November 16th Daily

When the yellow came, I watched them fall in love. In the humidity of the long dreary days, I watched them laugh and smile, the golden rays of sunshine lighting up their face. I watched them dance and dream into the warm air of the night, watched as they made promises of good times to come.

In the orange I watched their lives develop a rhythm. As the leaves began to tire I watched them grow used to the hum of being together, forming a new normal. The crisp clear breezes blew and the trees became a canvas of colour as the hum of both lives merged.

It was during the blue when I saw the two hearts break. The cold, hard days to accompany the lonely times. I watched as the sky cried with them, beautiful frozen tears. I watched as they shivered and quaked, unsteady and broken within their lives, wondering if they could ever be happy again.

Then came the pink, and I watched their lives repair. I watched through the blossoms as they learnt to be happy again, learnt to enjoy a life without each other. I watched as the pollen and birds dotted the sky, as they smiled and laughed once more. I watched as they moved on, never forgetting but no longer but no longer missing what had been left behind.

I watched, through a spectrum of colours, as life marched on.

My writing:

↽{Chapter 28}⇁
A glimpse of a broken world

Lucky felt weightless. He was in a hospital room, flying above the bed. He turned around and saw a glowing white cord attached to his back, suspending him, but he didn’t feel it. He moved his hand through it. It wasn’t tangible. He looked at his palm and realized it was see-through. I’m dead! He thought. I’m a ghost! He looked down at the hospital bed and what he saw confirmed his suspicions. He saw his body strapped to a bunch of wires. Three of the wires connected to a computer with his heart rate. It was stable. So I’m not dead. So what am I doing? He watched the scene for another minute. He turned away and saw a window back to where he had come. Directly next to it was a different window to another scene. Through the window, everything was black. Standing in the middle was a humanoid figure with dark blue scales all over his body. He wore dark blue armor outlined in gold. In his right hand, he held a glowing ring with a halo of golden energy. With his left hand, he waved a sword with a glowing green gem encrusted on the cross-guard in the air. His eyes were blue, but the iris was eroding with insanity. His face was covered by a scaled mask. Under it, his face seemed to be in a grimace. Between the eyes on the mask was a dark purple gemstone. To the left of his right foot was a blue skull. Behind him, around ten feet away was a group of humanoid creatures standing in a line.
The first in line was a girl with green skin, almost like an alien. She looked like a teen, but mature for her age. Her eyes were magenta, and her hair was brown. She wore silver-plated armor outlined with purple. In her right hand, she held an ornament-decorated sword. It had a leather-covered hilt and a purple cross-guard. The purple on the cross-guard of the sword was the same dark purple as the purple around the silver on the armor. It was a double-edged sword, and the center of it was cut through. Coming through the crack was magenta smoke. In her left hand, she held a battle ax. The handle was brown furnished wood. The ax head was made of gold.
“Everyone take an artifact. Someone needs to take two. Alieano has the crystal. I’ll go for it,” she called to the rest of her group.
The next in line was a girl who looked around sixteen years old. She had jet-black hair and dark blue eyes. She wore black metal armor. The armor was made of many metal spikes. Each spike was tipped magenta. Sprouting from her back were big black wings, like a raven's or a crow’s. She held out her right palm upside down towards the scaled humanoid. Glowing gold lights bounced around her palm.
“I used to have the power ring,” She replied. “I’ll take it.”
Next was a boy who looked around seventeen. He wore a tattered dark navy blue cloak that covered the top of his head, obscuring his hair and eyes. The cloak was the type of thing that looked like it had been through wars. Below the cloak, he wore a black suit with metal studs of armor and spikes. He held a silver sword in his left hand. It had a long thin blade. The cross-guard was a large silver guard encrusted with sapphires. In his right hand, he held a spear made of molten rock. It had been cracked through many portions of it, so it seemed to be being held together by a thread.
“I’ll go for the gem,” he responded. “I have an affinity for stones. I can take the armor too. Una, what are you going to take?”
The next in the line was a female gorgon. She looked like a normal girl but her hair was made of snakes, and her skin was copper. She wore metal armor. On top of her writhing mass of snake hair lay a crown made of multiple different types of rock. It had a very menacing aura.
“I guess I’ll take the skull,” Una responded.
The next girl looked fifteen. She had bright yellow hair and a silver streak through it, ending at her right eye. Her eyes were turquoise. She wore a light, faded blue cloak. Beneath the cloak, she wore a black suit, similar to the person next to her, studded with metal spikes. She also wore a brown leather belt with a circular gold buckle. On it was a simple leather sheath with a sword in it. She had her right hand on the hilt of the sword in the sheath.
“You know I’m going for the scroll,” she told the group.
“I’ll take the mind mask,” declared the boy next in line. “I’m used to the insanity it inflicts. It would break anyone else's will. We charge on three.” He had brown ruffled hair and matching brown eyes. His irises eroded similar to the scaled humanoid, but not as much. He had a brown shirt and navy blue pants. In his left hand, he held a simple wood and steel sword. The cross-guard was gold.
The scaled being in the center stared straight at Lucky.
“How curious,” the creature wondered. “Another world? I knew it must be true but…” The creature refocused. “I’ve won, haven’t I?” The creature pushed his hand forward through the window.
“Three!” Called the girl with yellow hair. The claw had almost reached Lucky when he flew away. The scaled humanoid’s claws grasped air right where Lucky had been.
“Two!” Shouted Una. Lucky glanced around and noticed the sentinel bot that had followed him through the rift. It was a robot so it had no mind to allow it to fly away. Lucky grabbed a spike from the sentinel bot’s knuckle.
“One,” quietly concluded the boy in the tattered cloak. Lucky then turned around and flew back to the world above, where he had come from. He felt a jerking sensation and felt compelled to close his eyes. When he opened them, he was back in his body. What he had just identified as incorporeal.

