WEEKLY #3
(sjdhgfak this was so rushed-)

general tw for this whole thing heh- I write about a lot of death in general so that’s a theme to be aware of if you want to read any of this (which you shouldn’t because it’s all very very rushed sdkfjhsf)

PART ONE – High Fantasy and Worldbuilding

Brainstorming (195 words):
- Island in the middle the ocean
- Treehouses (well-disguised so people don’t notice)
- Very strict rules/laws to keep everything under control
- Ruler who isn’t a part of the society but pretends to be
- Strict system for who can/when to have kids
- Magic used mainly to benefit the ruler of the society
- Strong attempt to be like the “ordinary” (non-magic) world
- Creatures are labeled as dangerous by citizens
- People have different categorized abilities, dividing them/causing conflict
- Citizens are turned against each other (used for punishing others)
- Dark and stormy setting
- Permanent daylight, no specific time for anything
- Forced happiness and order, making everything too bright to be real
- Mountain setting
- Everyone genuinely sees each other as equals
- The society is like a prison—once you’re in it, you aren’t allowed out
- Entire society based around music
- Use of magic is strictly forbidden because enough people have it that it’s dangerous
- One society spread around different parts of the world
- “Dangerous” creatures outnumber citizens
- Connection to non-magic society/people punishable by death
- People have numbers instead of names

Connections (369 words):
High in the mountains is one of the many cities where people with magical abilities are forced to reside. All of these cities are led by one person – someone who keeps to themself and is hardly known by any of the citizens. They bribed the council – the lower group of leaders – to let them lead, even though they do not have any magic abilities. They have managed to convince the citizens of every city that they do by remaining anonymous and involving themself in as little as possible.
Citizens of this city are only allowed to use their magic in certain situations. Normally, these situations end up benefiting the leader, helping them gain power over the citizens and the rest of the world. The citizens are unaware of this as they have been brainwashed to believe that anything their leader says to do is the only right thing.
All citizens are shoved into a system where their lives are completely planned out for them. They are addressed by the number they are given at birth rather than a name—although some parents do decide to give their children names, even though they won’t be used. Citizens have no say in what their job is or who their partner is or what they want to do in their free time (because there is none). There are very strict laws regarding this and many other things, such as contact with the non-magic world. If you try to make any sort of connection with non-magic people, you will be punished by another citizen. Depending on the magic a citizen has, one of their jobs may be to punish people who break laws.
At one point, the leaders tried to make the city as bright and cheerful as possible to make citizens believe that they were happy with their life, but when this didn’t work, they gave up. The cities darkened. Everything fell into the same dark, monotonous routine, and hardly anyone paid any mind to the change. Some even liked it better that way.
The cities were designed to trap people and their magic. Escaping is near impossible, and if you get caught—which you most likely will—you will be killed.

Narrative (434 words):
Waking up is the most difficult part of every day.
It’s still dark when my eyes snap open at the sound of the alarm that awakens everyone in the city. A girl by the wall lights up the room with a fire in her palm, just like every morning. If any of us wanted to, we could turn her in. We could kill her.
But the fire she creates is warmth for all of us. We don’t want to lose it.
No one cares to learn anyone else’s names. Many people don’t even know their own—most of us were stripped of our identities as infants.
I was lucky enough to see my parents one last time.
Nix.
That’s what they called me. The only name I’ve never forgot. The only one I’ve ever learned.
I’ve never told anyone else about that day. The day that made me hate this city. This system. The day that I destroyed the last thing that could have saved me.
The day I killed my parents.

I find my shoes and coat and line up with the others by the door. The fire has been extinguished. The room is just as dark as it was before, if not darker.
I’m used to choking on my heart as it sits in my throat. I’m used to forcing myself to breathe around it. So why can’t I now?
I know why. I just don’t want to believe it.
I am weak. I am so, so weak.
I will have to punish someone today. I will have to punish them the same way I was forced to punish my parents.
They were so young. Too young.
The doors open. I force myself to breathe. It’ll go just like always. I’ll make it fast. I’ll look away. Block out their screams. They have no worth to the Council, so they have no worth to any of us. Right?
I sound like a monster.
I am a monster.

I follow the path I was told to take. The frigid air is everywhere but my lungs and I can’t do this, I can’t do this, I can’t do this—I never could.
The path leads to the same room I’ve been in countless times, labeled with my number and stained with so, so, so many people’s blood.
I can’t do this.
I have done too much already. I have ruined too many lives. Ended too many lives.
They have threatened to do much worse if I don’t. I had no choice. It was never up to me. It was never under my control.
Nothing has been.

PART TWO – Magical Realism (1057 words)
(using a world from a story I wrote a while ago)

1. What kind of magic is used in your world?
A lot of different kinds of magic are used. Some people can control the elements. Others can control the senses. They can make people see things, hear things, feel things, etc. Some of them can strengthen their senses. Some citizens can teleport. Some can read minds. Some have telekinesis. Some can read people’s emotions or track where they are. The magic is separated into categories—mind, for people with telepathy, telekinesis, tracking, or empathy; vision, for people who can change what they see or what other people see; travel, for people who can use various methods of teleportation; strength, for people who can strengthen their senses or those of others; and element, for people who can control the elements.
2. What are the laws of your world, specifically about magic? Punishments?
People are allowed to use their magic as much as they want in their own homes, but once they’re out in public, they’re still allowed to use their magic as much as they want. The only consequences of it are from other citizens. Those consequences are war in the story. If you aren’t in the sector in which people with your ability are allowed, you aren’t allowed to use your magic. That is punishable by death. It’s the only real law restricting citizens’ use of their magic.
3. How can your world’s magic aid character development?
Characters in this world are often forced to restrain themselves and their magic, whether that be because of other citizens or because it’s what they’ve been taught for their whole lives. Other people’s magic can often put characters into dangerous and sometimes lethal situations. It causes losses, destruction, war, conflicts - all of which can lead to strengthened characters. Also, they are often either humbled or shocked by their own power. Some characters learn that their power will only go so far, while others find that they can do much more than they can control. This means they’ll have to learn to regain control over themselves.
4. How common is magic, and are all characters aware they possess it?
Every citizen has magic, and they’re all aware of it if they are raised in the magic world (or country in this case). Everyone raised in the country is raised to use their magic as a normal part of their life. However, there are many people raised in the non-magic world who spend their entire lives trying to hide their magic. Most of the time, they do know they have it – unless their magic has to do with mind reading, and in that case, they often don’t know to try it. Still, most mind readers who are raised in the non-magic world do end up realizing that they have magic. Some think that they’re crazy, some think they’re monsters, and all of them think they’re the only ones in the world with magic. It’s very uncommon for people with magic to be found in the non-magic world.
5. What are the limitations of your world’s magic?
Characters are the only ones with magic, and it can only be transferred into objects in very specific situations. The vast majority of the time, humans are the only ones with magic. The magic is like another part that humans can use, similar to walking or lifting things. If you do it enough, you get tired. The same goes for magic—if citizens use it enough, they get tired. People can’t use it infinitely, and if they try to, it can be damaging to themselves and sometimes even lethal.
6. How is magic viewed in your world?
It depends on each individual’s personal experiences with it. For the main characters, it feels more like a burden than anything else. Their magic – as well as that of many others – has cause much more damage than it’s worth. Some individuals take it for granted, and some (particularly those who grew up in the non-magic world and weren’t endangered by their magic) see it as a blessing. As a whole, it is viewed as just another part of everyday life by the magic society. Either that, or it’s viewed as destructive – especially between sectors.
7. Compared to our modern society, what do the characters do differently in your world, now that magic is incorporated?
Honestly, the main difference is the division—but that’s not really all that different from our society. People are geographically divided by the type of magic they have. They also fight over the magic they have. There are “duels” between sectors or at the borders, which many people have tried to make illegal. Also, people can incorporate their magic into their everyday lives, but many choose not to—especially those with magic related to mind reading. There is just a lot more conflict between characters in general because of the division their magic creates.
8. How is the education system in your world?
It’s very similar to that of the non-magic world, but kids are also trained to control their magic. It is also a lot less mandatory and important, and many people don’t have a method of transportation. School is viewed as less of a normal part of life and more of an extra thing people can choose to take part in. The main benefits are just being able to say that you were educated, which can help you get jobs. It’s not a necessity, but it can be helpful. Those who do go to school learn many of the same subjects as we do—history, math, language arts, etc.
9. What happens when magic gets out of control in your world?
War. The sectors go to war with each other. Even if it’s one person’s magic that gets out of control, someone from another sector can call it out, label all of the citizens from that sector as dangerous and start conflicts. There aren’t many legal consequences regarding out-of-control magic, but once a conflict between individuals gets out of hand, it can lead to war. Sometimes, the conflict is internal. This happens a lot with characters from this world—they accidentally use their magic in a way they didn’t intend to and end up thinking of themselves as a monster.
10. What are some noteworthy examples of problems (in your world) that characters solved with magic?
Since the main character’s brother is arguably the most powerful person in the country, he was able to stop the war from getting more out of hand than it already was. Their opponents tried to flood the sector they were in (the country is a tiny island so it wouldn’t have been hard for element people to flood it – plus the borders are sealed off so it would only take out one sector at a time). The main character’s brother was able to stop the flood before it could reach people’s homes. Also, the main character is able to read people’s thoughts and change them—she has been able to save people’s lives from miles away.

PART THREE – Fantasy Subgenres (1155 words)

Dystopian Fantasy (475 words):
The world within our walls restarted six years ago, and people are still grieving.
I guess it makes some sense, given the thousands and thousands of people that were killed. But we’re in a better place now—aren’t we?
The country has been rebuilt. We have a new government, a new system, a new lifestyle. A safer one.
But what we thought was safe ended up killing half of us six years ago.
There is a note by my door when I get up. The same one we all get every year on the same day.

TO: SORYN MILLER
DATE: 18.9.82
PURPOSE: REMINDER

THE YEARLY MOURNING TAKES PLACE TOMORROW AT 900. PARTICIPATION IS MANDATORY.
THANK YOU FOR YOUR COOPERATION.

As usual, the only signature is the stamp that was keeping the note folded.
The note is unnecessary; no one forgets about the Mourning. No one misses it. No one is allowed to. Anyone found away from their region’s Mourning is banished, forced to fend for themselves in a world where no one wants them. After a while, it becomes something you force yourself to remember.
There are plenty of risks, but that isn’t one most of us are willing to take.
As I toss the note onto the table, an earsplitting alarm rings out. Covering my ears makes hardly any difference.
I recognize this alarm. One that we’ve been taught to react instantly to.
We have to evacuate.
I wrench open the front door and instantly begin to choke on the smoke filling the air. All I can see is black and orange and everything is burning—
I cover my mouth and nose with my shirt and follow a path I’ve taken countless times. If I’m right, it should lead to the center of the region. There’s nothing to burn there, as far as I remember.
I find myself in a ring of fire. In the very center is a raised piece of land. People are standing around it, watching the person on top of it.
Whatever they look at catches fire. Houses, signs, benches—everything is going up in flames.
I join the crowd of people. “What’s happening?” I ask, my voice hoarse.
“A rebellion,” someone shouts without looking at me. “That’s what they’re saying.”
“Rebellion? Against what?”
“Haven’t you noticed?” They turn to me. “People going missing left and right, then reappearing days later with bruises everywhere and marks on their wrists? People getting thrown out for not being powerful enough? They only want us for our abilities—they don’t actually care about our well-being. We have no control here.”
Maybe this place really was better before it was rebuilt.
No one has been happy here in six years. No one has been their own person in six years. No one has been able to fight for themselves in six years.
But now, maybe we can.

Hidden Worlds (340 words):
I’ve heard rumors that the sky is blue outside the borders.
Here, it is dark, dark grey, just like everything else around us. The world is completely dark.
They say I’ll be allowed out tomorrow. I’ll get to see the blue sky and the sun and all the colors I could possibly imagine.
I’m terrified.
I’ve been given a job. I’ve been told to do one thing and one thing only—find a new place for us to settle. A place where we can start over and instead of having a border that’s invisible from the outside and darkening from the inside, we can have what the humans have.
I have been preparing for much too long. I’ve been learning. The rumors are more than rumors; they are facts. Facts I have been taught so nothing surprises me. Nothing can get in my way.
I won’t need wings to fly. I can go in a round metal box they call an “airplane” instead. I will be given money. I will be given the addresses of everywhere I can be myself without hiding. Everywhere I don’t have to be human.
I will be okay.
I will be punished if I don’t keep this a secret. I will be killed if any human finds me—whether I’ll be killed by the human or our monarch, I’m not sure, but I will be killed.
I will be careful. I will not be given a second chance.
Tomorrow, I will leave the border. It will open for me. My family will say goodbye to me. My friends will wish me luck. My life as I know it will end until I have succeeded.
I will succeed.
I will forget that under their words, under what they intend for me to believe, this is a punishment. I will forget that I have ruined lives and that they will not come after me, even if it means leaving me to die. I will forget the times I have been worse than worthless.
And I will prove them wrong.

Urban Fantasy (340 words):
I have never seen downtown.
Apparently, it is reserved for those who are objectively “special”. The people who made the city the way it is.
I’ve seen pictures of the bustling streets and the buildings that seem to reach the sky, but unlike the ordinary rich people, my ordinary poor family has never even thought of stepping foot in the city as a possibility.
Until today.
“They’re opening it up?” My brother asks. I nod, forcing a smile. I can’t help but be a little skeptical—they’ve only wanted us for the work before. They only wanted us so we could be useful to them. Who’s to say that’s not their only goal now?
“Don’t get your hopes up too high,” I tell him. My mom shoots me a stern look through her smile.
“Why don’t you two go check it out?” she asks. “You can walk to the bridge and see the city, if you’d like.”
My brother looks too ecstatic to say no to, so I shrug and lead him out the door.
We walk for about two miles before reaching the bridge.
I’ve never been this close before. Everything is so…huge. There are floating trains, streets that move to face wherever people want to go—so much that shouldn’t be possible.
But as I look around at the little stands on the streets, I realize we aren’t the only ones being exploited.
The city is a museum, and everyone that we’ve been taught to be superior to us – everyone who is worth more than us – is on display.
They are just as trapped as we are.
“When do we get to go past the bridge?” My brother asks. I force myself to smile again.
“I’ll take you as soon as I can.”
He looks happier than I’ve ever seen him. I don’t have the heart to tell him what the city is doing to its citizens—even the ones we are told we should worship.
And the worst part?
There is absolutely nothing we can do about it.

total: 3210 words

Weekly #3

Sandstone desert setting
Secluded, not much is known about beyond the desert
Some advanced technology powered by magic despite their scientific knowledge being behind ours - ex. they don’t know what atoms are but they have (magic) bullet trains
Special trees that can store a lot of water to survive in the desert
Cities built around rivers and canals
Long hair is a symbol of age and maturity - cutting hair is against social norms
Art, specifically with paint, is highly valued
Magical powder that falls from the sky (snow-like)
Flimsier shoes - or even going barefoot - is a sign of high status (workers need more durable shoes)
Three seasons: dry, wet, and magic
First-born children are expected to not marry or have children - as long as they follow this they are highly valued by society
Special tattoos determine capabilities to do magic
Stars are highly valued - it is believed magic comes from them
Designated areas in each city with large map of the stars on the ground
The planet has rings
When tossed into fire, the magic powder causes the flames to flicker in a blue-green color, and the smoke it puts off has an energizing effect
Foxes but with wings
Cats but with wings
Three (mythical) magic cats that is believed to live on each of the planet’s three moons


This is a metropolitan area surrounded by farmland that extends outward for miles. Beyond the outermost farms, there is nothing but desert for hundreds of miles. No exploration exhibition attempt has found anything other than desert. The land has three seasons, with a hot and cold of each (so technically six). They go in this order: cold dry, hot rainy, cold magic, hot dry, cold rainy, hot magic. In the magic seasons, a powder that is used as a source of magic falls down from the sky.
The River
The city is built around the river, with a network of canals extending off of it. Since this is the only river they really know of, their name for that river is the same as their word for rivers in general. The river is mostly underground, except for the several miles that the city is built around. No one knows where the river comes from or where it goes. They call the point where it comes from “The Emergence” and the point where it goes back underground “The Vanishing.” Both have cultural significance, symbolizing birth and death. Traditionally, dead bodies are disposed of by getting tossed into the Vanishing. One religion actually has women go to the Emergence to give birth, teaching that those born at the Emergence and whose dead bodies are tossed into the Vanishing are blessed by The River for following her path of life.

