FROGS SWC THREAD

March 1st Daily

If I was a book, I would be sure to be something fantasy related. Maybe a world full of swash-buckiling pirates? Or perhaps a lost colony deep in the caves? I guess you would have to open me up to find out. I can see my cover already, a dark ivory green with gold traced lettering. The words are faded, but still bright enough to read FROG in all cursive capitals. Some type of flower, maybe a daisy, sprouts in the same gold from the bottom of the cover. The cover is beautiful to look at, but what’s inside is what really counts. Opening the hardcover will reveal cursive words fancy enough to impress but easy enough to read clearly. The story, however, is much different than you’d expect. While no pirates or colonies appear, you can find an epic story filled with love, adventure, thrills, and most importantly, fun. It’s everything a fantasy story needs and more. Flying broomsticks? I have them. Twins with matching powers? 48th page. A talking sloth that lives on baby oil? Well- let’s not go that far, but you’ll find so much packed into the book. Why don’t you take a look and check it out?

202 words

Daily 1:
I am the torn pages of a jaded leather-bound grimoire. Somewhere on the sheets are the incantations of forgotten memories and scribbled notes never to be read again. The cover isn't much; just beige cobwebs progressively devouring the exterior through occasional wear and tear. I'm spineless. The threads holding me inside have fluttered their way free from their confines, and now nothing is left holding me together. My name is on the title; initially important but not anymore. What's yours?

Daily 2:

firefly, pencil, lamp, hope, owl

(exactly 300 words)!

Tapping my pencil on the weathered grooves of my wooden desk, I crumple up another sheet of paper. I didn't remember what I was doing. I didn't remember how it happened. My hands live a life of their own, attempting to sketch a picture of whatever they remember, but nothing rings a bell.

The dementia is worsening.

Opening my drawer, I retrieve another sheet of paper. The dim lamplight provides some but not enough illumination for me to see. Either way, I won't be able to formulate anything that remotely resembles what I want to express. With a slight sigh, my hands start a new picture story.

Curves and circles form into creatures. Is it an owl? Is it an eagle? Or is it myself? These days, I don't recognize my own reflection. The mirror mocks me. I can't trust it anymore.

Dots of graphite are scattered between the blue lines. I wonder if they are stars, fireflies, or both. When the sketch is complete, I raise the paper towards the lamplight for a better look. I observe nothing but the translucency of the sheet.

My mind wants to stare at the puzzle a little longer, but my hands tremble. The reason, I don't know, but my synapses appear to malfunction, and before I know it, another crumpled ball is discarded into the waste bin. A cursory glance at the contents in the trash reminds me of my lost track of time. Though my mistakes are overflowing, my hopes of remembering anything stay grounded by paperweights.

I fetch another sheet of paper, and I try. I try again. But by now, the pencil is reduced to an unusable stub. Wasted, like all of my time. Like all that I remember.

So I turn the lamplight off. For the last time.

Daily 3:

(574 words)

(I am SO RUSTY at narrative writing/storytelling I can't xD)


Frantically typing on the keyboard, I slide through databases and articles but find nothing. From the opposite of the room, Shayna browses through her lightscreen, sighing after scanning each useless article. In the corner of my eye, I notice Matthew and Zane conversing behind the shelves, clearly forgetting about the task at hand.

“Hey! You two! Found anything?” I swirl around on my chair, tossing a crumpled napkin at the duo.

“Uh, not really! We're looking though!” Matthew hesitantly responds.

“Of course. You two weren't making out behind there, right? Start helping, or we're never going to figure out how to defeat Valor.” I close out of another gossip forum; no new information just yet.

“Everyone, there's something you need to see!” Fleur rushes into the control room, projecting the security footage for the rest of the team to see. “They're trying to break in! I've already tried reinstating our security messages, but it seems they've tampered their way past all of our defenses.”

“Who could it possibly be?” Shayna retrieves her ray gun out of the holster. “If it's not any of the Supernos, then who wants to go after us?”

I glance at the camera footage right before it all turns into static. “It's obvious, isn't it?”

“What is?” Fleur attempts to reboot the cameras, but before she can press any of the buttons, the electricity cuts out.

“It's the government. They're searching for all of us.”

The sound of pounding metal permeates through the room. “They're right outside, we need to get out of here.” Matthew rushes to lift up the emergency hatchet. “Zane, help me out here, I think the hinges here are rusty.”

“Hurry up! I don't think these doors can hold up much longer,” I shout, tentatively standing beside the doorway.

In a matter of seconds, the agents breach past the door. Their weapons point in all directions.

“Shoot!” Shayna hisses, gaining a disapproving headshake from Zane.

“You don't want them to shoot…”

“Down! Down! Everybody on the floor, now!” the agents command, their lasers pointed straight into our skulls.

“Wait! Wait, it's not them you want!” I slowly approach who I assume to be the lead commander. Fidgeting in my satchel, I pull out a smoke grenade. “You see this? You're looking for the Supernos, right? You can have them; we've hidden the coordinates in this device.”

By now, all the agents have diverted their attention to me. I watch as Zane lifts up the emergency hatchet; Matthew is the first to drop down into the abyss.

“Idiot, that's a grenade, now drop it! Don't think we won't shoot!” the lead commander barks and the rest of the agents position their aim. Shayna pushes Zane into the hatchet before jumping down herself. Unfortunately, her arm crashes into one of the rungs. The harsh clash immediately causes the agents to turn toward the gaping hole.

“They're escaping!” The agents rush to the opening; I detonate the grenade, and a haze of smoke begins to take over the room. Fleur shuts the trapdoor before they can reach it.

“You understand that you've just trapped yourselves in, right?” One of the agents retrieves a tranquilizer gun. “Oh well, we can get some information from you two too.”

The dart hits Fleur first. Somewhere in the fog, a buzzing whiz fires nearby, and I feel a prick at my neck. I open my mouth to scream, but my muscles go numb…

Daily 4:

(256 words)

With a quick wave, Matthew materializes out of thin air into the dead silent ballroom.

“What in the world…” one of the campers screams. “Was that supposed to happen?”

“Woah, woah, woah,” Matthew starts, hesitantly raising his hands up. “I was here the whole time, I promise! I just… don't like talking to people, so I turned myself invisible.”

“You did WHAT?” A random partygoer gasps. “How?”

“Well… it's a long story… and I'd rather not talk about it.” Matthew glances at the locked door. “Oh, and that looks like a problem. You know, I'm going to just…”

With another wave, Matthew disappears from the room, before reappearing beside the concessions. “I'll just take a couple of slices of cake. I've been quite hungry waiting in the corner…”

“He can teleport too!?”

Matthew pours himself a glass of fruit punch. “Not really. I can't teleport, and I can't really turn myself invisible.” Sipping the juice for a short pause, Matthew points at a random spot on the ceiling. “What I can do is create illusions, though. Hey, I think there's this one Superno that can actually teleport though…”

“First we're trapped in some gigantic real-life escape room, now this? This has got to be a dream or something,” somebody with a purple mask groans. “I just came here for the free food!”

“Me too!” Matthew says, happily allowing himself to a generous portion of potato chips. “This doesn't fit my diet, but oh well. You gotta make do when you're stuck in a room for forever!”

Daily 5
(314 words)

My reflection, once perfect, has been demolished by filth commandeering the lake. Oh, my love, where have you gone? Once full of beauty, you have either been tainted by inevitable age or some sudden intervention.

I refuse to believe that this is a divine intervention; instead, I believe you have been sabotaged by the humans who are jealous of what we share. They can never reach true perfection, so to curb their jealousy, they destroy all that we have. What is there left of you? What is there left to love when the curves of your face have been warped by chemicals, or when the glimmer in your eyes has been dulled by the overcloud smoke?

Dare I caress your longing stare? Dreaming of a better time, I understand. I fear if I reach to hold you, hold you for one last time before you wane away, I will be burned by the demons that lurk in this pool. Back then, I always assumed shadows were a thing associated with land. Now, I have learned that even the shadows can inflitrate into the rivers. The silhouettes, they linger at the surface, hindering the view of anyone who desires to see into the waters.

I am sorry this has happened to you. I truly am, but I do not think I can go on loving you much longer. My affection for you has withered away, just like the vision of you after all these years. The sadness chokes me as hard as the billowing fumes; my eyes sting from both the rejection and the ash-infested air. I remained loyal to you all these decades, but people change. You have changed.

So, I am saying my goodbyes to you. I am saying my goodbyes before the rest of the world disappears into a curtain of exhaust.

It is always hardest to leave; this is my farewell.

Daily 6:

Original source (The Road Not Taken - Robert Frost)

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

Blackout poem: Two travel far. In the fair morning, no day leads to somewhere. Ages diverged in difference.

Rewritten story (221 words!):

They say it takes two.

In our early passion of teenage years, we chased euphoric highs like police cars catching crooks. Every night, a different adventure unfolds, whether that be at your apartment or at the hidden alcove by the lake. Remember those times, when the moon hung with temptation overhead, when the stars blinked their weary eyes at our miniature figures? We were so small back then; in the grand scheme of things, we still in some way are.

The yawning mornings come without trophies. We were always either behind on our schoolwork or the opinions of others. I guess that's the sacrifice made when trading security for memories. Not a single day leads to somewhere, but during those moments, I felt we were something. You were someone to me.

Age is a mastermind that inevitably captures us all. As we both were swept off our feet, you exited our stage from the opposite side. Back into the church you went, whispering your confessions and bruising your knees in prayer. Soon, you will start a family of your own, forgetting the sins of childhood.

I wander down the broken planks of bridges, endlessly searching for something like before. I grow older, but the remnants of childhood stick like smoke stains.

You have reason now. My days still lead to nowhere.

Weekly 1 (2146 words):

Part 1 (454 words)

Event (104 words):
Inside the snow globe, I run the sledgehammer against the glass. With a slight tap, the glass forces the hammer away. Looks like I won’t be able to break my way out of the glass.
The blizzard begins to pick up. Frantically, I trace my fingers against the invisible barrier, trying to find some opening that will allow me to escape this trap. I find nothing.
In the distance, I can hear the screeching howls of wolves. At any moment, they will arrive and tear me into pieces, bit by bit, until I am reduced to specks of dust for the wind to scatter.

Scenario 1 (104 words):
I inhale a deep breath and concentrate. With one final effort, I push the sledgehammer into the glass; nothing happens. Reaching into my satchel, I rummage for anything that would be useful. An old pack of gum, a handheld mirror, a pack of tissues, a broken pencil… my finger touches something sharp. I instinctively retract my hand, noticing a small prick of blood forming at my fingertip. Ignoring the pain, I reach into the satchel once again, this time retrieving an ice pick. With nothing left to lose, I ram the pick into the glass, and I watch in surprise as the wall shatters.

Scenario 2 (111 words):
I chuck the sledgehammer to the side. Clearly escape is not an option, so I run. I wince at the piercing sound of my footsteps crunching against the snow. Rushing past bare trees and snow dunes, I strain my eyes to find anywhere to hide. The increasing snowfall has made the entire scene impossible to navigate, but I notice a slight flicker from some distant light. Quickening my pace, I rush towards the glow with no other option left. The footsteps from the wolves behind me are growing increasingly louder, but just in time, I make out the shape of a door. I rush inside and shut the door behind me.

Scenario 3 (120 words):
Now is not the time to give up. I try the sledgehammer over and over again… until it, unfortunately, breaks in half. The howls of wolves are progressively getting louder, and by the time I turn around, I am face to face with a pack of hungry carnivores. Slowly taking steps backward, I raise my hands high, silently hoping I will somehow get out of this alive. My back presses up against the glass, and the wolves curiously approach. I close my eyes and brace for the worst, but to my surprise, the wolves begin to lie down in the snow to take a nap. Not taking any chances, however, I take the opportunity to make a run for it.

Part 2 (609 words)

Plot point 1: Felix abandoned on the side of the road (exposition, tension)
Elaboration (112 words): No prior context is provided, the audience is only presented with Felix standing on the roadside curb. He is dejected and carries nothing; no phone, no backpack, no wallet, everything is gone. However, despite Felix’s apparent dejection, he doesn’t cry or talk or move. He just stands in the middle of the sidewalk as the crowd washes over him. It’s around midnight and he should be heading home somehow, but he remains stationary. Random figures pass by him, and he eyeballs these passers, but never once does he decide to speak up or act during this plot point.

Plot point 2: Flashback to entering apartment complex (suspense, beginning of rising action)
Elaboration (108 words): Felix is dressed up all proper, with a suit and bowtie on, and in one hand he carries a bouquet of flowers, and in the other, he has his phone pulled out to check to make sure he’s at the right address. He enters this building with clear excitement; there’s a bounce in the way he carries himself, and he can’t stop grinning. As he goes up the stairs, he envisions about the nervousness he has, but also the enthusiasm he has for finally meeting this person. Inside one of his pockets, he fidgets with some sort of metal key all the way up to the apartment door.

