Sulvi closed her eyes, letting the crackle of the flames drown out the overwhelming cheers of the crowd. It was such a familiar, comforting sound – perhaps it was the flickering blaze that appeared to threaten her life, yet it was the fire that saved her; it was the fire that calmed her down, helping the storm of fear and anticipation to evaporate, leaving only the performer behind. Taking a deep breath, she steadied herself, shifting her focus to the trapeze artists performing to her left as she waited for her cue.

They soared through the air, flipping and spinning each time they let go, launching themselves well beyond safety without a moment’s hesitation. She’d seen them practice hundreds of times before, but she couldn’t help but hold her breath as they danced through the top reaches of the tent, just a hair's breadth from its striped fabric. One final sequence and a kiss goodbye; the audience cheered; it was her turn to fly.

Stepping gracefully on to the high wire, Sulvi relaxed, letting muscle memory take over. She’d been walking the tightrope – a fine line between life and death, between confidence and arrogance since she was a tiny child.

It was then, as she began her act, a delicate solo atop layers of strings, that a pair of brilliant blue eyes caught her attention. They were shining bright as a pair of dew drops glistening in the morning sun, the young owner’s awe unmistakable.



She looked up in astonishment as the girl stepped on to the tightrope with confidence written in every line of her face. Even hundreds of feet in the air; even hundreds of feet away from her, the girl looked so calm, her bright blue eyes focused. She couldn’t help but envy the way the girl leaped across the delicate thread — the fine line that stood between her and the fire — so graceful and unconcerned. Tilting her head, she began sketching a tentative picture in her mind. Could she someday be that girl? She imagined herself atop the woven rope, dressed in a dazzling pink dress, glitter lighting up the tent as the warm glow of the fire reflected back at the audience, dancing around like a beautiful young princess.

As the girl began to cartwheel across the line, her feet quickly made a wide arc around her head before landing neatly on the tightrope, she knew. That was going to be her someday. Someday, she too would leap and tumble across the wire. Someday, the crowd would scream for her too. Leaving her imagination to entertain the thoughts now whirling around her head, she shifted her focus back to the girl. Something about the way she moved held her gaze captive. Every motion appeared so easy — an effortless spin in the grand scheme of her ballet, even as the furious flames surrounding her threatened to snatch her away and devour her like a bar of chocolate.



As she finished her series of spinning cartwheels, each one perfectly timed and balanced to create an arc as smooth as their namesake, Sulvi raised her arms to the sky. Like perfect puppets, reacting to her every move on the other end of the string, the crowd cheered widely, their wonderment woven into every scream of amazement, each individual clap of applause. She was a performer — she had heard these cheers hundreds of times before, their congratulations, while sincere, embedded in her eardrums, an eternal bell echoing their approval.

The crowd’s ovation surrounding her like a halo, Sulvi let her smile soften as she launched her final sequence. Their cheers rose to a crescendo around her, the halo of encouragement flaring brighter and bright, but it made no difference to her. She was here to do what she loved – to perform; to entertain.

Even so, she couldn’t help but look up from the rope, searching for the girl with shining blue eyes in the crowd. It was as if someone had cast a neon spotlight on her. Sulvi’s eyes immediately fell on her, a miniature yet mighty powerhouse of excitement. The young girl’s eyes were locked on to her like lasers, admiration laid clearly in her expression. She wanted to be like her. Something about the girl, standing on top of her seat and screaming her heart out for her, slowly eroded bits of her unmoving expression like rocks off a cliff, sending them tumbling below to unveil the layers below. Finishing her simple yet showy chain and twists and jumps, Sulvi pushed her weight down into the wire, gathering momentum for a final showstopper. She locked eyes with the girl, smiling at her as she took off, throwing herself into the air.



Her eyes unmoving, she remained focused on the girl. She had bounced once, twice, three times, and she was off, flying through the air like a rocket into space, gaining momentum as she started to spin. She gasped as the girl flipped, their eyes locked together for a moment — a mere second in time, a grain of sand in her grand castle — but it was enough. She jumped up and down, cheering excitedly. Someday, she would learn how to do that too. Once, twice, the girl spun through the air before straightening out, her feet posed to land, just as she had each time before.



Even before she landed, Sulvi knew. She was going to fall. Her balance had been betrayed by her idealistic eyes seeking out the young girl in the sea of chaos, looking for something new, something special.

Time seemed to slow as she neared the tightrope — stretched out like a rubber band, seemingly endlessly elastic — and she used it to glance at the audience. They were still stamping their feet, still screaming for her; it made no difference. At least they wouldn’t know before it happened. At least they would only experience the terror for a brief moment, before the net below her was unveiled. The circus might be dangerous, but they would never throw one of their own down into the fire.

She let herself fall cleanly to one side of the rope, making no attempt to save herself. Her fate was perhaps deserved, yet she still couldn’t resist the thought of the girl. What was she thinking now, and she fell gracefully through the air, an eagle fallen from her perch? Sulvi had always known the net would be there to catch her, like an old friend she could always rely on, but the audience was not to know that. They couldn’t see her now, as she kicked her legs up, tilting herself to land on her back, staring up and the gorgeous red and white stripes she loved so much. To them, she had been devoured by fire, lost to the insurmountable hunger of the flames.



She screamed. Unlike before, this was not a scream or joy, amazement, or admiration — this was a scream of pure, unfiltered terror. The girl was falling, falling, falling, down, down, down, into the blaze that seemed to swell with excitement at her approach. Even as she fell, the girl’s face remained stoic, even thoughtful, like the queen she was to her should.

The world faded around her, leaving just her and the girl, walking along the tightrope together in the fantasies her imagination had so hopefully entertained. The girl kept her balanced easily, lending her a hand as she fought to find the perfect position.

“Don’t worry about your physical balance,” the girl whispered gently, her voice soft and almost lyrical, like an angel sent down from the heavens. “You’ll find it in time. Focus on your thoughts; focus on your feelings.” She took a deep breath, motioning for her to do the same. They breathed in and out, each breathing in perfect harmony, letting the symphony of emotion flow freely through her. The girl took her other hand as well, and smiled kindly. “It’s okay to be afraid,” she said, letting her words sink in for a moment before adding, “but look down below us. We might be surrounded by the flares of fire, but the net will always catch us if we fall.”

With one last small smile, the scene quickly fell away, leaving only reality to remain. The collective gasps and screams surrounded her once more, their fear for the girl rebounding throughout the tent, shared by nearly every soul in the crowd. But she knew, she thought with a smile. “The net will always catch us if we fall.”

The girl must have hit the net, because the flames slowly fell away, their disappointment obvious as they abandoned their ring. The girl bounced neatly off the net, as if nothing had ever happened, and she cheered, the rest of the crowd roaring along with her. Maybe the fire was gone, but the girl was still brave, she thought as she watched her walk over to the ladder, quickly making her way back up it.



The audience was losing their mind. With every rung she climbed, their screams grew louder, a thousand bells tolling in perfect unison, applauding her determination to finish. The fires remained suppressed, their purpose defeated. The net had been revealed; she had fallen, and yet, the audience seemed as appreciative and excited as always. Nearing the top, Sulvi let her eyes wander to the girl. She was cheering as loud as any of them, her face alight with excitement once more.

Once more, she stepped gracefully on to the high wire, letting herself relax into the fine line it was. Perfection had been torn away with the facade that implied it, leaving only what was true behind. Looking out into the audience's faces, looking into the girl's eyes, one last time as she took an elegant bow, she knew. Someday she would be one of them.

Writing Comp Entry: A Shred Of Hope

A broken-out fire
A destructive desire
Up rises the smell of war
In a land quite far
The sky reeks of shooting pistols
Ash lines the empty halls
In every corner rises a flame
Each person wishes their savior came
Everywhere you see, a person lies dead
With painful tears the soil has become wet
All there is to see is rising smoke
Every being walks on with a shred of hope
From this dreadful pain they wish to escape
Their grief and worries they wish to erase
All those who have left, they wish to revive
But deep in their hearts, they too wish to survive
The fires have ignited every shadow
The hearts of the kindest have become hollow
Tears stroll down every cheek
Everyone lies helpless and weak
But still there is a ray of light
That there shall be a way to win this fight
All there is, is ash and smoke
But still a small shred of hope

writing comp entry!!
tw mentions of mild death and blood

That one little girl

I hid behind a huge rock, hoping it would provide some safety from the war raging outside. But I knew I wouldn't last for long - it was getting harder to breathe. I could hear gunshots. Many, many gunshots.

All of my memories started flowing in one by one. From my mom, the queen’s death to my current state. I was all alone - guilty? afraid? anxious? You could say any of those. At least I thought I was alone. Until I moved the rock a little to take a little peak - I couldn’t just stay there doing nothing.

I saw a little girl who looked like someone around the age of eight. She was standing still, crying. There was something about her expression that I recognized; she was scared. It reminded me of the times I was crying, terrified in bed every night after my mom’s death. Of course the little girl was scared - I felt the urge to do something but I couldn’t. I was too selfish. Before anything happened, I saw a bullet go past the little girl's leg. Her body thumped down onto the ground - there was blood spread all over the surface. I couldn’t do it anymore. Only if I did something she may have had a chance to be alive. This is just the way life works, or so I thought.

–

This memory still taunts me to this day. I’m going to be crowned queen today. It felt all good when I first got the news - I wasn't thinking about anything; it just felt normal. But then I felt all the overwhelming emotions and pressure. I had to do this. I needed to consider everyone's life. But, was I really up to this task? No.

For once, I’m going to consider my life.

Without thinking, I impulsively ran out of my room, through the stairs, out of the palace. I ran, ran and ran. People shouted. People started running after me, too. Eventually stopping at some point.

I took a break at a farm on the outskirts of the realm where no one stays. It was getting dark. But, I felt so relieved - I was happy after a long time. I felt the weight taken off my shoulders.

Now this is the way how life works.

—
380 words without the title!
@amazinmech2418 for amazing critique stan!!!

hangon testing something (i am a camper this is an alt)

edit: oh wai tthats cool :0 my writing comp entry is like 5 posts up

writing competition




Bullies (1574)

I wasn't always like this.
On fifth April ten years ago, a girl was born at exactly three forty two in the morning. The girl cried and cried, and wouldn't go to sleep until seven hours later.
At the age of five, the little girl got in an accident. Her friend was taking her to the candy shop, and apparently the driver had made a mistake with the gears. That day, the little girl, her friend and her friend's father were rushed to the hospital the moment public had seen the steaming car.
The friend could never walk again. The father could never hold anything in his right hand and had to use a walking stick even though he was so young. And the girl was permanently deaf and mute.
That girl was me.

Mrs. Rubina moved her hand to the further part of the blackboard, where the second part of the sum was. I study in Abel school. I refused to be sent to a special needs school. I knew enough to understand, and books would help me too, so my parents sent me back to my old school.
A few of the students laughed at me, and I knew it not because I could hear it, but because of the way they pointed. I didn't really mind, since I knew that would never experience this feeling. That would probably make people mad, but it made me happy to know that they would never know this feeling of peace against bullies. You could never hear thier toxic words.

I was best at english, which surprised most. I could not participate in talk shows, but my essays and class work were by far the best. I had read so many books after I had gone deaf, that I learnt most words that children my age do not know of. My dream is to become a writer. I want to write for children, so others can enjoy books like I did.
Math was not my strong point. If you cannot hear the teacher explain the problem, it is very hard to do it yourself, especially if the teacher is Mrs. Rubina. Mrs. Rubina likes to explain the sum orally and then write the solution on the board after explaining it, so sometimes, I have to ask my best and only friend Fred to give me his notes.
Fred is a mute, just like me, except he is not deaf. He can hear them jeer at him, and it saddens me to see him brought to tears. I wish we could do something about it, but we cannot talk back to them because, well, we cannot talk.

Mrs. Rubina came over to me, as she knows I have trouble. She pointed to a few numbers, and then made some signs with her hands. I asked her to write them down, taking two fingers and scrubbing on my opposite palm, and then pointing at the sum. She nodded, and wrote down the instructions. This made it a lot simpler, and I finished the sum easily.

I wish I could get my hearing back. And my talking. I would tell this big bullies to shut up.
The bell rang, and me and Fred went out of the classroom.
The world may be loud.
But it's quiet to me.
And honestly, I don't quite mind that much. Except for the fact that Fred could hear, and I could do nothing to stop him from hearing those horrible words. So I decided to do something about it.

