i’ll update this later with the table of contents, probably

daily #2
ask a magic eight ball an important question about your plot
“will the Sun disappear?” “outlook good”
words: 473/400

The sky was darker, darker than she had seen before. No natural light hit the planet: the cold ground below her feet was only illuminated by the streetlights and the colorful headlights of the cars that had already been on the road when the incident occurred.

The claims they were making on the televised news problems were extraordinary. They seemed like something out of a science fiction novel, and a badly written one at that. They told their viewers that the Sun was gone.

She didn’t want to believe this. A science lover since birth, she has always been raised by her father to believe that every problem has a rational and natural solution. How could the Sun be gone? Without any warning? It just wasn’t true, was it?

However, she could not deny the evidence.

The skies were blacker than she had ever seen them before in the middle of the day. The air around her was cold to the touch in the middle of July. The ground felt harder, frozen, unable to be pierced by the shovel from her mother’s gardening set.

She began to accept the wild claims. After all, how could she not? The proof was right in front of her. Or, rather, not in front of her.

And yet, the day still passed. Nothing could be done. The members of her community and, she assumed, the world spent the day in their homes, keeping all of the lights on and their doors (thin pieces of wood separating them from the void) locked shut. They were in denial, yet they denied even that.

It just doesn’t make sense, is this excuse they would make for not believing the claims of the scientists on the news. That wasn’t the real reason. Most of them didn’t care what made sense. They accepted the extraordinary in everyday life without blinking twice. No, the real reason that they were scared was since, though they were blind to the wild things in life, they weren’t blind to logic. The Sun is the lifeblood of Earth. You can’t survive long without it.

None of them could survive long without it.

But what else could they do? They could not stop this from happening. They were trapped on a ticking time-bomb, a planetary corpse. A graveyard for billions of people who survived millions of years, relying solely on a star millions of miles away.

New civilization could evolve. They knew that. Ones that didn’t need to be reliant on a simple star. That was not enough consolation for them. They wanted to live. They wanted to go to work, go to the movies, go home after a long night and eat a tub of ice cream in bed. This generation wanted the life they were promised.

Instead, they had no life given to them at all.

Weekly part one: Character Consistency

Character reference sheet for: Dirk Gently (from both seasons for the television show, Dirk Gently’s Holistic Detective Agency)
Series continuing or ended?: Ended

Pronouns: he/him
Sexuality: unknown
Species: human

Strengths: Sees every situation with a sense of humour, smart, kind, (kind of) psychic, energetic
Weaknesses: Can be perceived as annoying, innocent, naïve, not good at making friends

General view of life: optimistic and excited, hopeful despite his past trauma

Relationships:
- romantic interest: None
- friends: Todd Brotzman, Amanda Brotzman, Farah Black, Lydia Spring
- family: None/unknown

Tendencies:
- Tends to get over attached to people in fear of losing them
Improvement: no improvement, but he recognizes this
- Tends to be an open book, unable to keep secrets
Improvement: slight improvement
- Tends to be over optimistic in the bleakest of scenarios
Improvement: slowly improving
- Doesn’t thinking before active
Improvement: little improvement, staying the same

Situations:
Loss of a friend:
- Dirk would crumble immediately after the loss of a friend
- he doesn’t have many friends, and the death of someone close to him would break him eternally
- he would express this visually, with constant crying and shaking of his shoulders

When faced with past trauma:
- closes up, hides it from his only friends
- acts happier than usual to conceal his inner pain from them
- if they do notice what is happening, he will overcompensate with false happiness
- runs away from his issues rather than fighting them

Helping others:
- Dirk is happiest when he is working, and will do anything for it
- he loves the feeling of saving somebody from something, and would rather have that feeling than any money involved
- he likes being in control of himself, therefore, if he is charging for his help, he will set the price and not change it

Situation: “Your character has just killed somebody and needs to cover up the murder”
Traits incorporated: Innocence, naivety, instant panic at the sense of danger
Words: 428/400


When Amanda opens the door to the home of her friend, the first sight that she is greeted with is her best friend, crumpled over and throwing up.

“Amanda,” Dirk chokes, “hello there.” He stands up and walks over to her. “I need your help with something.” His eyes are bloodshot, and dark circles hang under them.

“Oh my God, Dirk, what is this?” Amanda yells, running over to clean up the mess. “How can you not survive for a week without me? Do I just need to move in?”

“It’s not what it looks like,” Dirk says hastily.

“It looks like you’re sick is what it looks like-” Amanda starts, but Dirk interrupts.

“I killed someone.”

It takes a moment for Amanda to stop scrubbing the floor. When she processes what he said, she pauses, raising her eyebrows slightly.

“Who was it?” she asks, only curiosity present in her voice.

“That’s what you’re worried about?” he yells back, rubbing his face with his hands. “How callous are you people?” He runs to the kitchen to grab a wet towel, muttering to himself. “How many people have you killed at this point, Amanda? Name all of them. Yeah, that’s what I thought.” Jogging back out into the hallway, out of breath, he says, “what do I do now?”

Amanda laughs. “You want my help covering up a murder?”

“No, I don’t want your help covering up a murder, Amanda, I need your help covering up a murder, or else I’m going to get sent to prison, and you know that I would never last there-” Dirk cuts off, face red and shining, eyes wild, hands working to scrub something off of his shirt.

His friend interrupts him. “Calm down, dude, I’m sorry.” She gives him a tight smile. “It was just unexpected, you know? You’ve never seemed like that kind of guy.”

Dirk scrunches his mouth up, putting his face in his hands. “It was an accident,” he says, muffled, yet full of guilt.

“I believe you,” Amanda replies softly. “Now,” she says, standing up, “let’s get this started. First, we need to clean all of this up. Then we can move onto the more delicate checklist. Are you feeling okay?”

“I’m feeling okay,” he says, voice still shaking, but stronger.

“Good,” she answers, holding out her fist for a fist bump. Dirk reciprocates. “Come on,” she says, getting on her knees and beginning to scrub, “let’s go.”

Weekly part two: Character Voice


Character voices:
Words: 253/200
(Oliver and Moritz from “Because You’ll Never Meet Me”)

Oliver is energetic, optimistic, and constantly happy. When he is suffering, he will hide that by overcompensating on compassion for his friends and asking more questions about their lives to deflect from the fact that he happens to have his own issues. He usually sugarcoats things that are difficult to say in a normal conversation, but if being more direct could help a friend, he will immediately shift to that. He has many interests and passions, and can often be seen talking about one of those. He is an extremely friendly person and a good storyteller, and, if he had the chance, people would be drawn to him because of the light he exhibits through his smile and through his words.

Moritz is calmer, quieter, and introverted. Since he is older and has experienced more issues in the past, Moritz has a more warped viewpoint of the world around him, and it is harder for him to be as happy and carefree as Oliver is on a regular basis. He is rash and impulsive and, when he is angry, it is common for him to lash out immediately without thinking of the consequences. By doing this, he has hurt people in the past, which is the thing that brings him the most sadness and the most guilt. He does not want to hurt people, but since people have hurt him both mentally and physically in the past, that is hard for him to do and apologies are much harder for him to express.

Scene from Oliver’s perspective

The fire was bright, and the swirls of flame and smoke twisted higher into the air. I watched Mom run over to one of the firefighters, asking them why there was still a fire if they were already here. She couldn’t stop yelling at him. I kind of felt bad for him, but, I mean, she did kind of have a point.

The smoke left patterns in the air: circles and triangles and long, winding lines. I wondered how many fires had already happened here, many years ago. I wondered how many times our little house in the middle of the woods had burned down before. It’s at least once now. When Mom saw the damage that the fire had caused, she didn’t even seem very upset. All of her belongings were in there, but she didn’t cry or scream. She was silent now. Everything in these woods was silent, beside the crackling of the flames and the siren of the fire truck.

This sounds stupid, but I wanted to hug one of the firefighters. He was giving my mom a pat on the back and whispered words, trying to comfort the pain she was feeling but not expressing. Instead of hugging him or thanking him, I just watched the roof of my only home go up in smoke, eyebrows raised as if in a challenge. I wanted to cry, but I didn’t. I stayed quiet. Like mother, like son, I guess.

How is it that fire spreads so quickly? It seemed like only moments ago that it was contained, only burning in one area. It took only seconds for it to engulf the house and everything inside of it, including the memories we had made there.

I’m very lucky that I wasn’t inside, but it feels like I was.

Scene from Moritz’s perspective

The home, set aflame, was ejecting smoke higher and higher. It looked like tar, thick and solid, able to engulf me if it wished to do so. It swallowed my home, taking everything inside of it. Everything was charred and ignited, my own bed still smouldering from the chaos and the destruction of the flames. Everything inside was gone. I wished that it took me too. After all, what is the point of living if you have nowhere to live? Nothing to live with?

I was told by a firefighter that it would be simple to rebuild. “Minimal damage” is what they said. Minimal damage. I did not believe him. If the damage was so minimal, why was he going to hug my mother? Why was he comforting her in her worst state? The only thing that could comfort her would be getting her home back, along with all of her possessions. Along with her son. She lost me in that fire, too.

I did not die in that fire, but some part of me may have. That was the last day that I was fully able to express myself. You see, I wished to be brave in front of those helping us. I also wanted to be brave for my mother, who needed someone to support her. If she could not be the adult of the family in this moment, I knew that I would have to be.

Somehow, that mindset never stopped. I never reverted back to my younger self, blissfully unaware of the fire and of the flames that existed in this world. My mother never recovered, either. She became quieter. Drawn back into her shell. It has been said that mother and son are known to act similar in dangerous situations- that was true here. We were both distanced from everything. The difference was that I did not show it.

Could I have helped her that day? I do not know, and I never will. That fire helped shape who I am today.

I do not know if that is a good thing.

Total words in part two: 902/800

Weekly part three: Fanfic Tropes

For part three of the Weekly, I have chosen to use the characters from the television show “Dirk Gently’s Holistic Detective Agency”. The tropes I have chosen to use are angst fic, backstory fic, and songfic (Earth by Sleeping At Last). In this part, I will expand on the backstory of two of the main characters (who are siblings).