Religion
This religion is actually one of the two major religions. A long time ago, there was only one that valued aspects of nature, but it split because of disagreements over what is valued more: the earth or the sky. Since the split, the two religions have changed over time. The earth belief system has become much more poetic, with their main beliefs being based on the metaphorical life of the river. The sky belief, however, focuses on reverence to the sky, giving thanks for the sunlight and magic that falls from it. They have five main gods: fire and the moon (hot and cold), who are married, and their children, magic (the stars), rain (the river), and sunshine (the sun). Fire, they believe, comes from the earth, and that bond between it and the moon from the sky is what allowed for peace.

One major difference between the two religions is their beliefs about the earth. The sky belief system teaches that the earth is simply a force of nature from where they are born and where they return when they die, while the earth belief system teaches that the earth is also a god. They decorate her with paints, on rocks and on buildings. Because of this, the cities are very colorful and bright. There’s actually a whole career of doing art for the church. That could mean restoring art on older buildings, decorating newly-built houses, or painting new art on top of faded art.

Both religions have a respect for the stars, though it is more prevalent in the sky beliefs. They believe that the stars can teach them more about magic, which is why all three cities that make up the metropolitan portion of the land have maps of the stars that are heavily studied.

Magic
The magic powder that falls from the sky has many uses. It can be used to fuel certain technologies, such as the fast trains that go through the cities, but it also powers capabilities in humans. When a child becomes old enough - the exact age varies but it usually happens during puberty - a tattoo begins to show on their upper left arm. For this to happen, the child needs frequent exposure to the magic powder. A small amount of the powder will be rubbed onto the child’s arm on a regular basis until it appears. How often they do it depends on the parents - some only do it about once a month, while others do it daily. It is thought that more frequent exposure to the powder causes the tattoo to appear sooner, but higher frequency actually has less of an effect than people think.

Once the tattoo appears, the adolescent can begin learning to use magic. The type of magic that the child can use depends on the design and color of the tattoo. There are dozens of different tattoos, with varying rarities. The types of magic include plants, fire, water, light, darkness, healing, stone, sight, etc.

In order to use magic, it must be charged by the magic powder. Most people simply rub the powder into their tattoo, though it does take a long time. A more extreme (and way less common) method is cutting oneself and putting the powder into the wound. The powder cannot be ingested safely. As a person becomes more charged with magic, their tattoo grows, taking up more of their arm and sometimes even extending up to their neck. It shrinks again as the reserves are used.

The magic powder also has a religious significance. When tossed into a fire, it causes the flames to flicker in shades of blue and green, and the smoke it puts off has a calming effect. This is used in various religious rituals.


Taboos

One taboo in this society is cutting hair. Long hair is associated with age, maturity, and wisdom, so people want it to grow as long as possible. Because of this, hair cuts are actually used as a punishment: someone convicted of a crime may have some hair cut off (the amount depending on the severity of the crime) to show their lack of maturity. Longer hair earns more respect, so having a hair cut causes shame.

Another taboo is for the eldest child of a family to have romantic relationships. Firstborn children are thought to be the strongest, and because of this they are expected to take on well-respected roles in society, such as political leaders and teachers. It is thought that romantic relationships weaken that strength, and a firstborn that has been in one is considered too weak for a high role and will be unable to attain them. A firstborn child having a romantic relationship is extremely uncommon because of this.


Everyone in this world has magic and they are aware of it, though their specific magic capabilities vary. Each person has a specific type of magic that they can do, and while some are more powerful than others, most are fairly simple.
The type of magic that a person can do is determined by the tattoo that forms on their upper left arm when they reach adolescence. There are many types with varying degrees of rarity, including healing, light, fire, water, ice, plants, stone, speaking to animals, wind, lightning, and enhanced vision or hearing. Most types of magic aren’t super powerful, so while the type of magic a person does often impact what kind of job they choose, it doesn’t necessarily determine it. Magic also takes a lot of charging and there’s a limited amount of the magical powder that charges it, so most people are careful about how much they use it.
The special powder that magic comes from falls from the sky much like snow during certain times of the year. Most people believe that the magic comes from the stars, which is why stars are valued so much and are believed to hold the secrets to magic. However, this special powder is simply part of how nature works in this world. When magic is used, the magical energy it releases is brought back into the sky, where it eventually falls down in the form of powder again.
One limitation of magic is that people cannot use it if they don’t have sufficient reserves. These reserves are gained by absorbing the magic powder, usually by rubbing it into their skin around the tattoo area (it can’t be ingested). Many people find the process to be annoying because it takes a while. Sometimes people will gather together to talk while they rub it in. There is also a limited amount of the magical powder, as it only falls from the sky during certain times of the year. A lot of the powder collected goes to powering technology (like their bullet trains) or is reserved for religious use, which further limits the supply.
One law regarding magic is a limitation on how much magic a person can have in reserve at one time. Not only would having too much allow a person to do dangerous things (for example, someone with fire magic normally only has enough to generate some heat or start small fires but with enough in reserve they could burn down buildings), but also having too much magic in reserve at once is difficult to control, because human bodies are not built to hold that much. So, limitations have been placed to protect both the individuals and everyone else. Because a person’s tattoo grows larger as it is more charged with magic, it is easy to check to make sure people are following the law. Though some more dangerous types of magic have stricter limitations, the standard rule is that a tattoo can’t extend past the shoulder or elbow (it grows both up and down the arm).
While this world does have some technology comparable to that of our modern world, their reliance on magic has caused them to put less focus into scientific discovery. Because of this, they have fast transportation, lit-up homes, and advanced agricultural techniques, but they don’t have electricity or know what atoms are. They do, however, have a fairly advanced understanding of outer space because of its significance to their culture.
Because everyone can use it, magic is seen as commonplace in society. Because magical abilities don’t emerge until adolescence, most children are excited and fascinated by it. Getting your magical tattoo is a coming of age experience, and it is celebrated. However, as these adolescents get older and more used to their magic, it tends to be less exciting for them. Some people are even unhappy with the social stratification magic causes, because not everyone gets the same abilities and certain types of magic are more valued than others.
One important symbol in this world is the river. Most of it is underground, and the city is built around the several-mile stretch that is aboveground. It has cultural significance in both of the dominant religions, and some aspects have been ingrained into the culture so much so that even people who aren’t religious follow certain traditions. For example, the dead are typically “buried” by being sent into the part of the river that goes underground, known as “The Vanishing.” The point where the part of the river that is aboveground begins, called “The Emergence,” also has religious significance to the specific religion that for now I am calling the earth religion. This belief system encourages pregnant women to give birth on the banks of The Emergence because it symbolizes birth. They believe in following the river’s path of life as closely as possible in order to be blessed by her. The sky religion also personifies her, though she is simply one of their five main gods and is not as prevalent in their religion as she is for the earth religion. Though the earth religion also believes in the other four gods, the river is the one they follow the most closely. (Note: the earth and sky beliefs both used to be one but they split a long time ago, which is why they have a lot of similarities). Though the earth
There are three main cities that are all clustered together into one metropolitan area. Because of those with magic over stone, they are able to build tall yet sturdy skyscrapers despite their lack of machinery to build it. There has been a lot of study in the architectural field, so they can do a lot with their buildings. The main mode of transportation throughout the cities is the network of high-speed trains that are powered through magic. There are a lot of canals extending from the river all the way out into the farmland outside of the city. This is where everyone gets their water, but it especially important for the watering of crops, because these farmers do large-scale farming to feed all of the people in the cities. Because the trains don’t extend out into farmlands, boats are the main transportation out there. The canals meant for drinking water are kept covered to help the water remain sanitary.
Education is seen as very important and teachers are very well-respected members of the community. However, children are not in school for nearly as long as they are in our world. Typically, children start school at the age of eight and stay in school until they get their tattoo. In school, they learn fairly broad subjects, mainly reading, history, and some basic science and math. When they get their tattoo, they will typically begin more specialized training for their career, usually in the form of an apprenticeship or an internship. They’re usually pretty young when they get their tattoo, much too young to know for certain what they want to do for the rest of their lives. Because of this, aprenticeships and internships are flexible. Teens can experiment by trying out different fields to get a good understanding of what each career would be like so they can make informed decisions. It is also possible to begin internships or apprenticeships as adults, but it is more difficult because they usually don’t pay enough money to live off of and adults will have a hard time doing both an apprenticeship and maintaining their current job.
Magic has some influence on the government. The government is made up of a group of representatives, each with equal power. For laws to be passed, there must be a certain percentage of positive votes. The percentage varies by type of law it is, but it’s always greater than 50%. The number of representatives varies, as well. There is a religious leader from each of the two major religions, one to represent each city from each city, two to represent the farmland, and one for each major type of magic (a type of magic is considered majow when over 5,000 people that have that type). All except the religious leaders are elected by those belonging to that group. Because the number of people with each type of magic varies over time, the number of representatives varies. The current population of the area is about 7 million with 27 major types of magic, so there are 34 representatives.


Dystopian

They ration the Dust.

Dad says it didn’t always used to be like this. He tells us of when he was young, back when people could use magic freely, not just for their jobs. Where Heaters could build their own fires, where Shadowwhiperers could hide themselves as they walked down the street, and where Stormweilders could create brilliant lightning storms. People’s jobs weren’t soley determined by their magic, and they could do what they wanted with it.

Therey, my older sister, says that it must have been a scary time. That things were inefficient and messy and dangerous. She doesn’t understand, though.

She’s a healer, so she’s given all the Dust she needs. Just like Mom. I watch with envy as the two of them sit together every evening, chatting as they charge up their magic reserves. Feeling that power that magic gives as they rub the Dust into their Healer tattoos. The power I haven’t felt in years.

I’m a Stormweilder, so I don’t get any Dust.

I remember the day my tattoo finally appeared.

Every week at school we would all line up and be given a small handful of that wonderful powder, pulling up our shirt sleeves to rub it into our arms. On that particular day, I could feel it. As my teacher walked down the line giving each kid a handful, I bounced up and down with anticipation. Is eleven years old too old to be bouncing around like that? Probably, but I was too excited to care.

They say that sometimes children can feel when their ability is ready to emerge. Some people doubt that it’s true, but I don’t. I felt the energy coursing through me, and the anticipation deep in my chest. As my teacher poured the power from her tiny little bag into my hand, I eagerly started rubbing it in, still bouncing up and down.

Almost immediately, my arm started to tingle. I continue rubbing, and the tingling turns to a burning sensation. “It’s happening!” I cry.

Everyone crouds around me to watch. Though this isn’t their first time seeing someone’s gift emerge, it is still an exciting occurrance. I was mainly focused on watching the tattoo slowly appear as I rubbed more Dust into it, but I could hear snippets of their excited chatter:

“I can see it!”

“Ooh, which one is it?”

“When am I going to get mine?”

“Is that yellow? What tattoo is yellow?”

“No, I think it’s gold!”

Gold? I thought. What ability is gold?

Suddenly, I heard a crackling noise and instinctively held my hands out in front of me. Electric sparks jumped from finger to finger for a moment before fading.

“It’s a lightning bolt!”

“She’s a Stormweilder? I thought those were rare!”

“It doesn’t matter, she can’t use it anyway.”

I stared at my hands as the excitement faded and the realization sunk in. There is no job for Stormweilders. Lightning is dangerous, and there’s no way to make it useful for society. Stormweilders aren’t allowed any Dust.

I might as well have no tattoo at all.



Science

“You’re all ready to go?” Maxin asks. “You’ve got enough food and water, and your reserves are all charged up?”

“Yes, of course,” Lirese assures him. “Mission Control has everything taken care of. I’ll be fine.”

“I know, I just…” He sighs. “No one has done this before. Any little thing going wrong could mean disaster. What if you don’t make it back?”

“Don’t worry about that. If this goes wrong, things will move on. If I succeed, then I’ll make history. If not, then it won’t matter. They’ll figure out what went wrong, and they’ll solve the problems and send someone else.”

“I won’t move on. But-” he takes a deep breath. “-I know how important this is to you. And I support you 100%. Go, touch the stars.”

“You… you do know that I can’t actually touch them, right? That they’re way further away from us, and also giant balls of nuclear fusion?”

Maxin rolls his eyes. “Yes obviously I know that. I’m married to the most brilliant astronomer in the world, of course I know how stars work.”

Lirese grins and pulls Maxin into a tight hug. “I know you know. I’ll see you soon. It’ll only be five days.” She can feel Maxin lingering for a few seconds, as if he didn’t want to let go, but she didn’t mind. She savored the hug until he finally loosened his grip and let her go.

“See you in five days,” Maxin says. “I want to hear about every second of it when you get back.”


* * *

Lirese climbs into the cockpit of the ship and buckled in. “I’m ready,” she says over the intercom. “Is everything ready to go?”

“We’re doing one last check, and we will begin the countdown in just a minute,” Timothin from Mission Control responds.

Lirese taps her fingers on her armrest with anticipation. It was crazy to think about how far she had come from. As a child, she loved looking up at the stars. She would spend hours looking at her city’s star maps, trying to work out what all the constellations meant. She had spent years trying to learn everything she could about the stars, as well as the sun, moons, rings, all of space. She had made scientific discoveries, trained for years, and now she was going to be the first one up there. The first person in space, past the planet’s rings. Even though she has been preparing for this for months, it still feels unreal.

Timothin’s voice comes from the intercom again. “Everything is ready. Countdown beginning now. And Lirese… good luck.”

