don't comment here, please! here I'll be storin' my dailies, weeklies, and other stuff.
3633/5000 words
non-fi cabin!

DAILY 1 - MARCH 1
introduction - what would I be like as a book?
(98 words)
I don't think I'd be a set book genre; I'm a hectic combination of a lotta different things. I know for certain that I wouldn't be a romance novel - albeit there would probably be some friendzoning - but there would definitely be more fantasy/memoir elements to me. The cover wouldn't be too complex or one that would stand out too much (think the Scarlet/Violet Book in Pokemon Scarlet/Violet), but once you opened the book, there would be a wonderful old-book smell. It would drag on at points, but it would also envelop you in the story.

RANDOM WRITING 1
no title just writing
(594 words)
The old and tattered flag was still flying. Despite everything that had happened, there were still some remnants of what had once been here. There were still some hints as to what society had been before it had fallen. The ruins were there, clear as day; yet, for the three hundred years that humanity has existed since the event, those of the present era were unable to comprehend how those in the past survived. There were no buildings designated for the production and manufacturing of food, no rusting “robo-helpers” that now served the homo sapiens who still carried on with living, and no sign of government surveillance tech.
It was the perfect place for me to hide the things I had found. The things that served to further delve into the past than the ruins themselves did. After all, the ruins of the so-called “Techless Era” were boring to most, and these crumbling buildings were insignificant enough that I could hide the relics I carried with me. The adrenaline of breaking the law mixed with my own entrancement with the history of humanity before technology dominated our lives. Unlike most my age, I would rather take in the scent of old books at a library than simply grab the information I needed from the Internet. Of course, in a technology-dominated society that promoted dependence on things such as phones to make money, I was an odd one out.
I suppose I could say the world I lived in was much like the world of Fahrenheit 451, if it was toned down. No houses were burned down by firemen if they held books within them; no, the job of the firemen here is to put out the fires.
Fires set by people who despise books. People who want to burn the past and rewrite history as they see fit. There were no Mechanical Hounds to inject criminals with a numbing medicine before taking them out, but the robot police dogs we have nowadays are vicious and brutal. Nobody survives a Polidog if they don't escape over the borders within an hour.
Let's just say almost nobody gets past the borders in an hour.
It isn't impossible, though. In fact, crossing the border is very simple. You just have to know where to look. My little cottage - yet another reminder of the past for some - sat right by the border into New Britain. To make the expedition even easier, there was a spot in the wall separating the United Territories and New Britain that wasn't assigned a normal guard. I took full advantage of the lack of protection and constantly traveled between the UniTer and NeBri for multiple reasons.
The past was celebrated in NeBri twice a year.
In NeBri, there were multiple grand libraries stuffed with books.
Nobody felt the need to burn their past away.
But UniTer was my home.
It was the only reason I stayed within the border as a legal citizen. Well, there was also the fact that I was still considered a minor at the age of 18, and would still be one until I was 22.
I shook my head. That doesn't matter right now, I reminded myself as I continued further into the ruins, casting yet another glance at the tattered flag.
As always, I couldn't help but wonder what those stars and stripes meant.
Some said that they stood for evil while others claimed that they stood for heroes.
Me?
I think that those patterns and colors mean freedom.
Something I will have very soon.

DAILY 2 - MARCH 2
soup - cat, plant, home, surreal, train (provided by minergold48)
(this is based on harry potter, but with bipedal felines!)
(500 words)

