mossflower29, @-redredrobin-, @RLove10, the kind Fan-Fi, and the horrible Sci-Fi

Once upon a time, a girl named Moss lived with two of her friends, Robin and Re, in a cabin on a small farm. Moss went out one day at the request of Re to sell the farm's only remaining animal, George the Unicorn.
As Moss led George to the market, he looked back sadly. Each one of his three heads sent a sorrowful whinny towards Robin and Re, which made quite a racket.
Soon, the duo arrived at the market and found a shady-looking girl leaning against a wall. She was holding something in her hands.
“What do you have?” Moss asked, leading George over to her.
“I'd give it to you,” she said, “in exchange for him.” She pointed at George.
“Oh, okay!” Moss said cheerfully, handing the girl George's lead.
In return, the girl poured a handful of seeds into Moss's hand. She pushed a strand of turquoise and purple hair out of her eyes. “Enjoy,” she said, then disappeared into the shadows.
Moss shrugged, stuffed the seeds into her pocket, and skipped back home.
When she arrived back at the cabin, Re and Robin were shocked.
“In exchange for George-” Re gasped.
“You got SEEDS?!” Robin yelled.
“Yep!” Moss grinned, taking the seeds out of her pocket and showing them to her friends.
Robin grabbed the seeds and threw them out of the window.
Moss was very sad and decided to go to bed.
The next morning, Moss woke up and looked out the window. But she couldn't see anything; the view was completely obscured by thick ivy!
Moss walked outside, not bothering to wake up Robin or Re. When she got outside, she saw that a huge maze had grown from her seeds overnight!
She walked into the maze, immediately spotting a small hut, in which lived a giant and his wife.
Moss skipped into the house, happy to find the giant's wife, the friendly Fan-Fi.
“I'm really hungry, Miss Fan-Fi!” Moss yelled up at her, voice barely making it to her ears. “Could you please give me some food?”
The kind wife handed Moss some gluten-free cookies, which she ate happily.
While Moss was munching at a cookie, the giant, Sci-Fi, returned.
Sci-Fi held a massive computer in one hand and was typing away at it with the other.
“Moss out!” Moss yelled, slamming the door of the hut and running away, taking a rather large sack of Sci-Fi's mangoes with her.
As Moss left the giant's house, she found herself lost in the ivy-covered maze. Walking through it, she encountered all manner of monsters, but, luckily, she escaped unharmed.
Moss walked out of the maze, still lugging her bag of mangoes.
She walked back into the house, where Re and Robin had been waiting for her.
“Where were you?” Re asked.
In response, Moss just shrugged. She dumped out the mangoes on their floor.
Moss, Robin, and Re ate Sci-Fi's mangoes—even though they tasted much worse than the ones they grew on their farm—and, from then on, lived happily ever after.

Wishingdeer

July 18

Word Count: 516

Once upon a time, in a land far, far away…
Well, not too far away. Not if you know where to look, that is. It was a land just beyond the Enchanted Wood, to the north of the Fairy Lands, and best the Mysterious Swamp. That was where, you see, that was where Scratch Writing Camp resided, providing a place to stay for many aspiring authors. Perhaps you've heard of it?
In any case, it was a normal day in Scratch Writing Camp. The mostly sleep deprived writers were writing -or talking to each other while procrastinating to do so- the dailies, weeklies and other challenges were being fulfilled, and the mangos eaten. All was in order.
That is, except for a curious girl, who was snooping where she shouldn't be. She was wearing a simple sky blue dress, with a white apron tied around her waist. She had bright, sparkling blue eyes that gave away her curious nature, pale skin with a dash of freckles over her nose, and long, curly hair of a golden blonde hue, so it shouldn't be much of a surprise that her name was Goldilocks.
“Oh my, I wonder what this could be,” she said, while out walking through camp, coming upon a small cottage in Fantasy's section of camp. It was rather quaint, likely meant for less than a handful of occupants, and was in fairly good condition.
“I think I will knock on the door,” Goldilocks said to herself. “I would like to know who lives here.”
And so she knocked on the door, but no one answered. So she knocked again. Still no answer.
So, she did the only logical thing to do.
She tried the handle. It was unlocked. So, of course, she pushed her way inside.
I told you she was snooping where she shouldn't be.
Goldilocks entered the cottage and looked around. There were three mangos sitting in bowls on a small wooden table.
“Oh, I just love mangos!” Goldilocks exclaimed, going over and sitting on a chair near the table, immediately sinking into the cushioning,
“Oh dear me, this chair is too soft,” She complained, then moved to a different chair, which was hard as a rock.
“Well, this won't do either, now will it?”
She moved to the last chair, which was, as she declared it aloud “Just right!”
“Now, to have some yummy mangos!” She rubbed her hands together.
She took a bite of the first mango, and immediately spit it out.
“This mango is too sour!” She took a bite of the next mango and made a face.
“This mango is too sweet!”
She took a bite of the third and final mango and grinned, then sighed contentedly.
“This mango is just right!”
Let this be a lesson to you: no matter how much writing you have to do, no matter how far behind you are on the weeklies and dailies, no matter how sleep deprived you happen to be, or how much you feel like procrastinating, always always always lock your doors, least Goldilocks come and steal your mangos.

honeybreeze

Daily July 18 - SWC Fairy Tales
4000 words
ignore the giant plothole please

Hard times had been falling upon SWC for months. Point adding went slower than ever in the Main Cabin, with some campers waiting days for their points to be added. Many campers had severe and highly contagious cases of Writers’ Block. The cute word-eating monsters that lived in the woods surrounding SWC kept sneaking into the cabins and eating people’s writing. The Hosts were desperate to keep up the camp’s morale. They had began setting off fireworks every night, but it kept the campers awake and for once, they wanted to sleep.
“At least they’re sleeping early,” Birdi moaned.
“But no one is writing,” Robin complained.
“I haven’t written in ten days,” Honey whined.
“I haven’t written in eleven!” Bakie wailed.
At their most recent meeting, the cabin leaders had discussed how to get their campers to write.
“We could bribe them with mangoes,” Kenna suggested.
“Anon we shall have not even one mango, for the mango trees are dying!” Lio argued.
Luna’s stomach growled. “We need to make the mangoes last.”
Birdi let out a small laugh before catching herself. She frowned. “This is tragic. Our camp is burning to the ground and we have no mangoes to console ourselves with.”
The leaders could have sworn they heard a small laugh accompanied by crackling sparks and the strumming of a ukulele.
“I miss Alba,” Kenna remarked.
Slow nods rippled around the table.
Alba had been well-loved as a Host of SWC before she had mysteriously vanished. Some speculated that she had been eaten by the writer-eating wolves in the woods. Others wondered if she had run away, overwhelmed with the stress of hosting. They still sang her songs around the campfire.
After a long moment of silence, Addie yawned. “Can we go to bed now?”
The Hosts watched the leaders file out of the Main Cabin and then went upstairs.

Lio returned to their cabin to find their campers fast asleep. They settled down in bed, but the sound of paper being chewed kept them awake. They knew it had to be the word-eating monsters, but was it worth it to get out of bed and chase them off? The cabins were all in shambles, so a few thousand words gone missing wouldn’t hurt. Soon, the gnawing blended into the other nighttime sounds, and they drifted off to sleep.

The next morning, they were awakened by their campers’ worried voices.
“We only have 36 mangoes left,” one voice said.
“We’re all gonna starve!” said another.
“Hark now,” Lio said as they rolled out of bed. “What ill tidings do you speak?” They pushed their hair out of their face and stumbled over to the fridge.
“We’re gonna starve!” the camper repeated.
“Soft, methinks you have miscounted,” Lio said. But they pulled the mangoes out of the fridge one by one, and sure enough, there were only 36.
“There are 38 of us,” they announced, “so two of you must go hence by this e’en.”
The campers looked at each other. Where would those two go?
“Take me!” Iris shouted from the back of the crowd. “I’ll sacrifice myself!”
Everyone else sighed with relief.
“Thou hath written too many words for that,” Lio said. “I would not the writer-eating wolves upon thee.”
“I’ll go then!” Purvi said. “I’ve only written five hundred words!”
Lio frowned. “Thou must stayeth; forsooth, thou art my favorite camper!”
“I thought you didn’t pick favorites,” Iris grumbled.
Lio scanned over the crowd. “Methinks I’ve got it!” they exclaimed.
Everyone inhaled sharply.
“Pi and Mishka, go hence,” they said, pointing to two campers who were standing near the back and whispering to each other. “You have come hither for the mangoes only. Withal Pi, thou hath forsworn, for thou hath written nought since thou hath joined us!”

Pi had started out as a camper in Non-Fiction Cabin, but when the mango supply had suddenly dropped, Non-Fiction’s leaders had started strictly rationing their food. While Pi adored their cabinmates and their leaders, they loved mangoes more. Rumors had quickly spread that Script had the most mangoes of any cabin, so Pi had packed her bags to move.
“I’m here to join your cabin!” he had said as he stood on Script’s porch. “I promise I’ll write a lot!”
Lio had looked at their co-leaders and shrugged. Script definitely needed the points and words. Their cabin was closest to the woods, and therefore had been affected the most by the word-eating monsters.
“All hail, Pi!” they had announced to their cabin.
The Hosts had been too worried about the rest of the camp to object, so into Script Pi had gone.
Mishka had joined Script soon after Pi. They were a coleader of Mystery Cabin, but in the days after the mango crisis had began, their cabin had become chaotic and their mattress and blanket had been torn to bits. That night, after attempting to sleep on the floor, they had crept out of the cabin in search of new bedding. They saw an unoccupied bed through Script’s window, so they tip-toed into the cabin and fell asleep.
Early the next morning, they went back to Mystery before anyone noticed they were missing. They stepped inside the cabin, only to find that one of the campers had decided to use their bunk as storage for their clothing. No one would notice they were gone for several more days, they realized, and so they left a note for their leader, Faer, and returned to Script.
At least I’ll get plenty of mangoes now, they told themself. But I will miss my campers!
Lio welcomed them when they explained what had happened, and they settled down in the empty bunk.

