Darling (Daily 3/14)

Once upon a time, the curtains were closed in a princess’s castle. She did not want to go outside; she did not feel trapped. She wanted to stay inside and sleep and stare at the floor.
Not that going outside was even an option in the first place. Her wicked mother was very strict about that, saying that the princess didn’t even need to think about such things that the outside world contained. The witch claimed it was dangerous out there, that the moment she stepped outside she would lose all hope and be left to only despair.
And so, the princess was left alone in her castle with only the cruel and unkind woman she called mother for company. There were no servants in the house - in fact, the princess sometimes wondered if she even had a kingdom, or any kind of reason to be called a princess at all.
She had no father, her mother claimed he’d died long ago, along with the princess’s permission to go outside.
The only way the princess could learn of the outside world was by either attempting to talk with her mother, or by reading books. And she truly disliked the latter, although when her mother was in one of her moods the literature method had to do for answering any questions she had.
Not that she had many. She didn’t want to go outside, and didn’t care for it much. Although, sometimes she had to wonder, what is it like? What is it like to be around people? What is it like to have a friend besides your mother?
The princess sat on her bed, staring out the window. Or rather, at it. The curtain obstructed her view.
Sometimes, the princess wondered what would happen if she just opened up the curtain. If she looked outside, and maybe jumped out the window. To either the outside world, or her doom. Maybe both.
No, she wouldn’t jump out. She stood up. She would, however, open the curtains. No matter how her mother would yell, or yell, or throw things.
Taking a deep breath, she pushed the dusty sheets of cloth apart and looked outside.
She saw nothing. Everything was all red. Different shades undulated across the hostile canvas, but the bright tone of it all hurt her eyes. The princess looked down, and there was only more red. There was no end, the only bastion was the castle. The dark, gray imposing castle that had been her prison for so long but she now could never leave again.
A crow flitted from…somewhere to her window sill. It stared up at her with white eyes. “Darling, go back.”
She violently closed the curtain, and shadows began to creep at the edges of her vision. Constantly out of sight, but constantly there. She found herself unable to move.
The shadows at the edge of her vision began to creep into her view, so she could clearly see what they were. And they were…
“Darling, go back.”

A mother raced through castle halls, up the stairs, up up up, she knew something was wrong. She felt it with the same heart that had torn apart thousands of years ago, when the castle became the only thing she knew. She had lived here with her daughter for thousands of years, royalty in an abyss, and now something was wrong.
She made it to the top of the steps and dashed down the hall and swung around to her daughters room where her daughter was no more.
“Darling, come back,” she cried, sinking to the floor. “Darling…”
The mother cried for a few years, cried until she felt ready. Then she stood up and walked to the window. She opened the curtains and saw the crow. It stared up at her with beady eyes. “Darling, go forth.”
The mother jumped.

“And they lived happily ever after, darling.”

Daily 3/14

Delilah leaned out the narrow window. Her tower room was located a good seventy feet above the ground, and provided an excellent view of the Cadecian Valley below. At the structure’s base, soldiers and horses gathered in a dense swarm, trying to find a way to the princess at the top. They were loud and dirty and quite frankly rather annoying.

Delilah sighed, pulling away from the window. She was tempted to slam it closed and show those soldiers just what she thought of their attempts to climb up. Unfortunately, that would also mean giving up the small currents of fresh air she had in this room - goodness, it did get stuffy in here without any breezes being let in. No, that won’t do. With another dramatic sigh, Delilah draped her upper body over the windowsill once more. She’d promised Christine that she’d play the part of imprisoned young maiden well, and so she would.

Minutes passed. The men on the ground seemed to grow increasingly more agitated; this princess, the girl they were tasked to kidnap and carry back as a hostage in the war between the kingdoms, was leaning out in plain sight. Her tower should have been easy to scale, and yet for whatever reason they could not climb more than a foot up its walls. You’d really think they’d have figured out it was enchanted by now, Delilah mused absently.

As if he could read her disparaging thoughts, one of the soldiers craned his neck upwards and began swearing very loudly and creatively at her. That’s it. Disgusted, Delilah leapt up, her hair snagging on one of the flowery branches that hung outside her tower room. She yanked it loose and slammed the window shut. The vulgarity of these people! Muttering angrily, she tugged at a stray blossom that had fallen into her curls. “Ugh, I wish those soldiers would learn some manners!”

The flower shivered in her hands. Startled, she dropped it, watching as the petals twisted outwards and upwards, transforming into a small creature with lavender wings and pixie-like features. Her skin had a purple tint, and her ears were raised in delicate points.

“You’re a fairy!” Delilah exclaimed.

“Clever observation, darling,” the fairy responded drily. “Though I’d prefer it if you called me Vale. Your wishes?”

“Wishes?” Delilah repeated.

Vale rolled her eyes skyward. “It’s standard protocol that any human who witnesses the awakening of a fairy gets three wishes. Don’t ask me why. My personal suspicion is that it’s so that we’ll be less inclined to take long rest periods.”

“Oh.” Delilah was pleased. “So I get three wishes, then?”

“Well, technically two. You already told me your first one. ‘I wish those soldiers would learn some manners!’ It’s been granted, by the way.”

Delilah nodded. “Not exactly the best use of a wish, but it’ll do for a start, I suppose. I wish there was some fresh air in this tower.”

Vale snapped her fingers. “Done.” A cool breeze flowed through the room as she spoke.

Delilah beamed, then gasped as a third idea came to her. “I wish this war would end!”

Vale lifted her hand - and frowned. “I, uh… you want me to end a war?”

Delilah nodded eagerly. “Yes. It’s been a terrible bother, all this fighting and being locked up in a tower! I’ve been hoping that it would end soon.”

Vale hesitated. “I don’t think stopping an entire international conflict is within my power.”

Delilah blinked. “Why not? Aren’t you supposed to be able to grant any wish?”

Vale sighed. “Yes… but people usually waste their wishes on stupid, little things. The bigger, grander requests aren’t something we have to worry about handling.”

“Well, that’s silly! I asked for you to end this war, so you should be able to do it!”

Vale shook her head. “Sorry, kid. That’s not how it works.”

“But… you promised me three wishes!”

Vale sighed. “Well, I can’t grant the last one.” And in a flash of light, she was gone.

