Sandy's Thread (for writing, history, and other stuff)

Sandy-Dunes

SHC October 2022

I likely won't do many activities, but this should be interesting

edit: new page!
edit 2: aww nvm i guess there's not much to do then

Last edited by Sandy-Dunes (Oct. 28, 2022 02:55:52)

Sandy-Dunes

SWC + SSC November 2022

Activities from both camps are included below!

Sandy-Dunes

MC Daily 11/4

297 words!

Frederick. That was his name, a whisper scarcely preserved in the passing of time.

He still remembered his last night. It was such a distant memory, wasn’t it? But the glimmering starlight and the shadows that the moon cast on the silent troops, the sparks that sprang up from the campfire, the rhythmic vibration of the drum through the earth – they were real, he was sure of it. His alertness before the battle has carved these images into his mind.

When it did commence, it was a whirlwind of chaos – roars and screams that resounded from the soldiers, swords clanging against shields and armor. And above all the unending beat of the drums, somehow overpowering all other sounds from the battle.

The drums disoriented Frederick. He expected better from himself, but when his armies have been destroyed, only one desire remained in his mind. Take flight. Yet he couldn’t flee, not when he was incapacitated and stranded here among the dead.

It was his last night as king. When dawn broke he mustered his strength and fled into the woods, continuing his existence there. The kingdom became tattered, divided, broken. Soon it fell. And Frederick despaired, because he knew that no one cared to search for him; the people had given up on their king, just as they gave up on their kingdom. He was abandoned in those bloodstained fields.

For three hundred years he had remained. Watchful and wordless, never understanding why he was left behind. And he could not leave. He was one wingless soul; his anguish kept him anchored to this world, and it seemed he could never rise up.

No one responded to his plaintive pleas, and no one watched over him in the dark, lonesome woods, save for the cold burning stars.

———————————

The original + Google Translated lyrics of "Long Live the King," by Sabaton!
Only one bracket is used at the start of certain lines, because the forum text editor hides words that are between two brackets ^^

Original

[Verse 1
Dreams are seldom shattered, by a bullet in the dark
Rulers come and rulers go, will our kingdom fall apart?
Who shall we now turn to, when our leaders lost their heart?
Lives are lost but at what cost, will the grand dream fall apart?

[Pre-Chorus
Killed by his own or by his foes, turned the tide
300 years still no one knows, the secret remains

[Chorus
Broken dreams so grand, sing of his final stand, long live Carolus
Brought by soldiers hand, back to the fatherland, long live Carolus Rex

[Verse 2
Brought him back to Sweden, where we put him in a chest
Years of war and agony, now the king can finally rest
What will be uncovered, from that cold November night
Fredrikshald, what happened there, will it ever come to light?'

[Pre-Chorus
Killed by his own or by his foes, turned the tide
300 years still no one knows, the secret remains

[Chorus
Broken dreams so grand, sing of his final stand, long live Carolus
Brought by soldiers hand, back to the fatherland, long live Carolus Rex

[Guitar Solo

[Bridge
For their honor
For their glory
For the men who fought and bled
A soldier from Sweden remembers the dead

[Chorus
Broken dreams so grand, sing of his final stand, long live Carolus
Brought by soldiers hand, back to the fatherland, long live Carolus Rex

[Chorus and Spoken Outro
Broken dreams so grand, sing of his final stand, long live Carolus
Brought by soldiers hand, back to the fatherland
Carolus Rex!

Google Translated (a lot of the material wasn't used; I took inspiration from a few key lines, the ones in bold. But honestly, Carol and Murray has so much potential as characters xDDDD)

[They have changed.
That night the nightmare began.
Is your name a star?
I did not know that my brother sent me.
What is the total amount?

[answer
Why did they leave me?
That was about three hundred years ago.

He said he had a drum.
Carol is meeting Rex's mom tonight.

[They have changed.
I can convince the Swedes.
The fight continued until morning. But the king survived
Every night
FREDERICK What is this?

[answer
Why did they leave me?
That was about three hundred years ago.

[craft
He said he had a drum.
Carol is meeting Rex's mom tonight.

(Ketamine) as a product

- The young man.
I have an idea.
I have an idea.
No wings
Murray is her brother-in-law.

[craft
He said he had a drum.
Carol is meeting Rex's mom tonight.

[End of Chapter One.
worth it
Employee referrals
Her name is Carol Rex.

Last edited by Sandy-Dunes (Nov. 4, 2022 21:25:26)

Sandy-Dunes

MC Daily 11/5

437 words ^^ this is set during the Battle of Yser in WWI, as you might be able to tell by the contents and the date
Also yes, the narrator could've just sent the letter normally through the military postal service, but I guess I forgot to really describe a motive behind the bottle thing it could be because he just wanted to be philosophical haha

Hello, my little one. In these months out here, I often wonder how you’re doing.

I’m sending this message in a bottle in the hopes that it will somehow make its way to you. It has been tossed into the flooded lowlands of Belgium, and if we are lucky, it will drift on towards the North Sea, brave the waves and storms, and wash up on the shore for you to pick up.

But that’s not how life works, is it? If it was, then I wouldn’t be here right now, with water-drenched boots and damp trousers (I have unfortunately splashed in more puddles than I’d like to count), listening to pounding shells and the firing of rifles. “The best laid schemes o’ Mice an’ Men / Gang aft agley,” a verse that your mother will undoubtedly recognize. And this scheme of world peace evidently has failed too.

We, these bristling armies armed to the teeth, have been racing to the sea. But I believe this little bottle might be the winner. Then, again, it could float up to some enemy sentry nearly dozing off at his post, or a poor Belgian farmer gazing woefully upon the murky land, or even back to my very own hands. After all, there are no waves in floods.

Yet I hope that with enough ripples in the water and enough prayers on my part, it can sail. If it dodges the fish and boats, if it manages to stay afloat, and if the currents are kind enough to drop off the bottle on the beach, then it could happen. I like to think that when this comes, your mother will read it to you (perhaps in vain, for you won’t be able to understand language for a long while), you two will have a warm dinner, watching the stars glitter above the water, and I will return to all of you soon.

All I have right now is hope. Hope that this bottle will reach you, hope that this war will end, hope that we will be alright. It doesn’t give me anything substantial to rely on, really. And of course, I know that you’ll probably never read or hear this message. It was clear from the beginning; that’s how our minds work, putting silly dreams in our minds when it was impossible from the start. Though how silly are our dreams, really?

I think I understand now: writing keeps me thinking of you and your mother. It returns to me fond memories and a sprinkle of hope, and maybe that’s all that matters right now.

Love from your dear father.
October 26th, 1914

Last edited by Sandy-Dunes (Nov. 5, 2022 21:09:49)

Sandy-Dunes

Word war with @PhonyOOOPS

211 words! This makes no sense and is riddled with so many grammar mistakes, but I guess it has nice potential

The time has come.
The soldiers all knew this. Out of the mist rose a impossibly bright and clear spirit.
This is the ceasefire.
The sky lightened above them. Here they were, in the depths of death, and now they were soon to be rewarded.
The living watched as the dead rose to the top. They parted the barren land, dispersed the dark and dreary smokes.
“Please, continue to shape the world for me,” they chorused. Because now they will be laid to eternal sleep, as time moves unstoppable on.
And on the dark and ashen fields, that once were the sights of beauty and now only contained the spirits of death, the soldiers will move on.
Move on. What is that supposed to mean? For the alive, it will mean to endure the world for one more day upon another. How can they shape their destiny? Aren't they just as powerless as the dead in the face of their fate?
They envy the dead. For only those departed to the heavens above has seen the end of war; only they can know of the glory and shame and unshakable identities of individuals. Alive men often make too little of these beauties that is so core to the existence o fhumani

Last edited by Sandy-Dunes (Nov. 7, 2022 20:31:04)

Sandy-Dunes

MC Daily 11/8

246 words in total, including titles!
Sheriff is probably my favorite, but also the saddest

Strange Land
She crested the gentle slope, running her hands through the long grass of the golden fields.

Would it be what she had sought all this time?

But when she reached the top, she knew. No.

The trees and lakes and mountains bore witness to all of her struggles, and she had been grateful. But although what she had discovered is beautiful, there is still something missing.

It was not the world she had created in her heart

–

Sheriff
I glared down. He trembles beneath me, finally caught within my grasp. I've dedicated so many years to hunting him down. See how he gazes up at me with such terror? I can finally bring upon him the same pain that he has brought upon me.

“Get up,” I growled.

My son does so, his silvery figure filtering the sunlight, and he pleads. For my life.

–

August 1915
An eerie silence fell as the toxic gas moved forward. Crows overhead shrieked and fell to the ground, wings twitching in uncontrollable spasms.

But then a scuffling sound was heard – barely audible, but more and more joined it. The Kaiser’s troops backed away as the enemy slowly crested the hill: enemies with bloody masks, enemies who should have perished by the fatal gas, enemies staggering and crawling and trudging through the mud.

Enemies who now lunge forward, rifles firing and unhumanly growls escaping from their mouths, as the Germans fled in terror in the name of the Empire.

Last edited by Sandy-Dunes (Nov. 8, 2022 04:44:54)

Sandy-Dunes

Weekly 1

1569 words, individual word counts listed after each letter!

Dear Adventure,
Greetings to you, my (hostile) neutral. Though we have some slight degree of animosity between us, I admire the scenery of your commonlands and the fearlessness of your people. There is such a rich and long history your knights have made in the grand castle, and it is a shame to have it taken by unworthy foes. Forced into bunkers, away from the light of the sun – true despair, isn’t it? I, as an embodiment of the wronged and innocent Ghost, know of these things; I have experienced it myself. May you defeat the monsters and reclaim your land, restoring your proud tradition once more.

Best wishes,
Horror
(110)

Dear Bizarro Fiction,
I hope your day is going well. Though we may only be neutrals, it seems that we have much in common. For one, we both specialize in the surreal, in the unbelievable, in what lurks in the depths of the shadows and only emerges to converse with concrete beings. It’s part of our core, what fuels our actions and defines our identity.
And there's your Overlord – who are they? Do they have the same role in determining the campers’ fate as I do? In your strange cinema, you have truly embodied the bizarre spirit of your genre, and I commend you for that.

Yours truly,
Horror
(109)

Dear Dystopian,
Hello there, enemies. At the time of this writing, you are at the very top of the cabin leaderboard. Out of courtesy, I must congratulate you on this achievement; at the same time, bear in mind that this will not be permanent.
Your celestial land is of great curiosity to me. There is a striking contrast between the beauty of the stars and the inaccessibility of them by common beings, and it is a rather unique take on the dystopian genre. It’s alluring yet disquiet, and I am eager to see how your campers shall create your future.