At Lio’s declaration, Pi and Mishka looked up.
“What?” Mishka said in surprise.
“I’m too young to die,” Pi lamented.
Mishka nodded in agreement. “You don’t want our blood on your hands, do you?”
But the other campers were already convinced. They were desperate for mangoes, and if they needed to force Pi and Mishka out in order to get them, that is what they would do.
As the crowd pushed them towards the door, Mishka cried out, “At least let us get our bags!”
The campers looked at each other. A few of them shivered at the thought of being exiled from their cabin without any of their belongings, and they spoke up.
“We can’t be that cruel!”
“Yeah, let them get their things!”
“You’d at least want your jacket, wouldn’t you?”
The other campers nodded and dispersed to let Pi and Mishka return to their bunks and pack their bags. Pi stuffed a few outfits into xyr backpack, as well as xyr toothbrush. Xe tried to fit xyr jacket too, but the zipper wouldn’t close, so xe tied it around xyr waist. Mishka folded one of the sheets on their bed and put it in their suitcase. They didn’t want to be without a bed again. They hadn’t unpacked many of their belongings, so they just stuffed a few books and their rock collection into their suitcase and stood up.
Both Pi and Mishka had realized that there was no way to convince the other campers to let them stay, so they walked to the door without arguing. A few of the campers waved at them, and Puri handed them each a mango cookie.
“Here, take these,” she said. “We’ll miss you!”
“Thank you!” Pi said.
The whole cabin stepped out onto the porch to watch them walk away.
“Maybe my old cabin will let us in,” Mishka said through a mouthful of cookie.
Pi nodded and they skipped over to Mystery. Mishka knocked on the door and Faer answered.
“Mishka!” she said in surprise. “Where have you been?”
“Didn’t you get my note?” they asked.
Faer shook her head sadly. “The campers tore apart my bunk, so I imagine it was thrown away.”
“Well,” Mishka began, “they tore apart mine too, so I went and found an empty bunk in Script and moved there!”
“They’re kicking us out now though,” Pi added.
“They don’t have enough mangoes to feed us!” Mishka exclaimed. “We were hoping we could move in here.”
“I don’t think you want to come back,” Faer said. She stepped to the side so Mishka and Pi could see inside the cabin.
There were feathers everywhere — from pillows, Mishka presumed — and puddles of stick syrup on the floor. Now, they noticed that Faer’s hair had something shiny in it and was sticking together.
“Wow, your cabin is a mess,” Pi remarked. “We’ll go check out the other cabins.”
Mishka waved goodbye and followed aer down the steps. First, they visited Non-Fiction, Pi’s old cabin.
“You abandoned us,” Addie said. “How could you.”
Pi hung eir head.
They visited Adventure next. “Sorry, we’re running out of mangoes too,” Soki said apologetically. “But you could try Dystopian!”
Fi, one of the coleaders of Dystopian, shouted out the window: “No, don’t come here! We have the perfect amount of people to simulate the Hunger Games right now! Don’t ruin it!”
Soki tilted her head. “Well, I’m sure one of the cabins will let you in!”
So Pi and Mishka visited each cabin one by one.
At Fairy Tales, Vi said, “We finally got the campers to be quiet! But if you come in, they’ll get all riled up, sorry!”
At Fanfiction, Wari said, “Sorry, we’ve only got one bed left!”
At Fantasy, Cae said, “I’m afraid half our cabin burned down — there was a bit of an accident with a spell — so we don’t have any room.”
At Historical Fiction, Sun said, “Camp is already halfway done, you can’t switch cabins!”
At Horror, Luna jumped out of the window and yelled, “Boo!”
Pi and Mishka ran away screaming.
At Myth, Moss said, “Sure, we can always use more campers who will write lots of words!”
“Wait, we have to write?” Mishka said.
“I just tested positive for Writers’ Block,” Pi said.
“Oh!” Moss said and closed the door. Her face popped up in the window and she yelled, “I have to be careful not to catch Writers’ Block!”
Myth seemed unaffected by the mango crisis. Most of the campers were sitting on the floor eating mangoes and writing. But Pi and Mishka didn’t want to write, so they moved onto the next cabin.
At Poetry, Cami said, “We all have fevers. Are you sure you want to join? We don’t have mangoes.”
At Realistic Fiction, Gee said, “We don’t have enough food to feed two extra campers!”
At Science Fiction, Mech said, “All our computers are malfunctioning! You can’t join right now, sorry!”
Pi and Mishka walked up to Thriller, but before Mishka could knock, Pi said, “Wait, I don’t want to join Thriller!”
“But they have so many mangoes, look!” Mishka pointed through the window.
“But… Thriller,” Pi said.
Mishka shrugged. “Alright then. But where else can we go?”
Pi thought for a moment but ze couldn’t come up with anything.
Birdi must have heard them talking, because she opened the door holding a broom. “It’s getting late! What are you two doing out here?”
Pi and Mishka ran away. “Bye, Birdi!” they said in unison.
“Maybe Lio will let us back in now that they’ve had their coffee!” Pi suggested once they were far away from Thriller.
And so they went back to Script.
“Can we please come back?” Pi begged Lio.
“I will write so much, just please let us come back!” Mishka cried.
“In mangoes, we have nought,” Lio began like they were going to give a long speech. “In coffee, we have nought. Although thou hath sworn to write” — they turned to Mishka — “I do not believe that Pi will swear, for they are plagued with Writers’ Block. Ne’er shall you return.”
Lio shut the door before they could say anything, but Iris opened it again. “Here, have some more cookies!” they said and handed Pi and Mishka each a bag of cookies.
“Please, Lio!” Mishka wailed.
“If you insist on it,” they said slowly, “I know whither to go to be safe from wolves.”
Pi pumpted hir fist in the air. “Yay!”

Lio grabbed a flashlight from inside the cabin and led the way into the woods. They were silent the whole way. A few times Pi tried to ask them questions, but they always ignored vir.
They walked on the path at first, but soon Lio led them off the trail. A few times they crossed back over it. To Pi, every tree looked the same, but Lio seemed to be very deliberate in their path.
Mishka was sure they had been told that everywhere in the woods were infested with wolves — after all, that’s what the Hosts had told them on the first day of camp. Shortly after they went off trail, they stopped.
“I need water, just a second,” they said.
Lio stopped without looking back. Mishka unzipped their suitcase and took out their water bottle. They also took out the bag that contained their rock collection. They could use them to make a trail of rocks to lead them back to camp in case Lio abandoned them in the woods. They stuffed the bag into their pocket so Lio wouldn’t see.
“Okay!” they said.
Lio led them further into the woods. Between the thick canopy and the new moon, it was almost completely dark. Mishka dropped rocks every few steps. They slumped a bit as they dropped them, trying not to let Lio hear them hit the ground.
Finally, Lio stopped. They turned around and looked at Pi and Mishka for the first time since they had left the cabin. “Stay hither. The wolves stay close to camp whither there are writers. Perchance they do find you, simply scream, for wolves are easily frightened. Adieu.” They left, ignoring Pi’s and Mishka’s questions about what they would eat when they ran out of cookies.
Mishka and Pi sat down on the ground. It was a bit cold, but the fallen leaves made it soft. When Lio was out of earshot, Mishka explained their plan to Pi.
“I dropped some rocks on the way here so we can find our way back,” they said. “Let’s wait a bit longer and then follow them.”
“But Lio said to stay here, and I don’t think Lio would have abandoned us here to die!” Pi said. “I mean, I know them and they’re very nice!”
“Desperation brings out the worst in people.”
They were silent for a few minutes, and then Pi complained, “I’m hungry, and I ate all my cookies already.”
Mishka handed cir one of their cookies, and said, “Eat this and then we can walk back to camp.”
Pi devoured the cookie and Mishka stood up to go.
“Wait a second,” Pi said. “It took so long to get here, and now it’s dark. Can’t we sleep here first and walk back in the morning?”
Mishka looked up. They couldn’t see the sky through the trees. “Good idea. I brought a blanket!”
They collected the leaves in the ground into a pile to make the ground more comfortable and then lay down. They both shivered for a while, but soon they fell asleep.
When Pi woke up, a few rays of light shone through the leaves. He lay there for a while and then rolled over to look at Mishka. Their eyes were part-way open.
“Good morning,” they whispered when they saw Pi looking at them.
“Are you ready to go back to camp?” Pi asked.
They nodded. “Let’s eat first though.” They broke their last cookie in half and handed one piece to Pi.
Pi nibbled on it slowly. “I’m still full from last night,” she said.
“You can eat while we walk then,” Mishka said. “Can you pack up while I eat?”
Pi jumped up. “Sure!” they said. They folded up the blanket and put it in Mishka’s suitcase. It was a bit of a puzzle to fold a giant sheet on their own, but they figured it out.
“Alright, I”m ready!” Mishka said.
The walk back to camp mostly went smoothly. A few times they had to split up to find the next rock, but they didn’t go too far. The undergrowth hid a few of the rocks, and there were some other rocks that weren’t part of Mishka’s collection. Luckily, Mishka had studied their rocks so much that they recognized whether or not they had found the correct rock. Finally, they reached the path that they had started out on. They could see that the trees thinned in one direction, so they walked that way until they emerged from teh forest.
They squinted their eyes in the bright sunlight. After walking through the dark woods for several hours, they could barely see. When their eyes finally adjusted, they realized that they didn’t know where they were. At some point, they must have taken a wrong turn. There were grassy fields and trees as far as they could see, but no cabins.
“Why are there so many rocks in the forest?” Pi complained. “Now we’ll have to go look for the right ones again, ugh.”
“I don’t want to go back in there,” Mishka agreed.
“How else will we get back to camp?” Pi pulled out their phone. “There’s no service here.”
“Let’s go, I guess.” Mishka walked back towards the forest and Pi followed.
They wandered along the path. Every now and then, one of them would ask, “Is this where we got on the trail?” and the other would say, “No, I think it’s a bit further.” After having this conversation several times, they decided to just continue along the path.
“This path has to connect to the one outside SWC, right?” Pi said.
“I think so,” Mishka agreed. “Hopefully we won’t get lost.”
They seemed to only be getting deeper and deeper into the woods, but they had nowhere else to go, so they kept walking straight ahead.
Eventually, they came to a rickety wooden shed. Some of the planks were rotting and vines climbed up the side. Based on the amount of plants growing around it, Pi and Mishka would have thought that it was abandoned. But light came through the windows. They peeked in and saw the Hosts sitting around a table. They were each eating a mango and there was a bowl of more mangoes in the middle of the table.
Mishka pulled out their phone, but it was dead.
“Can you take a photo?” they whispered.
Pi nodded and took their phone out of their backpack. They took a photo through the window and then pointed at their phone screen. “Look, there’s a wifi network here called ‘hostios.’ It has a password though,” they whispered.
“Try ‘mangoes,’” Mishka suggested.
Pi typed it in. “It worked!”
“The Hosts are so predictable,” Mishka said.
Pi and Mishka walked around the shed, looking for the door, but before they found it, they found an orchard of mango trees. There were hundreds of mangoes left unpicked, and more rotting on the ground.
“So they’ve been hogging all these mangoes,” Pi murmured as xie took out xier phone to take more photos.
Pi picked one of the mangoes. “I’m so hungry,” they said.
“Me too, do you have a knife?” Mishka asked.
Pi dug through zir backpack. “Here.” Ze cut the skin off the mango, and then cut it in half and gave one piece to Mishka.
“Mmmm, this is good,” Mishka said as they tok a bite. Then, they froze. “Did you hear anything?”
They turned around. There stood Alba, with slightly longer hair than they remembered her with. They let out a loud gasp.
“What do we do?” Pi whispered.
Mishka thought for a moment. “Well, we can’t tell the Hosts that the Hosts are keeping all these mangoes for themselves… Call the leaders? Now that you have Wi—”
“I thought I heard something out here,” Alba finally said.
Pi nodded at Mishka and dialed Addie’s number. As e held eir phone to eir ear, Mishka tried to distract Alba.
“Lio led us into the forest because they kicked us out of their cabin and we couldn’t find anywhere to go,” they started. “So we tried to find our way back but got lost. And now we’ve got Wi-Fi so we’re calling a different leader to help us get back?”
“So you’re not going to tell anyone about the mangoes?” Alba asked.
Mishka’s shoulders tensed. “Oh, no, no, of course not!” they assured her.
“Alright then.” Alba turned and walked to a door that Mishka hadn’t noticed before.

She closed the door behind her and announced, “They say they won’t tell anyone about the mangoes.”
“That sounds like a lie,” Birdi said.
“Definitely,” Alba agreed. “So what are you going to do? Do you want me to go keep an eye on them?”
“Let’s turn off the Wi-Fi,” Honey suggested. “That way they can’t call anyone.”
“And then we help them get back to camp on the condition that they keep it a secret!” Bakie added.
“Genius.” Robin cackled.
Honey unplugged the router.