Plot point 3: Return to present, Felix reaches bus stop (rising action, suspense, foreshadowing)
Elaboration (114 words): More information about Felix’s current state is provided. We learn that his outfit is a mess; his bowtie is awry, his dress shirt is only half-buttoned, and there’s stains on his pants and blazer. His fingernails are covered with dried blood— we don’t know if this is his blood or somebody else’s. As Felix arrives to the bus stop, he realizes he doesn’t have any money to board the city bus. Resigned, he continues to walk forward, not knowing how long the journey to whatever location will take. After some time, he begins to cry silently, but he keeps on moving along.

Plot point 4: Flashback to Felix entering the apartment (climax, big reveal)
Elaboration (104 words): Felix meets up with another man and gives this man the bouquet of flowers, only for the flowers to be thrown to the ground. Confused, Felix enters the apartment and questions the man, but this man is aggressive and isn’t listening. The man pushes Felix into another room, presumably towards the bedroom, and Felix knows something is going to go wrong. So, he tries fighting back, but it’s no use. The other man is stronger, and now both Felix and the man are bruised and bleeding. Though, this other man isn’t as affected, and Felix faints as his hands begin to get tied up.

Plot point 5: Present, Felix arrives to an apartment complex (resolution, de-escalation)
Elaboration (118 words): We’re finally presented with Felix’s true state— his eyes are black from bruises, his lip is busted open, and rope remains wrapped around one of his wrists. He silently walks up this apartment complex; compared to plot point 2, he’s more monotonous and doesn’t have any emotion at all. As he goes up the stairs, his mind is completely blank; there is nothing for him to think about or look forward to. As he reaches a certain door, he fidgets for his key again. This time, he takes the key out and hesitantly puts it in the keyhole. Instead of turning it and opening the door, he leaves the key in and stands in front of the door.

Part 3 (262 words)

(62 words) Jack is living in an endless time loop; every time he wakes up, the day repeats itself. However, every time the day repeats, the people around him know that the day is repeating, but Jack doesn't know that he's the cause of this repetition. Different characters (Joe, John, and Jake) attempt to figure out how to get Jack out of this loop.

Outline (200 words):
- Jack wakes up, the story progresses as normal, goes about his life, friends with Joe, John, and Jake
- Jack dies from a car crash; wakes up and doesn't remember anything, but his other friends remember everything from the previous timeline
- John perspective, tries to prevent Jack from dying this time, ends up accidentally killing Joe in the process
- Joe perspective, after death wakes up and rushes back to the site to find John, Jack, and Jake still there
- Jack ends up dying again, everybody wakes up and this time neither Jack nor Joe remember anything
- Jake perspective, Jake and John get in an argument, Jack and Joe are confused, argument escalates, and Jake accidentally gets killed
- John kills Jack to restart everything over again, as everyone wakes up Jake and Jack don't remember anything; realize that anybody who dies won't remember anything about the previous timeline, only way to stop this is to stop Jack from dying
- Jack perspective, everyone tries to prevent him from dying in various ways, somehow Joe, John, and Jake all end up dying, and Jack ends up dying in the end too
- Everyone wakes up, but this time nobody remembers anything about the previous timelines…

Part 4 (787 words):

The view from this standpoint on the roadside isn't so different from any other view. Cobblestone litters the ground endlessly like infinite rows of gravestones. Felix reaches into his pocket for his wallet or his phone; both of them are gone. Later, he will tell you that he doesn't remember why he was standing there.

He does remember; he just doesn't want to tell you.

The fabric from a trench coat flickers past his view. The beige hue stirs something inside of him; later, he will tell you it was nothing. The police interrogators will label it as a “traumatic response.”

The streetlight is the searchlight that reveals only a portion of the scene; the remainder of the night clogs the vision.

-

Bowtie secured, blazer on, belt buckled. On one hand, Felix grips a bouquet of assorted flowers. The petals are still firm; when the police arrive at the scene later, they will find these delicate petals crushed. Felix grins at his phone in his other hand, checking to make sure this location is the right place. Later, he will show the same screen to the officers.

There's electricity in every step; jolting currents run from his thoughts and into the concrete stairs. Thoughts circuit through his head; when asked later, he will say that he can not recall the good memories.

The past before and the past after; Felix won't be able to tell the difference.

-

Bloodstains collect in the grooves of his fingernails. His once-tidy bowtie has now been skewed to one side; his dress shirt is partly unbuttoned. Though he doesn't remember much, Felix finds his way to the bus stop by instinct. Reaching into his pocket, he searches for his wallet; all he finds is a metal key. Fidgeting, he has no money left to board the city bus.

He hasn't been in this position before, but he's been in worse situations. The surrounding people side-eye Felix as he walks past; some take out their phones to take pictures as if this is a memory worth remembering. He could say something; he could do something. But he won't and he doesn't. One step at a time; it's always one step at a time. Like a lost creature, he faces in one direction and moves on. Nothing in particular about walking down this avenue; just a mindless instinct that it might lead him home.

-

Felix knocks on the mahogany door; at the police station, that's the only thing he can describe in detail. The peeling paint reveals the tarnished iron beneath, along with the gargoyle knocker made of bronze. It made a distinctive clashing sound, he'll say, kind of like the sound of fallen tin soldiers.

When the door opens, the man that stands before is familiar. It's the same person he's seen countless times on his screen; the photos match up.

Felix won't remember anything, but the forensic experts would be able to reconstruct the scene. Flowers were thrown to the floor with the receipt lying nearby; the last four digits matched Felix's credit card number. The awry tables and torn-up rugs suggest some struggle happened on the floor.

They'll conclude it was some freak accident. That he was asking for it. Even if he tries to remember bits and pieces of his story, who's going to believe him? He has his track record as evidence against him; his identity is already a liability.

Some of the ropes remain tied to the bedpost. Stains cover the off-white bedsheets. His wallet will be found underneath the bed; his phone will be discovered in a crevice behind the nightstand. The culprit will have gotten away by now; there will be nothing left to catch but shame.

-

Felix's eyes are black with bruises. His busted lip slightly quivers; water streams down from one eye, but he doesn't make a sound as he takes his time up the stairs of this apartment complex. Around his wrist is a piece of rope, fastened around too tight to remove. In his mind, he thinks about the number of steps he has to go up. He thinks about the color of the brick walls. He thinks about his charcoal shoes. He takes the scene in, but still can't process what has happened.

When he reaches a certain door, he fidgets in his pocket for a metal key. Hesitantly, Felix inserts the key into the keyhole. Taking a few steps back, he stares at the door, waiting for nothing in particular. He doesn't turn the knob.

When the police arrive at his door, he will claim he was only standing there for a few minutes. In reality, he stood there all night.

When asked why, he will say he doesn't know.

Daily 8/9:

(410 words, 252 dialogue)

“Mom, there are people knocking at our door right now.”

“Tell them we're busy. I can't talk right now.”

“Mom, they're in scary uniforms. I don't think they'll let that happen.”

The knocking progressively gets louder. A woman drops her knife in the kitchen. “They're back.”

“Who?”

“Olivia, hide your things. Take anything worth keeping and place it in the closet. Keep it locked.”

“Why? I don't want to…”

“Now isn't the time for questions,” the woman hushes. “We need to be quick.”

Reluctantly, I begin picking up random devices and toys and placing them in my bedroom closet. On my bed, I grab stuffed animals and stuff them in the corner. Finally, I hold my favorite stuffed animal. “What do I do about him?”

“Put him in the closet with the rest of them.”

“But I can't leave him alone!” Tears begin to flow. I am a mess, but I place the stuffed animal in the closet as told.

“You have to, we only have a few seconds left…” the woman whispers, and the door breaks open.

“Where is he? We have a warrant for your husband's arrest. Where is he?” The officers begin to swarm into the apartment.

“I think you're in the wrong place, whoever you're looking for isn't here,” the woman hesitantly replies. “Nobody else is here but my daughter. My husband's been dead for five years. Killed in the last war. I think you've been wrongly mistaken; we are not the people you are looking for.”

“Don't play dumb with me, lady; we know what you're hiding. Your husband's a wanted criminal.” The officers turn to look at me. “Now, is that your daughter? Seems like a perfect captive to me. How would you feel if we…” They begin to approach me.

“Don't touch her!” The woman screams. “We're innocent!”

The officers smile. One of them grabs me by the neck. I whimper. “We will cooperate as long as you cooperate as well. Now, where is he?”

One of the officers approaches the closet.

“Stop! Don't touch him!” I scream. I couldn't let anything happen to my stuffed animal. But it's too late; the officers have already opened the door.

“There's nothing in here, I don't know what the girl is talking about.” The officers throw everything out of the closet; my toys, my devices… and my stuffed animal. I can only watch in horror as everything I own chucked across the room.

Daily 10:

(131 words)

On a post-modern Earth, a catastrophic event has formed many different-colored suns in the sky; rarely does it ever become night. Each sun represents a regular individual who has been granted extraordinary abilities, from mind control to teleportation. These individuals become known as “Supernos.” Matthew and Shayna, friends before the catastrophe, navigate this new world with their newfound powers and meet other sidekicks along the way. Here's the catch; the death of a Superno removes its sun from the sky, and they release an orb of their power that another Superno can claim. This has led to destruction across continents as Supernos seek to consolidate power and attack other Supernos to receive more superpowers. One villain is prominent: Valor, and Matthew and Shayna seek to destroy him before it's too late.

Daily 13:

(304 words)

The first dispatch was harrowing. As my police cruiser pulls up into the driveway of the inconspicuous house, I wind down my walkie-talkie and take a deep breath in the driver's seat. One hand on the steering wheel, I tap my fingers against the leather, wondering why I was sent off on such a vague mission.

Inside the house, a group of friends wears party hats; a birthday cake is lit with candles on the dining room table. They wait patiently by the window, wondering when the unsuspecting police officer will arrive.

As I gear up and step out of the vehicle, I have one hand on my holster, preparing for the worst. Every step toward the front door is agonizing as different scenarios run laps inside my head. Maybe it's a homicide case. Maybe it's something even worse. As a stand in front of the door, I take a few seconds to compose myself. Hesitantly, I knock on the door, waiting for a response.

Nobody answers. I ring the doorbell. “Anybody home?” I holler, but my shouts fall on deaf ears. “Well, isn't this just great?”

I try taking a peek through the windows, but it's too dark inside to see anything. With no other options, I grab the doorknob and notice the door is unlocked. I grab my walkie-talkie and call for backup before opening the door and walking in.

Everything is dark. I run my hands along the walls for a light switch, when all of a sudden, I hear a group of people burst out singing.

“Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you! Happy…”

The lights are turned on, and I spin around to see a surprise birthday party. Balloons litter the ceiling and confetti floats on the ground. I breathe a sigh of relief and can't help but laugh.

Daily 14

(409 words)

They say when he lost him, something inside of him broke.

Others claim that when he lost him, whatever was holding him together disappeared.

But if you asked the original storytellers, they'd tell you that HE was the one holding him together.

Some say his sister came to the cottage to tell him; the widow the other day said it was his mother. When it comes to passing down folklore, the details tend to warp; they get rearranged, disoriented, and messed up. The version I choose to believe is that he received a letter from him just before losing him.

After the loss, he became lost in the middle of the forest. He wanders between the trees and in and out of existence. He raises his arms to the sky asking ‘why?’ but Grief chose not to answer.

When he didn't return to the cottage after a day or two, they sent out a search party to look for him. They screamed out his name; they traced every trace that was left of him. It didn't take long to find him; he was found sitting by the water, chucking pebbles at the lake (different members from the search party tell me it was a river; one account told me he was fishing instead of skipping rocks). After all these years, you would think he would have gotten tired of the structure and security of commitment, but he was more than just ‘commitment.’ He was everything; the solid ground, the oxygen, the rotting fruits in the garden, the unwashed dishes in the sink… he was more than just ‘commitment.’

I want to believe that he was skipping rocks; I like the metaphor of him losing his rock, losing the one who kept him grounded in life. Isn't that better than the metaphor of fishing; as if he could just pull out a rod and bait and find someone new to replace him?

When they find him, he silently stands up and walks with them back to the village. He's hungry and thirsty, but it doesn't hurt him any more than the hurt he is already simmering in. It will take him days, weeks even, for him to open up about what happened. Still, we will never truly know what happened; the details have all been lost to time. There's no way for us to retrace the true events.

But, you. You're still him. Don't you remember? What do you remember?

Weekly 2 (765 words):

Part 1 (101 words):

For my activity, I opened up a sketchbook and started randomly doodling different things. This somehow morphed into me drawing doodles of every daily and weekly, and I drew little icons to represent each one! After that 15 minutes were up, I was inspired to go on my laptop and transfer the physical sketches to digital ones. I spent a good hour or two drawing the digital versions, and hopefully, I can release them as badges for Thriller's campers to add to their profile pictures and banners! I really like being able to make prizes for the campers in my cabin.