Staring out the window of the train, the bipedal cat couldn't separate one plant from another as the scenery blurred together over the minutes. Nervously, he adjusted his tie for the twelfth time this morning. It was really happening. He was really leaving home behind for Hogwarts! It felt surreal, as if this was merely a dream and he was prone to waking up at any moment. The white-furred feline had to pinch himself to reassure himself that this trip was in fact real and that he would be separated from his parents for a pretty darn long amount of time.
Nicholas's parents had wholeheartedly accepted the fact that he was testing the waters of he/him, but would others? Would they all laugh at his small collection of plants, most of which were cacti? Nick had no clue, and he didn't want to find out right now. He'd been lucky enough to get a cabin all to himself, where he wouldn't need to worry. He could just relax and watch the world pass by the train's window.
“Hi- uhm, hello,” a voice quietly called as the door to the cabin opened slightly and a brown tabby poked their head in, disrupting Nicholas's train of thought. As he turned to face the other cat, his eyes widened and he reached for his book bag reflexively, preparing to throw it. “Why are you here?” he replied sharply.
“Well, I've been mostly drifting from cabin to cabin for now, but then when I got kicked out of the last cabin,” the tabby paused, looking down, “an older kid offered to help me find a place to sit for the rest of the ride. She said that nobody was in here, but if you'd rather be alone-”
“Wait-” Nicholas interrupted the other cat, “At least tell me your name and what year you are.”
“Oh. It's Sandy… my name, I mean. And I'm a first year. Why'd you wanna know? Are you older or-”
“I just wanted to know if you were older than you looked. I'm a first year too.”
Sandy paused. “Erm, does this mean I can come in?”
“Yeah, just don't hog all of the space,” Nicholas replied, nodding.
As Sandy put away their suitcase and settled into the cabin, they seemed to grow more comfortable with Nick. The two of them fell into easy conversation, bonding over their shared interest in plants and their shared concerns about whether or not they'd get laughed at.
The white feline couldn't help but smile, and as the train finally halted to a stop and the students got off, the two new friends walked together as far as they could before Sandy was dragged off by their older sister, who had apparently been the one to suggest that they sit in Nicholas's cabin. However, before they could get too far, the two younger cats waved to each other.
“See you soon!”
This was definitely way too surreal to be real.
Or was it?

WEEKLY 1 - MARCH 2-4
cool! time travel stuff!

part one
(the catalyst is the invention of literal hoverboards)

UNFINISHED

DAILY 3 - MARCH 3
your guide on how a vigilante sees the world
(386 words)

I can't help but sigh as I hear my phone's ringtone go off beside me. Only a few certain people are persistent enough to call me while I work on my homework. But I know who the caller is before I even touch the phone; I'd set this person's calls to the most fitting ringtone I could think of.
Baby Shark. I hated the song, but it truly fits the guy that had been daring enough to contact me, disturbing my focus.
It was none other than my way-too-energetic-and-stereotypical friend, Draco (who was named, surprisingly enough, after a Harry Potter character who's the polar opposite of him).
Of course, most of the world knows him better as Sharkbite. A hero. Someone who goes around saving the old grannies crossing the street and the babies left in burning buildings. The kind of guy everyone attracted to men would swoon over.
I, however, am the person unfortunate enough to have been roped into this whole gig. Without my permission, I may add.
My actual name is Darius Barnes, but you most likely know me as The Vigilante. A sidekick of sorts, unwilling to give the public an actual “hero name”.
I think hero names are dumb. Draco, on the other hand, does not. It's most likely one of the reasons why he's calling me, so I end up picking up the call (instead of hanging up immediately, like I normally do), and tune out the unimportant parts.
“You still haven't…”
“The media wants to know…”
“Oh, and there's a supervillain…”
“Wait,” I interrupt him, startled by the last sentence I caught, “there's a supervillain?”
“Dude,” Draco replies, “have you not been listening at all?”
“Wh- what do you mean, ‘am I not listening’? Of course I am!”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever you say. Anyways, get dressed, Darius; the supervillain's makin' their first move!”
He then hangs up, leaving me with a lack of satisfaction that I normally earn from being the one to end the call. I place a hand on my forehead, closing my eyes and letting out another sigh, though this one is louder.
It was going to be a long night.
And Draco was definitely going to be talked (aka forced/blackmailed) into finishing my homework when we finished with the newest pick from the looney bin.