Addie finally picked up the phone. “Pi?” she asked.
“Addie! We’re lost in the woods.” Pi explained what Lio had done and how they had gotten lost. “Now we’re outside this shed where the Hosts —” Pi’s phone made the beep it made when a call ended. They furrowed their eyebrows. “My Wi-Fi’s gone.”
Alba stepped out of the shed. “Just in time.”
“What did you do?” Mishka shouted.
Robin followed her out. “We’ll take you back to camp, if you promise not to tell anyone about the mangoes.”
Pi and Mishka looked at each other.
“Fine,” Mishka said.
Robin gestured them inside and led them to a closet.
“Is this where Birdi keeps her brooms for when the Hosts don’t sleep?” Pi asked.
“No questions!” Birdi said from across the room.
“Step here,” Robin said, pointing to a spot on the floor that appeared to be normal wood.
Pi went first. One of his feet went through the floor and then the other. He landed in a dark room in the Main Cabin.
Mishka followed and landed next to Pi. They felt around the room until they found a doorknob and pushed the door open. Pi and Mishka stepped out into the Main Cabin. They closed the door. It had a sign that said “Birdi’s Broom Closet”.
“What do we do now?” Pi asked.
“Let’s tell Addie what happened,” Mishka said. “She’s probably panicking.”
They went down the stairs and out the door. It was getting dark outside. They walked to Non-Fiction Cabin, where Addie was standing outside, holding her phone to her ear.
“Addie!” Pi called when they were within shouting distance.
Addie put down her phone. “You’re back!”
Mishka explained all that had happened since their call had ended, and then told Addie about the mangoes. “So we need to tell the other leaders about what the Hosts are doing before the Hosts find out that I told you.”
Addie texted the leader group chat and the leaders all congregated outside of Non-Fiction. “We need to overthrow the Hosts when they return to camp,” Addie explained. “And then the mango crisis will end.”
The leaders agreed and waited outside the Main Cabin for the Hosts to return.
—
The Hosts exited the Main Cabin to find half the camp standing there with brooms. “Mango stealers!” they shouted. They chased the Hosts towards the forest.
“Please don’t murder us!” Robin yelled.
“We’ll give you all the mangoes!” Birdi shouted.
“But please share with us!” Honey cried.
“Or we will be very sad!” Bakie caterwauled.
“Come back with all the mangoes and we’ll let you return,” Mishka said. “Or you must disappear forever!”
“I’ll give up all my brooms!” Birdi wailed.
“That’s a very tempting offer,” Luna said, “but no thank you.”
The Hosts were never seen again.
The End.

Shades-Of-Blue

The Writer and the Weekly
500 words

Once upon a time, there was a Writer in the land of SWC. A true Writer, not like the others. She passionately loved writing, reading, and mangoes.

One night, as the Writer was caught in the rain, she stumbled upon an old house, and knocked on the door.

That was a fairly normal thing to do in the land of SWC, as it rained in SWC land quite often. However, this time she was going to a faraway place, where hotels and inns were few and far in-between.

“Excuse me?” she called out. “Is there anyone here?”

The door creaked open slowly. The room inside was dimly lit.

“Come in,” a man said as he opened the door. “You can sleep here tonight if you give me a few stories.”

“Oh!” exclaimed the Writer as she stepped inside the house. “That is convenient, for I am a Writer.”

“Ah! A Writer!” the man said curiously. “True Writers are extremely rare nowadays. Well, you may have dinner now.”

The dinner turned out to be everything with a bit of mango.

“Nothing but the very best for a Writer,” he had said, and beamed. “I bought these mangoes from the great Marc Mangosen himself.”

After dinner, the man offered the Writer a bed. The bed was extremely fancy, as it had 999 dream-catchers above, he had claimed.

“Thank you,” said the Writer, and retired for the night.

However, she tossed and turned as she laid on the bed. Something was on her mind, but she did not know what.

“Oh dear!” she suddenly thought. “There’s only 2 days left to do the weekly! We shall surely lose this month!”

Of course, there were many kingdoms with fewer points than the Fan-Fi kingdom, but she still was very worried.

“To think of all the writing that I might be doing right now!” she sighed. “Well, there is no hope of doing that, as now all my paper is wet. I did not think that I would get caught in the rain, or else I would have brought an umbrella.”

Even though she knew she could do nothing, the Writer still couldn’t sleep. The dream-catchers did not help one bit. In fact, the Writer might as well have been in a nightmare.

When the sun had rosen, the Writer still did not get one second of sleep.

“Good morning!” the man greeted the Writer as she walked downstairs. “Did you have a good sleep last night?”

“Oh - not at all!” the Writer replied. “My bag and my paper were soaked and I could do absolutely nothing for the weekly last night! But do not worry yourself, as the bed itself was of the highest quality. It is not your fault, and I will still pay you back with a few good stories.”

The man smiled.

“There is no need for that,” he said happily. “It is extremely rare to have a true Writer in one’s house. And that is all the payment I need.”

Whimsy_lux

One evening two campers from Scratch Writing Camp were feeling particularly restless. They were both siblings, twins in fact, from adventure, and after attempting to sleep, but not being able to do anything but toss or turn. Haley left her bed and left the cabin, the adventure section was really beautiful, while it wasn’t as whimsical as fantasy or as technologically advanced as Sci-fi, something about the parks she’d been living in for the past few weeks was refreshing. She didn’t go far, only a simple walk to clear her head, before she knew it she found herself in front of a fountain. She didn’t have a coin to throw or a wish to make, instead she found her brother, Gavin sitting there as well.

They sat there for a while and then looked into each other's eyes, both of them sharing a mischievous smile and intentions. Scratch writing camp was great but sometimes they didn’t want to write, they wanted to explore, and maybe going over to another cabin would satisfy that desire. “You’re thinking what I’m thinking, right?” Gavin asked.

“If you're thinking of going to the other cabins then of course!” Haley answered excitedly, practically bouncing on the ground.

“Which one though? Horror is probably really cool! I heard that they have an arcade, we haven’t played anything but board games for soooo long!” Gavin said standing up, his sister followed him and they walked towards adventure's borders pointing at the ones they wanted to go to and the ones they didn’t.

“Horror’s scary though! Plus we're rivals, what will happen if we sneak in, what if their lasers are real?” She said, they argued for a while, but finally agreed on going to fairytales. They haven’t heard much from them and fairytales have always interested both of them. Maybe they could see princesses and dwarves. Witches couldn’t be real, right?

“Wait right here!” Gavin told his sister and he ran to his cabin and quickly back. In his hand he held bread crumbs. “Just so we don’t get lost on the way. We’ll be just like Hansel and Gretel, just without almost getting eaten by a witch.” They both giggled and went on their way on fairytale trail, dropping bread crumbs on the way.

On their trek, in the middle of the road was something neither Haley or Gavin expected, a library! It was big, grand and beautiful. Front the window they could see thousands of books, some mystery, some fantasy, some romance and of course fairytales. They looked at eachother, then back the library, then back to each other one more time. Both of them grinned widely and ran inside, exploring each and every nook and cranny of the beautiful library. The thing is Haley and Gavin weren’t the most tidy and were carefree, a bit too much so. They got bread crumbs on the books, accidently ripped some of the pages, and never put any of the books back where they belonged, let alone on the shelves. They were so sucked into the words of the book and their imaginations, they didn’t notice someone approaching the library, a witch.

Araminthi-

Daily, 546 words

Goldilocks crept into the Bear Cabin. Her cabin was losing desperately and she needed to do something.

She needed to win. At all costs. She could not lose.

She had tried almost everything– urging campers to attack cabins, spamming others profiles to enter the dailies and weeklies (which muted her), engaging in as many word wars and writing as much as she could.

The latter only earned them a few thousand points, give or take a couple hundred less.

She, was definitely desperate at this point.

She hoped that bear cabin was all off in a word war where they'd hopefully lose–

She entered the cabin meeting room and saw a few sheets of paper with a few lines of words. jotted down on the front. ‘ohh,’ it was their ideas sheet! She took them up and ripped them to shreds, throwing the shards on the floor and stomping on them, but not before reading them first.

The first one was too angsty, it was overwhelming.

The second one was too emotional, it would effect the reader's emotions.

The third was just right, the perfect mixture of heart and heartlessness.

She pushed over many chairs, the pot plants and the table before going deeper.

She was in the room where they kept track of all their scores! Several neat whiteboards like the room with intricate numbers carefully charted on them.

It must have taken a long time, but did she care?

Desperate times call for desperate measures, as they always said.

She looked around for a marker but only found a whiteboard eraser.

She felt in her pocket. She had 3 markers.

The first was the right color, but so old, it had a noticeable paleness to the tint.

The second one was the wrong color entirely.

The third was just–

The marker blew up, splashing ink everywhere, her dress, the floor, her hands…

There was no way she could discard the evidence, so why bother hiding it?

If it was going to be conspicuous, then she would make it as conspicuous as possible.

She wipe the old scores away and rewrote them, the old description was cleaned and rewritten with some things that even she was not gonna mention, she took the marker ink and poured where she could.

When she was done, the entire room looked different. Even smelled diffrent.

She shook her hands out. That was tiring.

She went to the third room. It was their archives.

She stared in the pile of neat work, neatly filed into little compartment and labled and scored.

She compared it to their practically empty, dusty and messy archive.

No wonder they were last.

She decided on how to deal with this. Setting the room on fire? Nah. Hmmm.

She slowly took all the paperwork out and put it in boxes. These would be fine additions for their archive.

Next, she replaced all the paper woth blanks. They will never notice this!

She had even relabelled them! They should thank her.

When it was done, she sat down on a box to admire her work. Beautiful.

Suddenly 3 shadows loomed over her.

She looked behind her and ran screaming from Bear cabin.

She never attended SWC ever again (not like she could, being on the ban list)

angelwings-

Shouldering his ax, Jack went out the door, raising his hand to shield his eyes against the fiery, hot sun, which shined upon them every day, scorching the crops and leaving them with nothing to eat- but there was none.
The next thing he saw were the townspeople crowded around a single green, lively beanstalk, thicker than Jack’s house, rising straight into the sky, vanishing into the clouds.
His mouth dropped.
“What.”
He shouldered his way through the crowd, pushing through old ladies and men, agape at the beanstalk, until he came to the front, crouching down to inspect the fuzzy green texture, which had already caused a few rashes from people who had touched it.
Ignoring the mutters throughout the crowd, he stood up and surveyed it as it rose into the clouds.
“We surely can’t cut it down,” he murmured to himself, setting the ax down by the foot of the beanstalk, making the people around him jump and step back cautiously. “The crops would die all over again, and the cow from yesterday… no.” He looked at the beanstalk again, towering over everyone, dewdrops as big as beds dropping down every now and then onto dirt, and occasionally onto people’s heads, showering them with water that the townspeople had long forgotten. “Yeah, I’ll climb it.”
Putting on his gloves, Jack hoisted himself onto the stem, the townspeople below him shouting for him to come down. But Jack didn’t stop, wiping the sweat from his forehead and continuing on. It was too late to stop now- and besides, who knew what was on the other end- if there was one?
“Jack!” he heard a familiar voice down below, tempting him to look down, but he only clung on tighter and looked up, reserving his voice, refraining himself from shouting back. “Come down now!” His mother screamed, squinting up at her son, enraged at the sight of his butt hanging in midair for everyone to see.
Jack continued to climb up, soon disappearing into the clouds.
Three hours later, he hopped down from the beanstalk, falling into the clouds with a thump. It was only seconds before he forced himself to stand up again, staggering forwards as he spotted a small cabin in the distance, electronic gears and mechanics in the front, the door painted with words in a language he couldn’t recognize.
As he walked closer, he realized- the cabin was missing a roof. Instead, plastic wrap made up the top, sunlight shining directly into the space surrounded by four black, giant keyboard looking walls.
Jack knocked- and then directly went in, not stopping to get a response from inside. Four pairs of eyes instantly stuck to him, expressionless, as if waiting for him to make a reaction first.
“I’m sorry for intruding,” he said, smiling awkwardly as he looked down at his arms, red with rashes from the climb earlier. “But I really need to pee. Do you have a bathroom or..?”
No one spoke for a moment. Then,
“There.” A young lady pointed towards the back, her eyebrows creased slightly as if she was very stressed out at the moment. She spoke with a type of commanding authority, the type leaders naturally brought with them. “Down the hallway, to your left.”
Jack walked past them, ignoring their half-whispered comments that he could perfectly still hear.
“He looks stupid,” one commented, rubbing their eyes.
“A bit,” another one replied, stretching his fingers.
“He could be a spy from another cabin. Myth, probably. Or real-fi- I mean, it’s not like they haven’t intruded before to ruin our roof-”
Jack shook his head, bewildered, before he ran to the bathroom and locked the door, suddenly remembering that he still needed to pee.

Cherrie_Tree

smalltoe wrote:
Here’s the first draft of my writing competition entry! Bear in mind that was all written in one day with no editing, so it’s quite messy xDDD
I’d really love any form of critique or feedback, if yall have the time!

