126 words
Pandas are ultra fluffy, friendly, and cute.
Anyone who disagrees with me is wrong because pandas are super slay, and
No one can tell me otherwise because I know I'm 100% right
Don't even try to argue with me because you can't possibly come up with a valid excuse for thinking that a panda is not the slayest thing ever
All pandas are to be protected at all costs
Shield the pandas from harm

Any and all pandas should be loved and appreciated, and treated with the utmost
Respect, and if you disrespect a panda then you are
Extremely rude, because pandas are the

Slayest animals of all time, and they're so
Little and
Adorable, and I hope
You enjoyed this incredibly weird poem about pandas

Nickname- Ava
Content- Weekly #3rd
Cabin - Horror

LET'S GET STARTED

Part1
Topic- Brainstorming emotions and how to express them through your characters.
Wordcount- 232/200

A rare type of happiness written is-

Subtle- These are used for characters who do not show happiness often, or if someone is trying to hide their laughter, You could also use this to describe slight laughter. It can also be shown in an ironic way.

Example one- The corner of Chris's lips twitched, as he fought with himself not to laugh. Amelia smiled, realizing she had cheered up Chris after all.

Here, Chris could be described as a tsundere character or a character who minimalizes cheerful experiences. The twitching of the lips is a sign in a human begins when we want to laugh but stop ourselves.

Example two- A small smile played on Greta's lips as she reminisced about the old memories. They weren't naturally sad, yet Greta felt a tug on her heartstrings.

Here, Greta might be feeling that type of thing you get when you feel bitter-sweet, not knowing whether to be happy or sad, not knowing whether to feel good or bad.

Example three- Flint wasn't the greatest comedian, but he did get some occasional laughter here and there. It was the greatest felling in the world when the whole group chuckled at his joke.

Here, chuckled is a word for slight laughter. When you hear something extremely funny, you laugh uncontrollably, but you chuckle when it is slight funny and you feel the urge to laugh.

Part 2
Topic-write at least 300 words of emotionally charged dialogue between at least two characters
Word count- 315/300

It all started on a bright summer day when Ava and Twi were trying to pelt each other with Percy Jackson knowledge even though they knew that Ava was going to win either way.

A FEW MINUTES LATER

Twi: *falls on knees* *pants*

Ava: *smug*

Twi: *looks up in admiration* How do you know so much.

Ava: *has a golden aura around her* *kneels down* *pats Twi on head*

Twi: *looks at Ava*

Ava: I can…

Twi: *cuts her off* Would you… teach me?

Ava: *slightly smiles* I can, my fellow Percy Jackson stanner

Twi: *tears in eyes* Thankyou-

Ava: Halfblood. Call me halfblood.

Twi: Thank you, master half-blood.

A few weeks later, Twi read through the first Percy Jackson series with the help of the power of Half-Blood Ava's help. everyone was surprised but AVa merely shrugged and said:

Ava: *shrug* you can do better

Twi: *bow* I will try.

A few days later she had finished the first book of the Heroes of Olympus Series. Ava pushed her to read faster and absorb more knowledge. The day Twi pulled her first all-nighter, Ava was very proud.

Ava: I gift you this medal for pulling an all-nighter.

The medal shows a picture of a book on one side and a child on another. Twi starts tearing up.

It took a bit more time, but Ava had finally trained Twi.

Twi: *bow* thankyou, Half-Blood.

Ava: There si no need for you to call me that now.

Twi: *confused*

Ava: You are now, my partner.

Ava and Twi hug as Twi cries. But Twi knows, deep down, even nthpugh she is considered a great friend and not a srudent anymore by Ava, Ava will always beat her in Peecy Jackson. But Twi did not feel bitter. She fwlt happy that she was taught by such a great teacher, a great friend and a fellow Percy Jackson stanner.

Moral: READ PERCY JACKSON.

Part3
Topic: write a scene that contains that emotion in 450 words! This scene should contain Two metaphors, Two literary devices that are not a simile or a metaphor and A mention of the setting
Word count- 519/450

The specification (56) - The emotion repreaented here is surpressed anger finnally cominf out, irritation and sadness. This prose is more of a thriller with negative emotions, and it basically represents what I've wanted to do to my bullies for a long time. I could not say there arw many positive emotions here, because I don't think there are any.

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.

Part 4
Topic-Write a story or poem of at least 700 words where the emotion expressed by characters is different than the emotion in the prose.
Word count- 951/800