NickName - Ava
Content - November 16th Daily
Word Count - 740/200
Topic - Represent colors in your drawings
Cabin - Thriller

LET'S GET STARTED

Black- mystery, elegance
White- sincerity, perfection
Gray- neutrality, balance

Black, White, Gray. The three teams who didn't know when to stop, and still don't.


White, the stuck-up goody-two-shoes. Always acting as if they'd done nothing at all, always so ‘innocent’ and ‘perfect’ and ‘always completing their tasks on time,’ and they're believed because they're the youngest of the three. I mean they do complete their work but uuuuuggghhhh. They're so annoying. Why can't they just stop? But white has some good qualities too. They're in perfect harmony and almost none to two fights break out every two months. How? And they always got chosen and successfully came back without dying for quests. Very rarely have people been chosen from Gray, and only two from black, which brings us to them.

Gray was neutral by nature. It hated all the war going on between White and Black. and sometimes got involved themselves, but usually stayed on the safe side. Gray was the middle child. It wasn't treated too badly or too well. But then again, it wasn't treated well at all, since no one actually treated it. Gray was boring. The grays were bored of themselves. They weren't happy like white, or mysterious like Black. They were just gray. When people see gray, they feel sad or old. The fact that they were the middle child and people were constantly forgetting about them didn't help at all.
But gray was balanced. Really balanced. If you ever had a problem, just go to gray. They were the best listeners in the whole world, and also the best debaters. They put up a good fight, even though you wouldn't believe it if you were reading this. But believe it, folks, because I saw it once myself since I was the one getting protected. Gray was the kindest clan. Though at first glance you might think it as white, get that idea in your head. We don't need their ego getting any bigger, otherwise, they'd be too big for their brain. Imagine, everyone had gray, no matter which clan, because gray always represented skin. So why was Gray the ignored one?
Their motto was- Play safe, Play middle lane. Go figure. Different from black, which we are now coming to talk about.

Black, the oldest and most disrespected clan. When you're younger siblings did something wrong, you get blamed for it. You get half the scolding, half the grounding, and half the punishment. And black was the eldest of all the clans, and it didn't help that eight percent of this world's people see black and say ‘Oh what a distasteful color of evil!’ Black was certainly not evil. Black was probably the nicest clan you would ever see, and probably the most beautiful too.
Black was always treated badly, no matter what they did. ‘Black, you spilled water!’ - or - ‘Black, why didn’t you wash the dishes?!' - or even - ‘Black, I already told you nicely once, why aren’t you sitting down for dinner!' when they were two steps away from the dining table. The clan members were fed up, and many of them ran away, tried to get into another clan (which was forbidden, by the way, so only more dirt on Black's name), or even… you know what let's forget it.
But though white won't admit it, Black was beautiful. The most elegant, the most mysterious, and if you were a woman from the Black clan at a ball with the right dress, You would be running home with half the men chasing you out of the gala while the other half were convincing their partners they weren't staring. Black didn't like showing off themselves even though they were the prettiest, afraid white would bully them. Not very surprising. This only made White think they were the prettiest. White was pretty, but Never as pretty as black.

It was a custom to attend the ball every year, no matter which clan. White would rather have it that Black should be banned, but was abruptly said no to by their parents, which we will NOT speak about. You had to wear the color of your clan. When the people were dancing, it looked like a checker's board shifting around with gray as the the color of each tile. It was a wonderful sight.

