July 1st

Daily: C/P from MC–

I'm a complete vanilla person. I know, I know, it's fairly basic, but it's sweet and it's fun and it tastes like being a five year old. I think that there'd be a fair amount of caramel (pronounced care-a-mel) sauce drizzled on top, too. It would definitely be in a bowl, not a cone, since I'm allergic to cones and also cones taste weeiiird. To top it off, there'd be tons of mango slices… for fairly obvious reasons. Plus mangoes are legendary and should be on everything… or else

Daily Haiku:
Old faces renewed
Brand new hellos to be said
Mango arsonists

1k Intro

Hey you, whoever you are! My name is @PoppyWriter, but I go by Poppy. My pronouns are she/her.
I'm so excited for this session of SWC! My first SWC session was back in March ‘22, my second in March ’23, and my third session right now. I'm a proud member of the amazing Lyric cabin that's definitely going to win because we're just really cool like that.
I love writing very very much, and I've been really invested in it for about the past five or six years. Over the past few years, I've written one full length novel, three novellas, and multiple short stories, in addition to way too many unfinished works in progress. My NaNoWriMo novel is kind of my big accomplishment, but I'm also working on a novel right now and I'm about 36k words in, and I'm super happy with it. My NaNo account is Annabeth-Hermione-Sophie
I'm a very musical person in a number of ways. I play the violin, and I've played it for almost seven or eight years. I'm definitely an ‘orch dork’- orchestras will take over the world someday. My favorite piece I've played is probably Adoration by Borowski. It's such a pretty emotional piece and I just adore it (see what I did there?). I also play the piano, which I've played for an.. undetermined amount of time. I started playing when I was five, but I quit lessons and decided to teach myself. I compose a lot of music on there, and I love singing along with it. Speaking of which, I'm very much a singer. I joined my school's choir last year, and I'm planning on doing it through the rest of my school years. My choir is like my family at school- it's such a fun place and everyone there is amazing. I have such fun memories of singing Used to Be Mine and the song from Ratatoulle (I misspelled that but whatever). I also play the ukulele, and I've been trying to learn guitar, but those dumb barre chords will be the end of me. As for the music I listen to, there's a lot of it. I love oldies a lot, so I'm a fan of artists like the Beatles, the Beach Boys, Sam Cooke, Ray Charles, Patsy Cline, and a bunch of others. I am a HUGE fan of musicals. My favorite is probably Les Mis. It's absolutely beautiful, and I desperately want to play Eponine in a production of it someday- which is why On My Own is my favorite song from it. My second favorite is Hamilton. I have the whole musical memorized, which may not be healthy, but it's fun. I just love the incredible lyracism and everything about it. I love Non Stop because of the line- “why do you write like you're running out of time?” (answer: because the weekly is due soon and you've got to get it in). I love Phantom of the Opera (one of the coolest days of my life was being able to see it in a really cool old theatre). I also love In the Heights (Lin is just such a master) and Hadestown (the ending makes me sob like a child, and I really want to sing like Eva Noblezeda someday). To list just a few other musicals I live for- Little Shop of Horrors, Six, Camelot, Into the Woods, and Newsies- but there are more. As for more modern artists, I love Sara Bareilles's music- it's so pretty and there are so many songs by her that are very much a mood. I also love Taylor Swift's stuff (I'm listening to All Too Well and Getaway Car as I write this)- I just love folklore so much. I also love Jack Johnson, Jonothan Coulton, Hozier, Adele, and a few others. I just love music so much- it's my passion and I have no clue where I'd be without it.
I love reading. So much. I love Jane Austen's novels. My favorite is definitely Pride and Prejudice (insert me and vi squealing right here). I love Lizzy Bennett's character- she's sassy and she's clever, and she's one of my litarary heroes. I just love Mr Darcy so much… I also love Emma and Persuasion by Austen. I am a HUGE PJO fan! Persassy is life, Leo is an angel of sarcasm and tacos, and Annabeth is so freaking relatable. My favorite Riordan book is probably Mark of Athena- which fits, considering that I'm a daughter of Athena. I'm super excited for the Disney+ TV show to come out, because they got such a good cast (Walker Scobell AND Lin Manuel Miranda? Perfect). I'm also a fan of Keeper of the Lost Cities (Sokeefe for life, my people). I'm a huge fan of the Lunar Chronicles- I love Thorne's character, Cinder's sassiness, and Cress's daydreaming. Marissa Meyer just makes such good characters. Right now, I'm reading Mistborn: Well of Ascension, Daughter of the Moon Goddess, To Kill a Mockingbird, Shug, and The Book Thief. My Goodreads account is Reading Musicallly. I'm always open to recommendations, so let me know!
I've been on Scratch for nearly 9 years (on a different account for a lot of it). The communities you'll probably find me hanging around in are The Hot Takes (very small niche of Scratch XD), GWDFI (I'm a little less active on that, but I probably visit a few times a day), SWC (YOU GUYS ARE MY PEOPLE!! MANGO ARSONISTS FOR LIFE), and SWOW (if you don't know what that is, it's Scratch's World of Writers, which was kind of born out of the end of Writer's Unite).
Outside of all aforementioned interests, I love crocheting. I learned a few years ago, and I love doing it. I'm not much of an artist, so you probably won't be seeing any memory book cover entries from me, but I do like sculpting when I get the chance. I love being around my friends and family, and I love watching movies with them (and here's where I admit to binge watching a ton of stuff). My favorite movies are probably The Princess Bride (anybody want a peanut?), Pride and Prejudice (2005- I just love the cinamatography, the script, and the unbelievable acting. If I could live in any movie, I think I'd want to live in that one), and Feris Bueller's Day Off (insert the ‘Twist and Shout’ scene here).
Alright, I think I might have hit my one thousand words, so I'll sign off by saying, thank you SWC community! You guys are the absolute best. If you want to talk to me at any point during or after the session, whether it's important or you want to chat about random stuff, just come talk to me on my profile! I'll be super happy to talk. <3