(Words: 705/700)

Todd knocks on the door in front of him, nervous about the situation he is in, but wanting to help his sister in any way that he can. A few seconds after the knock, he hears a voice telling him to come in. Twisting the doorknob gently, he opens the door and enters, shutting it behind him as he sits down on the bed beside his sister,

Amanda has clearly been crying. Her eyes are brimmed with red, and the sleeve of her shirt is soaked with tears. She is cross legged on her bed, a comforter covering her knees and her arms wrapped around herself in an attempt at protection.

“Hey,” Todd says softly. He hates to see her hurting, but he has experienced what she is going through before. He knows how she feels, and though he is not good at comforting people, he knows that he is the only one who can help.

“Hi,” she replies. She casts her eyes downward, not looking at him directly.

“Did you have an attack?” he asks her, trying not to sound too pushy. He wants her to feel safe, but he also needs an answer. When he got his first attack years ago, he had fought it, too. However, everybody in the family had known that she had had a chance in inheriting it, too. This was an expected interaction. She doesn’t answer. “Amanda?”

“I did,” she responds in a whisper, making eye contact with her older brother. Todd feels his heart drop. They had always known that Amanda had a high chance of getting sick. He had just always hoped that she would beat the odds. He begins saying something, but she interrupts. “I did get an attack, Todd. We all hoped that I wouldn’t, and that Mom and Dad would only need to pay for your treatment, but I got sick. I just had to get sick, and now we are going to go broke. I didn’t know that it was possible for us to get even more broke than we already are now, but clearly I was wrong. I have ruined everything, Todd.”

Todd stares at her, his mouth hanging open. “Amanda, this is not your fault. It wasn’t your choice to get sick. Mom and Dad will be able to pay for your treatment. I promise. We aren’t going to go broke, Amanda. We’re going to be okay.”

She narrows her eyes. “What are you thinking, Todd? We are barely making it by as is. I can count on one hand the number of things that we have eaten this week. Adding extra expense? It’s not possible. No bending the numbers or adjusting the budget can solve it.”

Todd opens his mouth, then closes it. He knows that she is right. His heart feels heavy with the lies he is holding. How is he doing this to his family? She is blaming herself for something that he started. He needs to find a way to make it right. “I’m cured,” he says suddenly, not thinking about it.

“What?”

“I’m cured,” Todd repeats, breathless. “We can use my treatment money to pay for yours. I don’t need treatment anymore. I’m cured.”

Amanda laughs, eyebrows raised, confusion clear on her face. “Todd, what are you talking about?”

“I’m cured. I don’t have any more attacks. Mom and Dad told me to keep it a secret. I don’t know why, but it doesn’t matter. Please, Amanda. Take the treatment.”

A confused but genuine smile spreads across her face. “Really?”

“Really.”

She leans in for a hug, shoulders shaking with relief mixed with tears. “Todd, if you can get better, so can I.” She pulls back, smiling wider than he had ever seen her smile. “I have hope. That’s better than treatment.” She stands up, giving him a wave. “I’m going to go tell Mom and Dad. Thank you, Todd.” She opens the door and shuts it behind her, leaving Todd sitting alone on the bed.

Guilt racks his brain. He lied to his own sister. He gave her false hope that doesn’t mean anything at all. He feels heavy, empty.

Pushing those feelings back, he stands up, and follows her out of the room.

Weekly part four: SWC Fanfiction
(Words: 401/400)

The stars hang gently over the field, casting a faint glow of white over its inhabitants.

Two hundred or so citizens are crowded in a tight circle. Some of them are sitting perfectly still, their hands pressed into their laps, the poster example of a paragon. The eyes of others deviate from the sky, and those people whisper things to their neighbours beside them, the soft hush of their voices washing over the crowd.

One of them stands up. She was one of those people sitting quietly, and her hands remain clasped tightly as she makes her way to the center of the circle, her mere movement pulling the attention of those surrounding her back to reality.

The voices from the circle stop, the air itself hanging silent in the early summer humidity. The two join the first, standing on either side of her.

“Hello, everyone,” the person says, her voice low so as to not disturb any wildlife nearby.

All of those watching her murmur a greeting back, only some of them realizing it.

The person in the center smiles. “My name is Birdi,” she tells them. “I am going to be selecting the campers for Thriller.” She begins walking around the circle. When she comes upon one of the citizens, she bends down and whispers something in their ear. They stand up, and retreat to a few steps beyond the circle. Birdi selects a few more campers, each of them joining the first in a small clump.

After Birdi is done, she joins her campers in the huddle. Her co-leaders, who she also selected from the circle, follow her there.

When Birdi is done, more leaders follow. They select their campers before joining them in a small group. By the end of the selection ceremony, the circle is gone, and all that is left are multiple small groups of people. The campers are confused- how did they get here? What were they chosen for, and why were they the ones chosen?

As the wind blows, a voice speaks to them. It is soft yet loud, kind yet commanding.

“Welcome to Scratch Writing Camp.”

The leaders begin walking in the same direction, and their campers and co-leaders follow them in scattered lines. They are nervous, scared, not ready for what is to come, but they follow. They obey their leaders. That is already something that they know they should do.

Thank you for reading my weekly! If you notice anything that I need to fix, feel free to let me know.

Vagueness
295/250

It surprised you when the text message from one of your closest friends came in.

“Hey, can you meet me later today?”

It took you a while to reply, not knowing what to say. “Sure! Where?”

“That store down on seventh street.”

After reading this message, you got slightly annoyed. It had taken them an hour and a half to reply, and now they weren’t even telling you the name of the store? “Which store do you want me to come to? Please tell me as soon as possible, as I doubt I’ll be able to go out again later.”

The reply came only seconds later, thankfully, but it wasn’t as helpful as you had wished. “The one near the end of the road.”

Staring at your phone, you narrowed your eyes, but kept your composure over text. “Sorry, I haven’t been down to that area of the city in a few weeks and am unfamiliar with what store you are talking about. Could you just tell me the name so that I can plug it into the GPS system? Thanks.”

When the next message came in, it was extremely apologetic. “I am so sorry, I thought you had visited a few days ago for some reason! It’s just the one at the bottom of the street. It’ll be easy for you to find. There’s this huge cloud above it right now- super recognizable.”

You almost drop your phone in annoyance, and give up on trying to keep your cool. “Just tell me the name of the store, or else I’m not coming.”

No reply comes for a few minutes. After you slide your phone into your pocket in frustration, you hear the familiar chime of a text message.

“Sorry. Thought you were someone else.”

Ambiguity
260/250

You pick up your phone in excitement, writing a message to one of your closest friends. She recently dyed her hair, and you want to hear how it went.

“How did it go? you text, and you are happy to see that she begins writing back immediately.

“Good! It’s super light now,” is the response that you receive,

You arch your eyebrows in confusion. “What? You cut your hair? I thought you were only bleaching it blonde. Does the cut look good?”

She sends a perplexed response a moment later. “What? No, I didn’t cut it. I only dyed it blonde, like what I told you last week.”

“No, that’s not right. You just said that you cut it, and that it was lighter now. How many layers did you cut off?”

“I meant lighter, as in the color of the hair itself is lighter. It went from dark brown to platinum blonde. It’s just a lighter color.”

“What? You dyed your hair red? Why would you do that?”

“What are you talking about?”

“You just said that you dyed it a lighter color. My lighter is red. What are you going on about? I thought you liked the color blonde? No offense, but I don’t know if the red will work with your style. Do you like it? Does it look good? Could you send a photo, or are you too embarrassed?

The response takes a while to come. “You’ll see it next week. Talk later.”

Sighing, you close your phone. Why couldn’t she have just sent a photo?

8:00 AM: Since I am on vacation, I wake up late. I yawn and get out of bed, walking to the kitchen. I pour a bowl of cereal and put some fruit on a plate, and as I eat it on the couch, watching the news, my shadow leaves to go find something more interesting to do.

9:00 AM: Having finished breakfast, I go and get ready to take a shower. My shadow doesn’t know what to do, but it leaves the room anyway to try and find a distraction. It walks down to the promenade beside the sea outside, and sits on the wall above the sand, contemplating what it should do next.

12:30 PM: I get in the car, ready to go and visit my cousins house. My shadow climbs into the seat beside me, excited to finally be getting some action. We drive to our destination, and my shadow looks in wonder out the window for the whole ride.

1:00 PM: We arrive at the house. My shadow follows me inside, taking its boots off at the door. It glides around, excited to explore new territories. Finding nothing very interesting, it settles into the couch next to me, shutting its eyes and taking a short nap.

4:00 PM: My shadow follows me outside, chasing the dog with me from behind. It runs around as I spend time with my cousins, and eventually gets just as tired out as me.

9:00 PM: As I lay down in my sleeping bag, my shadow reflects on the day. As my cousin and I whisper late into the night, it shuts its eyes, more ready than it ever has been to rest.

PART ONE
POLITICS- 810/800

The weather outside is stormy and bleak, but all that anyone can focus on is the thrilling election currently taking place.

With two extremely qualified candidates, James Lively and Sharon Bentley, the public is having a hard time making a decision on who should come out victorious in this race. In this article, we will be taking a more in-depth look at the two competitors, including looks into their pasts and into their hopeful futures, starting with James Lively.

James was born near a small bay in England in 1973. He grew up alongside beaches, skipping stones, and sheep, but that doesn’t mean that he isn’t accustomed to the political world. He moved to New York City in 2000, ready to begin his new life. Taking a job as a campaigner for one of the candidates at that time helped him get used to what it is like to live in and experience the fast-moving world of politics up close. If he gets elected, he promises to create a safer world by lessening the wars that seem to crop up everywhere, and to focus on using more renewable energy to conserve our resources.

Unlike her competitor, Sharon was born into the big city in 1975. She grew up seeing the faces and hearing the voices of the candidates on the screens in her household, casting her own imaginary votes and looking forward to the day when she could actually make an impact. After graduating college, she began working as an environmentalist in Ontario, Canada, doing her best to reduce climate change. If Sharon gets elected, she will focus on making the world a safer place for her children and family by reducing climate change and focusing on healthier alternatives to the energy we now use.

As you can see, both of these candidates are very qualified for this presidential election. We took to the streets to see who citizens are currently preferring, and the answers seemed to be more mixed than we expected.