~*~*~*~
The next day, I was determined to start my plan. I would not sit around when my friend took all the burden.
Yesterday afternoon, when I was walking home, I thought a lot about my scheme. What did bullies hate? What did they dislike the most?
Aha!
Bullies hate being tricked themselves. They like to be the boss of things. They hate being made fun of too, but the problem was, I couldn't hear them speak, so how could I know thier weakness?
It was so frustrating!!
Then I got an idea. When I reached home, I picked up a Sherlock Holmes book and flipped through the pages. Where is it, where is it, where is it…
There!!!!
The part where he figures out thier fault…
I read for hours, my eyes were watering, but I didn't stop.
At the end, I knew exactly how to find thier weakness.
Just you wait, I thought to myself, a sly smile on my Lips.
First of all, I looked at them this time. While they teased me, I looked at the faces, for common things that kept happening. The first guy, named Bodie, kept glancing at a room somewhere around us and then looking back. Later on in the afternoon, I saw it was Mr. Nemesis's office (I'm sorry about the name of my History teacher). I laughed, my eyes determined. One down, three to go.
Sean, the buff guy, was scared of spiders. I couldn't believe it. If anyone else knew this, they would have exploited it forever. I noticed it this morning. He had seen a spider on the wall and had gone as white as a sheet during geography class.
Next up, Thomas. Thomas likes science, but he hates gooey stuff. He won't go near any with that texture. Mrs. Grayson is fed up with him. Her official motto- ‘Science means slime so if you don’t like that get out of my class.' We hear it every day (except me remember I'm deaf), but today Mrs. Grayson got fed up and wrote it on the board in big letters, so now only Alek was left.
Alek was a smart aleck. Literally. He was good at everything, except staying quiet. He would've been funny if he hadn't bullied almost all the students in our grade by now. He was a little tough to find out. But I cracked his case eventually. Alek was scared of dictionaries. He was afraid they'd know more than him. He stayed away from higher graders too, because they DEFINATELY knew more than him. Basically, anything smarter than himself had to be avoided.
I sneered. My plan was getting together.
On Monday, I told Fred my plan. By writing it down. Don't make fun of me.
He loved it. He nodded in excitement, so vigorously, it felt like this was his way of getting into the Oscars. Fred wanted to be an actor. Everyone says it was impossible, but I say he can do it.
First, we told a few others from whom we needed help. First was Fred's sister, Bianca. She agreed whole heatedly. she was in fourth grade, but I'm positive she knows more than anyone in seventh. She hated those bullies from deeper than the bottom of her heart.
Next we asked Mr. Nemesis (which was very risky) to please come check up on our second lunch today, as one person might be sick. If Fred could've spoken, I'm pretty sure he would've snorted and thought ‘yeah and it’s gonna be Thomas.' But I'm pretty sure that was what he was thinking now. Mr. Nemesis read the paper and agreed. He didn't like sick children one bit, in fear that he might catch thier illness.
Then, we went back to Bianca. She had brought seven packets of slime. More than enough, but the more the merrier. We poured it into a bucket we stole from the cleaning staffs' room.
And finally, we went into the small alley way which separated our two school buildings, primary and senior. There were spiders galore. Luckily, none of us were scared of them, and we collected so many that Sean might have a heart attack.
My master plan would start at second lunch break.
Sean, thomas, Bodie and Alek sat at one table all alone, known as the Big Table. No one dared to approach them ever.
As soon as Thomas sat down, it was like he had sat down in a waterfall instead. Slime mixed in all the rainbow colors was splashed onto him. He screamed, a high shrill scream like a girl, and the other tables burst into fits of giggles.
Sean glared at one of the tables which I knew he would visit, the Geek' Table.
Of course, they had been foretold about the spiders, so they giggled more when he approached them. A small string was set two to three meters away from the Geek' Table. Sean fell over its and spiders crawled up his body. Some of the girls stiffened, but the others were laughing, full and hard now. Sean fainted.
Alek stood up and started saying something when Bianca suddenly came up to him and shook her head. She started saying all sorts of random stuff. Alek stared at her horror. I wished I could laugh. The other children are beyond help now, bless thier souls.
And then, the highlight of the show.
Mr. Nemesis came into the cafeteria to see the sight of cowering waitresses and a cook, children falling off the benches in laughter, some having mild tears in thier eyes. Bodie was traumatized.
And Mr. Nemesis then looked at the centre of attention. The four bullies.
His expression was unreadable, and he led them away from the hysterical cafeteria.
None know what happened that day, but the next day, they never bullied any one ever again.
I felt a nice feeling in my stomach. I don't know what it was, but it was nice.
And it was going to stay there for quite some time. Others gave me grateful looks, like I had done something great.
But hey, doing something great feels great too.

Writing Competition Entry:
Tangled Hearts.

Lightning flashed across the sky. Rolls of thunder echoed through the air like deep, dangerous waves across the colorless clouds. In the pitch black night, a she-cat was struggling to make her way through the storm, paws slippery with bl00d.
Vineripple was heaving, teeth bared against the pain screaming in her right shoulder and back leg. She would make it. She would make it. She had to.
Anytime she blinked, white teeth flashed in her mind. Dark, beady eyes of a badger and the long, long fall. The sand should have been soft.
The brown tabby swallowed and pushed on. Four days she’d been missing. Four days patrols had been sent out, the forest had been scoured in hopes of finding her, she assumed. Now, her body was weak with hunger, her mind foggy with pain. She couldn’t go on but she had to. Where was she?
Even as lightning lit up the trees around her, she wasn’t sure she recognized her surroundings. She had been sure she was on ThunderClan territory not long ago, but.. She opened her mouth to taste the air, realizing too late that the pounding, painful rain would have washed away any hope of identifying the smells around her. She had to keep going.
Her body was trembling. Her paws left small lines in the mud from where they had dragged across the ground. She was moving terribly, impossibly slow, and she knew it. The night was a fever dream of cold and pain and soreness and bl00d until she finally stumbled, fell, and didn’t get back up.
>>><<<
“Vineripple?”
The noise echoed through silent blackness, disturbing her soft, warm blanket of sleep. She tossed her head and tuned it out.
“Vineripple?” It was a familiar voice, and it was persistent. But Vineripple was awfully stubborn. Why wake up when sleep comforted her so greatly?
“Honeypool, leave her be.” Heronfeather. Vineripple’s eyes flashed open before immediately squeezing shut once more. The light pouring inside the Medicine Den was blinding.
“Heronfeather, she’s awake. Her eyes opened.” Honeypool whispered urgently, Vineripple wrinkling her nose and trying to get rid of the taste of sleep in her mouth.
“Then it’s time for you to leave.” The grumpy Medicine Cat snapped, and Vineripple heard him shuffle a hesitant Honeypool outside the Den before a soft thud signaled he was sitting beside her. “If-If you’re awake then you need to work with me, Vineripple.” He tried to be as strict and stern as ever, but Vineripple could hear a thickness of emotion entangled in his voice. “You need poppy seeds and water and food.” Slowly, Vineripple opened her eyes to a squint, the familiar sandy ground and herbs lining the walls greeting her like old friends. Heronfeather continued. “I’ve already bandaged your shoulder and other cuts, and I’ve held that broken leg of yours together quite nicely.” Her eyes slowly opened wider. “Ah, there we go. Have something to drink.” Vineripple saw some wet moss to her left and craned her neck to drink it, wincing at the soreness in, well, everywhere. But the water was worth it, cool and refreshing as it poured down her throat, cooling her insides and giving life to her frail body.
“How-“ She was interrupted by her own coughing, and she saw Heronfeather tense. It wasn’t bad, though. She was only not used to talking—she hadn’t had any fits of redcough on her grand adventure. “How long was I asleep?”
She saw Heronfeather take in a shaky breath, turning away to hide his shiny eyes. His voice came out steady this time, though. No hint that he cared whether she lived or died. She knew better. “A day and a half.” He replied. There was a rustle at the entrance and Heronfeather bristled. “No, Creekfrost, you may *not* come in!” He snapped. Vineripple couldn’t see her friend from where she was laying, but she felt her heart lift knowing she was there.
“But-“ She heard her voice.
“Absolutely not.” There was no arguing with that tone. “If you want to be helpful you can go and get her something to eat-something small, mind you.”
“I could eat a badger.” Vineripple protested, her stomach growling in agreement.
“Yes, and then you’d throw it all up again. Creekfrost, a mouse. Now.” Heronfeather turned away and came back over to Vineripple’s side, sitting down. “You managed to get a pretty bad claw to your back.” He commented, pulling away a wad of cobwebs from said wound. Vineripple winced.
“Yeah..”
“What happened?”
“Ugh. It was a badger. I should have been paying attention, but-“ Her words with Thornstar came back to her now, and her face heated. She didn’t think she could bare the embarrassment of seeing the tom again. What would she say? What would she do? What would *he* do? “But I was distracted. I came on it with its cub, and so I ran, obviously. It chased me off of the territory and then..” This was the part she didn’t understand. “And then part of the ground just gave out beneath me. It looked solid, though. Grass must have been covering the hole, and I fell into what was.. a cave, I guess.” She licked her lips, wincing as Heronfeather prodded at her broken back leg. “That’s when that happened.”
Heronfeather silently changed the binding on her leg, Creekfrost returning with a mouse soon later—though the she-cats barely had the chance to exchange words before Heronfeather had thrown her out again. Then, her great friend Sleep welcomed her once more.
>>><<<
Everyone had come to see her. Sheepstep (who she learned had been the one to find and carry her back to camp), Honeypool, Creekfrost, even Nightshade. But not Thornstar. She didn’t know if the fact saddened or relieved her.
Vineripple sighed and shifted in her nest, wincing slightly. The pain from her wounds had been eased with poppy seeds and strange-smelling poultices, but it was still there, hiding just beneath the surface. It had been a day since she’d woken up, and Heronfeather was finally starting to let her walk and eat. The old Medicine Cat had left an hour ago to collect herbs, and Vineripple pushed herself to her paws. Limping outside, she smiled as warmth bloomed on her pelt from the golden afternoon sun. It was a beautiful day after such a terrible storm, and the forest was coming back to life. Purring to herself (in a surprisingly good mood despite her latest ordeal) she slipped out of camp. Usually she’d try to look for Creekfrost or Sheepstep to walk with her, but they were no doubt out hunting or patrolling for the Clan. She would go on her own today.
As she padded through the forest, her amber eyes drifted up to the trees above, waving lazily in the summer breeze. A grin split across her face and she closed her eyes for a moment. Finally, she was home. Finally she was back and healing and recovering from those long, cold, sleepless nights in the cave and out in the wilderness. It had been.. horrible. It didn’t seem like it would be that bad, but simply laying there, bl00dy and broken and defenseless, only waiting to die as every tiny sound turned into a badger or snake or fox or cave-in, ready to steal her life away before it had even begun. Though she hated to admit it, she had.. given up. She swallowed, pushing the dark thoughts away. She didn’t need to think about that anymore. She was home.
She had barely cracked open her eyes whenever she was bowled over and sent yowling onto her back.
“Oof-I’m so sorry-“ A deep voice spoke frantically above her, and suddenly she was staring into a pair of forest eyes. “V-Vineripple.”
Above her stood Thornstar. She vaguely felt the gash on her back crying out as bl00d leaked from where Heronfeather had so carefully patched it up, her broken leg throbbing vaguely. But how was she supposed to feel the pain whenever her heart was singing? Whenever it was flying above the world and couldn’t be torn down? Whenever the cat who owned every fractured, broken piece of her was standing right over her, *touching* her. For a moment the two cats were in a trance, wrapped up in a single moment that felt all too long and short at the same time.
Then, he stepped off of her, and reality came crumbling back down around her. Reality and memories. She cringed, both from pain and the knowledge that he knew how she felt about him. Their argument, the messy confessions.. the rejection. She swallowed, pushing to her paws and gently shaking out her fur.
“Thornstar.”
“Vineripple.. I-I’m sorry I didn’t come to visit you sooner, I.. It was..” Vineripple could only stare at the ground as her leader stumbled over his words, finally falling silent. “..I heard what happened. The badger and everything. ..Must-..Must’ve been pretty scary, huh?” He asked gently, searching her face.
Finally, Vineripple tilted her chin to look into his eyes, her heart a jumbled mess. “I-..” The whole time, she had been thinking that any second she was going to die. Any second, jaws were going to close around her throat or rocks were going to crash down on her. Anytime she wasn’t thinking about that, she was thinking about Thornstar. She didn’t know which train of thought brought her more anguish. “Yeah. Pretty scary.”
A heavy silence fell over the pair, laden with spilt secrets and suppressed emotion. Finally, Thornstar spoke again.
“Vineripple, I’m-I’m glad you’re back.” She heard his voice catch and saw his eyes shining. “It-I don’t know-.. I don’t know what I would have done if you.. If you hadn’t made it back. I don’t think I’d ever forgive myself.”
“For what?”
“Just-.. Vineripple, I don’t-Nightshade is my mate.” He took a step closer. “I love her.”
She took a step back. “I know.”
He took another step forward. “And, when you were gone, we, well. Something happened.”
Vineripple stared defiantly at her paws, her injuries only vaguely aching. Thornstar didn’t continue. Slowly, a cheeky smile crept across her face and she felt Thornstar frown. “What?”
“We match.”
“W-What?”
Smirking, Vineripple gestured to Thornstar’s back leg that had never healed quite right from when he had injured it as an apprentice. Her same leg was now in a splint. She saw a grin crack across Thornstar’s face as the realization set in. “You’re right. Hopefully yours heals better than mine, though.” Vineripple smiled up at him and he smiled down at her. The sun danced lightly across their faces, and suddenly Vineripple was engulfed in his warm, gray fur, breathing in each other’s comforting scent. “Vineripple, I missed you so much.” Thornstar breathed, holding her close. “I was so, so scared.”
“So was I.” She breathed. “I thought I’d never see you again.” She couldn’t help but laugh as the cliche words left her mouth. But, they were true, weren’t they?
Thornstar laughed, too. “Look at you, actually being sweet for once.”
“Don’t get used to it.” She purred, still engulfed in his warm embrace.
“Thorn?” The moment was over.
Thornstar practically leapt away from Vineripple, turning his head to see Nightshade standing off to the side, tail wrapped around her stomach. “Nightshade!”
Vineripple swallowed, stepping back. She could feel the pain now.
The she-cat’s blue eyes flicked between the pair as Thornstar stepped to her side, wrapping his tail protectively over her shoulders and nuzzling her ear. Vineripple looked away.
“I’m gonna.. I’m gonna finish my walk.” She muttered, turning on her heel and walking away. She needed to clear her mind.