Adding List
(This is just a list of words that I haven't added to my WC studio so I don't forget)

- novel
- Part two of weekly
- 250 from Goodreads review

July 2nd

Daily-
Words supplied by kira- crooked, encaged, wind, dread, enflame

Word Bank- crooked encaged wind dread enflame

I didn't intend to end up here. I was just trying to find what I'd lost.
It had only been sixteen days ago that I was attending school, waking up every day to put on my uniform and brush my hair. Now, my uniform was covered in bloodstains and muck, and my hair was no better than a tumbleweed.
I can't tell if I long for that life again or if I dread going back to it. Since leaving my home, desperately trying to find my best friend's soulbook, I'd seen and done so much. I'd met my best friend for who she was, I'd met someone who knew me for who I was, and I'd met people who would take away what I wanted to be.
No time to think now. Thought wasn't word or action. I felt myself grow angry.
"You crooked, evil….THING!" I shrieked. I tugged at the bars, feeling encaged by the hopelessness of the situation. That man had Elise's soulbook. He had Conner's soulbook. And worst of all, he was holding an ink quill right over my own.
The man looked up languidly, as though bored with the whole situation. “Inside voice, darling.”
“Don't patronize me,” I muttered. Besides being figuratively encaged, I was literally encaged, the bars made of wind that grew stronger with every word the man spoke.
He looked at me again and rolled his eyes.
An idea came to mind. A stupid, silly idea that was likely to be ineffective, or worse, make the situation become entirely hopeless.
I gripped the water stone in my wrist. I squeezed it gently, and a bubble of water formed around it. I squeezed it a little further, and the bubble expanded. I kept squeezing and taking calming breaths until the water bubble was larger than me. It was pushing against the wind bars, expanding them and making the bars of wind thinner and more strained.
The man looked over right as the bars burst, enleashing a tornado on the room. Before the man could react, I grabbed Conner and Elise's wrist, their soulbooks and my own, and ran.
The man was following close behind, but I closed my eyes and kept running.
Think of home…

Daily Haiku-
Pine-needle carpets
Green-spined roofs along the sky
A sky just as glass

Weekly #1

Part One

(I chose the 1st one)
The tree looked old and abandoned, but it held unforgettable things. Flowers, purely white, that dropped eggs the way normal trees drop seeds. The old fisherman gathered them weekly to bring to the market. He had very little idea the effect that the little blue eggs would have on the lives of those he sold them too. He made his trip and came back to the mainland.
He sat down on the carpet he had bought long ago, ready to sell. A mother and her young daughter came to visit, and the little girl begged her mother to buy one of the blue eggs. The mother gave in and gave her the little blue egg.
The young girl carried it around with her everywhere, all the time. She kept it with her when she played, when she worked, and when she did anything.
She kept it with her as she grew older and as her world began to grow as she did. The egg became a bird and also seemed to grow as she did, getting larger. The girl had no idea what it held, but she continued to value the blue bird.
She became a young adult, learning to be self sufficient. With each year that passed, she learned a little bit more about her world. Her bird grew larger. She continued to keep it with her as she became a wife and a mother. Finally, as she became old, the bird was large enough to be freed. She went to a little cliff underneath the stars. After a lifetime of waiting for and nuturing the bird, it had finally been freed- and what a beautiful sight it was. Blue, an even deeper blue than the egg it had first come in, with shimmering highlights like the stars it was underneath. In a single moment, the bird let out a single, beautiful note, and flew away into the stars.

(320 words)

Part Two

We were sixteen now, he and I. Me and the one person I'd cared about and missed desperately. Him, Wyatt. Me, Sofia.
We hadn't seen each other since we were twelve, when I said we couldn't be friends when I knew that he cared more than I did. And yet, here we were, sitting next to each other on a stone bench, in a park. When he finally moved back, I didn't know if I'd want to talk to him. I still felt guilty, even after all of this time.
But something felt hopeful.
“Hey,” I whispered.
“Hey,” he said back. “Why are you whispering?”
I almost laughed. He was still twelve in his heart, I could tell. He had no idea how to handle awkward situations. To be fair, I didn't really know how to either.
“No reason,” I said. “So, the past four years. How have you been?”
“Alright,” Wyatt said. “I missed you, but now I don't have to anymore.”
I perked up. Somehow, we still felt so similar- I guess the phrase ‘best friends forever’ held more meaning than four years of seperation could. Though ‘friends’ was putting it lightly. He and I had been through so much, both of us being so incredibly stupid, friends wasn't a good enough word.
“Do you remember when you and I climbed the tree over there and you pushed me off?” I said. I pointed to a small oak over by the fountain.
"Hey, hey, you totally jumped off,“ Wyatt said.
”It was you!“ I said.
”Prove it, Sofia,“ he said, his eyes alight with mischief.
I huffed, but I was smiling. There was no possible way for me to prove it, unless I could project my memories of that warm, 102 degree summer day onto a wall and show him what a little devil kid he'd been. Of course, then I'd have to show when I got him back by shoving him into the lake the day after.
”Anyway,“ I said. I felt my phone buzz in my pocket, probably my mother reminding me to get back to celebrate Dia de los Muertos. ”I probably have to go. But… it's good to see you back.“
He nodded. ”Are you ready to try again?“ he said. I'd never seen him more nervous, not even when we took our final exam in pre-algebra.
I grinned. ”If we're going to try again, let's start from the very, very beginning.“
I stood up and handed him a bowl of Mexican rice with my mother's homemade beans on top, a bowl of cilantro-and-pinto goodness. My favorite food, the food of my childhood, and eventually Wyatt's favorite food as well. A bowl of beginnings, my mother called it. No one could possibly eat it without feeling like they were starting anew.
”See you around,“ I said.
”Sounds great," he said.
I walked home, the sound of a mariachi band playing a love song lingering in my mind.
Un corazón siempre puede empezar de nuevo, todos los días, todos los días…