“I have to go Sharon,” one woman admitted. “James seems like a very kind person, but he doesn’t have a family. He doesn’t know what it’s like to live in a world like this while taking care of other people, and I’m afraid that he might not be able to improve it for those of us who do.”

Another one disagreed. “James,” he said, his voice firm and confident. “Reducing wars is very important to me. Climate change is also an issue, but it doesn’t affect our world as immediately as direct combat does. If James can manage to reduce the wars and the issues between our nations, I believe that stopping climate change is only a step away.”

One citizen even went as far as to say neither. “I don’t want either of them to win,” the citizen in question, a young man, said. “They only picked a few issues that are important to them, when the correct answer is all of them. They should be focusing on climate change and the energy crisis and the housing crisis and the wars. Why only try to do one thing? They have such a huge platform, and they are focusing too hard on those limiting issues that they have chosen. Important issues, of course, but restricting. You can’t do anything else while spending all of your time and money on one small problem.”

The first electoral debate took place yesterday evening. When asked what they would do to improve the lives of families, this is what they answered.

“Family life is very important to me,” James responded. “I grew up as the youngest in a family of eight kids, and we are still very close. If I had to pick one way to make life better for these families who are struggling in the economic state we are in, I would lower the annual taxes for those who have more than three children so that they could conserve money to pay for their necessities, rather than sending their money to the government.”

After the momentous applause, Sharon took her time to respond. “Though I grew up an only child with a single father, I understand how important family is. My dad and I did everything together, and still do. I believe that he’s even in the audience right now.” She paused to take a breath. “If I was elected, I would lower the prices for family homes to give everyone a chance to make the kind of life that they deserve and desire, without having to worry about the financial restrictions behind it.”

The rest of the debate was very interesting- you can find the official transcript here.

Who do you think would make a better leader? Send your votes in here or in the comments, and keep your eyes out for the election on July 27, 2022.

PART TWO
MOVIE REVIEW- 822/800

Have you ever wondered what it would be like to go to space? To experience the wonders and challenges that come with leaving this planet? To bond so closely with a team of partners and friends to the point where you are willing to trust them with your life and beyond?

In Interstellar, the cinematic masterpiece of a science fiction film directed by Christopher Nolan, you can.

This movie opens up with a small family, living in a dystopian future where resources are scarce and farming has become the most important profession. Cooper, or Coop, an ex-NASA pilot, has left his enthralling job to work on the farm with his father, the grandfather of his two kids, Tom and Murph (Murphy).

Coop was not born to be a farmer. He still dreams of the sky, wondering what happened to drive humanity to a point where not everybody did. However, he is intelligent- he knows that farming is more important at this point, and he buckles down to do what needs to be done for his world.

According to his teacher, Tom, his oldest child, is destined for farming. His future is laid out for him before the age of fifteen. Murph, however, is different. She shows an incredible interest in the past life of her father, asking him questions about his model jets and even getting permission to fly the drone that ends up in a field near their house.

Murph is curious about other things, too. She suspects that there is a ghost living in her room, occasionally pushing the books off her shelf, causing dust to fall to the ground. Her father rejects this completely- he believes in science and fact, not the supernatural or paranormal. However, when the dust pushed off her shelf appears to form a message in binary, he begins to accept that something may be wrong. This binary translates to coordinates, which the two of them visit. After discovering what is there, Coop is forced to take his past life back, leaving his two children and elderly father on Earth.

In my opinion, this movie is incredible.

Visually, the shots are beautifully framed and colored well. There is never a moment where nothing is happening, even if the current scene is taking place on the dusty farm rather than in the stars.

Plot-wise, everything is perfect. The small details that they throw at you at the beginning of the movie undoubtedly come back at you later on, connecting all of the loose ends that you were wondering about. The climax of this movie has your eyes locked to the television screen, nervous about what is going to happen next. However, not everything that happens in this film is action-related- some of the best scenes are the sad ones, and most of those are the ones that you end up remembering.

Another great thing about this movie is the music. The original scores were created by the musical legend Hans Zimmer, whose work has appeared in many other popular films. The music creates a nervous tension for the viewer, and each beat seems to have been carefully curated and chosen for that exact moment.

To even things out in this review, I will be mentioning two negative things that are commonly mentioned in low reviews.

The first is the length. Interstellar is two hours and forty nine minutes long, which is quite a long time for someone to stare at the television. This can also be an issue with the complexity of the film- some of the complicated plot lines involving time dilation could be lost on a viewer who is tired or struggling to focus on what is happening. However, after a certain point the film becomes extremely interesting, and I doubt that it would be easy to get bored. If long movies aren’t for you, you could either skip watching this one, or split it up into two days of viewing.

The second is, like I mentioned above, the more complex storylines. Some of the things mentioned in this movie are complicated terms that people may not know much about, and this could cause them to get confused or lose track of what is going on in the film. If you are looking for a simple movie that you can watch while turning your brain off, Interstellar is, at this time, not the best movie for you. However, if it interests you but are afraid of getting lost in the plot, I would suggest googling an explanation after viewing it. There are many articles explaining the time issues in Interstellar and how they compare to reality. These are extremely interesting, and I would suggest reading them even if you don’t want to watch the film!

To put it simply, I would give Interstellar five stars out of five, and would recommend it to anybody who enjoys science fiction or would want something interesting to watch.

PART THREE
SCIENCE- 510/500

The James Webb Space Telescope has taken its first images, and they are going to be released on July 12, 2022.

This release of photos is a momentous occasion. The James Webb Space Telescope has replaced Hubble as the most capable space telescope in history, and these images will be those with the highest resolution ever taken. Two days from now, we will get a closer look into our Universe than we have ever had, and there is only more to come from that point.

On July 9, NASA (the National Aeronautics and Space Administration) released what the images will be of. The list of cosmic targets consists of the Carina Nebula, WASP-96 b, the Southern Ring Nebula, Stephan’s Quintet, and SMACS 0723. The unveiling of these images opens the beginning of James Webb’s operations for the future.

However, we still have two days to wait before these images are upon us. For now, let us dive into what exactly the James Webb Space Telescope is, and how it is changing the world of space exploration, one photo at a time.

The James Webb Space Telescope (or the JWST) is an extremely powerful space telescope that was launched on December 25, 2021. Using infrared light to view past cosmic events in our Universe, this telescope is able to see more distant objects than the Hubble Space Telescope (the previous most powerful, launched in early 1990) ever could.

The James Webb Space Telescope allows us to unlock and discover the past events in the history of our Universe. We can now see farther than ever before, with each image more incredible and high resolution than the last. This telescope is the key to viewing exactly how our existence began, and why it matters. It is, to this point, one of the peak inventions of humanity, and the best that the James Webb Space Telescope is still yet to be discovered.

When these images are released on Tuesday, some may view them as ordinary, similar to the other ones shown in previous years. However, in reality, these images are the rewards for the decades of hard work put into the James Webb Space Telescope between 2004 and 2021 by hundreds of scientists and engineers. These images are the efforts of all of those who dedicated their lives to this project, and those who may never get the chance to see them. Something that you are able to scroll through on your mobile device was taken farther away than you can imagine, and was worth all of the time put into it by everyone who helped.

Make sure to find the images released on July 12, 2022, and tell me what you think. Prepare to see some incredible images of the Universe that you may never have the chance to see again- we are currently living in the peak of humanity, and the peak of space travel. These images will mark the beginning of a new era, and we are here, experiencing it, not through the history books of the future, but firsthand.

PART FOUR
OBITUARY- 217/200

Author and musician Bradley Sant passed away yesterday evening (Saturday, July 9, 2022, at 6:31PM) at the age of 81.

Bradley had a vibrant and successful career. He published fourteen books in his lifetime, and released three albums. Though never a chart topper, Bradley was a well-known member of the community, and his songs were commonly sung at events all around town.

He was also a father. His two kids, Maria (51) and Anders (48), are both devastated to hear of his passing, but glad that he had the chance to live the life that he always wanted. He left each of them half of his earnings, which they are using to donate to an unnamed charity that they say he has always supported and encouraged.

The impact of Bradley has been seen throughout our community. Hundreds of citizens showed up to his funeral, which occurred this morning, making the event a kind of community gathering. One of his last requests was that we as a town do not mourn his death but instead celebrate his life, and the funeral reflected that sentiment.

We are all sad to see Bradley go, but are sure that the ripples he has made to the writing, as well as music, industry will continue to expand for years to come.

TOTAL WORDS: 2359/2300

Writing Contest Entry
July 12, 2022
1611 words

Ephemeral
A short story by Lucy


Why are our feet always so planted to the ground? Is it gravity, inertia? Is it fear, the desire to crumble back down into the dirt we were born in, to become the roots to the very trees that hold up our skies?

-

The rain patters on the window, soft plinking noises that cause the heart to swell.

“Is it happening, Mother?” the young boy asks, his pale face pressed against the windowpane. Raindrops trickle down, creating streaks of water around his eyes. “Is this the big storm?”

His mother is not as invested as he. She is sitting cross legged on the hardwood of the floor, sketching something out in her sketchbook by candlelight. The storm had knocked out the power hours earlier, yet the gusts of wind and rain seemed to show no signs of stopping.

“I don’t know. It could be,” she answers, not taking her eyes off the thick piece of drawing paper in front of her. The pencil twirls around the page, the rough lines so faint that they can barely be seen in the light of the candles.

He looks over at her. “You’ve seen it before, right?” She nods absentmindedly. “Is that why you don’t seem to care about seeing it again?”

She drops the piece of paper down to her knees, locking eyes with her son and smiling gently. “Of course I care,” she assures him, “I’m just busy with work right now. This storm can last a while, you know- the last one I saw went for almost twenty two hours.”

The young boy looks shocked. “Twenty two hours?” he repeats. “How am I going to be able to sleep through that?”

She laughs softly, standing up and walking over to him. “I’ll stay here with you,” she whispers, settling into the window seat beside him and rubbing his back affectionately. He gives her a wide smile and lets his head drop down to her shoulder, shutting his eyes and letting the rain lull him into an easy sleep.

-

The air outside, fresh from the rain, overwhelms their noses, but the members of the community sit in a loose circle, exchanging stories from their times inside during the storm. After twenty three hours of isolation, the rain had ceased, and the blooming was due to begin.