Unfortunately in the world, you would live in if you were part of that clan, you would never be able to see color anyways, unless you were part of the secret organization, of course.

daily for November 16
311 words
I sat on a black chair with my legs crossed and my arms hugging me. The window pane was closed and beside it hung a picture of a boy with the ugliest smile I have ever seen. He was the kind of child my mother warned me not to be, I knew that from the way he smiled. The light around him was yellow, bright and it reflected upon its surroundings, but he took away all the colors from it. The wooden door creaks open revealing a bald man in his forties, he walks forward taking his seat in front of me with his desk dividing us. He looks down at the piece of paper slightly pink in his green hand. “Miss uh-”
“Meganah,” I muttered. Nobody could read my name right, while I guess nobody could read my handwriting. “Right, and you're here because of an underage and illegal potion purchase.” He raised his eyes at me. “Yes,” I look up. His eyes were sad like the ones who lived thousands of years to see everything lose it's color, and people like that were dangerous. I was taught that as a child Everything around him was grey because it lost its colors and beauty around him, “Why?” He asks.

Why? You ask me Why?

I glue my lips sealed. I promise myself that I won't talk. I was here for a different reason, not for committing a small crime, if that was it I would have not been here instead straight to my punishment whatever that is. He wants something from me, old man, I may have not lived thousands of years but it sure felt like it. The air around me became tight and felt green. As the walls hammered impatiently at my blackness. He raised his eyes, and magically I felt as if his grey stole my voice. “No,” I managed.

Writing comp entry —
Giants
1523 words

Raging, roaring… Surging, swelling… Tussling, tumbling… The pure scale overwhelms me - the magnitude is incomprehensible. Splashing, crashing… Great silvery bullets hammer down, the torrent torturing the earth that sits steadfast beneath it with the crushing weight of the water. The churning weight collides with the earth and it collides with the great expanse of water beneath it.

But as I stare, awed, at the looming pillar of water before me, the water seems to slow, the spray reaching out like tendrils of smoke, like wisps of cloud. The waterfall seems to cast itself into slow motion upon my focus. The swirling of water over rocks that jut out from the cliff turns into a rolling sphere, an endless cycle of water dragging itself back up, back over. Dizziness and nausea rise inside me. I avert my eyes, but the sound only bores further into my mind. It’s a wall of noise, enveloping me. It crashes into me, its ferocity and sheer power threatening to ensnare me. The thrill of treading - or swimming - the fine margins between life and death entice me, threaten to carry me beyond the horizon, to the perilous area where the sky meets the sea and all is a mystery.
I look up, at the white mass the water slips from. The clouds, seemingly dainty and formless, are deceptive in their appearance - they are home to an entire race of creatures that dwell there.

We call them giants.

But really, they’re just humans. Or at least, I think so. Just because they’re bigger and stronger than us doesn’t make them callous and heartless. It just makes them misunderstood. The tears that fall from the sky are proof enough. Sensitivity, not savagery, runs through their veins. As I feel the cold sting from the spray, I feel something rip through me: some kind of understanding, a connection with the so-called monsters that live above us. Anger sparks inside me at society's ignorance, penetrating the emptiness sitting stagnant in my chest. People are so stupid sometimes. More than sometimes.
“Why can’t the giants be gentle creatures? Why do they have to be cruel?” I whisper to the water, to the sea and to the sky. I try not to let it settle deep inside me, into the place where I know that how the giants are treated, mirrors my life, how my every move is scrutinised because of what I am. Not who, what. I sigh, defeated. But that’s when, as I close my eyes and tilt them towards the shrouded light above, I feel it. Safety lifting me. Tough skin beneath me -

I fall to my knees, my eyes jolting open in alarm. A massive hand beneath me, cupping around me, warmth radiating from it. A shadow falls upon me as the skin blocks sunlight from reaching me.

My heart rate increases along with my altitude. The sun bears down on me harder, more passionately, as I am lifted closer and closer to the clouds. Even though the protection of the giant, I feel the danger. What surprises me the most is the fear inside of me. Mind-spinning, heart-wrenching terror; it pulls at every figment of my mind and my heart and my body and consumes me, building up inside of me until all I want to do is rip it out from beneath my burning, ugly skin and pound my head until all the bad thoughts go away and I’m happy again and I don’t feel this stupid and weak and scared… My breathing quivers and quickens as I see the clouds wrapping around my frail, weak body. I don’t know why I feel like this because I’m. Not. Scared. Of. Giants. I’m the only person, it seems, who’s not scared of them. There’s nothing wrong with them.