(506 words)

Part Three

Excerpt I picked- “Troublesome, careless child! And what are you doing now? You look quite red as if you had been about some mischief; what were you opening the window for?“ (Jane Eyre, Charlotte Bronte)

My writing:
I took a tentative step backward, finding the words that came to mind quite ineffective. What could I possibly say that would defer the question placed against me? Was it an accusation, or was he simply curious?
I draw in a short, silent breath. I mustn't panic.
I was a troublesome child, truthfully. I was no different than a small, red faced child caught in an immature act of mischief. What punishments awaited me if he knew my true intent? I fearfully held the opinion that my punishment would not be that of a child, rather, I would be dealt with much more cruelly. Words came to my tongue- sensible ones, ones that could pass as truthful.
”I was preparing myself to throw the roses out,“ I said. My voice managed to remain level, despite the intensity of the situation. ”They had gone rotten, and I figured if I dropped them out of the window into the garden, it may serve as fertilizer once the flowers have fully decomposed.“
I resisted the urge to gasp as soon as my words ceased.
Somehow, I managed to evade punishment. He nodded thoughtfully, for once conceding that I may possess some intellect. I wrapped my fingers around the stems of the roses, intending to carry through with the lie.
”Very well," he said. He did not take his leave from the room. I assumed that he intended to ensure that I was not lying and was, in fact, throwing out the roses.
I ignored the pain of the thorns digging into my fingers. I slid down the top part of the window, feeling the weight of the glass. I tossed the roses out of the window, down into the snow sprinkled garden below. I watched the bl00d red flowers flutter down, landing softly in the snow. The petals crumpled on impact, standing out strictly against the snow. The sight seemed to take the breath out of my lungs, and I felt as though I were drowning in my own bl00d. A ridiculous thought, I told myself. I was safe in this home, and any thought to the contrary would be utterly unsensible.
I looked to the man, who was still looking at me with disdain. I drew the window up to block the winter cold and pulled the velvet red curtains closed. The red of the curtains and the roses against the white walls and snow filled me with a sickening feeling. The thought of bl00d of the past and the bl00d that would surely come made my thoughts spin around each other. I took another breath and swept out of the room.

(440 words)

Part Four

The man told us he went to the tree every week without fail, before bringing the eggs to the market. My mother was slightly skeptical that the eggs truly grew on trees; she thought they only came from birds.
I, at my young and innocent age, knew that there was more to the egg than it's blue sheen. I could sense something- more than the present. I begged my mother- cried, pleaded, jumped until my knees ached in protest. She finally gave in and bought me one. I put it deep inside myself, so it would stay with me forever- my mother's gift to me.
Almost as soon as I got it, I forgot it. It was still inside me, but it was not constantly on my mind. You don't think of a little egg inside you, do you? You think in the present, in the now. Maybe you shouldn't, but you do.
As soon as we left the market, I ran off to play with my best friend, Ezra. We kicked a ball around and laughed. As soon as the giggle escaped my mouth, the little egg hatched into a soft blue bird.
I didn't even notice- I was still caught in a laughing, weightless moment. You don't feel quite attatched to reality when you laugh, do you?
I remembered that moment ever since.
I kept the bird with me, and it grew as I did. It would twitter a silent, happy song at any moment in the day, and those moments stayed with me. Getting ready in the morning, I heard a silent bird twitter happily. I heard its silence when my mother walked to the market with me as a young adult. I heard its silence when I grew up and married Ezra, just liked we'd always teased when he and I were kids. I remember it twittering noiselessly each time that I gave birth to one of my three daughters.
I went to the market and bought each of them their own egg. I watched it grow with them, just as mine grew with me.
My little bird twittered more as I got older, before it began to sing less. I still cherished it. Every time it sang, I was reminded of every other time it sang to me.
I grew old. My bird hardly sang anymore, and I knew I couldn't keep it.
I went to a mountain under the stars, where little dots of white fire cast their light like a thin sheen of silver. I let the bird out.
With one more note- a beautiful, clear, high note of memory and hope, it flew away into the night.
The bird lived on, flying around and singing of my memories when I could not.
And someday, the memories of my daughters will fly around as well.
The music and memories never stop.

(478 words)

THAT WAS THE BEST WEEKLY EVER- NO JOKE

July 3rd

Daily-
In MC
The dare I recieved- write a 200 word romance about a couple you don't ship.
So, I just picked two characters from my current WIP that would be awful for each other and went with it.

Damian's POV
Asteria glanced up at me. She was holding one of the silver beads that we'd fought so hard for. However, there wasn't pride or even happiness in her eyes. She looked at me like she was spacing out, like she could stare forever.
I'd known her for years. I thought she was like my little sister, but she wasn't. Not at all. Not even close.
“Aster?” I said.
“Only Keira calls me Aster, little Dami,” she said, her green eyes full of amusement at the nickname that she'd come up for me in a moment of pure michief.
“So, what you're saying is that no exceptions can be made?” I said. I glanced over to where Keira and Callen were talking in the firelight, laughing quietly at what each other had said. Callen had confessed to me that he'd been happier since finally admitting his feelings to her, and Keira had smiled more and been less tense.
Maybe it was time that I took a chance, too.
“Asteria,” I said. “I know how much you love that camp, and I know how much you love your home.”
She nodded. “But I know how much you love adventuring.”
Tension grew.
“But compromises can be made,” she whispered.