He sits next to his mother, clenching her hand in his. She is laughing to some of her neighbours, a dandelion crown crafted by her son resting lightly on her head. The boy is picking wet grass from the ground and throwing it up into the sky, letting it fall onto his head and into his mouth.

As he lets more grass fly, his mother taps his hand gently, motioning to the unbloomed flowers in the center of their community circle. As the stems twist higher in the air, more and more heads turn to watch them, their eyes pulled to the beauty. Ethereal petals erupt from the top of those stems, small but powerful, the morning dew resting on their tips.

The grass in the hand of the boy falls gently back to where it came from, and his jaw drops. He has never seen anything so captivating in his life- he is watching the birth of a miracle, a patch of sudden buds erupting into flowers. He does not want it to end.

Soon, dark clouds return to the still-gray sky. Those sitting, whose eyes were focused on the Blooming, notice, standing up and hurrying back to their homes. The storms in this town are fierce. Getting caught in one can be deadly.

The boy and his mother stand up. She is beckoning her to follow him down the path, but he cannot leave. His eyes are unable to resist the temptations of those flowers, of their angelic petals and the beauty of their sudden lives. Tears well up in his eyes at the thought of departing so soon, not dissimilar to those raindrops in the sky.

The members of the community still remaining look at him in distaste, wondering how he can refuse to leave in the event of danger. Who raised him to prioritize beauty over life? His mother only laughs, running back to him.

“Go home,” she instructs him with a smile. “I will grab you some of the flowers.”

He looks at her in shock and excitement. “Really?” He does not know anybody else who has any of the Blooming flowers. He does not even know if they are allowed to be taken.

She nods, pushing him gently away back towards the path as she makes her way to the center of the circle, about one hundred meters away from the edges where they were sitting.

Without taking a look back, he begins the sprint down to the path, paying no notice to the clouds approaching overhead.

-

This storm is more fierce than the last one. He sits alone on the windowpane, face still pressed against the glass, eyes squinting to try and make out anything in the distance- the light brown of her hair, the splatter of yellow from her dandelion crown, the pale pink of her dress with the skirt that flows around her ankles. Anything of his mother that could stand out against the gray of the rain and the flashing of the lightning.

It has already been an hour. It takes, on average, ten minutes from the center of the path to the porch of their home. They timed it, once, wanting to know for no particular reason. Now, this seemingly unimportant statistic is the only thing the young boy can think about.

He wants to lean his head against someone, to fall asleep to the rain. He wants to cry to a friend, to ask why his mother has not returned to him. He wants to tell his mother that all he wants is her to come back- she does not even need to bring the flowers.

Instead, he rests his head against the cold glass and shuts his eyes, letting the lightning flash on the other side of his eyelids as he waits to hear the door to the home open again.

-

The door did open again. The sound of the knob turning awakened the boy immediately, and he rushed over to the front room in excitement, but his face fell and eyes widened when he saw what awaited him.

“Are you the son of a woman named Mara?” one of the men standing there asks, bending down on one knee to stare directly in the eyes of the boy.

He nods, still clutching a pillow that he had brought with him from the windowpane across his chest.

“What is your name, and how old are you?” the man asks, not unkindly. The boy tells him. The man stands back up, looking uncertainly at the two men beside him as if he did not know what to do next.

One of them steps forward, his eyes soft as he looks at the small boy. “Your mother did not make it out of the storm.” He lifts something out of his small bag- a dandelion crown, splattered yellow and white, the same one that had been resting on the freshly washed hair of his mother only hours ago. The rain has broken some of the flowers, having pressed them down by weakening the petals.

The boy does not speak. He cannot comprehend what they are saying. He did not know that his mother was just as ephemeral as the flowers that she so loved to collect.

The man reaches into his bag once more. He pulls out a small flower, stem twisted and curled, ethereal petals translucent, radiating a glow. He hands it to the boy without speaking before the three of them leave the home. Somewhere, deep in his mind, the boy knows that they will be waiting outside. They cannot leave a minor alone in their home. They know that he needs time to understand. To process.

He lets the flower drop to the ground, wishing more than anything that he had been able to walk away. This was his fault. If it weren’t for him, she would be here, flowers in her hair as she cooked pancakes on the stove, batter flying onto her brightly colored apron as she tried to sing along to whatever song is on the radio, whether she knew the lyrics or not. She would be hugging him, smelling of fresh lemonade, white sandals beside his dirt-covered sneakers. She would be whispering words of hope to him, appreciation and thankfulness for getting to be the one parent he deserved.

She would be telling him that she loved him, something that she would never get the chance to do again. Because of him.

He stares at the flower, heart beating and legs shaking as the feelings hit him for the first time. It was his fault, his fault along with the fault of this flower, this flower that she had spent her last moments trying to grab for him. They could have both made it. She could have run when the rain began, grabbed the flower later. It was his fault.

He lets the flower fall to the ground, putting his shoes on top of it, trying to crush it under his feet. Letting the petals grind into dust under the power of the soles.

Letting himself destroy the thing that had played a part in destroying her.

prompt: “giving away my turtle shaped nightlight that projects stars onto the ceiling ” (from @-redredrobin-)

“Are you done packing up?” your mom asks, opening the door to your bedroom. She is holding two packed boxes close to her chest, and is rummaging through one of them with one hand.

You nod without looking up, eyes focused on the astronomy book in your hand. “Yeah. I put all of the stuff I want to donate in a pile outside my door. I don’t know if you have collected them yet or not.”

She pokes around your room. “Well, I have, but it wasn’t much. This garage sale is a big deal- we need to find a lot of items to sell.” She pauses, before saying, “what about this?”

Your mom is holding up your first nightlight, shaped like a turtle. You had gotten it when you were three- when you weren’t even allowed to plug things into the wall by yourself. It had projected tiny stars onto your ceiling, a galaxy of your own inside your bedroom. This was one item that she could not give away.

Throwing your book to the side, you stand up and hurry over to where she is standing, grabbing the nightlight from her hands. “You can’t give this away!”

She rolls her eyes. “It’s just a nightlight. You never even use it anymore. Does it even work at this point?”

“Even if it doesn’t work, that doesn’t mean I don’t need it.” You clutch it close to you, closing your eyes and turning your face to the ceiling, visualizing the stars that it once projected there as you jump onto your bed and cover your biggest pillow. You hear her sigh and walk over to you, rubbing your head gently.

“You can’t keep it forever, honey. It has no real value to anyone except to you.”

“Then why would we ever try to sell it at a garage sale?” you can’t help reply, muffled by the pillow.

She laughs. “You got me there.” After a short pause, she continues, “could you just tell me why you don’t want to sell it?”

You sit up, staring down at your covers. You pick up the astronomy book from beside you, holding it up for her to see. “Do you really think that I would own this book if it weren’t for that nightlight?”

She still does not understand. “What do you mean?”

You point at the book. “It’s a book. An astronomy book. The science of space. Do you truly believe that I would be at all interested in space if I weren’t shown that the stars could be in my own room each night for years?”

Your mom stays silent for a moment. “I guess not,” she says, finally, reluctance in her voice. She stands up, picking back up her boxes from earlier as she begins to leave the room.

“Thank you,” you call out. You see her turn back to look at you through the doorway, a smile on her face.

“There’s nothing to thank me for,” she answers. “Let’s try to fix that nightlight tonight, okay?”

“Okay,” you reply, beginning to smile as well. She leaves the room, and you lie back down on your bed, picking up your book and continuing to read.

The three things that I did for the fifth Rift Challenge were:

- Taking ten images from interesting angles of household objects! This one was so much fun, and I loved doing it. If you want to see the photos I took, I have all ten posted in the project here: https://scratch.mit.edu/projects/714472403/ . I also borrowed my dad’s phone for this one since the camera quality on my device is not very good, and it was nice being able to take photos that came out crisp and clear!

- Listening to music for ten minutes without doing anything else! I got very excited when I saw that this was an option- I already do this occasionally, and this gave me an excuse to do it again! The songs that I listened to were “Too Much Time” by John Vanderslice (3:28), “Running Up That Hill” by Kate Bush (4:58), and “Seaside” by Haux (3:26), coming to a total of eleven minutes and twelve seconds of listening!

- Thirty minutes of exercise! I walked with my dad and brother for about an hour and a half this morning, which I believe would count for the thirty minutes! We walked down the promenade beside the beach near our house, visited relatives who live nearby, and explored some local playgrounds. We also went to buy some chips and chocolate at a convenience store nearby!

Part One

Marriage is an essential part of life
The more children you have, the more respected you are in society
Vast wasteland, buildings scattered and far between
Royalty is praised and loved, no matter what
If you disagree with something someone respected says, you are exiled
Royal family rather than elected ruler
Those with higher education than most are forbidden from engaging with others
The more you know, the more danger you pose to the community
If a child commits a crime, the whole family is shunned
Residents are only permitted to speak one language
Those with intelligence levels under a certain minimum are forbidden from running for any political role
If you disagree with someone who is not generally respected, you must tell them and explain why
Outer space is worshipped, and the residents see the Sun as a sort of mythical being
Friendships and personal relationships besides marriage should be kept quiet and to a minimum
Keep your opinion about community matters to yourself
If you do not hold an important role on the Council, you will be judged on your wealth rather than on your suggestions
You may not leave the community by your own volition
Everything you say will be remembered, and can be used against you on a later date
Everything that you do has consequences that could come back and affect you as well as your (mandatory) family members
Keep your loved ones close

338/200
Tucked into a small fold of a large desert wasteland lives Shiro, a community of royalty and commoners surviving on the rules that were implanted there decades ago. The industrial establishments located there are few and far between, containing the markets of the region as well as the homes of the residents, all living with prosperous families. Those in Shiro are required to house a minimum of two children, and those who are unable to do this originally will be provided with the children of those who have been exiled.
If a child commits any crime considered serious (theft to murder), the parents of that child will be shunned as they have raised the child to be this way. The child in question will be held in the community until new members are added, who then become the new parents of that child.
Exile is the only way to leave the community. Once you are selected to be a resident, a resident is what you are. A marital partner is selected for you, as well as a permanent career that you will take part in until you reach the range of retirement.
Intelligence is looked down upon in Shiro. If you have a level of education considered to be above average, you will be slightly separated from the rest of the community. Knowledge is power, and nobody should be more powerful than the others. The same goes for languages- if a resident knows more than the local language of Shiro, that language will soon be forgotten, naturally or by force.
Any disrespect to royalty is strongly illegal. Any statement that could be considered treason will be remembered, and if a reason for your arrest is needed in the future, it can be reviewed. The same goes for the actions you make towards the respected members of Shiro.
Rules are the most important thing for this secretive community of the desert. They are required for the members to flourish- after all, how can you be yourself without any help?