We will be blasting off in 10… 9…

As the countdown begins, a jolt of last-minute jitters goes through Lirese’s body. Is she really doing this? Provided that their theories were correct, outer space was a vacuum, with no air and no heat. Yes, the ship is airtight and properly insulated, and yes, she has plenty of Dust so she can use her fire magic to keep the ship warm enough. But what if it isn’t enough? What if something goes wrong?

6… 5…

She took a deep breath, using a bit of magic to heat her hands just a little bit. The sensation of using magic always calmed her. These fears were irrational. Lirese was going to be fine.

2… 1… Commencing blast off.


Urban

Looking down at the street below made me dizzy. Heights always made my heart pound and my hands get sweaty, and the only thing I can think about is the voice in my head telling me to get down immediately. I could barely stand to be in my family’s apartment on the second floor of our building. And yet here I was, standing on the roof of the tallest building in the city, just inches away from the ledge.

“It’s not as far as it looks,” Tammin assured me. “I know it’s intimidating, but we do have to be high enough that you’ll have time to get your bearings instead of just smacking into the ground.”

“I’m going to JUMP?” I screeched, scrambling away from the edge.

“Well, yeah, what did you think we were coming up here for?” He chuckled. “You’re never going to be able to use your abilities if you can’t get over your fear of heights.”

I folded my arms. “I can use my abilities without being high up.”

“You mean, hovering four inches off the ground? You asked me to teach you how to fly, and this is how I teach.”

I sighed. He was right, I did want to really fly. I was so excited when my tattoo first appeared. I was thrilled to have the same ability as my older cousin. Flying is a rare ability, so rare that Tammin was the only person I knew who had it. Besides myself, of course. But the ability also terrified me. I can’t be high up. I just can’t.

I shook my head. “I can’t do it. What if something goes wrong? There’s no way I can survive a fall like that.”

Tammin puts his hand on my shoulder and looks me right in the eyes. “It won’t go wrong. You’ve hovered before, and I know you can fly. You already know how. You just need to take that leap. I’ll do it with you.”

I managed a nod. “Okay,” I said, my voice shaking. Then, before I could talk myself out of it, I closed my eyes and ran off the edge of the building.

Suddenly I was in free fall. I forced myself to open my eyes and watched as the ground came closer and closer.

This is a mistake this is a mistake this is a mistake this is a mis-

Magic, I remembered. Use your magic!

I concentrated, drawing on the reserves stored in my arm. The tingling sensation spread throughout my entire body as I willed my trajectory to change. I swooped upward, extending my arms outward as I soared.

I wasn’t falling anymore.

I was flying.

Just then, Tammin swooped by me. “Told you that you could do it!” he shouts.

I laughed and chased after him, weaving around and over buildings. The wind roared in my ears and the wind whipped my hair around as I flew. He dove downward, and I followed him, picking up speed.

Too much speed.

I frantically tried to pull up, but it’s too late. I’d lost control. All I could do is try to slow my fall before crashing into the ground.

Tammin landed gracefully next to me. “You alright?” he asked.

I looked down at myself. The pain hadn’t hit yet, but I was covered in scrapes, and my wrist was bent at a very unnatural angle. “Um… no.”

“Hey, that’s not too bad for a first flight. I broke both of my legs on my first flight. You were really brave. Come on, let’s get you to a healer.” He extended his hand to me and I took it.

As he helped me stand, I looked back to the building I had initially jumped off of. My hand was really starting to hurt, but all I could think about was how amazing it felt to fly.


Please excuse the spelling errors and terrible formatting. I didn't have time to spellcheck and I just copied and pasted this from a google doc!

Total words: 4,380

This is so bad aaaa

Daily for 24th

Flame reaches clawed hands up to the sky
Reaching, hungry, desperate
Blocking out the starlight with acrid smoke
Tainting your lungs until you can’t breathe
And you fall to your knees
Amidst the ashes, despair, promises broken and torn
Wondering how many tears you’d need to cry to put the fire out
Too many.
The crackling is smug, like it knows it has won
Fierce roaring melts into dull whispers
And the soft, soft thud of snow as it falls
Except the snow is cold, dead embers
Reminding you of all you have lost
You can smell it, crawling up your throat
You can almost taste it
It tastes like giving up
Smoke reaches pale fingers up to the heavens
Reaching, twisting, desperate
You catch one last ember
Stinging your hands with was left of its fire
Before it falls
At your feet.

Weekly- 7/23/22
WIP
Start a story about 100 words long (later it said to incorporate an element of Fantasy, but I already did)
A ferocious, emerald green fire blazed through the forest, summoning up smoke and ash. Suddenly, a cacophony of ear-piercing sirens came ringing from behind. Elle quickly spun around. The firefighters had arrived. Really, Elle should have been grateful that they came, but she was terrified of what they were going to say, because clearly, it wasn't ordinary. It was a witch's fire. She nervously watched as firefighters, all in smoke masks and equipped with hoses, flooded out of the firetrucks.
“What's with this fire?” one asked, staring up at the green flames.
“Chemicals, I presume. Let's make sure nobody's in here,” said a tough looking female firefighter.
They marched closer to the fire, shoving Elle out of the way.
“You must get out of here!” ordered one.
Write 200 words where your character is magically transported to another words
Elle nodded, and picked up her bike from off the grass. She slowly pedaled away from the intense scene, feeling accomplished, but guilty. She knew that the fire couldn't harm anyone, but it would cause chaos and questions, both in the Flame Coven and on the news. Elle spotted a singular cloud of green colored smoke. Strange. Why was the smoke here? Elle shrugged it off. The wind probably carried it there, anyway. She confidently rode her bike through the smoke, closing her eyes for protection.
Suddenly, she had the odd feeling that she wasn't riding on the ground anymore. It was as if she were pedaling on thin air. She curiously opened her eyes, and she was right. When she looked down, where the ground should be, there was just sky blue. Sky blue. She observed her unnatural surroundings with great caution. What had just happened?
Did she just die? Was this heaven? No. Just no. There was something eerily familiar about this seemingly empty place. It was the Wind Coven. Shattered memories flooded Elle's brain. She had been her before.
A young red-haired girl, giggling as she twirls around a perfectly normal, calm campfire. She took a tentative step closer to the fire, and outstretched a timid hand. With a flash, the fire turned a beautiful shade of emerald green.
“No!” yells a loud voice, pulling the girl away from the fire. Smoke fills the yard, and the girl is suddenly gone.
Elle realized what she had done. She created a portal to the Wind Coven instead of to her own; the Fire Coven. She swore under her breath, and disembarked her bike. Instead of falling down into nowhere, it made a thud at the same level as Elle's feet.

Main Cabin Daily 7/24
113 words

Golden mornings.
When summer dawns on an unsuspecting world
The sun smiles, the flowers with their petals unfurled
Then the city wakes
Yelling, sirens, the ground shakes
The smoke makes its way into the air
Cigarettes dropped, no one cares
Golden afternoons.
The street vendors with their carts
The rush of sweetness from your tongue to your heart
Cold fingers
Warmth lingers
Golden evenings.
The moonlight over the water
Silent, a father and a daughter
And every day repeats
The music of the world on a steady beat
But when winter settles on us
We settle for it.
Golden mornings become
Gray mornings.

Across the world, Gray mornings become
Golden mornings once again.

Daily #24 7/23/2022 EDT

Word count: 101

Hazy smoke covers up any visibility
Hands shake and bodies tremble
One by one, they fall to their knees
Gasps of short breaths fill the scene
Wheezing and coughing follow
Waves of motion shake the ground furiously
Cries and sounds of violent yelling overlap one another
The air is bittersweet, tasting of ashes and honey
Continuing to rise higher, the flames flicker
Hands reach out for one another and narrowly miss
The sounds of shrieks grow continually
Sounds ringing, echoing again
The planes shift, distorting vision
The eyes of many spill tears as they blink
And the last breath is released

Daily for July 24th

PLEASE DON'T JUDGE I WANTED TO COMPLETE THE DAILY BUT I STRONGLY DISLIKE POETRY SO I DIDN'T REALLY TRY.

please read the poem in a weird voice. It sets the mood



The Flowers Will Die

Sweet scents fill the room
A flower's bud shall then slowly bloom
Petals bursting the colors of Red, Green, and Blue
A flower feels so elegant and true
Hear the faint buzz of an insect,
Jumping from plant to plant spreading pollen with ease
From seed to sprout, eventually to dust
A flower's journey is anything but just
Spring will come then wait for fall
The chirps of birds we'll no longer hear at all
The sweet, tasty taste of apple pie is coming near
Say goodby to the familiar prick of a thorny rose, for it shall all disappear.

daily - july 23
total words: 7242
link to skip (comes when next post comes out)

war: entire cabin writes 5k words
“I’m sorry,” Jane whispered. “There’s no other way that we’ll be able to succeed.”
I nodded, mouth dry, and shut my eyes tightly.
When I opened them, Jane was gone. The fight below was gone. Everything- the cliff, the clouds above, the sky- had vanished.
There was just a white void.

Drops of water dripped down from a leaf on a tree one by one. Splish. Splash. Sploosh. Each landed in a puddle and vanished as the puddle slowly grew, feeding off of the water droplets to enrich itself. The droplets knew that they would fall and be absorbed, yes, and yet none of them turned tail and ran.
As I floated through the void, I mused that this was the way of life- we know death is coming, but do nothing to stop it. We accept it when it comes- whether we are forced to or willingly succumb- and then wherever we go, we end there in the puddles of souls.
Eventually, like the rainstorm that caused the water, everything ends and nothing is left behind. Eventually, the cycle will restart, but the only thing that will be the same is the place where it happens. And I wished- always wished- that I could be in the room where it would happen, but it was too late.
There were other people there, some of them faded and nearly transparent while others were completely opaque. More and more came in every second in a depressing reminder of how much death was being dealt out in the world above or below or wherever away from the seemingly endless void.
I imagined that the people were drops of water. Splish, splash, sploosh, splash, sploosh, splish. Making the sounds of water droplets as they appeared and joined the puddle. The seemingly endless noises- but of course, there would be an end some day. Some day, the world would have ended, and the last souls would have gone through to the void.
Some day, everything would end, and I wouldn’t be there to see it. I know this truth as though it is the breath that keeps- kept- me alive for the years I spent as a real human. How old had I been when the last day for my corporeal form? Twenty years? Maybe less, maybe more. It was unfortunate that I had to go too soon.
Somehow, it felt like I was inside the void and the void inside me at the same time- like I was in a void with souls, but there was also a void within me. It was an interesting feeling, but I wouldn’t be able to talk with Jane about how it was any more.
That thought didn’t stir any emotions within me- just a vague feeling of sadness and anger and guilt. Sadness, I would have expected, and it was a reasonable feeling. Anger, but a halfhearted attempt at anger quickly consumed by the void. And guilt- guilt at putting us in the position we had been in, guilt at being unable to do what had to be done ten years ago.
Guilt at having the opportunity to stop the way before it started and not taking that chance. Guilt at being weak and sparing that person- that venomous snake with the markings of a normal snake- instead of ending their life while I had the chance.
But regret over things I couldn’t reverse hadn’t taken me anywhere, and even though I still felt like that there was even less that I could do now- we (I) could only leave it up to Jane to finish off. I could only hope that she would do what I couldn’t.
I imagined, to fill up the void. I imagined scenes of Jane and Quinn and Tom fighting the hordes of monsters that person had conjured up, of them dying like I had, of them defeating that person and celebrating, of them self-destructing to defeat that person. Of them mourning me, of them forgetting me, of them pretending to care but not really.
I still felt empty, even with all of my thoughts to fill up the space left behind. I didn’t know where they were now- had they left the cliff where I had sacrificed myself? Were they already battling that person, putting their lives at stake to succeed and free everyone else? Were they in a wagon, heading down the road to the place where the final battle would take place?
All of these things, I didn’t know, but I could imagine what was going on. I could imagine them in the old station wagon we had used to travel around, chatting and playing card games to pass the time. Jane would argue that Quinn cheated, but Tom would back Quinn up (even though Quinn cheated) and when Jane finally found proof that Quinn had indeed been cheating, Tom would say that it was too late for Quinn to face consequences.
I sighed fondly- if we as a group had been as thick as thieves, Tom and Quinn were even thicker. But now, it was just them and Jane facing off against that person, which was very bad. Would be very bad, but I had faith in them. I could only hope that that faith would pay off.
So I floated around the white void, looking through the crowd of souls and imagining my friends who were still alive. Looking for the souls of my friends, hoping they didn’t fail, and imagining their not-failure had become my life. I wasn’t sure how to feel about it, but, being the void, I couldn’t feel anything.
If you’re in the void, you become the void, meaning that you are the void and you’re in yourself. It’s a weird thought, I thought to myself. But if you’re in yourself, that means that you are yourself. I sighed- there was no reason to be tiring myself out like this when I had nothing else to do.
But then again, there was no reason to conserve my energy- there was nothing for me to do. Nothing that I could do, no tasks I could do- I couldn’t even look at the people I had left behind and see what they were doing. It felt vaguely unfair, a speck of light in an otherwise completely dark void of emotions left inside my heart and mind.
I stared out into the real void, watching the crowd souls shift around, grow, and cover up more and more space. I closed my eyes, and I was back to the beginning.