OK THAT DARE WAS WORSE THAN I THOUGHT… these characters are awful for each other ;-;

Daily Haiku-
Water around heels
Flashes of colors on hills
Hands grasping handles

July 4th
Happy Independence Day, USA!
♪The world turned upside down ♪

Daily-
Based on Hadestown because the obsession is taking over again XD
Prompts used: Gravity briefly disappears (Stingray) and talking to future selves (Yuyu)

The wind picks up, and I wrap my oil-stained clothes around me tighter, trying to block it as I had my entire life.
“I'm right here,” I shout, trying to cover the noise of the workers behind me and the Fates.
The Fates.
Forever behind me, forever bothering me, forever ruining my life, even after I had died.
“Just keep walking,” I continue to shout, trying to reassure Orpheus as much as myself. “Keep putting your feet on the ground, and we'll be there soon.”
I don't think he can hear me particularly well, but it's probably for the best.
Right as soon as I say it, the Underworld experiences a ‘fall space’- a space in time where no one can fall or even step. We float, we spin, but we cannot walk. Another way for Hades to torture us, I suppose.
This, in and of itself, is torture. After waiting in complete and utter he** for weeks, Orpheus had finally come for me. It hurt to see him in some ways- it served as a wonderful reminder of how stupid I am when I'm desperate. However, as soon as he'd run toward me, arms outspread, the guilt disappeared. It had resurfaced multiple times since he'd come, but at that moment, I could only feel relief.
Then everything had fallen apart. Hades declared my life in death his property. I'd watched as they slowly beat Orpheus. Then, right when Hades said we could be free, he said we couldn't walk hand in hand, like I'd dreamed since seeing him down in Hadestown.
As soon as the gravity returns, I, along with Orpheus and the rest of the dead workers behind me, fall to the ground. I feel scrapes blossom across my face. A drop of blood falls into the dirt and is instantly soaked up. I shout encouragement to everyone to get up, but it's mostly directed at Orpheus. I understand the worker's desire for freedom, but it's Orpheus I'm thinking about.
Something appears. It's pale and lifeless, like everything I'd seen since being brought below, but this being was not a worker. They were something entirely different.
A ghost of the crossroads.
I've seen the dead every day, but they don't look like this. This person is translucent, standing in front of Orpheus. They both tremble like trees in a November draft. It takes me a moment or two to realize that it is Orpheus.
Another.
But it isn't my Orpheus- this man is tired and weary, missing the spark that made me fall for him in the first place. He isn't smiling at me like he was lost, he isn't writing songs, he doesn't even look like he is even fighting for hope like Orpheus had recently.
But I would know Orpheus's face anywhere.
Even though I forgot him briefly, I wouldn't forget his face.
“She's safe,” the Orpheus says.
I notice a scar on his face that he didn't have before.
It's him from the future, I realize with choke. My Orpheus- but older, different.
Broken.
“Trust me.”
But as soon as the Orpheus says it, I know that my Orpheus won't listen.
He's lost his trust- and it's my fault.
I gasp as he turns around.
Please no.
I take one last look at him.
I whisper his name, and he whispers mine.
Eurydice.
I sob, because I know that sound will echo in my ear forever.
I will forget Orpheus, but I won't forget that sound.

(459 words)

Daily Haiku-
Blood red for lives lost
Snow white for pure freedom
Sky blue for the hope

July 5th

Daily-

I knew as soon as I saw the sparks that something wrong was going on.
I had walked into my living room, and the first thing I saw was the sparks shooting off of the wall and a cloud of smoke. It was fairly normal in my house- my younger brother was very good at ripping things apart, and it was slowly becoming destructive. This time, he'd decided to take a go at the electrical outlet.
I grabbed the fire extinguisher and quickly put out the fire. I walked into the kitchen, where my three-year-old brother was grinning at me innocently. Of course he had to do this while I was babysitting.
He still had his baby fat, and his curly hair was sticking out in every which way. I put my hand on my hip.
“You know, I don't think this would happen if you were a sister,” I said.
“Sowwy,” he said, in a way that told me he was completely unapologetic about his decision.
I rolled my eyes and grabbed a fistful of crackers. As soon as I ate one, it went down my throat weird and I started gagging.
“Water,” I gasped.
My brother toddled over and handed me a glass. I drank it down, hardly noticing the strange taste.
The next morning, I woke up. My hair was standing on edge, and I felt something run through me- like being shocked, but it didn't hurt.
I leapt out of bed and ran toward the kitchen. The blender was still sitting unwashed in the sink, with a thin silver liquid inside. Little pieces of wire were stuck to the sides.
I touched the edge of the counter and gasped. The whole counter had begun faintly glowing.
“This isn't good,” I whispered.
My little brother looked up from his bowl of Cheerios and smiled at me, the gap between his teeth making him look even more mischievious.

(I don't actually have a little brother- but it seemed like something my little sister would do XD)

Daily Haiku-

Brown fur, sunlight wisps
A deer lounging in pine shade
Stare across a field

Word Wars

War w/ embXR_THEauthZr

There's a lot that you don't know about me.
Those words have haunted my thoughts since I left Emmi, when I told her that she was exactly where she should be. She had stared at me with her sad, amber eyes and whispered those words as though they held the secret to a life she'd never lived.
Now, looking at the hazy sky, I knew that what she had said was true. I didn't know anything about my frined. Was she a villain in this world, or a hero? Could she truly save someone, but risk everything else in the process? Emmi was the one person who could never be less selfish. She was kind, sweet, everything a hero should be, everything I wanted to be. And yet, here she was. Doing what I least expected her to do. I almost broke down crying
The sky filed with more firey dust, choking me and making me wish that I had never left my home. I realized that even if this was the cost, I was grateful. I knew that I could never turn back as long as Emmi was still like this.
I grip the sword next to the iceberg and try not to scream. It's coming.
As Emmi approaches me, eyes bloodshot, I know that she's going to make the worst decision ever.