RANDOM WRITING 2
oops, I did it again
(423 words)

“Are you ready?” a voice screams from inside the stadium. From the mangled mess of screams it hears in reply, it can only assume that the people respond with varied forms of ‘yes’. It's relieved that it isn't inside, because it's sure that the loudness would drive it deaf and insane. Instead, it places the shiny baby-blue earbuds it took - a simple lie to hide that it stole the earbuds - and pressed the play button on its phone. The first song that came up wasn't one it could understand that well, but it enjoyed the rhythm and the sound of it anyways.

Another person, this one a younger man, lounges on his old and ratty couch - a simple hand-me-down from the landlord - and watches the show from his television screen. His phone lies on his stomach and his hand is on top of it to ensure it doesn't slip. His other hand rests underneath the pillow that his head rests on. He watches with an almost uncanny focus, awaiting the one signal, the one thing that will start this.

Finally, the person waiting outside of the stadium finishes planting what it needed to plant. It exhales before it stands straight again and reaches for the flashlight in its bag. Turning the flashlight on, it scans the outer wall for the one thing it needs to find: a switch. One, specifically, that would trigger the shutting off of the stadium lights, and the one that it had to find quickly. As the time ticks by, its search grows more frantic and its flashlight's movements grow more erratic until they sweep past a suspicious bulge. Focusing the beam of light onto the bulge, the person sighs in relief as its eyes land on the switch. It hurries over to the switch, swiftly yanking it down before scurrying away into the getaway car.

The young man watches as the lights go out in the stadium. Among the chaos, he hears the faint sound of the target being chauffered underneath the stage, into the underground tunnel. The light returns just as quickly as it left, revealing that the target was now offstage. He looks away from the television, reaches for an old and broken tv remote, and presses the red ‘power’ button on it. From the television, he hears the faint ‘boom’ and sees the faint shaking of the stadium. Nodding, he stuffs the old remote under his couch and turns on his phone, sending a quick text to his companion.
done
okay.

DAILY 4 - MARCH 4
dinosaur, grr
(366 words)

A flat, two-dimensional entity. One well-known by the general public, one you see anytime you look anything up without an internet connection, and one who had a very game made for it.
The iconic Google Dinosaur.
Of course, it had heard that a certain cabin in an odd thing called ‘Scratch Writing Camp’ had been themed after dinosaurs and fossils, so it decided to take a vacation from the constant jumping to stop by! It hopped into Scratch by jumping tabs and it then dug through the endless pages that the coding website held.
Not here…
Not here, either…
There! The Google Dinosaur almost let out a pixeled roar of delight before it remembered that it couldn't speak. But it was not bothered by the fact that it couldn't speak; it had found it! The cabin that had been themed after dinosaurs!
Of course, the Dinosaur couldn't just stroll up on the page and expect to be welcomed with open arms; it had to know what it was walking into before that could happen! So that's just what it did; it spent the first early days of March reading through the ‘studio description’ and the ‘comments’, gathering information on what this ‘Scratch Writing Camp’ was and who had been lucky enough to be sorted into such a nicely-themed cabin. (However, whether or not the Dinosaur was biased had yet to be discussed).
One day, the Google Dinosaur decided that it was going to introduce itself to the ‘Scratchers’ who were apparently the ‘cabin leaders’ of the cabin, which the dinosaur had learned was called ‘the Non-Fi cabin’. Surely that wouldn't go wrong!

Whoops.
Maybe it had come on a bit too strong by simply loading a zoomed-in version of itself suddenly onto the screen, but it had assumed that these ‘Scratchers’ would be fine with it! Instead, they had been met by either tabs closing or awkward clicking, so it decided to hop off of the screens and scout out the ‘Non-Fi cabin’ for a few more days.
All in all, the Google Dinosaur was sad when it realized it had to go back to work.
It hadn't even gotten to introduce itself to the campers!