Then why do I feel like this? Why is every part of my body pounding and screaming? Why does this ascent up into the white feel like a journey to hell?
I think it’s just the shock. That’s the only rational explanation. So, I try to relax as I feel myself being placed - gently, by caring hands - onto a floor. And then it hits me: I’m in the hall of the giants. I’m in their home. A wall of emotions crash into me - humility and anxiety, curiosity and an overwhelming sense of insignificance. But as the deep, steady rumble fades to a stunned, almost awed, silence, this feeling is replaced with confusion.
“Is it? It’s… really her?” A soft, low voice comes from above. Whispers echo throughout the hall. I crane my head up towards the hand that casts a shadow over me, noticing it points towards some kind of plinth across the room. Even the echoing of my every footstep seems quiet.
Especially compared to the whispered chant that slowly builds up around me. Claustrophobia sets in as the voices - the voices which are too big and too loud for my small ears - merge into one chant. “Sacrifice. Sacrifice. Sacrifice!” Twisted smiles appear on lips, hostile, callous glazes settle upon the eyes. As the chant reaches a deafening volume, muscles tense, ready to go, ready to kill me and end my insignificant life -

“Stop!” A huge voice bellows. “Not a sacrifice. A queen!” I wait for this to hit me, as the silence does. A… a queen? What are they talking about?
After what seems like the hardest walk of my life, I reach the platform. As I stare at my feet, emotions churn inside of me, and thoughts circle in my head. So many thoughts it's almost hard to distinguish them, but one prevails: I want to go home.

Deciding that playing out whatever ceremony this is will get it over and done with the fastest, I slowly raise my gaze. Before me: a table. 3 stands with 3 crowns. “Choose,” echoes the voice, “then an explanation.” Now, it’s a confusion that stands out from the acidic mix of emotions.
The first crown is a deep purple, like royalty fading into midnight. The colours seem like a writhing, undulating darkness. The needles that stab upwards reach high, as if trying to reach the rest of the darkness. I look away. The second crown is almost electric - brilliant blue, white streaks glowing from it. The complex shapes extrude from it, a jagged patchwork of lines. The third is… beautiful. A shimmering gold, bronze encircling the bottom, reds dispersed throughout. It is as though the most beautiful sunset has been transformed into a wreath of gold, into a crown. I point towards it, apprehension mixing with certainty and awe at the object's beauty.

As the giants turn their heavy gazes upon me, they start to laugh. The very noise makes me want to cry and scream and curl up into a ball and disappear, confirming the insignificance they already see in me. “You have chosen. You have chosen the crown of fire. And I promised you an explanation of what is happening. Our last queen… she died. And when you felt with us, touching our tears with shared grief, you were chosen. To be the queen of the giants, ruling over your people.” My heart sinks, anger and pure loss rising inside of me, a heavy heat threatening to burn me from the inside out. Still, the voice continues as tears blur my vision. “And as you have chosen your crown, you have chosen your rule. You will rule with fire. Only those who survive your rule will be deemed worthy to exist under the superior race of the giants. You’re lucky. You have been chosen.”

The blur in my vision becomes crystal clear, tears no longer hindering me. The flame ignites in my chest, hotter and more powerful than I ever thought possible. As a cold steeliness overcomes me, I speak, my voice penetrating the hall of giants for the first time. “You didn’t choose me to be a queen. You're choosing me to be… to be an oppressor, a cruel, evil tyrant.” The horror of it all crushes me, and my voice breaks down with my heart. “A tyrant over my own people.” The tears and the anger burn me from inside and out.
Repulsion at the callous heartlessness fills me as the voice drawls out. “Well, at least there might be your people to be a tyrant over. And they won’t hate you. There won’t be enough of them to hate you. Anyway, that isn’t an emotion your subjects will feel for you. Only respect and,” he laughs, “fear.”
And with that, a red glow starts from beneath the haze of clouds below my feet. I choke on a scream as the giants bow to me, one by one. As they bow to me whilst my family, my friends, strangers I never even met, burn beneath me. They call out to ‘their queen’ as she screams and sobs, scratching and pounding at the floor. They rejoice at their new leader, whilst she loses every part of herself. As everything, she has ever been burns far beneath her.

Daily 14- Nov. 16
241 words

Losing him was blue, missing him was gray, but loving him was red… Taylor Swift has one of the best examples of color writing out there. For today's daily, try incorporating different colors to describe abstract concepts into your writing, whether that's in a piece of flash fiction or a poem. Earn 100 points for 200 words and an additional 50 points for sharing your writing!