(225 words)

Word War with BookLover209

I think that the walls are speaking to me again, and they are speaking as though they were guilty.
I nearly screamed when they started whispereig to me again. It was very strange to ever hear the walls speak, but it had been years since they'd last spoken to me.
“Are…are you going to hurt me?” I asked. They had hurt me so many years ago, and I was terrified of how much pain they could possibly cause me now that I was in a much weaker state than ever before.
“No,” the right wall said. I'd always adored the right wall. He'd been a kind friend,much kinder than all the other walls. I called him the right wall, even though I could turn in any direction and a different wall could be the right wall. I called him that because he had a sign hung upon him that read ‘choose the wrong or the right,’ and I loved that about him. He always made the right decisions.
The other walls, however, aren't as kind. They taunted me, screamed at me, and hurt me. I was ready to fight back, no matter how weak I was feeling. I grasped the leg of the table I was collapsed next to. I yanked it off of the main parts of the table and held it against the eastern wall. It began shrieking, but it was a suspicious screech. I nearly hesistated.

(240 words)

Word War with syrozenne

Someone once told me that I knew very little about them. Nearly nothing.
Of course, that was very true. They were a stranger to me at the time.
When I finally saw them again years later, I knew that I would know so much more about them. I would learn that they were a wicked person, an evil being here to torture.
I finally worked up the nerve to pull myself away from my thoughts.
“Are you kidding me?” I screamed at them from where I was sitting in the cave.
They wwere digging through my stuff, my money and my different soul gems. As though they had only been looking, they looked up in shock like they just noticed that they were doing something wrong and that they had been caught.
“I'm not kidding at all, deearest,” he said.
“Don't call me dearest, alright?” I replied.
He smiled at me and continued digging through it. Finally, he found a blue soul gem and he held it between his fingers, as though it were greater than all others. In truth, I hadn't really valued it at all until he began searching for it. I nearly screamed again at seeing the happy, evil look on his face. He grinned at it, at me, at the cave walls.

Word War with syrozenne

I hate dry skin. It's disgusting, truly.
I especially hate eating it. It feels so soft and icky and flaky and I absolutely cannot stand it. Plus, it tastes like the souls of the dead. Not that I would know what that tastes like. But maybe I do. Whatever.
Anyway, it was my birthday a few weeks ago, and my dear sweet mother looked at me the day before and asked if I wanted dry skin for my birthday breakfast. It was a ridiculous quesiton, but then I realized that I hadn't ever told her how much I hated dry skin. Normally, it's a delicacy. But only crazy people would truly think that it tasted good.
“Uhh, no thanks,” I told her.
She nodded slowly, lost in thought. m mother was an excellent cook, and she was lost in thought over what could be a possible replacement for dry skin.
“Maybe pensions?” she said.
Yes!“ I cried.
The idea of the delicious paper slip sliding down my throat, creating those soul tickling paper cuts in my throat almost made me shiver with delight.
Then, I finally got to eat it.
It was so much better than I possibly could have expected it to be. Of course, I had to drink it with a glass of orange juice. Who ever heard of pensions without a good cup of orange juice? It's a ridiculous thought, truly.
As I sipped my juice and ate my penisons, I smiled at my mother. However, my happiness died when she pulled out a plate of dry skin, which was covered in parsley for seasoning.
”How about dessert?" she said.

Word War with Sandy-Dunes

My problem is that there is so much about me that no one knows.
I am not just the person that everyone perceives me as. I am so much more.
I am a creator and destroyer of worlds. I have brought about joy, and yet, I have brought about great, if accidental destruction. I have helped hundreds of people find hope, while killing others.
The thing is that I'm not even out of junior high yet.
I have to attend tedious hours of english classes and endure painful periods of learning basic algebraic functions, while I should be creating planets for people to live on.
It's frusterating, to put it lightly.
My math teacher often tells me that the world doesn't hinge entirely on people's basic junior high concerns.
Well, maybe this world doesn't hinge on my junior high concerns, but others do. There are so many places across universes and dimensions that fully depend on my life, my mood, my decision. It's not great wehn your teenage mood swings can completely change the course of an entire universe, but such is life.
Anyway, one day I was sitting in Social Studies, learning about the American Revolution for the one hundred thousandth time, when I suddenly heard a cry come pouring out from the central hallway.
I knew that cry.
I immediately asked my teacher for the bathroom, and she begrudgingly gave it to me. I grasped it between my fingers and practically sprinted outside of the classroom, much to the confusion of my fellow students.
I ran into the hallway, which was entirely abandoned, except for one of the janitors. I waved a hand, and he immediately disappeared, likely showing up on the other side of the school and having no clue that one of the students had just exercised godly powers on him.
A little being was sitting in the hallway, looking at me.
I knew what was cokng.
One of the worlds needed help, and I was in the middle of class.
Wonderful, I thought sarcastically.

Word War with Sandy-Dunes

“And you believed me?” Emii yelled. She cried and sobbed, but I couldn't feel upset at her. Well, actually, I could. But I couldn't find the sadness in my heart to sob. All I felt was pure, red hot, painful, and burning anger. I felt like my mind was bout to implode. It felt like I had eaten a hundred spicy peppers and all of their fire and gone into my bloodstream and into my brain. I was on fire. I was fire.
“Yes, of course I believed you! I'd known you long enough to know that you're normally a trustowrthy person, unless I was wrong about you!” I yelled.
My words seemed to hit her, because she reeled back like I had smacked her with a wet towel.
“How dare you?” she said. I was guessing that she wanted it to sound angry and upset, but she actually just sounded heartbroken, like someone who had just lost something important to her.
In truth, she had.
She had lied to me about having powers like mine. Was it jealousy? Or did she just not believe me and pretended to go along with what she thought were my delusions?
I was furious. Plain and simple, I was absolutely furious.
At her, and at me for believing her like a fool.