“So, how has your day been?” Jamie asked me, and I barely resisted the urge to roll my eyes and ignore him. While everyone else knew, they were among the people who had declined the invitation- a good decision on their part.
“Horribly,” I grimaced at the thought of what had happened. “Do you want the details?”
“Are you willing to give them?” Jamie asked- ever the thoughtful friend.
“To you, yes,” I shrugged and beckoned for xem to follow me up the staircase, and without waiting for xyr response I continued up the steps to the upper level of the building. I heard a second set of footsteps behind me, and relaxed slightly.
“Samantha and Jen are occupying the balcony,” ae said as I headed for the door to the balcony.
“Oh?” I raised my eyebrows. That was interesting- clearly their relationship had made progress in the past few weeks. I turned around to continue walking. “Alright, let’s go to the roof.”
We headed up another flight of stairs, this time to the roof of the building- a flat, open space with nothing anybody could eavesdrop from. I walked across the space to the railing and sat down, leaning on it, while Jamie sat across from me.
“So…” he began, waiting for me to begin.
“Alright. It started with that stupid tacky invitation from Matt,” I sighed. “The one with gold and silver that assaulted your eyes and made you decline instantly without even finding out what was inside?”
“Oh, that one,” they grimaced. “I remember. I’m pretty sure there was black and orange, too. Colors everywhere, and not in a good way.”
“Yep,” I nodded. “Because I am incredibly hopeless at declining invitations to things when given handmade customized cards like that one, I accepted. And… Let’s just say it didn’t go great from there on.”
“Oof,” xe sighed. “You should probably start practicing declining things. I can help you schedule things so that there are interruptions that prevent you from attending parties you don’t want to go to or something like that. It might help you.”
I grinned- classic Jamie. “Alright, the Jamie Initiative is active starting now.”
“Sounds good.” ae smiled. Then, after a pause, he added: “Do I get paid?”
I blinked, processing what they had said, then snorted when I saw the knowing grin on their face. “Why, Jamie, I thought you were doing this out of the kindness of your heart,” I joked. “How dare you want compensation for your time?!” I rolled my eyes and acted serious. “Of course you’re getting paid, silly.”
“Wait, really?” xe asked. “Are my wages priced per party that I help you decline or how many hours we spend doing the avoidance activities?”
“Could be either,” I shrugged. “I’ll probably hand out a base rate for each party, with bonuses for plans that you end up disrupting or something like that. It will get hashed out later.”
“Awesome!” ae shouted, startling some birds that had perched on the railing. He lowered his voice to one that teachers would have called an inside voice. “This is awesome. I get to help a friend and get paid.”
“Heck yeah,” I grinned, extending my hand out in the air.
“Woo!” they smiled, and we high-fived.
The door to the roof opened, and Samantha came out. She looked tired but happy at the same time, so I knew that of course she and Jen had been out on the balcony for a long time (and probably hadn’t slept in a while, either, judging by Jen’s work habits and Samantha’s closeness with her).
“So, what’s so exciting that you startled the poor birds?” Samantha deadpanned as she walked over and leaned against the railing.
“May is giving me money!” Jamie said happily, and I smiled fondly at the joy in xyr voice.
“Oh, is that so?” Samantha said in the same deadpan voice. “May, are you favoring Jamie?”
“Are you favoring Jen?” I shot back with a grin, and Samantha blushed.
“Rude,” I heard her mutter.
I shrugged, and after a long silence said, “It’s getting dark out. We should probably go inside and make sure that Jen is doing healthy sleep habits.”
“You mean sleeping healthily, right?” Jamie asked.
“May means doing healthy sleepingly habits,” Samantha deadpanned. “Sure, let’s go see if Jen is asleep or not.”
“Does a prank sound good?” Jamie asked, and even though I couldn’t see him in the darkening area I knew he was smiling.
“Sure,” Samantha sighed.
Jamie and Samantha headed for the stairs, talking somewhat excitedly about what pranks they could pull on Jen while still making it look like somebody else had done it. I sighed contently and headed down the stairs after them.
Of course, the inside of the building had devolved into complete and utter chaos while we had left. I surveyed the scene and figured out what the root cause was: one of the many bookshelves had toppled over, littering the ground with books, and starting a domino effect that trapped several people in between the fallen furniture.
“Well, this is better than any prank I could pull,” Samantha deadpanned as Jamie rushed forwards to try and free the trapped humans. “Do you know why this happened?”
“No clue,” I sighed. “I guess somebody put one thing too many on a bookshelf, or maybe somebody pushed it over. There’s no way that I’ll be able to figure this out without interviewing the people in there, and I’m not sure I have enough interaction…” I paused, trying to think of the right word- “Interaction power to talk with more of the people who were at that party.”
“You went there?” Samantha asked, breaking out of the deadpan voice. I was sure I heard some genuine concern in her question.
“Yeah,” I shrugged, trying to shrug it off. Jamie knew the important details, but I didn’t want Samantha to know, even if I would just be telling her what I had told Jamie.
Of course, since I had made a habit of befriending the nice people, Samantha still seemed worried. Thankfully, she didn’t inquire further and instead went to help Jamie dig out the people who had been stuck between the fallen bookshelves.
“What’s going on?” Jen asked from behind me.
“Not much,” I sighed and turned around. “Just a lot of chaotic things. How has your day been? Did you go to sleep?”
Jen rubbed at her eyes and yawned. “Yup. A few minutes ago… Then there was a crash, and I woke up. Do you want me to help Samantha and Jamie with the fixing?”
“Nah,” I shrugged. “Go to sleep. This will sort itself out, and everything will be fine. You don’t need to worry about this.”
“You should go to sleep too,” Jen mumbled. She turned around and headed back down the hallway to her room- the hallway she had presumably come from, unless she had been sleeping in the workshop (I wouldn’t put it past her) again.
“Alright,” I sighed. Now that Jen had mentioned it, I did feel tired… I yawned, waved goodbye to Jamie and Samantha, and headed down the hallway to my room.
I opened the door to my bedroom and headed in, only bothering to close the door before I flopped down on the bed and closed my eyes. It wasn’t long before I went to sleep and forgot everything that had been bothering me. Temporarily forgot, at least.

I am annoyed by this cabin wars day. Normally, there are people around to help and I can go to sleep and be at ease. But for whatever reason, the people who use AEST are suspiciously missing and I am the only person who is active because I am in PST. This is extremely annoying because now I have to write one thousand, one hundred, and thirty-five words (yes, I counted exactly how many words I needed to write) to defend my cabin from the war that Fairy Tales oh-so-rudely gave us (they’re betraying everyone except for Myth and Thriller, what do you think of that). Thankfully, we haven’t gotten any more wars, but this is super annoying because I am running out of things to say and I don’t think I’m anywhere close to one thousand words. Somehow, I made it to one thousand words with both of my previous stories, but I’m not sure if I will be able to do it with this stream of consciousness (or vent). Haha, I’m venting! Can’t catch me now, crewmates! I’m gone, and you’ll never be able to trace the poor crewmate’s unfortunate murder to me because I am twenty rooms away helping fix the reactor to prove my innocence. Too bad I can’t just murder all of the crewmates before they find me… Oops, Cyan saw me kill Dark Green. Time to hunt Cyan down and murder them before they call an emergency meeting- wait, do they not know about the emergency meeting button? Today is my lucky day! Oh, great, now Black is here. Why am I playing Among Us? That’s weird (maybe it’s because of the daily team’s matching profile pictures which subconsciously influenced me to write Among Us fanfiction). I’m not sure what else to write, which is bad because I’m pretty sure I’m not even close to five hundred words yet. Thankfully, I think I’ve got four more hours in which I can write words, but four hours isn’t a lot for someone who needs to go to sleep and also do their nighttime routine and fix the strange leg condition they have because they’ve been lazy and not used the cream that stopped them from ending up with said leg condition but now it’s resurfacing because of said lack of using the medication, which is really unfortunate. I used to be able to estimate how many words a thing was by looking at it, but I’m not sure if I can anymore. My guess for around here is four hundred words, which was actually surprisingly accurate (the word counter read four hundred and twenty-six words the last time I checked, which was when I wrote about my guess). I suppose I can just keep on writing about things that I think about and make it to my goal of one hundred and thirty six- wait, what am I doing? The goal is one thousand, one hundred, and thirty-five words. I’m almost at five hundred words now- and I made it! I’m getting closer and closer to actually pulling this off (well, I hope). The other cabins are currently being surprisingly nice and not warring us for a bit, but I’m worried it won’t last and we’ll get a sudden influx of wars right as soon as I plan on going to sleep. Our shield is down, which is really bad because right now I am the sole defender of Fan-fi and if they hit us with the four-person war we are dead (well, not quite, but we’ll be close to death). I hope our streak of “everyone-has-forgotten-about-us” continues, but people will notice us if I post proof, meaning that I have to wait until after cabin wars to post everything that I’ve written. I just measured the word count and I think I’m at six hundred something words. It’s too bad I can’t count while I write, because the Google Documents word counter caps at around three thousand words and (you guessed it) I currently have a bit more than three thousand words on the document I’m working on. Right now, I’m listening to music- which is awesome and helps me write happily, but also a bit nostalgic because I used to pull all-nighters unrelated to SWC while listening to random music songs. Currently, I have written seven hundred words and the document I am writing in has just over four thousand words- which, as you can see, is much more than three thousand words. One thousand more words, in fact. It’s amazing how many words you can get just by writing down your thoughts, but it’s annoying that I keep having to look at the word counter and actually click on it instead of just highlighting my paragraph and looking down at the bar. But at the very least it’s better than having to click control-shift-c every time I want to see my word count, I suppose. The people whose house I’m staying at came by and told me to go to sleep, which is annoying because I want to go to sleep but also have to defend my cabin. Please, people, be reasonable for a bit. This is the most freedom I’ve had in a while, so I want to make the most of it. Well, technically freedom in regards to my sleep schedule because my parents are generally chill about things (they let me join SWC, after all). I just checked the word counter, and I’m at nine hundred words, which means that I only have to write around two hundred more before I clear the bar of one thousand one hundred and thirty six words to complete the war. My heart is going hyper, and I miscalculated (we actually have five hours, not four as I mentioned earlier). Right now, the document has a total of four thousand and three hundred words, which is fun. Much more than the word count limit, but very fun. I normally try not to have this many words in the document at once, but this is awesome and I love doing this because I love cabin wars. That was partially sarcastic (I’m not quite sure why I’m keeping this many words in my document, but I have an unadded Among Us fanfic which may explain part of it. There’s also not really anywhere else to put it), since I don’t quite love cabin wars and having four thousand words in the document at once isn’t awesome (in my opinion, it totally looks cool but is a bit annoying). I now have one thousand words in this paragraph- somehow, people aren’t warring us, which is really weird. Now, I only need twenty four more words before I’m done. Just a few more words, a little bit more writing, and I’m finished.

war: four people write 1k each
Woohoo, stream of consciousness number two because Thriller is mean and we don’t even have four people which is annoying. We’re not even a threat, Thriller! Why would you do that to us?! That is so rude- is it because we are on the team of “if you’re going to not war Myth you shouldn’t war Thriller either” or what? It was completely unprovoked and so rude of them because we didn’t do anything to deserve it. Their war is so mean because I’m at the point where it’s one hour to go until midnight in my time zone and it sucks to be awake. I am a happy (read: unhappy) person (read: human SWC’er) who is chilling (read: trying to defend) Fan-fi and it is eleven. Life is not good for me. I just want to relax, write competitively, and sleep. But no, Thriller had to go “nope” and cancel out my fun. I was actually having fun writing about the kid who is friends with another kid and has a nice friendship dynamic but I’d rather not go back to that world because it’s annoying to continue a story I thought was ended, but oh well. Right now, I have around two hundred words and am a fifth of the way through. A fifth is good- it’s not a tenth, or a twentieth, or a sixth, or an eighth. It’s a nice, manageable, happy fraction. One with a line between it and five. A very nice fraction that I really like because five is a cool number. It fits into ten, one hundred, one thousand… If you break up one thousand into two hundred manageable fives, it makes the job so much easier in my opinion. But unfortunately I am not going to be writing my words in manageable fives and will instead resort to writing words normally. I have seven hundred words to go, which seems less manageable every minute that I’m writing this, but I suppose it means I’m three tenths of the way through, which seems more positive than saying that I have seven hundred words to go. I am a human. I am writing on a computer. I need to get some sleep. I do not exist. Wait, I do exist. But I also don’t at the same time. Nothing can stop me from pulling an all-nighter… Except for the urge to sleep. I wish I could go to sleep but there is also so much for me to do. As long as I do my part, things will happen. My math is slowly falling apart. I am not doing good things right now. My sentences grow less and less coherent by the minute as I look away from my screen and just type and hope what comes out is a sentence that I can read. I am relying on my skills in typing without looking at the keyboard to carry me through the rest of these one thousand words, and I am almost at five hundred words right now. I am halfway there, meaning that I can take a very short break. I am back from my short break, here to say that Scratch Writing Camp is sponsored by Mirabel Technologies, Amity Airlines, Lumity Light Bulbs, and Luz Tech. I’m not quite sure about the Lumity Light Bulbs part, but I’ll make it work since I’m running on yesterday’s amount of sleep. When I finish these one thousand words and post that I have completed them, I will sleep and hope that good things will happen because at the least I will end up with one war lost because the least amount of time is six hours (I hope). If it isn’t, I am clearly doing my math wrong because of lack of sleep. It’s stupid, I haven’t even made it past midnight and I’ve already started suffering. I have made it to six tenths of the one thousand word goal, and I need to power through the last four hundred words to make sure that I can sleep well. I hope my sleep won’t impact my existence tomorrow because that would be horrible since my relatives are coming over, which is annoying. Well, some of my relatives are coming over. Not the dead ones, obviously, but some of the alive ones are coming to visit which is both good and bad because it will prevent me from writing to defend the cabin. I am sad right now. I have gotten seven tenths of the way through. The war ends around six in the morning in my time zone, which is fun because I can wake up and do my things and hope that the war hasn’t been lost. But, of course, right now I have to write, and write I will. I bet I’ve reached eight hundred words by now, let me just go and check. And indeed I have. It is nice to be able to estimate the amount of words I have written by looking at the words I have written, which doesn’t make a logical sentence but okay. Eventually, people will see this and laugh at me for being weird, but right now is not that time. I want to write one thousand words purely about my thoughts, so I will. I think that hopefully I will succeed- I only need two hundred words to finish my part- and hopefully the rest of the cabin will be able to write enough in time. I have reached nine hundred words now, which is awesome because I only need one hundred more words until I’m finished. I will be finished when I finish this sentence, which will be when I have finished, meaning I am employing Miss Circular Logic to work at my McDonalds ripoff shop that sells mangoes and mangoes only- which means it is frequented by SWCers who want mangoes and want to finish writing their one thousand words because those words will be completely all written when this sentence is done.

war: entire cabin writes 5k words
“Are you seeing this?” I asked, not taking my eyes off of the box in front of me. “It doesn’t look normal.”
“What is it?” Laila asked from the other side of the communications line. “I don’t see anything.”
“It’s a box,” I said slowly as I tried to figure out what was going on and describe it to her at the same time. “It’s sort of… Glowing, with bright blue accents. I think it’s metal.”
“A box?” she repeated. “That’s very interesting. Do you think it’s one of the teleporter cubes or…”
Though she didn’t finish her sentence, I knew exactly what she meant. “I’m not sure if it’s a time shard, but if it were a teleporter it is beyond repair without a location the other end is at. I don’t think the lid of the box even opens anymore. It’s welded shut.”
“That doesn’t sound good.”
“Understatement of the century,” I deadpanned. But there was something strange about the box- something familiar, something urging me to touch it and see what was going on. I reached out, then paused. “Uh… I’m going to find out what it is. Wish me luck.”
“What-” Laila began, but I touched the cube with my left hand and everything else faded away.