Words: 1949

Writing competition entry
847 words

Change of Heart

The boy's footsteps were loud, echoing in the otherwise silent room as he approached the throne.
He knelt, bowing his head. Shaggy light-brown hair fell over his eyes.
“It is done,” he said simply, his gaze glued to the floor. Intricate tiles lined the entire room, and must have cost a fortune, or maybe two.
The king certainly had plenty of fortunes to spare, after all.
He felt an icy hand touch his head, and fought the instinct to shudder in both fear and horror.
He had done everything the king wished, he reminded himself. He had nothing to be afraid of.
Well…
That wasn't true. But he probably wasn't going to be blotted out of existence in the very near future.
Probably.
There was a sound like a sigh, and the hand lifted.
I suppose you have done what I asked for, said a voice in his head.
How disappointing. I haven't had any fun in a long time.
The boy wanted nothing more than to retreat as soon as possible, but he restrained his unruly feelings and kept his body stiff and still.
He heard a sound like a million knives scraping against each other as the king withdrew, the fact that the boy was still alive a sign of his reluctant approval.
You want to go now, then? the king inquired, and the boy felt a flash of surprise. The king never let people go, not like that.
“Y-yes, Mighty One,” he whispered.
There was a rumble of amusement, and the boy cringed. He'd been right. The king wasn't going to let him go that easily.
Too bad.
The boy was lifted off of his feet, his face set into an expression of calm acceptance. His gaze rested upon the throne for the first time since entering the room.
It was empty.
He'd known it would be.
The king was no mortal being, after all.
Ice-cold wrapped around him like a blanket, and the boy's breathing slowed.
It was so cold.
So cold.
The voice whispered mockingly in his ear.
You forget I can see your thoughts, foolish one. I know you do not truly serve me.
The boy closed his eyes.
“I'm sorry,” he said quietly, knowing the words would do nothing to save him.
Then the king screamed.
Light flooded the room, and the boy cautiously opened one eye.
The door to the room was open, wide open.
And outlined in the doorway was a figure.
WHY ARE YOU HERE AGAIN!? the king raged, his fury burning white-hot.
The figure reached out a hand silently.
You took my speech, the newcomer said, her thoughts rippling through the room. You took all I had.
But I still love you.
The king threw the boy aside, and he landed on the glossy tiles. He lay there silently, glad to have been momentarily forgotten.
Love is nothing, the king snarled, advancing.
Love is everything, the figure whispered, also stepping forward.
Then there was silence, but the boy could tell the two were battling with their minds.
Finally, the figure spoke again.
Remember what you used to be, it coaxed.
I don't want to. The king's voice sounded sullen. I was weak then.
I will help you remember, the other voice said, and the king screamed again.
Memories flooded the room like a wave.
The boy didn't understand what was going on, but he knew that the figure had come to battle the king.
Others had tried that before, he reflected. All had failed, though none had come as close as this one had.
There was a flash of white light, and the boy squeezed his eyes shut.
This was it. He could feel it.
The gentle voice floated to him and the king once more.
I, Lin of the Stardancers, restore to you your heart.
Then there was a new voice.
What…what have I done? it said, and the boy lifted his head slightly, looking for the source of the new voice.
A man was crouched on the ground, head drooping.
Lin approached, her feet hardly touching the ground. She gently lifted his head.
It is forgiven, she said.
The man's eyes closed, and a great peace settled over his face.
Lin softly kissed the top of his head, and as she did so the man crumbled to ash and swirled away.
Lin watched with sadness in her eyes.
He was a great man, she whispered, before the darkness took him.
She turned to the boy, and extended a hand.
Will you come with me? she asked.
The boy considered her offer. It wasn't as though he had a home to return to.
He didn't have any better options.
And Lin was offering something he'd never had before.
Freedom.
He took her hand, and she pulled him to his feet.

Writing Competition Entry

544 words.

Hope

John was a twelve-year-old boy who had recently just lost his parents. John was highly depressed about the whole situation. With objection, he moved to his aunt’s house. John was always bitter, he wondered why the weight of the world was constantly on his shoulders. He pondered why terrible incidents always happened to him. He wondered why he had to live in a cruel world. No matter how bad it got, John always hid these dark thoughts no matter how cruel they got.

One day, John was sauntering home from school. That day had not been a good day. Kids messed with John, causing more dark thoughts to enter his head. On his way to his aunt’s house. He encountered a girl, about his age, handicapped. She was wheeling her way into her grandparents’ house, with a big grin on her countenance. John wondered what she had to be so happy about.

However, he only thought about the girl for a quick moment, before his mind was deeply submerged in his morbid thoughts once again. About a long and hard month passed by until John saw the girl again. It was a hot spring day, one of those days where a person could cook an egg on the sidewalk. The girl was wheeling down the road towards John. When she saw him, she came to a halt.

“Hello! I’ve seen you around, but I don’t know your name. I’m Hope, what about you?” John hesitated a moment before answering the girl. She had dark blonde hair that wisped around her forehead, and shoulders. Her eyes were a deep blue. No doubt about it, she was pretty, her looks and her attitude.

“I’m John…”

“Nice to meet you, John! I’m going to the park to play basketball; do you want to come?”

At this, John’s face brightened.

“Sure.”

With this, a smile formed across Hope’s face.

“Well, come on then!”

Hope was a glimmer of light in John’s dark world. She made him happy, and she even made him smile one time. One crisp autumn day, while they were walking through the park together. John finally said what had been on his mind for a long time.

“Why are you so happy, Hope? I mean, you are paralyzed, and your parents are dead. Life couldn’t get much worse.”

Hope sighed and looked at her feet before answering.

“You know John when I was eight, I was in a terrible car accident. My parent’s car collided with a semie. Both of my parents died, and I survived, but I no longer had use of my legs because of damage to my spinal cord. I was bitter, for a long time. But then, I realized that life isn’t worth living unless you’re happy and that my parents would want me to be happy.

“And I started feeling much better… Being an optimist, and enjoying even the smallest things in life, like a sunset, is like medicine. A merry heart does good like a medicine.”

John learned a valuable lesson from Hope’s story. He learned to be happy even with what he has been through, and he started feeling much better, thanks to Hope who lighted up his world. His merry heart did well to him like medicine.

When will it end?
I wonder how long it will be until it’s illegal for me to exist.
When. Not if.
It’s not a question anymore.
It never really was.
I know more than anyone thinks I do.
I’m not innocent. I’m just good at pretending to be.
I see echos of the past in the present.
It* will happen again.
I see my thoughts mirroring those of the people who were alive then.
Thoughts that seemed so extreme before.
But I understand now.
I exist outside of time.
Just like the hate that has made me who I am.
I doubt I will die of a natural cause and I am terrified.
I don’t feel anything anymore.
I’m used to it.
Used to a broken world that would be happy if I died.
They deny our right to exist.
There isn’t a difference between existing and resisting anymore.
Our existence has become an act of resistance.
Everywhere I recognize the barely hidden fear that has become my life.
My brain won’t let me feel.
Just like it won’t let me remember.
It knows it’s not safe.
I feel everything and nothing.
Does anything matter anymore?
I can’t sleep.
I can’t stop thinking.
I’m not strong enough to explain to someone I know will never understand.
To someone I know will always see me as the person I can pretend to be.
I have tried so many times.
But what choice do I have?
I don’t care anymore.
I know I can’t continue this way.
At some point it will end.
Will they care then?


*The Holocaust, or something like it.

Nightfall

The next morning, every cat woke up to a den entrance completely blocked with snow. Leaf-bare had snuck in during the night.
Only one hunting patrol went out that day, made up of Berrystorm, Nightfur, and Flamepaw. Everyone else huddled in the dens.
Not long before sunhigh, cats started to work up the courage to leave the dens and walk around in the snow. Tawnyfur’s kits loved it (of course) and were working together to make a snow-cat.
Leafstorm stepped out into the snow. Firetail followed her.
“Cold, huh?” he mewed.
“Yup.” Leafstorm lifted a snow-covered paw.
Quick pawsteps sounded in the snow. Every cat twisted their ears around, suddenly alert.
“Defend the camp!” Ferntail yowled.
The pawsteps came closer . . . closer . . .
And a black tom burst out of the trees. He was clearly injured, with a bleeding gash on one of his legs. A ginger stripe was on his forehead. Whitefall figured it out first.
“Flamepaw!” she meowed frantically. “What happened!”
The other cats crowded around him, murmuring.
Flamepaw’s breath came in quick gasps. The injury on his foreleg stained the snow red.
“Flamepaw!” Leopardpaw burst out of the crowd of cats and raced to her brother.
“Leopardpaw.” It wasn’t a question.
“Flamepaw, what happened? Talk to me!” Leopardpaw shook her brother’s shoulders.
“Rogues . . . ambushed . . . help!” Flamepaw gasped.
“Rogues?” Ferntail stepped forward. “Flamepaw, what happened?”
Flamepaw just collapsed.
“We need cobwebs! To stop the bleeding!” Leopardpaw was yowling as she raced over the hill.
“How are we going to find cobwebs in leaf-bare?” Firetail asked before chasing after her.
Firetail was proven wrong, because less than a minute later they both returned with cobwebs in their jaws.
Ferntail acted quickly, wrapping cobwebs around Flamepaw’s leg and pressing down on it. It wasn’t long before Flamepaw’s breathing had returned to normal.
“Seriously. What happened?” Leopardpaw asked.
“Rogues ambushed us. Six of them. I had to get help,” Flamepaw gasped.
Ferntail dashed towards the forest. “Leopardpaw, Firetail, Leafstorm, to me! Flamepaw, lead the way!”
Flamepaw, breathing hard, led them over logs, streams, and boulders. While they were running through a clearing, Leafstorm got an unshakeable feeling that this route was familiar.
When they arrived, she knew why. They had arrived in SilverClan’s abandoned camp.
One rogue must have fled, because Leafstorm saw only five. Nightfur was still fighting, while Berrystorm was down.
“About time!” Nightfur panted, pinning down a brown rogue.
Without a thought, the patrol of five cats leapt on the rogues.
Ferntail tackled their leader, a brown tabby she-cat, while Leafstorm attacked a yellow tabby and Firetail pinned down a cinder-gray tom. Leopardpaw and Flamepaw attacked together, but Leafstorm couldn’t see who they were attacking.
Blo0d rained down Leafstorm’s leg as she aimed blow after blow at the yellow rogue. Time seemed to slow as she battled. Finally, after a well-timed blow to the rogue’s hind leg, it ran away, squealing.
She looked around. Firetail had already won his struggle with the gray rogue. Ferntail and the rogues’ leader were still battling, but Leafstorm guessed the battle wouldn’t last much longer. It was Leopardpaw and Flamepaw who drew her attention. They were standing confused and blinking, looking at a tortoiseshell she-cat. Leafstorm recognized her instantly.
“Brightfall?” Leopardpaw meowed before anyone else could say anything.
“Leopardkit? Flamekit?” Brightfall mewed disbelievingly. “What are you doing here?”
Brightfall . . . Leafstorm thought. The she-cat had run away before Sunsetheart’s death while Leopardpaw and Flamepaw were still kits. No one knew where she had gone - until today.
The brown tabby broke off from her battle with Ferntail and glared at Brightfall. “What are you doing?”
“Ginger . . .” Brightfall mewed softly. “These are my kits.”
Ginger hissed. “Just ki11 them and be done with it!”
Brightfall turned around and arched her back at Ginger. “I can’t just kill my kits! Don’t you understand?”
“I don’t need to,” Ginger hissed back, “to know that you are betraying me!
Brightfall stood strong and steady. “I will not kill my kits.”
Leafstorm shivered. This won’t end up good for Brightfall, that much I know.
Ginger growled at Brightfall. “Come! We’re greatly outnumbered. These cats might finish us off.” She raised her head to the sky. “Retreat!”
It seemed useless, since Ginger and Brightfall were the only cats still in the fight, but there was a large scuffling in the bushes as Ginger and Brightfall leapt into the undergrowth - too large to be only two cats.
Leopardpaw and Flamepaw dashed towards the forest without a second thought, pursuing Ginger and the rogues.
“Leopardpaw! Flamepaw! Wait!” Leafstorm cried, but her voice was hoarse and Leopardpaw and Flamepaw had already disappeared.
Leafstorm looked around. Firetail was gone.
Blo0d pooled the snow. Most of it belonged to the rogues, but not all of it.
Ferntail looked wildly around, his eyes finally pausing on a still body. With a yowl, he raced towards it.
Leafstorm and Nightfur followed him to where Berrystorm lay.
“Berrystorm!” Ferntail’s voice was shaking. “Wake up!”
At the command, Berrystorm’s eyes blinked open for a split second. The she-cat was barely breathing.
Ferntail shook her. “Wake! Up!”
Berrystorm’s eyes stayed open for a little longer. “Ferntail . . .” she breathed.
“Berrystorm!” Ferntail cried.
“Ferntail . . . you’re here.”
“Berrystorm! We’ll save you.” Ferntail’s cries were desperate as he looked wildly around. “Nightfur, get some cobwebs! Now!”
Nightfur sprinted out of the camp.
“It’s too late,” Berrystorm mewed quietly.
“You’re not going to die! I’ll save you.”
“Don’t . . .” Berrystorm gasped. “Don’t let the shadows . . . don’t let them claim you.”
Berrystorm’s final breath left her body, and with it went everything Leafstorm had known about her: her spirit, her happy smiles. Memories flashed through her mind, memories of Berrystorm: Helping care for the kits, catching a sparrow on a hunting patrol, chatting with the apprentices in camp. Tears ran out of her eyes as she remembered her.
“No!” Ferntail leapt on top of her, pumping her chest and trying to get her to breathe. When he failed, he fell down sobbing.
“I’ve got the cobwebs!” Nightfur rushed into the camp, a wad of cobwebs in his mouth. “We can . . . oh.” Nightfur stopped when he noticed Berrystorm’s body on the ground. Without a word, he dropped down beside her and bowed his head.
Leafstorm did the same. Berrystorm deserved a vigil.
The cats sat there for the entire night. Firetail returned at moonhigh with Tawnyfur and her kits. Whitefall trailed behind him. When they saw Berrystorm’s body, they stopped and knelt down beside her.
Leopardpaw and Flamepaw came later, their faces contorted with grief. When they found Berrystorm’s body, Only Flamepaw sat down beside her, his body shaking.
Leopardpaw just turned away, closing her eyes. They’d clearly had enough grief for one night, but no one asked them what had happened.
Sunrise eventually came. The snow had melted, but the ground was still frozen solid and too hard to bury Berrystorm, so they had to leave her there.
It was several days before the ground finally thawed out enough to bury her, at the edge of the camp. When they had finished, Ferntail called a meeting, clambering on top of the Silverrock.
“Leopardpaw and Flamepaw, I believe you have something to tell us,” he meowed. “Come up here.” He hopped down from the rock.
Leopardpaw and Flamepaw exchanged glances.
“Just come up here.” Ferntail flicked his tail.
Reluctantly, Flamepaw nodded, flicking his tail at his sister. Leopardpaw slowly followed him as they walked to the Silverrock.
Leopardpaw started. “We followed the rogues to their camp. It was a dirty place, with crow-food everywhere. Ginger hopped on a large, flat rock, which I guess she uses to call meetings. And all the rogues met - there must have been nine or ten, I couldn’t tell. But there were a lot.”
“Oh, just get on with it,” Flamepaw muttered.
“Ginger . . .” Leopardpaw’s voice started to choke up. “Ginger said Brightfall was dangerous to the group if she couldn’t ki11 us. Brightfall snapped back, about how Ginger wouldn’t ki11 her kits if she had any. Ginger said that Brightfall had betrayed her, anyway, and she . . .” Her voice broke in a sob.
Flamepaw finished the story, his voice almost as choked up as his sister’s. “Ginger killed her. And then she left her there and said that this would be a lesson to any cat who tried to betray her. And she left Brightfall’s body just . . . just lying there.” He sighed with grief and hopped down, dragging Leopardpaw.
Leafstorm’s head was spinning as Ferntail returned to his place on the Silverrock. “The deaths of Brightfall and Berrystorm have . . . have broken us. We are not a Clan anymore, and StarClan reminded us of this. So we will now make a change to reflect that.”
Leafstorm’s heart filled with dread. What’s going on?
Ferntail continued. “From this moment on, we will no longer have warrior names. We will only have the first part of our name, the part that never changed when you were a kit or an apprentice. Except you, Whitefall. The name White sounds weird.”
Firetail’s pelt bristled. “You’re going to change her name because it sounds weird?” He glared at Ferntail.
Ferntail stared at him calmly. “Fire, be quiet. Whitefall, from this moment on you will be known as Snowy.”
“What?” Whitefall’s neck fur bristled and she unsheathed her claws. “That’s a kittypet name!”
“Well, you’re just going to have to live with it,” Ferntail growled. “Now sheath your claws. This meeting is over. We’re going home.”
Without another word, he leaped off of the Silverrock and padded out of the camp.
Leafstorm sighed and followed him. What’s going on with him?