Until we meet again,
Horror
(105)

Dear Fanfiction,
Good day to you, my enemy cabin. Despite our rivalries, I’m a particular fan of your agency; time-traveling has great use and can benefit many. At the same time, it is a dangerous and messy business to deal with, but I put faith in your ability to perform well. After all, you seem very well prepared, as evident by your three departments.
If only you were able to assist me as well! The Ghost could have reversed all of the horrible things brought upon him. Yet I understand that it cannot be done, as we belong to very different realms, so I shall leave you to your work – you have quite important responsibilities! I hope that our campers will both fare well.

Sincerely,
Horror
(126)

Dear Fantasy (or should I say Steampunk),
Greetings from the underworld. We live in quite different lands – you have command of the free realm of the sky, while I am trapped in the depths below the earth. But the Ghost does possess something that may interest you; well, two things, actually. His most treasured items, the dreamcatcher and cellerate band, can be easily examined by your campers and recreated, I’d think. Not that I’m particularly looking forward to having them into enemy hands, of course, but perhaps if they need repair one day I shall ask you. Maybe you’ll even do it for free? (No, no, I’m jesting.)

Thank you in advance for the future service,
Horror
(117)

Dear Folklore,
Hello there, how are you doing? Your cabin theme is somewhat reminiscent of last session’s Fairy-Tales Trails, but at the same time it is purely in name; the atmosphere is completely different, more serene and laid-back, though certainly no less intruiging.
Honestly, I’d love to have some nice hot soup myself here in the underworld. Higher temperatures, sunlight, and pleasant things are hard to come by, especially with the Horror Council’s strict reign, but I’m glad that you get to enjoy such an world as yours. Let’s make the best of what we have, I suppose, until something better comes along.

Regards,
Horror
(105)

Dear Hi-Fi
I hope this letter finds you well, though of course I’d expect that you’re too busy robbing your trains to view this letter immediately. It seems like an exciting profession, but I confess that I’d prefer to not have my gold taken from me. The Horror Council rather treasures its gold, and even the Ghost used to have some in his possession before his imprisonment. In any case, I understand that you do need to make a livelihood, and an inhabitant of the underworld can hardly make many comments on what the mortals do to earn their wages – that is, if they do not commit any serious crimes, and I think train-robbing is harmless enough for the most part.

Cordially,
Horror
(123)

Dear Mystery,
Good evening, enemy. Is it another cold and snowy night that you see as you pass through on your express? An Agatha Christie novel come to life, you see, is something that both fascinates and astounds me. Your campers are right to be as mistrustful of the train’s secrets as I am mistrustful of you. The Ghost is a stickler for justice after all, and he sends his hope that the missing person will be found. In the meantime, I hope you enjoy your trip; train rides at night are wonderfully cozy, and I hope to one day go on one myself.

Cheers,
Horror
(106)

Dear Nonfiction,
Hello, my bread-pic allies (now that was a bad pun, wasn’t it). A bakery isn’t typically what I’d expect of Nonfiction, but it certainly makes for a wonderful pun, far better than mine.
And oh, I bet it must be so warm and cozy inside there. Do send me a baguette or two, please. As I may have mentioned in a letter to another cabin, I am quite starved for warmth and food down here. Maybe you ought to send me some hot tea as well, preferably chamomile, but keep it in a HydroFlask! We wouldn’t want it to be frozen upon entry into the underworld. I’d have to reimburse you for the order, of course, so I’ll send some gold up there as well on the return trip.

Your eager customer,
Horror
(135)

Dear Poetry,
How’s the weather like on your island? I’m hoping that there’s some nice bright sunlight and fair skies. I cannot come to pay a visit, but I'm looking forward to seeing the results of your contest nevertheless. Though you may be currently at last place on the overall leaderboard, I’m aware that your campers are very competitive, as true to the nature of your Isle of Fame. Tell them that I wished them good luck on both completing their challenges on the Isle and boosting their place up on the leaderboard. May the best team triumph.

Best,
Horror
(100)

Dear Realistic Fiction,
Well, well, well, it’s my favorite (and only) sibling! I still recall the trip that I’ve made to your inn; it’s a marvelous little place, and I appreciate how much you made me feel at home. I hope that business has been well for you, and I’ll certain pay another visit when I have the chance. Save a room for me, will you? I might bring a few old books I have to add to your wonderful library, as I’m sure your future tenants will enjoy the original edition of The Count of Monte Cristo. Good luck trying to unlock all the doors in your inn; it’s certainly frustrating when one cannot access what they want.

Until we meet again,
Horror
(124)

Dear Science Fiction,

What a strange world your simulation is! Maybe even my gadgets will be no match for the perplexing existence. However, there is also something strangely beautiful and otherworldly about it as well – don’t humans often wonder whether their world is really a simulation? Is the underworld a simulation? (I rather doubt it, as it is too strange and magical to be one, but I suppose anything is possible.) Is our whole universe a simulation? It would be a complex one at that, but I don’t see how it is entirely impossible. Well, I’ll leave these questions up to you to think about.

Thoughtfully,
Horror
(107)

Dear Script,
Ahh, so you are the one whose campers have been cursed by the Phantom to remain in 1776. I would not mind it much myself, as I rather appreciate the culture of the era (although its morals are questionable). But I still do enjoy viewing musicals, and I shall make a visit to your cabin to watch a performance when I have the opportunity. I trust that your campers are excellent actors?
For the occasion, I'd love to watch Hadestown – I've heard many great things about it, and I reside in the underworld too, after all.

Respectfully yours,
Horror
(101)

Dear Thriller,
How is it down there in the water? I’m sending wishes that your expedition shall return safely to land, because although we are enemies, I do not hope for anyone to perish underwater. Drowning is a horrible fate. However, I’d be very happy to take a look at any picture you may have taken of the underwater creatures you have met. If I must admit, marine biology would be a wonderful topic for me to study in my free time, though unfortunately I cannot make a visit to the seas myself. Perhaps one day I will.

Kind regards,
Horror
(101)

Last edited by Sandy-Dunes (Nov. 8, 2022 21:19:04)

Sandy-Dunes

Critique for Twi's writing comp entry

Hey, Twi! This is my critique for your comp entry :>
Remember I don't mean to be harsh in any of my suggestions, and you also don't have to accept them – a lot of my feedback is going to be based on personal preference!
With that said, let's get started:

Grammar & Syntax

snip first paragraph of John's letter

I notice that in this paragraph, there's generally only one kind of sentence structure: a few commas, ending in a period, and a lot of conjunctions (and, or, but). You'll want to switch this up to make it more interesting to the reader! Try to vary the sentence length and fiddle around with punctuations (semicolons, colons, exclamation + question marks).

The armymen refuse to stop their reckless ways. They don't realise that most of us can and will die, so they will lose their armymen anyways. But I suppose they think that we will survive.

There are a lot of ambiguous pronouns here: in the second sentence I'm assuming you're assuming to the armymen when you say “they”, but then you also say that they will “lose their armymen anyways.” This is a bit strange, since it sounds like you're talking about the armymen losing themselves.

As soon as the news of the shipwreck came, my days were filled with consolations, because they all knew he was part of it.

Again, be sure to specify who “they” are!

I will always remember the moment you came into my life and shared all these memories with them.

Specify the “them”

It had taken us both an year to grow that garden. It had been an year since I'd been there.

The “both” isn't needed, and it should be “a year.” Also, this is more of a sentence structure thing, but I think having two uses of the phrase “a year” is a bit repetitive; you can try saying “so long” or something a long that line :>

He was a great person, but all he did was talk of you,

I'm not sure why you used a “but”; was he not supposed to talk about Amelia? It doesn't really work.
But if you want to use this to show how disparaging the government was to citizens' life, go for it! :0 it fits really well with the mention of how they would execute Amelia if John did not enlist. Just make sure you mention how insincere the Army officials were.

Word Choices & Sentence Structure

Hope, it meant, and that was, without a doubt, in my heart

I think this sentence could work better without four commas :> Personally I'd change it to “It meant hope. And that was, without a doubt, in my heart.” Change or leave it however you like!

Plot & Themes

Overall, I really liked the plot! It was filled with just the right amount of action, so that readers would be entertained but not too confused :> you portrayed emotional connections and relationships decently, though I think you can give just a bit more backstory to Amelia and John's relationship! I think you also put a lot of focus on the war, and you did a wonderful portrayal of it. And finally, you balanced the overall narrative of the war perfectly with Amelia's waiting for John. Great job!

The themes of war and love, as I mentioned above, were executed pretty well! I'll definitely have the motif of flowers brought up more often in the entire story; for example, John can mention something about the garden, and at the end you can have Amelia go into the garden again. These are just some ideas for implementing the motif more, but you did it pretty well in the middle of the story!

Oh, also, one more thing:

But if he was, why didn’t he ever write to me?

I've been wondering about this question, but you never really answered it :')

Clarity & consistency

a little stained

You can re-clarify what it's stained with! Some readers might not remember that John mentioned a “tear-stained letter”

but you were at stake

Something of a weird phrasing. Maybe “your life was at stake” works better

I hugged a dahlia

I'm not sure if you can really hug a dahlia :'D maybe try “touched,” “caressed,” or just “held”?

I laid down among the flowers, staring at the setting sun

It was almost nighttime when I woke up

This kinda implies that Amelia didn't really fall asleep that long – maybe you can try "already nighttime" instead?

tears of consolation

You can't really cry “tears of consolation,” since consolation means to comfort someone, and you can't do that if you're crying. I'd say either change the tears part or the consolation part ^^

Ending

I packed up my belongings, and bid farewell to my family, just the way I had once done with John, but this time I wasn’t smiling, but full of tears. And the sky wasn’t bright and chirpy, it was dark and gloomy.

You have a really nice tie-in to the beginning, and it really brings the story full circle! However, I'm thinking that you can also make the ending a bit stronger.
For one, I think it would be better to split up the first sentence (“…once done with John. But this time…”), since it's a bit long, and the first and second parts are kinda talking about different things. The first is describing the similarities of the farewell, but the second is showing the differences.
I also think that the sentence you're ending with is not necessarily the strongest, and it's also a bit short. A good idea would be to add a final conclusion of some sort! I know you're short on words, but you can do a short flashback, a flash-forward to the funeral, or just a short mention of how Amelia will never forget John. This would also be a great place to bring back the flower theme!

Favorite parts

Before I go, I ask of you only one thing. Please, don't cry. It will break my heart.

I love this line! And I love how you did a callback to it at the end

I know what you must be thinking: why didn't I refuse? I couldn't have. They would've killed you if I had.
You know the condition of the country now, Amelia. Wars and bloodshed everywhere, and it is nothing less than a miracle that we have survived this long. Now the government has started keeping an eye on men that seem suitable for fighting in the war.

Being a fan of military fiction, I think you've made a perfect depiction of how war is like, with an added dystopian vibe :0

glowing garden

You used an awesome adjective

And yeah, that's about it

feel free to ask me if you have any questions about my feedback, and good luck with your entry!!

Last edited by Sandy-Dunes (Nov. 9, 2022 18:11:48)

Sandy-Dunes

Quick random test

i should do something with these extra posts haha

Last edited by Sandy-Dunes (Nov. 15, 2022 18:35:24)

Sandy-Dunes

Ceasefire of Fifth Autumn
(a slightly edited version)
1975 words

TW: Contains themes of death and war.