Word count: 673

I meander through the mass of dancing trees and windswept leaves. The sun peeks through occasional gaps in the protective canopy, shining down to bright patches in the dirt. Leaves ruffle as animals run through the maze of life.
Glancing left, I see a dark, tall tree and smile. This is the meeting place. I carefully sit down, breathing in the fresh forest air. Time strolls at its own pace as I wait for Lily. Suddenly, a bush rustles, and a nose pokes out, followed by gentle whiskers and sky-blue eyes. A ginger face with chocolate-brown stripes pokes out, ears swiveling for eavesdroppers.
My eyes brighten. “Hello.”
“Good afternoon, Rebecca.” Lily pulls herself out of the bush and nestles herself on my lap. “How was today?”
I drop my voice to a whisper. “I think Laura knows. I was listening to some birds, and she thought I was either joking or crazy.”
Lily grins. “Wait till she hears me.”
“Not everyone listens like I do.” I chuckle. “And you’re only going to risk me being noticed.”
“Fine. How many minutes till we have to be done?”
I freeze. I’ve forgotten about that. I must be home by 5:30 for dinner. I glance at my watch. “Five minutes.”
“Guess we have to go then… Oh well. See you tomorrow.”
The bushes rustle as Lily dives back into the forest without a trace.
–
The pigeon with the ruffled feathers shakes himself. “Isn’t it infuriating? Humans never listen. I’ve learnt their language, and they still don’t listen. I shout at them like crazy, and they do nothing. Nothing at all. They don’t even try.”
“I know. The only respect we get is not being pets and not being shot. Most of the time.”
“Exactly. The pets thing was absolutely awful, sitting in a cage for life with the exact same thing all day, every day. And the musty never-used-room air. I tell you, that was the real icing on the rubbish cake.”
I smirk. I’ve been listening to their whole conversation from my side of the fence.
“So, you think humans never listen, eh?”
They both abruptly turn to face me.
“Yep.” This time I use the common language pigeons speak. “Maybe no-one else listens, but I do. I’ve been listening since I could speak.”
The white one turns to face the other one. “You think this is legit?”
I grin. “I certainly do.”
The ruffled-feathers one flies over the fence, the white one following. They perch on the small bench space in front of me, standing in awkward silence for a second.
The white one has the most courage to speak. “So what’s your name?”
“Rebecca. What’s yours?” I eye the ruffled-feathers pigeon. “Both of you.”
“I’m Olivia. Because… you know what, never mind.”
“And I’m Jackson. I guess. We were both pets before they stopped the whole birds-as-pets thing. And they called me Jackson. Which is actually an okay name. I heard they called some of them Birdie – I mean, would you call your son Human? And stuff like Mr. Beaks! Seriously! Just name your bird like you’d name a human!”
I giggle. “Okay. I get the point.”
“Someone’s coming. Your friend, I think. Oh, can we have some food? You know, I really need some, since I didn’t have breakfast and I flew all this way to meet Olivia and-”
I roll my eyes and pull my lunchbox from my bag. “Fine.”
Opening one of the containers, I pull out two tiny pieces of bread from my sandwich and put them on the bench in front of the pigeons. They flinch as I set my hands down.
I hear footsteps behind me and brace for impact.
“Surprise!” Laura shouts.
–
My back rests on the tree trunk, my body relaxing against it. “Hi, Lily.”
“Hello, Rebecca. Did you see the birds again?”
“Yes. And I gave them breakfast.”
“Oh, no.” She licks her lips. “I was hungry. And I haven’t eaten birds in a while.”
“Lily, don’t. They were nice.”
She smirks. “Doesn’t affect the food chain… But back to being serious. Do you really need to hide your gift?”
“It’s weird.”
“Doesn’t change the fact that it’s cool.”
“But nobody actually believes in talking to animals. They’ll think I’m making it up.”
Lily smiles, making me think of a fireplace in winter. “Why hide when you were born bold?”

731 words

Icy's writing for mystery march 2023

406 words. Daily for march 14
Once upon a time, there was a small town. In this town, lived a little boy. His name was Gael. His father was a woodcutter. Once, his father took him with him to chop wood. As his father cut down trees, the little boy explored around the forest, fascinated by the numerous little creatures twittering high up in the treetops. His father wiped the sweat from his brow and turned back to look at his son. Gael was chasing squirrels, dashing into trees and bushes. “Careful there, Gael!” He shouted, before turning back to his work.
Suddenly, a squirrel hopped into Gael's hand. “What's your name, little boy?” asked the bright eyed creature. It was a red squirrel, quick on his feet and very handsome-looking. “My name's Gael. What your name, Mr Squirrel?” Gael replied, bringing his hand up to his face so they were eye-to-eye. “I'm James. Are you with the woodcutter over there?” James asked. “He's my father,” Gael explained. “Oh. Okay. Would you like me to show you around?” Gael nodded, much delighted by his new companion. James hopped off his hand. He led Gael through the trees and bushes, telling him interesting stories about the people that lived there. “That's where the fairies live,” James said, pointing to a huge sprawling banyan tree. “You can see some of their glitter high up there, see?” Gael nodded. Meanwhile, Gael's father was still chopping. He gazed at evening sun, before calling to his son. “Gael! Come here. We need to go home now.” Gael ran back, tripping over his little feet.

Gael froze. A python coiled around him, ready to bite. “Little boys,” hissed the snake, “My favourite meal.” Suddenly, James appeared by his side. “Let him go, Akari. Heaven knows you have enough mice.” The python flicked his tongue in and out disdainfully. Slowly, it withdrew. “You won't have such luck next time, little boy. Next time I see the opportunity, you're my evening meal.” Akari slithered through the bushes. Gael ran back to his father, eager to tell him of his adventures. However, James stopped him. “You will not tell anyone about this. If you tell anyone about me, or Akari, or the trees, we all will vanish.” James said sternly, before leaving to boy.

Gael ran to his father, content with his day and the exploring he had done. Both father and son walked through the sunset to their waiting supper.

Daily for March 19. 303 words. I have used the novel by norton juster, the phantom tollbooth.
Progress. It is a proud title I hold, one I have honoured considerably with my work. I bring satisfaction and happiness. I brighten up their lives. But I am not easy to attain. I only serve those who are willing to serve me first. It is my dear enemy, procrastination, who helps me in my work. People spend their lives trying to reach a goal, but it is I progress, that they must obtain first. I have many stages, I am flexible like flowing water. I pride my swiftness, my flexibility, my deftness and the many other qualities that make me prized. But the ambitious don't value me. I leave them with ease, and they reach their goal quicker than others. I don't favour anyone. Once I come, I am there to stay. I am fair. Most don't care of me, hell bent on reaching their goal. What's a little bit of progress going to help? But some, the weak minded, comfort themselves that I'm there, and they work harder, or stop working at all. I depend on the person I serve. I don't love anyone, I don't hate anyone. Apart from my dear enemy procrastination, and my good friend, goal, of course. It is with great patience I work, waiting to move forward, and when I do, they look proudly at me, and I smile to myself. To some, I am the goal. To some, I am nothing. I am happy and content with my job.