407/400
It would be expected that, having lived in a community like Shiro for two years, it would be easy to get settled in. This is, in reality, an incorrect thought, as there are constant changes arriving in a place like this one that can never be expected, let alone prepared for in any way.
You had been giving a partner and two children the previous year. You loved them, of course, in a robotic sort of way- your daughter with her pigtails and freckles, your son with his electric eyes, your wife with her laughing face. They were connected to you in a way that did not feel as mandatory as it should. They were only given to you as a way to keep you out of prison- you did not choose your love, and, in that way, it was strange that you felt it nonetheless.
Unlike for most people, your past life had been considered a problem when you first joined the community. Education had been your previous joy- you had studied for years, obtaining multiple degrees in various fields. This had been something respected and admired about you, but now it was a dark blemish on your character. How could you be trusted when you held the power to those things that others knew nothing about? How could you be trusted when you were able to look at the sky and know that the Sun was simply a star in a distant void, rather than a mythical God, created to be worshipped and admired? It was simply impossible.
Languages had been another issue. You had been fluent in French and Russian as well as your native language, which was regarded as unacceptable as a world like this. The process of forgetting had been painstaking- you had spent years learning these languages, and they were now being released from your mind as if you had never once spoken them.
You wished that it did not have to be this you. You wished that you were able to create family in this strange desert town without abandoning all of the things that had made you you- your passions, your education, your independent thoughts. You wished that you could stay yourself in a place that was so focused on changing you. However, it may have been better that you did not. After all, how chaotic would the world be if everyone was trying their best to be themselves?

Part two

What kind of magic is used in your world? The magic used in this world is soft, almost invisible. You can’t use it to destroy others or commit crimes for your own gain- the magic is not even visible to those up who do not want to see it. Instead, the magic is located in the laughter of the children, the twisting cobblestones of the road, the falling of the rain. The magic is intertwined with the ordinary of the community, making everything just a bit more lovely than it would be elsewhere.
How is the magic in the world used in the character’s everyday lives? What are the different abilities? The abilities of the characters vary. Some of them are able to influence others- they are able to push and twist their words in a way that makes them seem different than they are. Some of them are able to change the atmosphere of the community in the simplest times- a single tear can bring town the mood, darkening the skies; a single laugh opening it back up. These abilities are unknown to most- they are viewed as skills, talents given at random.
What are the laws of your world, specifically about magic? Punishments? The laws in this community regarding magic are disobeyed and ignored. As magic is intertwined into the very being of the community, it is hard for the residents to control when they use it and what they use it for. If a Council member were to attempt an arrest at the hand of illegal magic, they would be laughed out of the courtroom, shunned and exiled for the attempt at stifling the talent and rarity that the community was given when it was created.
What is the origin of your magic? Nobody knows or understands the origin of the Shiro magic. When the community of the desert was originally discovered, the magic was already there, and it has grown and flourished since, growing stronger and more prominent to the residents and to the infrastructure. It may disappear one day, but until that point comes, the magic users as well as the rest of the community will continue to use it for everything they need, using it as if it is unconditional and everlasting.
How common is magic, and are all characters aware they possess it? Magic is extremely common in this community, and most of the characters are aware to some degree that they possess it. They are conditioned once they join the community that they may already contain it, or develop it in the future, and many find that prospect exciting and incredible. Those who do not respect or appreciate the magic are exiled, left to survive on their own with their own devices in the dangerous world outside of the community and desert of Shiro.
How can you ensure the magic in your story is realistic, and is written as a normalized part of your world? As I have mentioned in the earlier questions, magic is extremely common in this community. It is almost more common for a character to have some sort of ability rather than not. I will use this normality to show that magic is not something uncommon or strange, and is instead something that should be expected and something looked out for at all times. Making sure that magic is not regarded as bizarre is important to me, especially since it is so built into the community history.
How is magic viewed in your world (ie. as a boring normal, as a fascinating element of their life, or as a curse on society etc.)? Magic is viewed as something practically built into the infrastructure of this community. All of the residents have grown used to it since joining the community, and, at this point, they would be more shocked to join a community where it is not as common. All of them have grown to expect the glowing coils of magic, coursing the veins of the city, and many have even developed their own abilities and rare skills. If anyone views the magic as strange, their opinion will soon change as they adapt.
Are there any sensations the characters feel when they are using magic? Describe these sensations using their five senses. Sight: When the characters use their magic, they will shut their eyes, but will see coils of color and shapes behind their eyes, neon steaks creating stripes against their eyelids. Smell: They will smell smoke and burning, the effort they are putting into using it creating a mental flame. Taste: They will taste metal, a tangy feeling against their tongue. Feel: Their heart rate will increase, and slight shakes will course through their body. Hear: They will hear hard wind against their ears.
What happens when magic gets out of control in your world? When magic gets out of control in this community, the effects and implications that occur could be catastrophic. Since the weather changes with the mood of the community, a dark event that plunges the residents into a deep depression can cause violent storms ranging from anywhere to freezing snowstorms to heatwaves that cause lethargy and fatigue, dangerous to young children and older adults. This does not happen regularly, but had it happen, it would cause immeasurable chaos and disaster for everyone.
What are some slang terms or other words used in your world that are related to magic?
Does magic affect the government of your world? If so, how? Yes, the magic regularly impacts the choices and opinions of the government in this community. As many members are able to manipulate their words to shape and move the thoughts in the minds of others, they would be able to impact the laws passed into their region. This is very looked down upon, and can be punishable by law, but it has happened numerous times, especially in smaller political elections with unlikable or controversial candidates. It is rare for people to attempt this, but it does happen.

PART THREE

1- Urban Fantasy
310/300

You walk quickly, trying not to let your feet tap against the road. Nobody is awake at this hour- the lights are off in the towering city apartments, and the humming of the electricity from the power lines is all that you can hear.

Your heart beats quickly as thoughts pound in your head. Did somebody notice you sneak in? Are you being followed? Did somebody see what you stole? You try to block them out of your mind, but it is hard not to focus on the pessimistic side of things. You concentrate on speeding up your walking, clenching the stolen item tight inside your pocket.

The item had been stolen only hours earlier. You had not been the one to steal it- you were not yet at that level of trust within the group. You were only the designated carrier, the one to complete the escape. They had said that it was because you were fast, nimble. You know that it was simply because your life meant nothing to them, not really. You have nobody to go back to.

You hear a voice from behind you. “Do not move a muscle.”

Ignoring its request, you spin around to see nobody. As you frantically look around for the source of the voice, you hear it again.

“Do not run away.”

You can tell how loud the voice is now. It echoes in your mind, soft and low. Maybe that is all that it is- in your mind, invented by your amounts of stress and fear at the thought of getting caught.

A hand touches your shoulder gently, the voice in your mind speaking again. “Do not protest.” A dark light erupts behind your eyelids, filling your mind with fog and confusion as the darkness attempts to swallow you whole. Your mind has become a prison.

“Hand over the item.”

2- Dystopian Fantasy
308/300

You are huddled over the desk in your room, filling out the worksheet that had been placed in your mailbox this morning. It was the same one that was given to you every day- asking if you had seen any unusual magical activity. You always checked the same boxes: no unusual activity, no unusual sounds, no unusual words spoken between you and your neighbours. Once, when you were younger, you had considered lying, checking yes on one or more of the boxes. Just to see what would happen. You had never ended up doing it, and you were glad- a dangerous act like that could get one of your neighbours arrested, or worse.

However, despite the repetitive box checking, this worksheet made you nervous tonight. Today, you had done something that you should not have done. You had utilized your abilities, just for a moment. It was doubtful that anyone had seen- you had been very careful about it- but the nerves enveloped you all the same. What if someone had seen you? What if someone was coming at this very moment? A government issued officer, dressed in black, almost anonymous but not. You had never seen one in person, and you did not want to, unlike the way it was when you were a child.

You had wanted to be a government officer when you were younger. You had wanted to administer justice. Now you knew that, in this town, justice was almost certainly no different than death.

You hear a knock on your door, and you drop your pencil. Have they come for you? Are you only moments away from arrest, from confinement, from the end? It is impossible to know without opening the door. You push your chair back, standing up.

Whatever is going to happen, you must face it.

It is your only chance.

3- Science Fantasy
312/300

“We would like to invite the president of this Council to the stage for a short speech.” The member on the stage takes a step back, stepping off the stage and giving you a small smile of encouragement.

The audience applauds as you make your way up, and you smile and wave back politely, though all you feel is nervous. Clutching the microphone handed to you, you take a deep breath.

“Two years ago, we were all afraid. We were afraid of what was going to happen in the future, but more than anything we were afraid of the past. We knew that the past had the technology to venture into our time, but we did not know their intentions and did not have a mission planned to counterattack. Now we do.”

More applause erupts from the audience, but you silence it by holding up your hand.

“Using the machine behind this curtain, we will journey back in time and destroy all of those things that could destroy us. The shadow magic that they employ, the wizards that they hold so sacred- we believe that these things should not exist. They should be confined to the books of children, not our reality. We are going back in time to destroy those things in hope that they do not come and destroy us. We will end the bloodline of magic in our past to save our future.”

This time, you let them applause. This is something that should be applauded.

“We are ready to end the things that want to end us. We are ready to make the step back in time. We are ready.” You pause, making eye contact with those in the front of the crowd. “We all have a long journey ahead.”

You step down from the stage, ears ringing. They are ready. They were all ready.

But are you?

This is feedback on a short story by @Coco_animator! Coco- this short story is very good! I love the emotion you captured in it. Please don’t worry about any of the critiques I have mentioned- you can completely ignore them all if you choose to. I am not a professional in the slightest, so please take everything I say with a grain of salt (a grain of pencil shavings?)!