Laila stared in horror at the monitor in front of her. No, more accurately, the display on the screen: a blank sheet of static.
“This is bad,” she grimaced. With the quality of the monitoring technology placed on all agents, static could only mean one thing: the technology had been destroyed. She stood up and started walking down the hall to the emergency meeting button.
Laila took a deep breath, then typed her access code into the keypad, flipped the covering off the button and pressed it.
Everyone everywhere in the base now knew to come to the emergency room, and it was only a matter of time. As the agents nearby came in and started waiting for the agents further away, Laila started pulling up the audio files and images from Hailey’s monitor.
“So, boss, what’s up?” Nate asked as soon as everyone was in the room and the door locked.
“Hailey just vanished,” Laila sighed. She tapped the projector, which started projecting a hologram of the video feed as well as the audio. “This happened right before their feed turned to static.”
Several of the agents in the room shared a look, and Laila knew the same thoughts were going through their heads as they watched the hologram in silence.
“What was the cube? Did you- do you know what it was?” Sam finally asked when the video was over, and Laila shook her head.
“No. Hailey touched it and then the static appeared.”
“You’re kidding me,” Nate whispered, slowly shaking his head. Laila noted that he seemed to be in shock, which was understandable; nothing of this kind had happened before. “What was that?”
“I have a theory,” Jay began, but Kayla cut her off.
“If you’re going to go on about the other universes and that type of stuff,” Kayla snapped, “then just stop talking because they aren’t real.”
“I wasn’t,” Jay said, but they seemed to be lying.
“Go ahead, tell me what your non-mythical theory is,” Kayla rolled her eyes. “It had better be good.”
“Hailey obviously got teleported to a different place, so…” Jay shrugged. “What? That’s the most I can say without angering Kayla,” she hastily added before Laila could ask her to elaborate and be less vague.
“Well, how do we get to that place?” Nate asked before Kayla could do anything. “If we find that cube and touch it too, will we be able to find out where Hailey went?”
“Maybe,” Jay shrugged. “But I’m not sure who we should send to go there. It seems a bit risky.”
“Let’s pull names,” Laila sighed. She held out a jar and a few hundred paper slips, and each agent in the room took a slip and wrote their name on it. Then, she dropped them in the jar and swirled it around.
“Can I pull the first one?” Sam asked, and Laila held out the jar for Sam.
“It says…” Kayla leaned over Sam’s shoulder to read the paper.
“Kayla,” Sam turned towards Kayla with a wink, holding out the slip so everyone could read the name written on it.
“Alright,” Kayla sighed. “I will draw next.”
The process continued until there were five people who had been chosen: Kayla, Laila, Dave, Matthew, and Charlie. Plans were made, and it was decided that they would head out to find Hailey the next day.

I opened my eyes and found myself in a room that was painted a cheerful butter yellow. There was the same cube, but with black accents instead of blue this time, sitting in the corner of the room- in the same position the cube I had used to get wherever here was had been.
Something about it seemed familiar, like this was the room that I had been in. The destroyed room, but if it had never been destroyed. Like this was another universe that I was now stuck in.
“Of course, I poked the sleeping cube and ended up in one of the alternate realities Jay had been talking about,” I muttered to myself.
“Who are you?” asked a voice behind me, and I turned to see that Laila- well, a younger version of her- was standing behind me.
“I’m… I’m Hailey,” I said, trying to pretend that Laila not recognizing me wasn’t making my heart shatter into pieces.
“I’m Laila,” Laila smiled. “Nice to meet you, Hailey.”
“Nice to meet you too,” I automatically replied.
“Where are you from?” Laila asked, and I froze.
“Uh… I’m from Zenist,” I replied. It wasn’t technically a lie, but if Xyren still existed there would be no way to get to Zenist.
“Oh, the sky kingdom?”
“Yeah,” I managed to say. “So, this is Xyren?”
“Yep,” she nodded. Then, after a pause, she added, “Are you sure you don’t know what Xyren is? I thought everyone from Zenist was spying on us secretly.”
“I’m not allowed to spy on the world below,” I said, going along with what the younger Laila seemed to think. “It’s a bad rule, so I came down here.”
“You’re not good at spying,” she replied with a roll of her eyes, and I chuckled- if only she knew where I was really from.

“We found the cube,” Kayla reported. “It’s not blue anymore, though. It’s just… Black. It stopped glowing after Hailey went through, I think.”
“Well, that’s bad,” Laila grimaced.
“No kidding,” Jay chimed in from the communications station back in the headquarters. “How are we going to get Hailey back now?”
“We don’t,” Charlie said.
“What?!” Kayla exclaimed. “Are you saying that we should-”
“I said, /we/ don’t,” Charlie repeated before Kayla could finish her sentence. “Hailey is the one who went through with the cube, right? So I’m betting that Hailey is the only one who can go through now. We just have to wait for her to come out.”
“…Alright,” Laila reluctantly agreed. “We’ll stay here, monitor the cube, and make sure that we’re there when Hailey comes back.”

“Do you know what that cube in the corner of the room is?” I asked the younger Laila.
“I don’t know,” she shrugged. “Everyone says not to touch it, so I didn’t. It used to be blue, and now it’s black. I’m not sure about that, either.”
“I had one of those, too,” I said, trying to think through how much I could reveal without giving my real origins away while still holding a conversation. “I haven’t looked at it in a while, so I’m not quite sure if it’s blue or black. I should probably check to see which color it is…”
“Oh. Do people tell you to not touch it?” Laila asked.
“I didn’t really think of touching it,” I shrugged. I wasn’t sure if that was the right thing to say, but it was a pretty accurate description of what my thoughts on touching the cube had been.

war: four people write 1k each
I stood on the white chalk line, feet planted firmly on the ground, able to see how the shaky line stretched for miles in either direction. I didn’t know where the end of the line was, but I knew that it wasn’t close to me. And still, I walked the line. Slowly, carefully, making sure not to leave the line.
The line was my life, and stepping away from it meant death. I somehow knew that completely well, but couldn’t remember why I knew that. Another thing I knew: I had to avoid distractions. Just keep walking forward, step by step, and not leave the line in any situation.
But I was alone. There were no distractions, just me and the line. I could continue walking, keep staying on the line, and keep staying alive.
“Why am I here?” someone asked from behind me, further down somewhere, and the silence was broken. I felt the urge to look up and reply, but I was too focused on walking down the line.
“No clue,” I replied. I kept walking forwards, step by step and right foot after left. There was a long silence, though I was sure I could hear the other person’s footsteps on the earth.
“Oh,” I heard them say. I just continued walking, not bothering to turn around.
“What’s going on?” they asked.
“Just keep walking,” I muttered to myself. “Just keep on walking and make it to the end of the line.”
“Does the line go on forever?” they asked, which was fair since I hadn’t answered any of their questions suitably.
“It will end one day,” I shrugged, though I didn’t know if they saw or acknowledged it.
“And does the line-” they began to ask, but then everything started to fade away from my field of vision. The last thing to vanish was the white line, which brightened and then melded into the white blank.
The white faded away, leaving me in a room that looked normal, except when I looked outside using the window the entire sky was just white. I wasn’t alone in the room, though, just like I hadn’t been alone while walking down the line- the other person was there.
“Hi,” they said. They waved awkwardly. “I’m Liz. Who are you?”
“Uh… I’m…” I began, but when I tried to think of what my name was I couldn’t find anything. Instead, I made up a new name. “I’m Ness. Nice to meet you, Liz.”
“So, where are we?” Liz asked, and they seemed like they didn’t remember the other world and the white lines chalked into the ground.
“No clue,” I replied. Internally, I winced at how similar my answer was to the one before- but it was the truth. I hadn’t known then, and I didn’t know now.
“Ah, that’s fine,” Liz said, but it was a bit awkward now that it was just me and Liz in the room. They broke the long silence once more. “So… What’s going on?”
“I know even less of that,” I shrugged half-heartedly. “I’ve got pretty much no idea what’s going on, where we are, who I am, and why this is happening.” As boring as walking the line had been, I preferred it to whatever- wherever- the new place was.
“Oh,” LIz sighed, and they looked like they had been expecting answers from me- which both stung and made me feel just a little bit proud that they had thought I was someone they could learn from.
“So, is there something we can do?” I asked. “The room looks pretty much empty, but…”
“I think there’s a door,” Liz gasped, and they pointed to the other side of the room, which I was pretty sure had been empty.
“Oh, okay,” I was a bit confused, but we went through the door anyway. The room inside looked like the same void that was outside, but when I walked in and turned around the door was gone. I then turned back, and the room was fully furnished.
“Wow, that’s… Weird,” they shrugged. “I don’t think normal rooms do that.”
“I’m pretty sure they don’t,” I sighed. “What to do, what to do…”
“I’m going to go looking for things,” they grinned. “Do you want to join me?”
“Uh… Sure?” I shrugged, and we started going through the room and looking for items that might be useful. In a moment of unspoken coordination, I started on the left side and Liz began on the right as we started searching.
In the drawers, five items stood out to me: a pen the color of the earth with a single white line on it, a piece of completely blank paper, a white paperweight in the shape of a circle, a highlighter that was the blue I was sure the sky was supposed to be, and a post-it note with two names on it: Alex and Jen.
I showed the items to Liz, and they showed me their items: a white ruler that went from zero to two hundred, a globe covered in a net of white lines, a coaster with the words “walk the line” on it and a picture of a person walking on a line, and a deck of cards that went from zero to two hundred and four.
We put them in a pile, and then the rooms all vanished. I was back, walking down the chalk line. The items were gone, and so was Liz.
“Why am I here?” someone asked from behind me, and I resisted the urge to turn around and see if it was Liz. I just had to keep walking down the line, keep walking and survive. That was all I could do for now, at least until I went back to that place that I didn’t have any idea of how to access.
“No clue,” I replied again. I hadn’t learned anything about why we were here- another reason why I had to go back to those rooms and see the other things inside. It was boring, walking down the line, and the rooms had been irritating and an interesting break at the same time.

war: entire cabin writes 5k words
It’s happening again. We have five thousand words to write, meaning that now I have participated in five wars. Five wars means that I get twenty-five more anomalies, which is awesome. I hope I can write more words so I can also get more anomalies for writing a lot of words. Writing words is a fun way to get anomalies. I realize that I am getting closer and closer to having written 60k words, which was around the amount of words that I wrote last time in March. I want to write more than I did in March, even if it’s just by one or two words, because then I get to be happy and self-assured for once. Yum, happiness is delicious. It’s not midnight, why am I acting odd? I’m just writing down what I’m thinking, so don’t mind if I don’t logic properly. For example, the phrase “don’t logic properly” is getting blue-underlined by Google Docs. I have written just over one hundred and fifty words right now, which is interesting. It’s not good or bad, just interesting. Like vagueness and ambiguity- not good or bad, but just interesting. We have a new choose-your-own adventure weekly and I want to make a FMA choose-your-own adventure fanfic from Sheska’s point of view. I need to go now, so I will be ending this ramble (vent/stream of consciousness) soon. Consciousness is a weird word. I’m not even sure if I’m spelling it right. I should definitely go, so I’m going to end this thing when I place the period down at the end of this thing’s very last sentence.

Everything comes to an end.
Nothing is forever- nothing, except for nothing.
As a day ends with sleep (or a lack of it), so too will eras.
So too will planets, stars, galaxies, universes.
There will be an end.
There will always be an end.
There has been a beginning.
And there will be an end for everything.
There will be an end to the end, an end to the beginning, an end.
Everything comes to an end.
Everything is, will be, and always was an end.
Nothing was meant to be.
Nothing was ever meant to be.
Everything was made so that it can end.

You Have A New Message
July 2022 SWC Fan-fiction Entry (Spoilers of HTGAWM ahead!)
2000 words


~

Transcript of Voicemail to Connor Walsh
10/06/17—10:33 PM

This is Connor. You should text me. *beep*

0:00

OLIVER: Hey, Connor. I have nobody else to talk to.

0:07

OLIVER: I’m exhausted.

0:13

OLIVER: And overthinking, and overreacting—I just kind of wish you would leave my mind and stay at the same time. Am I even on your visiting list?

0:36

OLIVER: I went through all the procedures, set the appointments, and I just want to see you one more time, just want to… [inaudible 0:21]

1:04

OLIVER: Your phone’s in the spare room cabinet right now. The police sent it when you were taken away. I don’t know why I keep calling. I know there’s no point. [inaudible 0:08]

1:27

OLIVER: I’m sorry I called. You’re not there. You can’t pick up. You’re not…

1:41

OLIVER: You’re not where I hoped you would be.

2:06

OLIVER: Sorry—sorry.

Transcript of Voicemail to Connor Walsh
12/15/17—5:07 PM

This is Connor. You should text me. *beep*

0:00

OLIVER: Isn’t it funny? Today’s our one-year wedding anniversary, and you’re not here.

0:16

OLIVER: You don’t know how many times I’ve replayed that memory back in the courtroom. You kept asking for me to leave.

0:34

OLIVER: We didn’t get much time; everything was always going by so fast, wasn’t it? Done with one thing, and then onto the next. In your arms, I almost forgot what was going to come afterward. Maybe we could’ve stayed holding on for just a bit longer, maybe it didn’t have to end that way, but…

1:12

OLIVER: You placed your ring in my palm right before they snapped those handcuffs onto your wrists, right before they led you down that corridor…

1:34

OLIVER: I hoped you would look back, but you just walked away. You’re always moving forward, and I guess that’s the thing I love about you; you never waste time looking back.

1:53

OLIVER: Remember when you told me you wouldn’t let go? That you would always be an embrace away? When does “always” turn into an empty word you can just throw around?

2:21

OLIVER: I don’t know if it’s you that lets me down, or if it’s just myself.

Transcript of Visitation Room Audio; Philadelphia County Correctional Facility
(abridged)
12/24/17—9:12 AM

6:43

OLIVER: It’s been over five minutes. Is he coming out?

GUARD: I don’t know, and I don’t care. My shift’s over after today. If he doesn’t want to see you, then that’s not my issue.

OLIVER: Just ask one more time, please.

GUARD: It’s not my responsibility, so quit it before I call security.

OLIVER: [shuffling] Can you give him this?

GUARD: Gosh, you’re persistent, you know I can’t—

OLIVER: It’s an old twist-tie. It’s not contraband.

GUARD: Rules are rules.

OLIVER: And what are those rules for? Do you think he’s going to strangle somebody with this?

GUARD: Again, I—

OLIVER: I don’t care what you said, could you please just—

GUARD: I’m not breaking the rules.

OLIVER: [shuffling] What if I paid you? There’s cash in this envelope.

GUARD: I won’t accept bribes either.

OLIVER: It’ll pay off an entire week’s shift.

GUARD: That’s illegal. You know it’s against prison policies—

OLIVER: You can’t get in trouble if nobody finds out. [shuffling] Here’s double.

GUARD: I—okay. Fine. This is between you and me.

OLIVER: Tell him to call me.

GUARD: He doesn’t want to.

Transcript of Voicemail to Connor Walsh
01/09/18—1:31 AM

This is Connor. You should text me. *beep*

0:00

OLIVER: Just calling to hear your voice again. Or maybe I just hoped you’d pick up even though you don’t have your phone, and all your stuff’s at our house right now. Maybe you’ll get a good laugh out of these voicemails when you’re back.

0:34

OLIVER: Prison guidelines only allow outgoing calls, not incoming ones.

1:03

OLIVER: I’m scared that I won’t be there when you finally decide to call.

1:41

OLIVER: You still remember my phone number, right?

2:02

OLIVER: You know, I’m starting to miss all the times you’d text me saying that you couldn’t be home for dinner. At least I got a response back.