I am emotionless, but I have one exception. There is only one emotion I feel. One thing makes me sorrowful. When someone reaches their goal. Often they spend time revelling in their success, and some forget about me, and I linger in the background, waiting for them to remember me, credit me, their old friend, Progress.

Daily for march 22. 273 words.
Milo's life had changed after the tollbooth. Where others saw a bleak landscape, he saw miles of grass, butterflies to catch, flowers to smell, and insects to identify. Each day was shaped into something new for him. He no longer dragged his feet on the way home, trying to get there faster only to realize he had nothing to do. Wherever he went, he saw new opportunities, a path to adventure.

While he came home from from school, Milo noticed a large hole. It was a deep pit, and Milo threw a rock down to check its depth. After a minute, the rock splashed into cold water. Milo bent over the hole, and someone pushed him down. He fell. Milo panicked, crashing into the surface of the water. He threw his bag to the shore, and paddled quickly to the shore. There, next to him, stood Tock. The watchdog ticked slowly, and he glanced at Milo urgently. “Time is being misused. Rhyme sent me to fetch you, Milo. The world is yet at peril, and you are the only one who can save it.” Milo picked up his bag, slinging it over his shoulder. “How can I help?” Tock led Milo through a long winding tunnel. “The Mathemagician dug up the tunnel.” Tock explained. “I hoped you'd bring along that red car of yours.”

“It's gone.” Milo explained the story. And then, they came back to the cave filled with precious stones, the ones the Mathemagician loathed so much. They passed the mines, into the glittering sun. Dodecahedron met them, his frowning face in sight. “It's getting worse, Tock. Glad you're here, Milo.”

Weekly #3
Part 1: 202 words.
I am not proud on how I portray emotions. I focus mainly on a few emotions. It is how a solely focus on only some emotions that bothers me. I don't bother to write other emotions in depth. Most of the time, I neglect the others. This makes my writing boring. I overuse a few words. I absolutely am horrible at portraying shock, and the grief of a child. Sadness is a delicate emotion, which I feel I can barely show properly. My wording, my dialogue, my description, everything just messes up. In order to avoid this, I often just stop the chapter and start a new one with a time-skip. There are a few emotions I can portray better. Happiness, doubt, and helplessness. Scenes where a character becomes overly emotional, or even becomes remotely emotional, are very short. Sometimes I have used emotions well, and I'm happy with those rare pieces. Often, when I portray any emotion, it lacks description. When I describe it, It becomes too wordy and long. It becomes awkward, so I delete it and then I'm back to square one. So I just avoid writing emotions as much as possible, and use time-skips if I have to.

Part two: 302 words
You can't, Ella! Think of what mother would say!“ I yell, and Ella rolls her eyes.
”I don't care, Ed. Mother can say anything. I'm going to do this.“ Ella replies, her voice even and smooth.

She is not angry, and she knows she will win this battle. She knows.
”But what about me? How will I stay without you?“ I ask her, biting my lip.
”You can survive without me, Ed.“ She answers, pressing her lips together. Inside, I know I've chipped away some of her determination. ”Besides, I'll be back in a few years.“
”Then what's the point of leaving, Ella?“ I ask her beseechingly.
”I have to, Ed. You'll get it someday. Besides, you can come with me.“ She offers, and her face brightens at the prospect of having a companion.
”No, Ella. It would break mother's heart.“ I reply. How can she ask this? Does she not care for our family? I shake my head, and meet her gaze.
”You're here for her, Ed. I'm not worried about our parents. You're here for them. And when I come back, we'll all be together again.“
”Why do you want to do this?“
”Because I have to. No one is going to stop him.“
”You're a girl Ella! No one will listen to you!“ I almost yell, my lip trembling.
She looks away. ”They will, Ed. Just you wait.“
”Don't leave, Ella, Please.“ I beg her, my voice desperate. Ella hesitates.
”Stop it, Ed. Don't bring this up anymore.“ My mother drops a frying pan, and the loud clattering noise rings throughout the room. Ella stands up. I know she's re-thinking her plan. She will not give it up, that is for sure. But I will still try. I will still try. Just when I think I've won the argument, Ella speaks.

“You don’t understand, Ed. I have to do this. Don’t you dare try and stop me.”

Part 3: 59+458

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They are frustrated because of a failed plan, and the time it will take to think of another. They are frustrated because they have worked so hard for this, but their plan B is not going to be effective. They are frustrated because others relied on them, and they have let them down. (they refers to the main character.)

I feel their disappointment. ”This was a flop,“ Zera says, voicing our frustration. I punch the wall as a response. My knuckles are bloodied. Years of planning, it all goes into this. ”We have to go back,“ Bell says, her clear voice ringing throughout the room. ”We'll restock and go.“ I shake my head. ”It's not that easy, Bell. We need the money first.“ Bell runs her hand through her short hair. She is impatient. She wants to go as fast as possible. Zera, on the other hand, is patience. She knows how long it will take, and she knows how much we'll depend on others. ”Plan B isn't that easy, Bell.“ Bell groans. The light is dim. In a sudden fit of anger, Bell punches the table. The wood splinters, and the table breaks into many little pieces. The light flickers. Bell shivers. ”It's cold here, isn't it?“ Bell and Zera are two sides of the same coin. The light flickers. Bell glares at us. ”I'm going. I'm going to burn it. I have my matchsticks, I have my kerosene.“ I shake my head. ”You can't do this.“ Bell climbs out of the vent. ”Coming?" She calls, and Zera climbs up too. With a sigh, I follow. It's a bad idea, but it will enable plan B to go through faster. I am still frustrated, but I pull out my matchbox, and we all creep through the vents, filled with purpose. It is dark, and the occasional shafts of light stream through the small openings. Chilly air sweeps in. Our shadows are barely visible.
As I drop down to the room, I am reminded of our old plan.

I am exhilarated. It's happening. We run through the rooms, looting all we can. Adrenaline pulses through my veins as we race through the halls. My heart thumps in my chest, I'm so excited. We then go to the abandoned room, and sit there, awaiting the next phase of the plan.

I open my matchbox. Bell pours kerosene over the bed, and we all light our matchsticks at the same time, dropping it on the bed. It catches fire. Instead of making our escape, we stay. The flames rise higher and higher, smoke fills our lungs. I feel it rise with my frustration. I am not angry, I am not scared. I want to stay, let the fire take embodiment of my frustration, and loose myself in its ashes. The flames rise higher and higher, Zera starts to cough. I am not even remotely concerned. The smoke singes my hair, and Zera's voice snaps me back to reality. The fire sizzles, jumping across the room, setting everything it touches on fire. Our work is done. Our work is done.