(219 words)

Word War with Inky

I groaned as I watched the ghosts follow me again.
Those translucent, evil beings, that fill my head with cruel thoughts and make my head spin. I go to class, and there they are, telling me that the quadratic formula has a seventeen in it. I hate them.
I've had them since I could remember. Since infancy. I've spent my whole life with wicked, thoughtless voices telling me to do things. I can see them, I can hear them, and occasionally, I can even smell the rancid scent of long-dead flesh exuding from them. But, of course, in the normal fashion of most curses, no one else can sense them.
Somehow, I knew even as a young girl that I shouldn't tell anyone about them. I used to speak to them when I was young- though they never responded, but my parents always assumed that it was just me speaking with imaginary friends and the like. I knew not to tell anyone about them, because I knew I'd end up in a nuthouse our something.
I kept the spirits and the hauntings to myself.
Except, one day, as I watched the ghosts go away from me as they normally do once a day, I decided to ignore the voice in my heart that was begging to enjoy the reprieve while I could. I followed where they went.
I ditched class to follow them…. but honestly, it wasn't that much of a loss.
I watched them, their glassy forms slip-sliding away from me, and I knew that I had to follow them. I absolutely had to.
I ran.
Hours.
What felt like days.
Finally, I made it to a beautiful place, ringed with ghostly trees. They were entirely stripped of leaves, but the spiderwebs on them, covered in dew made it look as though they had phantom leaves.
The ghosts gathered at the center of the clearing.
316 words.

Word War with @smalltoe

I swear to you, there is nothing more therapuetic than throwing pencils at a wall when you're in a furious rage.
There I was, with a fistful of pencils in my tightened hands, and I was chucking them at the wall and sobbing.
I was writing about my experiences! Why was I having writers block for something that I already knew how it happened? I didn't need an outline, I'd just lied it. I didn't need to plot anything, my diary served as plot enough.
I tried writing a song. I tried telling the world about my struggles through music.
And from there, it went off the rails. I couldn't stand it anymore. The writer's blcok had simply become too much for me. I couldn't do it.
I grabbed one of the pencils that I had thrown, I grabbed a match, and I struck it. The sound was satisfying, and I felt the fire a few inches away from my exposed fingers. I set the pencil on fire. It made a lovely sight, all that wood and graphite on fire.
I finally chucked the lightened pencil at the wall and I watched as the wall burst into complete and total flames. it probably helped that I normally covered my wall in incredible amounts of oil.
Life of an arsonist writer, you know. That was it all.

Word War with Recca

My story ended right where it began.
You see, I was sitting by the lake. It was a peaceful day, cardinals singing overhead and little animals and bugs down below hopping around and going about their daily business.
Within momments, the world went from paradise to pain.
I was suddenly lost in a world of stars going silent and days going dark. It was pain, it was agony. I wept tears for the souls who lost themselves. It was a cruel world I'd been brought to. Even with our flaws, this world make ours look like utopia.
I was there for only a moment, yet the cold still stings me.
And suddenly, it was gone again. I was back on the bench by the lake, and I could smell the rain.
My story ended right where it began.
138 words

July 6th

Bi-Daily-

Dystopia

Intro-
*whispered*
Two years, two tears, swept in a cliffside arm
We met, you and I, in an Animal Farm

Verse-
I walked from the willow with my head held high
I left all we'd known, I gave myself a try
From a tower you stare like you're in an election
You smirk at me as I make my Selection*


Chorus-
And ev'ry dystopia looks like paradise
The devil's in the details- he makes them look nice
If our time is so perfect, why am I so down?
If you and I are so equal, why do you wear a crown?

Verse-
After ten months of living your comforting pain
After weekdays of hiding my blue-bruised stain
I breathe ‘cause I know that I’m just your fail
So sick of living in your Handmaiden's Tale*

Chorus-
And ev'ry dystopia looks like paradise
The devil's in the details- he makes them look nice
If our time is so perfect, why am I so down?
If you and I are so equal, why do you wear a crown?

Verse-
Mid-September you told me why you hated me so
You came back smiling like you never said it, though
Then I cried and I told myself that I'd make myself free
No one stands pain to the four-five-first degree*


Chorus-
And ev'ry dystopia looks like paradise
The devil's in the details- he makes them look nice
If our time is so perfect, why am I so down?
If you and I are so equal, why do you wear a crown?

Bride-
I'm waiting for when you'll take some blame
Every sunlit day feels like your Hunger Games*
I'll cry for each time you made my head swirl
But know I'm ready to Brave this New World*

Chorus
And ev'ry dystopia looks like paradise
The devil's in the details- he makes them look nice
If our time is so perfect, why am I so down?
If you and I are so equal, why do you wear a crown?

Final Verse-
Even after it's done, you'll feel like a Giver*
You'll never realize the pain you deliver
But someday you'll know why I left for a while
And that's when I'll finally move past your trial

Outro-
Dystopia left to a paradise
Devil left, yet I cried twice
You didn't know how far I'd drowned
And someday you'll throw down that fire-cracked crown


Note- Every word(s) with a * means that it's in reference to a dystopian novel- Animal Farm (George Orwell), The Selection (Kiera Cass), The Handmaiden's Tale (Margaret Atwood), Farenheit 451 (Ray Bradbury), The Hunger Games (Suzanne Collins), Brave New World (Aldouz Huxley), the Giver (Lois Lowry)

Daily Haiku-
Wide-eyed morning sound
Whispers and footsteps and laughs
Touch a silent time