Part 2 (107 words):

I listened to The Grants - Lana Del Rey, and let me tell you… Lana's new album is doing a GREAT job at representing not just emotions, but entire themes just through the tone and instruments in her music! This song did such a great job about the importance of making a lasting family legacy in your lifetime. The piano, guitar, and subtle ambiance worked in perfect synchrony to bring this idea to life! The lyric about when we go to heaven, we only bring our memories strikes a chord in me, it's so true and relatable and it's something I should remember whenever I'm anxious or stressed.

Part 3 (557 words):

The art gallery, while pretty and all, didn't live up to my expectations. Hate to admit it, but that first date with him was pretty awful if I had to say so myself.

Honestly, it was kind of embarrassing too. Sure, I never said he had to dress up for the occasion, but he didn't have to walk into the art museum looking like *that.* Red plaid jacket on top of his blue striped dress shirt; who even does that? And don't get me started on those pants. If I didn't know better, I'd think he was still living with his grandparents or something.

“That was nice. What did you think?” He spins around to look at me, almost tripping on the steps down as he does so. If there had been people around, I think I would have acted like I didn't know him.

“Yeah, it was really cool; loved the section on the second floor, really got me thinking about different styles and deliberate choices. What's your favorite?” To be fair, it wasn't entirely a lie. There were indeed some… interesting depictions, to say the least. Would I recommend going again? Not in a million years.

“You know, I don't really pick favorites. I think it's more important to just take everything in and remember how it makes you feel, you know what I mean? Like, in the end, what I'm going to take away from this isn't my most or least favorites, it's the memories.” He rushes into the buzzing streets to wave a taxi down. “I'm glad I got to make them with you, though. Heading back east?”

“Thanks. My apartment's down south; I can take the subway, though,” I say. He steps into the yellow cab. Before the taxi drives off, he rolls down the window.

“Text me later!”

I hurry down the sidewalk to reach the station before the streetlights turn on. It wasn't the best first meeting I've been to, that's for sure. Does it warrant a second try? Will have to think about that some more.

I take a seat on the subway train and whip out my phone; his message is at the top of my list.

today was great - 10:45 PM
down for again soon? - 10:46 PM

I think about how much I hated the paintings. I think about the receptionist at the art museum who was too busy talking to her colleagues to care about the long line of people. I think about the broken elevator on the third floor, and how the stairs smelled like leaky pipes.

And I think about the memories I'm left with. Whatever they made me feel.

thx for today! would tmrw work? - 11:03 PM

As a step out of the train and away from the moving doors, I receive a response to my message.

ofc - 11:04 PM
does the park by mulberry sound good? heard theres new path there - 11:05 PM

I think about us laughing when I mistook a Monet painting for a Doli one. I think about the prediction game we came up with during the intermission between floors. I think about his compliments which made me blush and embarrassed at the same time because the family behind us was impatiently waiting to get past the door.

sure, same time? - 11:07 PM

Daily 15 (217 words – is it obvious I didn't try with this):

It is day 175 in the bunker, and Sci-Fi has contracted tuberculosis.

Well, not really, but Dystopian wanted to sound smart so that's what she called it. In reality, Sci's probably a little bit dehydrated since we're running out of water and we'll probably die of thirst before we really get pneumonia or something.

“And I think today would be the perfect time to get out of our little bunker and see the chemical-infested outside!” Thriller proclaims, starting to climb the ladder to the hatch.

“Dude, we're going to die though,” Dys says, shaking her head as her brother wobbled his way up.

“And we'll die anyway without any more provisions. Thri's right. Let's get out of here,” Sci yawns, following behind Thril.

As they exit out the bunker, Sci finds a miniature rocket, big enough to fit one person. “I've always wanted to go to space!”

Dys shakes her head. “It's probably broken. I dare you to get inside.”

“Okay!” Sci gets inside, and the rocket instantly flies away. She's gone.

“Oh.”

Thril rolls his eyes. “Look what you did Dys!”

“No, look what you made me do!” Dys screams.

“Enough with the Taylor Swift quotes!” Thril says back.

Dys was not having enough of this so she left and created her own country. The end!

Daily 16 (102 words):

there goes another dead panda,
head first into a sandcastle of dried bamboo stalks
money can't solve everything
said some politician
like the inability to drive, hit the pedal, grip the steering wheel
can you save somebody who doesn't seem to care
about continuation?
there goes another number down,
head first into the crushed bones of yesterdays and missed tomorrows
cuteness can't solve everything
said the class president
as she has another leg wrapped around her hands, another backseat memento
but with a poster creature to lure the general masses
it's not about functionality anymore
as long as the funding comes in

Daily 17 (268 words):

When the flowers begin to dip their heads low during the winter, I will turn to you and ask,

Do you remember how we built this garden together?

Of course, you remember. Why wouldn't you? We planted our first tree in the center, right there; right where my finger is pointing right now. Didn't we spend ages debating whether it should be a fruit or honeysuckle tree? I'm glad we settled on your idea; the honeysuckles shine bright in the summertime and are always the last to lose their luster.

There are more flowers. Orchids, lavenders, and peonies, all scattered between various maple and apple trees. But, despite these dazzling colors, I like our honeysuckle tree the best. Some nights, when the branches hung as low as the crescent moon, a drop of nectar would land on your hair or my cheeks. We would hold down the tree's arms to squeeze out the sticky essence from the flowers, catching the liquid on our tongues. It would never be much, but if the taste wasn't fulfilling enough, the teamwork we had would always be my favorite reward.

You had plans to redecorate the garden; you wanted to reorganize the flowers by section, adjust the posture of the trees, and replace the unkempt grass with a new species. But you were always keen on your honeysuckles; and for that, this one is dedicated to you.

In front of our old honeysuckle tree, I commit to the ground a new honeysuckle sapling. Patting the earth to secure the new addition to our garden, I gently lay a plaque nearby.

In memory.

Daily 19 (360 words):

Fear lives in the deepest, darkest, unknown corners of the cave. Nobody's visited the cave in years; you couldn't have possibly entered the cave yesterday. Fear would've devoured you whole; Fear takes whatever it can, tearing you into shreds until it's satisfied.

What do you mean Fear wasn't there? You didn't see Fear in its cave at all?

That's impossible. We kept Fear in its cave for a reason; we kept it there so that nobody could get hurt. Are you sure you went into the right cave? This can't be happening. You know what Fear does to its victims, right?

Fear grabs ahold of their shadows, slowly feasting on the darkness until you feel it taking over. You might feel like something's always behind you; that's Fear. Did it follow you home? Did it follow you here?

It's not behind me, is it? Is it behind you? Well, I will never be able to tell; Fear doesn't show its face until it's too late. You have to be messing with me right now.

Did you hear that? Something's outside. No? You didn't hear it too? You weren't paying attention, then. Something's outside. We need to lock all the doors, lock all the windows, close down the facility…

Did I say you could talk back to me? When I tell you to do something, you do it. Don't ask questions.

Don't mention its name again. Fear isn't here. Fear never shows up without its father. Who is Fear's father? Don't ask such obvious questions. Don't push my buttons. Don't act like you don't know anything.

Paranoia. That's Fear's father. Now, follow my orders. I said, follow my orders. Are you listening? Can I even trust you anymore?

Fear can take many forms. How do I know you're not just playing with me?

What do you mean, put down the weapon? Only somebody infested with Fear would say that.

I'm doing this to be safe. Safety has always been important, hasn't it?

Don't scream. When I tell you to do something, you do it. Don't scream; it'll attract Fear's attention.

You screamed. What did I tell you? Didn't I warn you?

Daily 20/21:

March is a one-way glass from two years ago,
barely recalling two events; the pandemic’s woes,
but never have I mentioned the second:
the death of the fish in my marine exhibit.

You know you are dying when you lose the sense of direction—
tank water transforms into warped mirrors. Contorted reflections
are telescopes observed in reverse; viewing the objective lens,
then descending the optical shaft, minimizing vision until a margin

remains, resembling the eyepiece. Are you looking in or out, now?
At the perimeters of the partition, sometimes fingertips pin down
on the surface, and fish become fingerprints behind the tracer,
pursuing silver linings with the aim of escaping this container.

If known the captivity's fragility, they'd kamikaze to break free,
creating veins on the panel, an aneurysm ready to breach;
if it takes an explosive for me to be safe and unbounded,
then trap me with tinder and embers, or with gunpowder.

Death compels us to send prayers up to the heavens.
We careen our bodies to face with passive expressions.
If life is abducted, it would be while worshiping the sky.
We levitate like exhumed memories from waters, analyzed

carefully, only to be forgotten and discarded right after—
the first dead fish, its corpse attempting to flee its captor—
everything should be expected to exist as energy and matter—
this carcass was deprived of the former, only composed of the latter.


Reflection (51 words):

Editing my old poetry really made me realize how redundant I was with my poetry. An important thing to note about poetry is that you should try to be concise with your words, and my writing competition entry from March 2022 clearly used too many elaborate words and wordiness (purple prose…).


Daily 22 (255 words):

One front in front of the other. With my hair and beard shaved, I should have been unrecognizable to the civilians. Stashed deep in my satchel, I still have my polaroid camera to document everything. I see everything; I know everything. But, I haven't had the time to take any new pictures. Or, maybe that's just my excuse to run away from the trauma.

These photos meant everything. After the first war, these photographs were my only comfort; they were the only way for me to escape the trauma of the battlefronts. Now, every time I touch the metal surface, I shiver at the thought of what happened.

They're after me. The police. They think I killed her.

I promise you, I didn't. We haven't known each other for long, but I hope you can vouch for my character. I would never do anything to harm anybody; not even her.

I can't stay in this cabin for long. I've got to keep moving, or else they'll find me. Though, at some point, I know that running will no longer be effective, and giving up would thus be the best option. I have a plan; my surrender will be at the Golden Gate Bridge as I make my journey to the West. At that point, my final stand shall be made, and if I am discovered and marked dead, then fate will dictate the further course of events.

Nobody knows my side of the story. I think you are the first one worthy to hear it.

Weekly 3 (1788 words):

Part 1 (219 words):

Anguish: I’d like to characterize anguish as a mix of both physical and mental suffering or pain. I feel as though all pain has both physical and mental components; mental pain leads to physical reactions, and physical pain leads to mental reactions. I think anguish emphasizes this characteristic of pain, where the suffering experienced physically impacts a character mentally, and the suffering experienced mentally impacts a character physically. Anguish appears to be an emotion that can pair well with other emotions, and perhaps I’ll use this idea of joint physical and mental pain when I write emotions!
Lethargy: One of the hardest emotions to convey effectively and engagingly is probably any emotion to do with boredom. How does one portray boredom without having the audience feel bored as well? I think the key here is to not describe the actual feeling of boredom, but instead, describe how this boredom impacts the situation or setting. Perhaps I would describe the messy scene due to the character’s negligence, or perhaps I could incorporate a few wandering thoughts that spark interest in a sea of monotonous descriptions. Or, maybe the best way to describe lethargy in the text is to use the effective juxtaposition to compare this boredom to something more lively or anxiety-inducing, essentially developing sharp contrast to highlight the boredom.

Part 2 (339 words):

“Kellan, I'm doing this because I care about you.” I shove another shirt into my backpack, not caring to fold my clothes neatly. “Don't you understand? I'm doing this because I love you.”

“No, you're wrong. Lance, if you do love me, like you're saying right now, you would listen to me. Listen to me! Are you listening?” Kellan yanks at one of the straps of my backpack. My grip on my backpack remains firm.

“You've got it wrong. This hurts me as much as it hurts you, okay? This wasn't a simple–”

“I know it wasn't simple! Nothing with you is simple! You're always trying to find–”

“Oh, so it's me who's the problem? Me who's always ‘trying to find–’”

“No! But there you go again, twisting my words to something I didn't even say, every single time–”

“Kellan, I'm not arguing with you right now.” A single drop of water forms around the edge of my eye, but I quickly blink it away. “You mean the world to me. You mean everything.”

“Clearly not, because I don't understand anything you mean right now, stop lying out of your–”

“This is my love. It's all laid out here.” I point at the backpack and bags laid out on the bed. “I want you to follow your dreams. I'm not going to be another burden slowing you down.”

“And these dreams can't happen without you! I need you! You need to be right here, right now, and–”

“Are you telling me what to do now? Just another possession for you to lose? I heard that–”

“Stop trying to convert me into a villain that you know I'm not! I'm doing whatever I can to not lose the one person I know who–”

I stand up straight. I take a deep breath. I grab his shoulders and position his eyes in front of mine.

“Pursue your ambition. Don't let me take that away from you.” With a slight dip in my posture, I slouch around and head for the door.