Ivy groaned as she crumpled up another paper and threw it into the trash can. Nothing she wrote made sense. She couldn't continue any story she wrote.
She couldn't think of any rhymes for her poems. It was like her brain had stopped functioning altogether.
Her phone started ringing. It was right next to her, but it felt far away. Ivy closed her eyes as her senses felt imaginary. Nothing mattered anymore. She wanted to sleep for a thousand years. No, she thought. Wake up, Ivy. But it wasn't her voice. It was someone else's. It was a rich sound, like a few hundred voices together. It snapped Ivy's eyes open and she grasped her phone as she came back to earth. Before she pressed the bright, green, buzzing button on the screen, Ivy puzzled over whose voice that was. Definitely not hers. But it had sounded distinctly familiar. She shook her head as she pressed the glowing button.
‘Hello?’ she asked as she answered the call.
‘Ivy!!’
‘Devyn? What happened??’ Devyn was Ivy's best friend. She rarely called because whenever she needed to talk she just came over to her house straight away. She had only called 2 times before, once when she had sprained her ankle and once when she was too sick to come out of her room.
‘Come over to my house right now!’
‘But wh-’
‘RIGHT NOW.'
‘ok, I’m coming', Ivy accepted. No one could ever fight with stubborn Devyn. It was impossible. She would always win so it was better to quit in the beginning anyways. Ivy heard a beep, indicating the call had ended, and she sighed, rubbing her eyebrows. Ivy got on her cycle and headed to Devyn's house.
Halfway she remembered she left her phone at home and she grumbled. She was too busy to turn back now. How COULD she have forgotten? Ivy took the right into Devyn's neighborhood. She reached Devyn's house and knocked. When Devyn opened the door, she hugged Ivy and pulled her inside.
‘Now tell me what it is. ’, Ivy questioned.
Devyn laughed in her light Irish accent. She playfully punched Ivy's shoulder. ‘Stop pretending climber. You know what I mean.’
That was Devyn's pet name for Ivy. ‘climber’. In Ivy and Devyn's school, the students of third grade had to perform a play for the whole school. Ivy, to her shock, had got the part of the talking poison ivy plant, who had to lead ‘Rose’ and her pet deer through the forest. Devyn had gotten part of the deer and had to try her very hardest to not laugh during the play. Ever since that day, Devyn's go-to name for Ivy was a climber.
Ivy gave Devyn a look of confusion. ‘What do you mean?’
Devyn studied Ivy's face, realizing she really didn't know. She gasped, and held her forehead. ‘you’ve forgotten again, my girl, haven't you?'
Ivy thought for a while. ‘I still don’t know what you me-'
Everything went dark. She couldn't see. What had happened? It didn't really matter. She wanted to stay like that. The world couldn't trouble her here. Ivy felt at peace as the darkness sucked her in more.
Wake up.
Ivy heard the same voice she had heard before, when she was fading away, just like this.
No, Ivy resisted. I want to stay here.
no, the voice resisted back. Wake up.
Ivy felt annoyed. Why won't you leave me alone? She asked the voice.
Do you dare talk to the fairy queen like that? The voice thundered, suddenly changing an octave.
Ivy took a few seconds to understand what had just been said. She wasn't sure she had heard it correctly.
Wait… What?
‘What do you mean?’ Ivy said, daring to speak. But it was gone now. The voice had disappeared as if Ivy had offended it. Had she offered it? She wasn't really sure.
‘Oh, m-my phone,’ Icy said, fumbling around trying to reach her pockets for her phone. She might be able to call Dewyn-
Ivy groaned. She had forgotten it at home. Why did it have to be today?
As Ivy sat in the black void, somehow able to see herself without a mirror, the black started to turn into white. Very slowly, but it did. Ivy didn't notice as she fell asleep like she wanted to when she had fainted just a bit ago. When she woke up, her back was now actually resting against something. A barrel supporting her sleeping body tumbled away when she tried to move and left Ivy alone in the streets of nowhere.
People were laughing and there was folk music going on next to a supposed fountain. She slowly stood up and looked at her clothes. They were definitely not what she had worn to Devyn's house.
That's a punishment for you, the voice suddenly said, coming back. Ivy jumped and then asked, WHO ARE YOU?!
I'm the fairy queen, the voice said as if losing patience. But then a sly kind of joy came back. Go ask one of the people what year it is, won't you? It asked as if trying to hold a laugh.
Ivy in confusion asked a lady in a tight dress and cap, ‘Hello miss, what year is it?’
‘Why, 1996 of course dearie,’ the woman answered with a basket full of apples in her right hand. ‘Do you need something?’
Ivy's head disagreed with the woman. Wait, 1996?! The supposed fairy queen answered. I WAS ONLY SUPPOSED TO SEND YOU BACK A YEAR!
Ivy politely smiled at the lady through the pain, and when she turned she growled at the fairy queen.
What the heck is wrong with you?

Nickname- Ava
Content- March 16th Daily
Word Count- 232/200
Topic - PANDAS
Cabin - Horror

LET'S GET STARTED

I always wonder why people are so embarrassed about talking about things they like, especially things that are big and fluffy like pandas.

Are you in need of a big fluffy blanket? By a Panda!
My observations are that you will not only get a blanket, but a big comfy bed to sleep on too!

Great, your panda is lost! Ill tell you a way to find it.
On your left hand, you will find a bamboo stick. On your right, leaves.
If you put them together in a bowl, this will become a Panda cereal!
Now how do you reach it? Not to worry, the Panda will come bounding by itself back to you!
Givin by your shocked look, I see my theory has worked.

Ttalking about Pandas? LET ME JOIN IN!
Oh don't be embarrassed, I love Pandas too. Not loving Pandas is like not loving a big bundle of love.

In their fear, though, Pandas can be dangerous. Very dangerous.
Nto only have I seen it with my own eyes, but I have calmed a Panda down too.
Die if you must, the Panda would do anything to protect themselves from things like hunters.
If you are thinking this is Kung Fu panda, you thin wrong.
A Panda would never leave its child alone.

Daily 17: 141 words

Don't you like pandas?
Obviously, the answer has to be yes.
Not at all it would be no to pandas?
The best animal of them all?

Yummy bamboo they chomp on all-day
Or they could be sleeping or ambling around,
Unaware that their home can be destroyed at any moment (Or maybe they do know!)

Love and awareness for pandas can make a difference,
It can turn around their chances of extinction.
Kindness can save them from habitat loss,
Even just donating to animal conservation charities.

Pandas have a bright future thanks to everyone's help
And now their population is slowly increasing,
Not without support from you they may have not made it,
Do note that pandas have a long way to go
And there is so much more to be done
So the iconic, amazing pandas can live and thrive.

Nickname- Ava
Content- March 13th Daily (have finally copied from my nb to scratch phew)
Word Count- /300
Topic - Incorporate Irony into your story
Cabin - Horror

LET'S GET STARTED

Greenery surrounded me. The birds were chirping as they fought over pieces of bread on the grass of the park. The stray dogs were running around, playing with neighborhood kids and

Weekly 3: 2130 words


Part 1. Brainstorming Emotions: 286 words
Rage: A hot burn blazing on the cheeks like fire. Hands curled into too-tight fists. Mouth in an angry grimace, as if about to cry. The shouts are terrible, the face is contorted by the blinding rage. The mouth then snarls. The brows furrow until they are angry, diagonal slashes on the face. The heart is pumping hotly against their chest. The character becomes less… character and more like living fire. You could tell when someone is livid when they turn into snapping, fire.

Despair: The world is dark. Lonely. Closed in until it makes the character claustrophobic. The room almost feels hot from the burning of their cheeks, providing the only source of warmth. The character wants to curl up into a tight ball and stay there, closed off from everyone in the wider world. Everyone else is like a tall, cold shadow. The character might even feel like they are a shadow themself, soggy and damp from the endless sniffling and muffled crying. Perhaps… the character may just want to disintegrate and disappear altogether. Despair is often compared with numb, icy shadows.

Hope: The sun is out. The heart feels lighter than the air. The character stares up at the sky, basking in the (imaginary, depending on the weather/environment) warmth. Something good is coming. Something that helps the situation. Or changes their life in a good way. Hope takes off like a flight. Hope is close to freedom, so the character has the sudden urge to spread out their arms and whistle like a flying bird. Their feet are bouncing up from the ground. Wind becomes more of a conscience, as it plays with hair and is also linked to flying and the sky.

Part 2. Emotions in Character: 397 words
I’d don’t know understand, Alice. I have to do this. Don’t you dare try to stop me.”
Alice looks up at me, her face crumpling. “Why!?” She whined, scrunching up her face as if she is about to cry. “This isn’t also about you running off and seeking that thing in the Wild. You know what that is, right? And also-“
“Just stop!” I cried, throwing my arms up into the air. “Why… why are you like this?!”

Alice crosses her arms and pouts at me. “Because I can. Because I’m your step-sister.”
“Oh, forget that.” I snap.
“And me? And me forgetting that you want to scamper off to fight this big monster in the fowest? She said in that annoying fake lisp.
“It’s not a forest, it’s the Wild.”
“I knoww that!”