DAILY 5 - MARCH 6
p o e t r y
(387 words)

blackout poem (words from Edgar Allan Poe's “A Dream Within A Dream”)
Upon parting,
Let me avow -
A dream
Has flown away.
(10 words)

story
just a quick note that this takes place in a world heavily inspired by a heavily-patriarchal view of society and toxic masculinity!

Just like that, Ellis's dream was gone. It had flown out the window as soon as it had heard those soul-crushing words pour from the businessman's mouth.
“I apologize, but we only sponsor men. Sponsoring women is just… too risky.”
Those words had left her feeling empty and seeing nothing but what that man must've seen. As a quiet woman on the leaner side, she'd be expected to slip into the role of a meek housewife seamlessly. She'd be expected to leave behind her dreams of becoming one of the few women out there who owned her own business without a man to back her.
But she'd been denied entry into the world of business and accounting, the two fields she was naturally drawn to. Two fields which, according to the council that ran the country, were supposed to be “dominated by the more intelligent half” and “run by those who know what they're doing”.
Which, according to said council, was not women, but men. And, no matter how much it hurt, Ellis was pressured into accepting the world as it was. She was supposed to embrace the status quo laid before her with open arms and embrace it.
A faithful marriage, even if the husband found other women more interesting.
A gentle mother, even if her children held her in a position of disdain.
The embodiment of a “perfect woman”; meek, defenseless, kind, gentle, and obedient.
To put it simply, the men wanted the women to be little pets, tamed creatures tricked into depending on them. This was the image Ellis was expected to conform to, and this was the image that she had fought to escape her whole life.
She'd constantly cut her hair.
She'd worn more masculine clothing.
She'd worked on lowering her voice.
Hell, she'd even attempted to court a woman (though she'd felt more at ease then than when men courted her, which came as a surprise).
But nothing had worked.
And now Ellis's dream was gone.

“Sir?” she blurted as she turned to leave.
“What more do you want, woman?” he complained in reply. “I've already told you no.”
“I just want you to know that you've tried to break the dreams of a woman who has nothing left to lose.”
(377 words)

DAILY 6 - MARCH 7-8
a bidaily chock-full of fresh old dialogue (two quotes are from smalltoe and criminal-intent!)
(605 words)
(478 words of dialogue)

“I told you to open the * door twice already! Why didn't you listen?”
His head snapped up. “What do you mean? I never heard you say anything.”
“You-” she paused, “Ambrose, you are the most unbearable person in the world! I absolutely cannot believe that you're trying to lie to me again!”
“I was almost prepared to begin playing a piece that I'd been looking forward to doing for a week!” Ambrose gestured to his piano. “Annabeth, you barely give me any time to myself! It's always ‘Ambrose, do this’, ‘Ambrose, do that’, or ‘Ambrose, help me with a life-threatening mission’! No breaks at all!”
Annabeth clenched her fists at her sides. “Luckily for you, the fate of the universe is at stake, otherwise I'd spend the next few minutes berating you.”
“Fate of the universe? Annabeth, you're literally a bodyguard and hitwoman for hire. Nothing you do can affect the universe. You just affect politics and families. No,” Ambrose waved his hand around to prove his point, “universes are wanting to hire you, and nobody wants to kill the universe.”
“But what if I told you that someone did in fact want to kill this universe?”
“Then I, the only intellectual in this hellhole of a house, would call you insane and promptly send you to the nearest nursing home while passing you off as a young-looking old lady.”
The red-haired woman frowned. “You know I'm the one providing the payment for your stupid piano classes. Plus, sending me to a nursing home would only drive me up the walls if there wasn't any woman I could flirt with.”
“Please don't tell me that you'd actually consider-”
“No! Of course not, Ambrose!” She reached over and slapped him. “How dare you think that?”
“Ow! Why'd you do that?”
“Because you're getting off-topic. C'mon, get out of your cave before I drag you out by your oh-so-precious locks of hair.”
Ambrose scrambled to follow Annabeth as she walked into the designated ‘meeting room’, unaware that there were already others in there until he opened the door and was met by chatter that died down.
“Everybody, this is Ambrose, my colleague.”
“Are you two dating?” Someone asked in reply.
“No,” Ambrose replied, “we are not dating. In fact, we are both very uninterested in each other.”
“To explain, I'm a lesbian and doofus is a greyromantic asexual,” Annabeth sighed, pushing past her housemate to address the room. “We'll be continuing now because neither of us is taking questions at this time. Now, you've all been selected because you've all worked together in some way or form before. For example, Eli here was in the same piano class as Ambrose when the two of them stole the instructor's watch collection.”
“Wait, Eli's here? Why didn't you tell me?”
“I thought you two had a falling out or something.”
“Nah, he just dropped off the grid a week after we split the watches and sold them. Other than that, there are some pretty good memories from that class.”
A wry laugh sounded from the back of the room. “Why are you so… sentimental now?”
Ambrose's eyes widened. “Eli!”
“In the flesh.” Eli stepped forward. “And I see you haven't changed a bit.”
“And I see you're still an inch shorter than me.”
Annabeth loudly cleared her throat. “You two can ogle each other another time. We have business to attend to.”
Both of the men shot glares toward her, but she brushed them off and waved everyone around the table. “The reason we're all here today is simple.”
“What is it?”
“We're here to save the universe.”