Today I am feeling grey.
Grey like the dull sky
nestling in between the trees,
while I rest with my head on my desk.

It’s peaceful.
I feel blue calmness
wash over me
like gentle ocean waves.

But then the teacher yells “Wake up!”
In a scarlet tone.
I pick up my drowsy head
and hear black-toned giggles.

I walked out of the room
Washed with reds
Embarrassment overtakes
And I walk to the bathroom, black.

Intrusive thoughts get to me.
I wish I could be /her/.
She’s yellow all over.
Like you gave a kid a coloring page.

I sit there in jealousy.
Green punching me in the heart.
Overtaking the sweet pink.
I feel so ashamed.

The bell has rung
And I’m still there
Sitting in on the toilet
With hot tears dripping down my face.

I walk to class
Feeling black inside
What will they think of me?
Dark blue’s tears
Coating my entire body.

I go home that day,
Feeling under the weather.
But then I see,
my brother.

I get bombarded
with warm reds
Golden yellows
And welcoming oranges.

I run over to him
And hug him tight.
He smiles.
All my sadness flows away.

We go to get ice cream
The sky cleared up
Like it was yellow
Just for us.

But then I see /her/
The girl who doubts me
The girl who doesn’t even know I exist
The girl that makes me green.

Daily 16: 397 words

They told me that the boy was caught in the grey rain. Yes, try friend with the too-bright purple eyes and the baby-blue hair,
They told me that they couldn’t get the buy, my friend, out with the grey storm clouds with their hammering tears. He was camouflaged in it, and no one can pull him out,
But I knew that I could, I was was so tired of waiting, waiting for this miracle to happen and him to come back.

They just came back into the room and told us that hew was fully drenched to the bone by now. I sat in a plain white chair amongst everyone else in their plush green chairs. They were looking expectantly at the grown-ups guarding the door. They weren’t even fussing about it this time, even though they hadn’t got if the graffitied red off it.
I didn’t care. I wanted to get out of that room.
I even went up to them, go ring my muttering classmates painting and behind-ear whispering about me being a show-off.looking at them through my cat-like yellow eyes. They looked down upon me and sent me back to my seat. I did what I was told and sat, yearning to open that door.

What was I supposed to do? I couldn’t just sit there and do nothing. I had to do something. I must my friend. I know how to help my friend. I will help my friend.
I ran, igniting the cries of indignance and anger. I slammed the red door opened and ran, out of the dreaded building, and out into the rain.
And there was my friend, turning his back time, drenched in the hammering tears.
I can’t say anything. I hope the hanky I made for him before all of this would say enough words. I throw it to him, hoping he would notice it. He turns around and picks it up, and washes the dirt off it.

Orange. He smiles, and the orange in his cheeks brighten as well. He turns over the handkerchief and saw the pink.
The pink that had fluttered and settled in my heart. It grew every spray when I talked to him, laughed with him, shared my life with him.
He turns to me, with the too-bright purple eyes and the calm, baby blue hair.
And all the grey was washed away.

11/16 (218 words): Losing him was blue, missing him was gray, but loving him was red… Taylor Swift has one of the best examples of color writing out there. For today's daily, try incorporating different colors to describe abstract concepts into your writing, whether that's in a piece of flash fiction or a poem. Earn 100 points for 200 words and an additional 50 points for sharing your writing!

It started as a dull gray.
Quiet mornings
And busy school days.
Occasional specks of yellow and blue,
Like the ocean and honeydew.
Laughter and sobbing,
Wake, eat, sleep, repeat.
Living in a simulation,
That never changed.

Then it was a fantasy.
Pink, rosy cheeks and bubblegum colored flowers.
Eyeing him in the corridor,
Looking away when he noticed.
Giggles and cotton candy,
My mind caught in a dream
That never wanted to end.

When he loved me, the world was red.
Like roses and rubies,
Coral and strawberries.
Snuggling on the couch,
Popcorn in our mouths.
Movie theaters and cafés,
Ranches and gardening.
Living in a dream,
That never seemed like it would end.

When we parted, it was blue.
Like bluebonnets, lapis lazuli,
And rainy afternoons.
Sobbing underneath the sheets,
Waking from a forever dream.
Curled up into a ball,
Tears dripping onto old photos.
Aloof from friends and family,
Locked behind doors.
Living in a nightmare,
That didn’t want to stop.

After a while, everything changed back to dull gray.
There yellow, more blue,
Like a lake below a canoe.
There were still some times
Where I felt only blue again.
But through time,
The laughter started up again.
I saw more yellow,
And eventually pink.