Disclaimer: my grammar is absolute garbage and please take my critique with a grain of salt! Overall, this was a really cool and well-executed concept! Most of these edits are sentence structure edits.

Ilysian is perfect.
That’s what they all say.
A beautiful city. The fact that it’s all completely grey doesn’t matter.

This sentence structure is slightly repetitive (as it spans across 4 times) so you could combine the third one and the forth one. I like how you mention it’s grey tho!

Grey houses snagging against the grey-tinged sky, row after row, all coming together in a jagged spiral around the one building bigger than all the others.

I love the worldbuilding here! For this part, the tense change (like the -ing) feels a bit weird, so maybe you could change the verb to ‘snag’ and for less wordiness you could say ‘ the biggest building’ rather than ‘the one building bigger than all the others’ but i get if it’s a style choice.

They call it the Paragon. The very model of what the building blocks of a perfect city should be. Prized, iconic. The one different thing in a city of perfection.

You could describe the Paragon (vibe, color (like warm or cold grey), shapes (domes, circles, squares? etc.)) I don’t understand the last sentence as I can’t figure out the connotation of this sentence: ‘the one different thing in a city of perfection’.

The sun was slowly emerging, dragging itself up the sky, its murky grey glow spilling over the dark streets.

I think that this sentence is slightly wordy (‘emerging’ and ‘dragging itself up the sky’ present the same image, so you could eliminate one (personally I would eliminate emerging). It’s also implied that the city is grey, so you could eliminate the adjective of ‘grey’ from the sentence.

A perfect line, really. A perfect line for all the perfect people standing in it, perfect plastic smiles plastered all over their perfect grey-hued faces. They would stand, they would smile, the perfect silence leaking from the air and puddling at their feet, creeping up their throats until even if they wanted to, they couldn’t speak. You can’t disrupt perfection, after all.

I’m not sure if it was intentional to have perfect lose its meaning with the repetition–if it was, that’s so clever :0 if it wasn’t, you should delete the word from these sentences

They would enter the Paragon. One by one or two by two.

Connect these sentences together as they can come off as clunky.

They would be stamped with their Mark, the machines that could almost look vaguely human sending them inside without a sound.

This flow is a bit odd ‘the machines that could almost look vaguely human sending them inside without a sound’. What do you mean by ‘almost look vaguely human’? You could describe that.

And then the Untainteds would come out again, a dazed look in their eye, a faint trace of a Mark scarred on their features, perfect synthetic smiles dripping down their faces. And with their skin stained an even more washed-out shade of grey than it was before, with memories full of holes and minds full of lies, they would go back to their grey houses and wait, surrounded by perfection, staring and smiling and making small talk until the sun couldn’t hold on any longer and in perfect grey moonlight, they would line up and do it all over again.

These two sentences are very clunky (the second is almost a run on). You can break these up into varying sentence structure.

The Exemplaries would watch over it all. Smiling, nodding. Telling themselves they’ve done such a good job.

Again, for flow, you could connect at least two of these sentences together.

After all, if there is nothing at all, there can’t be any imperfection.
Can there?

Oooh! I think here can be some elaboration / hinting on why there’s a desire for a perfect society, as your English teacher said.

“Mummy?”
“Yes, darling?”
“I think you made me wrong.”
The house was murky and dim, a steady stream of dull grey light adorning the dull grey walls. A child stood inside, with his mother and his father. They were watching the sun in the sky. A beautiful greyscale sight.
“Excuse me, sweetheart?”

Like the dialogue and the event!

“Darling, we are all Untainteds. Brothers and sisters. There’s no such thing as difference.” His mother sighed. “Have some lunch.”

Interesting commentary (from the mom), and here you can maybe try to elaborate why they don’t want to be perfect (do they attach themselves to shame so heavily)? You could expand on your theme here.

“That’s all we do here!” The child grumped. “Lunch, line, Purify. Why don’t we do anything else?”
“Because our life is perfect,” The child’s father smiled. “And we can’t have imperfection, can we? I like our life just the way it is.”

Oooh I like this part!

They didn’t know how to live any other way. They were too scared to lose what they thought was perfection. It was much easier to believe the syrupy-sweet lies poured down their throat, and keep smiling, knowing that the world was perfect and they couldn’t have it any better.

Okay so I think it would be great if you explored what they thought would happen in an imperfect world, which would also add more meaning to the theme.

And the longer they thought this, the more colours leaked out of the world, until slowly they forgot that there were any colours at all.

I feel like a question should be addressed is: why is grey associated with perfect? (you kind of do it with: nothing, is no imperfection therefore perfect)

-

A teenager, once a child. Living in a perfect world filled with perfect people.

Is this guy the same child above? If so, you might want to mention it in writing so the story feels less disjointed.

He was old enough to know now. Old enough to know the Exemplaries were wrong, to know what really happened inside the Paragon. Well, what really happened to everyone else. He was too imperfect for Purification.

Here, you could use ‘show not tell’ where rather explicitly saying he knew, you could show him describing what happened in the Paragon.

He was a candle, a danger to be fizzled out. His rebellion thrown to the wind, ashes scattered on the breeze. Ilysian’s creators watched, they waited. They knew he would give in soon enough. Exemplaries are never wrong.

I don’t really understand the second sentence containing a metaphor here (as in they didn’t want his death to be known/ they didn’t want traces of his rebellion to be found?). It says he’s a danger to kill right now but slightly confusing?

So, like vultures, they hovered above. Ready to swoop in for the kill.

Could be connected for flow reasons.

A greyscale sky. The Dysfunction glared out the window, his parents behind him. Smiling. Like they always were.

Same comment above ^^

He had learned not to ask questions of them. They were trying their hardest, they really were. But nothing could be done once Purity had them in its grasp.

Ooh is purity meant to be capitalized? The meaning of the last sentence feels a bit vague. I also don’t understand how they were trying their hardest (like trying hard to support their son)?

He had spent too long trying to tell himself he was like the others. Trying to force himself to be Pure.

I believe pure should be lowercase, unless it’s a classification.

He was a teenger, and they were Ageless.

And would help him? Who would want anything else apart from Perfection and Purity and Paradise?

Ageless, Perfection, Purity, and Paradise should be lowercase unless they’re specific classifications I believe.

And she skipped away, the raindrop falling from her fingers, falling all the way to the ground.

Try not to use the same verb in the sentence.

Scribbled-on papers littered his single grey table and all over his floor, maps drawn in the darkest hours of night when all others were getting ready to be Purified, hastily-written schemes like half-constructed wings he needed to fly, fly out of the place he had been trapped in for 27 years.

Alright, this sentence is a bit wordy so you should change up the structure to make it flow better.

Like a shadow, like a whisper, he slipped out of his house, his eyes fixated on the seemingly never-ending line twisting away from him as he prowled backwards, hidden beneath darkness cast by the grey buildings brushing the grey sky. Counting the seconds until he was out of sight, breaking into a run, sprinting for the wall looming above his head.

I think that the last sentence you could change ‘breaking into a run’ into ‘he broke into a run’. The first sentence is slightly wordy too so if you want it to be its length you could edit out unnecessary words and change structure.

He was so close.
What a shame he couldn’t make it.

I think you should describe how or the action that shows that he didn’t made it, because I don’t have the picture here.

Above him, the vultures were circling. Moving in for the kill.
The Exemplaries. Running to the city’s edge, ready for him, stumbling and falling through their trapdoor, falling into the walls, THEY’RE IN THE WALLS; teeth bared, eyes narrowed, listening for the sound of footsteps, closer, closer-

I love the tension here!

you’re safe now.
I’m not, I know who you are-
don’t worry
we won’t hurt you
You can’t Purify me, it doesn’t work-
every soul can be broken
yours too
I don’t want-
quiet
we will make you pure
there is nothing to fear
nothing to lose
we will take your broken pieces
and we will make you whole.
I’ll resist you-
I’m imperfect! Don’t you see?
imperfectimperfectimperfectImperfectI’mperfect–
I’m perfect.
that's right. you’re perfect.
see?
everything is perfect here.

OKAY I LOVE THIS SECTION YAY

And pinned under the greyscale heel of perfection… he finally shattered.
Released from the cold, cold fingers of the Exemplaries, the Functional fell to the floor, a dazed look in his eye, a perfect plastic smile dripping down his face, as if he had finally found peace.

Oooh yay I like this section with the description.

The Exemplaries smiled. They nodded. Told themselves what a good job they had done.
Another candle burned out.

Again, you could connect these sections together

“I AM PERFECT!” He screamed, tearing down the wall, climbing up, up, up, over- “I AM PERFECT BECAUSE I AM IMPERFECT! PERFECTION DOESN’T EXIST NO MATTER HOW HARD YOU TRY I AM NOT PERFECT BUT BECAUSE OF THAT I AM SO, SO PERFECT!”

Oooh i like this part of the story where it explores the theme of society expecting ideals.

As the Dysfunction tumbled down onto the other side of the wall-
-colour flooded back into the world. Bright and beautiful and so stunning it was almost impossible to look at.

Describe the colors with concrete language (and possibly figurative language :0) ‘beautiful and stunning’ might be a tell rather than show part.

And as the Dysfunction stood, the greyscale city behind him, he finally saw the blue sky.

Edit structure for flow :0

And it was perfect.

YAY nice last sentence!

—-

Overall, I liked this story with its message on how society pressures people to be ‘perfect’ and this creates people to not try and conform with what society wants / what is comfortable. There are parts that could be explored for the theme (rather than having the people who are ‘perfect’ totally brainwashed and just repeating thoughts, you could have their individual concerns shown). The sentence structure could have been more varied and I’ve pointed out where they could have been, but I liked the tension created with short sentences towards the end. I agree with your teacher about using less ‘perfect’ (as well as ‘grey) as the word ‘perfect’ can come off as repetitive and we already know that the world is grey, so it wouldn’t do much but hinder the flow of the sentence.

I enjoyed reading this and thank you for giving me the honor of critique!

ArtisticOne111

Daily 19:
Amy stood there with anger boiling within her. “Why would you do this?!” She looked up and down at Charlie. “You're such a bad friend!” “Ouch, that hurt.” Charlie thought. “You just totally backstabbed me! Why would you even try to steal my new best friend?” Amy said. “She didn't know that I was just trying to be welcoming and friendly.” Charlie thought. Charlie snorted and said, “I was just trying to be nice.” “NO YOU WEREN'T!! YOU WERE TRYING TO STEAL HER SO YOU WOULD BE MORE POPULAR!” Amy said shouting as loud as she could. She tried to hide her cough. “I HATE YOU!” “Amy you can't just think I'm doing something. You have to collect proof.” Charlie said as she was fidgeting with her hair. She was nervous about what her friend was going to say about her. She never really intended to become best friends with Amy's friend. The girl was kind-of snottish to be honest. Charlie didn't really hang out with her either.

scratch_warrior_cat

Sparring

Main Cabin Daily, July 19th: Settings are always vital to a story, however let’s put this to the test! How challenging do you think it would be to write a story without a setting? Get your pens and writing documents ready to try this out: write a story without establishing any setting, try focusing on the characters, dialogue, and plot :) You must write a minimum of 400 words for 500 points!

429 words

“Is that the best you’ve got?” Rohan’s eyes gleamed as he swung the sword at me, a brutal blow that would have cleaved me in half had I not caught it with my staff.

With a grunt, I twisted to the side, letting my friend’s blade fall harmlessly through the air. Whirling my hands, I thrust my staff into his gut. A bolt of triumph ran through my mind as he doubled over, gasping for air. I stepped back, watching and waiting for his next move as he recovered.

His breathing slowed, and he stayed in that position for a long moment. A year ago, I would have hurried to his side to see what was wrong. Now, I just narrowed my eyes and continued to pace around him.

A few seconds later, he drew himself up slowly. “Wasn’t long ago that you would always fall for that.”

“Good things don’t last forever,” I replied before lunging forward, my staff ready to strike or dodge.

He parried the attack with the flat of his sword before swinging at my grip. I knew that move, and shifted my hands to avoid it. He was trying to knock the staff out of my hands, but just like all the other tricks in his arsenal, I knew it well.