I stand up immediately and a growl escapes me. I can’t put up with Alice anymore. I simply can’t. Her whingeing has done my head in for too long and… and…
“Goodbye!” I shout, looking back at Alice. She unfolds her arms and squeal slightly, disgusted at my expression.
“Why are you thwowing me that wook?”
“Because I can,” I stomp towards the door, my shoulders reaching my burning ears. “And I had enough of this nonsense.“

Then Alice stood up. Now she’s also angry. Now she’s also tired of me.
“Be like that!” She snarled. “You running off and being such a hero. You don’t even care about me, or Mum! You’re so stupidly SELFISH!”
I halted. I didn’t even want to turn around to look at Alice.
“It’s not like that,” I try to sound strong, but my voice comes out in a whimper.
“Turn AROUND when you are talking to me!”
I slowly turn, and I see Alice, her face red hot, tears flowing in fat little droplets, her braids slowly coming undone.
“You might think that I’m a brat, but you are not leaving.” Tears choke her words.
The room distorts in my tears until I can only see a blurry image of Alice.
“I don’t want to go either.” A small sob escapes me, and I feel the burning desire to sink to the floor. “But the Fates told me to. Blame them… okay?”

And I open the door, stumble through it and slam it shut as quickly as I could, not bearing to hear Alice’s mourning wails.


Part 3. Emotions in Prose: 544 words
Emotion:
Lost- mainly as in lost in an unfamiliar area and you don’t know where to go. This is because the character is, rather, destined (or forced) to embark on a journey in an unfamiliar environment (which, in this case, the Wild) to face and defeat a terrifying monster that haunts dreams. This feeling of being lost is even more heightened because the character is stumbling through the Wild on a night with a New Moon (which, in this story, is considered superstitious). Other emotions come such as fear and regret. (90 words)

Prose:
The mud beneath me squelches and I wince at the shadowed, bog-like path before me. No one has been here in a thousand years. The trees shake feverishly in time to the wind. No owls hoot. No cricket chirp. Just me, and the wind.
Small money spiders scutter up my back. It only takes me a small time to realise that it's just me shivering, and I grasp my flickering lantern, sweat slicking my palms.
There is no moon tonight. No spotlight to beam down from the gaps of the tree leaves and guide me through the Wild.
Even here the clouds stood still; not daring to move. Not daring to float over the Wild.
Not daring to look down on me.
I am well on the path now. By now it has whittled, worn down, and given into the bristly grass. Even the briars cast shadows as it weaves into the thorn bushes. That cold prickling sensation now takes over me, and I keep going, not bearing to look up.
Not bearing to look ahead to the reason I am here.
Not bearing to look at the task I am doing.
Perhaps the Fates made a mistake? My breath rattles and my thoughts tumble over one another in a rolling barrel. Becasue it… makes… sense for me to not be here.

Don't be here.
My legs pick up the pace. The fuel of my thought drives them. I feel myself grimace, and something in me, who knows what starts to lose control.
My arms stiffen and my fists are so tightly curled up that my knuckles ache. Cold snot runs down my numb nose. The world distorts, becoming further away the more I walk.
I can't take it anymore.
“I CAN'T TAKE IT ANYMORE!” My voice cries out. My mind goes blank. All I can hear is the Wild waking.
The trees shake faster, their branches whipping around. Boulders tremble. Crow caws crescendo. Thorns snarl.
I don't cover my ears, for I can only hear my fighting sobs.
“I want to go home!” My thoughts bleed into my voice. “Where is home!?”


Home is nowhere to be seen. Only Wild. Only a raging Wild.
Now I'm running. Not towards home. Not into the Wild. I don't even know which way is which anymore.
I'm swallowed by the endless trees. My lamp quivers in the belly of the Wild, before blinking out.
And only then, in the blinding chaos. my foot gives way. I land with a thud on the soggy grass.
My face rings with pain. I scramble hopelessly up, tears mixed in with mud.
And before me, is a cave behind a curtain of a million sheets of paper.

My destination. (454 words)


Part 4. Bringing it all together: 903 words
“I knew I would find you here!” I splutter at Soraya. She swivels around and I almost shrink back at the sight of her face.
Mud is splattered on her face. Her eyes are ringed red from tears. She only takes one look at me, before sobbing.
“What… are… you doing her Alice!” She sobs. She covers her face with calloused hands. “Go back home.”
I take a determined step toward my step-sister. “No.” I try to sound confident, but my voice wavers. “I won't let you get away with this. You… slammed the door in my face! remember!?”
“I do!” Soraya shuddered away from me. I step back again. I have never seen Soraya in such a state before. Not with her snobby, bossy old self. This Soraya's actually serious.
“I want to help you,” I try again. “Just let me help you,”
“No,”
“I am not going anywhere,” I stay fixated on the spot, boring my eyes into Soraya's guilt.
Soraya doesn't look back. She mumbles something, something I can't even make out.
“Goodbye,”
And the curtain of paper in front of my envelopes Soraya, leaving me fixated on the spot and having nothing else to say.

And it stayed like that, for a full minute. I couldn't say anything. I didn't want to say anything.
Until I did.
“Oh no, you aren't pulling that on me!” My voice pierces the silence, and the wind cucks in a breath. “No… WAY you are doing that attitude to me!”
I stride through, my breath coming in short, indignant bursts. My hand reaches out and my fingers snatch at the fluttering sheets. I stomp in, the breath of the curtain sighing behind me.

My boots clack against a tile floor. I stay staring ahead through the dim light of purple lanterns as I march towards a central chamber blanketed by mist.
“Soraya!” I call sternly. “I am coming!”
No reply. How strange.
I continue anyways, my pace gradually slowing down until I am at a cautious creep.
The lanterns grow brighter. The silence grows louder.
Where is Soraya? I was only out for a minute, wasn't I? Did she lose her way?
I glance around at the decorated corridor, not spying any other than this one.
Pretty hard to get lost here.

I step out into a vast chamber, and I'm greeted by a flurry of wind. I instantly clap my cheeks over myself, feeling nothing but a numb cold.
Soraya must be in here. I know it.,
“Soraya!?” I try again, my voice weakening. “Are you… there?”
But my voice is lost in the wind. I open my mouth again and no words come out.
Just an unsensing pain.
I walk on, not even bearing the consequences. My mind goes blank and I barely only feel the mosaic floor beneath me. Bitter gusts of wind try to knock me over, but I keep going. I don't even notice them.
My ears are bells ringing in me, and I walk on.
Cold seeps into my sleeves like snakes, but I walk on.

The wind is what fills the room and blinds my vision. It rolls and storms around, filling the room with its bitter rage and icy fury. I succumb to the storm. Then I halt.
“Why is it so calm?” I whisper. I quiver at the firey cold. “And where is Soraya!?”
I jolt again. I realise again.
“WAIT!” I shudder at myself. “Where is Soraya!? What am I doing here!?”
The storm surrounds me. The clouds are cackling witches.
I stay fixated on the spot.
A cold, clammy hand slaps on my shoulder.
I scream.