“You will be home before the leaves fall from the trees.”
-Kaiser Wilhelm II, addressing German soldiers in August 1914

November 11th, 1918

Morning dawned cold and misty along the trenches of the Western Front. For many, the day was the same as all those preceding it – toil, explosions, and the desperate ache of homesickness. Through the Argonne, from Belgium and France, soldiers lounged in the quiet of morning. Not all of them were aware of the significance of current events. After all, news often traveled slowly out here.

However, rumors didn’t.

Word of the armistice passed from mouth to ear, trickling steadily up and down the battle lines. It was signed at the break of dawn, and it would go into effect near noon.

The orders of the Allied commanders did not cease, however. On the contrary, the higher-ups were never more eager to gain a final piece of ground, to deal as much damage to their broken enemy while combat was still ongoing. This was the way ambition coursed through the lifeblood of the army and government. They were the ones who were orchestrating the carnage of war, who were throwing together armies like rag dolls.

Meanwhile, the Germans – that is, those who haven’t deserted yet – were hunkered down in the trenches. A few would glance across No Man’s Land and ponder.

They were the last Central Power force standing. Austria-Hungary called for peace at the end of October, Turkey did so two days later, and Bulgaria signed an armistice a mere week ago on the 4th of November. All of these ceasefires, with forces withdrawn from enemy lands, would it happen here too?

If so, why was there still conflict? No doubt the Allied soldiers were wondering the same. Well, then. Let this be the last day that the orders of war have to be followed.

-

The fireworks started.

It was some clever fella’s idea, an artillery officer explained to his bewildered regiment, to fire off all the shells so that they wouldn’t have to be carried back. The Americans remarked that it was like the Fourth of July. Late by four months, cannons fired up into the sky in a wretched cacophony.

This time, there was little gunfire accompanying the nerve-wracking booms. This time, it was the grand finale. Very soon the cannons themselves would silence along the front.

Yet even at this last hour, war did not yet entirely stop. Against the background of resounding artillery, one German soldier was handling his unit’s machine gun, blasting at the Allied lines. Casings clattered sharply as they landed on the rough dirt and tumbled down back into the German trench, skidding into the grooves and cracks in the soil. His compatriots gawked; his foes balked. Still he continued, handling the equipment with ease gained from years of hard combat.

Why?

His companions whispered for him to stop – one cannot speak too loudly against orders – but he rebuffed them. “There is no ceasefire!” Was that sheer disbelief, fanatical obedience, or bitter defiance?

Despite the fervent urging of their commanders, troops on both sides knew there would be no last scrap of glory to be won. Dead men could never come back, battles could never be rewritten, and life could never cease its relentless march through time. Yet it is difficult to rid one’s blood of the grief and fury that scorches and boils, transforming them until they cannot recognize themselves. Perhaps the soldier wanted to make a final kill, wreak havoc on this foreign land while he is still able to, because he would never find such an outlet for his pain ever again.

Time heals all wounds, as it was said. But it is often futile without the achievement of inner peace, of the mutual understanding between those who sought the best for the future. Was there a future?

Inevitably, his ammunition ran out. Incredibly, no one was dead. He had been shooting at ghosts this whole time, had he not?

And light dawned on him, just as it parted the mist and ushered away the darkness of the earth. All is not lost. The prevailing of life in this moment told of this. There is a future.

As the other side watched with widened eyes, the machine-gunner stepped back from his post. Sunlight glanced off of his helmet, luminous through the clearing fog that nearly obscured the rest of the figure.

“It’s eleven now,” a voice murmured.

It didn’t matter in which language, from which side.

And with solemn respect, entangled with bitter acceptance, the German bowed to his former enemies: a final act of chivalry in this dishonorable war. Before the sun was covered again by the dust, one could catch the faintest glimpse of his eyes.

They were just a bit brighter than they had been a minute before.

-

Indeed, it has arrived: the eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month. A hush fell across the trenches of the front lines.

In the streets of victorious capital cities, civilians would soon be cheering. And no doubt in Berlin and Vienna and Constantinople, there would be more resentful whispers. Isolated as they were, no one understood the cruelty of war at the front; those at home were simply relieved that soldiers were returning, without understanding what had happened to them.

Indeed, at this moment there was no joyful celebration for many on the west side, nor passionate lamentation for those on the east. Only numb exhaustion, grief, and the incomprehension that persists when a goal so improbably absurd is finally reached.

Voices rise. They longed for justification, they were anxious for closure, and they could not bring themselves to believe that the war was over.

Can you believe it? Is this what we had yearned for all this time?

No one responded.

The world seemed to grow more colorless every second. The sky was dark, the land was somber, and the souls of the lost were trapped in this forsaken place. Gray swirls of dust, which had plagued the troops for so long, enveloped their helmets and hearts. And in the silence, they watched each other somberly from their damp trenches.

Many trees on the front had been destroyed by artillery barrages. Those that remained were already starkly barren, trunks and branches jutting out like blackened bones.

Yet even though the trees trembled under the November wind, some leaves still hung on tightly to their roots. Until they, too, began to let go and fall, blown across No Man’s Land, gliding and tumbling along the barren earth.

Leaves and ashes, spirits carried on the winds.

And though it was barely perceptible, though it must have been their imagination, those alive heard a faint melody following. Freed by the armistice, a sound as sweet and light as a windchime. It was calling across the land: Farewell, my dear friends, farewell.

Both sides listened in awe. When the euphonic elegy faded, everyone understood. This was the ceasefire. This was the end.

All across the world, the soldiers remember.

-

General Kitchener’s stern expression, calling out to us war-eager British boys to serve our country.

The Yser, flooded by our noble king to halt the invaders.

The fierce autumn wind as we defend our capital – the invaders are gone this year, but could we fend them off the next?

The silver snow of the Christmas Truce, our footprints as we play football with the enemy.

The bloodied beaches of Gallipoli, attackers and defenders blurring together under the crimson haze.

The avalanches of the Alps as we crest its peaks, snow glittering below the stairway to heaven.

Two hundred dreadnoughts clashing fiercely in the North Sea.

Spirits bright with hope, we follow Brusilov down the slopes and barrel viciously past the Austrian lines.

The forts and tunnels of Verdun, standing strong under artillery barrages and shouts of “on ne passe pas” – they shall not pass.

Our dugouts in the chalky ground by the Somme, pounded by shells as we listen to gunfire and the subsequent haunting silence.

The Lion of Africa leaving a trail of terror and destruction in his wake; are mangled fields and plundered villages really the price to pay for such great success?

Defending Baghdad, Mecca, and Jerusalem, just to watch them all fall to the west in the heat of the sun.

The suffocating mud and blood of Passchendaele, where the ground and rainwater reek of death.

The wind in our faces and the exhilaration of the cold as we run; we are the stormtroopers.

Belleau Wood, where we display our resilience in the face of skepticism and adversity.

A pen gliding across the page, laying millions to rest with weary strokes.

And now, this last day in the Argonne, underneath a dark autumn sky.

-

Behind the front lines, a scarlet leaf drifted lazily on the wind. It was joined by more leaves, from the same parent tree, and they fluttered to a stop in front of a soldier with a missing right leg. He looked down, hobbled forward, crushed the leaves with his good leg, and said to himself:

“They’ve fallen again. For the fifth time.”

Kaiser Wilhelm was long gone, having abdicated and fled two days ago. His shattered promise nevertheless remained etched into the German soldiers’ minds. You will be home before the leaves fall from the trees. What a bitter lie it was!

And the sentiment was shared equally by every belligerent in the war: none of them could rejoice more than mourn in victory.

If only they could all return to the past. Alas, it was a past long-lost to the world.

And thus as the last leaves departed their brittle branches, as the fog dissipated further and the lingering booms of shells fizzled out – as their losses grew ever more painful in their hearts, as their new reality came forth, the soldiers wondered. Would their scars ever heal? In the end, what can be done for the generation lost in the shadows of war, who would forever hear the deafening artillery echo in their heads?

The dead had seen the end of war, but the living could never do the same.

And soon, a new treaty will be signed, something more secure than the day’s flimsy disarmament. There was a future to agonize over. A new world will emerge from the dust of shattered empires and splintered crowns, new borders will be drawn, new minds will be returning from the battlefield, and what then? What awaited?

Humiliation, unrest. Depression, debt. Repression-

W A R.

-

A red poppy blows. It is one among many on this sun-dappled Flanders field: a blooming sea of souls, lingering by the place where they had made their stand. Crimson petals sway in the breeze, but the poppies’ roots remain grounded in the earth, because they shall never leave the land they had fought and died so valiantly to defend.

Illuminated by the hazy light from the vast sky, the field stirs. It was once shadowed, blemished, cursed by hatred and shame. Now it is only a heartfelt reminder of life and peace, graced by the dearest wishes of those who cannot hope to rest while there is still darkness in the world. Their voices often go unanswered, but the sincerity persists. For the poppies knew of such darkness; they have once perished in it.

Now that they are dead they can only believe. Perhaps soon they will be seen for who they once were, perhaps soon their unshakable memories of war will be found again. Courage, hope, and innocence; these were the values of the heart that will never completely fade. The world just has to recognize it.

And for humanity to learn the lessons of long past…

The poppies will sleep here for eternity, if need be.

Dedicated to all who served in the Great War.

A/N

Hello, welcome to the author’s note for this short story! It was written in commemoration of the 104th anniversary of the 1918 armistice that ended World War One, which coincides with Veteran’s Day in the US.

I first found the idea for the piece back in June, when I read a graphic novel entitled Treaties, Trenches, Mud and Blood. (It’s part of the Nathan Hale’s Hazardous Tales series, which I highly recommend!) According to the edit history on my writing doc, I’ve started writing Ceasefire just a week before I had to return the book to the library.

The last scene with the poppies is also inspired by the poem “In Flanders Fields” – one of the most iconic of the war – as seen from the first line. In addition, a couple of Sabaton references are sprinkled in as well.

Other sources I used were informational articles and videos. Many of them focused on the signing of the armistice rather than the last day at the front, but I did manage to glean some information about the troops’ orders and behavior. The last deaths of the war also served as interesting (albeit tragic) anecdotes.

I’d like to thank my irl friends, as well as Twi, Bookie, and Tilly, for reading and giving feedback this piece. They’ve all been immensely helpful and supportive, and I definitely appreciate that!

And once again, thank you for reading, and I hope this short story was meaningful to you. Lest we forget.

Last edited by Sandy-Dunes (June 20, 2023 21:44:45)

Sandy-Dunes

Ceasefire of Fifth Autumn
SGT Judge Cuts Entry
1972 words

“You will be home before the leaves fall from the trees.”
-Kaiser Wilhelm II, addressing German soldiers in August 1914

November 11th, 1918

Morning dawned cold and misty along the trenches of the Western Front. For many, the day was the same as all those preceding it – toil, explosions, and the desperate ache of homesickness. Through the Argonne, from Belgium and France, soldiers lounged in the quiet of morning. Not all of them were aware of the significance of current events. After all, news often traveled slowly out here.