Part 4: 706 words
It is a glorious feeling. The world shines before my eyes, no faults visible. I am satisfied, my hunger is satiated. I am content, I am happy. There is nothing to attain with my new position. I am queen. A commoner's daughter, queen. I don't feel triumph, only satisfaction. There is no victory in it for me. The path ahead is difficult. Yet as I look outside and wave to the people, I feel a sense of satisfaction. My greatest dream is fulfilled. The maids put fresh flowers in the vases, and everything, even the curtains, is brightly coloured. This all is to reflect my mood. Nothing but the best for the queen, of course. My husband hasn't seen me. I keep my back straight, my shoulders broad. The perfect posture. I am the role-model for all, from the duchess for Zaria to the milkmaid's daughter. It is the best thing about my humble beginnings. I am loved by all. I have royal blood, and yet my roots are simple. It is all a great feeling of fulfillment. But being queen also brings responsibilities. And I'm ready for that. I'm not worried for what happens ahead, for I am the one who chose to be queen. I know the risks of my job. A soft breeze rustles through my hair, easing it out of the delicate bun I looped it into this morning. I drink my tea while my lady-in-waiting selects my clothes. Then, I take a luxurious bath. I change into my dress, a mix of green and blue. The weather seems to represent my mood, it is a sunny yet windy day, the most pleasant weather for a long walk through the palace gardens. I present my wishes to my ladies, who accompany me, waving around their perfumed handkerchiefs, polluting the air with their horrendous scent. I am not fond of these little unnecessary things my ladies do. The bees hum around, buzzing from flower to flower. One of my ladies resents these creatures, but she does not show it, for I am very fond of bees. The sense of power that comes from being queen, it is so delightful. I eat breakfast after my walk.

Noon breezily enters, bringing a few storm clouds along with it. I stroll through the palace. It is huge, each room tastefully decorated. Once I am tired, I go back to my rooms. I rest, and then write to my family. It is a letter filled with mixed emotions.

Dearest sister,
I hope this letter reaches you in well-being. How is the duchess of Zaria treating you? I hope you are enjoying the weather lately. It really has taken a pleasant turn, has it not?
Life as a queen suits me. I have wardrobes filled with the finest gowns, the softest bed to sleep on, and the palace is huge. I appear the people once each day. It fills them with happiness to see me. It is really most satisfying, knowing how hard I've worked for this.


The rest of the letter goes in this manner. After this is done, I go for yet another walk through the palace gardens. The bubbling fountains really are the most pleasant thing. While I walk, I feel thirsty, and I send a maid to fetch me some water. It is amusing to see her scuttle about frantically. I almost laugh. I resume my walk. Soon, it is time for lunch and I am back in the banquet hall, with my husband by my side. He smiles warmly at me, and I hide the displeasure on my face. I eat charmingly. I smile at the people who serve us, flashing my pearly white teeth. It gives me great happiness to see others work for me. Once I am done with lunch, I retire to my rooms for a long nap. But my maids wake me up early, for the king is going hunting and he wishes I accompany him. I dab some powder on my cheeks, change into an elegant gown, and leave my rooms. The fields are filled with game, and I know this won't end soon.

Even so, nothing can ruin my satisfaction of seeing everything being done my way.


Daily 23/3/23

I go to the market today. I buy meat, cheese, vegetables, and clothes. My mother is alone at home. I count my coins carefully, not trying to waste any money. Then, I go back home. To my surprise, the door is open, a sign that something bad has happened. There's a letter on the mat.

I pick it up.

My heart chills with fear.

The seal of the house of edmund is stamped on it.

Fingers shaking, I dump my purchases on the sofa and sit down. I close the door, then I open the letter.

They've taken away my mother.

My blind mother.


Apparently she is housed in the castle at Fernington, provided with the utmost care. I can't believe them. How dare they.

Elle comes from school. I tell her what's happened. We both agree on one thing. We'll get her back.

We'll get her back.

Somehow.

I cut my hair the next day, and put on some boyish clothes. Elle follows, and we both pack our things and set off for Fernington. I write to my brother, telling him what we're going to do. We walk. Miraculously, every night we find a kind farmer who lets us stay for the night for free. I tell Elle this is a good sign. We eat cheaply, knowing we'll need the money when we go to Fernington. I thank god for our good luck.
Elle and I go to church. We kneel before the altar, thanking god and asking him for his blessing. Then, we eat breakfast and continue our journey. It is spring, making it pleasant to travel, with cold draughts of air blowing as well as it being a sunny day.

Elle and I reach Ferningtoon by noon. The town is large, and the castle looms over the little cobbled houses like a fierce monster. We stay with a good friend of my brother.

Daily 14/3

okay so the capitalisation is off because I wrote this on my phone and don't have the time to edit, but used a couple of folklorey elements here, namely:
1. virtuous man
2. smart young man
3. person transforming into an object
4. wishes!!
5. blatant misogyny (more often than not)
6. poetic language + verbosity (marked by internal rhymes and a bit of wordplay ehehe)

plus!! references to other fairy tales :> also nietzsche

—

Herr übermensch was seated amid unfurling chaos, his button-up shirt emblazoned with the bold but grammatically uncomplicated phrase, ‘i am god’, inked in black, outlined in red. his matted hair gleamed in broad daylight, his arms resting on a throne cobbled together by borrowed principle and a carefully crafted aesthetic whose existence he did not deign to accept. In his quest for self-realisation, he had indentured half a million with supercilious dignity, his knuckles drumming syllables ('i am the par-a-gon of mor-a-lit-y') while all of the Old Values lay helpless at his feet, unquestioning adulation plastered on each trembling face. ‘Having, in extirpation, glorified all of man’s creation, I deem it a most appropriate time for celebration.'

'Fortune was never a woman,' he began in a baritone that overinflection rendered a monotone. ‘no woman,’ quoth he, ‘could possibly prove as aesthetically, as morally, elevated as me. The image of Fortuna, if pulled apart, is little more than that of a tregetour, performing petty parlour tricks to a breathless balcony, so-called miracles so lacking in substance that they elicited sympathy that the Misled mistook for happiness. I am Fortune himself, and I never did have Good Luck for my godfather, a fact that testifies to my immense power, untarnished by such fickle things as fortuity.’

'Master above all Masters I beg to differ,' protested a young man in baggy struntifers– in crass dissonance with the established aesthetic, Herr übermensch noted. ‘in my years of battling the Omukade, I have gained this strange thing people call wisdom. A virtue, my good sir, that I protest you do not possess–’

'how dare you– puny mortal–' burst Herr übermensch in a fit of undisguised and unbecoming indignance.

'i expected no less a reaction from one so exalted as you, Master above all Masters,' said the young man, the veritable epitome of tranquility. ‘i only ask,’ he continued, ‘that you who call yourself Father Fortune, grant me three of those which anglican antiquity has persisted in labelling as wishes.’