“SORAYA!?” The hand retreats and I swivel around.
A face. lost in the wind. A face, with the grumpy creases in the brows and the ghost of a disapproving frown.
“Alice.” She begins but never finishes.
“What do we do!?” I gasp, glancing that the whirlwind around us.
Soraya shakes her head, in a shame never seen before., “We just go home. There is nothing we do.”
“The Fates LIED!?” I falter again, hardly believing this.
“They sincerely thought that the Weapon of the Wild was held there for us to take. But this is simply impossible.”
It only takes me a second for me to understand what Soraya is talking about. I nod, still shaken by all of this.

"We can't take the wind,“ I reply slowly. ”That just untakeable. This was all a waste of time!“ I begin to stride back, with Soraya at my heels.
”Exactly!“ She cries, her calm used up now. She looks away bitterly. ”If only I listened to you! And I can't believe I just said that!“
”I can't believe the Fates!“ I shoot back at her. Soraya takes this as reassurance.
”The Fates believe in power! And you could say, at this point… it's pointless!“
”Indeed!“ We both fling the fluttering paper curtain out of the way, as the night fades and sunrise begins to bleed the sky. I stop to turn at Soraya.
Soraya shrugs at me. ”Why did you stop?“ She snaps at me. I almost sigh in relief. Even though we were both terrified and made ourselves look foolish, I guess some things never change.
”Never again," she huffs, taking my spot in front. She glances back at me and smirks, and we both race back to our cabin, basking in the fresh morning air.

claiming for swc this month!

Dailies-

[Daily 3/16/23] *srry about this daily i rlly dislike writing poems so i decided to incorporate memes lmao i cringed writing this*

Ayo, who got you smiling like that?

Pandas my man

Pandas are my jam

They're so kind, like delicate little butterflies

They're not racist

Pandas show equality

I love pandas

They're not black or white

They're black and white

As Michael Jackson says:

Hee, hee

Pandas say that, too

Pandas are so loving

They don't care if you're black or white because they are black and white

They are just like Michael Jackson

Darth Vader?

No

Darth Panda

Darth Panda is sweet

He likes to pat his drum to his own beat

And if people don't like it

He just won't mind it

Be a good person

Be like pandas

[end: 114 words]

[Daily 3/17/23] *this is gonna be using characters from the musical Wicked. i just saw it live last night and it's amazing <3

Elphaba woke up startled as usual. Because of her father's dislike for her, Elphaba had never been to a school. Next to her, Gilenda still slept peacefully with a diamond studded sleeping mask. Suddenly, Gilenda's alarm went off, and she sat straight up. Elphaba quickly stood up and pretended like she had been doing something so it didn't look like she'd just been sitting there reminiscing about random things. Then, in the corner of Elphaba's eye she saw Gilenda gawking and panicking while patting her throat. Elphaba then felt someone shaking her shoulders. She quickly wipped around, unintentionally hitting Gilenda with her braid, which Gilenda frowned at. But Gilenda quickly went back to tapping her throat and trying to scream. Elphaba had a disgusted face on. “You expect me to help you?” She questioned. With that response, Gilenda ran back to her bed and shoved her face into her pillow. Elphaba shrugged and decided to continue getting ready. Moments later, Gilenda got up, wiping her eyes which had become rather red after her sobbing. She then looked as though she had an ‘aha’ moment. She rushed out of their dorm and to the school's greenhouse. She grouchily ripped out tansy from the dirt. She brushed them off, and rushed back to the dorm. Once she got to the dorm, she grabbed her satchel and pulled out a note card and a pen. She scribbled on the note hastily: ‘Tansy mean “I declare against you.”’ Then, she taped it around the stems, shoving it into Elphaba's hands as she walked out the door, with a smug smile of ‘innocence’, and a polite princess wave. She then shut the door quickly and clapped her hands with a little twirl.

[end: 287 words]

[Daily 3/19/23]

You are flung through a portal of millions of colorful lines, and come to an abrupt stop as you bump into an invisible glass shield. Through it, you see a green floating cloud of gas. You notice it quite quickly as Disgust. Since working at the factory for a few years, the feelings' looks have become easy to define for you. You quickly realize as you see Disgust scrolling on their phone, that your assigned mission today must be to find out what influencer Disgust favors the most. You watch intently as Disgust continually scoffs and scrolls past tons of different Shorts. (we won't name what this app is for scratch purposes ;D) Disgust finally huffs and slaps their phone down on the armrest of the chair they'd been slouching in. They circle their round coffee table and then suddenly stare up at a poster in their room. You give it a look, and see it's a poster with a familiar image. It's of a familiar Pokemon! It looked to you like a Lucario. Maybe Disgust didn't have a favorite influencer, but something she favorited to watch in general! Which would most likely be Pokemon. Disgust then hastily grabs their remote and clicks around on buttons, eventually getting to YooToob and clicking around on buttons until they found a video of Nikocado playing Pokemon Shield! They watch intently and even giggled, which was totally out of character for them! You let out a sigh as you finally understand. It wouldn't make sense that the boss would send you to Disgust if they really didn't have a favorite influencer. You scribble on your clipboard and smile as you watch Disgust. You sit there a little longer to make sure you are correct, and are pretty sure of yourself once Disgust clicks on another Nikocado video. Disgust sure liked Pokemon, but her favorite influencer had to be Nikocado. Smiling to yourself, you tap on the top of the portal tunnel, and it whisks you back to your big office building, and you feel great as you've finished another piece of research on many different feelings and concepts.

[end: 355 words]

[Bi-Daily! Part One 3/20/23]

choose a piece of yours, preferably longer than 800 words, and edit it focusing on two of the parts discussed in the workshop. Finally, reflect for 50 words about the process and the changes you made. This bidaily is worth 400 points and you can earn an extra 100 points for sharing all parts.

Weeklies-



Writing Competition?-


Cabin Wars?-



Other-

when I receive [SWC starts]
broadcast [Bi-Fi ftw!]

srry i accidentally quoted myself :sob: and now i can't get rid of this post lmaoo

Word war proof 190 words(lost the war hehehe)

“I can’t believe you did that,” Mia laughed. Emma shrugged. “It was a dare. YO know I never say no to dares.” Mia rolled her eyes dramatically. “Yes, I know. It’s your fatal flaw.” “No it’s not! Being supremely dare able and not afraid to do anything is not a flaw, it’s an advantage!” Mia sighed, glancing at the flagpole. “Like climbing the flagpole?” Emma grinned, showing her missing tooth–whether she lost it or knocked it out Mia didn’t know… she’d have to wait until a new tooth grew in or not. “Emma, you’re a nut,” Emma smirked. “Sometimes the nuttiest of us are the best. And besides, if my dare-worthiness is a flaw, that makes me eligible to be the main character of a story, right? You know, because they all have flaws and stuff!” “Book heroes don’t say ‘and stuff’,” Mia commented. “And no. There will be no novels written about you just yet. Maybe a short story, but no novels.” Emma sighed. “But I’m such a good personality!” “I know, but this is real life. Adventures don’t just happen, you have to want them, seek them out.”