Jade jerked up from her sleep and glanced at the ravishing panorama outside the window. Verdant intertwined bushes were overloading the region, leaving a chaotic yet outlandish scenery. The fragrance of fresh strawberries aromatised the air as pleasingly as an adequate perfume. The birds twittered and hummed a peaceful and soothing song that cleared Jade's mind and,unfortunately, also reminded her of the terrible news she had received. Jade shook her head at the scenery with a bitter expression on her face. This paragraph is full of some very good writing! The only suggestion I would make is that there seem to be a lot of adjectives as well as less common words. This is good in moderation, but when they are used often, they can sometimes seem to take away from the story. I would take out some of the extra adjectives and uncommon words (such as ravishing, verdant intertwined bushes, and chaotic yet outlandish) and replace them with phases that still help the reader visualize the scene without overwhelming using so many words

Nothing good ever lasts.

Jade got up from her bed and headed toward the bathroom door. She quickly changed into her beige hoodie and dark blue baggy jeans. I might also say there is a bit too much detail here- if I am correct in assuming that her clothing won’t be mentioned again, you probably don’t need to go into so much description about it. Saying “her beige hoodie and dark jeans” could still give a good visual while being succinct about it. She heard something rattle in her pocket, and out of curiosity, fished it out.

She instantly regretted it when she saw the picture.

Her family was standing in front of the Christmas tree, making absurd lopsided faces at each other and sticking out their tongues. Jade was standing in the front, with……
………her brother. The ellipses here could be cut down! You could say, “Jade was standing in the front, with… her brother” while still maintaining the suspense and the shock factor involved.

A tear ran down her cheek as it touched the floor, causing an audible dripping noise as it gradually vanished from sight. I can’t see the correlation between the first part and the second part of this sentence- you said that the tear runs down her cheek as it touches the floor, while those should be separate events. You could rephrase this as “a tear ran down her cheek, slowly falling to the floor, causing a splash as it vanished from sight”. Jade looked at the ceiling and clenched her fist, her meaning clear.

Why do these things always happen to me?

She let out a muffled sob and dropped to the floor, tears flooding down her face as she traced her finger over the figure of her brother. Two weeks ago, Jade had received the melancholy (there might be a better word than melancholy here that can convey the extreme sadness more, such as awful or terrible) news that her dear brother had died in a car crash. She had still not overcome the gap in her stomach after his death. Every time she thought of him, a bang of despair came over her. Changing bang of despair to wave of despair could help for visualization!

Jade wiped away her tears and cleared her throat, determined to be strong and not let anything overcome her. You already used the word overcome in the last paragraph, and I think that “not let anything destroy her” may have more of an impact on the reader. She unlocked her bedroom door and strode toward the living room. She collapsed into the sofa and switched on the television, desperate to get the picture of her brother out of her mind.

nothing happens in this story, but it’s okay
+339 words without using the words and/or/the for the cabin war extra challenge!


-


As those familiar stars shone from above, a young girl sat on top of her parents' red truck, looking up at those strange things that nobody could really understand. They glowed alongside hundreds of satellites, launched up into orbit after a cumulation of hard work by many employees.

As that darkness from up above started to envelop her, she closed her eyes, letting all of that quiet, that chaos from it sink into her mind. It pulled her under until she wanted to be able to accept that it would not let her out. Why would she not want to be condemned to an imprisonment so beautiful, after all?

Outer space had not been an interest of hers for very long. It started only years prior, when NASA had launched their Mars rover back in early 2020. This had set off her obsession- after all, how could she not become obsessed with something that was so stunning, so mysterious? It had only made sense for her to dedicate her life to a craft like this one that was ever changing as well as ever expanding.

She had faced criticism after making this decision. After all, she was young! She was still so naive- how could she know what she truly wanted at this age? She would surely grow up to change her mind, to become something more common, an accountant, maybe a banker. Why would she want to become something like an astronaut? So frivolous, so unimportant. They asked her why she was so afraid of making a difference in this world.

Of course, she was not afraid of making a difference. Making a difference was all that she wanted to do- that was exactly why she wanted to become an astronaut. Is there really a better way to change this world other than living it?, she asked herself. She never came up with any different opinion on this matter. This was what she wanted to do. There was (is) not any reason for her to change that.

This story basically follows an organization that helps people, with the Chosen One (the main character) as the leader. If you find any issues in the weekly, please tell me, and I’ll be happy to fix them!

I got permission from the daily leaders to use the text version of this weekly (thank you very much)!

Begin a story that is around one hundred words long.

How is it that the Sun sometimes feels so much closer than it really is? Is it perception, the way that we view it from our humble, distanced standpoint, or is it confusion, a warped sense of view based on where we want it to be? Do we bring it closer when we feel cold, push it away when we want everything to grow cold? It is very difficult to view the things that we do from any point of view other than our own. It is very difficult, but not impossible. Nothing is truly impossible at this day and time. (101/100)

Path one: The Boring Rooms
The Theatre: Use the “Chosen One” trope in your story for around 200 words
Lights Sabotage: Completed! I lay on my bed, staring at the ceiling, for fifteen minutes.

Your phone rings, which is unusual. It doesn’t normally ring so early in the morning- it never normally rings at all. You rub your eyes and crawl out of bed, grabbing your phone. Fumbling with the home screen, you click the accept button, pressing it to your ear.

“Hello?” you say, voice still scratchy from your previous night of rest. Your eyes are still blurry, and you rub them, phone still being held up to your ear.

“Is it you?” the voice on the other end asks. You yawn, then sigh, as you assume that this is yet another prank call. They had been circulating around your town recently, and you had been expecting to receive one for the first time. As your finger hovers over the “End Call” button, the speaker on the end says your name. You pause, and you hear them chuckle. “It is you. We need your help.”

“My help?” you repeat after a short pause of hesitation. “What do you need my help with? Who are you?” All of the sleep haze is gone from your brain. You are fully concentrated on the call.

“It does not matter who we are, and it does not matter what we need you for. Not yet.” they reply. “Come to the address that has just been sent to you at midnight tonight. We need to talk.” (210/200)

Path Two: The Bulletin Boards
Leaderboard rankings: Find the opposite cabin of yours on the leaderboard, and ask a camper there for a prompt. Write for ten minutes.
Prompt: Write about how your main character wakes up every morning feeling as though they didn’t get more than a couple of hours of sleep. After sleep studies, medications, and trying everything available, nothing seems to work. They decide to videotape a night of sleep to determine if maybe they’re sleepwalking. Turns out, they are. Except they seem completely conscious. In fact, in the video, they approach the camera, smirk, and walk away with a wave before disappearing for nearly the entire night. (given to me from @23BraveHeart!)
Elevator Sabotage: I listened to a new album of music (a very good one) for fifteen minutes! Very relaxing.


“I just don’t get it,” the Doctor says to you, and you sigh. You knew that this was going to be yet another visit that did not uncover any answers, just like all of the other ones. You were slowly losing money from these, with no real results coming out of the pills and medications that they had you on. “You wake up each morning feeling tired, despite having gotten a good night of sleep, covered in marks that indicate sleepwalking, but your brain waves during the night are not stimulated. It is as if you should be fast asleep, but you clearly aren’t.”

You nod, wondering why they are reading the explanation you gave to them before the meeting back to you. “That’s exactly what happens.”

“And nobody has ever seen you sleepwalking?” they ask, clearly grasping for straws. You shake your head no, and they sigh. “I try not to do this, because it seems to be unhealthy for some patients, but this is what I want you to do. When you go home tonight, set up a camera near your bed. As you begin to fall asleep, press record. When you wake up, stop the recording, and rewatch the footage. Please send it to me, too.”

You nod again. “You think that this will catch if I am actually sleepwalking?”

“If you are, this will definitely catch it. If you are not, something else is wrong, and you will need to come back on for another appointment. It is always strange asking a
attention to send me a video of the, sleeping, but at this point, it is the only thing that I can think of to help you.”

“Thank you, Doctor,” you say, as you leave the office, picking up your bag on the way out.

Your Doctor looks solemn. “Stay safe,” they tell you.

-

“What is this?” they ask as you come into your appointment tomorrow morning. You are shocked- you sent them the video last night, just like they wanted. You hadn’t had the time to review it yourself beforehand, but you are positive that the angle was right and that you were recording. What could be wrong with it?

“What do you mean?”

“Look.” Your video is pulled up in their device behind them, paused on a certain clip. You stare at it, a chill rippling in waves down your spine. “You are clearly conscious in this picture. You were not asleep. Why did you send me this video?”

“I wasn’t awake,” you insist in a whisper. “I wasn’t awake.”

Your doctor narrows their eyes. “You clearly were. Look at this. Look at these stimulated brain waves. You were conscious.”

Something nudges at your brain. “Maybe I was awake, but I was not conscious.”

“What do you mean by that, exactly?”

A realization hits you, and you lick up your bag, stumbling out of the office. “I need you to go. Thank you for trying to help, but I am not going to be coming back here again.”

Your doctor begins calling out. “Where are you going? You already paid for this appointment! Come back, tell me what you meant when you said-“

You close the door before you can hear the end of the sentence. As you slam the doors open to the blinding, the cold air of outdoors hits you, and you lean against the wall outside, taking deep breaths as your heart rate increases.

You know what is happening. This had been going on since you had met them at the park, after the phone call. What had they done to you? (602/no word goal)

Path Three: The Host Rooms
Kitchen: Write for five minutes about a setting that provides comfort to your character.
Leaderboard Sabotage: Write a list of five achievements that you are most proud of. (Done! This was a very interesting one, since it forced me to focus on the things I was proud of instead of on the things I could improve on).

You stares up at the stars with a smile on your face. Permanence has been an issue in your life- everything is constantly changing with the tides, shifting and folding until they are no longer recognizable. You appreciates the stars for their persistence, how they seem everlasting. How they distract.

Deep down, you knows that the stars you are seeing may have ended years ago, exploding in chaotic sequences of light and force. You knows this, but you do not care. Merely the illusion of constancy comforts you in this moment when nothing else is able to- if you can convince herself that she will see them forever, maybe you will.

Feet tapping on the hood of your brother’s battered old truck, you rests her head on the top, folding your hands in her lap and looking up. The fact that they are able to calm you from so far away is an incredible feat of nature, the same way that the heat of the sun can cause annoyance when, in reality, it could hardly be farther away than it is.