However, rumors didn’t.

Word of the armistice passed from mouth to ear, trickling steadily up and down the battle lines. It was signed at the break of dawn, and it would go into effect near noon.

The orders of the Allied commanders did not cease, however. On the contrary, the higher-ups were never more eager to gain a final piece of ground, to deal as much damage to their broken enemy while combat was still ongoing. This was the way ambition coursed through the lifeblood of the army and government. They were the ones who were orchestrating the carnage of war, who were throwing together armies like rag dolls.

Meanwhile, the Germans – that is, those who haven’t deserted yet – were hunkered down in the trenches. A few would glance across No Man’s Land and ponder.

They were the last Central Power force standing. Austria-Hungary called for peace at the end of October, Turkey did so two days later, and Bulgaria signed an armistice a mere week ago on the 4th of November. All of these ceasefires, with forces withdrawn from enemy lands, would it happen here too?

If so, why was there still conflict? No doubt the Allied soldiers were wondering the same. Well, then. Let this be the last day that the orders of war have to be followed.

-

The fireworks started.

It was some clever fella’s idea, an artillery officer explained to his bewildered regiment, to fire off all the shells so that they wouldn’t have to be carried back. The Americans remarked that it was like the Fourth of July. Late by four months, cannons fired up into the sky in a wretched cacophony.

This time, there was little gunfire accompanying the nerve-wracking booms. This time, it was the grand finale. Very soon the cannons themselves would silence along the front.

Yet even at this last hour, war did not yet entirely stop. Against the background of resounding artillery, one German soldier was handling his unit’s machine gun, blasting at the Allied lines. Casings clattered sharply as they landed on the rough dirt and tumbled down back into the German trench, skidding into the grooves and cracks in the soil. His compatriots gawked; his foes balked. Still he continued, handling the equipment with ease gained from years of hard combat.

Why?

His companions whispered for him to stop – one cannot speak too loudly against orders – but he rebuffed them. “There is no ceasefire!” Was that sheer disbelief, fanatical obedience, or bitter defiance?

Despite the fervent urging of their commanders, troops on both sides knew there would be no last scrap of glory to be won. Dead men could never come back, battles could never be rewritten, and life could never cease its relentless march through time. Yet it is difficult to rid one’s blood of the grief and fury that scorches and boils, transforming them until they cannot recognize themselves. Perhaps the soldier wanted to make a final kill, wreak havoc on this foreign land while he is still able to, because he would never find such an outlet for his pain ever again.

Time heals all wounds, as it was said. But it is often futile without the achievement of inner peace, of the mutual understanding between those who sought the best for the future. Was there a future?

Inevitably, his ammunition ran out. Incredibly, no one was dead. He had been shooting at ghosts this whole time, had he not?

And light dawned on him, just as it parted the mist and ushered away the darkness of the earth. All is not lost. The prevailing of life in this moment told of this. There is a future.

As the other side watched with widened eyes, the machine-gunner stepped back from his post. Sunlight glanced off of his helmet, luminous through the clearing fog that nearly obscured the rest of the figure.

“It’s eleven now,” a voice murmured.

It didn’t matter in which language, from which side.

And with solemn respect, entangled with bitter acceptance, the German bowed to his former enemies: a final act of chivalry in this dishonorable war. Before the sun was covered again by the dust, one could catch the faintest glimpse of his eyes.

They were just a bit brighter than they had been a minute before.

-

Indeed, it has arrived: the eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month. A hush fell across the trenches of the front lines.

In the streets of victorious capital cities, civilians would soon be cheering. And no doubt in Berlin and Vienna and Constantinople, there would be more resentful whispers. Isolated as they were, no one understood the cruelty of war at the front; those at home were simply relieved that soldiers were returning, without understanding what had happened to them.

Indeed, at this moment there was no joyful celebration for many on the west side, nor passionate lamentation for those on the east. Only numb exhaustion, grief, and the incomprehension that persists when a goal so improbably absurd is finally reached.

Voices rise. They longed for justification, they were anxious for closure, and they could not bring themselves to believe that the war was over.

Can you believe it? Is this what we had yearned for all this time?

No one responded.

The world seemed to grow more colorless every second. The sky was dark, the land was somber, and the souls of the lost were trapped in this forsaken place. Gray swirls of dust, which had plagued the troops for so long, enveloped their helmets and hearts. And in the silence, they watched each other somberly from their damp trenches.

Many trees on the front had been destroyed by artillery barrages. Those that remained were already starkly barren, trunks and branches jutting out like blackened bones.

Yet even though the trees trembled under the November wind, some leaves still hung on tightly to their roots. Until they, too, began to let go and fall, blown across No Man’s Land, gliding and tumbling along the barren earth.

Leaves and ashes, spirits carried on the winds.

And though it was barely perceptible, though it must have been their imagination, those alive heard a faint melody following. Freed by the armistice, a sound as sweet and light as a windchime. It was calling across the land: Farewell, my dear friends, farewell.

Both sides listened in awe. When the euphonic elegy faded, everyone understood. This was the ceasefire. This was the end.

All across the world, the soldiers remember.

-

General Kitchener’s stern expression, calling out to us war-eager British boys to serve our country.

The Yser, flooded by our noble king to halt the invaders.

The fierce autumn wind as we defend our capital – the invaders are gone this year, but could we fend them off the next?

The silver snow of the Christmas Truce, our footprints as we play football with the enemy.

The bloodied beaches of Gallipoli, attackers and defenders blurring together under the crimson haze.

The avalanches of the Alps as we crest its peaks, snow glittering below the stairway to heaven.

Two hundred dreadnoughts clashing fiercely in the North Sea.

Spirits bright with hope, we follow Brusilov down the slopes and barrel viciously past the Austrian lines.

The forts and tunnels of Verdun, standing strong under artillery barrages and shouts of “on ne passe pas” – they shall not pass.

Our dugouts in the chalky ground by the Somme, pounded by shells as we listen to gunfire and the subsequent haunting silence.

The Lion of Africa leaving a trail of terror and destruction in his wake; are mangled fields and plundered villages really the price to pay for such great success?

Defending Baghdad, Mecca, and Jerusalem, just to watch them all fall to the west in the heat of the sun.

The suffocating mud and blood of Passchendale, where the ground and rainwater reek of death.

The wind in our faces and the exhilaration of the cold as we run; we are the stormtroopers.

Belleau Wood, where we display our resilience in the face of skepticism and adversity.

A pen gliding across the page, laying millions to rest with its strokes.

And now, this last day in the Argonne, underneath a dark autumn sky.

-

Behind the front lines, a scarlet leaf drifted lazily on the wind. It was joined by more leaves, from the same parent tree, and they fluttered to a stop in front of a soldier with a missing right leg. He looked down, hobbled forward, crunched the leaves with his good leg, and said to himself:

“They’ve fallen again. For the fifth time.”

Kaiser Wilhelm was long gone, having abdicated and fled two days ago. His shattered promise nevertheless remained etched into the German soldiers’ minds. You will be home before the leaves fall from the trees. What a bitter lie it was!

And the sentiment was shared equally by every belligerent in the war: none of them could rejoice more than mourn in victory.

If only they could all return to the past. Alas, it was a past long-lost to the world.

-

And thus as the last leaves departed their brittle branches, as the fog dissipated further and the lingering booms of shells fizzled out – as their losses grew ever more painful in their hearts, as their new reality came forth, the soldiers wondered. Would their scars ever heal? In the end, what can be done for the generation lost in the shadows of war, who would forever hear the deafening artillery echo in their heads?

The dead had seen the end of war, but the living could never do the same.

And soon, a new treaty will be signed, something more secure than the day’s flimsy disarmament. There was a future to agonize over. A new world will emerge from the dust of shattered empires and splintered crowns, new borders will be drawn, new minds will be returning from the battlefield, and what then? What awaited?

Humiliation, unrest. Depression, debt. Repression-

W A R.

-

A red poppy blows. It is one among many on this sun-dappled Flanders field: a blooming sea of souls, lingering by the place where they had made their stand. Crimson petals sway in the breeze, but the poppies’ roots remain grounded in the earth, because they shall never leave the land they had fought and died so valiantly to defend.

Illuminated by the hazy light, under the vast sky, the field stirs. It was once shadowed, blemished, cursed by hatred and shame. Now it is only a heartfelt reminder of life and peace, graced by the dearest wishes of those who cannot hope to rest while there is still darkness in the world. Their voices often go unanswered, but the sincerity persists. For they knew of such darkness; they have perished in it.

Now that they are dead they can only believe. Perhaps soon they will be seen for who they once were, perhaps soon their unshakable memories of war will be found again. Courage, hope, and innocence; these were the values of the heart that will never completely fade. The world just has to recognize it

And for humanity to learn the lessons of past…

The poppies will sleep here for eternity, if need be.

Dedicated to all who served in the Great War.

Last edited by Sandy-Dunes (Nov. 21, 2022 19:21:51)

Sandy-Dunes

B-Day on D-Day
SWC November 2022 Writing Competition, Fanfiction Entry
1944 words

Disclaimer: This real-person fanfic / historical fiction piece was written primarily for comedic purposes. The depictions of historical figures are partly exaggerated, simplified, and fictional. In addition, this piece is in no way intended to undermine the significance of historical events.

June 4th, 1944

Field Marshal Erwin Rommel stared forlornly at the stacks of paperwork, letters, and diagrams in front of him, all regarding the same subject: defense. He had been overseeing the construction of the Atlantic Wall for, what, half a year now? It was extremely tiring work, and although the Allies would probably land at Calais, there were many other possible points as well. Hence the mines and bunkers stretching along nearly 4,000 kilometers of the French coast.

But he had something to look forward to. Tuesday, the 6th, was his wife’s fiftieth birthday, and it would be quite a shame to miss that! He had already asked to go on leave yesterday after hearing the meteorologist's report of bad weather. And seeing the storm raging outside his window, Rommel couldn’t see a way how the Allies could possibly invade tomorrow. He would leave today, but he had to bring a birthday gift for Lucia, of course. And he knew just the thing… a pair of nice Parisian shoes, perfectly her size!

Humming merrily (something he didn’t do all that often), Rommel packed up his things and headed out.

A few weeks prior…
The Allies were preparing for the invasion of France, dubbed Operation Overlord, and they were very diligent at it too.

Dwight D. Eisenhower, who was the supreme commander of the operation, had ordered a thorough analysis and study of everything that could play a part in the invasion: German defenses along the coast, weather, terrain of the planned attack, and an array of logistics: it would be no easy feat to get so many troops and equipment and transport across the English Channel.

General Bernard Montgomery (“Monty,” as he was known by his troops; this is what he’ll be referred to from this point on) was Eisenhower’s ground forces commander. Sufficient to say, he was proud of that. General George Patton was a tad annoyed, because he was, as everyone knew, Monty’s mortal enemy. (Another valid reason was that the American commanders had many disagreements with the British.) But these days he was too excited about Overlord to mind.