2:41

OLIVER: I sit on the front porch swing and I think about how much I’ve missed your jokes. I miss our arguments.

3:12

OLIVER: And I keep thinking that your sentence will be over soon, and you’ll ring that doorbell and yell through the door that you’re home. Maybe that’s a good enough excuse not to discard your stuff yet.

3:48

OLIVER: If I’m not home when you come back, there’s a key under the doormat.

Transcript of Voicemail to Connor Walsh
04/22/18—11:03 PM

This is Connor. You should text me. *beep*

0:00

OLIVER: I just got back from work. Connor, life’s hard, I just—

0:12

OLIVER: [inaudible 0:23]

0:36

OLIVER: You ever get that feeling where you just want to fast forward to better times? Life’s too much to keep up with. Wish you were here right now, wish you would pick up that stupid prison phone and dial, but sometimes life wants to mess with you a little, huh?

1:01

OLIVER: Being difficult won’t make me sign those papers. I won’t do it. I told you I wouldn’t.

1:23

OLIVER: There’s a lot going on that I can’t put into words, and maybe if I talk to myself I can sort my thoughts out a little better, but I just get more confused and lonely and frustrated. But nobody needs to know that, right? I can keep everything to myself.

1:58

OLIVER: These days, it’s like I’m talking to ghosts, or maybe I say that so I can sound less alone. It’s great to be haunted.

2:17

OLIVER: Or maybe I’m cursed.

Transcript of Recorded Outgoing Call from Philadelphia County Correctional Facility
05/16/18—10:23 AM

This is a pre-paid, outgoing call from the Philadelphia County Correctional Facility. This call will be recorded and last three minutes. *beep*

0:00

CONNOR: Oliver?

OLIVER: Connor? Connor, how in the world did it take you forever to call, you don’t know how long—

CONNOR: Stop trying to see me, Oliver. Stop wasting your time.

OLIVER: I—you know I can’t do that.

CONNOR: You can. You know I don’t love you anymore.

OLIVER: No. No, Connor, stop your antics right now, you can’t just—

CONNOR: Oliver, listen to me. You can find somebody a lot better who deserves you. You have the divorce papers; sign them. You can be happy without me.

OLIVER: You’re not listening to me, this isn’t about what you want—

CONNOR: And I’m tired of doing what other people want from me, aren’t you too? It’s always about—

OLIVER: I want you. I more than want you. I’m not signing those papers, I’m not—

CONNOR: This is your chance to have a normal life, Oliver. I know this isn’t what you want. Let go of the idea of who I was.

1:00

OLIVER: I’m holding on to whoever you are right now. We can wait your time out—

CONNOR: And go back to being what?

OLIVER: If you want to leave, you can do that when you’re out. I won’t be the one to end it. You have four more years left. I don’t know if you’ve been counting, but I have. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do—

CONNOR: Oliver, you were just a stepping stone to progress me further in my career. You know that’s the only reason I took an interest in you.

OLIVER: Oh, really? Because I love you enough to know when you’re making lies up.

CONNOR: This isn’t love. You don’t know what love is; you never knew—

2:00

OLIVER: Love’s patient. Love is waiting out whatever you want to call this intermission in our—

CONNOR: Love isn’t the pedestal that you keep putting it on. I can’t be who you want me to be.

OLIVER: I don’t care. I have no expectations.

[inaudible 0:16]

OLIVER: Connor? Talk to me. You’re not saying anything because you know I’m—

3:00

The allotted time for this pre-paid call has timed out. If you believe this was a mistake, please call…

Transcript of Visitation Room Audio; Philadelphia County Correctional Facility
(abridged)
06/02/18—8:01 AM

1:03

OLIVER: Is he here?

GUARD: Well, yes, he’s still in this prison—

OLIVER: You know what I meant; is he coming?

GUARD: You came early for—

1:38

OLIVER: Connor!—

GUARD: Watch it there. No physical contact in the visitation room. You get five minutes.

CONNOR: I’m not here to see you.

2:00

OLIVER: But who else would—

CONNOR: I’m not here to see anybody because you’re going to finally leave right now, right here.

OLIVER: Then why in the world did you come out in the first place?

CONNOR: So I can finally bury this hatchet. You won’t want to come back after this visit.

OLIVER: You don’t mean that; you can’t be serious.

CONNOR: I’ll get security.

3:00

OLIVER: Go ahead. What are they going to take me away for? For trying to talk to you?

CONNOR: Oliver—you can’t keep trying to destroy yourself like this.

OLIVER: And you care because…? You keep trying to get rid of me, but clearly, you don’t mean—

CONNOR: I meant every word I said, you’re just the one rationalizing what you can’t accept—

OLIVER: And you’re the one who’s too stubborn to compromise with me for the past year. You’re the one always destroying yourself in hopes somebody will get a good kick out of it.

4:00

CONNOR: Maybe you’re right; I’m the self-destructive lunatic who lights himself on fire to keep everyone else warm. Are you cozy yet?

OLIVER: Connor, stop trying to be the person you think others want you to be. All you need—

CONNOR: I can’t stop if you keep telling me what I should be doing. You’re the one who keeps telling me what I need. Don’t you see your own hypocrisy?

OLIVER: Look. If you have to get one thing right in your life, then—

CONNOR: I’m trying to do everything right—I’m trying so hard, and nothing works, I can’t find the right—

5:00

OLIVER: We don’t have to be perfect, Connor. Throw out the expectations. Take away the assumptions. I can help.

CONNOR: You don’t know how to help me properly. I’ve gone through more than you can ever—

OLIVER: Fine, I can’t understand everything, but I won’t undermine you either; I can listen—

CONNOR: To what? Me expressing my remorse for wrongdoings I can’t change? I’m sorry, but it doesn’t work—

OLIVER: Then let me be whatever you want me to be to you right now.

CONNOR: I don’t know, I don’t know, I just—

OLIVER: You don’t have to know right now. I’ll wait.

CONNOR: I just—I just need you here. But I can’t. I tried. I’m tired.

6:00

OLIVER: Why can’t you? It’s not too late. We can catch up starting from—

GUARD: And it looks like that’s all the time you guys scheduled. Back to your cell—

OLIVER: Connor—you’re wearing the twist-tie ring I gave you.

CONNOR: I—I am. As a symbol of my vow—

OLIVER: Connor, prison isn’t exactly the best place to be renewing our vows—

CONNOR: Why not? Something, something, love something, to you forever—

7:00

GUARD: Quit the in-house wedding ceremony. You’re going over time. Let’s go.

OLIVER: I have dinner in the oven waiting for you at home. Don’t forget to turn the oven off—

CONNOR: [handcuffs shackling] I won’t forget—I think we need to buy more milk for the fridge?

OLIVER: I’ll get more, don’t worry. You haven’t washed your suits in quite a while—

GUARD: Go on, get a move on.

CONNOR: Do it for me, and I’ll wash the dishes. Don’t mismatch the colors again, though—

OLIVER: I won’t. I’ve left you messages; don’t forget to respond to them.

CONNOR: I’ll remember. I always reply back. [prison door hinges creak]

OLIVER: Do you?

CONNOR: Of course. I haven’t missed a message yet, have I?

~ You Have A New Message (2000 words)

Author’s Note (spoilers ahead)
As you may or may not be aware, this is a fanfiction of the fandom, How To Get Away With Murder. This is one of my favorite fandoms, and I thought I would dedicate some time to give my favorite gay couple some closure as the TV series was cut short due to declining viewership. While there was a finale, I wasn’t really satisfied with the time jump from the present to the future, so I thought I would write my fanfiction on how Connor and Oliver coped as Connor was in prison for five years.
You may be wondering why I used this style of writing. While doing research and trying to get into character in order to accurately portray Connor and Oliver, I stumbled across the TV show’s director’s social media, and they used to post sneak peaks of the scripts for the TV show. After seeing this multiple times, I took inspiration and wondered how I would incorporate that into a short story fanfiction entry.
I settled for a series of audio transcripts. It’s clear from the personality of Connor that he would not want Oliver to visit him, so I struggled coming up with a way to realistically buildup to a visit between Connor and Oliver, and that’s how I settled for voicemails. It’s the perfect excuse for Oliver to monologue, and knowing his cinnamon roll personality, it’s totally something he would do.
As an ace guy who’s never been in a relationship, it took a lot of inspiration to get myself into character in order to write this. Repeating music on loop helped a lot, and inventing the “gay men recruiting” thing with Luna was also a half-attempt into getting into character. I took inspiration for some of the dialogue by rewatching multiple Coliver clips, and I also took inspiration from various proverbs I found online.
I hope you enjoy this slightly unconventional writing style. It was definitely difficult as I only had dialogue to work with, but it was definitely a fun risk and challenge! Incorporating character development and making sure the character’s personality shined through was one of my main issues, and conveying actions and physical reactions only through dialogue and a few sound effects was also a massive setback. Making realistic dialogue was… quite the googling rabbit hole filled with breaking certain grammar rules. I won’t explain any scenes in this author’s note, because I want my story to be able to be understood on its own without any further explanation of misconceptions. I am aware none of the judges have seen the show, so I made sure to write my entry in mind knowing that they wouldn’t have the context of the contents of the show.
This is my first fanfiction entry I’ve entered to the writing comp—I learned so much about fanfiction this session, and I can confidently say that I’ve finally written more than five fanfiction pieces now XD

Multiple words of feedback came from @Cherrie_Tree, @Luna-Lovegood-LOL, @-ChocoLoco-, and @bixez! I would also like to thank them for their constant encouragement, my entry would not be close to what it is without them. My first draft became a second, became a third, and somehow shifted all the way into an eighth draft thanks to my wonderful feedbackers. Thanks so much for ironing out my cliches, unrealistic dialogue, and cheesy lines!

weekly 3 (unfinished), 1721 words

part 1 // 1068 words

Brainstorming // 146 words
~ jungle setting*
~ isolated and hidden from other people*
~ small and unstable tribe, always relocating*
~ pretends the enemy tribes don't exist
~ diets based around wild animals, such as fish and any type of wild fruit*
~ moves by feet and carriages pulled by trained lions*
~ communicates in a complicated, made-up language
~ lives in small huts
~ tribe has one chief, usually male*
~ herb healers as most honoured career*
~ artists as the most rejected career*
~ hard magic systems*
~ magic is not often spoken of, as it is dangerous and rare*
~ children as not to be interfered with, adults are more important*
~ clothes made of silk and cloth as a symbol of bad*
~ pets are distracting and not worth the time
~ eating a rare goldberry will bring you luck forever
~ green is the symbol of peace and power*
~ peaceful nature is important
~ people have no choice as to who to marry*

Connections (starred items) // 335 words
The safari jungle is frighteningly dangerous, but would you believe that a small tribe, many small tribes, live inside it? The biggest tribe, which is still only about 50 people, is called the Safaries. Always relocating, no one ever seems to know where they are. No one knows them. Often led by young chiefs below the age of 40, they are powerful and have many interesting traditions. Their diet, is, well, whatever they can find and cook. Mostly fish, wild pigs and strange varieties of berries. They're not particularly picky. Men are the ones doing all the hunting, while the females care for the children and cook the food. It's a mystery as to how silently they can move since they travel by foot and carriages pulled by well-trained lions. Like many parts of the world, doctors (also known as healers) receive bucket loads of praise. Meanwhile, artists are often rejected, since the tribe's beliefs say that ‘art is a waste of space. You are to dedicate your time to the tribe, not yourself’.
Magic is a topic that is not often discussed among the tribe. It is very rare, and their magic can do anything. But one's rumour is that too much magic can cause you to become evil. That's why magicians are separated from others and the chief sometimes makes the decision to k*ll them.
Children are not important to the Safaries. They can't be trusted with secrets, so they're separated from the main tribe until they are at least 10 years old.
Symbols are very meaningful to the tribe. Some examples include green, which means power and peace since nature is green. Meanwhile, clothes made of silk and cloth are bad luck. Instead, they cover themselves with leaves as clothing.
Romance is not important to the Safaries. They have a system to match people up so they don't end up with family, but apart from that, the members of the tribe's feelings about the person they get matched with are unimportant.

Narrative // 587 words

My tribe had always been mysterious and vicious, and it will always be.
I'm part of the Safaries. Not that I know a lot about them. I'm only 11, which means I joined the ‘real’ tribe 1 year ago. I haven't been entrusted with secrets yet. Not that I want to be.
I've never known my parents. Marriage is not important. I've heard rumours that the next chief doesn't even want romance associated with his tribe.
Growing up, I had many terrifying experiences. In the jungle, there's always a snake, a man-eating plant, or perhaps a leopard lurking by. I was never able to stand or sit still. My nerves wanted me to explore. So, being utterly foolish, one night I sneaked away from the ‘child den’ and ran away. My life was nearly over that night.
But me being me, I've sneaked away before and met her.
But I've never had a will to be here anyway. I have no one to care for, nothing and no one to stay for.
Plus, I have someone outside the jungle to care for.
Her.
I'm leaving this tribe once and for all.
Tonight.
It has to be tonight.
I told her it would be.
Before leaving, I decided to pack a few of my possessions. My bow and arrow, my bag, and the silk cloth that was illegal in the tribe. I own no shoes, as shoes were a luxury reserved only for the chief and his bodyguards.
And that silk cloth?
It came from her. She is the one I love, the only one who cares about me. I met her the first time I snuck out of the forest and succeeded.

(note: this is a memory) I pushed through the bushes loudly. Stealth had never been my strong point. But the point was, I was here.
Out of the jungle.
For the first time in my life, I saw the clouds, stars and the full moon. It was breathtaking to see the sky clearly without any trees blocking my view.
A small rustle came from behind me.
I took my bow and arrow out and prepared to shoot. But what I saw was not a predator, but instead a young girl, around the age of 10, who I didn't recognise. Her hair was black and her eyes were slivery-blue. She waved.

“Hi. Who are you?”
“The question is, who are you?” I asked.
She laughed. “I'm Dasft.”
“I'm Juiyok.”
“Shouldn't you be somewhere else? Did you get permission from King Hrufd?”
I cocked my head. “Who's King Hrufd?”
Dasft gasped. “You're o-one of t-the people i-in the forest?” Her skin looked pale. “You're supposed to be a myth! A legend!”
“Yeah. Well, too bad. Cause I'm alive.”