DAILY 6 - MARCH 10
book blurb book blurb
(133 words)

“No words we write go unspoken for long.”

OR SO LEON thought. Raised among a reclusive group of historians, he has been taught to believe that the voice is more powerful than simply writing his thoughts down. However, his perspective is flipped upside down when the group takes in a newcomer who only speaks through ink and expressions. Leon discovers that this newcomer, who he nicknames Inkwell, uses paper and quills to weave dreams into tangible words. When he begins to question whether or not voices are needed to truly speak, he, alongside Inkwell, gets tangled in the darker history of the historians.
A past rooted in tragedy.
An identity left undiscovered.
Two souls undoubtedly linked through circumstance as they both ask a single question:
Is voicing your words the true silence?

DAILY 7 - MARCH 11
where the cabin wars works shall be stored
(546 words)

WAR 1: (546 words)
“At least try to catch the butterflies with the net,” the older student whined, holding up the butterfly-catching net with one paw and pointing at it with the other one. “The butterflies aren’t going to be of any use to the lepidopterology club if you just tear them apart or lock them in an old shack!”
“Well, I’m sorry if I don’t think prancing around in flower fields with a flimsy net from a dollar store is an efficient way to catch butterflies,” I retorted, crossing my arms over my chest as I watched a stray butterfly flap its way out of the newest place I had found to hide my living collection. So what if that meant I couldn’t hang them up inside a picture frame? Living butterflies were much better than dead ones residing on a wall.
“I-” the student, whose name was Daren, began, “It’s not from a dollar store! This net cost me five whole dollars! Do you know how much that takes from my weekly allowance?”
“And you don’t save some of your allowance each week for a better net or better equipment?”
He just growled and stormed away, turning back only to end up catching my smug grin. I even managed to sneak in a little wave before he turned around and went back down the trail.
“You can come out now,” I called to the pair of eyes I had felt watching me the whole conversation. “Butterfly boy’s gone back to his butterfly friends to cry and complain about my butterfly-hunting methods.”
Hearing an exhale and footsteps, I turned my head to look at the smaller figure that was emerging from the back of the shed. She looked at me oddly, almost as if she was… admiring me. I don’t know why she’d be admiring me, and I didn’t really feel like asking her. Asking would lead to her thinking that I was interested in her, which would only result in me crushing someone else’s dream again. I didn’t want to be painted as more of a villain than I already was.
“How did you know I was there?” she asked, her ears pinned back in such a timid way that it made me uncomfortable.
I replied with a simple, “Felt like I was being watched by someone,” before reaching into the old building to grab my bookbag. “And, if things had worked out like I’d wanted them to, this shed would’ve stayed my personal hideaway.”
“Well, why can’t you use it now?”
“Because you know where it is, and you never leave me alone as it is. I tremble at the thought of what you might try if I come here alone to study.”
“Aren’t we alone right now, though?”
“No. There’s a bear behind you.”
She shrieked, spinning around to see the ‘bear’ I had mentioned for herself, and I took that opportunity to sprint away and avoid yet another dodgy encounter. Her fearful shrieks turned to angry and sorrowful screeches, and for a moment I wondered if ditching her was really the best thing to do. Then, I remembered my pet chickadee and my unopened ice cream in my dorm, and all my regrets about leaving that awkward situation evaporated like water in a desert drought.