In your mind, the stars are looking back down at you. Maybe you are their consistency. Maybe they look to you for the illusion of comfort the same way that you do to them. There is no way for you to know if this is true or not, so you banishes the thought from your mind. You banish every thought from your mind, just focusing on the sky, the statues of gas left there for generations. You focus on the everlasting, the never changing. You focus on the stars, trying to erase the thoughts that you should be having.

The Chosen One.
Necessary.
We need you.

You banish them, yet they come back. You know what you need to do. You need to go to the location they told you, after that night in the part. You need to follow their instructions. (323/no word goal)

Path Four: Dining Hall
Table Four: Incorporate the genres of mystery, adventure, or horror into your writing for five minutes.
Fire Sabotage: Stop working on this Weekly to eat or drink something for five minutes. (I already had breakfast, so I grabbed a (not very nutritious ^^’) snack and drink!

You are walking quickly- quicker than you may need to. Are your feet clicking too loudly against the granite floors? Is your breathing too loud? They may be able to hear you. How could they not? You are a symphony of accidental sounds. The only way to fix this would be to stop moving, stop breathing, freeze. Why are you so scared? You are allowed to be here.

You speed up.

A door appears in your vision at the end of the hallway. It does not seem to be barred shut like it should be- it could be a trap, your brain tells you, but you do not listen. Holding your breath, you push it open, the wood that it is made of cold in your hand.

As you walk through, you enter a hallway even darker than the previous. The walls in this one are curved, cylindrical- almost an echo chamber. Every footstep you take ricochets and reverbs off the walls around you.

You stop moving.

You do not know if the sounds you are hearing are echoes or new sounds.

Why are you standing still? You are being vulnerable. You are letting yourself be prey. Setting yourself up for danger. You know this, yet you do not move. Every logical thought your brain is having is being ignored. What is the point of having these thoughts at all?

A new noise. One that is certainly not an echo.

You are a sitting duck, alone in the hallway, darkness all around you.

A hand touches your shoulder gently.

“Do not move.” a voice whispers. “I’m glad you’re here.” (269/no word goal)

Path Five: The Throne Room
gHost Shrine: Write 300 words incorporating a flashback into your writing.
Gas Leak Sabotage: Do something else that is creative for fifteen minutes. (I did some interior design stuff online, and once I got bored of that, I resorted to photography. Lamp photography, to be specific. I was desperate.)

The grass is wet with the morning dew, yet you lie there, unable to sleep. Stems tickle your ankles, and you wonder what it would feel like to get covered with vines, if they grew all over you until you had no choice but to surrender yourself to nature.

As you lie in that field alone, your eyes half closed, a memory tickles the back of your brain. You don’t know what prompted this memory- the cylindrical hallway you were in is nothing like this field, and yet, it comes.

“I’m glad you’re here,” the voice had said. Your heart rate had increased out of shock, but you were not scared.

“I had to come, didn’t I? I recall you threatening me.” you replied, knowing that it was unwise, but needing to say it. Luckily, the person with his hand on your shoulder had just laughed.

“Have you rethought our request?” he asked, speaking formally, as if it was a choice rather than an obligation. This was nothing like how you had pictured it being- in the movies, once the Chosen One has been notified, the members of the group practically beg for their help. They were not intimidating. They were not threatening. They were not like this.

You had not rethought their request. You did not want to do this. You regretted picking up the phone call in the first place, you regretted going to meet them at the location they had instructed you to go to. At the same time, however, you remembered their threats, and you knew what you had to do. “Yes. I have decided that I will do it.”

He smiles. “Perfect. We will be in touch soon.”

You begin your walk down the hallway again, wondering if he will call anything else out to your. Your heart beat pounds with your footsteps, getting louder and louder. What did you just agree to?

That time was simpler. Full of innocence. That time was different.

You had no idea what you were agreeing to. (340/300)

Path Six: Other SWC Rooms
Battleground: The main motive of your character is revenge. Reveal this to another character in 200 words.
Forums sabotage: Come up with five reasons that you appreciate a Scratch Team member, and send it to them. (Done! This was such a wholesome sabotage!)

“I’m not a good person.”

He says this to you after a long pause, his eyes locked in with yours. Your heart drops in your stomach, almost as if you were on a rollercoaster. What does he mean by this? What has he done that has altered him?

“What? Of course you are,” you reply, not thinking much of it. He has helped you so much. His intentions are purely good. Ever since you had begun helping him and his cause, things had changed for you. Your life had improved, along with the lives of others. You are sure that he is a good person.

“You don’t know the full story. There is a reason why I do these things I do for you.” His voice is cold, different from any tone that you have ever heard him use.

“What is that reason?” you ask, frustrated with how ominous he is acting, messing with your emotions.

He pauses for a moment. “Revenge.” he answers finally, his eyes giving off no emotion. “I cannot tell you why I am fighting for revenge, or who it is against, but you must trust me. I am not a good person.”

You brush this off. “No. That’s not true.”

“You need to leave. This is going to get dangerous. I have helped you enough. Now, you can go.”

You lock eyes with him once again, your resistance fading.

“I will leave, but not willingly,” you say finally. “I believe that you are good, but I also trust you, and if you want me to go, I will go.”

He thanks you, but you do not hear him. You are already out of the room, confused and hurt. Are you no longer the Chosen One? (289/200)

Path Seven: Daily Team Booths
Birdi’s Booth: Write as much as you can in five minutes, take a break, then write as much as you can for the remaining five minutes!
Doors Sabotage: Write a list of ten awesome things about someone and send it to them. (Done! This is also such a wholesome sabotage, aah!)

You sit on your couch, scrolling to find a movie, trying to block out the lasy few weeks from your mind. The things that have been happening to you feel like some sort of a movie. You were called by the Group, chosen to help them and others improve their lives. You had done exactly what they had wanted, and you had been appreciated for it, but had suddenly been thrown out with no warning, having not been contacted since,

As you throw popcorn into your mouth, you deliberate why this could be. Did you do something wrong? Did you break some sort of unspoken rule, do something thay you should have known not to do? Why had you been told to leave, and what had he meant when he spoke of revenge?

You turn off the television with a sigh, giving up on the attempt to find something to watch. You already know that, whatever it is you choose, you will end up distracted with your own life throughout the whole thing. Looking outside, you notice that the sky is still relatively bright for nine in the evening. Pulling on your shoes before you can think about it, you open up the door and begin walking, letting the cold air of the outdoors revitalize your brain and help clear your thoughts.

The wind outside is overwhelming, blowing your hair in your face up to the point where it is hard to see where you are doing. It creates a chill thay breaks through your jacket, and soon enough you are shivering. After only ten or so minutes of walking, you turn back around and begin the journey home, looking forward to the heart, comfort, and familiarity that will surround you when you get back.

Slamming the door behind you, you pull your shoes off and throw them in the bin as you rub your hands together to regain warmth in them. Throwing yourself down on the couch, you pick up the remote once again, deciding to try to find a movie to watch again- hopefully with more success this time. Feeling something strange on the other side of it, you flip the remote over. It’s a piece of paper taped to the back, scrawled on with blank handwriting. A phone number.

Your heart speeds up in fear and anticipation. Could it be them? Could they want you to come back? You were glad that that part of your life was over, but at the same time, you had wanted it back. Now, you have the chance. The question was, if it was given to you, would you take it?

Pulling your phone out of your pocket, you dial the number written on the paper, listening to it ring over and over. Right as you are about to hang up and go back to the television, you hear a clicking sound, followed by static, coming from the other side.

“Are you ready to come back?” the voice on the other side asks, sounding just as familiar as you had hoped. A smile unintentionally creeps across your face, and you nod, despite the fact that it is only an audio call. Somehow, with all of your emotion, you manage to keep your voice steady and calm.

“If you want me to come back, I will come back,” you reply, “but I will need an explanation on why I was let go of in the first place. I need to know what you meant by revenge. I need to know what I can do for it to not happen again.”

You hear a sharp sigh. “I don’t know what I meant by that. I was looking for an excuse to let go of you- it was not my choice, it was an order, and I don’t know the reason why it was issued- and that was what I had come up with at the time. The order that I was following has now been revoked. We do want you back. Can you go to the same location as previously mentioned tonight? Midnight?”

Breathing quickly, you agree, hanging up immediately after.

It is time for all of it to happen again. (698/no word goal)

Path Eight: Workshops
Fanfic tropes: Include a song lyric in your writing!
Song: Jimmy by Tones and I
Water Sabotage: Thank three people in SWC for things they have done for you!

It is almost Midnight. You had thought that you would have been nervous, but now that it is in front of you, you feel calm. You enter the park field, just like you did the first time, and you notice him in the same place that he always is. You approach him quietly, trying out of habit not to create unnecessary amounts of noise.

He’s looking ahead of you when you approach him, almost as if he is seeing things that are not there. “What are you thinking about? you ask, knowing that is a strange question, but having an equally strange desire to know the answer to it.

“We should run away, but today we’ll stay,” he says quietly, not making eye contact with you. “We said that, someday, we would leave this all behind.”

“What do you mean by that?”

He shakes his head, finally looking at you. “Sorry. I’ve been sitting for a while, and it’s hard not to get lost in thought at this hour.”

“Why did you ask me here?” It is a direct question, but you need to know why. You had already agreed to start helping out again; why did you need to meet up?

“I wanted to confirm our agreement in person. Will you be able to come back to work?”

You give an involuntary laugh. Work. As if you have a choice, a choice that was not chosen for you like this one was. As if you were not obligated to accept it in the first place. “Yes. I’ll come back.”

“Why?“

This catches you off guard. “What?”

He shakes his head. “Nevermind. Go home. I just wanted to double check.”

You raise your eyebrows, shocked by how short the conversation had ended up being. “Okay. Goodbye.”

“Goodbye.” he returns, and you begin walking your way home, still running through the conversation in your mind. (314/300)

Path Nine: Basement
Printing Press: Write 250 words of your character overcoming their fear of failure.


You sit on the chair quietly, watching your heart rate go up. Why are you so afraid?, you ask yourself. It’s just one test. Just one. If you fail it, you’ll do it again, until you don’t fail any longer. You don’t understand why you are so afraid, and yet your heart is beating faster and faster, soon entering the triple digits.