After some back and forth talk, I found myself falling in love.
“That's illegal,” my thoughts whispered.
Only in my tribe, I realised.
I'll be back though. And that's a promise. (end of memory)

I leap out from the dark bushes, searching for her shape. Squinting, I go over to the darkest shadow in sight. I see her.
“Boo!” she suddenly giggles. I jump back, not expecting the surprise.
“You were gone forever.”
“Sorry, but at least I got here,” I say, patting her shoulder affectionately. “I'm coming with you for good now.”
Her eyes widen, but it only takes a moment for her to process what I said.
“Come with me,” she nudges. “It's time for you to meet my kingdom, on the far side of the mountains.”

part 2 // 653 words

How is the magic in the world used in the characters’ everyday lives? What are the different abilities?
The magic in this world is not to be trifled with. Since everybody believes it's dangerous, any ‘magician’ (one who has magic) is restricted to using magic only once or twice in their lives. The magician can do anything but rising people from the de@d. There are no different abilities. Every magician is capable of doing what another one does. But there is a difference. Many legends tell of magicians going crazy because they used their magic too much, which is why they're often locked up and k*lled. The difference is how much of themselves they have left. - 98 words

What are the laws of your world, specifically about magic? Punishments?
Many laws in this world are very strict and almost all of them lead to certain de@th. Take running away from the tribe as an example. The chief wants his men to stick together instead of running off. The person who ran away would be imprisoned and if he runs away again, de@th. As for magic, there are only a few rules. Don't talk about magic. We don't speak about it. Talking about magic will bring us bad luck. That sort of stuff. Despite this, there is a test, which at 8 years old, the children will take to see if there are magicians. - 104 words

What is the origin of your magic?
Myths say that many, many generations ago, the tribe was bigger and stronger. They were going to war and the chief didn't want to lose so one night he started praying to their ancient god. He did that every night. Every day there were more and more people k*lled. Until he only had 20 soldiers left. That night, he saw a shooting star, and with the last ounce of his strength, he prayed. That night, the god granted his wish. He was able to do anything he wanted with just a flick of his finger. He easily won the war but didn't realise that he would pass on this power from generation to generation. - 114 words

How common is magic, and are all characters aware they possess it?
This magic is very rare since the chief often k*lled anyone related to a known magician. But almost everyone had the chief who won the war's blood in their veins, so everyone was at risk of developing magic. Unfortunately, the magic can develop at different ages, most commonly under 8. But there are often cases of fully grown adults having magic and often hiding it to save their life. Not all characters know that they possess magic since few actually have magic. - 82 words

How is magic viewed in your world?
Magic is viewed as a curse and a weapon (since many dreams of becoming chief) and the person is a danger to everybody. Some may secretly wish for magic, while others wish that they'll never get magic. Some may admire ones who have magic, while others may secretly scheme to k*ll the magician. Since magic is useful, some chiefs may see the magician as a tool and a weapon in war. It really depends on the type of person you are. - 81 words

Are there any sensations the characters feel when they are using magic? Describe these sensations using their five senses.
When a magician casts a spell, they feel icy cold on the inside because the magic is making them crazy, bit by bit. They often shiver because of this. Other than that, there are no reported sensations, though one once said they heard a high-pitched whistling in their ears, and another said their vision went all white, weird and blurry. Scientist Jibevn studied a brain from a de@d magician and said it varies from person to person, depending on the type of blood you have and what you eat. - 89 words

How is the education system in your world? What do your characters learn (or hypothetically would learn)?
Since the tribe believes that adults, especially men are more important than children, they don't get basic education such as how to read, write, add and subtract. The boys get basic hunting education such as how to use a bow and arrow, how to hide and how to survive in the wilderness. Meanwhile, the girls get taught how to cook, care for children, pick fruits, fetch water, and weave baskets. Before a male is appointed as chief, they get special individualised attention on basic learning. - 85 words

A place of utter beauty
Far more beautiful than any city
Flowers bloom in every place
There is not a single sad face
Golden water falls down
In it’s beauty I drown
The faint ringing of windchimes can be heard
I feel free as a bird
The fragrant smell of wonderful dishes
Their perfect taste is all that a heart wishes
The hard rocks tell stories untold
The fragrant flowers any hand can hold
The water feels like rushing feelings
A wise thought of wise thinking
The spices, familiar to the touch
Is in in quantities so much
That a heart’s true desire can be fulfilled
If by this wonder truly willed.

༺═─── daily 24 ───═༻

I'm terrible at poetry, no judging <3

༺═── word count; 169 ──═༻

There's only so much that a person can do
Living in a hallway of inevitable doom
The walls close in every once and a while
With the separate doors leading to a single room

The floor on the ground has the prickly sound
Of a carpet that needs to be washed
The plaster on the walls has started peeling
The flowers in the vases squashed

An ancient memorial of life that has gone
Frozen and plucked from time
Only those who truly belong
Can scent the delicacy of new thyme

The flowers in the vases vary
From peonies to daffodils
Stolen from garden beds tended by those
Who had stolen those from the hills

If you listen close, you may in fact hear
A record being played on repeat
Listening close on inclined tiptoes,
The faintest sound of a lamb's bleat

At the end of the hall sits a little surprise
Upon a generous dish
A freshly-baked cookie along with a pie
With a note saying; ‘make a wish’.

100 words
I dedicate this poem to all the sad souls in this world

⭒⭒✩⭒⭒

I feel the wind blow in my face
and see the trees dancing in grace
all my worries go away
as we enter another day
the birds' soft chirping calms me down
and conjures away my everlasting frown
for once I feel free,
my heart singing with glee
as I sit on the sand
in this new, beautiful land,
with the fragrance of the salty sea
there is only one thing I can clearly see:
I will never be alone
for in this world it's always known:
that all your worries, moans and lies
fade under the pale pink sunrise

༺═─── weekly 4 ───═༻

wow. just wow. I love this weekly so much in its entirety – the theme, the prompts, the evident work that has been put into it – it was an absolute pleasure to complete, thank you daily team for your hard work this session <3



༺═── word count; 100 ──═༻

start of weekly. “begin a story, any way you like, but keep it close to a hundred words.”
Pain can be vivid. It can also be numb. Currently, Nick's pain is a mixture of both, thrown together in a mixture that he hadn't wanted to experience but had to, for his life to make sense. He only wishes that he could have understand what pain was before he had experienced it so fully and wholly, but that wasn't a current problem of his. That was a problem for his past self to handle, and he knows first-hand how well it had been handled – it was his own problem, after all. If he'd been prepared, he'd know the outcome.

༺═── word count; 309 ──═༻

given in throne room, host throne. “break the fourth wall for a short period of time in 300 words.”
Nick hadn't been doing anything useful before this, but cradling a wound given to him by an own enemy was a fine conversation starter. Glancing up with clear intensity, he speaks for the first time in a while.
“Hello. I'm not sure where I am, exactly, but I know I'm here. And that counts for something, right?” He smiles weakly, pain pulsing through every muscle in his face. “But– I don't know you. You could know what pain is like to feel. You could know what mental and physical damage I could theoretically be going through, correct?”
Another pause. He is taking his time while thinking, discussing in his mind the problems that are building up like building blocks a child plays with, wondering when some arm would come to smash all his problems to the floor. The main problem is his arm. The second is his soul.
“You could help me. Do it.” Nick challenges, stroking his burnt arm with the softness of a mother tending to her child, but the disgust of a person betrayed twice over. “You're out there, somewhere in the world, and not burnt and miserable. I'm burnt and miserable. Can you take the time to remember pain and appreciate it, so as when you experience further pain you are ready?” He is rambling, now, to an audience that will not let him leave his place on the stage. He is shuddering, softly, his eyes wide with pain and whispering regrets in the ears of those who will listen. Eventually, Nick stands. Hobbling. He holds onto his arm for longer, twining his fingers together for momentary comfort, as he needs it. Who else, after all, would hold his hand as he weeps into the long hours of the night? Who else would care while he is collapsing?

Nick shakes his head and continues walking.

sabotage: eat food/drink water for five minutes

༺═── word count; 329 ──═༻

given in battlegrounds, judges room. “in 200 words, a character reveals that their motive is attention.”
Walking with a broken arm tends to let people know that you have been in a fight. Nick knows that for certain as he finds himself at the threshold of a large contemporary city, and people are eyeing his arm with surprising carefulness. One girl skips past him and calls, “Sorry about your arm.” while a man offers to bring him to hospital. Both offers are accepted politely but declined, because even by just existing with a broken arm people are flocking to help him. He will wait for the highest offer and then snatch it with his one working hand.
Nick loves attention. It means that he gets into a lot of trouble, and it isn't easy to balance, but he got this stupid arm full of pain from wanting attention. Someone didn't like that.
But he likes walking past and making people stop and stare. He likes having people fussing over him, asking about his day. He likes when people acknowledge him as an adult and not an overgrown adolescent.
He pays the price for wanting attention, and so he deserves it. Vengefully, he whispers into the crook of his arm: “You didn't want me to get attention, yet here I am, thriving in a world where I can't use one of my arms but everyone still stares. Jealous, are you?” His elbow doesn't answer, but it feels better to accuse someone for this pain. He wasn't the one who hurt himself, after all. He continues his stride, one arm hanging down loosely, unable to be moved, and the other swinging forward in backward in a rotating motion, until he reaches a crossroad. Nick is about to cross over: the light flashing green, green, green on the other side of the road, when suddenly, it happens.
Someone pulls him back just in time so as he misses the motorbike flying around the corner, ignoring the traffic signal. He gasps for air then turns to face his rescuer.

sabotage: write a list of five achievements you're proud of.

༺═── word count; 267 ──═༻

given in dining hall, hi-fi/non-fi/real-fi table. “incorporate themes of hi-fi, non-fi or real-fi into your writing for five minutes”
“Who are you?” He asks as soon as he has stopped being so dumbfounded about his close escape from his own demise.
The girl shrugs, her long, pink hair trailing down beneath her chin to give her a soft look, though the way that she pursues her lips together disapprovingly doesn't exactly give Nick hope. “I'm someone that you don't need to know at the moment. I'm not relevant to the plot of your oh-so-fascinating life.”
“What happened to you to get you so annoyed?”
“Maybe it was something you did.” She suggests amicably, staring him straight into the eyes before he flinches and waves his good hand in front of his face.
“I haven't done anything to you.”
“Do you not think I would have been mentally traumatised if you'd stepped out onto that road? I was just going to get coffee, and then, bam. Some guy with a broken arm would've gotten obliterated.”
“I've gotten obliterated before.” He whispers under his breath, but the girl doesn't seem to hear. At least, she keeps her chin upright and her hands steady as she presses the button, so perhaps that means that she doesn't want to discuss his demise a second time.
“Anyway,” She speaks after a while of standing still, “I presume you aren't going for coffee?”
He imagines himself in her eyes: a bedraggled teenager, too tall for his own good, nursing a broken arm with his clothes tattered and shoes scuffed from the long walk he had to endure to get to this point in time. Maybe she's right. Maybe he is different, slightly.

sabotage: thank three swc'ers for their work.

༺═── word count; 303 ──═༻

giving in boring rooms, rec. room. "write 200 words where your character is transported into another world."
Below him, tiles begin to shift and change, morphing into something new, exciting. He shudders, reaching to the pole to steady himself, the girl doing the same thing, shifting herself protectively in a way so that she is fully safe. A whooshing sound erupts from beneath Nick's feet and he clings onto the pole more desperately. Glancing towards his acquaintance, he finds her simply staring down at her nails, bored in such a strong manner that it makes him whine slightly, just inside his mind where nobody else can pry.

“What's happening?” Nick compulsively slams his feet against the ground, finding no real explanation for this transition. The girl shrugs as the world seems to become slower, glitching, confusing. Then, the next second they are in a new world, a lush forest with no buildings in sight. The girl brushes herself of and twines her hair around her thumb, looking at him as if he was about to say something.
“What just happened?” He asks, a definitive edge to his voice.
His companion smiles. “A Transition. Do you not live in our city?”
“No, I don't.” He whimpers, cradling his arm. “Why?”
“We need lush greenery sometimes, don't we? Though, maybe it isn't the greatest circumstance, seeing as you're injured.”
“I can make do.” Nick tells her shakily, extending his one good hand. “Do you have a map?”
“Yep.” She holds it out as he snatches it. “We're in Evergreen Vale.”
His fingers trace the map. It is in the direction he wants to be going.
“How do you get back?” He asks her, so he can avoid it.
“You have to take that ladder – or a lift – up to the tallest tree. You transition there.”
“Okay, thank you!” Waving his hand, he began walking again, and the girl stared after him, curiously.

sabotage: listen to music or look at art/scenery for ten minutes.

༺═── word count; 463 ──═༻

given in bulletin board, misc. posts. “incorporate another member of your cabin into your writing for 10 minutes.”
Trudging into the forest, Nick keeps his chin up as he watches out for any sign of people, and therefore any way to get medical assistance. Eventually, he comes across a pair of excited children, who dash past him in favour of their parents – and their parents give him distinct scowls of disapproval as they gesture to his arm and how it might frighten their poor children. Annoyed, but still determined to keep going and find someone who may help him, he darts around a tree and ran face-first into the exact person he was looking for – at least, he hopes so.
The person is holding a small rabbit, which nudges her fingers ever-so-gently for a pat while she stares at Nick. Nick, in return, combs his hair with his fingers in order to get her to fixate on him and his injury rather than her pet animal. The girl smiles at him, then her eyes go to his wound and she flinches, slightly.
“Hey, can I help you?” She asks, running her palm over the rabbit's fur as she glances over Nick a second time.
“Do you know of any bandages, or shops, actually, around here?”
“No, but there's some in the city.” The person points up to the highest tree, the branches stretching out over the expanse of the forest with distinct ease. “Just up there, you have to go.”
“I know.” Nick replies impatiently, working his own fingers along his broken arm and wincing at the pain, but unable to stop.
“But I can't go up there, because I need to stay here. I'm on a trip.” He adds quickly, as he sees her open a mouth to ask a question. Questions were attention, but bad attention. Being remembered as the broken-handed boy roaming the city was an easy title to live off. Being known as an adventurer injured for his work was dangerous in every way possible.
“So, you're on a trip.” She contemplates absentmindedly, her eyes glazing as her rabbit nudges its nose underneath her arm and stays there, cosy and protected. Nick wishes that he could be cosy and protective, but it isn't realistic. He's too worn-down and tired to be protected. He's been exposed to the cruelty of the world and is now fighting to stop it and prevent it.
“Yes, I am. Anyway, I better be going, bye.” With that, he scurries off before she gets even more curious about his backstory and why he is so bedraggled.
Hopefully she thinks that he just fell over on a tree root or something. It was a believable story. He was only so old, definitely not old enough to be in serious danger, in a stranger's eyes. Hopefully she dismisses it.
Hopefully.
He has his own doubts.

sabotage: do something creative for fifteen minutes.