Then began the cycle,
That love continues to repeat.

november 16, daily

I had been the one sitting there as I watched the two colours clash. Who had chosen these colours? Had it been the reason why they fought as much as they did? Scarlet red, the startling colour of anger, crashed into the dark emerald, pure green. Of course, it couldn't be the first time it happened—of course, naturally. Why would it? Green and red were opposing colours on the wheel, so much so it seemed like Salazaar and Godric wanted this fight.

I watched as day after day, the two fought each other, down to the mallow on their own bones. I sat there, again, again, and again—always a cycle, you see—in my plaid and my night blue, sitting to watch the show. Everyone who was there to watch—those of blue and yellow—sat on the bases of trees for each day it happened. We saw the orange-gold sun filter through the different green leaves of the trees. If you'd join us, you'd hear the melody of the birds, their chirping would sound like the purest and whitest lyrics you'd have ever heard. Anyone can relax in the song of birds, which is all we did.

“POTTER! MALFOY!”

daily (not explaining what this is about, but feel free to guess if you think you know)

There was always colour, right from the beginning. My sister was red, and when she sang, her voice sounded green. Life was paler back then. It's all gotten too bright now. They took all that away from me, seeped all the colour out of my life. Because it was a distraction. But it was never a distraction, it was just life.
It's back now. It returned in a flash, a burst of colour and memory. And it can't leave me again now. The colours are in my mind and my heart to stay.
I fought a green man. One of the first times the colour was back. Green men are usually trustworthy though. As this one did turn out to be.
I have a blue cat. I picked her for her distinct colour. Every other cat in the place would have taken me at least days to find their colour. But not my cat. I knew who she was from the start.
But more than any other colour, my life had, and now has again, yellow.
Yellow.
Yellow is perfect, it's always been my favourite colour. And for good reason, obviously.
If I had to give up all other colours to keep yellow, I would. (205 words)

╔══ ≪ daily 16 ≫ ══╗

The room was a soft pastel blue, her neon lights reflecting against the various mirrors she has hung on her wall. She moved gently in her slumber, chest rising up and down at a constant rate. That is, until she stirs, her forehead creases in her sleep, and she wakes up, thrashing and shivering.
Her glacial blue eyes, wide open in fright, focus on the mirrors. Her face reflects back at her, and yet she cannot be bothered to look behind every individual worry.
She shivers again. From here, she can see the sky is a deep navy, splashed with stars and blurred with clouds.
The blankets around her aren't warm enough to stop the nightmares from soaking in.
“I don't know what to do,” she whispers to herself, to her reflection – but she doesn't answer.
The blue seeps into her head, almost like waves crashing against a beach, long ago, the rocks stony grey with the weather above.
She can almost see a person running towards her, fully surrounded in colour, and even when she reaches out, she knows that it's too late.

“Darling?” her mother whispers, “You need to go back to sleep.”
She shuts her eyes.
“Okay, Mom,” she answers, pulling her bedsheets close to prevent the blue from engulfing her. “I'll try.”

(219 words)

Main cabin daily - colors
November 16, 2022

Seeing Red

Tallie Burgess saw red. Before anyone could tell her to count to ten and think, the game pieces were scattered on the ground and the table was flipped over.
The kindergarten teachers ran over with stern looks on their faces. Most of them went to console the terrified toddlers; the main teacher went to Tallie to explain to her, once again, that being angry is not okay.
Tallie stood there, her face nearly as red as the wool coat she was wearing. This was the third time this had happened in two weeks, and none of the teachers really knew what to do.

Tallie Burgess saw red. Red like the blood that was now on her knee. Red like the four-square ball she’d been trying to chase during second-grade recess. Red like the shirt of the boy - who had cheated! The nerve! - who she now lunged toward.
“You… were… cheating!” She yelled, as the recess monitors restrained her from knocking the boy flat.
Her nose and cheeks were red with the bitter, almost-winter cold. But pure rage warmed Tallie’s bones, and she could barely feel the 40-degree air as the teacher dragged her to the principal’s office.

Tallie Burgess saw red. Not for the first time, she was sitting in front of the school’s guidance counselor.
“I understand that middle school is a time of change,” the counselor said in a maddeningly calm voice, “but anger and hate is not the answer.”
Tallie tried to count to ten, like the teachers and her parents had told her to. She only made it to five before a big, fat, angry-tear slipped out of her red eye.
The guidance counselor looked on in what felt like pity, but Tallie barely cared. None of them understood.