Maybe your fear of failure stems from childhood. All of those times that you would come home from school, crying because you received a mark lower than the one that you had wanted on that test. Your parents had encouraged that sadness- they had told you to do better, to study harder, to bring your grade up at least a point and a half next time.

You inhale and exhale, trying to steady your breathing. This is not those times. You are no longer a child, bringing home a test that you are ashamed to have to show your parents. You are older, you are wiser, and you are stronger. You still do not want to fail, but the difference is that now you know that you have to. What joy would success have if you didn’t fail beforehand?

Getting up from the chair, you continue to regulate your breathing, watching your heart rate decrease, letting it fall back into the double digits. You are ready. You are ready to do this test, to prove your worth to the group.

If you fail, you do it again.

You will not fail. (253/200)


Path Ten: Rooftop
Match Field: Write a sudden and dramatic death for your main character for eight minutes!
Writing competition sabotage: Read someone else’s writing for ten minutes! (I read my brand new book, it was very calming!

You run, the feeling more exhilarating than you remembered it being. This time is different from those other runs, however- those were practices, making sure that you could survive in the eye of danger. This is the real thing, the danger upon you, the final stretch of survival.

You sorry down the stairs, feet stumbling and tripping over the uneven steps. You hear shouts from behind you, both from people on your side and not. The member that you have been meeting up with throughout this journey (you still do not now his name) is beside you, yelling into your ear, telling you to run faster, to stop stumbling, to hurry-

Laughing unintentionally, you skip the last three steps, feet crashing to the floor. You smell smoke from upstairs, as it costs your throat. You know that the fire is getting closer, but you are not afraid. You are the one who had set it, not for arson purposes, but after following an order. You knew that this would happen, and you were (are) prepared. You are going to be fine.

Continuing to run as fast as possible, you reach a doorway at the end of the stairwell, and touch the doorknob. It is much warmer than you expected, and you look to the member beside you, both of you frozen in shock.

Since when was the fire coming from both ends of the building?

Making an unspoken agreement with your eyes, he approaches the door, trying to slam it open. Both of you crash into it, but it doesn’t budge, and you feel the heat from upstairs approaching. As you struggle to breathe, the door finally moves, and he rushes through, motioning you to come after him. You follow, but accidentally slamny your shoulder on the door knob on the way out, causing you to trip, slamming onto the floor. He yells down at you, but you motion him to keep running, as you feel the fire approaching.

You begin to close your eyes. It is surrounding you, even loping you. You block out his calls of fear, of anger, begging you to try and stand up. you know that you won’t make it. You can.

As the flames enter the room, he begins to run, but there you lay. This is the end- the end of your career, the end of your life, the end of everything.

You feel a strange urge to laugh, as the smoke burns your eyes as well as your throat.

They picked the wrong chosen one. (423/no word goal)

Ending: I generated the number 0, and my story must end as a tragedy.

(This is written from the perspective of the group member mentioned numerous times in this weekly, but never named directly! It is written after the main character passed away in the fire mentioned in the last oath.)

You never made it out of the fire. I knew that it would be hard to convince you let
me sacrifice myself to save your life, but I did not predict that my trying would have the opposite effect. You could have moved- why did you not move? We had trained you to always get yourself out of danger first, and yet you did not do that. It was textbook respectable (a movie worthy death, the move of a true Chosen One), but it was not the right thing to do. Yet, you did it, and that cannot be changed.

I do not know why am I writing this letter in the first place, since you will never have a chance to read it. We are evacuating the city- everything has fallen to chaos since the fire. We are being targeted, and have to leave. I was going to forget about this idea, but it would not leave my mind. It would not feel right to leave without sending this letter to you, leaving it to burn in the flames that we told you to cause. It was, in a way, our fault. I did not realize that until I picked up this pen. The fire was our order, and you followed through with it. You just added your own last step.

The city is falling. Smoke is thick in the air, police sirens are heard throughout the long days and the longer nights, the buildings are crumbling. Robberies are becoming common, and homes are no longer safe- were they ever safe, though? In a way, this indicates that you truly were the chosen one- everything was surviving in its own way until you were gone. Now, everything has broken so quickly.

We are doing our best to keep this organization alive, at least for now. We are doing our best to find a new Chosen One (which is a slight oxymoron in its own)- preferably one that will prioritize their own life over the lives of others. We are all disappointed and angry at the outcome of our last mission, but we do not regret the fact that it happened. We do not regret the fact that you picked up that phone on the day that we called, we do not regret the fact that you did not hang up immediately, we do not regret the fact that you came to the location you were instructed to go to, and we do not regret the fact that you did what you had to do to save the city. It was not the outcome we hoped for, but it was the outcome that ended up happening, and we do not regret any of it. We hope that you did not regret any of it, either.

We hope that your career ended with a high note. We hope that you got the movie life that you always wanted, even if that movie ended as a tragedy. We hope that you got what you hoped you would get. (506/500)

Total words: 4348

i am so sorry, thriller, i did it for the points :sob:

An Argumentative Essay On Why Mythology Is Superior
By Lucy, who is not a member of the Mythology Cabin
(332 words)


By looking at the rankings, it is certainly quite clear that Thriller is an impressive and worthy cabin. However, two places above it lies Mythology, a momentous maze full of motivated campers, each winning hundreds of points daily from the dailies and weeklies. They have managed to surpass even the hardest working of cabins, using their resourcefulness and skill to climb the ladder that is the Scratch Writing Camp leaderboard.

Before we go in-depth about the skill and motivation of this incredible cabin, we must mention the people that made it happen: the leaders and co-leaders of the Mythology cabin, along with the campers, all willing to sacrifice their free time to complete the in-cabin and camp-wide challenges to earn words and points. These campers (all decked out in their Mythology merch, from their icons to their profile bios) work as hard as they can to make their cabin proud. What else could make a cabin superior? By simply looking at their word count, you can see the time and effort that Mythology has put into their work this session. They continue to impress all of us as they rest calmly at the top of the leaderboard, solid and unwavering amidst the chaos happening below them, especially between the cabins of Adventure and of Thriller.

Another important part of Mythology history is George The Unicorn, their mascot. We all know that unicorns are a controversial creature, and many believe that their existence is impossible- however, not as impossible as the unbelievable talent and hard work that the Mythology cabin has exhibited during this session!

As the members of the Mythology cabin continue to support and encourage each other through the pandemonium around them, there is always the hint of a doubt that another cabin may, one day, surpass them. No matter what the outcome is of this session, however, we all know the true superior cabin: the Mythology Maze, a true puzzle of excitement and belief in the power of each other.

The Daily Of July 29th

Idiom: This is the last straw!



“Are you guys still arguing about that?” your older asks with a sigh. “That’s the last straw- and this time, I truly mean that.”

“No, it’s not,” you defend yourself. “There are still a few straws left- that’s actually what we’re arguing about. The fight is about who should have the last one. I think that I should have it, since I have both a cup of lemonade and a cup of milk, while she-” you pause to point in an accusing way at your younger sister- “only has a cup of orange juice. Therefore, I need two straws in total, one for each drink, while she only needs one. We both have one right now. I need my second, while she should be good with just one.”

Your younger sister begins kicking at the table. “I want two straws in my orange juice, though. That’s how they always do it in the movies. Two straws makes the drink taste better! I just want to try it!”

You shoot her a dirty look. “Yeah, but you don’t need two straws. There’s a big difference between need and want. I need to use the last straw, but you only want it.”

She rolls her eyes. “No, that’s wrong. You don’t need a second straw- you don’t need any straw at all, actually. You could just take sips from the cup with your mouth.”

Your mother enters the room, dropping a few dirty plates into the dishwasher. “Now, look at that idea,” she says, “that’s a great one. How about you both use your mouth to sip your drinks, and we can save the last straw for a time when we, as a family, actually need to use it?”

The two of you groan, and you shoot another look at your younger sister. “Look what you did now!”

She reciprocates the look, but doesn’t reply. The two of you stare angrily at your cups, neither of you taking any sips at all.

Word count: 509/500
(i was bored)



Sour candy is truly one of the most delightful candies that have ever been created. Sour watermelon candy is generally viewed as the superior kind of this confectionery, but there are many different variations on these sour tastes. Today, I will be going in-depth on the only option when it comes to sour candy. You may think it is peach, but it is not. You may be starting to suspect raspberry, but you are wrong. The only option for sour candy is watermelon, and this is why.

Watermelon sour candy, as I mentioned earlier, is a delight to this world. The sweet and sour mix is perfect for any mood- it can highlight your triumphs as well as soften the hard edges of your disappointments. It is perfectly paired with any type of drink, ranging from the bland, tasteless water all the way to drinks with exciting tastes such as hot chocolate or watermelon. Sour watermelon candy is, overall, a top of the line treat- even if you dislike watermelon (somehow), the flavor and shock factor that comes out of every bite is unmatched by any and all.

Picture a firework. Colorful, surprising, loud, memorable. These traits fit the sour watermelon candy delight better than you may expect- here is why.

Colorful. These candies are artistic masterpieces. The pale green, reminiscent of childhood forest adventures, fades into the light, cotton candy pink. That pink undoubtedly reminds you of a sunset, a beautiful thing, just like the candy itself.

Surprising. As you purchase this candy, you may not expect much, but it will leave you shocked and surprised in the best possible way. “How could this only cost a few cents?” you may ask yourself, and there is no real answer to that question. However, as they say- the best things in life are free.

Loud. “How could candy be loud?” you ask yourself (why do you keep asking yourself questions?”, and rightfully so. However, it is not the candy itself that is loud. It is the cheers of delight and excitement that come after the primary taste that are loud- the shouts of shock, the starstruck expression on your face.

Memorable. As you leave a firework show, you are, of course, thinking about the fireworks that you just saw. It is the same thing with these sour candies. After eating a bag of them, the taste of sourness and sweetness in your mouth will be the only thing that remains. Your brain will be infected with the deliciousness. You may never be able to eat anything else- how could any other food, any other treat, live up to this sour watermelon candy? How can anything compare to what I just experienced, you ask yourself in a dazed panic, wondering if you will ever be able to enjoy anything again.

You will not be able to enjoy anything again. Not any food, not any experience, not any person. Sour watermelon candy is your life now, and you must accept that.

It is your life now, and it always has been.