Herr übermensch replied in language inimitable by a device so frail as the written word. It is worth noting, however, that the man, being given to frequent ego-trips, was wont to indulging the intrepid fiend within. ‘Okay Boomer,’ he quoth, his words destined to go down in history as the shortest syllables he had ever uttered.

'it would be miraculous if you could give me your much sought after word, so I could sell it at an auction in the future,' said the young man winningly.

'Of course.'

'I beg you then, o exalted one, to turn yourself into a steaming pot of soup that I could distribute,' said the young man, whose expression at the time a number of poets were destined to attempt to capture in meticulous verbosity.

Thus ends the tale– one that commences with a man and concludes with a man in a soup.

Nickname- Ava
Content- March 14th Daily
Word Count- 519/400
Topic - Incorporate Folklore into your story
Cabin - Horror

LET'S GET STARTED

Oli was definitely not happy that day. She was in a bad mood because one, her hair did not accept being combed today, two, her mother had forgotten to give her her water bottle and Oli couldn't get it herself because she had woken up late, three, because she had barely gotten three hours of sleep at night and four, she had barely touched her book.
Her toxic ‘friend’ Maria came and sat next to her as Oli was trying to squeeze in at least one piece of homework.
There, is reason five.

'What do you want maria,' Oli sighed, knowing Maria was going to bully her again with her small squad. Behind Maria stood three girls, all looking at Oli with a distasteful glare.

Maria gasped. ‘Why are you speaking so rudely?! I didn’t do anything!' Oli rolled her eyes, knowing this as one of Maria's tricks. She would act all innocent and annoy Oli, and then when the teachers came in Oli would get in trouble and not Maria.

Oli dutifully ignored Maria, which infuriated the bully. Maria resorted to jeering. ‘Ah, I see. Acting all high and mighty now are we? Don’t forget what you did to me.'

Oli suddenly glared at Mariua startling her. But it wasn't the glare. It was the green flares inside her eyes. Maria looked at Oli with fright.

'What I did do to you?' Oli said in a calm voice, which made Maria even more terrified. ‘What I did to you was be a loyal friend. Why, you don’t even know my real name! You think Oli is something I can bare with you calling me every day?' Oli slammed her hands on the table in anger, opposite to her voice. ‘Only close people can call me by my pet name. I’m sorry Ms. Oh-SO-High-And-Pretty Maria, but only best friends and family can call me by my pet name. And you, have lost the title of a best friend.'

Maria tried to regain her composure. The first step was to make it look like she wasn't scared, and in her dictionary, swearing was something that made you look cool. ‘How dare you talk back to me you b-’

Oli slammed her hands on the table again, and Maria went silent in fear. The class who was watching, (including the teacher who stood in the doorway) were shivering in their boots.

'That's how a conversation works.' Oli said, knowing in one corner of her brain she could never say that to her Asian parents. ‘Learn that you stupid lying, cheating, annoying dimwit.’

'O-Oli?' Ava, another person who got bullied in her class poke up. ‘-Are you Ok?’

The green flares in Oli's eyes started to flicker. They widened, and Oli knocked her head hard. ‘Stu-pid-de-mon-queen’ she said with each hit, lowering the flame each time. ‘I TOL YOU NOT TO GET IN MY HEAD DURING SCHOOL BRO. WHAT IS YOUR PROBLEM MALIFICENT.’ Oli shouted, apparently talking with her brain.

The class was too stunned to speak. That was the day where Mr. Johnson fainted for the first time in his life.

critique for @violent-measures

“Well, well.” Jax stared me in the eyes, his own shadowed by the cowl of his hood. “You’ve finally come home.”

i love how well this sets up the scene! it immediately sets Jax up as a mysterious character and sets the foreboding tone for the rest of the piece

“Jax, everything you control, you control with threats. You must understand their power.”

this is really nitpicky, but i would change “you must” to something like “i know you understand” or “you of all people” just to clarify that must means that he knows the power of threats

“Because you taught their power to me.”

again i'm being really nitpicky, but taking out the “because” here would make it flow better because the because doesn't have much significance and doesn't add anything

“No. I’m not. I’m no better than you; I couldn’t be, because you made me. How could you not expect me to follow in the footsteps of the man who taught me everything? How to steal, how to lie, how to fabricate? This is how I survive, now. This is who I am. And the only apology I will accept comes in cash.”

aaa i love this line so much - you captured the way she feels so clearly in the dialogue and it makes me feel bad for both Jax and Bea almost XD

“The ones that . . . that let you find me?”

with this line i'm not exactly sure if it's Jax or Bea talking, so adding a dialogue tag here might help clarify a little

this is so good! you've done a great job of making sure the dialogue captures both emotion and plot - everything i critiqued is really nitpicky. Bea and Jax's dynamic is so unique - it's a good example of the student goes rogue trope but there's definitely a unique spin on it! and the whole symbolism of words was such a beautiful choice and that last paragraph is so well written, especially that part about gilded words. it ties into that idea the knowledge is only for a select few and that it should be made more accessible - overall this is amazingly written

Daily 3/14
Back in the day, there were four terrific fighters, going by the names of Wynditha the wind tamer, Mereislica the queen of the seas, Fyrieawho had the greatest connection with the fire and Deora the mother of the Earth. Each of them controlled their element; fire, wind, water and earth. However, around the 1750s, there came an unbeatable foe. He was a treacherous dark wizard. The ferocious four tried as hard as possible to beat him, throwing balls of fire at him, sending winds at his face, calling sharks to come and get him and trapping him in vines.
The powers didn't stand a chance for the horrible sorcerer. The sensation of dark magic was around him, he cackled like a dozen of hyenas and demolished the poor fighters. All that was left of them were their favourite things, each hidden in a place no human has ever had or dared to visit. The dark wizard left a prophecy on the town of Harlicklen (now named Little Varriel) which said:

'Those who are weak, perish, those who betray, die.
You thought that I would say my final goodbye?
No, fear not, I'm coming back to have a ball.
You must prepare me a feast in a grand hall.
Once the fighter's things are found,
you'll become one of them and I'll be somewhat proud.
A perfect surprise will await,
Which you hopefully will not hate.'