Part 3 (507 words):

brainstorm (52 words): the sudden betrayal from a close friend where an underground plot is discovered to frame this main character for an incident they had no part in because they feel like this character is the easiest scapegoat and it would also get rid of one of their competitions for leadership of the gang

writing (455 words): Lurking close to the walls, I lean in to eavesdrop on their conversation from the doorway. At first, it appeared as though they were talking about unrelated matters, but as I paid more attention and received context, I began to realize they were talking to no one other than me.

“You know the recent heist we completed? The police are looking for a culprit; I think it's about time we throw Poe under the bus.” From their chatters and raised inflection, I could tell they were agreeing with this sentiment. My admiration for my group began to vanish into dissipating smoke. Every ounce of trust has gone down the drain, and I am left with a flask devoid of any hope or potential.

I overhear their mentions of my incompetence, their gossip of what the best way to dispose of me would be, and their comments on how much of a threat I posed if any of them ever wanted a chance to become the gang leader. They knew how close I was to Quince, and without me in the picture, it would be much more possible for them to become the next leader.

Though the betrayal is a sharp needle prick to my esteem, I do not let it consume me for too long. No matter what I attempt to do, I know that the best remedy to any betrayal is revenge. So, what perfect time to start than now?

And so when night fell, I gathered my supplies and started my devious plan. Step by step, I become a ghost traversing through the walls, planting devices in the deepest and darkest corners. After an eternity later, I had the entire hideout laced with explosives.

They will never know. Giggling, I activate the detonator. For a few seconds, nothing happens, and I begin to worry if something had gone wrong with my setup, or perhaps my traitors had awakened to my commotion and have already disposed of all the devices hidden around the headquarters.

Boom!

The massive explosive sings a sweet melody to me. Even the harshest and most deafening of noise turns into music. Grinning, I stare as the flames hungrily consume the headquarters. Despite the winter cold, the fire warms everything inside of me. Distracted, I allow myself the time to bask in the glory of the heat, taking all of the sensations in. The aroma of singed ground and ashy air revigorates all the deadness inside of me.

I have achieved what I was meant to do. Their betrayal is no more. With a new bounce to my step, I turn away and rush into the woods, laughing as I escape from the disaster. Though, one's disaster might be another's triumph.

Part 4 (701 words):

Now is not the time to mess up everything. You don't get a second try. You don't get another shot. So, whatever you do, do not waste this moment.

I trail into the looming doors of the amusement park entrance. I glance over at Nathan multiple times, wondering if he can feel the insanity or fear shooting out of my system.

“Everything okay, Chase?” Nathan raises an eyebrow. “You seem a bit nervous. Everything alright?”

The sound of his voice immediately puts an end to my panic. Though, I know that this grace period will soon evaporate within a few minutes. For now, I hang on to every syllable like scattered change. “Nah, I'm good. Excited about this though.”

What even is “this”? Am I allowed to call it a date at this point? Though every inch of my body craves for the hope to be true, I know the chance of him having any interest in me, in the same way that I feel for him, is slim, especially in this part of town. At most, we may end up as close friends. At most, he may end up as the best man at my wedding, though what my heart truly aches for is his presence as the groom instead.

Is it too early to think about marriage after only a few hours of knowing him? Lost in thought, I do not notice how the line has progressed. Angry people waiting to get into the park glare at me.

“Chase, are you actually okay? Hello? If you want, we could reschedule this,” Nathan mentions, wrapping a comforting arm around my shoulder. “Or, if you don't like amusement parks, just let me know and we can go somewhere else.”

I snap out of my trance and run up to the ticket counter. “Sorry! I kind of fell off the face of the earth, ahaha. Well, not really falling, but like, you know what I mean, right? Like, the idiom, or like whatever that was… sorry, uh. Two adult tickets.”

I'm not sure if the person at the ticket counter was annoyed or trying to hold back their laughter, but whatever it was, the embarrassment made it impossible for me to pay any attention to their countenance. As soon as the tickets were passed over, I hurried into the park, Nathan following close behind.

“Gosh, you're really excited aren't you?” Nathan increases his pace to catch up. I continue to walk fast, and in an attempt to slow me down, he attempts to grab my wrist, only to brush against my hand instead.

“Sorry, you were just walking too fast.” Nathan quickly adjusts his grip to hold my wrist instead. “We have time, you don't got to walk so fast.”

“Was that really an accident?” I snap impulsively. After realizing what I just said, I quickly corrected my words. “I mean, it's totally fine if it was! I mean, it's also fine if it wasn't! I mean, well, I mean that as in like, if you meant to grab my hand to slow me down that would be fine, I didn't mean it in any bad sort of context– not saying any other context is bad, but…”

“So, you're anxious.” Nathan takes a short pause to chuckle. “Didn't I tell you that I wanted to go to an amusement park with you?'

”Yes, but if you're having any second thoughts on that, then–“

”What kind of friend asks to spend time with just one person at an amusement park? We literally encountered each other a minute or two, so isn't it obvious what this is?“

It takes me a few seconds to register what he is implying, and by this time, I want to facepalm myself into the concrete ground. The sinister environment slowly begins to fade into a more lively scene. As my fears of rejection and ambiguity wash away, I feel my heart lift.

”Oh, and by the way, I still want you to slow down, please stop walking so fast," Nathan casually reminds me.

Laughing, I slow down my pace and walk alongside him, grabbing ahold of his hand as we head towards our first ride of the day.



Daily 23 (344 words):

Afterthoughts

Hindsight tastes a bit like the iced lemonade left on my kitchen counter for too long. By now, frozen cubes have melted to dilute the juice into nothing more than a sour concoction. This scene presents a slow change, one I would have almost never noticed if it were not for all of the consequences that bring into light crystal clear evidence. From the puddle formed around the glass because of the condensation to the overflowing liquid out of the brim, I now understand how my inaction has led up to this point. Shall I exert an effort to change, though? Likely not, especially if one were to examine the number of times I deviated from my commitments, only to cover up the failure with reason. Whether that trail of logic leads to a dead end of excuses is beyond my comprehension, but whatever the consensus, I have always believed each time would be the last.

How upfront were all of the signs? Were they truly in such high definition, or have recent events painted these directions in clearer resolution? It has been of great pleasure to sulk in my indecision. Though, what choices are there left to decide on when all decision has either cheated themselves into election or migrated out of my headspace altogether? So innocent are the ones who still eagerly wait on the idea of true love. Waiting for a concept that is unforeseeably absent and nonnative to mankind; youth can transform any situation favorably despite the apparent fallacies. Have the obvious warnings of impending dissolution advertised been carelessly or wishfully disregarded? If I were to never learn from this encounter, perhaps I may regress back into my former self, thirsting for the attention of those who are most neglectful. Though I wither from dryness, I dare not stand from my comfortable resting place; the drought has not devolved into enough horrors for me to adjust the scene, though by then, it shall all be too late.

Daily 24 (412 words):

Underneath my grip, his life begins to dissipate. The choked crunches that follow every tightened strangle cause his eyes to go wide in fear. Cackling, I watch his eyes glaze over, remaining forever open and staring. His limbs go weak and limp; all life seems to have disappeared. Satisfied, I let go.

The rubber chicken toy collapses to the ground, letting out a high-pitch squeaking noise. For good measure, I step on my victim again to make sure that my work here has been completed. Hopefully, this means that the threat has been dispatched. But, when I turn around, I see that the rubber chicken has risen back up again, staring deep into my soul as if it was angry at my intrusion. Somehow, it has also received a slingshot from an unknown location.

Terrified, I begin running, and my previous victim has now turned into my worst murderer. My palms begin to sweat profusely, and with no other options, I dash into the attic, shutting the attic door behind me. I listen intensely for any indicators the murderer was following behind me, but as it appears, I am free from its clutches. I breathe a sigh of relief, only for that relief to be short-lived as I locate the remains of my dead sister.

I almost let out a scream, but I muffle it; I can not let the chicken know my location. I approach the corpse, tears welling up in my eyes as I examine all of the scars and wounds covering her body. My parents had told me that she went missing, and though they had appeared to pity me, they had done nothing to look for her. The police were never informed of this kidnapping. Now I know why; my parents were probably the kidnappers all along.

As I pick up the mangled doll from the floor, I notice teeth marks all over the fabric. Piecing the clues together, I concluded that the family dog must have murdered my sister, and now she was left to rot in the attic. Her poor button eyes have long been lost, and pieces of fluff extrude out of various punctures.

Sudden shouts break me out of my trance. Looking around, I find myself sitting on the bed of my bedroom playing with my toys. Outside the door, my father bangs loudly, screaming threats if I don't unlock the door. Whimpering, I wrap myself in blankets and attempt to reenter the daydream.

Daily 26 (277 words):

Once upon a time, there was a bear known as Ursa Major. This bear was a very sad bear because it was busy all the time. One day, when the bear was busy fishing in a river, the bear noticed a slight shimmer in the water. Curious, the bear decided to investigate what was causing this glimmer. Wading into the water, the bear begins to nosedive into the water to see what was causing this shimmer. As the bear lifted its head out of the water, it caught a fish in its mouth! However, this fish was not any ordinary fish; it was secretly a deity that was testing the bear to see if it would murder a poor innocent creature. This, the bear did. As the bear happily chomped on this fish, the bear began to feel a little funny. At first, the bear didn't think much of it, but as the day continued, this funny feeling was becoming more potent. Finally succumbing to the pain, the bear decides to take a fat nap. As the bear takes its fat nap, it begins to levitate toward the sky. The sky gods have decided to punish this bear by turning it into a cluster of stars! The bear's limbs begin to turn into shining orbs, and all of a sudden, the bear was wiped from the face of the earth and became embedded into the nighttime sky. If you look up every now and then, you might see the hungry bear looking down at you, warning you not to eat any shimmering fish in a river because it could secretly be some kind of deity. The end.

Daily 28-29 (380 words):

(204 words) The SWC main cabin contains four floors, with the ground floor being the place where campers congregate and submit their main cabin points in one of seventeen dropboxes; these dropboxes aren't organized, there's just a lot of them because the dropboxes rarely get cleared out and counted. On this same floor, there is a bulletin board with outdated rankings. This floor smells like children mixed with a slight scent of wet dogs. The walls are polished and gleaming. The second floor contains the hideout for leaders and above, and you can always hear the sound of gossip echo from above. Even further up is the third floor, where main cabin points are tallied up by hosts after leaders on the second floor sort the dropbox submissions. The second and third floors both smell like pollen and honey, and this is not cool for leaders with pollen allergies. Also on the third floor is where the hosts talk about the people below them, both physically, socially, and metaphorically. There is a dumbwaiter that allows suggestions from the first floor to flow up, but the hosts never send anything back down in response. Nobody knows anything about the fourth floor except that it tastes like grass.

(172 words) My and Luna's description of the main cabin were similar in the way that we both mentioned something about the beehive theme of the main cabin; however, Luna had more of an emphasis on this beehive theme, while I talked more about the functionality of the main cabin. Luna's description of the main cabin is rather cheerful and vivacious, while my main cabin description appears dull and bleak in comparison. We both mention the technologies in the main cabin, but Luna's technologies appear more fantastical and advanced, while the technologies I mentioned are more traditional. Luna's description appears to be a free-roam sandbox-like environment that is open to exploration, while my description appears more structural with four floors and resembling a traditional building; this likely plays into how Luna's description is more fantastical and fictional compared to my slightly more realistic description. Overall, we had a few similarities between our descriptions, but our different approaches, with Luna's emphasis on the beehive and my emphasis on a traditional building, led to many differences.


Weekly #4 (3018 words)

Part 1:

Darius (100 words) - Darius is an amateur crime enthusiast who has recently been accepted to intern at the local forensic analysis lab that directly works with the police on cases. He is observant, however, his detail-oriented mind causes him to be overloaded with information which can make it hard for him to concentrate. Additionally, he is not afraid to switch opinions and thus is very indecisive, and he has a hard time sticking to objectives and listening to rules. He loves to explore and is a bit of a risk-taker, which can cause him to wind up in various precarious situations.

Kayden (100 words) - Kayden is a current first-year law student who is quick to make friends in any situation he is placed in. He has befriended the majority of the forensics department of the local police, and he and Darius are close and potential love interests. While he can easily get along with people, he has a hard time remembering events and names. He also tends to keep secrets from others, even those who are closest to him; Kayden is extremely loyal and integrity plays an important role in his life, and he refuses to act immorally no matter what the situation is.

Quince (100 words) - Not much is known about Quince, but he has been the horrifying mastermind for a string of murders and arson events throughout town. He is quite deceptive and knows how to get rid of evidence quickly and efficiently, causing others to have a hard time catching up to his plans. He is not afraid to manipulate people to get what he wants, however, this can cause him to believe he is in control of situations even when those situations are uncontrollable. Quince is always a few steps ahead of everyone, and he gives himself ample time to do everything early.