As we continued to spar, I thought about our friendship. Rohan was a Wind Mage, and my element was Fire, but we were friends from the day we met. We’d gotten into many fights since then, and sometimes our bond felt irreparable, but no matter how many times he betrayed me (or I betrayed him), it was never to cause the other any real harm, and we always forgave each other in the end.

The Masters taught us to care for each other, that the people we trained besides would be the strongest allies we would ever have. And so far, it was true. I trusted Rohan with my life, just as he trusted me with his.

The whistle of metal near my face jolted me out of my reverie. I yanked my head back, thrusting my arms up in the same sweep that Rohan had tried to use on me only moments before.

The tip of my staff connected with the base of his sword, and with a flick of my wrist, Rohan’s weapon clattered to the ground.

I scooped it off the floor before he could reach it, holding it up with a smug grin.

“I guess the win for this round belongs to me.”

Rohan groaned, rubbing his neck good-naturedly.

b10_hAzard-

Daily #19

Ira stood up uneasily. She still had not the slightest idea of what the hell was going on. First it was fine and then the next second, boom, it is definitely not fine. It is anything but fine. As she looked around, the skull crushing headache came back.
“I don't think I'll ever get used to this,” she said to herself.
“You know, stating the obvious won't help your… Situation.” half jokingly said a slightly familiar voice.
“What situation? Who even are you?” she demanded, “Have- have I gone completely insane?”
“You don't get anything do you…” They continued, annoyingly vague again, “Insane? Not more than the average person.”
How would she avoid getting into anything like this again? If she got out of this one anyway. For now she should just get accustomed to chaos and maybe remember a few things while trying to avoid having a conversation with whoever this was and seeming like she'd completely lost her marbles.
Then, as if it could read her thoughts, that voice came back with more seemingly nonsense to continue confusing her with.
“So, remember anything yet?”
“I don't know who you even are,” Ira said, “Maybe it'll help if you showed yourself. Perhaps, if you decide to do so, I might even remember a thing, or two, or three.”
“I, much sadly, can not do that right now.”
“Why?”
“I am unable to explain as well.”
“Is that why you're so stupidly cryptic all the time?”
All the time? This was the first time she remembered talking to this voice. All the time seemed simply wrong for the occasion and Ira had no idea why she blurted that out in the moment.
“I'll just quit trying to explain if you keep being ungrateful,” they replied, “Now, are you ready for an attempt at an explanation with what I'm allowed to tell you?”
“Trying? It really doesn't seem like you're trying at all. And yes, I am ready for a long-due explanation out of you.”
“First of all, calm down. Ira isn't it? Take a deep breath, close your eyes, calm down.”
“NO! I randomly got here, remember nothing of the past and you have some kind of answers. What kind of use even are you if you're not allowed to say anything? Are you some kind of evil mastermind or do you really just know nothing? I want nothing but answers out of you.”
“So… you think this because of /me/?”
412 words

MysticScratcher101

7/19 daily (606 words)

“Get your dresses ready.” Zarrina instructed. Everyone changed into the same dresses with different colors. “Good, good job everyone. Today let’s try something different. Let’s start off with this. Try to create water.”
Sandra closed her eyes and thought hard. Just like she was taught, she focused her energy on her hand. She thought about water. Thought about it so much that it was all in her mind. She imagined energy coming out from her hand, floating just above it. She opened her eyes and continued to focus. Nothing showed up on her hand. She strained, but nothing happened. She rested doing the conjuring and sighed deeply. Looking around, she saw everyone else having water almost effortlessly.
“Why can’t I ever conjure anything?” Sandra groaned as she slumped down. Her bright silver magical dress that signifies her magical ability to conjure dimmed as her feelings dimmed as well.
“Sandra, you just need pr-” Zarrina tried to soothe her.
“I heard that just too many times! And it never helps!” Sandra yelled. “And Penny, Jocelyn, Vennie, everyone is able to do it! They have been able to do it for months! We have started at the same times, so why can’t I conjure anything?! Being in this academy is pointless! I can never do it!” Sandra’s dress was dimming quickly. It was dangerously dark.
“Sandra, calm down” Jocelyn said.
Sandra took a deep breath, and so did Zarrina. Sandra’s dress became slightly lighter.
“Sandra, being in this academy isn’t pointless. When you become an adult, you could help our magical guard. It is crucial for our existence. And you can do it. Having that dress is proof that you have the ability. You just got to keep on training.” Zarrina told Sandra.
“Who says that this dress means I have an ability? My ability could just be making my dress!” Sandra shot at Zarrina as her dress was about to turn pitch black.
“Sandra! Watch your mood! Your dress is about to turn-” Vennie warned.
Sandra quickly fell onto the ground.
“Sandra!” The girls were frantic. “Zarrina! Could you help Sandra?”
“I’ll try my best. I’m not the greatest at doing it, but I’ll try.” Zarrina replied. “First, could you back away? I need a little space.”
Zarrina kneeled and closed her hands. She opened the hands and a golden string of thin thread appeared in between them, connected to her hands. One end of the thread separated from her left hand, and Zarrina lowered the thread attached to her right hand. The girls stared in awe as the thread touched Sandra’s dress, turning it to its original bright silver. Closing and opening her hands again, Zarrina’s hands became covered in glittery gold. She touched Sandra’s forehead with it, and a wave of gold rushed threw her skin
Sandra yawned as she woke up, with all the girls anxiously waiting her.
“W-what happened?” Sandra asked, sitting up.
“Your dress got black.” Zarrina explained.
“Oh.”
The girls rushed to Sandra, crowding her.
“Hey, personal space!” Sandra said as she backed away from the girls.
Zarrina went over to the girls and whispered, “Let me try something. Don’t worry, she’ll be safe.”
Zarrina conjured a spike and threw it toward Sandra, but it would miss her barely.
Sandra quickly reacted and tried shielded herself with her arms, but instead, a silver shield popped in front of her. Sandra was shocked.
Zarrina smiled. “See, I knew you had it.” She said after Sandra undid the shield.
Sandra was still in awe. Then she smiled. “Let’s catch me up!” She told Zarrina as she got up. “What training have I missed?”

Last edited by MysticScratcher101 (July 19, 2022 02:30:10)

Wishingdeer

July 19th Daily

Word Count: 427
Thanks to @a-bowling-pin because this was inspired by a roleplay with her.

She was gone.
She couldn’t be gone. She couldn’t.
Logan was still holding her in his arms, could still see her face… where her eyes had completely glazed over. And her chest was no longer raising and falling with shaky breaths. She was just… still.
She was gone.
Tears were streaming down his face, stinging the cut on his cheek, but he didn’t care. This was too much. His knees just up and gave out, but he hardly even noticed when he hit the ground. If he had noticed he again wouldn’t have cared. Why should he? Nothing mattered now. Nothing mattered now that the most important person in his life, the one who he loved more than anything, was gone.
This was too soon. Way too soon. He’d always known this day would come, they both had, because she had been mortal and he, as half vampire, semi-immortal. He was bound to outlive her, possibly by centuries. It was simply inevitable. But he’d assumed they’d have more time.
She was only 40.
He was 41.
It was too soon.
“Don’t you dare think it’s your fault,” she had told him. “Because it’s not.”
But it was. He never should have let her out of his sight. Never should have let them get separated. He should have been there. Maybe he could have stopped this from happening.
Maybe he could have taken her place.
“Promise me you won’t do anything stupid.” That was the last thing she had wanted from him.
He hadn’t made the promise.
How could he? How could he promise her something like that, when he could never hope to keep it? He was, after all, the king of doing something stupid. And without her voice of reason, and with grief clouding his mind…
Don’t do anything stupid. She wouldn’t want you to. And you’ve got kids to take care of.
The kids. How was he going to explain this to the kids? How in the world would they handle it when their dad came home without their mother by his side? They were only ten.
And how was he going to raise them without her? He couldn’t even handle himself half the time. He wasn’t responsible, or smart, or a leader. That had all been her.
And now she was gone.
“I wasn’t ready to be alone…” he whispered. “I wasn’t ready to lose you. Please let this be a nightmare. Please, please, this can’t be real, I can’t handle this.”
There was no answer, leaving Logan alone, crying into his hands.

Last edited by Wishingdeer (July 19, 2022 02:32:34)

eternalnightlight

･｡ﾟ : * . ☽ . * : ｡ﾟ･ july 19th daily ･｡ﾟ : * . ☽ . * : ｡ﾟ･

☆ 517 words || 500 points ☆

I wrap my threaded cloak around me and wince as Emmaline glares daggers at me.

“Emma. I didn’t- I didn’t mean to hurt you.” My voice wobbles, and I know she feels the dishonesty rolling from my words. “You were unstable, and for the good of the community-”

“NO!” Her eyes flash a brilliant red, and I groan, pain wracking my body as I try to hold myself together, try to appear stronger than I really am. “You know why you did this, Herb. Your reputation means more to you than I ever did!”

Emmaline speaking my name hurts me more than her outbursts of power. Though the world had insisted on calling me “Herb,” Emma had laughed when she heard the name. “Whoever decided that is your nickname probably hates you,” she had laughed. “Your real name is much nicer, Dion.”

Now there is none of the previous laughter in her eyes. Instead she raises her fist and slams it down hard, causing me to be thrown onto the floor. “All you ever did was hurt me! From the day we met, your intentions were always to get ahead of me. Sabotage me. Destroy me.”

I try to console myself, muttering, “She isn’t sane right now, not in the right mental state, she’s just saying things she doesn’t mean..” But a small voice in my heart chides that she is correct.

No. She can’t be right. I’m the one who gets things right.

Not her. She’s the mistake, not me.

Emma is the deformed one. Right?

Suddenly I realize Emma’s hair is floating. A telltale sign that her power of mind-reading has activated. Her expression tells me all I need to know. Her suspicions of me were close to the truth. She now has a justified reason for her anger.

“I’m deformed? A mistake?” She twists her fingers, dragging me close to her until our faces nearly touch. “Gosh, if only you knew.”

Her form seems to glow brighter than it did before, and I feel my throat constrict. Black shapes dance in my eyes, slithering around Emmaline like snakes. Snakes..

She thinks I’m one of them. A snake.

How close to the truth she gets! I chuckle through the pain, and instantly realize how much of a mistake that is. I am thrown backwards, and I sense the waves of rage wafting off of Emma.

“Do you have any idea who you’re working for? What you sacrifice? Don’t you feel any remorse?” With each word she grows stronger.

The people I work for.. Countless times, the tasks I’ve had to complete were controversial ones, ones that made most others upset. However, I’d never regretted any of the things I’ve had to do, and the sacrifices I’d made never upset me.

A scream brings me back to the present. Who it belongs to, I don’t know. Possibly me?

Emma’s face closes off and her grip on me tightens. I realize one thing before I black out from the pain.

I hadn’t ever regretted anything, any of my sacrifices, until now.

I regret not having her.