Writing competition entry - 734 words excluding title

“Zaia”

The darkness is impenetrable. It's tangible. It pushes at the edges of the walls with unmatched ferocity and potent anger, the eternal embodiment of a silent scream. The walls, a prison of stone and metal, sealed tight against all manner of destruction, can only hold for so long. My time is quickly running out.
The darkness is doomed to escape, and when it does, I am doomed to succumb. For I am its guardian. Condemned to such a fate for a crime committed eons into the past… or maybe the future. I cannot remember anymore, time is muddled for me after so long alone. The darkness may be the one in the cage, but the prisoner here is me. This buried dungeon of evil has been my home, my whole world, for such an expanse of time that my memories have bled together into an endless maze of shambles, a mystifying disarray of all that once was my life. I have long forgotten how to speak.
I sleep sparingly now, and when I do I'm preyed on by nightmarish fantasies formed from scraps of ancient memories, distorted beyond repair by so long in isolation. It wasn't always this way. The chaos and confusion has steadily increased, but now it's escalating, spiralling out of control. The escape of the darkness approaches as rapidly as wildfire.
The anticipation feels deadly. It's almost enough to make me long for the time when the darkness lived inside me.
Almost.

I jolt awake. The air is heavy, crackling with dark energy. It's coming. My only choice is to let it happen. It's not much of a choice. Thankfully, it doesn't take long. I watch as fissures spread across the walls, filling instantly with a substance more black than ink. When the wall can no longer take the stress, it bursts, opening like floodgates, the darkness pouring out. It's upon me in seconds, encasing me in a familiar cloak of wicked nothingness. I brace myself for the onslaught of memories. I know all too well what happens next.
Zaia. She stands in the courtyard, well into the darkest corner, her stance portraying false shyness and uncertainty. I wasn't aware it was an act at the time, but now I know the truth.
Zaia. She rapidly turns the pages of a worn leather-bound book, breathing heavily.
Zaia. She shouts at me, fury embedded deep into a voice that in the memory sounds silent.
Zaia, ascending the towering mountain, casting tall shadows behind us as the sun sets. She has a companion. The companion is me.
Zaia and I slip into a cave in the mountainside. As we crawl through the rough tunnel which light forgot long ago, I feel her pass me a portable leather container. It crosses my mind that this can't contain a monster. I say nothing.
Zaia. She stands to the side, a sadistic smile creeping across her dark, angled face. Her plan grows clearer to me, but it is too late. The darkness seeps in through the sides of the cave, from the roof overhead and the ground below me, all going the same direction, aiming for one thing.
Me.
The memories freeze for a moment – a fraction of a second barely long enough for me to draw a breath – before I am plunged back in.
Me. Descending the mountain, impossibly swift and impossibly agile. Zaia follows behind with an air of satisfaction. We reach the bottom and her delight fades instantly, replaced by remorse and fear. A sham.
Me. Approaching a cluster of uniformed officials. Shouting at them, my vile rage clear even without the foul words I know were spoken. I thrust my arm out and a mass of pure black escapes my hand. It encases the lead official, who vanishes an instant later.
Me. Storming across the frozen countryside. Destruction emanating from my hands, echoing the darkness in my soul.
Me. Captured, convicted, punished.
Zaia. Guilty.
Zaia. Free.
The deluge of memories comes to an end. The darkness is inside me again, struggling for dominance. I fight it, but it overcomes me with remarkable ease. The darkness has full control again.
“Conan!” A sharp but familiar voice reaches me. The name spirals around my mind as if spoken repeatedly. The name is mine.
“Come with me,” the voice continues, and the person the voice belongs to enters my field of vision.
Zaia.

Word War
168 words

against @opheliio from script, 2 minutes - won by 37 :’)

I just started listening to a new musical, one that Honey recommended to me. It’s actually pretty good. The words I’m using right now are definitely too long but oh well I will deal with it because I want to win this word war so I will not stop to fix my word choice! Okay so this musical is pretty cool and I like the plot but I’m a little confused by the plot because I can’t understand it just from the very vague wikipedia synopsis that I read. I hope that I can find a better summary of the musical somewhere so I can get to know the show because I like the music a lot and all the people’s voices are really nice! They are also British which is interesting because British and most of the musicals I listen to are very much American accents but this is not which is weird. Has it not even been two minutes yet? Huh that’s weird. Maybe it has

Weekly 3 (total: 3511)


Magic on the softer side, barely understood even in the world
Small monarchy ruled by a queen and isolated from the rest of the world partly because they disprove of female rulers and partly because the monarchy is so unconventional
focus on education and knowledge within this monarchy
the magic is considered to be witchcraft and there are mixed opinions on whether it is good or evil
magic is banned within the monarchy
zoos are popular
the magic is in runes drawn in the air
houses are generally small, space is not considered to be important by the society
knowledge is prized high above belongings in the monarchy
music is beloved and musicians are well respected
rain is common
rural and rustic vibes, even in what could be considered the ‘cities’
belief that you should not say anything if you don't know for sure it's true
perfection is strived for and defined
children begin education at a very young age
there are rules everyone knows
technology is not very developed in this world
discrimination runs rampant, but the monarchy is a sort of safe haven from some of it.
the monarchy
people in surrounding rural areas technically within the monarchy still tend to dislike it. (225)



The Frealin Monarchy is one of seventeen thriving on the only known continent on the only known planet, however it is significantly outcast and isolated due to its unconventional, unusual beliefs, and the way it is run. It's set high in the Storm Mountains, sprawling from the wetlands at the base nearly up to the peaks, and back down the other side onto the beaches. The wet and rainy side is much more populated, and most people here live in small, rustic houses. Space is not important to the members of this society, their pride is more in their minds. The beaches side of the mountain is where the queen lives, and most people on the wet and rainy side will never cross over, because the queen and the existence of a queen, while completely outlawed in the majority of the seventeen monarchies in favour of kings, is still significantly looked down upon within the kingdom. The people on the beaches side are less likely to want to or be able to wield the magic, recently it has escalated to magic being banned in the beaches side of the monarchy, where the queen has much more power. However, that act completely failed on the wetland side and use of magic is still incredibly common, with almost everyone having a stick of charred wood for drawing runes on things. People who do so are rumoured throughout all seventeen monarchies to be witches, and there are mixed opinions on whether or not this magic is good or evil. While there is more freedom on the rainy side, discrimination runs rampant and the only sort of safe haven from it is on the beaches side where things are controlled in the extreme (289)

The sound of rain always helps me fall asleep. Rain is so normal and beautiful and peaceful. It's wonderful to go to sleep to, and just as wonderful to wake up to, as I am now. Based on the level of light peeking through the window over in the kitchen, I'm up around half an hour earlier than I need to be. Or it could just be a heavier than usual raincloud. All three of my brothers are still asleep, but that doesn't tell me anything, because they're boys, so their jobs are entirely different from mine and don't begin until later. I reason that it's not a problem to be up early, because that just means I'll either be able to get more done, or have a bigger break at the end of the day, depending on exactly how much extra time I'm giving myself here. I grab my clothing for the day, set aside in a small pile at the base of the bed I share with my baby sister. I slip my arms through the holes in the torso piece, slightly disappointed when I realize it's getting slightly short and is bordering on to tight for comfort. That means I'll need a new one soon, which means money for materials, and also means one of my brothers will have to make the trek across the mountains to the beach side where the merchants sell at their best prices. Preferably not Zarin because he'll inevitably stop at one of the zoos along the way. He adores dragons. It'll have to do for now. I wrap my wrap skirt around my waist, a little higher than usual so it doesn't separate from the torso piece. Both are the most beautiful shade of blue, my favourite dress out of the three I have, and even though I know that if I work and learn possessions should become pointless, it's Rule Two after all, I still love this dress too much to not want to fix it. I should stop thinking about this and get to work. I step carefully over my sleeping family members. I'm up before my mother and father as well as all four of my siblings, as usual, so I have to carefully step over six sleeping people to get outside. I love the rain, as I said. Something I don't love so much about the rain is wet sheep, wet chickens, wet all these animals I'm feeding who also want to touch me. I laugh as a chicken, so covered in mud I can't tell which of the four colours of chicken we have it even is, chases me around as I fill all the feeders, only leaving me alone when I toss it a handful of seeds. I love being up alone in the morning, just me and my mind… and crazy chickens, of course. (480)


This is Conduit's world if you know what that means (tw/cw: severe ableism, masking neurodivergence, mvrder, abvse, v1olence, imprisonment, totalitarian rule)

What kind of magic is used in your world?

Magic in this world is not well understood, because it is outlawed. The source of the magic are places called Wellsprings from which different types of magic flow. Wellsprings are all natural wonders of some sort, whether being unique and marvellous, or just very important to the people of that area. Certain people, often born within a specific distance of the wellspring, will have some manifestation of the wellspring's power. For example, the floodwater wellspring gives abilities of the mind, which ranges from illusions to empathy to being able to view things outside your body. People with such powers are called conduits and they always, no exceptions, have some form of disability. (112)

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

Most people's everyday lives have nothing to do with the magic, and many aren't aware it even exists. Which, according to the story, is true of everyone in the world currently as well. Wellsprings and conduits exist, we just don't know it. And in the future when this story takes place, even those who know about it or have heard about it don't always believe it. Some societies, such as the one many of the main characters live in, have specifically outlawed conduits and will kill them as soon as they have even a vague idea of what they are. This means most people with disabilities, even if they are not conduits, are disposed of by the government. (118)

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

As I said in the section above, the society where the main characters live has outlawed magic completely, and not only that, it has outlawed everyone who ever has, had, or could have, the ability to wield such magic, seeing it as a threat to the stability of the nation, which is especially important because the nation is as war. A very long war with many, many other countries. Anyone suspected of being a conduit or a potential conduit is immediately killed. And people don't mention this. If they do, they end up dead as well. The main character has successfully hidden the fact that she's a conduit, but her brother failed and was killed at seventeen. The main character was eleven at the time. The second main character's father snuck her out of the country as fugitives when she was an infant, because she was born Deaf and would likely be killed by the government if they found out. They lived peaceful lives overseas for thirteen years before they were caught. Her father was captured, presumed imprisoned or killed, and she was sent back to where she was born, under strict surveillance in case she gave any reason to believe she's a conduit (204)

What is an important symbol of your world?

An important symbol of this world, and particularly the conduit people, is water. The whole concept pretty much evolved from a randomly generated sentence that went something like ‘the river stole the gods’ and almost everything from that point forward had something to do with water. You probably already noticed the use of the word ‘wellspring’. Every one of said wellsprings are in a place where water is either essential, central, or both. The floodwater wellspring is a river that was important to the first societies in the area, others are a lake where there's perpetual lightning strikes, a man made crater filled with water, and so on. River symbolism is very important to both the story and the people in it. (122)

What is the origin of your magic?

The wellsprings are all kept by a guardian, someone who was important in a millennia long galactic war going on well outside the awareness of people on earth. This person, a very powerful female being who perceives time differently than we do, who wanted to gain the Earth as an asset for her side in the war. She failed, and ended up trapped on earth, with no way to leave. From here she formulated a new plan, one that would take a lot longer, but be more beneficial to her overall. She created the wellsprings. At this time, human civilization was just barely beginning to have things that, well, make civilization civilization. And conduits began to be born. Nothing much happened for a long time, because humans didn't have the technology required for her plan, or to even realize and prove that wellsprings existed… until they did. A little ways into the future from where we are now, science progresses enough that scientists are able to detect wellsprings as existing. And they, as well as conduits, are deemed an incredible danger. They all knew it was coming. There's a reason they're currently in hiding, after all. And they found a way to lock wellsprings so they were unable to be used. And the powerful being was trapped even further, at the first wellspring she ever created, just as unable to use her power as the conduits now found themselves to be. Except conduits kept being born, and governments realized this. So many made protective measures like the ones I mentioned earlier to kill every potential conduit, as well as erase any knowledge that the conduits existed, so as to prevent potential conduits rising up and taking back their power. Which, of course, is what happens in the story. (298)

How can your world’s magic aid character development?