Granted, there were still debates about the exact plans, and the attack date had to be pushed back to June, but everything has been going quite well.
One day Monty was eating his Caeser salad and drinking tea during lunch when Patton took his plate with a hamburger-

“Liberty steak,” Patton huffed to Monty, who looked typically skeptical. “It’s a liberty steak, for the last time.”

Ahem, yes, the plate with a liberty steak, chicken nuggets, and tater tots. Patton took it to the table where Monty was sitting, much to the British general’s suspicion.

“Hi there,” Monty said cautiously, trying to figure out when the American would stop getting so much fast food. Patton nodded to him, almost amiably, and started munching on his tater tots. They were really crispy.

“Planning is going pretty well,” Patton told him.

Monty shrugged. “Guess that’s true.”

“I mean, I'd like to think that the Germans are expecting us to land at Calais. Or maybe even Norway. Anywhere other than Normandy!”

Indeed, the Allies organized multiple deceptive measures to ensure that the Germans were in the dark about the operation, especially its planned location. It didn't hurt that a Spanish double agent was feeding false information to the enemy through radio. Patton even received command of a phantom “army” to trick the Germans. The “First United States Army Group” (aka FUSAG) was a complete fraud, as was the decoy props and the fake radio signals relayed.

Patton innerly scoffed at the German field marshal in charge of the opposition defense. Let's see who's leading the ghosts now, Rommel!

Monty nodded thoughtfully, realizing what his colleague was referring to. “A lot like Mincemeat last year.” Operation Mincemeat was another scam that the Germans fell for.

“Exactly.”

“Now, why are you so nice to me?”

Patton sighed. Monty has seen right through him! (Though it was rather obvious, because the American general typically did not go for so long without cussing him out.) “Well, I wanted to discuss something with you. It's about Rommel.”

Monty, as arrogant as he was, perked up at the mention of the name. “What about him?”

“You've… dealt with him a lot before.” Patton, irritated that he did not yet get to beat up Rommel in combat, was careful not to mention Monty’s victories in North Africa. “Do you have any ideas as to what special tactic we can use against him?”

“Tactic? You know very well that I do strategies, and this is how I triumph.”

The haughty reply did not entirely conceal the pride underneath, and Patton pressed further. If he was to lose a little face, so be it. He could always take the credit from Monty anyways.

“Nevermind that. You have a lot of experience, after all.”

"Well, now that you mention it… I do have something,” the British general admitted. “It’s a very unfounded idea, I have to warn you. And more of a tactic than a strategy.”

Of course. It was a tactic; typical hypocrisy on Monty’s part. But there wasn’t anything to do about that: “I’m listening.”

“So, you know that Rommel was away on vacation when El Alamein started. I was thinking we do something similar here; his wife’s birthday is on June 6th.”

Understanding slowly dawned on Patton. That was it: family obligations! The bane of every military commander’s career. But his buoyant mood was quickly dampened by disappointment. “Ike scheduled the invasion for June 5th. How are we going to get around that?”

“Like I said, it was just a random idea, and it probably won’t work,” Monty replied flippantly. “You’d expect someone to schedule an invasion because of a birthday?”

But speak of the devil! Just as Patton and Monty were finishing up their food, the supreme commander came walking by. He looked up from reviewing his eponymous Eisenhower matrix, seeming surprised that the two generals weren’t quarreling.

“What are you two up to?” he asked them curiously, folding up the paper and stuffing it into his coat pocket.

“I’ve got a plan for the operation!” Patton exclaimed, then proceeded to explain every single part of Monty’s plan as Eisenhower listened on.

“It was my idea,” Monty added sullenly, not having expected Patton to take the plan seriously.

The commander waved that comment aside and spoke: “We have to land on the 5th. It’s non-negotiable; the weather and tide are best on that day.”

Crestfallen, Patton stood up and dumped his paper plate into the trash can.

-

Weeks of fervent preparation passed in a flurry of paperwork, and it was finally June. But Normandy was experiencing quite turbulent weather, as Ike commented while looking through his binoculars.

“We’ll postpone it to the 6th,” he agreed reluctantly.

Patton and Monty exchanged a glance of triumph. Their hostility towards each other was temporarily set aside to combat their common enemy, and nothing had ever gone so well.

The week before the invasion, the Allied commanders were especially nervous. The invasion rehearsal two months ago, Exercise Tiger, had been a colossal failure, and everyone hoped that the real thing would be nothing like it. And the last time the Allies tried a beach invasion in the Dieppe raid, it was yet another disaster.

(Perhaps that’s just how war works. Common soldiers put their trust in the officers, and they in turn obey the orders passed down from the very top of the command chain. But what happens? No matter how foolish or ingenious decisions are, mistakes happen, and both soldiers and civilians would die. It’s certainly worth wondering why our protagonists had chosen this line of work as a career.)

But no matter. It was finally the day before Operation Overlord. June 5th. The Third Army under Patton’s command wouldn’t be one of the immediate landing units at Normandy, but he was determined to give his troops a speech all the same.

“Be seated.”

And on this eve of the invasion, the day that will define the course of history, he continued on.

-

June 6th, 1944

At half past 6 in the morning, Rommel snuck downstairs with the presents.

The past two days – or rather one day, as he was mostly traveling on the 4th – at home had been an immensely satisfying break from the drudgery of French defenses. He had watched his dachshund scamper around, talked and worked on math with Manfred, and for the most part savored his time away from work. If he had to admit, it was often difficult to enjoy life with the path he had chosen for himself.

But as he entered the room, Rommel saw that he had a missed call. Could it be something from work? He picked the phone up, briefly untangled the line, and listened to the message.

“Hi boss, this is Speidel. The Allies just attacked at Normandy – they’ve sent paratroopers earlier and they’re wrecking the place right now.”

Rommel sighed. Why did the attack just have to be on Lucia’s birthday? It was as fate was working against him. Patton was indeed right when he commented that family obligations took much out of a commander’s career, but the inverse was true as well; how could you ever have a proper life with your family when you had to be doing so much work?

And so Rommel decided that he’d call Speidel back later. Maybe it wasn’t even the anticipated attack at all, just a diversion to ruin his day.

When the sun rose, the field marshal greeted Lucie and Manfred cheerfully as he held the presents. (Perhaps it may be worth mentioning that the shoes he bought, mentioned at the beginning of the story, were too small.) And for the briefest moment, surrounded by his family and their happiness, he forgot about the war. Aren't moments like these what made everyday life worth living?

Yet when Rommel called back a few hours later, at 10 o’clock, he knew that this was it. The invasion has begun.

-

And thus – thanks to the work of two calculating Allied generals – Operation Overlord commenced on the 6th of June, 1944.

It was a grand endeavour. American and British troops braved the waters of the Channel and touched down on the five beaches between Caen and Cherbourg. The Commonwealth soldiers joined the effort, and so did units of soldiers from occupied nations: Poland, Czechoslovakia, Denmark, the Low Countries, Norway, Greece, and of course Free France itself.

The battle was a struggle for victory and freedom. The Allies were making their way into the heart of the enemy, paving the way to the end of war. A new hope rose in front of them.

The war will be over in a year. Millions have died, and more will die between breakthrough and triumph. The darkest crimes have been committed, in the shadows away from sight. Yet more will suffer in the next decades; such was the tragedy of human nature. The future seemed to be flashing faster and faster ahead, unstoppable.

Yet to a commander who has no idea of the fate awaiting him, awaiting the world, the 6th of June held a simple meaning: it was the birthday of his liebste Lu.

And it was this that he remembered, cherished, as he departed his family once more and touched down below the French night sky.

Bonus scene (congrats on finding this! not in word count):
“What is it, mother?” Manfred asked, straightening his glasses as he hurried into the room.
“I’ve known your father for thirty years. Thirty years!” Lucia said briskly. She indicated the shoes that Erwin had bought her. “And these are the wrong size.”
“Erm… it’s the thought that matters?” the fourteen-year-old suggested hesitantly. His mother just chuckled

A/N
(not in word count; feel free to skim/skip)
(mostly copied from original version)

Hi there, thanks for reading this fanfic!

I wrote the original back in June, and I mainly expanded Patton and Monty's exchange in this version. I kinda intended this piece to be “matching” with my main entry below, if that makes sense – D-Day is on 6/6 and Armistice Day on 11/11, so I hope you see the connection there! And yes, the word count is intentional :>

I'll also go over some of the other aspects of this fanfic:

Fact vs. Fiction
So, there's a lot of both fact and fiction mixed together in this piece. The whole premise of the story (Patton and Monty scheming to make D-Day happen on Lucia's birthday) couldn't have happened in real life; Patton didn't know the real date of the invasion. Many specific details, especially the dialogue, were completely made up. (What respectable Chief of Staff in the 1940s greeted their commander with “Hi, boss”?).

However, the info sprinkled around the fanfic was true: the Atlantic Wall, the preparations for D-Day, FUSAG, etc. Also, the one single piece of dialogue at the end of Patton and Monty's arc was really the first sentence of the former's speech (it's probably the only real quote in this entire fanfic). In addition, much of Rommel's arc was more or less accurate: he went home on the 4th, stayed until the 6th, and arrived back in France in the evening that day.

Notes
Some quick notes:

liberty steak – During WWII, hamburgers were renamed to “liberty steaks” because its name sounded too German.

Let's see who's leading the ghosts now, Rommel! – In the invasion of the Low Countries and France, Rommel was the commander of the 7th Panzer Division, nicknamed the Ghost Division.

“Be seated” – The start of Patton's iconic speech, which was also featured in the 1970 film about him.

At half past 6 in the morning, Rommel sneaked downstairs with the presents – this is what really happened, as mentioned in the book Knight's Cross

his dachshund – According to the Rommel Papers, the dachshund's name was Elbo!

worked on math with Manfred – Although this probably didn't actually happen, Rommel really enjoyed math. Manfred was Rommel's son, 14 years old at the time of the story.

this is Speidel – Hans Speidel was Rommel's Chief of Staff at the time. He did call Rommel about the Normandy attack.

It was a struggle for victory (…) a new hope rose in front of them. – This paragraph was inspired by the song Primo Victoria by Sabaton

liebste Lu – “dearest Lu”: it was what Rommel always addressed Lucie in his letters to her.

Sources + Credits
I don't remember all of the sourced I used ^^' However, I'm pretty sure I used two articles from History.com, and also a short e-book that I saved to my computer about the Omaha beach landings (I never got to read it before and I only used the first three pages in researching the fanfic, unfortunately). Also, I used Wikipedia for a very small detail (that there was a storm on June 5th) which was still searchable by cross-referencing this fact.

The idea of this fanfic came from this short from Extra Credits!

Finally, I'd like to thank Ayid for critiquing this piece

So yeah, that's all! I hope you enjoyed reading my fanfic.