WEEKLY 1 - MARCH 9-16
relaxing is cool, guys!
(830 words)

PART 1
(128 words)
Music is one of the few things I feel that I can actually relate to constantly. The swelling of classical music, the flowing beat behind a piece that only amplifies its awesomeness, and other things as well - I can pick out bits and pieces of music, focus on them, and enjoy the piece as a whole. So that's just what I did! I listened to music and simply relaxed, allowing my head to run wild with thoughts and ideas. Yes, I may have used my phone to play the music, but I simply let myself float in the songs that I listened to. I suppose I can attribute my love of music to my status as a band kid, but I feel more when I listen to music.

PART 2
(138 words)
I listened to Injustice by CG5, and the first thing that came to mind when I first listened to this song was that it embodies both a part of me and a potential path that my most cherished roleplay character, Geodecrackle, could go down. It sets my imagination alight with possibilities while also seeming more relatable than it should be. I interpret this song as essentially what an antagonist/morally gray character could embody, and as someone who does lack when it comes to the empathy department, I feel as if this song does embody me in a way. The guitar, however, makes me think of a plea for help within, as if one does not want to become a villain, but will do so in order to get what they want or protect those they care about.

PART 3
(564 words)
The blood-red notes on the page were more alarming to me than the fact that a stranger knew the location of my current residence. Apparently, my skills as a violinist had earned me my first die-hard stalker. That wasn't what disturbed me: it was the fact that the red ink that formed the handwritten ballad suspiciously reminded me of a certain crimson substance. The letter addressed to me that had accompanied the piece of music had also been written in the same scarlet ink. Was it blood? Was it just the ink color that the sender chose to use? I had no clue until I wrote them back, and the letter had no return address.
“Patience,” I told myself, setting down the letter and the ballad. “You will have more time to ponder over the letter and its sender once you finish the beginning draft of that composition that you began yesterday.” That was true. The young bud of a march was sitting undrafted in my office, and I needed to attend to it before I completely forgot about it and left it to rot.
Rot, just like the people you left behind, my pessimistic inner voice hissed.
“Shut up,” I growled back at the voice. It did not need to remind me of the more sinister deeds I had done in the past to get to where I was now. “If you ever end up providing me with useful information, I shall be inclined to gift you with more free reign.”
And I've always told you your past would come back to bite you, you fool, it reprimanded. The letter is clearly from someone seeking to exact their revenge on you.
“Please, do not continue with those fantasies, my dear inner pessimist. It is merely a person who deserves to be called a stalker, someone who is obsessed enough with me to send me their very own composition.” I took the first few steps toward my office, feeling slightly wearier than I had a moment ago. Odd. I brushed it off as a sudden bought of fatigue. It would go away soon enough.