༺═── word count; 351 ──═༻

given in workshops, fantasy. “change an element of your character's world into a fantasy element in 300 words.”
He keeps walking until he has left the stranger far behind. It is instinct now, not a cause for him to worry. If there seems to be any problems, he will flee, keep moving steadily across land or sea until he can camp somewhere and call it home. He doesn't want to find a home in this forest, too large and active for his personal needs, but he is forced to. Settling next to a tree, he massages his arm and winces at the pain. The tree groans and creaks, reminding him of another tree, far away, where he would sit and harvest the fruit, laughing with someone who didn't yet care about attention and how nauseating it made him – but that was the past.
It is the future.
He releases his arm and starts picking his way through his chosen campsite. He has nothing to camp with, no tent, no blanket, not even any food or water, and the terrain does not have much to offer either. Nick strains his ears to hear the sound of a rushing stream or the soft plod of a fruit falling from a tree, but he hears nothing except the excited calling of other campers, satisfied with their life just as he is not satisfied with his own.
When he returns back to the campsite, one of the tree's branches has fallen on the ground, smashing open. Shards of bark lie in a asymmetrical circle and inside the log is a bountiful feast. It contains apples and mandarins, a large jug of water, a sleeping bag and a square of canvas, along with string to tie it to a tree. Nick stares at it with awe before he tucks into the food. Once half of it was gone and the other half were stored in the makeshift bag he crafted for the occasion, he looks in the log and doesn't find any bandages.
After a night of sleep, Nick is on his way again. He does not know how the tree had come to have food in it, but he does not doubt it.

sabotage: take a fifteen minute nap.

༺═── word count; 271 ──═༻

given in host room, aviary. “write for five minutes where birds are significant.”
A flock of birds fly ahead. Nick glimpses them through the trees, their wings flitting throughout the leaves and leaving feathers on branches. He doesn't pay them much attention, at first. Birds fly all the time, especially over forests, where there is no clear way that someone can get to them from the ground. He just continues trudging along, towards a noise that is gradually growing louder and more significant as he moves towards it.
Five minutes later and he is pushing through a crowd, one where anyone could see him and recognise his face. He doesn't have a legacy, and nobody was looking for him – that's what he hoped, anyway – but anyone could be reminded of a boy with a broken arm, tousled hair and a backpack slung over his one working shoulder. He stands out.
When he hears titbits of conversation, “Oh, we haven't seen these birds for seven years,” and “I wonder who they'll choose,” he should have been worried. He should have turned back. But he keeps going until he is at the front of the crowd, and a large bird is standing there, preening its feathers. When its dark eye meets his own, it bows.
The crowd erupts into cheers.
Nick doesn't know what he is doing, but people are moving in towards him, and he is so scared.
So, he flees. Jumping onto a bird's back is not what he is trained to do, much less with a broken arm, so the bird simply swoops down and grasps his shoulders with its talons, soaring high into the air.
He is exhilarated. He is still scared.

sabotage: take ten minutes to read.

༺═── word count; 569 ──═༻

given in daily team room, Bakie's stand. “for fifteen minutes, focus in on a character.”
Nick was young when he first flew. His mother and father took him out to where the birds carry carriages and you can sit inside them, watching over the landscape below. His parents held his hands and promised never to let go.
Now, he feels ready to plummet.

Nick was young when he first knew. He was in school, and she asked a question about motives. His hand jumped up itself and danced a jig, because for once he knew the answer. His teacher nodded with approval when he spurted out a description of fears and wants, motivation for being protagonists and antagonists, and how a good writer could blur the line in between them.
He can't see the lie, but everyone else can. Is life a good writer, or is he too naive?

His parents left when he wanted to explore the world. Rather, he left and they supported his leaving. “We'll be fine,” They told him, as if he was worried. He was worried about himself. He wanted them to be worried about him.
The schools were abolished a couple of years after he had graduated. They moved into the city for the rich to learn from. Nick got used to spending days in an orchard with someone who promised never to hurt him.

He is flying over the world, and everyone is looking up to see him. He is an acrobat, flying through the sky without ever touching a rope.
Despite how dangerous it is, Nick feels safe.

He'd always been good at adjusting to change. No school was a change he adjusted to well. Now, he is adjusting to being alone in the world, alone in a world where only the eyes that know matter and can see.
Is he blind? He can't tell.

Nick knows that he always overcomplicates things. That's what he was told, sitting on the branches of a tree that was sturdy enough to take the weight all of his problems and burdens. But his mind has always been like that, a swooping bird who wants a pretty nest, one that everyone can marvel at and love because he is a bird and he will fly.

He is flying.
He is flying.
He is flying.
For once, his world is not overcomplicated. It is not a labyrinth of prying eyes (and a boy who wants attention but is on the run). It is not a place where his broken arm is because of the only person he has ever trusted (and a boy who wants to fly but doesn't have wings). It is not a world of jeering laughter and motorbikes that fly around corners too fast, destining the person with all the problems to cloud a random girl's day in which she wants to go and get coffee.

Nick likes the world with
apple trees that give you food and shelter
pathways that float and transport you to a forest
people who care and always will
a bird that will swoop in and take care of him, just because it can.
Just because it can, and it will.

Maybe he was wrong to fixate on his arm and the stinging betrayal that comes with it. Maybe he should focus on soaring over the world, uncertain about where he is being taken but knowing that it is right.
Maybe he is overcomplicating things again, but life has never felt so simple.

sabotage: write a list of ten things about someone and give it to them.

༺═── word count; 541 ──═༻

given in the garden, match field. “give your character a dramatic ending in 8 minutes.”
The bird drops him at the edge of the forest. Or maybe it is a different forest. He doesn't know what forest it is, but he knows he is at the edge, for the trees have stopped growing and he is in a desolate field with an apple tree in the middle. Again, he doesn't know why, but Nick begins making his way to the apple tree, the rushes brushing against his legs and smearing crimson down the side.

He's fine.

The apple tree looks as old as he is, but it is a magnificent sight. Names are carved into the bark, and one starts with the letter ‘N’, but the rest is scribbled out to erase any memory of the person who engraved their name in the tree. It has a hammock on it, but it is half-falling off and the pattern on the cloth looks as if it was made fourteen years ago. Maybe it was.

Nick looks at the tree for a moment, then reaches up with his good hand to grasp an apple, when suddenly, he is being pushed and he is falling over.
Lying in a heap in the ground, he sees a face that he does not want to see.

He's not fine.

The face wrinkles their nose as if he is disgusting and points at his arm. He sees a flash of satisfaction in their amber eyes, glinting in the sunlight, and he is scared.

He's not fine.

“What are you doing?” he asks his old friend and new enemy, and they shrug. Casually, as if they didn't break his arm. Casually, as if they do not plan to break his other arm and leave him stranded in the middle of nowhere.

He's not fine.

“I'm here again. You survived last time, but this time – oh, no. I don't think so, friend.” The word is hissed from between gritted teeth. It isn't a compliment. It is an accusation, a reminder of long ago, when this was a forest and Nick was sitting on the apple tree, dangling his legs and telling them all about his day.

He's not fine.

“You don't have to do this.”
“But isn't it what you want?”
They near, hissing. “Attention. A dramatic death. You don't look like someone who prospered in life, but we can fix up a suit, fix up a funeral,”
“No.” he whispers.
“Yes.”

He's not fine.

Nick has been bleeding for too long. He is exhausted. He needs medical attention. Perhaps it is for the best.

“The apple tree gets the fertiliser it deserves. It's how the fruit becomes so red.”
They pluck the apple off the tree that he was reaching for, the ruby red of the skin so inviting, so clean, that it is hard to remember that it is just a remnant of what he has done.

Nick didn't like dying.

His body is buried under the apple tree, and on top of his grave lies an apple. The word ‘attention’ is carved into the rotting skin, and it almost symbolic, the way that it will one day seep into the Earth and make the tree grow again, eternally. It is just another punishment for a boy who wanted someone to care.

sabotage: praise scratch team.

༺═── word count; 324 ──═༻

given in basement, memory book. “for 250 words, an ominous mood is carried throughout the rest of the story.”
In a world where apple trees are used as burial graveyards and happiness is just a mere guise for those who do not want to appear weak, lightning crashes against the ground. The clouds that claimed it are an ominous grey, hanging over the expanse of the world, as far as the eye can see. If you were to focus on the forest closely, you would see several burning trees, black and crumbling with ash.

It is not a wonderful place, not anymore.

Some people are happy. They are in the form of those who find revenge satisfying and those who don't camp out under the skies and marvel at the stars but are holed up in a large house where they only use one room. They don't mind about burning trees or forgotten apples, becoming soil and eventually succumbing to the earth.

One day, a girl is spotted trudging over a large field being used for a movie production. People yell at her, tell her to go away and that they are not in the mood for someone to try and get into their movie as an extra, but she pays no attention. Instead, she reaches the apple tree in the middle of the field and rests her hand against the bark. It is almost as if she is mourning someone or something. The director watches and leaves the tree untouched, scared of what might lurk below.

Birds fly over the field often, swooping down to perch on the apple tree. Some are bigger than others, but the largest never comes down to the ground. It doesn't want to remember what happened last time it did.

In a world where apple trees are used as burial grounds, there is a rotting apple lying underneath the apple tree. It has gone untouched for too long. The director stoops over to pick up the apple and toss it away.

The trees branches start to shift.

༺═── word count; 500 ──═༻

“end with a cliffhanger of 500 words.”
“They were sweet.” Someone says, lounging on a velvet chair. “But foolish. They messed with the wrong people.”
The wrong person doesn't glance up when another adds, “Shame that they never had any chance, with the broken arm, you know.”
“Whoever did that was cruel.”
“What was cruel was wanting attention from someone who wanted to stay unnoticed.” They snarl from between gritted teeth. The first reaches forward to take a cake decorated with a swirl of pink-red and grey, shrugging.
“Sure, they were a little foolish and attention-wanting, but they didn't want the worst for the world. They just wanted to escape.”
“So, they escaped.”
“How morbid!” The second lady tweets with a nervous laugh.
Nick's old enemy and older friend narrows their eyes, reaching for the sword they keep in their bag for the very occasion, hand itching, as if shaking off some dirt that they may have accumulated in some way – but they keep their calm and press a smile onto their face.
The first woman sighs. “What I want to find out is why they knew to go to the field. Surely it felt like a death sentence?”
“Maybe they wanted to make peace.” The other coos, and all of a sudden their acquaintances are taking pity on the one that they are responsible for the demise of.
“That's adorable!” Fangirling over Nick? They cannot take it anymore. Instead of holding their thoughts in and sitting there silently, like the person they pretend to be, they straighten up. Their sword flashes in their hand, a significant reminder that they are strong and that they are responsible for countless deaths.
“That guy deserved what he got. He deserved every ounce of pain, every drop of bIood, every reminder that it was his fault. It was karma that kiIIed him and karma that made him cry, and his name was Nick.” They bite their lip and turn away, stroking the handle of their sword. “Oh, yeah, and he didn't deserve the death he got. He deserved a worse one.”
Leaving two bodies in a room next to two empty cups of tea, they know it is wrong. But they had been ordered not to let anyone uncover their trail. Those two imperfect but humane people had been inching too close to the truth.
The truth has followed them for too long.
They shouldn't have followed Nick.
They shouldn't have taken the offer.
They shouldn't have cried when they buried the body of someone they had never really hated.
And with a broken arm, really? How pathetic.

They know people mourned Nick and lived to tell the tale. They know, some years after, that they too had a private mourning of a victim. But their career grew and as did their ambitions, and when they were ordered to return to the apple tree, they didn't hesitate.
Nick's old enemy and older friend watches as a director approaches the apple. They pick it up. They begin screaming.

PATHS TAKEN: 2-1, 5-3, 1-2, 4-3, 3-2, 82-2, 6-2, 7-3, 9-4, 102-2 | SABOTAGE RESULTS: 3- F, 2- F, 8- S;6- S;4- F, 1- S;9- S;7- S;5- S | ENDING: neutral

Weekly spot for Tori.

Weekly #4

Begin a story, any way you like, but keep it close to 100 words.

daily 24
word count: 106
i see literally everyone saying this but this is probably terrible and generic-

through the warmest summer breeze
or the coldest snow upon the trees,
there are what stay along your side,
through valleys deep and mountains wide.

to feel the wind rush through your face
to touch the grass, the waves, the rock,
run through the sand as in a race,
hear the bird's chimes, ticking like a clock.

through the fields and springtime skies
as an old forest softly sighs
there are what stay along your side,
through valleys deep and mountains wide.

to smell a million summer flowers
or taste a billion winter flakes,
among the tree that never cowers
and the mountain that never breaks.

oh hey i sort of like this for now-
oh its only 81 words welp
third verse was an addition for word count xD

Daily 24:168 words

See the world,
spread out for you,
See your life,
spread out between time,
For you, for you,
Your life, all your friends, family
and the stars and sea
the places and the memories,
For you.

Hear the songs, hear the laughter,
hear the whales and the birds,
your joy, your happiness,
in your life, for you.
Animal song and human words,
sweet and beautiful,
in your life,
For you.

Feel the love, feel your kindness,
people beside you as you grow,
and grow, feeling everything there,
The wind, the water, the sand, and the grass
In your life, for you.

Taste and take in the wonderful art,
the wonderful festivals,
taste good food and even better cultural festivities,
people altogether and working as a team,
and a family,
In your life, for you.

Smell sweet flowers,
honey and the dust,
Smell the old smells and memories flood in,
as sweet and as prickly as a rose,
Your goodbyes, your last ones, because finally
in life, you leave.

Another Myth Maze Challenge:393 words

Sorry, what was that?
I needed to fight off some. er.. kappas or whatever so we could… er.. cross the river. don't know how we will do that but I'm guessing we will. somehow. Sure one of the leaders got something up their sleeves, right?

Right, focus on the kappas, Just get your sword at the ready and…
Wait how do I fight kappas?
No, not now, There we go, A little of swinging my sword, a little of someone behind me stood still staring, a little of the kappa dodging and weaving and attacking. or at least, what I thought was attacking.

Look, I don't know the ways of kappa, okay? This is practically my first time fighting them. Okay, just relax, and focus on your target.

Anyways, what happened to that Minotaur from the other da-

Come on Tiger. Focus.

alright, alright, yes., yes, I will focus alright.


Extra 200 words:243 words
Now, I may or may not have put in a one hundred percent in fighting the kappas, but I guess that didn't matter, as there was another person with some other weapon who was doing a great job. I had to give it to them

I saw some mages doing some spells and bards with their instruments at the ready, and they all looked like they knew what they were doing! I guess, I sort of knew what I was doing, but lately, everyone agreed that talking things out was the way to go. And we have been doing so many Myth the Musical performances lately. Except for when we were talking to Hermes, but we agreed that he wasn't the sort of musical guy. And I still couldn't remember what we did to that minotaur.

I love minotaurs. I knew there had to be some of the cabins I am in were called Myth Maze, I mean, isn't the one thing that immediately pops into your mind minotaurs? I would be surprised if it didn't.

The Maze itself though is pretty wild. Monsters, gods, giant snakes called Apep. Every day we seem to be running into one of those things on the list, and probably who knows what else.

But of course, getting sacred tree shards is not an easy thing to do, but I'm willing to help out anyways. After all, who could resist an adventure in a maze of mythology?

Word War 1:48 words

Cabin wars are a great thing, but how, much it could affect your sleep! I would stay for hours on end, and then I would wake up with my head resting on the keyboard, with a brand new day with a brand new daily.

SWC is so fun.