Last edited by Sandy-Dunes (Nov. 22, 2022 23:28:35)

Sandy-Dunes

Ceasefire of Fifth Autumn
SWC November 2022 Writing Competition, Regular Entry
1975 words

“You will be home before the leaves fall from the trees.”
-Kaiser Wilhelm II, addressing German soldiers in August 1914

November 11th, 1918

Morning dawned cold and misty along the trenches of the Western Front. For many, the day was the same as all those preceding it – toil, explosions, and the desperate ache of homesickness. Through the Argonne, from Belgium and France, soldiers lounged in the quiet of morning. Not all of them were aware of the significance of current events. After all, news often traveled slowly out here.

However, rumors didn’t.

Word of the armistice passed from mouth to ear, trickling steadily up and down the battle lines. It was signed at the break of dawn, and it would go into effect near noon.

The orders of the Allied commanders did not cease, however. On the contrary, the higher-ups were never more eager to gain a final piece of ground, to deal as much damage to their broken enemy while combat was still ongoing. This was the way ambition coursed through the lifeblood of the army and government. They were the ones who were orchestrating the carnage of war, who were throwing together armies like rag dolls.

Meanwhile, the Germans – that is, those who haven’t deserted yet – were hunkered down in the trenches. A few would glance across No Man’s Land and ponder.

They were the last Central Power force standing. Austria-Hungary called for peace at the end of October, Turkey did so two days later, and Bulgaria signed an armistice a mere week ago on the 4th of November. All of these ceasefires, with forces withdrawn from enemy lands, would it happen here too?

If so, why was there still conflict? No doubt the Allied soldiers were wondering the same. Well, then. Let this be the last day that the orders of war have to be followed.

-

The fireworks started.

It was some clever fella’s idea, an artillery officer explained to his bewildered regiment, to fire off all the shells so that they wouldn’t have to be carried back. The Americans remarked that it was like the Fourth of July. Late by four months, cannons fired up into the sky in a wretched cacophony.

This time, there was little gunfire accompanying the nerve-wracking booms. This time, it was the grand finale. Very soon the cannons themselves would silence along the front.

Yet even at this last hour, war did not yet entirely stop. Against the background of resounding artillery, one German soldier was handling his unit’s machine gun, blasting at the Allied lines. Casings clattered sharply as they landed on the rough dirt and tumbled down back into the German trench, skidding into the grooves and cracks in the soil. His compatriots gawked; his foes balked. Still he continued, handling the equipment with ease gained from years of hard combat.

Why?

His companions whispered for him to stop – one cannot speak too loudly against orders – but he rebuffed them. “There is no ceasefire!” Was that sheer disbelief, fanatical obedience, or bitter defiance?

Despite the fervent urging of their commanders, troops on both sides knew there would be no last scrap of glory to be won. Dead men could never come back, battles could never be rewritten, and life could never cease its relentless march through time. Yet it is difficult to rid one’s blood of the grief and fury that scorches and boils, transforming them until they cannot recognize themselves. Perhaps the soldier wanted to make a final kill, wreak havoc on this foreign land while he is still able to, because he would never find such an outlet for his pain ever again.

Time heals all wounds, as it was said. But it is often futile without the achievement of inner peace, of the mutual understanding between those who sought the best for the future. Was there a future?

Inevitably, his ammunition ran out. Incredibly, no one was dead. He had been shooting at ghosts this whole time, had he not?

And light dawned on him, just as it parted the mist and ushered away the darkness of the earth. All is not lost. The prevailing of life in this moment told of this. There is a future.

As the other side watched with widened eyes, the machine-gunner stepped back from his post. Sunlight glanced off of his helmet, luminous through the clearing fog that nearly obscured the rest of the figure.

“It’s eleven now,” a voice murmured.

It didn’t matter in which language, from which side.

And with solemn respect, entangled with bitter acceptance, the German bowed to his former enemies: a final act of chivalry in this dishonorable war. Before the sun was covered again by the dust, one could catch the faintest glimpse of his eyes.

They were just a bit brighter than they had been a minute before.

-

Indeed, it has arrived: the eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month. A hush fell across the trenches of the front lines.

In the streets of victorious capital cities, civilians would soon be cheering. And no doubt in Berlin and Vienna and Constantinople, there would be more resentful whispers. Isolated as they were, no one understood the cruelty of war at the front; those at home were simply relieved that soldiers were returning, without understanding what had happened to them.

Indeed, at this moment there was no joyful celebration for many on the west side, nor passionate lamentation for those on the east. Only numb exhaustion, grief, and the incomprehension that persists when a goal so improbably absurd is finally reached.

Voices rise. They longed for justification, they were anxious for closure, and they could not bring themselves to believe that the war was over.

Can you believe it? Is this what we had yearned for all this time?

No one responded.

The world seemed to grow more colorless every second. The sky was dark, the land was somber, and the souls of the lost were trapped in this forsaken place. Gray swirls of dust, which had plagued the troops for so long, enveloped their helmets and hearts. And in the silence, they watched each other somberly from their damp trenches.

Many trees on the front had been destroyed by artillery barrages. Those that remained were already starkly barren, trunks and branches jutting out like blackened bones.

Yet even though the trees trembled under the November wind, some leaves still hung on tightly to their roots. Until they, too, began to let go and fall, blown across No Man’s Land, gliding and tumbling along the barren earth.

Leaves and ashes, spirits carried on the winds.

And though it was barely perceptible, though it must have been their imagination, those alive heard a faint melody following. Freed by the armistice, a sound as sweet and light as a windchime. It was calling across the land: Farewell, my dear friends, farewell.

Both sides listened in awe. When the euphonic elegy faded, everyone understood. This was the ceasefire. This was the end.

All across the world, the soldiers remember.

-

General Kitchener’s stern expression, calling out to us war-eager British boys to serve our country.

The Yser, flooded by our noble king to halt the invaders.

The fierce autumn wind as we defend our capital – the invaders are gone this year, but could we fend them off the next?

The silver snow of the Christmas Truce, our footprints as we play football with the enemy.

The bloodied beaches of Gallipoli, attackers and defenders blurring together under the crimson haze.

The avalanches of the Alps as we crest its peaks, snow glittering below the stairway to heaven.

Two hundred dreadnoughts clashing fiercely in the North Sea.

Spirits bright with hope, we follow Brusilov down the slopes and barrel viciously past the Austrian lines.

The forts and tunnels of Verdun, standing strong under artillery barrages and shouts of “on ne passe pas” – they shall not pass.

Our dugouts in the chalky ground by the Somme, pounded by shells as we listen to gunfire and the subsequent haunting silence.

The Lion of Africa leaving a trail of terror and destruction in his wake; are mangled fields and plundered villages really the price to pay for such great success?

Defending Baghdad, Mecca, and Jerusalem, just to watch them all fall to the west in the heat of the sun.

The suffocating mud and blood of Passchendale, where the ground and rainwater reek of death.

The wind in our faces and the exhilaration of the cold as we run; we are the stormtroopers.

Belleau Wood, where we display our resilience in the face of skepticism and adversity.

A pen gliding across the page, laying millions to rest with its strokes.

And now, this last day in the Argonne, underneath a dark autumn sky.

-

Behind the front lines, a scarlet leaf drifted lazily on the wind. It was joined by more leaves, from the same parent tree, and they fluttered to a stop in front of a soldier with a missing right leg. He looked down, hobbled forward, crushed the leaves with his good leg, and said to himself:

“They’ve fallen again. For the fifth time.”

Kaiser Wilhelm was long gone, having abdicated and fled two days ago. His shattered promise nevertheless remained etched into the German soldiers’ minds. You will be home before the leaves fall from the trees. What a bitter lie it was!

And the sentiment was shared equally by every belligerent in the war: none of them could rejoice more than mourn in victory.

If only they could all return to the past. Alas, it was a past long-lost to the world.

And thus as the last leaves departed their brittle branches, as the fog dissipated further and the lingering booms of shells fizzled out – as their losses grew ever more painful in their hearts, as their new reality came forth, the soldiers wondered. Would their scars ever heal? In the end, what can be done for the generation lost in the shadows of war, who would forever hear the deafening artillery echo in their heads?

The dead had seen the end of war, but the living could never do the same.

And soon, a new treaty will be signed, something more secure than the day’s flimsy disarmament. There was a future to agonize over. A new world will emerge from the dust of shattered empires and splintered crowns, new borders will be drawn, new minds will be returning from the battlefield, and what then? What awaited?

Humiliation, unrest. Depression, debt. Repression-

W A R.

-

A red poppy blows. It is one among many on this sun-dappled Flanders field: a blooming sea of souls, lingering by the place where they had made their stand. Crimson petals sway in the breeze, but the poppies’ roots remain grounded in the earth, because they shall never leave the land they had fought and died so valiantly to defend.

Illuminated by the hazy light from the vast sky, the field stirs. It was once shadowed, blemished, cursed by hatred and shame. Now it is only a heartfelt reminder of life and peace, graced by the dearest wishes of those who cannot hope to rest while there is still darkness in the world. Their voices often go unanswered, but the sincerity persists. For the poppies knew of such darkness; they have once perished in it.

Now that they are dead they can only believe. Perhaps soon they will be seen for who they once were, perhaps soon their unshakable memories of war will be found again. Courage, hope, and innocence; these were the values of the heart that will never completely fade. The world just has to recognize it.

And for humanity to learn the lessons of long past…

The poppies will sleep here for eternity, if need be.

Dedicated to all who served in the Great War.

A/N
(not included in word count; feel free to skim/skip)

Hello, welcome to the author’s note for this short story! It was written in commemoration of the 104th anniversary of the 1918 armistice that ended World War One, which coincides with Veteran’s Day in the US.

I first found the idea for the piece back in June, when I read a graphic novel entitled Treaties, Trenches, Mud and Blood. (It’s part of the Nathan Hale’s Hazardous Tales series, which I highly recommend!) According to the edit history on my writing doc, I’ve started writing Ceasefire just a week before I had to return the book to the library. So, I’m quite sure that the general idea/topic of the piece was mainly inspired by the three pages below, and so were many specific aspects: the title + main quote (last panel of 116), the machine gunner scene (last three panels of 117), and the shell firing scene (118).

The last scene with the poppies is also inspired by the poem “In Flanders Fields” – one of the most iconic of the war – as seen from the first line. In addition, a couple of Sabaton references are sprinkled in as well.

Other sources I used were informational articles and videos. Many of them focused on the signing of the armistice rather than the last day at the front, but I did manage to glean some information about the troops’ orders and behavior. The last deaths of the war also served as interesting (albeit tragic) anecdotes.

I’d like to thank my irl friends, as well as Twi, Bookie, and Tilly, for reading and giving feedback this piece. They’ve all been immensely helpful and supportive, and I definitely appreciate that!

And once again, thank you for reading, and I hope this short story was meaningful to you. Lest we forget.