The weariness persisted throughout the day, and my arm had begun to ache for an unknown reason. My concern, just like the tiredness that now plagued me, had only increased as the sun progressed throughout the sky. Perhaps my negative conscious had been correct about the intent behind the letter and the ballad. Henceforth, I called upon it again.
“My darling inner voice? I require your assistance; there is a matter that is worrying me, and I feel that you will be able to help me figure it out.”
I'm not your little dog that you can order around all day, it murmured in response. Like it or not, I won't always come at your every beck and call.
“Well, we are not here to discuss your freedoms, voice,” I responded, “we are here to converse about this tiredness that I have seemed to acquire.”
That's entirely your fault, vessel, they snapped. I told you that the letter wasn't any good. I bet it was cursed, and you'll be on your deathbed soon. Probably the best news I've gotten the entire time I've been stuck in here with you.
“And what do you know about curses?”
More than you do.
“That is not a valid answer.”
Deal with it, ‘darling’.

DAILY 8 - MARCH 14
the apple doesn't fall very far from the tree if you aim it correctly
(438 words)

The fox sat at the base of the tree, staring up at the plump apple above his head. It was at the terribly annoying spot where he could barely brush his paw against the red flesh of the fruit. He sighed, sweeping his tail over his paws as he continued gazing at the apple longingly.
On another branch, a curious raven was happily gobbling up some corn seeds that she had taken from a distant farmhouse. However, she paused when she looked up to see the red-furred fox watching an apple. Curious, she flapped her wings and fluttered over to a closer branch.
“Mister Fox,” the raven began, carefully peering down at the sorrowful creature, “are you alright? I saw that you were looking at that apple quite closely. Did it reach down to hit you on the head while you were not looking?”
Mister Fox blinked, shaking his head to rid himself of the trance he had fallen into. “I am rather fine, Madam Raven. I was simply admiring the apple and hoping that it would come down of its own accord.”
“Well, why is that?” Madam Raven replied.
“I must admit that I have never tried an apple; they only fall down and bruise themselves so horribly that I deem them inedible. This apple, however, has unmarred skin; therefore, it must be perfect enough for me to eat.”
The raven clucked disapprovingly, hopping onto the branch that held the apple. “Mister Fox, why must you hold your food to such high standards? An apple is an apple, even if it has one small bruise.”
“But that little bruise could infect the whole apple, Madam Raven!” the fox complained, raising a paw to his head to prove his point. “I would not want to succumb to an illness just because I had chosen the wrong apple.”
“You are but a fool, fox,” Madam Raven retorted, “do you really want this specific apple because it looks perfect to you?”
“I do, Madam. If only it wanted me.”
A devious idea came upon the raven then, and her eyes gleamed as she announced her plan to the fox. “Now, what if I told you I could get you the apple?”
“I would be very pleased,” the fox eagerly responded.
“Good. Just stand right under the apple, and I shall get it to you!”
The fox, inwardly celebrating at the nearness of his perfect meal, followed the raven's instructions, never once taking his eyes off of the apple. The raven reached over and severed the fruit from the tree. It hit the fox's face with a thud before bouncing away.

BI-DAILY
(__ words)

Part 1
(229 words)
The buildings were the sort that seemed as if they ought to have been in ruin. The wooden planks had taken on the toll of time, yet they still stood firm. It was almost as if the town was waiting for the people to come back. Perhaps it was waiting for the day when another duel would take place on its eternally-dusty roads.
Nobody was willing to go out and stay in the desert, though. Not even animals and plants. The town wasn't weed-ridden, but, had fate taken it and placed it out of the desert, it would be no more than rotting clumps of wood. The walls still stood, however, and the town still waited quietly. It, alongside the few ghosts that had decided to stay amongst the fading memories, waited for a single living soul to enter. They had no ill intent; they simply wanted to see someone alive. Someone breathing. It was a sight that the spirits hadn't seen in a long time, and as the days passed more of them continued to question their choice to stay in this ghost town.
When the town had been filled to the brim with eager settlers, it had been called Dawn's Peak. But now? It was no more than a testament to eternally blood-stained earth and wood. Dawn's Peak was as dead as the people buried underneath it.