Dawn_Camps

July 19th Daily

Word Count: 423

“Ugh, why did this happen to me!?” Kira wailed and flung her arms out wide. Then plopped down and curled up into a ball.
“It's not that bad.” Lisa, always the optimist tried to comfort Kira. She started rubbing her back in circles. “It could have been much, much worse.”
“How?” Kira sniffled and wiped her nose with her sleeve.
“Well, for one. He could have hit you back. He's too much of a gentleman to do that.”
“What gentleman would embarrass me so horribly, and in front of my best friend and crush?” Kira snapped her head up. “Not that you're not my best friend.” She hurriedly added.
Lisa smiled. “I know. I don't think he meant to embarrass you.” She paused and thought.
“I think…” She said slowly. “That he was embarrassed and flustered and tried to cover it up by making fun of you.”
“It was so mean of him!” Kira screamed.
“It was,” Lisa said gently. “But you slapping him in the face and storming out wasn't exactly kind either.”
“I supposed you're right.” Kira gave a long sigh.
“Aren't I always?” Lisa arched an eyebrow and smirked.
Kira laughed and jokingly punched Lisa in the arm. “Let's not exaggerate.”
Lisa laughed as well and held out her hand to Kira. Kira took it and brushed herself off.
“I guess I should apologize, huh?” She gave Lisa a small half smile.
“Probably.”
They went together and found Mark.
“Hey, Mark?” Kira tapped him on the shoulder and Mark turned.
“Um, I-” Kira started but Mark cut her off.
“Kira! I was just going to go looking for you!” He coughed and cleared his throat. “I wanted to apologize. I was a jerk for making fun of you. Will you forgive me?” He looked down, ashamed.
“Oh- Of course, I'll forgive you!” Kira exclaimed. “I actually came here to say I'm sorry for slapping you and ask for your forgiveness.”
“I definitely forgive you.” Mark smiled at her. “Hug and make up?”
“Sure.” Kira leaned forward and gave her older brother a big hug. It felt good to make up and get along with her brother.
“Aw, so sweet!” Lisa smiled and Kira turned to see her clutching her hands to her heart. “I wish I had an older brother.”
Kira leaned in and loudly whispered. “Trust me, it's not always that great.”
“I heard that!” Mark pretended annoyance but he was smiling.
“I think this calls for ice cream!” Lisa said, linking arms with Kira and Mark. “Let's go!”

Last edited by Dawn_Camps (July 19, 2022 04:11:15)

pages-of-ink

Weekly Three - Fantasy

Part One

Brainstorming

- Heavily forested area
- Many different communities scattered throughout, all small and tight-knit
- Generally welcoming and open-hearted society
- No real government or laws, residents live how they want to
- Families can be blood-related, though just as often they are found
- Many different species of magical creatures (fairies, dryads, nymphs, etc.), and all are accepted without question
- Those who do not comply with the generally peaceful and accepting community live in their own groups away from everyone else
- Lots of edible plants, the main food source
- Many residents are vegetarian
- Animals that exist in the real world live here too
- People rarely travel in and out of this forest (forest is surrounded by an entire governed kingdom)
- Residents are generally ignorant of the world beyond their home, and like to stay that way
- Small bodies of water including streams and ponds
- Soft magic; varies from species to species, and is frequently used; a casual part of everyday life
- Loyalty, friendship, and community are all highly valued
- No economy; people gather what they want from their environment when they want it, and often generously share with those in need
- No humans
- Homes are built to the needs and environments of the forest’s residents (for example, a water nymph might make their home a stream, while climbing/flying species might build a tree house)
- Colorful stones smoothed by water are collected and seen as symbols of good luck
- The full moon is a time of wild magic when anything can happen
- Life is carefree and simple for most residents, whose main goal is to have fun
- Society is seen by outsiders as foolish and even dangerous

Word count: 293

Connections

The forest of Agwyn functions as a border between two rival kingdoms, effectively separating each from its neighbor. It is populated by many different magical species, such as nymphs, dryads, elves, and faeries. These residents have formed their own tight-knit communities, which while small and disorganized share a strong sense of loyalty and family. As a whole, those who call the forest their home tend to be gracious and accepting individuals, though of course there are a number of outliers. Certain areas, shall I say, are more welcoming than others.

There are no government, laws, or economy. Residents are completely free to live however they would like. For the most part, this is not a problem; the society is usually quite peaceful and kind. The forest is also quite plentiful with food (mainly edible plants) and other resources. Its residents take what they need and are often very generous about sharing with others. As for houses, those are taken from the forest as well and adapted to the builders’ needs. For example, a water nymph might live in a small underwater cave, while winged fairies and dryads often construct themselves tree houses.

Magic in the forest is a common part of everyday life. All residents possess it in one form or another. Dryads can help natural life to flourish, water nymphs have a limited control over their respective streams, and faeries wield all sorts of interesting abilities, which vary depending on which type they happen to be. Most magic is simple and used for ordinary, practical purposes. On the night of the full moon, however, magic takes on a wilder form, becoming a powerful and unpredictable force. During these mysterious hours, anything can happen.

There is not much interaction between the forest and the world beyond it. Forest residents are generally ignorant when it comes to the happenings outside of their home, and they like to stay that way. The surrounding kingdoms, while more organized, have their own conflicts and messy politics. It’s best not to get involved with that. Outsiders seem to think the same way; there is little travel in and out of the forest. In a way, this place is like its own little bubble, tucked safely away from the rest of the world.

Word count: 377

Narrative

Raven’s eyes fluttered open. Thin rays of sunlight stole through the emerald canopy above, spotting her skin with warm traces of gold. She rolled over, the leaves tickling her side, and snagged a fruit from the branch beside her bed. The juice burst across her tongue as she bit into it, cool and sweet with just an edge of tart. Her fingers stained with sticky purple, she leapt up, changed into her day clothes (leafy trousers paired with a spider silk shirt), and stepped outside. Her home had been built by her friends ages ago, ever since she first arrived in the forest: a cozy treehouse, nestled snugly between the leaves of an old oak. A long branch stretched outside the narrow framed door, sturdy enough to support her weight without collapsing. This was where she stood now, the early morning breeze playing with her hair and a chipmunk chattering somewhere in the leaves above. She glanced at the ground a long distance below, sucked in a breath, and with an ear-shattering whoop leapt into the wind.

Her wings unfolded, the air gusting past their white-feathered tips as she gained momentum. She was above the trees now, the cloudless skies stretching above like an endless blue ceiling. The wind was in her face, her long dark hair streaming back behind her, and she was grinning so hard her cheeks felt ready to split. The thrill of flying was something that time could never take away.

Raven angled closer to the ground, skimming just below the treetops. The water nymphs were already out, it seemed, catching fish for their morning stew. They waved at her as she soared above them. Alya, her close friend, laughed and aimed a burst of water her way. It arced up in the shape of a bird before splashing back into the stream. Raven waved and continued on her way. After her morning flight was over, she’d definitely be stopping by to share in the nymph’s stew. They’d been nothing less than family to her ever since she arrived.

On she flew, past the clearing where the dryads were sowing new grass and the sun-soaked troll rock. She stopped for a moment at the mushroom faeries’ ring, wings beating heavily in midair to keep her aloft. The full moon was tonight, and the magic always got the wildest in this one spot - which meant, of course, that Raven would assuredly be there. She never missed out on a chance to have some interesting new fun. Last month, a gateway had opened in the ring, leading to the forest’s edge. Most people had been too frightened to venture beyond the well-trod path that led away from their familiar home to the fabled kingdom of Agwyn. Raven had been curious, but in the end she held back. The unknown always intrigued her, but to leave her beloved forest was something else entirely. Perhaps there was a challenge she was too nervous to accept, after all.

This memory made her feel oddly uncomfortable. She turned away to fly back home. Whatever happened tonight, she hoped it was something a little more safe. Then she could forget all about last month and…

“Raven!” On the ground below, a dryad was waving her arms, calling up at the treetops. “Raven, can you come help us? A tree fell last night, and we could really use an extra hand clearing it away.”

Raven grinned, diving toward the ground. She was always up to help a friend. Her memories of last month all but forgotten, she moved into place to help the dryads lift their tree.

There was nothing like working with family to drive a bad experience away.

Word count: 617

Part Two

Magical Realism Questionnaire

What kind of magic is used in your world?

In this world, magic is something that exists through the arts. A painter might make images so real that they take on a life of their own when no one is looking. A singer might be able to influence other’s emotions with their voice. A writer’s words can change events in the real world if they focus hard enough. Generally, magic takes on a subtle form, with no powerful, earth-shaking capabilities. Every so often, though, an enchanter is born with a gift much more strong than can be found in the average human.

How is the magic in the world used in the character’s everyday lives? What are the different abilities?

Magic, as mentioned in the first answer, is usually very subtle. People use their talents for little things, like cheering up an unhappy friend or creating moving pictures for their own amusement. There are three main types of enchanters: visual artists (they make drawings, sculptures, etc.), musicians (both those who sing and play instruments, along with composers) and writers (the most dangerous ability). Other types of magic do exist in other creative fields, though those are rarer and less well-known.

What are the laws of your world, specifically about magic? Punishments?

The government is very lax when in comes to laws concerning magic. Ordinary enchanters are not paid much attention, and as long as they aren’t obviously misusing their ability to cause problems, they should be fine. The more powerful magic-users, however, are strictly monitored, as they can wreak much more damage with their talents, Punishments vary based on the severity of the crime, much like the real world. They range from anywhere between a small fine and a death sentence.

How can your world’s magic aid character development?

A character might cause or witness small magical mishaps, which they could learn and grow from. They could also discover how to use their gifts for good, or develop strong artistic passions involving an enchanting ability. A character with no magic might still love making art, and their journey could be about following their dreams despite not having the same talents as the creators around them. Alternatively, someone with dangerously rare, powerful magic abilities might struggle to control their powers. Over the course of their story, they could learn self-acceptance, confidence, and explore the good (and bad) of their capabilities.

How common is magic, and are all characters aware they possess it?

Magic is fairly common. About two-thirds of the population possess it in some form. It is pretty much taken for granted, and accepted without much thought. Not all enchanters are aware or their abilities. Some have such weak powers that they aren’t immediately apparent in the art that they make. Others are not interested in creative pursuits, and thus never get a chance to discover their talents. It should also be mentioned that not all enchanters enjoy making art, or are even good at it. As a result, many never know about their own magical gifts.

What are the limitations of your world’s magic?

That largely depends on which person is being discussed. Different enchanters have different limitations. Some artists can only make their drawings dance across the page, while others can create sculptures that come alive. Some musicians can gently influence your emotions for a brief amount of time, while others can gather complete control of them, and by extension, much of your consciousness. Most writers can only alter a second or two in the future, while others can alter entire events in time. Everyone has some kind of limitation, however, and magic of any kind is very draining on concentration and energy.

How is magic viewed in your world (ie. as a boring normal, as a fascinating element of their life, or as a curse on society etc.)?

Magic is an ordinary part of life, and is often taken for granted. It is still a point of interest for many, however. Art that has been touched by magic is considered superior to ordinary creations, and many people are intrigued by those with more powerful abilities. Most celebrities and politicians have worked their way to their current status through their enchanting talents. Those with lesser skills are not given much attention, and are considered fairly “ordinary” among their friends, family, and communities.

Compared to our modern society, what do the characters do differently in your world, now that magic is incorporated?

Well, the arts are considered the greatest thing one can dedicate their life and career to. There are museums, concerts, and other showings throughout the world devoted to enchanted creations, many of which draw quite a crowd. Art that is not enchanted is considered uninteresting. Writing, painting, and making music and other art are some of the most stable careers out there. The main difference between this world and our world is the respect, reverence, and attention given to creators.

How is the education system in your world? What do your characters learn (or hypothetically would learn)?

The education system is much the same as it is in our world. Magic is not part of the curriculum in most schools. Children who wish to learn more about their enchanting skills can go to magic clubs, based in their schools and communities. There are a few very prestigious academies for students who have particularly strong abilities. They are very hard to get into, and only the most promising enchanters attend. Upon graduation, most alumni go on to become acclaimed artists and world leaders.

Does magic affect the government of your world? If so, how?

Magic and politics are heavily entwined in this world. Very rarely are successful politicians not skilled enchanters as well. Many governments have entire departments dedicated to overseeing magic and magic use. Powerful young enchanters are also quick to catch their government’s eye. Their expensive magical educations are usually funded by the government, who they often are employed by upon graduation. Writers in particular are heavily sought out, as they have the skills to change the future, and perhaps even the past. It is a dangerous ability to have, but one that can catapult them into positions of great influence and power.

Word count: 898

Part Three

Dystopian Fantasy

Cami stared into the mirror, nervously adjusting the folds of her heavy brown robe. A skinny, awkward girl gazed back at her, all big jade eyes and short, coppery hair. “You look beautiful,” her mother would have said if she were here, in that gentle, loving voice she only ever reserved for her daughters. “I’m so proud of the young lady you’ve grown up to be.” And Cami would have smiled, for even though her hair needed a combing and she was practically drowning in these ridiculous robes, there was a strange kind of comfort in those words.