-

The pages of TTMB mentioned in the A/N are attached here (apologies for low quality):

Pages 116 and 117:

Page 118:

The premise is that the story is told with characters in the form of animals. (I very highly recommend that you read the book yourself to learn why that is!) The Germans are black eagles, the French are Gaelic roosters, and the Americans are (don't ask) rabbits.

Last edited by Sandy-Dunes (Nov. 22, 2022 22:33:21)

Sandy-Dunes

Weekly 2

I did Part 1 and Part 2 with Misty – my portions are in blue and Misty's in green.

Part 1: Interview

486 words for all of my portions, 247 for my answers, 209 for Misty's

Interview 1
Sandy: Well well well, hello there, my dear sister! {grins} Anyways, I hope I'm doing this properly. I guess I can start as the interviewer, if you have no objections to that. Remember, only answers count as words, I think. Maybe this segment also counts? I'd have to ask for clarification about that. {pauses and thinks} Actually, I'm too lazy, so I guess I'll just not count this part. Maybe I'll get started with my questions now. Keep everything Scratch-appropriate, and let's try not to insult each other too much. Plus, no cringey stuff. Alright, then, maybe we can start. {clears throat} Question 1 for you: What songs are on your ideal speedrunning playlist, and why?

Misty: Although I do not have a speedrunning playlist, unlike you, I do have so ideas for if I do make one. For example, I would select some Sabaton songs, as they are quite motivating. I would mostly select upbeat songs, (All Star, Life is Fun, etc.) because they give you more energy. That's just my opinion though. Although, in another aspect, some instrumentals and lofi would fade into the background and make a good environment for studying.

Sandy: Ahh, yes, I agree with your response! Do use more action indicators though {nudges Misty} Anyways, what kind of songs would you use for each of your subjects?

Misty: {scowls in annoyance} {kicks Sandy in the shins} {eats kneecaps} {commits arson} are you satisfied? Anyways, I don't really change the type of songs for each subjects, but for creative things, I would do uplifting catchy songs, while for things that require more focus and yk, I would use more quiet fade-into-the-backgroundish songs/beats/instrumentals. {drinks lemonade}

Sandy: Yep, very! {grins} To respond to that, I think I understand. Honestly, school subjects are pretty much the same for me, too. I have writing-based stuff and reading-based stuff, and the music I use for them is vastly different – I'll have speedrunning songs for the former and, to quote, “more quiet fade-into-the-backgroundish” ones for the latter. Last question: do you ever listen to your favorite songs specifically for morale/speedrunning?

Misty: Yep, sometimes. {eats mangos} I don't really have favorite song, though- they're all good tbh. {eats lolipop} but some songs I do like are Prom Queen by Beach Bunny, Price of a Mile by Sabaton, and Somebody That I Used to Know by Goyle (something like that, I forgot the person). Also, I don't really use music a lot, bc my parents won't let me. I also don't have a playlist, sadly.

Sandy: Very cool! {gives thumbs up} now you should interview me

-

Interview 2
Misty: Okay, soooooo. Sandy, aka hooman, or are you hooman? I honestly don't know. Anyways, first question: Who is your favorite character from Monk and why?

Sandy: I'm a hooman, obviously, not a hooman! {rolls eyes} I can't believe you didn't know that. But to answer your question, my favorite character would be Randy! He's just so awkwardly goofy and the main comedic relief in the show, plus his dynamic with the captain is so wholesome {smiles in amusement} And although he's something of a joke and pretty dang naive, he's just so sincere and dedicated to his job that I can't really hold it against him, you know?

Misty: Ooh, cool! Your reasons make sense, and I definitely like Randy as well, although my favorite character would have to be Stottlemeyer. Anyways, next question- Monk vs Harold. Who is right? (which pattern of the books is better?)

Sandy: Monk is our titular main character and I'm not that fond of Harold, but I have to admit that the latter's way of arranging the magazines is better {opens up the episode} For one, his system goes by title – even though I don't think he did it correctly when I rewatched – and I like alphabetical order. Plus, the way he did an inverse pyramid honestly looks nicer than Monk's two straight columns, which are kinda boring. Anyways, it's hilarious how they insult each other so much over it!

Misty: I agree with you- Harold's way does look cooler. And it is indeed really funny, the insults they cast to each other over such a simple matter- anyways, another question: What would you say are the MBTI types of the major characters, and why?

Sandy: {thinks briefly} It'll take a lot of effort to deliberate their MBTI, but here's what I have vaguely in my mind: Adrian is an IxTJ, Leland is an ESTJ, Randy is an ENxP, Sharona is an ESxJ, and Natalie is an ISxP. Randy's definitely Ne-dom, and Natalie + Adrian probably have Fi somewhere in their stacks. Sharona gives Fe vibes.

Sandy: Well, I suppose that wraps up our interview! It was quite a delightful one.

Part 2: Collab Monologue

342 for my portion, 323 for Misty's

Hi. I'm Lieutenant Randall Disher of the San Francisco Police Department, but folks call me Randy. I'm the best officer on the force, I'm hot, and I'm very good at solving cases. Maybe even better than Monk! Well, actually, probably not. I have the best theories though.

So, I'm thinking that maybe this is a voiceover playing in the background of my awesome criminal-catching footage in an epic documentary of my life. Maybe? Oh, nevermind, then… guess this'll be something like a podcast.

So I'll start off with this question: Why are people so obsessed with Monk? I'm very good at solving cases too! I solved, like, uh… three? I mean probably over a hundred, y'know. And Stottlemeyer? I could grow a mustache too! I'll show them that I can be just as awesome as they are, and someday, I'll live to see that documentary made! But to be fair, I feel like my life is already decent. Nice job, steady income, cool place to live, and good friends – heck, why did I need to be jealous of them anyway?

Sometimes, of course, I do reflect on my life a little. There's been a lot of things I've done, and I've regretted a good few of them. And of course, there are some memories I just don't know how to think about.

For example, a project back in high school- the Randy Disher project. It was a rock band me and my friends- I mean, my friends and I created. I came back to the band after quitting the police force once.

It was the highlight of my high school years! We had everything: fun, parties, flashy songs. But I belong behind the badge, I eventually realized, and I left them behind. It's something interesting to look back on, though. I mean, even though it was nice when we came back to write a song, I still value my friends more. And, uh, that's something! Isn't it? Oh, yeah, speaking of my friends, I'm going to tell you all about them

First off- Leland. I mean, Captain Stottlemeyer. (Why does he never let me call him by his first name?) The Captain is, of course, very, very important. He's the head of the San Francisco Police Department!!! He's super cool, and I wanna be just like him. I'm proud to be practically best friends with him! Well, almost best friends. Second best friends? Third? Or just friends. But like, somewhat more than that, y'know.

Like, somewhere between friends and best friends, but leaning towards best friends.

Anyways- Monk. Adrian Monk. He's important too, as a private investigator. He's solved hundreds of cases, and I have to admit, we probably wouldn't be able to manage without him. We're very close friends. Okay, just friends. Good friends. Maybe.

Third of all, (is third of all a thing?) Crystal. She's my girlfriend. She's amazing. She's practically perfect. Unfortunately, my friends (Le- Captain Stottlemeyer, Monk, Sharona, etc.) won't believe it. I literally showed them! She was right there. They must have had a perfect view of her. Well, maybe not perfect, but still very good! Anyways, I like Crystal. I really like Crystal. She's cool.

Also, Sharona. I should talk about her, even though she went to New Jersey. She was Monk's former assistant and nurse. She was kinda cool, but she bullied me.

Talking about assistants, Natalie is Monk's current one. She seems pretty ordinary, but like Sharona, she's got a knack for putting up with Monk.

But there you have it! A beautiful picture of my life. Of course, it’s a bit weird sometimes. People get murdered so often, and I have to deal with it all. Sometimes I wonder… am I really cut to be a lieutenant? But I’ve said it once, and I’ll say it again: I belong behind the badge. And that’s my life, a very important part of it too. That’s all I have to say; Randy (or should I say Disher?) out.

Part 3: Spoken Poetry

Fleeing Procrastination

266 words, ~3 min

I stare intently at my computer screen
Hands clattering, busy typing
Sabaton songs blasting
(For they often helped best in speedrunning)
Just one little thing is missing

Oh, but even the most productive work session
Can come to a halt
At the feet of the distractions in question
It’s probably all my fault

Perhaps you sympathize with my plight
To some degree, or not at all
But it is far more problematic that you might
Expect, and it shall one day be my fall.

I am making no attempt at being dramatic
Or overexaggerating my worries
(Well, perhaps so, for emphasis)
But I must describe to you these follies

At first sight I may seem in control
With all of my tools at hand
Pomodoros, to-dos, and my schedule
But sometimes I simply don’t understand:

Why is is often so hard
To flee this eternal procrastination?
I focus, I plan; they all work so far
But it all fails to my frustration

Sometimes, however, I do succeed
When I finish all my tasks, and
My to-do lists seems mostly empty
Perhaps I do have free time at hand

And then I underestimate
(Griveously so, you know)
The time it will take
To reach my goal

Ahh, the problems of productivity!
And as much as I want to I cannot escape
For a year and a half of self-pity
Enduring the suffocating tides to brave

So I continue looking at my screen,
Typing, working, thinking
Perhaps one day I will find something
But now I’m simply speedrunning
As the next song on the queue begins to play

Part 4: Songwriting

255 words

Dahlias True

(Intro instrumental)

Verse 1:
In the light the dahlias bloom
Unsuited for a life of cold
And just as I walk with you
To the end, wherever we go

Hand in hand, stride in stride
Our voices carry on the breeze
A fire sets my heart alight
In this land, where we’re so free

Pre-chorus:
Our oath is our bond
We’ll never leave
This home found

Chorus:
In the dahlia fields we run
Free from the world
In the blissful warmth of sun
Our beautiful dreams unfurl

Verse 2:
Life is joy and sorrow and pain
Like the clouds that shift in the sky
But no matter what comes our way
I will always be by your side

With the voices of our breath
Faithful until the end
A growing flower we have fed
Will it grow until then?

Pre-chorus:
We walk beyond
And then I see
Our home found

Chorus:
In the dahlia fields we run
Free from the world
In the blissful warmth of sun
Our beautiful dreams unfurl

(instrumental solo)

Bridge:
Today, one of us
Shall depart this world
Silently
We take our leave

And as I watch
The dahlias stand
Upon the land
Where we call home.

Pre-chorus:
Even in death
We shall stay
In home found

Chorus:
In the dahlia fields we run
Free from the world
In the blissful warmth of sun
Our beautiful dreams unfurl

(key change)

In the dahlia fields we run
Free from the world
In the blissful warmth of sun
Our beautiful dreams unfurl

Last edited by Sandy-Dunes (Nov. 15, 2022 18:31:39)

A-Sad-Invention

how ru better than me at songwriting? I thought I was kinda musically inclined

my song is so basic and eww
but maybe mine has better melody, also it has rhythm which *cough cough* you don't really have

Last edited by A-Sad-Invention (Nov. 15, 2022 02:59:17)

Sandy-Dunes

A-Sad-Invention wrote:
how ru better than me at songwriting? I thought I was kinda musically inclined
my song is so basic and eww
but maybe mine has better melody, also it has rhythm which *cough cough* you don't really have

waow k

TWILIGHT_A

Critique for “Ceasefire of Fifth Autumn”:

Hey Sandy! This was a really amazing piece, and, to be honest, it was so hard finding faults in this! I'm not sure if it'll help you much, but in this critique, I will be mentioning a few things that confused me and maybe you can answer the questions I have!