Each Conduit's magical ability ties directly to them in two ways. The first is their disability. The second is their personality. The main character, an autistic synesthete, has (or will have) the ability to create illusions. These illusions are always colourful and if you pay enough attention, they are never very detailed. As for personality, the character is definitely the creative type, which is something you'd immediately think of to tie into illusions, but beyond that, she has an intense longing for the truth, all truth. To know the truth, to tell the truth, and so on. Which makes her relationship with her ability an interesting aid to character development, because illusions at their very base existence are lies. Another more universal to all conduits aid is that, for a large portion of the story, characters don't know what power they would have, or even whether they're conduits or not. This knowledge comes on suddenly, in an instant, for every single one of them. This would naturally cause many varying reactions to the many varying new pieces of information. (179)

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

The magic is relatively common, common enough that those who have it would easily be be able to find a group of others who also possess the magic. However if you were to look at percentages (not that such records actually exist) the magic would appear very rare. As for whether all characters know they possess it, the answer is a hard no. Not all characters who possess it are even aware the magic exists, for reasons I explained earlier. But once the magic gets unlocked, it is impossible for any conduit alive at the time not to know they are a conduit, but people who are not conduits only know if they were present at the deciding battle, and conduits in the past and future only learn by accidentally using their ability. (133)

How can you ensure the magic in your story is realistic, and is written as a normalized part of your world?

This is a hard question to answer, because the simple answer is, I can't. The magic is not a normalized part of the world, and that is very intentional, there's a message behind it. If anyone is actually reading this and has also read the rest of this part of the weekly, it probably isn't that hard to figure out what that theme is. However, it obviously is quite normal for the people to have this magic, because when have they not experienced at least the blockage of this magic? And that, right there, is the answer for how I can make the magic feel like a definite, realistic part of the world. Because the people who live with it don't know what it's like to live without it. And as I mentioned earlier, every conduit has a disability of some sort. As people are born conduits and cannot become conduits later in life, they are also all born with their disability, which means they don't know what life without that disability is like, at all, period. This is something I experience personally, and something I really want others to understand, so I think I'll be able to make the magic feel like it's that way as well. (208)

What is a folk tale you have heard that involves magic, and how can you take inspiration from that tale?

Folktales are actually a very central part of this story, interestingly enough. Folktales serve as chapters interspersed throughout the story. The first one, which is just as much an inspiration for the overall story as the sentence ‘the river stole the gods’, came from a dream I had a few months back. In this dream a girl could see a baby lion but her dad was unable to. I actually put this directly into the history of the world, and the girl is an ancient conduit, one of the last ones to be able to use her powers before the wellsprings were locked. So while this isn't strictly a folktale I took inspiration from, I took inspiration for a folktale from a dream and then wove that folktale into the lore of the story, so it's pretty close. (138)

What are the limitations of your world’s magic?

Every person who possesses the magic possesses exactly only one aspect of it. They have the ability to do one specific thing with hard guidelines. The main characters can create illusions that are full of colour and look real until you try to focus on specific details, stop all sound from being processed in someone's brain and speak to them inside their head and hear their responses but not the rest of their thoughts, feel someone's emotions when they are in physical contact with them, remove their consciousness from their body and view anywhere in the world from above but be unable to affect anything or communicate with anyone while in that state, and so on. Technically, the boundaries and limitations of this world's magic are almost nonexistent, but because each person capable of using the magic has nothing more than one specific and limited ability that never changes, there are enough boundaries that no one person, or even group of people, are in possession of too much power. Possibly besides the warring galactic beings, that is. (177)

Urban Fantasy that escalated to implications I didn't intend. You probably won't understand them though so whatever

The trill of a mockingbird snaps me back into reality. Mockingbirds are best known for being able to replicate the sounds of other birds, but here apparently they can also replicate subway sounds. I didn't believe it when I first heard it, but now I'm used to hearing the three simple notes of subway doors opening and closing above ground in all sorts of situations. I swear, if mockingbirds had their way, they'd take over the city. I must have fallen asleep in the large oak I'm currently sitting in, because around me, it's dark. Not completely after all. A city like this is never dark. Street lights and neon signs still glow, but the shadows under trees and between buildings, and of course the darkness in the sky, create a totally different energy from the day. The city is never fully quiet either. If I had to guess, I'd say it was probably around two in the morning now. Most people are asleep, or at least they're at home, but enough people are milling about, some even walking or driving with obvious purpose, that silences, when the come, never last more than an instant. I really shouldn't be out this late. After all, midnight is when the Enchanters are at their strongest, when our beloved city becomes a little more like a horror show. But I have nowhere to go anymore, and no one to worry about me being out so late at age thirteen. So here I am.
A scream echoes through the alleyways, distorting before reaching my ears. Three short howls follow. Enchanters. I slip down to the ground as gracefully as I can and start running. A teenager in dark clothes running through the streets in the middle of the night is definitely suspicious, but I can't let the Enchanters know I'm here. I run down the sidewalk as fast as I can, which is so fast I almost miss where the street changes angle (and also name but that's inconsequential) and end up inches away from slamming my face into a building. I slow up after that. (352)

Dystopian fantasy that I now really adore the concept behind

Deep breaths, I tell myself, deep breaths. Panicking is going to do me exactly zero good, especially now. I risk stopping for a few seconds to scout my surroundings. There! A gap in the cross-hatching under a deck, just big enough for a small seven-year-old girl to slip through. I pull my long, red braids from where they hang over my shoulders and tie them together in a quick knot, sloppy and easy to undo, before shoving them down my shirt. If they get caught on anything, I'll slow. If I slow, I'm dead. I carefully crawl under the porch.
I don't know how long I wait there, listening to the police continue their search for me. By the time the sun sets and the searchlights come out, I've long lost track of the minutes. I'm sure it's been at least six hours by now.
I need to keep the darkness at bay. I need to ward off the fear and flashbacks and nightmares. I hold out my left hand a few inches from my face and grow a spark. It takes a bit, threatening to go out a few times, but finally I have a light source. It looks like a firefly, except it's magic, and it's mine.
I press my hands together to hide but not smother the spark, holding my breath, as the searchlights roam across the house I'm hiding under.
“There she is!” I almost jump before realizing the harsh voice shouted in my head alone, and the police officer in the real world has looked over my hiding spot and is moving on. I'll stay here another day or so, until I get too thirsty to bear it any longer. Then I'll run away for good, into the forests to the south. There, hopefully, I'll be safe. (302)

Hidden fantasy I guess

I turn my head, making sure no one is looking my direction, before placing my hand on the brick wall beside me, watching as the familiar star shape erupts from my palm. I push through the wall.
“Evelyn!” A voice calls out as I enter the building.
I wave at my twin sister Amaya, who's currently walking toward me, her hands suspiciously hidden behind her back. “You were careful, right?” She asks, “Nobody saw you?”
“Nope,” I say with a grin. “The street was practically deserted.”
“Great,” Amaya says, returning my smile.
“Alright, get out with it. What's behind your back?”
“Oh, right.” Amaya hands me a small package. From the shape and size, I'm pretty sure I know exactly what it is. I pull off the wrapping to reveal a small pendant of blue crystal. I was right about the pendant, but I wasn't expecting blue. Water magic. I slip off my necklace and add the pendant to my collection. I'm only twelve – no, wait, thirteen – so my collection is still quite small, but I'll get there.
“Happy birthday, Evelyn.”
“Happy birthday to you too.” I've heard a lot of people tell me that I'm lucky that I can respond ‘you too’ to ‘happy birthday’ and not be embarrassed by it.
“What, no gift for me?”
“Just you wait!” I call, running off down a corridor so I don't miss my class. The windows and paintings on the walls blur past me as I run, even though I know full well I'm not allowed to do so in the corridors. But, as Amaya always says, it's not a problem if I don't get caught. I reach the classroom just in time and end up in my seat just seconds before the teacher, Mr. Halliop, arrives. He'll never know I was running, and he'll never know I was almost late. (312)

Weekly 3 2495 words

Part 1: High Fantasy and World Building

Brainstorm:

• Setting takes place in a huge valley
  Diet heavily based on seafood
  Education is highly valued
  Manners are important
  Soft magic is barely used
  Some people are gifted with strong powers
  Small cottages over modern mansions
  Belligerent behavior is frowned upon
  Many big family trees
  Beliefs on balance
  Valuable gems hidden beneath the ground
  Moon is more important than Sun
  Professor is the most valued career
  Doesn’t believe in poverty
  Wind can occasionally whisper your future
  Sunny skies mean bad luck
  Fire is valued
  Water can give you healing powers
  Education over feelings
  A child rebels over traditions
  

Connections, using the bolded items. 233 words
Away from society or any continent, there is a very remote island with a small cottage. The cottage lies in the middle of a huge valley. It’s a very beautiful place with shiny blue rivers and fields of flowers. The village is not ruled by one or no one. It is ruled by all the citizens. The citizens together make decisions. One person is neither more wealthy than the other. Everyone is equal. Education is also highly valued. Everyone frowns upon those who do not want to study. People respect professors and teachers because they heavily impact our lives. There are very powerful gems that are under the ground. Those gems can give immense power to people. Only a few people know about it. They refuse to tell anyone because of their beliefs of balance and to not cause chaos. People act very peacefully here. They are against fights and belligerent behavior. Villagers respect the Moon more than the Sun. Nature is always more powerful at night. This also contributes to sunny days meaning bad luck. They think the sun is angry and powerful, bestowing bad luck upon citizens which has been true. Fire is valued because it shows the value of destruction. The wind can occasionally whisper the future to some people. A few people are also gifted with powers, but the village is against this because of their beliefs in balance.

Narrative 457 words
I stood over the hills and looked down upon the village. The same village that raised me and educated me. The same village that put a scar on my childhood.
I can still remember the day I got that scar as if it was yesterday.
I woke up to a bright morning. Sun rays shone on my bed from the window. I could hear the chatter of and sounds of villagers doing their usual morning routine.
I sat up on my bed and swiped the hair out of my face. I noticed my arm was feeling unusually heavy, like a small brick was in my hand.
After brushing and getting ready, I walked to the kitchen to make breakfast. My mom had already got the milk this morning. I opened the jar and poured the milk onto the pan. As I tried to turn the stove on, I noticed a tiny spark popped out of my hand. I thought it was just static.
While the milk was boiling, my hands felt warmer and warmer. Finally, a small fire erupted from my hands. I stared at it, my face appalled.
I washed my hands in the sink and the fire got out. My heart started beating. People in my village hated people with powers. I have to keep this a secret.
In the afternoon, I went outside to play with my friends. I kept the most normal face so my friends wouldn’t get suspicious.
SMACK! Someone hit me in the face with the ball.
“What did you do that for?” I yelled.
“Sorry!” my friend said. “I didn’t mean to do that.”
Before I could calm down, my hands started to get warmer. Uh oh I thought.
Suddenly a burst of fire erupted out of my hands. My friends all shrieked and ran to their parents.
In two minutes the whole village was gathered around me.
“This boy has powers!” a woman yelled.
The crowd gasped.
A woman came forward.
“Let me see,” she said. “Do your power.”
I tried to concentrate on making my hand warmer, but it didn’t work. My hand remained cool and limp.
“It’s nothing to worry about,” said the woman. “That boy who told us must be hallucinating.”
“But it’s true!” shouted my friend. “He can do fire powers.”
Anger boiled in my stomach. I’m his friend, why is he trying to get me in trouble?
Before I could control it, my hands instantly got warmer and a small fire erupted out of it.
The crowd gasped in horror.
Now that’s why I’m here five years later. I want to take revenge on this village. The village has powerful gems under the ground, and I want to use them to destroy this village.

Part 2: Magical Realism 874 words

What kind of magic is used in your world?: Most of the magic used in my world relates to nature. These powers correspond to the village’s peaceful attributes. The wind can occasionally whisper a small part of the future privately to you. The water in the river is enchanted to never suffer a drought. People also get powers too, but it is rare for that to happen. Some people are gifted with fire powers, plant powers, healing powers, or wind powers. The village does not appreciate these powers, however.

What are the laws of your world, specifically about magic? Punishments?: It depends on what kind of magic is being used. When it’s natural magic like wind whispering or water healing, the only law is that you don’t take advantage and become powerful. That type of magic comes from nature and people can’t control it, so it is commonly used and the laws are not that strict.. When it comes to people possessing special powers, that’s when there are more magic laws. The village is more strict when people can use power, so they put laws that say you can’t use the powers to make you powerful or better than others.

What is an important symbol of your world?: The main symbol used in my world is the moon. In the village, people think the sun has too much power and is more aggressive. This village is peaceful and likes balance. They have beliefs that the moon is more peaceful than the sun and does not want to be more powerful. The moon also shows its power when many living things are asleep. This shows that the moon doesn’t care about attention or power, and the village appreciates that.

How common is magic, and are all characters aware they possess it?: This depends on what type of magic. In my world there is nature magic and human powers. When it comes to nature magic, it is used almost every day because it’s controlled by nature and the village isn’t against it. Humans having powers are more rare. This is likely to happen once every year. The people who possess this magic are aware because the magic becomes part of them. The village doesn’t like human powers, and therefore make using the powers uncommon.

How can you ensure the magic in your story is realistic, and is written as a normalized part of your world?: The magic in my world is realistic because it has limitations. The magic also relates to nature so it isn’t really big and powerful. The wind occasionally tells you the future, and only a few people are gifted with powers. The powers are also normalized because laws have already been written for them, which shows that they have been around for centuries. The village also already has opinions on magic. The magic also fits the village’s theme of simplicity and equality.

What are the limitations of your world’s magic?: The limitations vary on what type of magic is being used in my world. If it’s nature magic, then the limitations would mostly likely include that the powers happen occasionally, not all the time. Another limitation is that nature magic is a bit vague. The wind can whisper parts of the future to you that don’t make any sense. If it’s human powers, then the limitations are from the village, not from the powers itself. The village doesn’t like human powers, so people are not allowed to use these powers in their everyday life. Only for emergencies.

How is magic viewed in your world?: The question varies on what type of magic is being used. If it’s nature magic, then it is welcome by all the citizens of the village. Nature magic includes the wind whispering parts of the future to you, or the water having healing powers. Since this magic is powered by nature, and people don’t have power over it, the village likes these powers. When it comes to people powers the village doesn’t welcome them. These powers can cause human imbalance.

Describe the popular infrastructure in your world: The main type of houses in the village are small cottages. The villagers are taught not to be greedy and accept what you have, so they are minimalists when it comes to lifestyle. In the center of the village, there is a well to fetch clean water. There are three schools that teach kids and adults of all ages. The village values education. There are also three farms for crops and food. Parents go there at the beginning of every week to get food.