Part 2 (164 words):

The scent of burnt flesh is enough to force anyone to gag or vomit. But, after being placed in these kinds of situations for as long as I can remember, I don't really have any reaction to it.

I examine the burnt corpse in the remains of the destroyed home. There's not much evidence left behind, especially since the firefighters arrived at the scene far too late for anything to be salvaged. Careful not to tamper with any evidence, I place down a yellow “5” card beside the corpse and snap a picture with my camera. In order to get an angle that is usable in court, I hover over the corpse and buckle my elbows to make sure I take a picture exactly perpendicular to the ground to prevent any warping of the image.

Crime enthusiasts like me know that the one thing you don't want to do is have your photos thrown out of court because you took them at an angle.

Part 3 (379 words):

Taking a deep rancid breath, I step away from the crime scene for a moment to regain my footing. Though I've been to more crime scenes than the average person would ever see on TV in a lifetime, a nagging part of me hurts to see the damage caused by the wickedness of another human. I guess people try to heal their own damage by causing damage to others. I don't know if that's vengeance, spite, or both.

“Darius, you okay?” Kayden taps me on the shoulder, handing me my favorite yellow notepad. “You left this in the police cruiser. Thought you might need it for your investigations.”

“Yeah, yeah, I'm fine, just a lot right now.” I readjust Kayden's scarf, ensuring that it is wrapped snugly around his neck. “You wear things that you don't know how to wear, huh.”

“It looks fine to me. You didn't even change much.” Kayden shrugs my remarks off. “Well, off you go. Humanity can't be saved without the most amazing assistance of the dashing Darius.”

“Ugh, stop it.” If it weren't for the mask I had on to prevent the ash from damaging my lungs, I'm sure he would've seen my wide smirk.

Stepping back into the catastrophe, I notice a charred beret hat. At first, I thought it to be gray, but upon further inspection, I realized the ash had darkened the blue hat into an ugly shade of charcoal. Seeing as the rest of the forensic crew wasn't having any luck either, I place a number “6” on this seemingly useless piece of evidence.

Of course, you never know what might become useful in the end.

“Hey Darius, I think we've found what's left of the banister of the second floor. Think we could try testing for fingerprints on this?” My mentor points at an unrecognizable piece of wood.

“No… because the fire already destroyed all of that evidence,” I respond.

“Good, just testing you.”

“Any pre-schooler would've been able to logically understand that, August,” I say, rolling my eyes. As I turn around, my plastic-wrapped shoes almost step on white chalk.

“Hey, looks like secret murderer guy left another message for us.” Carefully rearranging the debris, I take a photo of the words before reading what they say.

Part 4 (322 words):

“ANOTHER SUCCESS. - QUINCE”

“Is that really all he left behind?” August sighs, writing down the words in her notepad. “I don't even know why I bother taking notes on all the stupid things he writes.”

“Hey, even murderers seek attention. That's not just unique to your colleagues,” I joke, finishing my rough sketch of the house layout. “I think I'm heading back to the lab now. Going to run some tests on the stuff you guys found. Like the supposed intern I am.”

Back in the laboratory, Kayden follows behind me as I enter the elevator, pressing the -5 button. The majority of our laboratory was stationed underground, and it was quite boring being the only intern and having to do all the work nobody else wanted to do.

“So, staying late to finish the work of some old people?” Kayden jabs his shoulder into my ribcage.

“Yeah, guess nobody wants to waste time running DNA tests and checking fingerprints against databases,” I respond, watching the red numbers slowly reach the -5 mark. “Don't you need to head back to the university soon?”

“Nah, uni's out for two weeks, I've got some time. Talking to you's cool,” Kayden eyeballs the shiny metal walls and attempts to fix up random strands of hair that had messed up his hairstyle.

“Whatever you say. These DNA results won't be available until tomorrow, at the quickest. And that's assuming if it didn't get damaged and that we have enough to run through the electrophoresis machine.” I look down at my watch. 11:24 PM. “Looks like I'm not leaving here until 2 AM or something.”

“Hey, I'll wait with you. It'll be fun, just the two of us. Promise.” Kayden steps out of the elevator, and I chase after him.

“Dude, you don't even know the layout of the building, where are you going?”

“Oh, right. Oops, forgot. Lead the way, Dasher.”

“Whatever you say, Comet.”

Part 5 (416 words):

I pack my satchel with all the necessary items I need for my next day at the forensic lab. Though I've been an intern for the past three months or so, I for some reason keep double-checking that I have everything on this particular day. Inside, I feel nervous for the confession I plan on making.

Or, plan on not making. I could still back out at any moment.

Staring at the mirror, I fix up my collar and readjust my green tie. I pick at nonexistent lint on my khakis and add another dollop of hair cream to rub between my hands. Fixing up my hair, I wonder if a faux hawk or a more professional side part would be better for this brief presentation.

Why do I care so much today?

I wash my hands to rid of any hair product residue, and I quickly exit my apartment to wait by the side of the road. Kayden should be picking me up to drive me to the forensic lab today; or, at least, that's what he told me he was going to do yesterday working late in the laboratory. Maybe he forgot.

My leg impatiently taps on the sidewalk, and I focus on the number of leaves in the trees, the number of planks on the benches, the number of cracks in the road, and the number of yellow dashes on the asphalt. I try to calm my breathing, reminding myself that this was not as big of a deal as my mind was currently making it.

Kayden's car screeches to a halt in front of me. He rolls down the window to tell me to get in.

Hesitantly, I hurry to the other side of the car and enter the seat next to the driver.

“Dude, quit that breathing right now. What's the matter?” Kayden taps his fingers on the steering wheel. “Not going to drive unless you tell me what's up.”

This is my chance, though I'm not sure how to phrase it properly. Without thinking, I quickly blurt out something.

“Nothing, nothing, I'm fine. You interested in going out to eat later tonight, just the two of us?” I let out a sigh to release the tension.

“A date?”

“Well, it doesn't have to be if you don't perceive it that way, it's anything that you want it to be really, I just wanted to–”

“I'm just messing with you, Dasher. The date sounds good, have a place in mind yet?”

Part 6 (312 words):

I enter the police department with Kayden, a file underneath my arm ready to present to the officers.

“So, anything new? Or are you here to drop off the assignment that you had to do out of necessity even though it didn't really add anything to the case?” The receptionist raises an eyebrow at me.

“Yeah, nothing useful. Still have to present this file like it means something though. Another wasted day, huh?” I let out a small laugh, and the receptionist shakes her head.

“Sometimes I wonder why they make you do these things that have little to no value. Really treating their interns like… whatever. You should ask for a promotion to a full-time job soon.”

“Yeah, that sounds–”

My words are interrupted when an explosion erupts from inside the building. With little time to think, I freeze, and the entire world seems to consume me. The beige walls appear like desert sand, every grain sparkling at me as if pleading for rescue, as if a lifesaver floating in an endless sea of hourglass contents, as if…

Kayden grabs my hand and pulls me toward the exit, but the exit has been blocked off by some large obstacle. This obstacle appears large; it appears red, and orange, and yellow, and it burns to watch it, and I feel everything, and I feel the heat, and I watch it grow larger, and I watch it approach closer…

“Darius, get moving or I'm going to throw you out this window!” Kayden grabs my waist and hastily rushes to all the windows, seeing if any of them could make a suitable exit. He must have found something because before I know it, he's punched the window and pushed me out of the building.

Dazed, I lay on the concrete sidewalk as Kayden steps out of the window, hands bloody from punching the glass.

Part 7:

Outline (109 words)

Event #1 - what caused the fire at the police station? Kayden and Darius puzzle over this, but have to move on after another rumble is heard from the building

Event #2 - as they run away from the explosion crime scene, they hear from passersby that some figure holding a briefcase entered the building before it exploded; they conclude it was Quince, but who is Quince?

Event #3 - they stop by Kayden's university, and he has the idea to sneak into one of his professor's offices because he noticed something about Darius's files

Event #4 - Inside the office, they find clues that confirm Kayden's suspicions on who the murderer is

(310 words)

“Who in the world caused this?” I say, confused. Kayden shakes his head, wrapping his fist in his scarf.

“Don't know, don't got time, let's run.” Kayden lends me a hand to help me get up, and we rush away from the police station. A rumble is heard from inside the building, and another explosion goes off.

As we head back to Kayden's car, I overhear from passersby that some suspicious figure with a briefcase had walked into the police station before the explosions started. The only logical conclusion would be that Quince had attacked the police station, but the central question remained: who is Quince?

As Kayden begins driving, he takes a route away from my apartment. “Where we going? Your place?”

“No, we're heading to my university. I need to check something. I need you to come with me as well.” Kayden stares straight ahead, speeding a bit over the speed limit.

I don't question his statement; knowing Kayden, he's rarely ever as serious as this. On the car ride to the university, we remain silent, occasionally humming a tune or tapping a finger on the dashboard at red-light intersections.

Kayden rushes up the stairs of one of the many buildings in the university, stopping in front of a door. A plaque by the door reads “Professor Rachford - Department of Law and Criminal Justice.”

“You think he can help us?” That was the only logical explanation as to why Kayden would decide to come to this particular office.

“In a way, maybe. I don't remember the details so I could be wrong, but I'm pretty sure we're about to solve the case of all these murders.” Kayden tries the door, surprisingly finding it unlocked.

As we step in, the first thing I notice on the desk is a beret hat, identical to the one from the crime scene.

Part 8:

(110 words)

(Flashback to a month ago in Professor Rachford's classroom)

Kayden runs out of ink from his black pen and reluctantly switches over to his blue pen. As he hastily records what the professor says, he notices that the professor only writes in all caps with white chalk on the board. He doesn't think anything about it at first; perhaps it was merely a coincidence and somehow his brain had drawn a connection to a distant memory he doesn't remember anymore.

“And remember, your goal is to create reasonable doubt if everything is against you. Throw out all the evidence, point out every flaw you can find. Sometimes people's biggest mistake is leaving behind things they at first thought meaningless.”

(309 words)

As we continue to inspect the office, I pull out my camera to snap a photo of the beret hat. Though I'm not a hundred percent certain, I had a feeling that this hat was of the same type that I had found at the crime scene the night before. Searching the drawers, I cursorily glace through various files, hoping to find some form of motive as to why this professor would want to carry out these murders. However, from Kayden's anxious demeanor, I can tell that we are running out of time to search the office. For all I know, this professor could come back at any moment and question why we were rummaging through his belongings.

“Maybe we should head out now,” Kayden says. “I can't find what I was looking for in here. Maybe we could try his classroom.”

“No, I'm almost certain that whoever this professor is, he's the murderer! This beret hat; it's the same one from the crime scene!”

“You sure? People can own the same hats, Dasher. What I'm trying to look for is more… evident.”

I don't know what could be even clearer than the beret hat located in the office, but I shrug and trail after Kayden as he locates the criminal justice classroom. “You better be right, Comet, or you owe me for making me walk all over this campus.”

Kayden tries the door, but it's locked. Peering through the door window, enough sunlight is shining through the glass panes surrounding the room that Kayden can see what's inside. “There it is. Right there. Just like one of the photos in your file.”

I peer inside, but I don't see anything. “What are you talking about?”

“The blackboard. The chalk. Look at the handwriting.”

On the blackboard, a message is left behind in all-caps.

“SEE YOU AFTER BREAK. - RACHFORD”

Part 9 (232 words):

I show Kayden the recent headlines from a newspaper in the hospital. “INFAMOUS LOCAL MURDERER AND ARSONIST FINALLY CAUGHT BY AMATEURS AFTER SIX MONTHS.”

“Pfft, amateurs, really?” Kayden shows off his bandaged hand. “I think we're ready to be crime-fighting duos. What do you say? Dasher and Comet?”

“That's literally the cringiest thing you've said to me. Ever.” I reach beneath my chair to retrieve some take-out. “You said we were going to have a date tonight, so I brought food.”

“Ah, yes, food. That I can definitely eat, even though I'm attached to all these IVs.”

“Why did they make you stay here again? I thought you were just here to bandage your hand?”

“Apparently I got some bad smoke inhalation back at the local police department explosion. Don't know why you were unaffected though. Probably some super resistant superpower you got there, Dasher.”

“Oh, shut up. I froze like a deer in headlights back there.” I stuff a forkful of spaghetti into my mouth.

“You mean, you froze like a reindeer in headlights. Don't get that wrong, Dasher.” Kayden sticks out his tongue before beginning another coughing fit.

“Well, I guess everything's solved now. Don't know if we'll ever get another big mystery like this again.”

“Oh come on. My biggest problem right now is wondering when in the world you're going to get your promotion. Isn't it about time?”