July 7th

Bi-Daily above

Daily Haiku-

Fields passing me by
Green, lone trees on rolling hills
A racing heartbeat

Cabin Wars I

Emiline ran down the paved streets, wondering where the bird could have possibly gone.
After all, it's not very often that you see a glass bird.
The truth was, it wasn't the first time that Emiline had seen a bird like that. She remembered seeing it for the first time- in fact, she remembered it all too well.
She gasped as she followed it as fast as she could. She grasped the slingshot that hung on her belt. She didn't want to shoot the bird down, but she might have to shoot the birds around it down if she was going to keep her sights on it.
She heard her friend Lissy behind her, gasping for breath even more than her. Emiline knew that Lissy still wasn't entirely convinced of her friend's sanity, but she followed her anyway. And that's what Emiline appreciated about her. She put up with Emiline's crazy and even seemed to go along with it occasionally.
Emiline was keeping her eyes up to the sky when she whacked into someone. The man looked at her in confusion, but she brushed past him, grabbing Lissy's hand and pulling her along.
“We've got to catch up to it!” Emiline cried.
She could just barely see the bird flitting around gently. Emiline knew that there was something special about it, and she knew that she had something to do with it. Emiline didn't normally rely on her instincts, but this glass bird… she just knew somehow. And she wasn't going to let it leave like it left her three years ago. She was thirteen now, which gave her plenty of knowledge to know that this bird was unique. When she was ten, she was utterly baffled by the bird, but part of her wondered if it was normal. Now, she was wisened enough to know that it was important.
These thoughts kept her running.
“Emi, you've got to slow down! Maybe it was a bluebird and you thought it looked like the sky!” Lissy pleaded.
“I know what I'm talking about, Lis,” she replied. “And I can't let it leave again!”
Lissy huffed, but Emiline couldn't tell if it was from exasperation or the long, winding, fast-paced run.
The August sun beat down on them as they kept running, past a candle-maker who cursed at them for nearly knocking him over when he was carrying a load of wax.
Finally, Emiline saw it, resting on a cherry tree branch.
She had no clue what she was doing. Maybe she really was going mad.
Nevertheless, she ignored Lissy's confused laugh and began to speak to the bird.
“What are you?” she asked.
The bird cocked its glassy, shimmering head, and for a moment Emiline was terrified that it wasn't going to say anything.
However, for the first time, Emiline's instincts were correct.
“Emiline, I'd appreciate it if you'd please put up the slingshot. I don't really appreciate it. You know, it looks a little bit threatening” the bird said.
With shaking hands, she slid the slingshot into her pack. She didn't like the idea of being undefended, but if the bird would only speak to her if she put the slingshot away, then so be it.

Rant for words

I am really tired and Idon't want to have to pack for writer's camp even though I'm really excited. I probably have to get the app for it soon but I don't want to have to get up and my phone is all the way across the room. I should probably eat something but I'm probably going to eat dinner. Wait NOO I have to wake up early tomorrow. I just heard my parents talking in the other room and they said I have to wake up early. I'm really excited for the next Percy Jackson book. I can't wait to see the original trio back together for another quest!! I listened to the Lighting Thief audiobook while I was on my road trip today and I hate the person who read it! They made Mr. D sound ridiculous (or more so than normal I guess), they made Percy sound like he's a complete idiot (and he's only partly an idiot, and a great idiot at that), and worst of all, they made Annabeth, my favorite character in the whole thing, sound like a very sweet, girly, princess. NO. YOU DON'T DO THAT. I was pretty ticked. Anyway, I'm going to go check my messages. It's probably about the word war I was planning.

Cont. Rant

I have no idea if I won the word war because the person I warred had a higher words per minute than I did, so I'm a little bit nervous. At least I'll get the 25 points from using a prompt. I really liked the prompt I used. I need to probably go take care of things but I'm the only active one during this cabin war so I'm stressed out of my mind. I'm listening to death by a thousand cuts right now and oh my gosh it's so good. Well, actually, I'm listening to the acoustic version on the tiny desk concert that Taylor Swift did but still it's absolutely amazing. It's really weird being new to listening to her music because I feel like I've been missing out on so much for so long. I'm going to go check to see if I won the war, but I don't know if they're done yet. Well, actually, I need to turn on another song first.
Alright, no verdict on the word war yet, but it'll probably come soon if I had to bet. I'm staring at my screen and it feels weird. I'm wearing my glasses for the first time in a long time, because I forgot to bring my contacts on vacation, so I'd been wearing the same daily pair for a week, and I decided to wear glasses so that my eyes could air out for a day or so. I swear, if I forget my contact lenses when I go to writer's camp, I'll be furious. The worst part was that I remembered to bring the contact lense solution, but not the contacts?? Seriously, I was having a strange Poppy brain blip that day. I can't wait for the next weekly to come out since the last one was so incredibly fun. I need to go pack but I'm the only active camper in my cabin right now so I'm stressed out of my mind. I really can't wait to go to writer's camp, but I'm stressed too because, even though I've flown on airplanes at least 40 times, I've never had to do it without my parents. Plus, I'll have to do it with my older brother, and I don't know how well he knows the airport either. I'm hoping it'll go ok, but I'm really nervous about losing my luggage or something like that. I mean, then we'd have to live for a week without it, and that's so scary to me. But I'm also really excited to go since I'll get to meet some authors that I really like and I'm also just excited to meet everyone and to write with them. The two electived I picked were MIx and Match (learning about different types of writing like poetry, etc) and another one about worldbuilding, which I'm excited for since I'm still getting the hang of that skill.
Wait I have a message! I bet it's the word war results.
Nope, it turned out to be Wild adding words for our war! Way to go Wild- an amazing former and current cabinmate if I've ever seen one.
I should probably go work on my novel, but I'm really stressed about it and I'm suffering serious writer's block. I really do love the character that I've created for Keira, because she's a lot like me and she has this feeling about her that makes writing her character's chapters so fun. Oop, time for me to go change my song.
Alright, I changed it again.
How is this rant only like 600 words so far? I should probably go eat dinner, shouldn't I?
I just realized that between everything, I won't have been home for a full twenty four hours until the end of the month, between vacation, the funeral, writer's camp, and everything else. I had a babysitting job offered to me this morning and I was really sad that I had to turn it down because I love that family's kids! They are just the sweetest, and I love them so much because they're so sweet and curious. Like, for example, I taught one of them how to fold paper cranes and they were being so sweet and adorable! And then the other one grabbed my hand with her little one and she just smiled at me and told me that she loved me. Seriously, sometimes babysitting is awful (for example, when I babysat tha family and one of the girls peed, the other one wouldn't go to bed so she threw her stuff at me, including a box of blue makeup that hit me in the head and left me baby-blue for the rest of the day, and the oldest girl was super overwhelmed), but it can also be amazing sometimes. I can't wait to babysit for my aunt and uncle in a few days.
Time to change my music again!
Ooh, I love this song so much. It just kind of reminds me of being in the honors cohort and being faced by the sexism in that group. I'm not kidding, that place was ridiculous- so many of the people there were super racist and sexist and a million other things. This song just makes me think about how much I want to yell at them to be quiet. It's sort of therapeutic, I guess- being angry at those idiots. XD
Alright, I'm really close to getting 1000 words on this rant! That's not too bad! Then we'll be less than a thousand words away from finishing this war, and that's really good. Plus, then our shield would be up for a few more hours. I'm just really worried because I can't be on here forever since I'll have to go pack for camp and do laundry in a bit, and I want to be able to write for a lot longer. I should probably be writing my novel or my short story right now instead of ranting like nuts, but it counts as words, doesn't it?
Ooh, this is another good song.
I think that this is probably really close to a thousand words, so I'll go check.
Yep, it is!