“It'll be alright! Just imagine the audience like they are in their underwear.”
This was the first thing the teacher said to us when we walked into the performance room. It was not alright. My fingers were shivering, my heart was beating quicker than ever, and I did not think I would be able to play even one right chord on the guitar I held tightly against me.
When the band director basically told us to think of the audience practically nude it didn't make me feel better about how I'd play, it only made me feel really nervous at the thought of the audience not wearing clothes because I can't speak for you but when I'm in front of people who lack clothes I just only become more awkward. I think that's a normal response being around usually fully clothed people after all. those were the strangest 2 sentences I ever typed
So I then stopped trying to imagine such ideas and just started staring at the performers around me. They were a kind group. They waved at me and one even shook my hand and wished me good luck before we walked in. I was grateful to have a band that was thankfully supportive of my disorder.
Whenever I walked into school or band or really any location I've always made a great effort to never seem scared though. I force a light smile on my face, make sure I have open body language and good posture, am not fidgeting, and clear up all strange speech. I play the role of a normal 14-year-old child so well that whenever I tell somebody about my disorder they become shocked. So well that many, including my own parents, think I was misdiagnosed. So amazingly well that I was able to get into every honors class one could possibly get into in my current school and was pushed into the performance band that I currently am about to play in. So very very well that even the people who I told about my disorder were confused when I fainted at the first beat of the first song in that performance.

It's been two weeks since then and I must admit I haven't changed. I still have some minor knee and back pain from falling on the hard stage floor after the performance but besides any physical pain, I'm still pushing a hard effort to act normal. To seem okay. Because if I'm not okay, if I'm not what this society claims to be normal, then all I've done in the past to keep up this behavior would've been a mistake and if the past nine years of my life was a period of time I was just making the same mistake over and over then wouldn't that mean I'd be saying that I could've spent all that time better? That I'd just be accepting a defeat I've been meaning to claim ever since I was born with such a disease? That maybe those years were just a mistake.
I envy those around me who act ‘normal’ with complete ease. The people who can just understand puns, metaphors, or jokes in seconds are the ones I most sincerely hate.
I remember one time in first grade my teacher said “Get to work and don't forget to chop chop!”
Me being me started opening and closing my mouth as I crunched up addition and subtraction equations in my head. I thought I was an amazing multitasker. Of course, then everybody started looking at me as I was making a loud teeth-grinding sound.
I then looked at their mouths and asked “What? Chop, chop!!” I heard a chuckle, and a laugh, and saw kids starting to point at me, and one or two of them starting to open and close their jaws purely just to make fun of me.
I felt pathetic being reminded of that memory right now as I wait for my friend to come over to the restaurant I stood in. She wanted to see me because she heard I had fainted at the performance and was scared for me. She was a nice friend and I certainly didn't want her to worry so I made sure to look my best before going to the restaurant. I put on my best shirt, jeans, put on makeup, and walked over

Weekly 3
1082 words
Unfinished

Part 1: Brainstorming
224 words

It's not interesting to flat-out say the emotion a character feels. It adds much more depth to show it through details. Different emotions have different shapes, speeds, actions, and words that are associated with them.
If the author wants to portray an emotion, for example anger, they can use the character's body language to show it. The character's reaction may be obvious like stomping around or shouting, or it may be more subtle like crossing the arms or frowning. It depends on the intensity of the emotion. The reader is human, so they will understand how the character feels without being told directly.
It's also important to think about speed and word choice. Sometimes, the writing mirrors the flow of the main character's thoughts. For example, if the character is happy, the writing would be more bouncy and use words with a positive connotation. If the character is angry, the writing would be more fast and sharp because it's hard to think through anger.
If an emotion is extreme, the character may have the opposite reaction than expected. Some examples of an opposite reaction are cold, quiet anger; crying when happy; or laughing when something sad happens because it's so impossible to believe. These reactions are a bit harder for the reader to understand, but they can be very impactful when used on occasion.

Part 2: Emotions in Character
330 words

Julia glanced at Nora slouching over a lunch table by herself. She knew what she'd done, and what she had to do. No matter how much her stomach roiled, she had to talk to her friend.
She plopped down across the table from Nora. “Hey.”
Nora narrowed her eyes and pretended her turkey sandwich was the most interesting thing in the world.
“Yeah, yeah, you're not talking to me, but…“ Julia hesitated. ”I think I understand why, now. I’m sorry if you didn’t want me to know. But I do, and we’re going to talk about it whether you like it or not.”
Nora gathered her food and stood up.
“Please hear me out. I was a jerk,” Julia sighed.
“Yeah, you really were,” Nora snapped.
“But you could have just told me how you felt!” Julia argued defensively. “Then I would know what I did wrong. I didn't think you wanted to see that movie. You don't even like horror!”
"Oh, but Amanda and Lola and Jenny, the girls who have been nothing but mean to both of us, do?“
”Yes, they do,“ insisted Julia. ”And they're not even that mean. They just joke around.“
Nora crossed her arms. ”Oh, so they're your best friends now, huh?“
”You've always been my best friend, Nora. I'm allowed to have more than one friend, though. And I don't have to invite you somewhere I know you don't want to go. That doesn't mean you have to ignore me.“
”You were ignoring me first. You ditched me to sit with those mean girls.“
”I waved you over. Didn't you see?“
Nora looked down through the holes in the blue table. ”No.“
”Well, then,“ Julia took a deep breath. ”I'm sorry you were left out. I'm sorry I was ignoring you. I'm sorry you thought you had to ignore me, too.“
”I'm sorry too,“ mumbled Nora, slowly looking up.
”Friends?“ Julia asked hopefully as she held out her hand.
Nora took it. ”Friends."

Part 3: Emotions in Prose
528 words

Specifying: 58 words
The emotion I rolled was buoyant, which means cheerful and optimistic. There are many things that can cause this emotion, like being with friends, excitement for an event, or even trying to stay happy in a bad situation. I'm going to write about the optimism you feel in the morning, knowing you can make today a good day.