Daily 30 (128 words):

An unknown figure's shadow caresses your face, beckoning you to listen to its whispers. You quicken your pace down the hallways of the castle, and you almost jump when thunder strikes right outside of a nearby window. The monster's footsteps are increasing in volume; thinking quickly, you let go of the candle in your hand, letting the flames engulf the rug. Turning around, you see the hideous abomination take a few steps back; you have bought yourself precious seconds, but how long will this temporary consolation last? Use the rooms to your advantage to slow down this creature, and find clues throughout the castle to figure out how to escape this monster's grasp once and for all, but be warned: not all who are lost can be saved.

fishy's ocean of words
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dailies

Daily 1- a comment that I'm too lazy to find

Daily 2- Words | panic, condensation, immediate, daffodil, diabetes | Credit to @Polarbear17

I ran to the nearest girls' bathroom panicking before I may faint.

I didn't want to tell any of my teachers. I didn't want them to make a big deal of it like in middle school. I didn't want it to be just like the last town I lived in. I didn't want the rumors. I didn't want the teasing. I wanted to actually make friends.

Last year I was diagnosed with type 2 diabetes. My parent's made it a big deal.

I checked my blood sugar. Was it up to date? I still felt that feeling. The feeling of falling and becoming unconscious.

I sighed relieved, but I still took a small sip of apple juice from my container. Just in case.

The sound of my footsteps sounded in the hallway. It sounded odd with no one in the hallway. I pushed the door open to my science classroom. My teacher glared at me and continued the lesson. God, I hate my teacher. He was creepy. He never taught us anything it felt like. Anyone in the class could ask him a question about the work. But his answer would stay the same. “It's in the books.” It wasn't the best way to teach in my opinion.

I looked at my water bottle. It had ice and started to condensate since my bottle was plastic. The tiny droplets fell and connected with each other. It was as if they were racing. I stared at the droplets. I drew my initial in the bottle, and the cold water stuck to my finger.

I like concentrating on things. I like looking at them and judging them.

I like walking home. It gives me time to concentrate. I passed the usual daffodils on the way. They shone in the sun. I wish I could shine like them. Stand out. Have some friends. Hiding my condition didn't make any changes.

School is fun. Sometimes. I want to be a part of the school play. I want immediate answers. I want it now. I want the worrying to stop. I want everything I want.

It was pinned to the bulletin board. Should I go check? Did I make it? If I didn't check there would be no disappointment. If I didn't check there would be no happiness if I made it. I decided I should check.

Did I make it? No. Not the part I wanted. The understudy. Not even a part.

Next class, I stared at the condensing droplets again. They helped me calm down. I thought of the daffodils. The way they shone. The way I want to shine on the stage.

I took a sip of my apple juice. Just in case.

Guess I'll just stumble home again. Alone.

458 words

Daily 3: using characters from harry potter
from the point of view of oliver wood

I sat in Quirrell's classroom as he's in the middle of one of his boring lectures. His Defense Against the Dark Arts class has taught me nothing. I swear!

All I wanted to do is go onto the quidditch field and play a game. Fred and George Weasley has not left me alone in the past twenty-four hours, as they want this season to be better than the rest. We haven't won the Quidditch cup in a while, nor the house cup.

McGonagall bursted into the room paying no attention that she had just disrupted our lesson.

“May I borrow Wood for a second?” she asked.

“Certainly.” Quirrell stuttered.

I saw behind McGonagall a small boy right behind the door. He was short.

I walked out and the whole class stared at me. Was I in trouble?

I looked at McGonagall and she pointed her crooked nose to the small boy.

“I've found you a seeker Wood!” she said excitedly.

I looked at the small boy. He was in shape for a seeker. He looked oddly familiar. I gave him a lined smile. It wasn't a smile, more like a forced line with my mouth.

“'Ello.” I said. I didn't know what else to say.

“This is Harry Potter, and I'm certain he has the skills to become Gryffindor's new seeker!”

Harry Potter ‘eh? He’s that famous one that survived “You Know Who” right? He's finally come to Hogwarts, ready to serve in his father's path as a seeker. But a first year? On the house team? I couldn't care less, but I was super enthusiastic, knowing we finally have someone to play the part that we needed someone to play. Now we qualify for the House Cup!

I was slightly amused though, the Potter boy looked afraid of me. I admit I am a big burly teenager, in my sixth year. I'm probably the best Keeper Gryffindor has ever received. Well, I should go tell the rest of the team.

331 words

Daily 4:

Daily 5:
Athena woke up in a soft block of some sort, as a loud ringing noise screamed in her ears. She looked up and saw she was covered with a quilt, but it wasn't patched together. Something was on the back of her head, something soft. A soft block, like a cloud. She knew she wasn't home.

She got her robes on and put her sandals on. She still couldn't figure out how to stop the ringing of the red circle, displaying the symbols 8:26. She was trying to get out of the chamber. She finally figured out how to open the rectangle in the doorway.

She stepped into another chamber with some boxes next to the walls, that had tops of marble and wood cabinets. She saw appliances, and when she accidentally tried one, she started a fire. It was strange seeing the red blaze in a home, but she extinguished it anyways. She looked around this chamber and saw a black rectangle with a glass screen. She tapped it to see what it did. “Why to have a big thing like this if it's not going to work?” she thought. There were these glass clear screens on the wall. “They're like windows back home.” she thought. She tapped it too, just to see. “Hello?” she called. A voice responded. “Hello.” She looked around and saw that one of the appliances on the counter had lit up and had a ring of blue. “Are you ready to set up your Alexa account?” the ring asked. Athena stared at it. It was a modern-day human?

Zeus suddenly appeared. “Athena? How did you get to the year 2023?” he asked. Athena stared at him blankly and said, “How did I get here?” Zeus told her to come along, and they went through a wardrobe of some sort and ended up back at home. “There were these rectangles, that didn't even have a purpose!” Athena said. “2023 humans sound stupid.” Zeus looked at her and chuckled. “Never mind that.” he said.

Athena was back home, and not in the year 2023, but back home where she belonged.

355 words

Daily 6:
Black hair roamed around so fast as it went around my apartment. I looked at my cat strangely. It was like a ghost. Today something was up, and I couldn’t figure out what.

My cat leaped to the next apartment. The lady in the next apartment always looked at my cat oddly. My cat does look weird. I’m not going to lie. He has green eyes, black hair, and unusual eyebrows. I let him go to her house.

I found my cat on the stairs of my apartment, I decided to pick him up and keep him until I found a poster. I’ve had him for one month.

I heard a scream next door, and I went to check up on my neighbor.

My cat was snuggling her and acting as if it were his home. “Ednis!” she screamed in joy as she found him.

It turns out I’ve had her cat that has been missing for one whole month.
160 words exactly

Weeklies

As a ghost, I think it’s rude that people think I’m scary.

Seriously. I’m not even haunting someone or something. I haven’t even gone outside of the forest! As I float around the trees, I find a lake. My blue eyes scan the ground around it, which seemed to have lots of trash on it. I frown as I glance at the lake. Plastic bags and empty soda cans litter the surface. I kneel at the water’s edge, brushing away a few candy wrappers. I almost gasped when I saw my face. No wonder the humans thought I was strange. Sticks poke out of my hair like antlers and my eyes shine out from behind my knotted hair. I try my best to do something but my once silky hair refuses to untangle itself. Frustrated, I kick at my reflection in the water and float away. The wind picks up and a plastic bag hits my face. I take it off and look for somewhere to put it in. I look around for a while before noticing that there were no trash cans. That was weird. Usually, I’d find a trash can somewhere since most of the forest I live in is a park, so people visited often. I soon realize the sheer amount of trash everywhere. It was as if someone dumped a bunch of trash here on purpose. I start to pick up the trash. Since I lived in this forest, I had to keep it clean. I follow a trail of empty cans and plastic bags and soon find the source of the trash. A construction site. I had never ventured to this part of the forest, so I never knew it was here. I watched as a massive yellow machine grabbed a tree, ripping it out of the ground. My grip on the trash I was holding tightens as my face becomes pale. They can’t be doing this. The forest was my home. Fear quickly turns to rage as my face turns slightly red. I drop the trash and charge at the machine. I start to grow in size. This never happened before. I start to destroy everything. The machines, the nearby buildings, even the trees. Everything becomes a blur as my body moves on its own. Soon, I start to feel exhausted. I try to stop but my mind doesn’t let me. I try to say something but I can only make a strange screaming sound as everything goes dark. I wake up to find myself in the middle of a destroyed forest. What had I done? I see a reflection of myself on a shattered piece of metal. Sticks are in my knotted hair, contrasting my blue eyes that are now widened in shock.

I can see why the humans are afraid of me now.

daily #2 - 326 words

a song played in the distance while she stood in the corner. the party was just like any other; the sipping of red wine, the intolerable song blasting. it was a normal party, and she was stuck in it. she decided to go exploring for a bit. it wouldn't hurt. slowly she walked, effortlessly going unnoticed. managing to sneak through crowds, moving swiftly like a cat, she slipped on a piece of broken glass. her gaze immediately fell onto the glass. while doing so, she felt herself
fall
fall
fall.
into an oddly shaped room. her mind spun around with questions, and worry. suddenly she heard voices and hid behind a corner, just as she did before.
“what was that?” a voice called.
“newcomer,” another voice replied, chewing. she scrunched up into a ball and cried softly. but she knew she wasn't going to be seen. she never was. but the words made a chill go through her spine. newcomer. newcomer. newcomer?
“I guess the glasses worked!” the voice chuckled. the chuckle stayed in the air, making her eyes go wide.
silence filled the room. nobody dared to speak.
she retreated and walked towards the two voices.
the two didn't notice. nobody ever did, did they? of course not. it was common sense.
she was average. normal. regular. boring, if you will.
no-named, freak.
she was a ghost; and it was a curse. nobody knew she was there. her life was pretty much boring, and uneventful. nothing happened.
she was a stalker; no, not even that. a nobody. no name. no home. no personality. she. was. nothing.
physically, too; her body was made of air.
she was immortal, too. it was agonizing, and she could never die. she was lifeless.
lots of people wished to be immortal. they never would, experiencing the horrid life – no, not life – of immortality.
she was a nobody. a spectator, never a player. and she had to stay that way, forever.

Daily

words by @MoonlitSeas
sand, crow, wish, mortal, bottle

The soft sand shifts lightly under the child’s equally soft, light feet. A cool, salty breeze permeates the air and rustles in distant, unseen trees. Grains of sand are lifted up in a crude mimicry of flight, skimming over their brethren before resting again on earth as the gust dissipates into the night. The sky rests far above the child’s head, moving in what seems an imitation of the waves below; the stars shift in invisible currents of blue as they sparkle against the ever-shifting sea. If only she could reach it, brush the stars with her fingers, then perhaps she’d know where the ocean ends and the sky begins, or if they are two halves of the same whole. For now, it’s enough to admire them both from afar.
Caw!
The child stiffens, glancing up, searching the stars more ardently now. Where would the shadow lie this time?
There—the black shape darts past, blocking the stars.
Again, after its passage, a wave crests, its foam reaching up the beach.
This was the third night.
The third; an important number.
There are three rulers, three times in a year, three moons.
But the third is always the most important, the girl knows. For she is the third child.
The child bounds down the dune, skidding across the top of the sand. By the time she’s made it to the bottom, her feet are ankle-deep in the hill-side. Shaking the sand off her bare feet, she walks across the cool, damp surface of the beach. She knows the wave won’t come this far again; it’s just past midnight, which means the last moon will have disappeared, and the water is afraid of the dark. It won’t come out again until morning.
Luckily, she isn’t afraid.
She has the stars to light her path.
The girl finds the bottle, its smooth, dark surface peeking through the sand. Distant starlight beams off it, illuminating it slightly. She’ll have to wait until morning to read the note inside, though.
It will be a wish.


- - -
340 words

Yeah I dunno why I wrote it in present tense either lol

Ig I'd better put something up haha

Kat's Writing Station!