She missed her mother.

“It’s just a few hours.” Cami spoke aloud, the reassurance hollow in her ears. “Just a few hours, and then you can take these things off and change into your regular work clothes and make some maps. And Mom will be so proud, she’ll write to congratulate you…” She swallowed back the lump that had unexpectedly risen up in her throat. “You’ll be a cartographer. A real cartographer… fine, just a junior one, but still. It’s better than being an apprentice. I mean, look at yourself, Cami. All your hard work has finally started to pay off. Soon- ”

“Hey, Cami?” Jorge stuck his head into the room. “Who are you talking to- oh wait, let me guess. Yourself.”

“Shut up, Jorge,” Cami snapped. Then she caught herself. “Sorry, I just…”

“I get it.” Jorge moved to stand beside her. “You’re nervous. But hey, that’s fine. This is what you’ve been waiting for your whole life, and now it’s finally happening. Hard to process, huh?”

She nodded, fingering the rough collar of her robe.

“Yeah.” Jorge shuffled his feet. “I get it. But, uh, I came in here to tell you that the ceremony’s about to start. You don’t want to be late.”

“Oh skies.” Cami ran for the door. “You couldn’t have said something sooner? I’m barely ready- ”

He laughed, following her into the auditorium. The Head Cartographer’s assistant stood by the stage in a pristine maroon robe, looking annoyed. “There you are! What have you been doing all this time? Never mind, get up there!” She waved a frantic hand. “Up! You’re already late, we’re starting in a few minutes!”

Cami ducked her head as she ran onto the stage. Jorge dashed after her. As she reached her assigned place, he stopped and gripped her hand. “Hey, Cami?” he asked in a low voice.

“Yeah?” Her palms were sweating, much to her embarrassment. Why did Jorge decide to touch them now, of all times?

“I’m nervous too.” Then he darted away to his assigned position, on the other side of the stage. Cami watched him go, his beige robe flapping behind him. Her palms were still damp, but somehow she’d forgotten about them.

“Welcome.”

The voice snapped her out of her daze. The heavy curtains were rising, and onstage stood the Head Cartographer. He wore an elegant silver robe, the rich folds of fabric matching his long beard and bright, intelligent eyes. “Welcome, esteemed guests, to the Ceremony of Cartographers. Gathered here on this stage are the most talented young mapmakers in all of the Cathegian empire.” He paused to gesture to the students behind him, including Cami. “Today, they take a bold step into their futures as master cartographers. These apprentices, soon to be…” He droned on, and Cami’s mind began to wander. Her eyes drifted over the audience. She wished so desperately that her family could be here to celebrate this promotion ceremony with her. Unfortunately, Cathege did not allow commoners from the empire’s poorer regions to enter the wealthy capital city. They only ever made a few exceptions to this rule. Cami had been one of them. She came from Farthing, one of the poorest villages in all the empire. Her mother had been a laundress there, struggling to get by with three children to care for and a husband who abandoned her. Despite this upbringing, Cami had shown a gift for mapmaking, something that only existed in the noble cities. The esteemed Cartographer’s Guild had quickly taken notice of her, and at age ten she moved into the Cathege capital to study with an experienced cartographer. It was the opportunity of a lifetime. Here she was, with a chance at changing her family’s entire fortune. She had been quick to snatch it up before it flew away and out of reach.

The capital city, and all of its undreamt of delights, had enraptured her at first. There were winged horses, and sumptuous banquets, and carriages wrought entirely from gold. It was so very different from her own village, all this luxury and extravagance. Still, as time wore on, a seedling of a question had crept into her mind and taken root there. Why did this place not share its wealth with the rest of Cathege? Why did her village not get to share in these riches? There was more than enough to go around, so why was it all centered in this one city, where the nobles and scholars and cartographers lived?

Now here she was, four years later, her apprenticeship complete. She was being promoted to junior cartographer. She had made friends. She had learned more than she had ever wanted to about the art of mapmaking. And that seedling question had grown, sprouting a stem and earthy green leaves - but it still had no answer. It was something she had pondered since her arrival in this grand city, full of unimaginable wonders. Yet she was no closer to solving it, and she was beginning to believe that she never would. Anyway, there were more important things to think about today. Today she was getting promoted. She pushed aside all thoughts of unexplained wealth and extravagant capitols and turned back to the ceremony.

The other apprentices had lined up and were now filing down the stage, toward the Head Cartographer. Cami hastily moved forward with them, hoping no one had noticed her daydreaming. When she glanced out at the audience, they appeared to be fixated on the others. Jorge had reached the front of the line, and she watched as he received a certificate and a badge from the Head Cartographer. Her friend grinned and shook the man’s hand, then turned to discreetly wink at Cami. She forced a smile back, hoping it looked genuine. She should look happy for him; he was a junior cartographer now, after all.

The line inched forward. Before she knew it, she stood in front. She shook the Head Cartographer’s bony hand, accepting her own certificate and badge. Much to her chagrin, her palms were still damp with nerves. As she pulled them out of the man’s firm grip, he bent down so that his mouth was level with her hair. “See me after the ceremony.” The words brushed her ear, so soft she almost thought she imagined them. Then he straightened and smiled at the girl behind her.

Cami stumbled off the stage, clutching the certificate to her chest. What had that been about? Why did he want to see her? Had she done something wrong? Had he whispered in any of the others’ ears? She cursed herself for not paying better attention, slipping into the line of prompted cartographers at the base of the stage. Jorge had somehow worked his way to the very end, so they were standing together. “Not so bad, was it?” he mouthed, flashing a bright smile. She nodded weakly back, too stunned for a proper response.

Once everyone had received their badge, certificate, and handshake, the Head Cartographer made a speech that Cami barely heard over the spinning of her own thoughts. Then it was over, and everyone was clapping and drifting for the auditorium doors.

“Hey.” Jorge nudged her. “I hear there’s a reception party on the East Courtyard. Want to go check out the snacks?”

“Uh, I think I’ll stay behind, actually,” Cami stuttered. “To you know, admire the auditorium?” She forced out a shaky laugh. “Soak in the moment? Get some inspiration for a map?”

He gave her an odd look. “Suit yourself, I guess.”

“I’ll meet you later!” she remembered to yell as he turned for the doors. He nodded and disappeared into the crowd.

Cami waited awkwardly by the side of the stage, fidgeting with her new badge. Across the room, the Head Cartographer turned to face her. The room was nearly empty now, save for a few Senior Cartographers murmuring quietly in the corner. They took no notice of the silver-robed man striding calmly past them, nor the sweating young mapmaker who currently held his attention.

“Camilla Wentworth,” the Head Cartographer said, stopping in front of Cami. His voice was rich and resonant, heavy enough to drown in. Somehow she had failed to notice that when he gave his earlier speech. “That is your name, correct?”

“Yes sir.” Cami stood straighter, trying not to appear intimidated. “Most people call me Cami.”

“I see.” His eyes were pools of melted silver, bright and unfathomable. “Cami, you possess a great gift.”

“I… excuse me?” Of all the things she had been expecting him to say, this was not it.

The Head Cartographer’s mouth twisted into an odd little smile. He reached into the folds of his robe and produced a crumpled sheet of parchment. “This is yours, is it not?”

Cami accepted his offering, unfolding the crinkled parchment. A map, composed of smeared graphite lines and poorly traced landmasses stared up at her. A black ink stain sat in the middle of the page, marring the rest of the work. She gasped. “This was my first map.” She remembered making it very clearly. Her hands had struggled to properly draw the oceans and landmasses, and in the end that ink splatter had ruined everything. In a rage, she crumpled the page up and hurled it at the wall. Still, the assignment was due the following morning, and with no time to map something new she was forced to retrieve the work and present it, ink stain and all. She had expected to be expelled from the Cartographer’s Guild; instead, her map was accepted and she continued her training as if nothing had happened. It was puzzling, but at the time she had been too relieved to care.

The Head Cartographer’s hand on her shoulder startled Cami out of the memory. “Do you know what you hold in your hands?”

“A map, sir?”

That odd little smile returned. Something about it unsettled her, though she couldn’t quite say why. “This is so much more than a map, Cami. This is the gateway to another world.”

“What?” Cami’s brow furrowed as she tried to make sense of what he had just said.

“You have a gift, my dear.” The Head Cartographer removed the map from her hands. “With this one page, you opened up a passage into another world. You tore open the space that separates our reality from another. That is a rare gift for a cartographer to possess, a rare gift indeed.”

“I did? But..” Cami stammered, struggling to find her next words. “How do you know.”

He laughed. “I’ve been trained to recognize a gateway when I see one. And someday you will be, too. Cami, you are a special girl indeed. The other young mapmakers who promoted today are talented indeed, but they are nothing - nothing - compared to you. I have a proposition to make.” He held up a silencing hand before she could interrupt. “I would like you to be my student.”

The world reeled beneath Cami’s feet. “Me? You… you want me to be your student?”

“Do you accept?” They both knew her answer before she gave it.

“I… would be honored.” She should have been happy. She should have been celebrating right now. The Head Cartographer, the most powerful, most talented mapmaker in all of Cathege, had asked her to be his student. So why did the words taste sour in her mouth?

“I am glad.” His metallic eyes glinted.

“But why?” Cami blurted. “I mean… why are you asking me, of all people, to study under you? Surely…” She didn’t know what she had been going to say after that.

“I told you.” His grip on her shoulder tightened, and she repressed a shudder. “You have a gift. And I intend to use it.”

Word count: 2,070

Steampunk

Istra woke in an unfamiliar room. Golden light streamed in through the narrow rear windows, which provided a clear view of the clear blue skies beyond. A rattling clockwork contraption stood in the center of the room, spewing small sparks and the occasional cloud of thick white steam. The walls and floor were a polished metal, gleaming silver where the light bounced off. She recognized immediately what this place was built to be; the belly of some kind of complicated machine.

Istra sat up, her boots scraping the slick metallic floor. She had been laying on an expensive sofa, elegant dark wood with plush velvet cushioning. Her hand automatically darted to her neck, searching for the slim brass key that always hung there.

It was gone.

“Looking for this?” a cool voice asked from the other end of the room.

Istra whipped around. Standing in the doorway stood a dark-haired man, dressed in a fine suit and neatly pressed trousers. Between his pale fingers hung a brass key on a chain. Her key.

“Give that back!” Istra flung herself forward, hand snatching at the trinket, but the man pulled it away and out of reach. His laugh was amused, with just a touch of condescension. “Not so fast, my dear girl.”

She swiped uselessly at the key for a few more seconds before finally giving up. “That’s not yours to have!”

“Perhaps,” he agreed, idly fingering the chain. “Nonetheless, it seems that I do. Have it, you know.”

They’d barely met a minute ago, and already Istra despised him. “Where am I, and what do you want with me?”

“Come now.” His coy smile made her shudder. “You’re Istra Penderglass, are you not? If you’re half as clever as they say, I’m sure you already know.”

He knew her name. Of course he did. “Give me back that key.” Her voice was low, barely containing the fury simmering just beneath its surface.

The man chuckled. “Oh, if only it were that simple. But this is no ordinary little trinket, as I’m sure you know. This is the Clockwork Key. It’s a lot of power and responsibility for a young girl such as yourself to be carrying around.”

“You’re barely older than I am!” Istra sputtered. “And I’m certainly more equipped to handle the key than a man like - ”

He held up a hand. “Enough fuss. I must say that all your yelling is quite an amusement, but it’s getting to be tiresome. Now. We both understand why you are here, more or less.”

As much as she hated to admit it, he was right. “What are you going to do with the key?” she demanded.

“Nothing too severe,” he assured her. “Just a bit of… tinkering, so to speak. This city is no perfect place you know, but that can be easily fixed.”

“Nothing too severe?” Her voice rose, and she struggled to keep it level. “That key you hold in your hands could alter the entire foundation of the entire Bellensium City. No mechanism is the same with the removal of one spring, one gear. The more complex its inner working, the greater the damage. Nothing you do with that key could possibly be less than severe.”