“Meanwhile, the German soldiers – that is, those who haven’t deserted yet – were hunkered down in the trenches.”

I understand this sentence, but as far as I can understand, you are specifically mentioning the German soldiers here. However, in the first few paragraphs, there is no specific mention, and if you're mentioning all the armies of all the places, and then suddenly highlighting the German soldiers only, I think it does look a little odd. It's as if the German soldiers weren't mentioned in the first few paragraphs. I also don't understand the meaning of “those who haven't deserted yet.” Those who haven't deserted what yet? Or do you mean those who haven't been deserted yet.

It was some clever fella’s idea, an artillery officer explained to his bewildered regiment, to fire off shells so that they wouldn’t have to be carried back.

I wonder which army's artillery officer

And light dawned on him, as it now parted the mist and ushered away the darkness of the earth. There is a future.

Maybe you could mention what made him come to that realisation! Going inside his head a little at that moment, maybe.

Indeed, it has arrived: the eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month. A hush fell across the trenches of the front lines.

Was the coming-back-home supposed to be done on a fixed time of a fixed date of a fixed month? Or was it just a coincidence?

Voices rise. They longed for justification, they were anxious for closure, and they could not bring themselves to believe that the war was over.

No one responded.

This somehow confuses me. Maybe you could make it a bit clearer?

Anyway, Sandy, I know this critique is pretty short and pretty unhelpful. I just couldn't find any major faults in this! This is a really descriptive and amazing piece, and I have no words for this. Wow, just wow! You did a wonderful job and I'm sorry I could only ask you questions XD

Sandy-Dunes

Critique for Bookie
Hello Bookie!

here's my critique for your writing comp entry!

Grammar + Syntax

said empathetically.

You'd use a comma, not a period, before the dialogue ^^

laid out

I think "were laid out" works better grammatically!

Sprawling, sinking and rising hills laid out before me. The smell of Bellflowers and Berrylings wafted in the wind. The grass soft like cotton. The sky glowing golden like the glittering sand on the hourglass isles, red like a cherry’s cheeks. Kraken’s river shot through the valley, winding like a wicked tentacle of its namesake.

For the 1st, 2nd, and 5th sentences, you use a past tense verb. But for the 3rd and 4th sentence, you don't, which is a bit inconsistent in terms of grammar (and they're also not really complete sentences ^^'). You can change the two of them to:
"The grass was soft like cotton.“
”The sky glowed golden…“ or ”The sky was glowing golden…"

Clarity + Consistency

even if I was going through something hard, that something would always be worse.

I think that maybe this is a typo; “could” works much better instead of “would”. If something would always be worse, that's not very comforting ;D

(snip description)
Valan came and sat down next to me.

This feels a bit awkward, since you transition straight from description to fast-paced action. It also kinda just feels like Valan came out of nowhere. Maybe give some narration of Cera seeing him approaching from some location!

We’ll be on speaking terms pretty soon.

Out of curiosity, who's the “we”? Is it Cera and Valan (I'm assuming it's not) or some other unmentioned character, maybe the one who hurt Cera? You don't necessarily have to put this info in, but it does clear things up for the reader :>

On another note, I'll definitely appreciate some explanation of the worldbuilding

it seems really atmospheric in my opinion, but I'm just a bit confused about what Ferrylings, Berrylings, and Thimbles are. It'll be great if you can provide Same thing with the Bell Dell; I'm assuming that's where the two characters live, but there's not much info provided. I suggest doing a short description of everything!

Favorite Parts

The sky glowing golden like the glittering sand on the hourglass isles, red like a cherry’s cheeks.

Love the similes!

winding like a wicked tentacle of its namesake.

And I love this part too :0 the reference to the Kraken is so cool; you're really good with description!

And that's about it! Sorry that it's a bit short, but you did really well with your entry! Good luck :>

Last edited by Sandy-Dunes (Nov. 19, 2022 18:34:49)

booklover883322

Here it is! Also, thanks for grammar stuff. That doesn't get caught by a computer, so thanks tons for that!

Morning dawned cold and misty along the trenches of the Western Front. For many, the day was just the same as all of the ones that preceded it – toil and explosions and the desperate ache of homesickness. Through the Argonne, from Belgium and France, soldiers lounged in the quiet of morning. Not all of them were aware of the significance of current events. After all, news often traveled slowly out here.

However, rumors didn’t.

Word of the armistice passed from mouth to ear, trickling steadily up and down the battle lines. It was signed at the break of dawn, and it would go into effect near noon.

Love this! It felt like the beginning of a movie!

The orders of the Allied commanders did not cease, however. On the contrary, the higher-ups were never more eager to gain a final piece of ground, to deal as much damage to their broken enemy while combat was still ongoing. This was the way ambition coursed through the lifeblood of the army and government: they were the ones who were orchestrating the carnage of war, who were throwing together armies like rag dolls.
(snip)
Well, then. Let this be the last day that the orders of war have to be followed

Again, super descriptive and haunting. It feels real, like these are actual humans, yet so barbarically human at the same time.

The fireworks started.

It was some clever fella’s idea, an artillery officer explained to his bewildered regiment, to fire off shells so that they wouldn’t have to be carried back. The Americans remarked that it was like the Fourth of July. Late by four months, cannons fired up into the sky in a wretched cacophony.

This time, there was little gunfire accompanying the nerve-wracking booms, because most had simply given up. This time, it was the finale, and very soon the cannons themselves would cease along the front.

Great use of foreshadowing! I feel a sense of dread just reading the last paragraph of this section. The second sentence does feel a bit long, so it could be broken up or shortened, though it does work as a sentence nonetheless.

Yet even at this last hour, war did not yet entirely stop. Against the background of resounding artillery, one German soldier was handling his unit’s machine gun, blasting at the Allied lines. Casings clattered sharply as they landed on the rough dirt and tumbled down back into the German trench, skidding into the grooves and cracks in the soil. His compatriots gawked; his foes balked. Still he continued, handling the equipment with ease gained from years of hard combat.

Why?

His companions whispered for him to stop – one cannot speak too loudly against orders – but he rebuffed them. “There is no ceasefire!” Was that sheer disbelief, fanatical obedience, or bitter defiance?

This is great! I love how we learn a lot about that guy’s character in just a few sentences.

Despite the fervent urging of their commanders, many troops on both sides knew there would be no last scrap of glory to be won. Dead men could never come back, battles could never be rewritten, and life could never cease its relentless march through time. Yet it is difficult to rid one’s blood of grief and fury that scorches and boils, transforming them until they cannot recognize themselves. Perhaps the soldier wanted to make a final kill, wreak havoc on this foreign land while he is still able to, because he would never find such an outlet for his pain ever again.

Gah! This feels so humanly crazy, touching on the turmoil soldiers face. I really love this! (I can’t find a lot wrong with this, so sorry if this sounds super repetitive. I’m also speedrunning this, soooo-)

(Snip)

Inevitably, his ammunition ran out. Incredibly, no one was dead. He had been shooting at ghosts this whole time, had he not?

Had he? I was a tad confused on whether or not he was shooting at real people, or is trying to pretend that he is when he’s not shooting at anyone. It’s not necessarily a problem, since you can flesh it out later, but at this point, I was a bit confused. I’m probably just not reading it deeply enough.

(snip)
“It’s eleven now,” a voice murmured.

It didn’t matter in which language, from which side.

And with solemn acceptance, the German bowed to his former enemies: a final act of chivalry in this dishonorable war. Before the sun was covered again by the dust, one could catch the faintest glimpse of his eyes.

They were just a bit brighter than they had been a minute before.

This really feels like I’m reading a creatively written non-fiction piece about this. I like how it feels like this really happened exactly as you describe it.

[quote(snip)
All across the world, the soldiers remember.

All in all, an amazing piece, and I think that it deserves an award. I’m sorry I couldn’t have picked out more. Everything was polished and I really enjoyed reading it. The people felt human, the setting established and history used to your advantage. Nothing was repetitive, at least to my knowledge.

Last edited by booklover883322 (Nov. 19, 2022 19:22:59)

Sandy-Dunes

11/19 MC Daily

I got a chandelier that represents danger ^^ so I wrote this short horror thing? Its theme of danger is much more subtle though.
TW: Slight description of blood and creepy obsessions with a chandelier
457 words!

The ballroom glittered.

Every reflective surface, just like the polished marble floor, was touched by the radiant glow. Delicate fabric of twirling dresses and shiny lapel pins caught the dreamlike light, scattering little specks of gold stars across the room. Those sitting looked at the light reflected in their beverages, in their forks, in their pocket watches and monocles. It was as if everyone was caught in a trance, in a box sealed off from the world.

And the source of illumination? It was the chandelier hanging from the ceiling.

What to say about it? The gaze of every guest who first entered the room swerved to that majestic thing, and they often lingered on it for long afterward. It drew their attention, held their raptured eyes.

Even now, as the guests danced, their thoughts drifted again and again to that chandelier. Such an influence it had upon them! Its prisms clicked together like a windchime, even when there was no wind in the room, and the melodic sound vibrated in the guests’ very cores. Some were lulled to sleep by the music, and it made most feel at least the slightest bit drowsy.

Suddenly, the chandelier became still.

Everyone instinctively turned towards it with an air of panic.

“Why did it stop?” A portly gentleman was the first to exclaim. In any other circumstance he’d be ridiculed for this strange remark about a chandelier, but no one said anything in opposition. Because they, too, were thinking the exact same thing.

“Someone start it up!” a voice yelled from the refreshments table. Soon everyone joined in the shout. “Start it up! Start it up!”

But still, nothing happened. Agitation grew and spread among all of the guests, and the initial peace that was caused by the chandelier quickly wore off. Those who were sitting rose, those who were dancing broke apart, and those who had been asleep snapped out of their slumber.

The light of the chandelier glared down at the rabble, amber eyes cold but no less alluring.

The guests all crowded below the chandelier, and chaos arose. People clambered on top of each other, and hands seized the exquisite prisms that began to tremble by such a great force.

The glass began to break. Blood ran. There were cries of pain, but no one broke free from their inhuman obsession with the chandelier. It grew heavy with the weight of so many people holding and dragging it, and it swiveled precariously to and fro.

Still, the guests did not yield.

And thus the chandelier did the only thing it could do, it was destined to do: it fell. With an astounding crash, it crushed the mob beneath thousands of bloody glass shards and thick dust.

Last edited by Sandy-Dunes (Nov. 19, 2022 23:52:57)

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