How is the education system in your world?: There are three schools placed around the village to educate children and adults of all ages. The teachers are dedicated to teaching. The people are taught the basic subjects such as math and reading. The teachers advance their kids a lot. By the age of seven, children are already learning physics and chemistry. The required age to go to school is four. The teachers also teach the importance of balance and beliefs. They are taught what to do if they obtain an imbalance of power.

What happens if magic gets out of control in your world?: The only type of magic that can get out of control in my world would be the human powers. Since only the owners of those powers can control them, it can slightly get off-hand. If powers get out-of-control, the villagers will make the obtainer stay in their house for a couple of days and learn to control their powers. If that does not work, they are sent to wise people and are taught how to control their powers. If the obtainer of those powers wants to make it go out of control, then they are sent away for many weeks until they learn their lesson.

Part 3: Joint Workshop 931 words

Dystopian Fantasy: I stood there silently as I watched my friend being dragged to a black car.
“Wait!” she said. “Please don’t take me there!” Her shiny red eyes gleamed bright.
“You’re dangerous,” said the man who was taking her. “Not my fault about the way your eyes are.”
As he said that, I looked at the stained steel of a pole. My eyes were soft and brown. Just as harmless as her eyes. This isn’t fair, I thought. How could this happen to her when she’s totally innocent.
“I’ll miss her,” said Mila, who was standing right next to me. Her bright yellow eyes are as still as steel.
“This isn’t fair,” I told her. The government is going crazy with these eye rules. She’s totally harmless, her eyes didn’t do anything!”
“The government just won’t forget what happened fifty years ago with those crazy red-eyed people who had laser powers. The last person who had laser powers died a year ago, but the government is still not taking chances.”
I knew Mila was right, but I wish we had a way to change this. I looked at Mila’s yellow eyes. Yellow eyes were also not treated correctly. They are the second to last of the eye list, red being the last. Mila never complained about her eyes, she accepted them.
“I’m going to help Josie.” I said without thinking. Then I realized the possible outcomes of what could happen.
“You gotta be joking,” said Mila. “If you do that, brown eyes will also go to the bottom of the list. Plus, those people are so strong. They’ll squat us like annoying house flies.
I hated just watching Josie being pushed into the car. Her beautiful red eyes were strewn with tears. The car engine started and Josie rode away to eternal punishment.

Science Fantasy: This has to work, this has to work. I repeated these words over and over in my head. If this doesn’t work, then I’ll be banned from my only source of income for my family. I just hated the thought of my mother having to work for hours in the sun cleaning cars.
I focused on what’s happening at this moment, I couldn’t even afford to make one mistake.
I watched Kyra and Leon carry something covered in a huge blanket. They put it in the center of the clearing and took the blanket off. The time machine gleamed bright and shiny. It was tall enough to fit an eight-foot person.
“Okay,” started Leon. “First things first, who wants to test it out?”
Silence filled the room.
Finally Kyra said, “why can’t you go, Leon?”
“Because I know how to use the controls the best.”
Leon had a point, he was the best with controls. I knew no one wanted to take the risk of going, so I did something pretty unbelievable.
“I’ll go,” I said. Those words were quite hard to get out. As soon as I said that, my heart started thumping. Thoughts started to circle in my head again. What if I don’t make it back? What will happen to my mother and my sister? What will happen if I’m stuck in the future?
I took a deep breath. All the crowded thoughts evaporated from my mind. Nothing will happen, I thought to myself. I will make it back and earn a lot of money for my family.
“Okay then,” Kyra said. “Sienna, why don’t you stay right in front of the time machine. We’ll tell you when you can go inside.”
I walked to the machine. Each step was getting harder than the previous. Kyra gave me the thumbs up and I stepped inside.

Hidden Worlds: I scanned each book in my bookshelf. I already read almost every book there, and my mom won’t let me buy any more.
She says I need to be more social. Do stuffed animals count as friends?
I got to the last space in my bookshelf. I sighed, there were no more books to read. I scanned all the books from top to bottom again, and when I got to the last space again, my eyes caught something peculiar. A glittery pink book was at the edge of the shelf. I was pretty sure I had never seen it there before. There was no tidal on it, and no words of pictures on the cover. I opened it and saw that all of the pages were blank.
Maybe it’s a writing notebook, I thought. To pass time, I took the notebook and got a pencil and began to write.
I wrote about a girl who was stuck in a house made of cinnamon. Everyday, she would wish someone could come save her.
Like Rapunzel, I thought.
Underneath the cinnamon house, there were plenty of valuable stones. Those stones could grant freedom, but no matter how hard the girl tried to get the stones, she would always fail. The ground was too thick and she was too weak from not eating proper food.
I decided to take a break from writing and head down to eat a snack.
After I came back, I noticed the words were glowing. I rubbed my eyes and tried pinching myself. The words were still glowing.
Suddenly, my room started to shimmer. Everything in my room including the floor started to slowly evaporate into the air.
I closed my eyes, my heart beating. After a few seconds, I opened them again. A strong scent of cinnamon filled my nose. I was in a small brown house. The ground beneath me drummed with power.
“Hello?” said a girl.

Writing Competition Entry
The Cartographer’s Apprentice

“In every great map lies another world.”

The cartographer’s apprentice leaned back, squinting at the parchment before her. Rough lines and curves squiggled across its surface, forming the shapes of wide continents and small islands. Or at least, that’s what they were supposed to do. The apprentice’s drawings looked less like landmasses and more like pools of runny egg yolk.

She let out a frustrated sigh. This was an important assignment. The Senior Cartographers trusted that she knew about cartography to make a finally make a map. A complete map. A real map. Her work had to be impressive.

She ground her pencil into the parchment, as if darker lines would somehow make the sketch look better. The graphite tip snapped and flew across the room. She bit back a scream and reached for her sharpener. Why did mapmaking have to be so hard?

————

“Breaking news!”

The newscaster’s voice cuts through my concentration. I glance up, pencil hovering above my paper. On the television screen, a young woman stares solemnly into the camera, hands folded on the table before her. “Breaking news,” she repeats, “the world appears to be… folding in on itself.”

“Uh, what did she say?” I ask, certain I misheard.

“I repeat, the world is folding in on itself.” The calmness of her face and voice don’t match the words coming out of her mouth. She could be talking about the weather, for how unruffled she appears.

I leap to my feet, my pencil drawing all but forgotten. “‘The world is folding in on itself?’ What does that even mean?!”

My family doesn’t respond. Their eyes are glued to the TV screen, fixated on the news report.

“Satellite images show that our planet is mysteriously turning inwards, potentially harming many lives in the process.” Photographs taken from space appear onscreen, showing that the world is in fact folding up into the shape of a lumpy, irregular globe. It looks like a crumpled wad of paper, actually. Furrows of water and land have been folded inwards and pressed together, reminding me of all the drawings I’ve given up on and thrown away. “Indeed, our flat world seems to be turning into one of the round planets from myth,” the reporter continues, still impossibly calm. “The government has tried to reach out to the countries that appear to be, ah, more affected by this cataclysmic event. As of now there has been no response.” The photographs zoom in to the more severely damaged areas - thankfully, nowhere near where my family lives. “The outlook for our future is not good. Indeed, our own country is one of the only-” Abruptly, the news reporter’s voice is cut off with a fizzle of static. The TV screen shudders, then goes dark.

“Um, what happened?” I ask nervously. My palms have begun to sweat, and I wipe them on my jeans. They leave wet creases on the denim, like the surface of our entire planet as I saw it tonight.

“I don’t know, Sammy,” my dad replies weakly. “I guess it’s like the news reporter said. The outlook isn’t good.”

The honesty in his voice scares me more than anything else I’ve heard tonight.

“Daddy?” my little brother murmurs anxiously. “Are we going to be-”

With a crunch like paper ripping, the ground tips over sideways. I shriek and grab onto the coffee table, trying to keep my balance. I hear my dad yell something as I slam into the wall, though his voice is barely audible over the sound of my own panicked screams and thundering heart. As the world folds in over my head, I only have time for one last thought: Why is this happening?

————

The cartographer’s apprentice dipped her pen into the inkwell. She still wasn’t satisfied with her map. The graphite had smeared, and it was difficult to tell where land ended and muddy grey ocean began. Unfortunately, she didn’t know how to make the sketch look better, and it had to be completed by sunrise tomorrow.

She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath to steady herself. “In every great map lies another world…”

As if from a long distance, the motto of Cartographer’s Guild hailed back to her. She had no idea what the old phrase meant, but if ever she needed guiding words of wisdom, it was now.

“In every great map lies another world.” the apprentice whispered to herself. “Another world.”

She lifted her pen and placed it on the parchment.

Another world.

Jaw clenched, she began to trace the swoop of a gently curving coastline.

Another world…

Her arm trembled ever so slightly, and ink spattered across the page. She stared in horror at her ruined map, anger and despair warring within her. Then she picked up the parchment, crumpled it into a ball, and hurled it across the room. If every map did contain another world, the apprentice had just destroyed this one - and she couldn’t care less. All that hard work, and she wouldn’t even have anything to present tomorrow. She stalked out the door, furious.

Why had she ever decided to become a mapmaker?

Word count: 856

***

“Aagh!”

The word tears from my lungs before I even know it as I land in a heap. The wooden floor meets my face with a blow to my head, knocking astonishment into me.

I am corporeal?

I gasp for air, before realising I wasn’t supposed to breathe.

Surprisingly enough, my body doesn’t ache. I sit up.

I hear a murmur, but my eyes are shut tight. The distorted waves of sound are too much for me right now.

A burning question arises up my throat, and my lips part before my conscious realises.

“Am I dead?”

I taste dust.

“Mmm… sort of,”

that voice.
i’ve heard it somewhere before,
haven’t i?

I open my eyes with a shudder.

A small girl stands there, her piercing black eyes boring into mine. She’s leaning against the wall, a finger raised as if she was conducting a ritual. She looks rather bored as she surveys me head to toe. The flare of the candle flame ignites the small room with dim light. A candle burns brightly in front of me.

“What… what do you mean—? Who are you?”

The girl simply stares at me before finally speaking.

“Oh dear, I must’ve accidentally put something in there about memory loss.”

She drops her finger and folds her arms, giving a swift smile.

who is she?
where am i?

“You don’t remember, do you?”

I peer closely. The more I look, the more memories piece together. Those black eyes, though - where have I seen them before? And the voice, too - soft, maybe even taunting, with a hint of sarcasm.

where have i heard it before?

She’s smirking.

She’s smirking at me.

She places one of her hands in the pockets of her woolly jumper and pulls up a crumpled piece of paper. She opens it and smooths down the contents.

“Alba,”

The flicker of the flame.

I remember.

Singing.

Writing.

Hosting.

And this girl -

“Addie?”

The word feels tender as I recollect fragments of my past. What were once colourful memories are now flying away, like the smoke from the flames of the candle. Nostalgia grips me as the one name replays over and over in my head.

addie.

addie.

addie.

addie.

addie.

For a second, emotion flickers in Addie’s deadpan eyes. Her hand clutches the page tightly, shaking. She’s staring at me again, but in a nicer way. A smile forms, lighting up her face - though, it seems stiff.

“So, you do remember.”

“Yes.”

A candle flame hisses. I wince.

My eyes flicker from the windowless walls coated in a dusty brown to the flat roof, before finally resting on Addie, who is pacing around in circles.

“Where am I?”

Addie’s friendly façade falls, which divulges her maddening mien. She has that crazy glint in her eyes, almost like she’s toying with me. She halts, turning, the candlelight illuminating her entire being.

“In one of the spare cabins I found.”

The light dims.

“What are you doing?”

Addie creases the edges of the paper slowly. She smiles.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

She drags a finger down the page, leaving my heart racing.

“You were once a singer, writer, and the former host of Scratch Writing Camp.”

Her voice becomes increasingly on edge, like she’s about to burst into laughter.

I remember that.

I do remember that.

I will always remember that.

“I’m a gHost.”

The words escape my lips before I can stop them. I watch as Addie’s face changes from incredulity, to mild surprise, to amusement.

“Yes, I know that.”

She’s speaking as if she’s consoling a five year old. Her calm voice enrages fear inside my body.

stop speaking.
she’s going to do something bad.
STOP.

“Why are you here?”

Addie folds the piece of paper carefully.

The candle flame cackles menacingly.

“To bring back the past.”

“What… do you mean—”

I look down, expecting to see my humanoid form. Except, all I can see is dust.

White dust.

My mind flurries into panic.

“What have you DONE?!”

Addie merely stares at me, wrinkling the paper. She stands, unperturbed, watching me scramble as I try to escape.

“Don’t try to escape,” she says.

So I can’t.

Instead, I knock over the candle.

The flame goes out; darkness fills the room.

I freeze.

what are you doing?
escape.

But I can’t.

A voice cuts through the tenebrosity.

“You’re fine.”

I hear the strike of the match.
The sizzle of the flames.
The highlight of my life.
Then light again.


Addie blows out the match, puffing out the grey wisps of smoke I know too well. She discards the burnt matchstick into the corner of the room.

Observing closely, she watches me carefully, evidently affirming that I won’t create a disaster scene again.

“You can speak, you can walk, write, run, you have all your senses, you can hold things - heck, you can even sing still. You are fine.”

Addie crouches, tending to the candle. She moves it so it brightens up the whole room at a perfect angle.

“You’re just dust.”

“Just dust doesn’t mean I’m human!”

Addie sighs. She stands up and picks up the paper that had been left on the floor.
“Anyways—”

She rips the page in two, staring at me.

In quarters.

In eighths.

In sixteenths.

… before releasing them.

I watch in horror as they flutter to the floor, catching aflame from the candle light. The flames cling onto the surface, charring the edges and eating its way through the burns before smothering the pieces with ash.

“—you are no longer Alba.”

I watch as she stands up and brushes the leftovers of the page off her legs. I manage to swallow the gasp of surprise in my throat.

“Then who am I?”

The whisper shivers in the smoky air. The corners of Addie’s mouth twitch.

“Bone Dust.”