Presently, in Little Varriel there lives a princess with the name of Naturilia ('natur' in Old English means plant) who has been exceptionally curious about the dark wizard's prophecy. What does he mean by surprise? Because of how long it has been, most of the townspeople don't even remember the prophecy. All except her.
“The dark wizard will come back,” Naturilia moaned to her cat, Smokey, a rather grey cat who looked like he just came out of a chimney, “I just know it! We should all fear him, look at how he stopped the fantastical four fighters.” Smokey gave a purr and brushed her fur against the princess' leg.
She smiled and stroked her cat, saying, “At least you believe me. Father doesn't care, all he says is ‘Oh! I’m so sorry darling. Daddy has work to do.' and mother just replies with ‘It’s just a phase, you'll grow out of it dear.' They're all wrong!” Naturilia stomped her foot, enraged.
She slumped onto her bed with Smokey gleefully sitting on her lap until she heard a magical twinkling. It sounded like a fairy. What is that?! Smokey bounced off his owner's lap and went to investigate. He walked around the room like a tiger, while his ear twitched at the sound. He sniffed a cupboard where the sound was loud and Naturilia went over to check inside it.

SCYTHE
219 WC

Black and dark are we, of pain and death
and shattered hearts. Stars cry for our sins, our heartbreak
and our stolen lives. We do it all for we simply must, we must comply
we leave our hearts behind, and we do not weep for our forgotten souls,
but for the souls of those we reap and glean. Stars weep for them, for us,
for our sins and our mistakes. We are made of darkness,
our hearts are hearts of black. We are never
to be forgiven, never to be forgotten- we do
not have any choice. We say what we wish,
but they rarely listen. Thunder ignores us, we
whisper and scream in vain, both at once
and never at all. We are here to glean,
and this we know. We know who
we are and what we do. we are
neither innocent nor guilty,
neither young nor old. There
are many things we regret, yet we
know that it is our duty to perform as we
do, for the sake of all. Cut off from even
the stars, are we. Broken, we cry out in vain,
seeking refuge we will never find. Perhaps we have
no choice. But we will endure, for such is the task we
were given. Thou shalt kill, without bias or malice. Amen.

Critique for Folklore Cabin Activity
Hi, I really liked your piece! I thought it was really cool how the main character was a cinematographer/moviemaker/etc.

I walked through the abandoned amusement park, officially starting to feel some creepy vibes.

This is such a funny quote!

I hadn’t necessarily felt anything on the drive up here, not even when I had been looking around for a way to get in. My sister had told me this would be a good place/theme for my documentary that I need for film class; I was starting to have second thoughts though seeing all the creepy abandoned booths, rides and snack stands.

Hmm, I feel like this could be exaggerated more to make *us* feel creeped out as well. Maybe explain the foreboding iron gate she’d scrambled over—the fact that it seemed ominously darker once she’d entered…the fact that she was only 95% sure those stains on the hotdog stand were from ketchup…etc. Also, I’d choose between place/theme or say place and theme.

“No. Kahealani I am serious. You need to get home right now!”
“Why? There’s nothing dangerous around here anyway. I’m not dead yet at least.”

I think it could be interesting if the main character kind of glances around nervously, laughs nervously, or feels in a way that contradicts their words here. She seemed pretty creeped out at the beginning. You could also talk about how talking with someone actually calmed her down? :0 just some ideas! I really like the banter between her and her sister!

“Yes, thank you I know how old I am.”
“Shut up Kahealani, let me finish.

Lol

The girl got on the showstopper of the park, a huge roller coaster… It’s probably still up..” As she said that, I spun around in a circle and I saw the one she was talking about

Maybe explain the ride? :0 I know this was for the daily tho, so it makes sense why you didn’t! Just overall considering it as a piece I think some description here could improve it ^^

…although I was quite admittedly shooken up

*shaken :>

Just as my sister was about to finish yelling at me it cut out.

‘it’ is a pretty unclear antecedent here; the tension grew really nicely but I was a bit confused when I got to this part, which took away from that a bit.

I felt someone grab my arm, and then everything went dark.

creepy o-0

Overall, really fun *and* creepy piece! XD great job! and thanks for sharing, I had lots of fun reading it

Poetry Daily 14
77 words

You are like
Pie
You're sweet and warm
But
At times you are irrational
Our friendship will last to the end of time
Like how
Circles have no start or end
They go around for infinity
And like how
The digits of pi never
End and never repeat, never repeat, never repeat
They have no pattern, no structure, and no order
Only randomness that no one can predict
Just like the lines of this poem, and us

what have i done here? seems more like a villain origin story xD 456 words

When she turned 18, she broke the ocarina. Her ocarina. A rebel, in her own home, a castle, it seemed. It was shocking to everyone in the kingdom, but especially her mother. She had been playing all her life, and everyone adored her music. But had she just grown up?
She'd known what she had done; planned it, even. She never dared to exchange eye contact with her mother. Perhaps it was guilt; perhaps it was shame in her eyes, nobody could see. Not like you could see them, anyways, as her bangs covered them completely, but what was there to see? There was, no more, the enthusiastic princess her kingdom, her family, once knew. Only emptiness filled it, and nobody tried to look. She had failed her own kingdom, why would they?
On the day she was crowned, she ran away. It had proven it all. She had failed. Guilt, fear, shame, no one knew. It was only a prediction; but it was far off.
Princess Briar was already a rebel; working for a spy to assassinate her family. A drop of poison did the trick; her entire family died mysteriously, and the kingdom suspected they were doomed.
They were right. Democracy fell down, and Briar laughed at the sight of it. She never showed a hint of mercy, nor did she care about her kingdom. She was never a good ruler anyways, if she was ever crowned, it would've been unfit. Briar loved the smell of revenge, seeking it every hour. Whether it was a regent attempting to steal the throne, or just a peasant boy off to buy some bread. Nobody ever guessed they were dealing with. They were dealing with Briar. Namely, sharp. Rustic. Unsophisticated. Anyone who crossed her path surely could not predict what they had come across. Nobody could predict her, anyways. Not even herself; she was psychopathic.
She was even a rebel this whole time, wasn't she? Amidst the abuse she suffered, she still managed to keep the perfectionist, the innocent girl face that everyone thought she was. But intrusive thoughts were already ruling. And nobody knew just yet. It would overtake everyone. Briar saw it; her wanted posters on the streets, chaos rioting. And Briar fueled from it, like a snack. She was hungry, but was already fed well enough.
And when she thought of the ocarina, she laughed. How could she have been such a foolish girl back then? Playing that idiotic ocarina. Did the people actually enjoy it? Certainly Briar knew people had their phases, but she was out of hers, and she was sure of it. A smile lifted on her face as she held the hand of the lifeless body of her dead mother.

Daily
3/14
500 points
407/400 words
————————————————–
“Folklore is one of SWC’s newest cabins. For today’s daily, take a classic element of folklore (such as talking animals or wise old mentors) and incorporate it into a story of 400 words! This will give your cabin 400 points, and an additional 100 if you share proof.”
————————————————–
I'm a mermaid. I was cursed to become a mermaid a long, long time ago. About a thousand years ago, I believe. It was all because I forgot to churn the butter and then my mother turned out to be an evil sea witch and then she cursed me with all the life that was left in her and died. I don't miss her all that much. I wonder why.