My forum is here: https://scratch.mit.edu/discuss/topic/615560/?page=2#post-7022097

DAILIES

Daily 1 : https://scratch.mit.edu/discuss/post/7022097/

WEEKLIES

Weekly 1 :

✤ date: march 2nd daily
✤ topic: write a “soup” using five random words someone came up with
✤ words: moth, phoenix, dragon, ice, midnight
✤ word count: 482/300
✤ more writing this session

I’m skidding. I’d made a horrible mistake, trying to show off my ice skating skills. So I slipped and now I’m flying over the delicate thin ice until I finally fall and land on my rear end with a painful thump that knocks the wind out of me. Everyone’s crowding around me now, asking me if I’m alright. I shudder with pure embarrassment. I hate it when things go wrong. It’s simply mortifying. I get up and weakly skate over to the side, since I’m feeling pretty knocked out by now. As I watch the others with disappointment, a small moth lands upon my arm. I decide to stare at the moth instead, as it’s much more entertaining and interesting. It walks around up and down my arm until it’s sure it’s found the right space. Then I feel something penetrating my skin. I shoo the moth away, wondering why it just tried to suck my blood. I stand up, forgetting about my dizzy feeling, and fall down again, stars and darkness in my vision, and… a dragon.
I wake up again in the darkness. I can feel the freezing snow beneath me and see the twinkly little dots in the sky, so I must be outside. But it’s night time, which doesn’t make sense. Did they leave me? I check my watch, and the clock says it’s midnight. It can’t be! I get up and look around. I’m all alone out here by myself in the cold, 10 miles from home. I shiver in fear and caution.
The next thing that happens is unexpected. The ground begins shaking violently and the trees are harshly forced by the wind to lean and sway. The once dark sky now begins to brighten, and small flickers of flames open up. The silhouette of a majestic bird of some kind begins to form. While I feel like the world is ending, the bird becomes more visible, and it opens up the beak and cries. The ground stops shaking and the wind stops howling so violently. It’s just me and the bird in the sky.
“You! You are the victim of the deadly moth. It’s bite sends poison into you! Trust me, Clara, and I can save you. I will!”
Then the bird disappears. The sky becomes black once again. Actually, suddenly everything disappears, and I feel extreme pain coursing through my body. I can’t see it, but it feels like it’s being pulled, stabbed, and poked at. Everything feels wrong and big and weird. I don’t know what’s going on, until suddenly I’m face-to-face with the bird—the phoenix. I look at myself, and to my dismay, I’ve completely changed. With scales running up and down my body and large, heavy wings on my back, and spikes sticking out of my head, I’m not sure if I like being turned into a dragon. Not at all.

Waterfall's 1k Actually more like 2k :OWord Introduction!

Hi, I'm Waterfall! And I'm going to be attempting to describe myself, talk about myself, introduce myself, whatever you're going to call it, in one thousand words. :0 This is my first time trying this, but apparently this has been a thing for years now? Maybe not years, I actually have no idea, but sessions, at least. Personally, I don't think my brain has yet comprehended what it will actually mean to write a thousand words of introduction. I'm probably very overconfident and then am going to give up or take another day to do it. xD Uh, anyways. I'm Waterfall, I use she/her pronouns. I'm actually considering adding Fall as a secondary nickname, because it's nice. And another thing I've considered is Autumn being my more realistic scratch nickname, but I like Waterfall. (Plus it's really easy to remember because it's literally my username without the numbers.) If you don't get it, it's because Waterfall can be shortened to Fall, and another way to say Fall, even if it is with a completely different meaning, is Autumn. And that's actually a much more realistic name haha.

Anyways, about me, right. I live in the US, but honestly it would be very hard for you to guess my timezone because I'm on pretty much 24/7. Yes, I am that sleep hypocrite who will tell everyone to sleep sometimes, while also telling others to hurry up and do the weekly before it ends, while staying up late telling more people that sleep > swc. But hEy. That's me. xD As I was saying though, I pop in at so many intervals during the school day, do an hour or a couple more after school, and do an hour or two rather late.

I think a good place to go next is hobbies and interests, so here I go. I love musical theater, I've actually released a couple of covers, some of them from movie musicals. I'm a very musical person, and I've been playing violin for about nine years now, I think, and studying music for about ten. (Again, I think I'm not exactly sure? It's been a long time, okay? xD) And now quick tangent completely unrelated sentence but I'm pondering why the heck I decided to do this besides just to write a thousand words - I mean, it's not like anybody's going to read it, right? But I digress. For like the twentieth time already. I have to find something else to say besides anyways. Me being a hypocrite again, anyways, I also enjoy reading and writing, I mean, why else would I be here, and … stuff. I've floated between many different sports over the years yet still don't have a sport. I tried dance, but it was too hard and rigorous and slightly boring even though I still love musical theater more than any other hobbies. (Right, I forgot, Scratch is another big hobby of mine. Once again, I'm here, aren't I?) I did softball for many years but wasn't as dedicated as the other girls because I just didn't have time for travel or wreck, so when Little League ended, I just stopped. I was getting less interested anyways. I played tennis every spring, but again, not very interesting. I tried a volleyball season, and it was pretty fun, but not really a sport I can play often. As you might be able to tell, I'm kinda meh about sports. And then there's skiing. I like it, but high injury risk and I go skiing like twice a year since I don't live next to any great mountains. So that's my entire sports life lol thank you for coming to my ted talk. *bows* Uhhh what else… I'm also in the school newspaper/magazine club, so there's that. I do advanced choir at my school too.

I wonder how many words I've written, I'm really tempted to check, but I kind of want to wait until I'm done and then check, and if it's not enough then I'll have to write more. But then if I have more to say, I don't want to just cut myself off because I already hit a thousand words. I mean, the more words the better! (Maybe I'll just write ten paragraphs even though some are clearly way more than a hundred words and then I'll stop, I think that's a good idea but kind of unrealistic.) Imagine how cool it would be to have like five thousand words written within the second day of camp. I mean, that's some serious dedication. Then again, my word goal is forty thousand words, so I have to write about ten thousand a week. (Ooh, the motivation is real!) so I shouldn't check, because if I'm already at a thousand words, then I'm still motivated to write more. Because there's a very good chance I'm not. Whoops, another tangent. If you couldn't tell, I'm really big on tangents in these kinds of things because I'm just writing what I'm thinking and it's taking up words. xD But I'm supposed to be introducing myself. I guess I'm introducing an opinion here, and my writing/word goal for this session, but let's get back to the real about me.

I'm supposed to be doing mandarin homework right now aaah. (Another thing, I take mandarin. :))But I took a rather long break to write this a thousand word introduction because hand writing a billion characters hurts my wrist, and typing is so much easier. Especially because I'm a fast typer. What do you think? (If anyone is actually reading through my entire a thousand word introduction lol) I prefer typing, and I think a lot of other people do too. Although I can understand how someone might like how it's traditional to hand write things, and how you can do all sorts of cool (or bad!) things with handwriting. I still like typing better. Because when you're writing something long, it really hurts your wrist and arm even if you're writing a very short essay for English or something. Plus when I do that my handwriting gets progressively worse even though it starts out nice lol. But It's just so much easier to type when I have to write long things, *cough weeklies or a thousand plus word introductions for scratch writing camp.* We should start a debate about this, although I think most people here would choose typing because we're in scratch writing camp online, and we all use forums for word counts - another thing that is not beneficial when you're handwriting things. Unless someone is feeling controversial.

Okay next writing and reading preferences - first, what I prefer to write. (Honestly they're very similar though.) I really love to write fiction. Fiction is my favorite everything. I like writing it more because I find it easier to make up a story, especially because there's always so many ideas floating around in my head, and scenes that I write by playing them out in my head first. Fantasy I think is my very top choice, and then Real-Fi coming in at a very very VERY close second. I love those two genres so much! Some other honorable mentions are Fairy Tales, because that's fantasy but slightly different, Mystery, because I love a good mystery but I find it kind of hard to write clues and plots and stuff, plus I don't like things to be too scary. Sci-Fi, because it's another kind of fiction. I don't really like hi-fi although sometimes I can find a really good hi-fi book to read. Bu it's still fun because it's fiction, and I would like to write about a fictional child spy from world war two or something. And that's also probably been done like a hundred times before soooo maybe not haha. I think non-fi is bearable to write, so while it is kind of hard to make it interesting, because I find non-fi kind of boring in general, if I'm making like a poster or writing a website for a school project it's… bearable.

note I got so scared for a second because this wasn't loading in after I shut my computer and came back to it so I thought my like five hundred words were all gone aah but thankfully no <3

And… what I like to read! Fantasy and Real-Fi taking the top two again except they're both tied for first place this time because I enjoy reading them both so much, although find it easier to incorporate magic into my writing. Hi-fi was a meh for writing, but I've seen so many good hi-fi books that were amazing to read. Non-fi though - straight up boring, unless somehow it's a story, and a good one. Which I find is very rare. Besides non-fi, others that I don't really like are Mystery, because I don't really like scary, although I do sometimes like a good mystery. And thriller, horror, dystopian, etc. Once again, because I don't really like scary things. For example, I don't really like haunted houses because I don't get a thrill out of being scared. Apparently I'm supposed to, according to some people I know, but I really don't get why people like to be scared. Also have you ever been reading a thriller book at midnight, because you just /have/ to see how it resolves, but then it ends on a cliffhanger where there's a monster who likes to take children at night. And the pile of clothes you didn't put away is just staring at you and your mind really wants to turn it into a monster even though you know it's literally just a pile of clothes. xD Yeah.

What's another good topic… uhh movies and shows, but I don't really watch them, so there's that. How I feel about fandoms: There's way too many to keep track of and like every book I've read, or movie I've watched, has one. And sure, yes, I guess I'm a part of it because I like literally every book/movie/show I watch. xD But sure, I like them. Also I don't really know how to write fan fiction. Is that weird?

What I look like - I have brown hair that really looks black, although in the summer in the right light it looks cool because it looks like it's a bunch of different shades. This is because my hair is actually brown but it looks black, so in the light you see some really dark strands, and some being lit up to the real color, and some highlights. But only if you look really close. xD I also have brown eyes, I know, very basic but it's not like I had a choice, okay? xD Yes, I would love red or purple eyes or a really deep blue or something cool like that but that's not typically an option lol. Ummm I love sweaters, and especially in the fall/winter/early spring you will literally always wearing one, or a sweatshirt. Or both.

My two favorite colors equally are blue and purple. I don't really have a shade of blue, although I don't like super deep pigmented blues. I really like lavender and magenta as shades of purple, although magenta is very pink haha.

Anyways, I'm going to assume I've already hit over a thousand words because I have so many paragraphs - that's me everyone! Time to count hehe-

WOW I WROTE 1933 WORDS :OO

DAILY (2):

A story inspired by the words… flour, ebb, cobblestone, waft, duckling (words provided by @opheliio).

It was a day of soft light and shadows. It was light as a feather, glowing in the warm afternoon sunlight, not yet having turned heavy as stone with the knowledge that it would end. After all, how could something so pure and real end? The river beside me ebbed and flowed, but it always returned. This moment was the same. . .or so I thought.
I didn’t then realize how the waters eroded the riverbank, moving too slowly for me to notice.
My life was like that—no single, big event had eroded my riverbanks. Instead, it happened at a continual crawl, but the earth was scraped away nonetheless.
On that day, a familiar scent wafted on the cool breeze, and I closed my eyes as I strained to capture the smell of my mother’s oven fire in the nearby house. I imagined her hands kneading the flour, salt, and water. She would be mixing in a little sugar as a special treat; she was making her traditional celebratory loaf.
I opened my eyes when I heard a splashing sound. A little duckling swam along the river. It struggled against the current, little yellow face screwed up in concentration. Luckily, its mother soon came to help the runaway, quacking angrily. She wrapped her wing around the little duck’s body, and they swam away together.
I smiled. Sitting in my backyard, I felt like the whole world was open to me. In my hands was the acceptance letter to the university that my best friend had already begun attending. All of my siblings had gone there, and I couldn’t imagine not going. Away from home, I would be free.
In that moment, everything had been perfect.
Now, I sat in the same place by the river. The world had collapsed around me. I had no cage, but the freedom I was presented with seemed detestable to me now.
The duckling out alone had almost drowned. It hadn’t had the ability to swim the treacherous waters without the protection of its mother’s wing.
My own mother’s wing was gone. I’d fled too far.

+350 words

Daily #2 This is for mystery. words: Dragon, fire, notebook, restaurant, and read. credit to -Midnight–Moon-

It was very late- past 1 am when I walked into the restaurant. The statue was looming over my face. What was it? I wasn't very sure yet. All I knew as that it was watching me. As I walked past the counter a cold breeze passed over my back! No I whispered. It feels real. But it couldn't be. As I walked to sit down in my booth I realized that my notebook was sitting on my table. I just needed to read it. The Dragon- that's what was looming over me had started to move. Suddenly, the whole restaurant was on fire. I didn't know what to too. I got outside- I was safe.


I would have wrote more but I ran out of time…
This is for Mystery. The word count is 116 words and 568 characters although I don't think you need that.



Readislif3- She/her. Bookworm. Team Sophie Keefe and KOTLC lover.

-Bookie’s Directory-
-Dailies-
Day One: https://scratch.mit.edu/discuss/post/7025624/
Day Two: https://scratch.mit.edu/discuss/post/7033855/
Day Three: https://scratch.mit.edu/discuss/post/7051822/
Day Four: https://scratch.mit.edu/discuss/post/7073052/

-Writing Comp-
Entry:

-Weeklies-
Week One:
Week Two:
Week x:

daily #2
words: firefly, lamp, hope, pencil, owl

As a firefly, I've always envied lamps. Yes, I do know lamps are a weird thing to be jealous of, but think about it. People used to trap my kind, the fireflies, in jars for light. While that wasn't always pleasant, at least we were able to feel useful! Now, as human technology has advanced, they've created machines to do that. It's very easy to see that I feel replaced. I also think lamps are sort of useless. They run out of energy very easily, whereas I can keep my light running virtually forever. Now, I still respect the fact that humans are advancing, even though from the stories that have been passed down in my family, they don't seem to be doing so very quickly. That doesn't necessarily mean I have to like their advancements, though. I've always hoped that one day lamps would just magically disappear.