Tallie Burgess saw red. This time, she didn’t do anything. She’d learned that people were preying on her just because she couldn’t control how she felt. Now she was in ninth grade, and she couldn’t fall to something embarrassing like yelling, or crying, or getting in a fight. Tallie wished that she could turn the red into something like power, or confidence, but every time she saw red it just ended up messing something up and she ended up in the principal’s office yet again.
So Tallie stayed silent, shoving all her rage down. She rubbed her red bracelet - rubbed and rubbed and rubbed. Trying to rub all her anger into the bracelet. Trying to rub it until she was calm.

414 words

- nov 16, hi - fi cabin -
daily - 203 words, 150 points

I miss you.
Missing someone makes my mind go dark blue, you know? That's what I feel like.
Before, I felt a rainbow. You were my best friend, best friends felt like purple.
Mom says ‘Stop it, he’s not here anymore', but that's not true. I think of you every day, and my mind goes bright yellow when I remember our fun moments.
I know you're out there, somewhere, I just don't know where. I hope you come back. When you do, I'll find the rainbow again.
Hope is bright green. And I also feel that. Hope that you'll come back.
I loved petting your golden hair, I loved tickling you. I loved going on walks with you. Those felt orange-ish.
But you're still not here. It's been months since you left. But I know you will come back. And if you don't, I think I'll be okay. Can't guarantee anything though. Because I need you here, I need you in my life.
My afternoons are no longer yellow, the color of happiness, because you're not here anymore. I will wait for you.
Until you come back, know that I love you, my doggo. I will be here until the end of time.

Weekly 16/11

When I first met him, I didn’t think of him as a colour – I claimed he wasn’t worthy of one. I said he was clear, easy to read, boring, basic. I genuinely thought I meant when I said it, but I was never able to control the colours. They had always controlled me.
Time went on since the day I met him. He appeared more, always in my business, asking for attention like a lost dog. I ignored it, but he persisted, intent on knowing how I viewed him. My answer always stayed the same: he was clear, obvious and empty.
I had wanted to believe that I hated him, I did believe that I hated him. But any mention of him tinted the world, painting it shades that I had never known. His voice was honey, kind and sweet, but sickly too. His eyes were a bright green, but he made the world glimmer like he was the sun, commanding the light to return.
Then he stopped asking how I saw him. My friends took it as a great triumph, claiming that I had finally been rid of the bee that insisted on buzzing around me, decided on trailing me. Yet, if he was a bee, I was a flower – what flower did he think I was? Was I pretty or useful? Was I his favourite? It was with a hollow emptiness, that I began to understand why he had been so set on knowing his colour.
I felt a sudden urgency explain his colour to him. How he was water colour yellow, bright but dulled with use. How he was the sun shining through the clouds. How he was the first sing of spring. He must know, he must.
And yet, when I found my way to his residence it was deserted, vacant and grey, void of colour. In the centre of the room there was a vase of wilted flowers, droopy and bland – once buttercups, warm and yellow, but lost to misery. Lost, just like my yellow.
(340 words)

Daily 16…?
201 WORDS
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Gray wind swirled and danced around me. Green grass stood tall, freshly mowed. White clouds slowly moved through the sky. Human blobs ran through the old blue playground. As people screamed, colors moved around everywhere. Too many colors. The grimy park signs were all blacks and grayish whites, but they were in my mind, bright purples and hot pinks. Someone's phone rang, making a blast of pink with yellow stripes appear. I licked my ice cream, and stared at the new bright red block appearing in front of me. I loved that red. So red. So very red. A tortilla is gold. Sugar is green. But ice cream is red. So red. So very red. I stare at the old blue playground. It needs a new coat of paint. A thick one. I look at the sign. It needs cleaning. Thorough cleaning. I look at the gray wind. I like it. I look at the green grass. I like it. I look at the clouds. I like them. I look at the block of red appearing in front of me. I love it. I absolutely love it. I can’t imagine something better. There is nothing that is better than that red.