Humans don't understand what I say. Fish do, but they don't talk back. I haven't been able to speak to anyone in a thousand years. It's been lonely, yes, but I've managed. I've mainly survived this curse because of an otter. The otter's name is Periwinkle and he's my best friend. We swim together every single day and he makes me so happy. He doesn't understand me, and I don't understand him, but we're besties. It took him a while to warm up to me, but we both can agree that it was worth it.

How do I know his name? He pointed to a rock that was periwinkle and pointed to himself! He's so smart.

I even was able to enchant him so he'll live forever- just like me! Oh, right. I guess you don't know this. Mermaids don't die. We live forever. And ever. And ever. It gets really boring unless you have a friend with you; which, well, now I do!

What have you learned so far? Humans don't understand mermaids. Mermaids live forever. Mermaids can perform small enchantments. And that's about it!

Speaking of enchantments, I think I can try to enchant Periwinkle so he'll speak and understand me! I'll be back soon, diary!

Hi diary! I'm back. And I have amazing news! The enchantment worked! Periwinkle can talk to me and understand me and I could never have been happier. Except I learned that his name isn't Periwinkle. It's Baby. He pointed to the rock because it was baby blue.

Oh! Baby wants to say hi- say hi, Baby!

hbjkayuiaiqoqopq;l (translation: help me please! we aren't friends! please someone rescue me! she's lying to you! she's the actual sea witch and she's evil as heck!)

I think that's hi in otter-writing. I only enchanted us to understand each other's voices and what we're saying, not words and written things and drawings. But nevertheless, I love him so very much! We're going to be best friends until the end of time now!

Daily 3.14159

405 Words

“So… We’re taking care of a talking griffin.” I try to say this in the calmest voice as I possibly can, but I seem to be failing miserably. “A. TALKING. GRIFFIN.” I scream, louder than I expected myself too. I look back to discover that my friend left.

“Well then… I guess it’s just you and me?”

“AAAA- I need to get used to this… The, uh… You ‘being able to talk’ stuff.” I add.

“Yeah. It’s awkward, I’m aware. But you’ll get used to it, I think.” They seem pretty calm.

“You think? I don’t think I’ll ever get used to a talking animal.”

“Anything can happen.” All of a sudden, a crashing noise can be heard from one of the rooms.

“How ominously and perfectly timed WHAT THE HECK WAS THAT-!?”

“You expect a talking animal, more specifically, a talking griffin, to know the answer?” They stare at me for a brief moment before flying out of the cage.

“Yes.” I respond with no emotion, and walk towards the room where the sound came from. I seem slightly scared, who knows what even happened? I seem to be getting all worked up. Probably over nothing. But then I walk in and the griffin is in the room all of a sudden, staring at what seems to be an old bookshelf that fell.

“A bookshelf,” I say, rubbing my eyes. “Of all things. Someone could have-“

“Chill, stop being so negative.”

“No need to be brutally honest.” I snap suddenly, and lift the bookshelf up slowly. I rummage through them and pull out one with a purple cover.

“What is this thing? Magical Creatures, A Guide- This is ridiculous.” I drop the book back onto the floor and stand up.

“Is it, though?” My friend is standing in the doorway now.

“AH- Oh, you’re back!” I breathe a sigh of relief.

“Mhm. Now, how did the griffin get out?” He asks.

“I have no clue!” I respond very confidently.

“Whatever. Anyways… Have you ever heard of, say… Weird magical encounters?”

I give him a stare. “Magic isn’t real… The talking griffin is just a fake little joke you made up, right?”

“Ahem…” He points to the griffin, who is staring at me. Jeez, why am I scared of that thing?

“That thing kind of scares me.”

“The fact that you don’t believe in magic is very… Odd, to say the least.” The griffin whispers.

Daily 3/14 400 words exactly :3

April was relaxing on the deck of her family’s mountain cottage, eating blueberry pie, when a bird landed on the railing.
“Hello, April.”
April didn’t seem surprised to see the bird, and took a bite of pie before replying,
“I’m surprised it took you this long to realize I was here.”
The bird ruffled its feathers.
“We knew you were here from the second you set foot in the forest. In fact, we knew from the second your car drove into the forest. We even knew from–”
“I get it I get it,” April interrupted, “Now what do you want. I’m busy.”
“Busy doing what? Eating pie?” The bird scoffed.
“That’s exactly what I’m busy doing. It’s pie day, after all.”
The bird rolled its eyes and muttered something about humans and their stupid traditions. April smirked and took another bite of pie. After collecting itself, the bird said,
“We need you to help find a foxling. A young one. It went missing not too long ago, and everyone’s frantic.”
April sighed and set her pie down on a side table and, brushing crumbs off of her lap, stood. She followed the bird through the forest, searching.
“How long ago, exactly, did this foxling disappear?”
The bird thought a moment and replied “3.15159 days.” April rolled her eyes. “That’s oddly specific.” “You asked for the exact number.” “You could've just said three.” “Then you should’ve asked ‘how long ago did the foxling disappear?’ instead of ‘How long ago, exactly, did this foxling disappear?’” April groaned. “You would’ve said the same thing.” The bird didn’t deny it.
The forest was full of life, from thousands of birds chirping, trilling, and screeching, to the buzz of insect wings, the rustle of leaves and branches, and the sound of a distant river. April took it all in, eyes scanning the underbrush as they walked, searching for a sign of the foxling. She didn’t find any for a while, but she did find other signs of life–glimpses of squirrels and chipmunks racing around and through trees, footprints of deer, elk, moose, and even a few wolf tracks. Mushrooms were abundant, some normal looking, some sparkling or glowing or humming.
“Do you see anything?”
The bird’s voice scattered April’s concentration.
“No! I’ll tell you when I see something. You know that”
“Yeah but I’m SO BORED!”
April sighed. That bird never had much patience.
(to be continued… sometime)

3/14 dailyy for bi-fi 425 words

Andrea was peacefully sitting by the pond, enjoying the view like she did each afternoon. It was just starting to warm up, which meant she no longer had to carry around a gigantic winter coat. She had a pale green jacket on today, and it allowed for much more movement. She'd even decided to bring her banjo. It sat by her side, as she did her science homework first. She thought she was quite responsible that way, actually. Or not, considering that the paper was in dangerously close to a rather wet body of water.

She was writing her name at the top of the page when a chunky green frog jumped at her face out of no where, splattering gunk onto her detailed notes.

“Hey!” Andrea exclaimed. “That really hurt my feelings, Mr. Frog.”
Yeah, she must've been really tired to be formally addressing a wild amphibian.

“I'm sorry.” said Mr. Frog.