“Bone… Dust?”

“That is all.”

Addie reaches into her pockets once more, and pulls out a matchbox full of matchsticks.

“I think you’ll be needing these.”

She places the box next to the flaring candle carefully, just so it doesn’t catch alight. Her expression is unreadable as she stares into the flame.

“Good luck, Bone Dust.”

Addie blows the candle out.

I hear footsteps as light as the wind, and the creak of a door closing. I sit, motionless, alone in the pool of black. I can feel dust swirling about me.

I’m hit with a pang of sudden realisation.

if addie can be merciless.
so can i.

I reach a hand over to feel the matchbox, but feel nothing but the cold floor.

My hand touches something sharp.

ah, hello there old friend.

I slide open the matchbox with a smile.

Pulling out a matchstick, I scratch it against the side.

Then again.

With the pungent smell of gunpowder, a newborn flame sputters and spits electrifying sparks of fire, before roaring back to life.

“The arsonist rises once again.”

With a flame softly spilling in an arc, the candle flame flickers to life once more.

thank you so much to @lyricalb for critiquing! it was a great help for you to point out errors and mistakes that i would never have seen.

Main Cabin Weekly 3
Part 1: 658 words
Part 2​​: 887 words
Part 3: 949 words
Total: 2494

Part 1, 658 words

Brainstorming:

• Elitist society
  
• Everyone is born with magical powers
  
• The landscape has magical elements
  
• Ruled by an oligarchy
  
• Claims democracy but really the elite have the most power
  
• Dominant species is not humans, humans are viewed as inferior
  
• Very old civilization
  
• Duels
  
• Using enchanted weapons over actual magic wands etc
  
• Variety of landscapes, with different species in each
  
• Water-based society
  
• Spiritual connection to the stars
  
• A “chosen one”
  
• Everyone has familiars
  
• Prestigious schools
  
• Society values architectural skills and hard work
  
• Fishing as a vital livelihood
  
• Very competitive society
  
• Trading and bartering as currency
  
• Huge marketplaces across the country

Connections, 241 words
In the middle of a massive saltwater body, tinged with enchantment and magic, an age-old civilization constructs itself in intricate towers and bustling marketplaces. They call themselves the people of A’khual. Most residents never travel outside of the wide borders, due to the well-known vortex surrounding the country documented by many travelers. Due to the little land— only the city center is built on a very small landmass— boats are essential, and nearly no land travel is possible. All other buildings are built to float. A’khual greatly values architectural skills because of their importance to the very life of the civilization. Craftsmanship is also positively looked upon, especially with magic; the type of magic in A’khual is only applying enchantments or magical properties to tangible objects. Due to their lack of food sources, they rely on fishing and sea plants for most of their nourishment. They have no specific currency; rather, trades are made for items and bartering is an important skill. Items can be traded for in one of seven markets around the country. One of these is notorious for selling illegal items, and many people avoid the area and the market. Since there’s very little direction in a place completely on water, stars are extremely important spiritually to the citizens. They are similar to gods, but are not worshiped/sacrificed to/etc. The country is ruled by an oligarchy, three queens, each taking up a different role in governing.

Narrative, 417 words
In the depths of the A’khual saltwater lie the ruins of a past life. I never cared for dwelling on a future I’ll not get to see— but the past is a different story. Partly because the past itself is a story. Stories of kings risen and fallen. Stories of revolts and revolutions, of crime and control, of wars and peace and growing civilizations. I am unable to see into the future; yet I can find a window to the past.
Only a select few dive as I have. To the ocean floor where the sand runs thick and the stalks of kelp grow taller than the turrets of the city center. They rarely allow it. “The future,” they tell us, “is the most important. Our own past is documented.”
But still they allow us to dive. The pair of us spend our time in the open water. The trinkets we find are too often scorned by society. “Useless.” “Simply something lost by a child.” It’s true that the seafloor is littered with everything from dropped tools to tossed away nostalgic reminders to dolls carried away by the wind. Yet every so often we find something truly of value. An old enchanted hammer; still tinged with the centuries old spell that had been long lost since.
They sent twenty divers out after that. They had a sudden epiphany that we were worth something. Then nothing was found and the divers left, one by one, until we were alone again.
“C’mon,” she says, and we dive beneath the sodium-tinged waves. Today we swim below the Caliginous Market; notorious for its shady canals and illegal items. It isn’t the first time we’ve done this, but it’s perhaps the most nerve-wracking. The crime rates have supposedly gone up; and we’ve heard of criminals going underwater.
Suddenly there’s a splash, and a flurry of bubbles fills the space in front of us. I kick my feet, trying to back away from whatever just landed in the water. The effervescence takes a moment to disperse. When it does, a dark figure can be seen before us. The glint of metal clutched in their hand slices through the water with a violent flick of the wrist. A simple fish carving knife, that’s all it is; but fish carving knives require background checks for a reason.
I suppose it wouldn’t be far fetched to say that this person simply fell off of their boat.
We live on water. You don’t fall off boats here.

Part 2, 887 words
What kind of magic is used in your world? 91 words
The magic used in A’khual is specifically centered around objects. There is no specific magic people can do without directing it toward objects, except for very advanced and nearly extinct magic. Objects can be enchanted to have certain properties, such as being sturdier and more difficult to break, or very commonly protection from water damage as the civilization is fully on water. In very rare cases, humans themselves can be enchanted. This is easy to mess up and very few attempt it; there can be negative side effects if done wrong.

What is an important symbol of your world? 82 words
The North Star is the most important symbol to the residents of A’khual. The civilization, being completely on water, has little way of telling direction. The North Star is the one guiding light that keeps them centered and stable. As a written symbol, it’s a diamond shape with straight lines coming out from each of the four corners. This is often used as a symbol of patriotism and pride in the country, as well as a symbol of balance and good luck.

Describe the popular infrastructure in your world. 85 words
All of the infrastructure, save for the central city, has to float on water because of the lack of land. This means that everything has to be carefully crafted to not tip over and carry a lot of weight. Enchantments play a helpful role in this, and keep the outside of the building completely waterproof. The central city has large intricate towers, and many jut out at an angle into the air because of the limited ground space. They are tall to maximize interior space.

What are the limitations of your world’s magic? 82 words
The magic in my world can’t be used on something intangible unless a loophole is discovered. For example, you can’t shoot fire out of your fingertips, but you could enchant an object to heat up to high degrees or apply other similar magical properties to an object. A lot of the more advanced magic is also not widely known. The magic also can’t be used on living things, though very experienced mages may be able to do it with the right technique.

What is the origin of your magic? 98 words
The magic in the country comes from the saltwater. The water has magical properties and children are ceremoniously floated in it when born. Living with the water on all sides mostly forces everyone to be exposed to it. Most people have varying reactions to the magic, but over time, a person’s body grows accustomed to it. This is referred to as reaching Stability, which is when a person is able to perform magic without side effects. This process can’t be sped up, and different people naturally experience it at different times even though it’s common to be competitive.

How can you ensure the magic in your story is realistic, and is written as a normalized part of your world? 101 words
I think to make sure the magic is realistic, I should introduce it early on and keep magical elements of the story consistent throughout. I would want to make sure that I don’t bring in an important magical part of the world late, because this would feel unnatural for a reader to learn about something with a huge effect after they’ve already gone through a lot of the story. It makes a difference to be very careful to not overexplain things that are new, but to implement the explanations casually so that a reader can feel like they understand the world.

How is the education system in your world? What do your characters learn (or hypothetically would learn)? 81 words
Most people go to small community schools as children to learn basic schools. From there, at about the age of 16, those interested in prestigious careers such as craftsmanship and magic can apply to center-city academies. Those with lower academic ability or interest in other careers usually travel the country to be able to attend a school for that career; rarely, some people are self taught or taught by family and do not get further formal education after attending primary school.

How can your world’s magic aid character development? 82 words
I think that it would be valuable to have a character learning magic or learning about it— not only would this help the reader understand the magic system, but the character’s ability and point of view on magic can change over time and represent key turning points in their personality. Since magic is a normal part of A’khual but not a normal part of our world, the way that a character reacts and responds to it tells us a lot about them.

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.)? 92 words
Magic is viewed as something completely normal, but people can be fascinated by what can be achieved with it. Magic goes hand in hand with craftsmanship, and since it’s readily available, most objects are enchanted with at least simple properties like extra durability or being waterproof, et cetera. Some people are strongly averse to human enchantment and argue that it’s unnatural, detrimental to society, and should be illegal— so opinions on different aspects of magic do vary. Very experienced magi are often put on pedestals for having more advanced and uncommon knowledge.

Are there any sensations the characters feel when they are using magic? Describe these sensations using their five senses. 93 words
Characters probably have a sort of tingly feeling when using magic because the magic comes from them. Those who haven’t reached Stability would probably be accompanied by some mild to extreme pain, depending on the person and their experience with magic. They would see light for a moment, which is often hard on the eyes causing some magi to even become blind over time. A character will hear nothing while enchanting an object. Outside sound can make magic more difficult to perform, because most people require a lot of concentration when practicing it.

Part 3, 949 words
Urban Fantasy, 313 words
I step into the alleyway, empty and dark. It’s never been like this before. All of the nights I used to come here there were children whispering, huddled in a circle, under firelight. Now my footsteps echo around the soulless bricks, and I am alone.
Cars whiz past me. The sounds of the city are always the same, whether it’s midnight or noon. The horns honking, tires squeaking, people yelling. And the sirens, of course. Wherever I am the sirens seem to follow me, and they’re the sirens that took my friends away. I stalk toward the burnt remains of last night’s fire, frantically put out and scattered with the panicked yells of “The cops are coming! The cops are coming!”
Chiara went invisible, but they found her. Pietro shot fireballs, but they handcuffed him. Juan threw everything, but they dodged. Neha went as fast as she could to try to beat them. They still caught her.
They didn’t catch me. Because I turned into a rat and ran away.
Maybe I could have saved them if I tried. At least I’ll save them tonight. I don’t want to run the alleyway alone knowing that my friends are in danger because of me.
I feel my body shudder as I flux into the same rat as last night. The police are still looking for me, I know that much; they were so afraid that our magic would get out of control and everyone would find out. They call us delinquents. We call ourselves magi.
I know better than to try and check the low security prison nearby. We’ve been evading long enough that my friends are probably on Alcatraz at this point. Thankfully, I have all the time in the world.
I slip between the rushing cars. They don’t know me, they don’t know us. If I can help it, they will soon.

Steampunk Fantasy, 322 words
I cough as the steam rises from the pipe and look up at the clock with its gears creaking with each turn. Just ten more minutes, and I can go back to the dimly lit streets of the city. I’ve worked at this same factory for seven years, manufacturing the pieces that end up running the airships flying above us every night. Those airships are the same ones where the rich people pour expensive champagne and toast their glasses to their money. Meanwhile my family drinks water out of our age-old cups, water polluted by those same airships.
I work in the line where we make engines. If I messed up my part too badly, I could be single-handedly responsible for an airship crashing. I smile at that; the power I really hold over the people who think they’re so much better than me. Of course, the inspector would see— and then I’d be jobless.
“Five minutes,” comes a voice, and suddenly I remember that the inspector always leaves exactly on time. If I can just stay a minute longer, I could crash an airship.
A bell rings. I see the inspector across the room, straightening his coat and righting his smooth top hat. Just a moment more— I pantomime getting my things together. He passes me briskly, not sparing me a glance as he taps his wooden cane on the floor. Everyone shuffles out of the room and then the lights go dark. I can hear the humming of the machines.
I grab the engine I was working on and take out a piece, wincing as it blows some steam in my face. I creep quietly toward the pile waiting to be shipped off to the next rich couple deciding to splurge. Just as I’m about to set it down, the lights flick on.
“Hands up,” and I turn around to see the inspector pull a pistol out of his cane.

Hidden Worlds, 314 words
I run into my room and slam the door, seething. I wish I could get away. I lie on my bed, staring up at the white ceiling that stares back at me just as coldly. For just a moment, I shut my eyes. There’s only darkness that shows through my tightly clenched eyelids. Then everything looks red— like when you’re facing light if your eyes are closed. Furrowing my brows, I slowly open my eyes.
I must be dreaming. There’s a sun above me. I look around and see the grass, greener than it’s ever been before back home. A dandelion blooms next to me. I see the bee on it and scramble away. But then I realize that it’s not a bee. Squinting, I take a closer look and study the strange creature. It looks like a tiny person, dressed in a leafy gown with two fluttering translucent wings. A fairy? But how?
Oh, of course. This must be a dream. So all I have to do is pinch myself.
Ouch. So I’m not dreaming. Where am I?
I get up and rub my eyes, and only then can I really take in the world around me. There’s a group of horses in one direction, galloping through the grass and then into the air. Into the air— I realize that they have pale feathery wings supporting them as they soar. Pegasi, so that means I’ve just arrived in some incredible fantasy.
I look down at the grass and for a moment I see my bed. It’s like I’m looking down from the roof of my room. Then it flashes away. I prod at the spot, trying to make it come back. My finger goes through the ground— I dive through the green blades and fall for a moment, then land on the bed again. The blue sky above me dissipates.
What just happened?

removed

weekly - july 17-23
total words: 3094

part one:
words: 771

brainstorming

• Very high up so not every messenger bird sent down can come back up
  
• “as untrustworthy as a weak messenger bird” is a popular saying/insult
  
• birds as symbol of chaos
  
• rain and also non-groundwater is rare
  
• clouds are symbol of good
  
• Sun is symbol of evil (no cover meaning heat deaths common)
  
• romance looked down on as a luxury they can’t afford
  
• Attitude around forgiveness is “you need to or else” and left at that
  
• Population regulated by government
  
• small town with government based around popular vote, term as mayor is one year
  
• Dyes are looked down on (again, unaffordable luxury)
  