nov 16 daily
psst! want to read my writing? all my writing links are here

397 words

I sensed anger rising. Red flashed at the corners of my eyes, warning me my emotions were getting crazy.
I didn’t care. “You little-!” I screamed. My hand flew out. The red flashed so bright my eyes hurt. My hand made contact with his cheek, hard.
I slapped him.
The red that was in the corner of my eyes automatically changed to purple. Oh no.
I backed away. I didn’t mean to. Remorse filled my head and flashed in my eyes.
He got up and looked at me. I saw nothing but blackness in his eyes, and I only felt worse.
He was feeling mixed emotions. He felt sad and angry and confused. I didn’t even know why I hit him. I had been out of control. And now I felt bad but I couldn’t bring myself to talk to him or anyone.
So I ran away, my feet crushing the fall leaves under me and the wind blowing in my face.
I could see black. Everywhere. This was bad. I ran so far and fast I forgot where I was supposed to be going and ended up in the middle of the busy city. I sighed and pulled out my phone to see how far away i was from home… a good 30-minute walk. Not terrible, I guess.
The sky was blue, but all I saw was sadness. The sun was yellow, but all I saw was fear and confusion. I was getting too attached to the colors. I thought it would be cool to know exactly what everyone was feeling. But it isn’t cool, it’s more just sad. When you see dark blue in a random persons eyes at school, and you wonder why they feel that way, and you cant ask them because you don’t like talking to people, and all you can do is hope they feel better, and when you see dark red in someone’s eyes, and you feel scared, and again, you can’t tell anyone.
Would you like that? I don’t.
I think about when I slapped the boy. He didn’t really do anything wrong, but I was mad. All he did was steal a book I didn’t even care about that much.
This is why I don’t like emotions. They’re too hard to deal with. Maybe the world would be better if everyone just felt happiness all the time.

327 words
Written from my synesthesia's pov =0

I play music a lot.

Music is a passion for me.

I play clarinet and piano- I've been playing piano for almost nine years now. I’d like to say I’m okay at it- I'm only taking my trinity grade five, however. I used to dislike it- and for good reason. It made me feel pressured.

Pressure is an oppressive force. It is dark, and heavy. It is rich. To me, it is a deep, dark magenta-ish purple.

Now that I am taking my trinity, I have three pieces to play. I have ‘Large Wave’. This piece is slow. Many do not like it- they say that it’s depressing or haunting. To me, the piece is hopeful and peaceful. It is a deep, grayish cyan. It’s not one solid colour- shades of blue and gray and occasionally even green shift and create a soothing collage of colour.

I have ‘Sports Car’- and this piece gives me oranges and browns and reds and dark, warm greys. It is fast, lively and full of sticcattos. I only learnt it recently, so to me it still hasn’t taken of a deep personality.

My last piece is called ‘And Now Let’s Handel’. It is fast and repetitive. I do not like this piece. To me, it is monotonous and boring. This made it hard to practice for me. All I saw was a whitish yellow. My teacher advised me to try and change the colour- what would make it more interesting? To me now, it is that same whitish yellow, but with blurry streaks of purple and other colours I don’t see as clearly. It is still mostly whitish yellow, but the colours- and the piece as I play it now- remind me of anxiety- of fear, worry, and stress.

Perhaps those emotions are not particularly positive, but it’s much better to have a range of bold colours for me than to have a blank canvas.


I'd advise listening to the peices so u know what im on abt lmao

SWC Daily #15:

Seeing People Move
As If Seeing Blue Take Over
No Yellow In Sight

Then She Comes Back Here
Glimmering Yellow Is Back
What Will Happen Next?

Haikus Are Purple
Iris’s Sprouting In Spring
The Face Of Her Here

When I See Her Pain
I See Dark Angry Maroon
Like A Slice Inside

But Like Pastel Pink
Our Friendship Is Strong Inside
Never Ever Breaks

Yes, Our Friendship Does
Sway Like The Stormy Dark Grey
In The Thunderstorm

But Like I Have Said
We Will Never Separate
Like Shiniest Gold

Oh My Dearest Friend
I Miss You Like Darkest Blue
When Will You Return?

Word Count: 202
Points: 150
Abstract Idea: Stages of Life

Pink for the joy of being a toddler.
The joy that each day held. No continuity here, thank you. The dark magenta of the sad moments, though forgotten soon after. Swirling, strawberry ribbons, rose pink room, rose pink walls. Pink cheeks, pink nose when I was sick. Bliss

Purple for the later years before ten.
Sometimes light, like lavender, memories now remembered and friends made strong. The laughter, the joy. Along the way, in the mural of life, there were splashes of raisin, dark for the conflicting emotions as I grew. I wanted the laughter and the youth, but I had to acknowledge what was happening.

Green for the preteens.
Green can stand for a lot of things. Life, for one, which felt to me like pear. Friends began to say things, seaweed like words. Pistachio green became my walls.

Blue for what is yet to come.
Cobalt for looking forward to my future, admiral blue for realizing all the work. Ice blue for a new obsession and escape. Azure blue for another obsession. Blue for the sadness that will inevitably come, light blue for skies that will shine above me throughout the rest of my life.