Andrea released a wave of colorful words, her heart vibrating in her chest. She must've been really, really tired to have her imagination startle her. Maybe she should head home and take some medicine.

“I'm not your imagination!” said Mr. Frog, sounding a bit cheerful for a frog addressing a person having a heart attack.

Andrea released a garbled scream.
Trust the frog, a part of her brain suggested.
No, she answered. She banged her fist against her skull, hoping this weird fever dream would evaporate and leave her alone already.
“Go away…” she mumbled.

The frog developed angry eyebrows. “And why is that? A little respect would do no harm, would it?”

A different weird scenario entered her head. She imagined herself sitting on her picnic blanket, strumming chords on the banjo and singing along like some Disney princess. What if that ended up being her reality?
But… it wouldn't be, right?
Andrea glanced at the amphibian which awaited a response, that back at her splattered science paper. Nothing appeared to be very scientific right now. As a person who liked logic and explanation, she did not enjoy the current situation.
Being involved in a fairy tale was not at the top of her bucket list.
“Could you… please leave?” she tried, attempting to sound polite.

“Oh, would you like a handshake?” asked the frog.
Where had his top hat come from? And the suite? Was it even physically possible for him to have gloves and boots on?

Finally, Andrea decided she'd had enough. She slung her bag over her shoulder, and pulled out her cellphone.
“911? I believe I'm delusional.”

Daily Mar. 14

Jas's Writing Thread
WC: 402

I’ve never considered myself especially special- even though everyone else always did. I guess it probably had something to do with the fact that I can talk to animals. Yeah, I know what you’re thinking–wow, you really are special! No. I’m not. I’m not Sleeping Beauty and I’m not Cinderella. I’m more like Maui. I’m annoying, loud, large, and can’t swim. And I’m proud of myself.
Now, Maui can turn into animals, but we don’t really care about that part. Point is, I was never made to speak chicken. I was made to sail ships, to fight monsters, to protect skinny, handsome princes. Probably.
So even though I have this ability, I don’t really consider it what makes me special. Online people do, because they don’t know what I look like. But people in real life? Well, they know all about me. I’m your very own Lailani, and though my name seems tame enough, you’ll figure out that that’s not who I am at all. I really am like Maui.
Imagine a girl, 300 pounds of pure muscle, running around Hawaii, taking down thugs with her bare hands? Yeah, that’s me. I’m not quite sure what caused this–this super strength. I’m only sixteen. I’m not a bodybuilder. But even knowing that, I still am grateful for my abilities. They can help me to do anything from lifting a fridge to stopping a rampant train–which, for the record, I have done!
I’m like a cooler Hulk.
Although, I will say I’m not cooler than She-Hulk. That woman is definitely something. And I'm not pretty. I'm just a chaotic hulking mass.

And you know what?

That's good enough for me. I don't need anyone to like me for what I look like. I like myself, and that's good enough for me. Anyone else has to like me for who I really am–and who I am is really a stark contrast to what I look like. I'm silly. I like romance novels and puppies. I like to dance, even though I'm not good at it. And I like to laugh.

That's me.

That's what I wish everyone saw.

I wish other people could see that I, Lailani Ka'u, am simply a teenage girl. What I look like doesn't matter.

Who would have thought that a girl like me could also have crippling anxiety?

Apparently, no one believes me.

I hope you will.

That's all I want.

Daily 3/15, 295 Words

“Scratch Writing Camp’s first real, non-virtual camp session will be arriving quite soon. Mark your calendars and send in your signups!” The news channel announces suddenly, and I sit up in shock. My jaw drops.

“No way. I need to sign up!” I pull out my computer and start frantically sending an email to writingmangoarson@camp.scratch instantly. I listed my cabin preferences and everything. And then, I pressed send. I stayed up for hours on end, waiting and waiting for a response. I know that they have a maximum number of signups they’ll take, but I can’t seem to remember it… And I’m worried that I won’t get- /ding/!

New email from birdiswc@camp.scratch?

Hello, SWC-er!

We are happy to inform you that our session is starting in a week. Yes, we are starting earlier than expected, but it was a last minute decision by the hosts. We will hopefully see you there, and be on the lookout for what cabin you will be in (message should be sent within three to five days).

Signed,
Birdi <3

I wrote the date down, okay… One week from today. Got it.

For the next two to three days, I checked my Mail at least every hour. I had my bags packed and everything, so I would be ready to travel and meet everyone. I pull out my computer one last time before heading to the airport, and a new message pops up.

From swcmain@camp.scratch

Hello, camper! Our team is informing you of your cabin placement this coming in person session! You will be in Fan Fiction this session. We will send you all of the details, with messages from your leader and co-leaders.

Thank you,
Scratch Writing Camp

This is an automated message.

SWC 3/15 Daily

SWC is a real camp in every single alternate dimension. It has a little bit of every kind of scenery on its sprawling grounds, and the cabins are extremely big and in a different spot every session. Teleporting stations are scattered around camp for ease of getting around, and construction crews are on standby–not only to build new cabins every year but also to fix the cabins when they get damaged–especially during cabin wars, but even for just random attacks from enemy cabins. The main cabin also changes location every time, but the old main cabins still stand as the most intact from all previous sessions, and campers occasionally still visit them. Every camper has a little bit of control over the camp, which makes it chaotic but beautiful in its own way. Somehow, word of this legendary camp slipped between dimensions and every single dimension has its own special version of this camp–some more chaotic than others, but all equally as magical and supportive, and each dimension adds its own special twist. So if you ever fall into a new dimension, SWC will be there… wether you want it to be or not. (Of course you want it to be!)

March 15, 2023

Lizzy's first response was to immediately hide behind someone else. She clutched her top hat close to her chest, which she had grabbed from a nearby display. Hopefully she could use it as some sort of shield for the time being. Surprisingly, after everything the group had experienced, Lizzy wasn’t all that frightened by the animatic exhibit. In fact, she was kind of expecting something more life threatening, like lasers or spikes. She definitely did not want to set foot onto snow ever again. Her clothing was still soppy from the melted snow.

If Lizzy wasn’t currently trapped with no escape and in a potentially life threatening situation, she would have quite enjoyed the soft silence of the museum. It was a shame that she didn’t have any time to stop and enjoy the exhibits. Among the chaos she had spotted a terrarium, arctic, fashion, music, chemistry, and art exhibit, to name a few.

To her left, she spotted a wax polar bear hop out of its display. Lizzy decided that it was best to just not look in that direction for a while. On her other side was a slinking tiger statue; or now perhaps it was an automatron? She wasn’t sure which animal was better to face. Lizzy could feel her fingers reflexively tighten around her top hat. She quickly tried to scuttle into the background and avoid conflict. Surely these live figures couldn’t actually hurt anyone?

239 words