Story: 470 words
The rectangular buildings that make up my school greet me as I step through the tall gate. The sky right now is a chalky gray, but I know it will warm up to a sapphire blue by break. It's chilly in a comfortable way that cools me underneath my hoodie. Delicate brown leaves litter the ground like confetti that crunches beneath my feet. The students around me are a swarm of bees, zipping around to find their friends and buzzing happily.
I breathe a content sigh as I realize I've made it through another week. There's nice weather, I have (mostly) fun classes today, and after school I can relax and do whatever I want. Today is going to be great!
Suddenly, I feel the weight of two warm hands on my shoulders. “Did you study for the math test?” comes the voice of my friend Elise, who somehow always manages to sneak up behind me each morning. She grabs my arm and pulls me to a shiny blue bench in front of our next class.
“Did you?” I counter. Math isn't the best subject for either of us, but at least I review all my notes, and my grades have improved significantly since I started doing that. Elise, on the other hand…
“Kind of!” she laughs. “Like five minutes!”
“Do you need me to review some of the probl–”
“No, no, no!” my friend cries. “Just take my mind off of math as long as possible!”
“You're the one who brought it up!”
"I just wanted to feel better about not studying. But you actually did.“
”Most people do,“ I inform her.
”Just change the subject!“
”Okay, um…“ my mind is an empty void as I try to find a new topic to talk about. ”Why did the chicken cross the road?“
”You're so predictable.“ Elise rolls her eyes.
”Just say why!“ I demand.
”Why?“
”To finish the joke.“
We burst into a chorus of sarcastic laughter until the bell rings.
”Time for the test. Yaaay, I'm gonna die!“ moans Elise.
”You'll do great!" I reassure her.
The open door of my math class is an extended arm, waiting to give me a welcoming handshake. Inside, the collage of math posters on the wall shout random equations in bright, friendly fonts. The desks are aligned in a neat array, and I say bye to Elise as I take my seat a few rows in front of her. I pull out my notebook and my favorite strawberry pencil and start scribbling the warm-up question from the board.
Anticipation is a fizzy soda in my stomach, about to explode. Sure, I studied, but did I study hard enough? Do I remember anything? How will I do? Will the test be hard? The only way I'll find out is by doing it.

Part 4: Putting it Together
/700 words

-434 words help-

“Oh my goshhh!!!” Haiffa yelled as I took her to her favorite restaurant: the cafe right next to the panda section of the zoo.
She had always been quite the panda enthusiast so I figured for her 15th birthday I would treat her to a quick visit to see the pandas. They were so pretty looking with their fur washed up and their eyes as wide as the size of a tennis ball. I stared right into the eyes of one of the pandas. She started speaking to me.
“Hi!” she said. “Think you can get us out of here?”
I looked confused at the fence and then looked at the pandas once more, wondering if they could all speak. They could. They really could.
They all started saying in unison “Get us out! Help! Bring us a branch to climb onto to leave!”
I wondered if there was something in the water the waiter served us but there wasn't. I've been able to understand the language of Haiffa's favorite animals since she was born. I remember it startling me when I heard a bird song and knew the lyrics or when I walked to the beach with Haiffa when she was 4 and knew what the dolphins were chirping to one another.
But it doesn't scare me now. It just makes me sad that even though I know these pandas are asking to leave I can do nothing about it. Nobody would understand me if I were to try to take them out of this place, this prison.
This is why I wear earmuffs to the zoo now. To not hear the pain. I didn't wear them here today because the last time I went Haiffa had lied about them being her favorite animal and only said that because it was all of her best friends' favorites. So when I came over I was more than happy to hear only the free birds singing and not the pandas attempting to speak to us. But I guess something changed now.
I don't know how I was gifted with this special ability but I just was. It wasn't my choice. I just can hear my daughter's favorite animals speak.
So now whenever I come to the zoo and see her favorite animals I hold in tears. If she notices I say they are tears of happiness. If she doesn't I just hide the pain. Hide the pain of knowing that there is a life form out there that has been hiding in a wall their whole life and will most likely die in it too.

Daily 017/03, 267 Words for 400 Points
This is extremely sad- Also, implied d3@th below. </3
I SWEAR THIS IS GONNA MAKE ME START SOBBING UNCONTROLLABLY JUST THEM IT’S SO HEARTBREAKING UAHSUAAUSUAU </3




September 30th, 2025

It’s been eight months, and I cannot shove the thought of him being gone out of my head. And it was all my fault. To try and take my mind off of this, I look at the table next to me and focus on the vase of flowers. It’s not very shocking that I recognize them all. I know a lot of them. Naming them all would not be very difficult, but something… three specific ones stick out to me. It seems to be ever so coincidental that all of them seem to mean something negative… Forget-me-nots are the first ones I see, and I pick one out of the vase. I smile slightly as I wipe a tear from my eye. I wish I could just go back and fix everything… I place it back as I think to myself… It would all be fine, and we could be happy together. Together. Forever. But it isn’t that way now, is it? Marigolds. Hm. After moments of staring at it, focusing and focusing, if doesn’t seem to occur to me. And then picking it out of the vase makes me realize. They used to be his favorite flower. All I felt in that exact moment. A load of grief. The third and final one, fuschia-.


All three of these made me realize… I feel all of those emotions. Grief, anxiety… What happened to love, though? That feeling I called love. Was it just… All a lie?

The only one to blame is me. It was my fault. I was the one held responsible. I-

March 17, 2023

Buttercups, cool against my fingertips, line the outside of the park. I try to spend a lot of time in this area. If it means not having to walk up to the stone slab in the distance. When I see it, I see flashes of yellow and deep purple. Aquamarine and olive green. My brain doesn’t have the strength to decipher the colors.

I stare at the buttercups. They splay out in enchanting patterns and colors. They bend and sway in the wind, oblivious to each other. In their own little world. I knock on the door to join them, but no one answers.

Instead I find myself gripping one petal of a buttercup. So hard and so tense that it leaves creases on what was previously a smooth cream of sunshine.

I can’t bring myself to cry. Perhaps because I know Heiba was bad to me. Or perhaps because I’m so removed from reality that I can’t comprehend anything anymore. Instead a single tear falls down my cheek. When I wait for more, none come. I don’t understand why.

My fingers tear off a petal from the flower, and flicks it into a field of daffodils nearby. When I look towards the daffodils, I have no idea where the petal landed. But it doesn’t matter to me.

It’s then when I realize I’m still clutching the marigolds in my hand. When had I bought them? It seems so long ago now. The plastic wrap crinkles in my grasp, making loud noises. I fill my head with those noises. Every last space. It calms me down.

I’m tired from squatting down for so long, so I stand up. I brush my hands against my knees and take in the scenery around me. I take care not to look in one direction.

Then I turn around and walk away. Perhaps because I know this event probably won’t matter in the long run. Perhaps because I don’t want to read the words on that slab of stone. Perhaps I know deep down it’s the latter, but I don’t want to admit it. Because once I do, I’ll know for sure it was my fault.