“I think you’re overreacting, my dear.” The man smirked, slipping the key into his pocket. “It really is a shame. Such power you hold at your fingertips, and yet you refuse to use it.” He raised a warning eyebrow before she could interject. “Fortunately for all of us, I will. I shall need your help with that mission, however. And you will give it.” The words were spoken lightly enough, but there was an unmistakable threat woven through them. Istra repressed a shiver. “Now,” the man abruptly exclaimed, clapping his hands. “We’ve been stuck in this dreary chamber long enough, with that noisy contraption spewing out steam in the back.” He nodded to the sparking machine. “Come on up to the deck of the airship with me now, would you? The air is much fresher, and besides, there’s a lovely view.” He winked, then turned and stepped out the door.

Istra’s hands balled into fists. The man was infuriating. Still, she didn’t know where else she was supposed to go, and the rattling machine was getting obnoxious. With a frustrated sigh, she followed him up to the airship roof.

Word count: 729

Hidden Worlds

The woods behind Grandmother’s house are a magical place.

At least, that’s what she has always told me. Mom says not to believe her; all people have their funny little fantasies, but that doesn’t mean others should indulge in them. I don’t know what “indulge” means exactly, but I guess what Mom is trying to say is that the woods are normal. They’re just a bunch of wild, twisting trees, standing behind a house in the middle of nowhere. Nothing enchanted to see here.

Still, there are times when I have a hard time believing that the woods aren’t just a tiny bit magical. Like right now. It’s afternoon, and I’ve escaped outside for some fresh air and quiet. Grandmother and Mom are arguing again, like they do every time we visit. It gets kind of old, honestly, all of their endless shouting. The woods are peaceful, at least. Thin rays of sunlight are slanting in through the treetops, speckling the ground with muted gold. The grass whispers beneath my feet as I walk, swaying in time with the breeze. And of course, there’s the fairy ring.

The fairy ring was named by Grandmother. It’s a circle in the ground, about three feet wide, surrounded by white-speckled toadstools. A thin imprint in the grass very clearly marks the boundaries of the ring. “Look at that,” Grandmother had whispered to me the very first time we discovered it in the woods. “Now, you tell me that wasn’t a ring made for fairies. Just imagine: on the full moon, they gather together under the dark treetops to dance. Their movements are light, elegant, they twirl with a sinuous, impossible grace. Their wings glimmer in the silver night, shedding an ethereal glow.” Her hands were clasped over her chest as she described the scene. “Oh, just imagine what it would be like to witness such a thing!”

I’m only ten, but that’s old enough to know that fairies aren’t actually real. Still, it is strange how the grass within the ring remains completely fresh and stiff, untouched by wind or time. And the boundaries seem a little too perfectly placed to have been drawn by nature alone…

I shake myself. I’m starting to sound like Grandmother. Like Mom, I pride myself on being realistic and practical. The fairy ring is an odd thing, but it is not magical. It is not.

I don’t know why I do what I do next. Maybe it’s just frustration at myself for slipping into Grandmother’s stories. Maybe I’m trying to prove that this circle is no enchanted thing. Maybe, just maybe, a small part of me is hoping that there is magic in this forest, and that I can find it. Whatever the reason, a sudden wave of impulsive anger pours over me. Without thinking, I jump into the fairy ring and start stomping over the grass, crushing the sharp emerald blades beneath my feet. When they are thoroughly crumpled, I move over to the toadstools. Those are trickier; they seem to be rooted in the earth, and don’t want to be pulled up. I kick at the shiny red things, determined to knock them up from the earth. I’ll show those fairies what’s real and what only exists in -

“Oh, I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” tinkles a voice behind me.

I whirl around. My foot catches on one of the toadstools, and I lose my balance. I fall, landing hard on the earth, only it’s not the earth anymore, I’m spiraling under, I’m sinking, I’m…

My eyes snap open. I lie on my back. Above me is a clear midnight sky, vast and unending. The stars glimmer faintly, tiny pinpricks of silver in the heavy darkness.

Wait, what?

I sit up, rubbing my head. No. This can’t be. It was afternoon just a minute ago, and the trees were blocking any view of the sky. I bolt to my feet. I must have been knocked unconscious. Where is the house? Where is Mom? Has she noticed that I’m missing yet? Is she worried? Or is she too busy arguing with -

“Oh, my dear,” giggles a voice in my ear. “I’m afraid you aren’t at your grandmother’s house any longer.”

Word count: 708

Total word count: 5692

Last edited by pages-of-ink (July 24, 2022 01:56:00)

smalltoe

“Hello?”
The phone shakes in my white hand. Or maybe it’s my hand that’s shaking. I can’t tell anymore.
“Hello?”
Why won’t she pick up? What if she changed her phone number what if I can’t get hold of her-
“Chelsea?”
Relief cuts through the coil of dread in the pit of my stomach. “Finally.”
“What’s up, girl?” She sounded bored.
“Sonata-
I just wanted to talk to you again.”
“I know that’s not the reason.”
“…yeah.”
Silence stretches on like blue bubblegum.
Sonata always used to have blue bubblegum.
I wonder if that’s changed.
I know a lot changed for me since we last talked.
“Listen, girl, I’m busy now. I got new friends. No offence but I got places to be.”
Nothing’s changed for her, has it?
She was always talking about her ‘other friends’. They were always more important than me.
“Yeah, well, I can’t keep you from your friends. I hope you have a good time together. I’ll tell someone else.”
I lower the phone, counting the seconds. I get to five before she calls out.
“Wait!”
She was always so predictable.
“I thought you said-”
“Well I can’t just hang up on a friend, can I? Tell me. Keep it quick.”
“I was wondering if you wanted to meet up.”
“Oh, just that?”
“Course not.”
“Knew it. There’s always something more going on with you, ain’t there?”
“You always did know me well.”
“So?”
“I was wondering if you wanted to meet up. Take it or leave it.”
A pause. I get to another five seconds before she sighs and speaks again.
“Where, then?”
“The usual.”
A sonata of silence stretches again as she hangs up the phone. My smile glints in the dark.
“There’s always something more going on with you, ain’t there?”

It doesn’t take her long to arrive. Almost like she never took the time to say goodbye to her new friends. What a shame.
She was always so predictable.
“Out with it, girl. You’re up to something and I want in.”
Despite her bold words, she shifted from foot to foot, uncomfortable in the place we used to know so well.
“Have a guess, Sonata.”
She grimaces at the use of her name. “Look, I-I’m sorry for not keeping in touch with you last term I really didn’t mean it-”
“Oh it doesn’t matter. You have new friends.” My voice was cold.
“I-”
“Really, it doesn’t.
Because I was never your friend at all.”
Blue bubblegum falls.
“But everything we did-”
“You never did anything with me.”
“Who are you? What did you do with Chelsea?”
“Wouldn’t you like to see for yourself?”
She turns. She runs. Not a single thought to her friend.
She was always so predictable. I would know. Chelsea told me everything, eventually.
I hope I played my character well.

gooseful

༺═─── daily 19 ───═༻

n-no setting. okay </3

༺═── word count; 481 ──═༻

“What are you doing?” Emphasis was put on the ‘doing’. Emphasis was put on the entire sentence.
“Nothing much, because you're irritating me.”
“Oh, really?” Amara raises her hands aggressively, as if about to lunge forward and punch Emer. But she wouldn't. She promised that she wouldn't, and she would keep her promise.
“Yep, you are excellent at irritating me.”
“I'm glad that I amuse you so much.”
“I'm glad that you accept that.”
They both backed away from each other, hands raised.
“So.” Amara rolls her eyes, prolonging the words tremendously.
“So.” Emer repeats.
“We really have to talk?”
“You bet.”
“We're kind of similar, you know.”
“What?” The word is sharp.
“We are! Just look at us. Having a conversation with no dilemmas, only because of that championship, true, but we're still talking because we're both stubborn and dedicated.”
“I am nothing like you.” The tone is quiet, an undertone of what it should be.
“We're all dedicated.”
“So, you're implying that us two are more dedicated than most?”
“Maybe. Depends whether you find that pleasant or not.”
Amara raises her eyebrows in disbelief. “After all this history, you expect slight compliments to impress me?”
“I'm not sure what you like!” Emer explodes.
“Obviously you don't, because otherwise you'd be a lot nicer to me.” The older sniffs, slightly wounded.
“Would I?”
“I bet you will.”
Emer changes the subject, feeling lured into a trap. “How's your team going, anyway?”
“We're doing excellent.” It is uttered stiffly, with a shrug of shoulders.
“So are we. I'm sure that we'll meet you guys in the final.”
“Who's your best player?”
“Well, not to be boastful, but I'm pretty fabulous if I do say so myself.”
Amara snorts. “In what universe? I bet it's that tall girl – what's her name?”
“Emma.”
“Ah, okay.”
“So, who's the best on your team?”
“Well, I'm pretty fabulous, if I do say so myself,” Amara mimics, and to her surprise, Emer laughs.
“Alright, alright, that did sound pretty conceited.”
“I am incredibly glad that you admitted that.”
“In all honesty, who is it?”
Amara hesitates. She isn't too familiar with her teammates, always hovering at the sidelines. Perhaps it was easier when Emer was on her team, at her side. Perhaps.
“They're all pretty amazing.” She decides upon in the end, with a shrug. “I think we all play to each other's strengths and aim to cover up for everyone else's weaknesses.”
“Pretty neutral answer.”
“I'm not giving you top-secret information, Emer!”
“Of course.” The younger nods gravely. “Hey, can we call ourselves neutral acquaintances now?”
“Okay. That doesn't sound too bad, I suppose.”
“It's a pleasure to meet you, acquaintance.” They shake hands gravely, but burst into giggles afterwards.
“I miss this.” Emer deliberates upon, after the laughing has extinguished.
“Oh, I miss this too. It's nice to think back, sometimes.”
“Yeah.”

Last edited by gooseful (July 26, 2022 11:16:32)

_artTiger_

DAILY!
Write a story with no setting

A Boring Promise….

“No, it was my go.” shouted Samantha, snatching the worn teddy bear, “No mine!” cries Tim. “Settle down children,” says mum trying to raise her voice but hardly getting over their screaming! “Sammie and Tim… LISTEN TO ME!” The room went silent, it’s a rare occasion that mum raises her voice.

That toy, as old as time, and as precious as a diamond to their mum, Sally. During her childhood, whenever she was sad Ted, the Teddy was there, her parents might not have been, but Ted was. She remembered when she first got Ted. Over time, it’s bold brown colour has faded, and the handmade stitches have frayed. He’s lost one eye, not from battling a pirate but from battling time itself.

Ted had been a gift from Uncle Fred. On Christmas long ago, Sally was sitting back against the wall feeling bored. Paint drying would have been more exiting! All the adults in her extended family were as boring and neglectful as her parents, her mother and father only took her along because Uncle Fred had insisted on seeing Sally. Everyone in that room was boring… except Uncle Fred. He never had kids of his own, said he was to busy, but he managed to make time for his beloved Sally!

Uncle Fred pulled up a chair and started with the same old boring question adults always ask kids, “How is school going?”. It’s like they all went to Adult Academy to learn how to not be fun. But Sally thought Uncle Fred must have skipped Adult Academy because he’s still fun. Which is why he put a little spin on the question. “How’s school going, super boring?” Told you he was fun!

“Hmmm, yeah, prep is not as fun as kindergarten, though being here is way more boring than school!” Sally stated. He chuckled, he understood. “About that, I got you a little gift.” Her eyes lit up; she really didn’t get gifts often. All she had gotten so far that Christmas was a pack of hair ties. Slowly from behind his back he took out a little brown bear. “Ooooo” Sally squealed. The bears considerate face beamed back at her. “I love it, I love it, I love it!!! Thanks Uncle Fred”. She pulled Uncle Ted into a tight hug. “I promise I will keep him so safe and not let anything hurt him.”
And to this day Sally has kept her promise.

Discuss Scratch