One day, I was flying in the forest when I met an owl. She had ruffly brown feathers and a pencil behind her ear tufts. Since owls are known to be wise, I decided to fly up to her and ask her a question. I went up to the hole in the tree and asked cautiously, “Is there any chance you know how to get rid of lamps?”

Mango's March 2nd Daily: Story soup || Words: twilight, camp, sparkles, books, & vines || 682 words
The sun set gradually, the day nearing twilight. I thought about it for a second, twilight only occurs for mere minutes of the day. I guess that was the best part about this camp, the fact that I was forced to enjoy all of the things I've missed when wasting my time doing absolutely nothing useful.
The sun had reached a point where I thought I could actually see the sun setting right in front of me, actually hiding below the ground, movement I could take notice of with my bare eyes. I could hear footsteps behind me as I tried to detect the tiny movements of the giant ball of gas that is part of our daily lives. Right as I looked at where the footsteps were coming from, a voice called my name.
“Mango! There you are!” said a familiar voice, my brother's voice. Surely, the footsteps were coming from him. “Our cabin leader was looking for you, hoping that we could all make a campfire before it got dark,” he said, taking a seat beside me. I was already staring at the sun again, only half of it peaking over the horizon now. He poked my shoulder, thinking I wasn't listening, but then decided to look in the direction I was. “Actually, this view is much better than any old campfire,” he said, seeing the variations of colour in the sky, and the disappearing orange glow of the sun. I grinned, admiring that he could also find the beauty in nature around us during this journey as well. It was only the second day of being here, and I could sense a change in both of us.

The sun was all gone, the wondrous, almost magical colours had nearly faded in an extremely dark blue. Only hints of red could be seen at the edge of the horizon. Maverick, my brother, had already left my side, and began adventuring in the dark. I could hear him whispering, trying to sound like an explorer. It wanted to make me giggle. Maverick let out a small scream, and I could hear it getting closer to me. Then, a crash to the ground, right behind me.
“Oh, sorry Mango, I was practising my adventuring skills. I mean, what explorer doesn't like to explore in the dark?” he said as I looked at his silhouette, rising from the ground, going into a standing position.
“You were just swinging from a vine or something, weren't you?” I asked, rolling my eyes, but not in a sarcastic manner, more like a That's-my-brother manner.
“…Possibly…” he said, shrugging his shoulders, laughing nervously. I'm honestly kind of glad he hasn't already changed completely. I enjoy the humour and silly excuses, and how he tries to help in the best way possible; simply existing the way he does.

It was now dark, the stars twinkling down upon us like little sparkles in the sky, providing us just enough light to make our way back to camp. I knew we hadn't travelled that far, which is why the sparkling stars were enough. I wonder how far each of those sparkles are, and they're true size. Would we ever get to know the true answer? Wow, I really had changed a bunch already. I was thinking about existential questions about our universe, not just what's on here, what's on the surface of our life.
Maverick had also noticeably changed in one more way tonight. I woke up to a flashlight. It had to be probably 11pm. Why was there a flashlight on? The flashlight pointed towards me as I sat up.
“Hello,” Maverick whispered. I looked over at him and saw something I thought he'd never have: a book. Wow, he was reading?
“Are you… reading?” I asked. He nodded.
“I guess it's a bit late to be reading. Or begin reading,” he said.
“No, not at all! Continue, by all means,” I said, laying down again. I thought about all of the ways we had changed in just 48 hours. Imagine what we'd be like when the month's over…

march 2 – daily themed around dazzling, green, mythological, bowl, steaming (words by @Minecrafter13529) i'm sorry this is really bad-

When I woke up, the first thing I saw was my dog, Demeter's, green eyes. She was standing on her two back legs, waiting for breakfast with her face slightly tilted and her eyes bright and dazzling, and she knew that when she looked at me like that, I'd do anything for her. After I went downstairs, I started cooking some rice for her, I didn't want her to eat regular dog food because I read somewhere that it wasn't good for her. When the rice was done it was steaming hot, but Demeter still begged for it, but I didn't put it in her bowl until it cooled down. I sat and ate my breakfast, thinking about when we first got her. I remember how small she was back then, and how the first thing I noticed were her green eyes, dazzling in the sunshine. Back then, I was obsessed with anything mythological, so I decided to name her Demeter, after the Greek goddess of the harvest. Anyways, it was an extremely hot summer day, so I put a little water in the new, green bowl I got her. I never wanted that moment to end, because she grew up too quickly, she was no longer the tiny, silly puppy but now an old, tired dog. Demeter interrupted my thoughts by barking after she finished eating. I assumed she wanted more food, but I wasn't in the mood to make a whole bowl of rice again, so I just gave her a small treat. We went on a small walk after that, so she would fall asleep, and sure enough, when we were home she was fast asleep. I got out my books about Greek mythology from when I was younger, and started to read them, since I haven't read them in a while and I used to really like them. 312 words

March 2, 2023

Words: Kite, giant, fishing, goose, orchid

Elara opened the door to the backyard, excited to finally be settling into her new house. It was almost the perfect house. Not too big, not too small, with all the amenities she desired. One such amenity was the backyard. There was a view of a lake and a huge lawn. Flower beds lined the sides, with a small patio in the corner. There were also plenty of small trees.

Elara sat on a lawn chair situated near the lake. She had some fishing supplies that her uncle had given her years ago with her in case she felt like trying something new. Elara sighed, arching her head back and soaking in the soft sunlight. She could hear the sound of light waves from the lake, and it definitely made the whole setting serene.

A large quack interrupted her meditation. Elara looked around and spotted a handsome light gray goose. It was surprisingly close to her, making her gasp in surprise. Even more surprising than a random goose coming up to some human, the bird was holding a kite in its mouth.

Elara frowned, unsure of what to do. She couldn’t tell if the goose wanted to be holding the kite or if it was stuck in his mouth. But in the heat of the moment, she just decided that it would be okay to take the kite from the goose.

And so she did.

Except the moment the goose let go with his beak, the kite began rising. And not in the rising-from-a-breeze way. The kite was shooting upwards in a drone-taking-off way. And Elara also happened to be gripping it.

Elara shrieked as the kite lifted her up into the air (which was unusual, considering her weight). By the time she had thought to let go, she was already so high up that she definitely would have hurt herself. So Elara did the only other thing she could do and held on tighter. She tried to look down for only a moment, but as soon as she caught a glimpse of the tiny neighborhood beneath her, Elara quickly shut her eyes and prayed that this was all a dream.

When she finally had the courage to open her eyes, Elara was actually approaching solid ground! She immediately let go of the kite and looked around. She definitely wasn’t anywhere close to her house.

Instead, she was in a humongous orchid. All she could see in every direction were orchid trees. And not a single other shrub or flower in sight.

422 words

daily #2
words: firefly, lamp, hope, pencil, owl

As a firefly, I've always envied lamps. Yes, I do know lamps are a weird thing to be jealous of, but think about it. People used to trap my kind, the fireflies, in jars for light. While that wasn't always pleasant, at least we were able to feel useful! Now, as human technology has advanced, they've created machines to do that. It's very easy to see that I feel replaced. I also think lamps are sort of useless. They run out of energy very easily, whereas I can keep my light running virtually forever. Now, I still respect the fact that humans are advancing, even though from the stories that have been passed down in my family, they don't seem to be doing so very quickly. That doesn't necessarily mean I have to like their advancements, though. I've always hoped that one day lamps would just magically disappear.

One day, I was flying in the forest when I met an owl. She had ruffly brown feathers and a pencil behind her ear tufts. Since owls are known to be wise, I decided to fly up to her and ask her a question. I went up to the hole in the tree and asked cautiously, “Is there any chance you know how to get rid of lamps?”

I waited for a response. I could see her doing something in her cozy little burrow and didn't want to interrupt. I know that if someone interrupted me like that, I'd chase them around the forest with a very menacing glare. Finally, the owl came out of the tree and flew out next to me. She glared, although I knew I was scarier. “What do you mean, ‘get rid of lamps?’ ?” she asked, “It better be a reason worth interrupting me for.” I thought for a second, but then decided that being jealous of a lamp was definitely a good enough reason. I shrugged at her. “I was jealous of them.”

Daily 2
Stars, Rocks, Androids, Repaired, Sky - @Mr-Skelecat
479 words

I come to my senses slowly, blinking the fog out of my eyes. The front of my head aches sharply. Memories come back slowly in a rolling wave. One moment of carelessness. An asteroid. Buttons and alerts flashing and beeping. A screen reading “Damaged Engine” in bold, angry letters. The round shape of a nearby moon coming closer and closer. A loud boom, and darkness.
My surroundings are both familiar and completely unsettling at the same time. It's my ship, which I know like the back of my hand, but it's unusually silent. The screens are pulsing sleepily, each one reading “Emergency Mode” in a simple pixelated font. So I did crash, and now the ship is saving all its energy to pump oxygen for as long as possible. To keep me alive.
I'm still strapped into the pilot's chair. I look to my right and gasp. The grey form of the copilot android, Silver, is slumped forward in her seat, unmoving. I see a dent in her forehead. The crash must have damaged some of her circuits. I stumble through the dark compartments and overturned supplies of the ship until I find my tooklit. Using a screwdriver, I pop open Silver's back panel and carefully search through her circuits. I thank the stars when I see that her personality chip is still intact. All androids of this model are skilled copilots, but nothing could ever replicate the clever, sassy personality that Silver developed over the years.
I find the source of the problem: some wires in her head have snapped. I have plenty of replacements, so it's an easy repair. I switch her on again.
Silver sits up mechanically, the lights in what would be her eye sockets a blank white. “Thank you for purchasing an A3 Copilot Droid. How may I be of service?”
My breath hitches in my throat. How did she factory reset? Is she really–
I hear laughter, and Silver's eyes flash orange. “The look on your face was precious!” Her voice was recorded by someone else, the same in all models, but the tone and words are all hers.
“You're so mean!” I whine. “I literally thought–”
“You're so gullible,” Silver giggles. “Anyway, we crashed?” She immediately starts tapping buttons on the screen until a 10% sign shows up. “Oh no.”
This is bad for both of us. We have about a day left to repair the ship and get out of here, or the oxygen and electricity will run out. Or else, I will suffocate and die, and Silver will slowly run out of battery and collapse forever.
We stare out the front window, past the rocky brown surface of the moon we crashed on and up at the stars in the sky. If the ship is too damaged, if we can't repair it, will this be the last sight we see?

Daily
3/2
250 points
329 words

words: lilacs, feathers, firefly, fairy-lights, blue (@Alfalfa78)
————————————————–
“Happy National Soup It Forward Day! What are your favourite things to put in soup? Carrots, mango … pirate ibexes? Today, let's make a different kind of soup - one made of words! Comment five random words that come to mind. Then, claim someone else's five words and write a story using those words as themes. Stir (staurr /j) your writing/soup for about 300 words, and now you have a meal. 200 points will be awarded upon completion, an extra 50 points for sharing your writing, and a daisy from Starr for saying what kind of soup you think SWC would be <3”
————————————————–
In a place fair away from all of society, there are fairies. There are three colonies of them; the Lilacs, the Feathers, and the Fireflies. Each possesses special abilities.

The Lilacs can make flowers and plants and nature bloom and flourish everywhere they go, whether they wish to or not. The Feathers can fly, although baby Feathers cannot. Adult and teenage Feathers control the wind, using it to their advantage to fly. And the Fireflies can summon light and fire, lighting fairy-lights that string all over all three colonies.

But there's a colony that is said to have been destroyed- yet there are signs of it everywhere you look. This colony is the Blues. They control everything and everyone with just one brainwave that comes from their head. They are quite literally a fairytale, although sometimes the Lilacs, Feathers, and Fireflies can feel things going through their heads- things that aren't natural nor belong there. It might be a buzzing sound, or it might be a vibrating feeling. It varies from fairy to fairy, but the feeling is one that every fairy feels in some version at least once in their life.

But the creepiness of the Blues doesn't stop the other colonies from living out their lives to the fullest! They hold feasts at least once a month, sometimes more! They all live in the same tree- the Home. At the age of adulthood, they grow to be up to 6 inches tall! Most usually stop growing around 4.5 inches, but some keep on growing and growing! Each floor in the Home holds different things. One holds the Lilacs, one holds the Feathers, one holds the Fireflies, one is where the feast is held, and one is where meetings are held between colonies, as well as there being a floor for the marketplace and a ballroom as well! No one has ever ventured to the top of the tree, and no one wants to. Mysterious things surround it…

i really know that i just leave scratch to entrance my opinion