362 words

blood and roses.
(552 words)
A writing comp. entry by yours truly

TW: SLIGHT ROMANCE, VIOLENCE

   eager waves when greeting
   smiles passed in the halls
   laughs shared between classes
   playful punches to the arms

  my friends’ giggles
  “i think He likes you”
  wide eyes
  “you really think so?”

  staring when He isn’t watching
  looking away when He notices
  a sly smile imprinted on His face
  walking up to me and tapping my shoulder

  “are you free tonight?”
  frozen like a deer in headlights
  “y-yeah, why?”
  “meet me at my house. 6 o’clock”

  suppressing a cheeky grin
  rushing home, friends in hand
  as soon as the clock strikes three
  throwing on clothes hours early
  
  stealing my mother’s makeup
  picking out a beautiful dress
  boots with heels as long as skyscrapers
  glancing in the mirror before i leave

  seeing a different person
  with chocolate-brown hair
  in waves like the ocean
  and makeup that shimmers like the sea

  the doorbell ringing
  the door swinging open
  His mouth shaped like an ‘o’
  “oh, w-wow”

  invited to join Him on the couch
  distant…
  distance
  closed

  watching romcoms together
  every late Friday night
  his hand on my shoulder
  leaning into his arms

  a quick k!ss on the forehead
  “g’night, Love”
  that smile again
  “goodnight”

  tucking myself into bed
  switching off the lights
  closing my eyes…
  can’t fall asleep

  peril circling
  like sharks around their victims
  “He doesn’t love you”
  “don’t trust Him”

  shifting around
  restless
  keeping one eye open
  crawling out of bed

  creeping to his room
  snatching his phone
  suspicions rising
  a familiar face

  puffy red eyes
  hatred burning
  in my veins
  fury mounting

  can’t fall asleep
  can’t stop scrolling
  He’s dead to me
  confronting Him in the morning

  “why is She here?”
  a nervous gulp
  “She’s just a friend”
  anger clouding my vision

  “stop lying to me!
  “I trusted you!”
  heaving breaths
  “me too”
  
  the slam of the door
  pain wallowing
  in the pit of my stomach
  going back to bed

  refusing to leave home for days
  finally pulling out my phone
  seeing Her posted with Him
  on His account

  only
  several
  days
  later

  eyes watering
  a voice whispering from the back of my head
  “don’t be sad, dear
  “He’s the one who’s betrayed you, after all

  “so go after Him
  “make Him hurt for a change
  “like how He hurt you”
  a clenched fist

  wiping away my tears
  a smile tugging at the corners of my lips
  this is going to be fun
  very fun

  sneaking downstairs
  careful not to make a sound
  grabbing the kitchen kn!fe
  laying on the counter

  knocking on His door
  waiting
  for
  Him

  waiting
  to
  STRIKE
  the creak of the door

  a faceless grin
  “did you miss me?”
  pulling out the kn!fe
  twirling it in my fingers

  His horrified expression
  that fueled my rage
  my sorrow
  my HEARTBREAK

  “y-you’re a psychopath!”
  “perhaps
  “…but i truly couldn’t care less”
  stabbing him

  right
  in
  the
  HEART

  “know you know how it feels”
  grunting with effort
  twisting the kn!fe deeper into the wound
  “to have your heart broken into two”

  wrenching it out
  His body falling limp in my hands
  His head lolling against my arms
  the kn!fe, red, clanging onto the floor

  tilting my head
  a maniacal grin
  picking up the kn!fe
  kicking away the body

  knowing that this was far from over
  stepping out the front door
  gripping the kn!fe in my hand
  His girlfriend was next

Note (not part of word count):
Thanks so much for reading! This took me quite awhile, so I hope you enjoyed it. Also special thanks to the song K!ll Bill by SZA for some inspiration.

Daily 17
389 words

The periwinkle flowers we planted together aren't doing so well. They were pretty for the years that they were alive and growing, but they're dead now. I'm not sure what happened to make them this way.

Do you know?

Do you remember planting them with me?

Can you help me revive them?

I don't know if I can ask you those questions anymore. I don't know if I have the courage.

I'm completely useless with gardening myself, so I pull the plant up and put it in the compost bin. Soon I'll replace it with something new, like rosemary. I'll learn to garden like we did together, but without you explaining everything to me. Less laughing and telling stories and gossiping about school drama. I make a mental note to buy a new plant and maybe read more about gardening, but first, I have an errand to run.

I stroll the way I've gone many times before, past the purple vetch flowers on my front lawn, down the sidewalk, and around the bends that I've memorized. My fist tightens around a cluster of green stems wrapped in ribbon, the last of many gifts to you. Something to say I'm still thinking about you, but goodbye.

I reach your house and think back fondly on days spent here with you, doing homework and sipping lemonade. Those days became fewer and fewer, gradually, until they stopped altogether, and you began inviting other friends to do the same thing. You never told me why. I think I know.

I pass your yard, lush and pretty with a mix of Euphorbia and daffodils. Our yards look so different from each other. Just like you and me, I guess, but that didn't seem to matter until middle school.

I set the bouquet on the doorstep and stare at it for a few seconds. My heart is bittersweet. We had fun together, but those days are gone. Then I walk away without looking back.

I chose the flowers for your bouquet with care and thought. I added a zinnia, just one, because I'm trying not to think about you but it's hard. Some mustard and sweet peas. And, in exchange for this terrible emptiness you left, one trefoil. As a promise.

I didn't leave a note. You'll know what I mean.

Daily 3/17

“I can make magic happen.”

Myla didn’t know why she spoke the words. She knew that she shouldn’t have, knew that Ms. Cawthorne would throw a fit if she ever found out. Still, the glimmer of curiosity in her sister’s red-rimmed eyes was enough to stave off any regret.

“Really?” Connie sniffled, leaning forward hesitantly. “Like what?”

Myla took the ten year-old’s hand, leading her to the piano. “I’ll show you.” She sat on the bench, placing her hands on the keys. I shouldn’t be doing this.

“But I’ve heard you play before!” Connie protested. She wasn’t crying anymore. That was good.

Myla shook her head. “This is different.” Her fingers hovered, curled over the keys but not quite ready to press down. “I can make all kinds of amazing things happen. Things you wouldn’t believe. But Connie, you have to promise me one thing. You won’t tell anyone about anything I show you.”

Connie frowned. “Sure, I guess. But- ”

Myla’s hands thrust down upon the keys. The tune that came out of the piano was familiar, a simple piece she had practiced many times before. Lively, bright, the way a pleasant spring morning might sound were it a song. As she played, a warmth began to seep from her fingertips and into the music. She let it flow outwards, coiling between the notes and transforming them into something far more extraordinary than an ordinary piano performance.

Behind her, Myla heard Connie gasp. She focused, channeling the fine threads of magic into her playing. Spells were an intricate web of woven strands, spooling outward from the soul, transformed into majestic tapestries by musicians. That’s how Ms. Cawthorne described it, at least. Myla thought it was more like dancing; it took a good deal of grace and concentration to pull off, but there was a certain freedom in it as well. You just had to lose yourself to the motions and trust that you wouldn’t fall.