• “Best” career considered to be gardening, higher pay than others
  
• Stories told mainly orally, not through writing
  
• Paper/ink reserved for “important” causes
  
• Lies are considered useless and a waste of time
  
• Laws require any with magic to come forward and say they exist
  
• When magic is used, leaves user less healthy or injured
  
• Items can be enchanted but will eventually need to be reinchanted
  
• Diet is based around edibles obtained from plants
  
• Fighting (combat) is useless because nobody nearby is enough of a threat
  
• Everyone is adapted to the air pressure (?) up here
  
• They don’t go down the mountain, nobody comes up either
  
• Mountains are a symbol of loneliness
  
• Currency is food/water and very arbitrary

connections (342 words)
Aerren is a town located high up in the mountains of the planet Terria-A13 and is currently populated by exactly 200 humans. Yes, exactly. Due to the low amount of resources there, the government controls the amount of people very carefully so that the amount of people there doesn't exceed the amount of people that the land can support. You may be wondering- why doesn’t Aerren just trade with the towns lower down? Well, Aerren used to do that (well, tried to do that), but they realized that because the people down below aren’t used to the air up where Aerren is located (and the people in Aerren aren’t, either), they stopped trying to trade with the other towns and instead resorted to messenger birds. Unlike the people of Aerren, the birds of Terria-A13 can adapt to the different air pressures quickly, but due to the height of Mt. Aer not every bird that is sent down/up comes back, so birds are said to be the symbol of chaos. Another factor in Aerren’s life caused by Mt. Aer is that it doesn’t rain much where Aerren is and the nearest watershed is much further than they’d like, so their main source of water is groundwater instead of surface water and, having lived there for several centuries, that supply is slowly dwindling. Since dyes, inks, and paper all need water to be made, there are very strict laws on how they are used (and even then, the practice of using them is looked down on). Because the people who originally lived on Aerren believed that poultry and other such animals are a waste of space and/or resources and incredibly annoying, Aerren doesn’t have any of those animals and can’t get any due to aforementioned trade problems. As such, the typical Aerren resident’s diet consists entirely of plants, and careers such as gardening are legally required to receive more food or water (the currency) as pay than the others as an incentive to get people to produce food to help sustain Aerren.

narrative (429 words)
I watched the white bird as it glided through the bright blue sky for several minutes, then took a sharp turn down towards the rest of the world and out of sight. Now, all I could do was hope.
Hope that the message would reach its designated recipient, hope that I had chosen the right bird, hope that I wouldn’t have to write the same letter again. Hope that the same bird would come back with another rolled message wrapped in thread, written in the same swirling handwriting I had grown accustomed to seeing over the past few months of letters.
Hope that, just like it had previously, everything would go right. There was too much at stake for anything to go wrong, especially now. But all I could do was hope, which felt incredibly silly- a society relying entirely on facts that needs to rely on chance to contact the others.
Funny how life worked, wasn’t it? The original builders disliked farm animals- now, the current people of Aerren would never be able to know what one was like. Never be able to see it for themselves. Sometimes, I mused, the solitude of Aerren was both a kindness and a curse.
Safety, at the cost of interaction. We were alone, isolated completely from the rest of the world- alive, but not quite thriving. There were benefits to living up here, yes, but were they truly worth it? Now, we- I- would never learn. And as our resources dwindled, I couldn’t help but be bitter that a small group of architects and philosophers could influence the futures of generations.
But that was the way life worked, I knew. The societies below were like that too- except their resources were more abundant. They had the freedom to live- to survive, thrive, to interact, to learn. They, at least, had more choices than we did.
My friends below weren’t trapped on a mountain they couldn’t leave. They would never come up, but they (understandably) had no need to- why visit a dying, stagnant, world when you can stay in a one of life and growth? I could only stand at the Sending Station, watch the bird leave, and hope its message would be received by the right person.
Its recipients were free, able to send their messages without needing to worry that the bird wouldn’t make it. They didn’t need to carefully ration their food intake, didn’t need to worry about the amount of water their message would use.
Meanwhile, all I could do was let the bird go and hope.

part two:
words: 1222

What kind of magic is used in your world? (128 words)
The general type of magic that the world has is primarily based around powers like telepathy, teleportation, or telekinesis, with several additional subcategories that are based around how powerful your powers are. Factors such as range, duration, how you activate your powers, and your powers’s strength all contribute to which subcategory of magic users you would be placed in, though some factors will typically balance each other out. For example, if you can move an object that is very far away you might not be able to move it for very long or you can’t move it somewhere that’s very far away from where it began. Some people might also be able to broadcast their thoughts into people that are close by but can do it more powerfully.

How is the magic in the world used in the character’s everyday lives? What are the different abilities? (160 words)
The actual subcategories (different abilities) have three subcategories for telepathy, telekinesis, or teleportation-like abilities each. The three most common subcategories are known as Distance (can use your power on things/people that are far away but weaker), Middle (can use your powers on things/people that are neither far away nor close and average strength), Magnified (can use your power on things/people that are close up and do it well), but there are a few others. Somebody who has Distance telepathy might have a role as a messenger due to their powers, or somebody with Magnified telekinesis might use their power to write a message without moving their hands. There are other labels that some people use, a common set of which are Emotional (magic is activated by emotions), Defensive (magic is activated by danger), and Physical (magic is activated by doing certain activities), though not all people fit under those subcategories and some people instead invent their own.

What are the laws of your world, specifically about magic? Punishments? (122 words)
The most well-known laws of the world regarding magic include several laws that all prevent hiding what your powers are from the government. Technically, it’s only one law and not several, but after certain loopholes were utilized to prevent the Bureau of Magical Statistics from learning somebody’s powers the Bureau decided to add the other laws to seal up those loopholes. There are also some laws preventing using magic to commit crimes (again, these laws were added to clear up loopholes) and laws that make experimenting on people illegal (this was added after the BMS inhumanely experimented on people with magic). The consequences for breaking those laws often vary depending on the context of the crime, similarly to how normal laws work.

What is the origin of your magic? (122 words)
This world’s magic originated from a species of aliens who landed on the planet unprepared and were quickly wiped out by the planet’s unfamiliar magic. Due to a series of hand-wavy reactions that the people of the planet had to the alien materials and questionable ways that the aliens were experimented on, certain people then gained the magical powers that you see today. After a series of battles physical, mental, and legal, started by or because of the sudden new powers, the planet eventually became mainly occupied by the descendants of those original magic wielders. Originally, their magic was much stronger, but after centuries passed the strength of magic that the new magic users had lessened and became what it is now.

How common is magic, and are all characters aware they possess it? (115 words)
According to a recent survey conducted by the Bureau of Magical Statistics, seven out of ten people have magical powers. Also according to the same survey, the majority of magical users (six out of seven) manifest signs of having magic early in their childhood (typically between preschool and second grade). The other percentage (the remaining one out of seven) don’t show signs until they are around the age where they are high- or middle-schoolers. These signs vary between person to person and may sometimes be confused as being caused by a different magic user, and the true subcategory of a person’s magic sometimes isn’t revealed until they are learning about how to use their powers.

What are the limitations of your world’s magic? (118 words)
Each type of power has a few general limitations: for telekinesis powers, you can’t use your telekinesis to move parts of sentient beings (an example would be that you can move the bracelet somebody is wearing, but not their arm); for teleportation powers, you can only go somewhere you have been before (you could go to the place where your house used to be, but you can’t instantly teleport to your friend’s house without already having been there); and for telepathy powers, you can’t use your powers while you are speaking (you can’t warn somebody about a threat while you’re talking to said threat in a distraction, but you can broadcast a message while you have stopped speaking)

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.)? (107 words)
How magic is viewed in the world generally depends on what the person in question has learned about magic first. People who learned about the alien origins of magic first typically believe that it is an unnatural element of society that shouldn’t exist and be as important as it is, while people who first learned about the different categories or applications of magic lean more towards believing that magic is an interesting element of life, and people who actually have magic typically believe that their powers are a normal element of the world. Generally, due to the usefulness of magic, it is viewed in a positive light.

Are there any sensations the characters feel when they are using magic? Describe these sensations using their five senses. (102 words)
When they use their magic, most people feel like there is a wind blowing (of which the intensity varies depending on how much they are pushing the limits of their powers). Many magic users describe the feeling as though the sounds around them fade away, and they also describe seeing other magic users lighting up in bright colors as everything else becomes a grayscale scene. Occasionally, some people who wield magic describe that sensation as feeling like they are moving through a thick sheet of invisible jelly around them and say that their movements slow down because of the tension as well.

How is the education system in your world? What do your characters learn (or hypothetically would learn)? (113 words)
The education system basically has two different types of classes: the typical classes of math, history, geography, etc., and the magic-related classes of magical history, magical practice, etc. In theory, a typical student with powers would take the classes that everyone takes as well as the magical classes. This hypothetical student would learn about what their powers are, where their powers came from, the laws about magic, and how they use their magic as well as the different categories of magical powers. However, this isn’t the case everywhere, and people in some regions don’t end up being able to take the magical classes they need or the quality of those classes isn’t great.

Does magic affect the government of your world? If so, how? (135 words)
The government has become dependent on having magic wielders to help enforce the laws, so the Bureau of Magical Statistics is one of the most important departments the government has. While the Bureau may just seem like it’s only there to conduct surveys about magic, the Bureau has also been working to develop technology that blocks magic and tracks most (if not all) of the magic users that have reported their powers to the government to possibly recruit them and at the very least evaluate their powers. The Department of Law Regulation works to enforce laws, and has a large interest in the Bureau’s data on the world’s magic users, meaning that more often than not the Department lets members of the Bureau free if they have been working on the Bureau’s magic-related tracking systems.

part 3:
words: 1101

Dystopian Fantasy (362 words)
I look out the window of my home and only see darkness. The moon and stars have been obscured by the metal dome, just like they were supposed to. Just like they always are.
I checked the clock- still one minute to go. So I quietly watched the blinking green light in the dark room, slowly counting down the seconds until midnight. Or, well, as close to midnight as you could get when the sky is hidden away under a layer of metal shielding.
Then, it’s midnight. I quickly get up, making sure to be quiet so the noise sensors don’t detect me. The motions come easily after nearly a whole lifetime of practice, and I’m quickly out of the door and onto the quiet, empty streets of the city.
I pull my hood over my head, obscuring my short brown hair. The less ways for the government to identify me, the better- especially when I’m breaking the rules of my schedule so blatantly. I cautiously glance up at the island floating above the buildings, and the lights below it are off. There’s no reason to worry, but then why do I feel so anxious?
I walk through the main street, where the remains of the illegal food stand have been scattered around. Nobody has cleaned it up yet- it seems like the government doesn’t want to alter their careful plans for the world just because of a metal wreck.
A turn, and I reach the alleyway where we planned to meet. It seems empty except for shadows, but I know better- when your friends are Shadowmelders, every dark spot could be a place where they are.
But this time, something feels off. I’m not sure why, but the darkness seems too harsh and the light from the street lamps outside too soft. I back away, hoping to leave and find out what was going on later, but then the lights above on the floating island turn on all at once and I freeze.
The government will know where I am if I move, but if I don’t move they’ll still find me. One thought races through my mind- it’s over now.

Hidden Worlds (327 words)
“Are you well, Milo?” Evelyn’s voice cut through my dream, and I nodded as the last remains of the imagined events faded out of my mind and memory.
“I am as well as one anticipating being sent down to the World Below can be,” I replied. I paused for a moment, politely waiting to see if she had something to say, then continued. “When you were assigned to observe the Below-Dwellers, did you notice any differences in behavior that I will need to integrate into my way of interaction with them?”
“I did,” she nodded. She looked at me, and I flicked my ears and motioned for her to continue. “The people of the World Below are less calm, perhaps due to their decreased lifespan, and it would seem that most expect the ones around them to ‘go with the flow’, as their saying goes.”
“Hmm,” I hummed. “So they are not as angry and rebellious as the stories say they are?”
“On the contrary,” she sighed, flattening her ears in vexation, and when I said nothing added, “It is quite a strange duality.”
“Did you find out whether or not this was normal to have?” I asked, hoping that not every one of the Below-Dwellers were that confusing.
“I did not,” she shook her head. Another pause, and she added, “I asked one of the people I met, and he just said that they were all ‘individual’.”
“What did he mean by that?” I felt my ears twist around in confusion- another involuntary action I would have to get used to stifling or else the illusion of human ears would be broken when I was on the World Below.
Evelyn opened her mouth to say something when the bracelet on my left hand began to glow.
“I can only hope this goes well,” I sighed, trying to keep my ears rigid and not drooping. I tapped the bracelet, and the world around me faded to white.

Science Fantasy (412 words)
“Mx Salt,” one of the lab technicians begins as I blink away the white clouding around my vision. “Was the procedure a success?”
“I think so,” I shrug. There are some- well, one- questions I want answered first. “What was that dream I had?”
“One moment,” the technician says. He starts rifling through a stack of papers he is carrying. “Uh… I think the theory is that some of the memories of that being would transfer over to you temporarily. I’m not quite sure since that isn’t my area of expertise, but that’s what they think.”
‘That being.’ I try to ignore the images that those words conjure in my mind. I needed- still need, since the experiment wasn’t over- the money, so I had chosen to be the test subject- I can’t allow myself to feel guilty. This is the only way forward I could have possibly chosen.
“Can you stand up?” he asks, and I push myself off of the bed without hesitating. The less time I’m in this building, the better.
“Have there been any changes?” another technician asks. She holds a clipboard with a pen and looks ready to write, and I ignore how uncomfortable it makes me feel. After a pause, she adds, “Did the magical senses transfer over to you or not?”
I look around before answering, trying to see if there are any different things. All I notice is a trail of green light that goes throughout the laboratory, ending at the bed I had been lying on a minute ago.
“Yep,” I swallow.
“Alright,” she says as the first technician begins packing up the jars and various tools that glowed green, as well as the ones that didn’t. “Let us know if there are any other effects.”
“What if I die?” I ask, smiling wryly and ignoring the emotions the question provokes within me. “Who reports to you? The agent following me around for the past few weeks or the one that observes everything?”
Her expression falters, but she recovers quickly. “In the event of death, it won’t matter to you. You can leave now, if you wish.”
“Of course,” I nod, trying to act like this is normal. “Payment, please?”
She takes a large token out of her coat’s inner pocket and hands it to me. I take it and leave the building- hopefully, the five hundred pix stored on the token will be enough to keep me from needing to go back.

Placeholder for my weekly