And she hadn’t. With a slow breath, Myla let the magic fade in a final, cheerful chord, then turned to face her sister. Connie cradled the tip of her braid in her hands; it was now woven through with soft purple periwinkle blossoms. “Where did those come from?” she asked wonderingly.

“I told you, magic.” Myla slid off the bench. “They’re beautiful, aren’t they? I’ve been practicing those particular kind for months.”

“They’re my favorite flower.” Connie stroked a delicate petal. Then she looked up at Myla, her face alight. “What else can you do? Can you do something to Sophie and Alexa? Make them suffer, just a little?”

Myla sighed. “No, I think it’s best not to go around hurting other people.” Still, those girls were nasty. She was almost tempted to entertain her sister’s suggestion. Almost.

Connie pouted. “It doesn’t have to be anything big. Just a little bit of magic. You could make them go bald!”

“No,” Myla repeated, more firmly this time. “Next time they bother you, just remind yourself that your older sister can make miracles happen. They don’t have anything half as cool in their lives.” She tugged playfully on Connie’s periwinkle braid. “And if they really hurt you, I won’t hesitate to hurt them back. Even small curses can be very nasty.”

Connie grinned, her former tears forgotten. “Please tell me you know one that causes people’s hair to fall out!”

—x—

“This is your only chance to show the House that you deserve to join their esteemed musicians!” Ms. Cawthorne reminded Myla, perhaps for the hundredth time. For such a nagging teacher she was quite young, only about thirty or so. Tonight, her dark hair was done up in a complicated knot, pinned with a golden flower. A king cup, Myla thought. Thanks to Connie’s fascination with flowers, she knew quite a lot about the different types and could identify many on sight.

The two sat in a dressing room backstage. From outside came the mournful tones of a violin. Someone was trying to summon a rainstorm; a miserable endeavor, Myla knew from experience. Her own audition spell was a bit more complicated and flashy; it involved conjuring fire and casting it into different shapes. Mr. Cawthorne had wanted to push her. If she could successfully perform such a piece, her chances of being accepted into the House of Stolen Stars was very high. She was certainly more than capable of doing it.

If all went right tonight, she wouldn’t.

“Myla Corvelleck?” A young man popped his head into the room. “You’re up next.”

“Go! Hurry!” Ms. Cawthorne pushed her pupil forward. “Make me proud.”

Myla followed the man to the stage. Out in the auditorium, it was dark, save for the single spotlight that shone onto the piano. She could not see the senior members of the House, but she could feel their eyes watching.

This is my only chance to show the House that I was never cut out for this life.

Myla sat on the bench. She heard a voice to the right of the stage call her name, announcing the start of her audition. She began to play.

The Professor and Jaya sat in the Professor's laboratory. Jaya was looking at the array of marvellous machines that were fashioned by the Professor himself. He was perched at his desk and working on another unusual yet magical gadget. Creek! Clang! came from the Professor's desk. No, it was not a hammer or a screwdriver making the racket, it was magical and mysterious; not from our world. Jaya watched him closely, she tried not to blink, but still, the tool was out of sight, almost invisible. She kept watching.

“Ah Jaya,” came a familiar, low voice with a strong English accent, “seems like you are interested in my device that I'm building since you cannot take your eyes off it.” He then chuckled heartily, before spinning around on his chair-with-wheels and making eye contact with her.

“No, it's nothing like that,” Jaya replied hastily. She knew it was a bad idea to lie to the professor but she did not want to seem as nosy like she was. The professor sensed her lies and beamed a smile at Jaya.

The Professor explained, standing up, “Well, it is already finished, so you are more than welcome to test it out with me.” Jaya grinned. There was no way she could fake anything because the Professor could literally look through her. She rushed over to the machine. It looked magnificent. There were many buttons and keypads and other clickity-things. “Click on that big red button and off we go!” Jaya kind of doubted the idea, as everything looked a bit hazardous. However, the red button looked ever so attractive, she had to touch it. Boom! The red button was pressed. Jaya felt a tingling sensation as, in a blink of an eye, she was in a whole different place.

It was a beautiful field with gardens connected to it. The gardens were dotted with different flowers in the different gardens.

“Welcome to the flower universe,” Professor exclaimed and pointed at the different gardens, “The cornflower garden represents riches, you'll find the richest of men living there. The garden of pansies represents the messenger of love, you'll find confessors there. The garden of daisies represents attachment, attached friends will live there forever. There are many gardens. Don't get near to them though, they all bring danger. If you step into a garden, you live there forever, attached or rich or confessing and so on. It will be an endless cycle, where you will never find what you need. Confessors won't find their true love, rich men will never get enough money to calm down their greed, and attached friends will be together all the time doing everything together.”

NickName - Ava
Content - March 17th daily
Word Count - 412/250
Topic - Write 250 words with a few flowers that have meaning to them.
Cabin - Horror

LETS GET STARTED

Flowers used-
Kingcups (desire for riches)
Snapdragon (presumptuous)
Magnolia (love of nature)
Borage (bluntness)
lucerne (life)

Dear Phillip,
I have come to a decision to cut off all activities in the Town Square. An infection is spreading across, yet people do not listen to the wise words of their leaders and walk the grounds of our city. Not only that, but they insist on gathering right in the middle, where the infection started. My city's population is slowly decreasing, and I refuse to give up my kingdom for some stupid fools who do not care for their lucerne. What idiots.
I understand the people with Magnolia who like to wander the gardens, as I am like that as well, but everybody at the same time? We thought of a schedule. The right part of the city would get it for one day, and the next day the left, but the people did not listen. Thus, I have decided to close all activities in Town Square.

Another problem has also come to my notice. People's kingcups from the leaders are driving me mad. Not only do they get a monthly payment which is fine for two months, but also get money from the pitying tax collectors. Think of that, I have to fire that collector Hank…
And to think those villagers would then ask for the food we get freshly from the neighboring village, which is only for the royal family. How dare they. What has gotten into them?

Next up, we come to talk about the horrible Snapdragons at the sanctuary. We gave them refuge from the dark and from the war. We fed them. We kept them warm. We took them in as our own. What do they give us? Littered streets, arrogant behavior, and of course, no respect at all. I shudder to think why I had accepted this city in the first place. You are lucky you are inheriting the South Coast. The people over there are so kind and generous, it warms my heart. The most inspiring thing of all is their Borage. Not in a rude way, they express their feelings. By any means possible, they say what they are thinking straight forward, but still are polite, and that is what I like most about the inhabitants of the South Coast.

And in the midst of all this trouble, I have forgotten to greet you first, again. How are you, little brother? Are you doing well in the Army? Please keep me updated on your visit to Persia with the camp! Our mother was from there, you know.

Love,
Ava.