Short Story

I stood up and stretched. I did some quick hand and finger stretches before grabbing my bow off of the stand.
As soon as I start playing, I get completely lost. The whole rest of the world fades away, leaving me and the page and the music. Nothing else. The sounds of the sink and the TV in the background fade away. I can't see anything except for the page in front of me. My eyes dance around the page at the notes while my fingers similarly dance across the fingerboard. I can't even feel my fingers pressing the strings down, it just seems to happen.
The anxiety about auditions and performances fade away. Everything fades.
I only notice my family gaping at me when the piece ends.
(will continue later, I have to go unpack and work on my online class )
“What?” I said.

Rant

I don't want to work on PE right now but I have to because I want to be able to finish the semester before July ends but this whole thing is absolutely insane. I have to do a bunch of dumb stretches and execises and a bajillion other things. I also have to watch a bunch of lessons and videos and frankly most of them range from useless to downright offensive. Seriously, some of them give genuinely unhealthy advice. Some of them, at least, are useful, like the one about CPR.
I'm reallly bored and I want to practice violin as you can see from the unfinished and likely to remain unfinished short story above. I'll probably add these words and then I'll keep working on my class like a responsible human being.

Flash Fic

I stand upon the hilltop, wishing more than anything that I could just throw this little carved elephant away instead of enduring the suffering that it will inevitably put me through.
I run my fingers along the carved trunk, the carved tusks, the little obsidian eyes. If only I could throw this away and pretend everything that happened in the last ten months… didn't.
But if I had learned anything in those painful, learning months, it's that wishful thinking is useless.

July 8th

Daily-
Cabin Wars above!

Daily Haiku-

Incomplete, and will likely remain that way…

Critique for Star

I did it section by section, just for clarity.

- I really liked the intro- it's intruguing, and it definitely draws the reader in. I think that overall, you picked a really good topic that a lot of writers would want to learn about and focus on in many stories. The whole introduction is really descriptive and kind of gives an idea of what the experience is like, so you could imagine yourself in the character's shoes.
- You were very complete in the list of questions that you should consider when writing that sort of story, and I even considered a lot of them in regards to a story I wrote several years ago that focused on characters being in a state of possession. I realized that I'd made several mistakes, so this section was incredibley helpful! I think the one question I might add to the list (this is just my personal opinion, but also I'm kind of an insane weirdo of a writer, so you can competely disregard this if you wish) is asking what genre it is, and how might that affect why they're being possessed. For example, which methods might be possible to possess someone in fantasy vs sci fi vs steampunk vs magical realism, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera. Other than that very tiny thing, it's a wonderful section! You were very thorough, which is a very admirable trait when making a writing workshop.
- I loved this! I love how your workshop does such a good job as helping the writer along with ideas. This section does a great job of showcasing how much you've thought of this- just reading it, I can tell that you've spent a lot of time focusing on this topic and thinking of the different elements of having a possessed character, and your clear knowledge of it helps the reader be more engaged in the topic.
- Really well thought-out section. My only comment would be to extend it a little bit.
- This section was a little bit unclear to me (it may be that I'm really tired, though), so maybe go into more detail?
- Ooh, I've never considered telling a story from that kind of perspective. Really interesting!
- A really great section! No other comments

July 17th

It's good to be back from camp!

Daily-

I picked up the saxophone- a beautiful, shining brass instrument.
The cold metal on my hands was a refreshing feeling compared to the sweat running along my palms. I took a deep breath, but it nearly turned into a choke.
“You may begin,” the auditioner said. They kept their eyes glued on the clipboard in front of them, which was probably a good thing- if they had seen the look on my face, they probably would have rushed me to the intensive care unit, and I wouldn't have been able to audition.
Another deep breath, and I blew softly into the saxophone. A soft, jazzy melody came out of it, filling the large, empty auditorium with sound.
Despite the slip-slidey feeling in my stomach, I was able to completely fall into a magical state of half-awareness when I played. Me, the instrument, the sound, the paper. Nothing else. I was completely lost in my craft.
I suddenly heard the auditioner scream bloody murder. I moved the saxophone away from my lips. I glanced around in complete confusion. The auditioner was still screaming, and the sound of her shrieks bombarded my ears, a complete change from the laid-back jazz tune I'd been playing moments before.
She began to point at my saxophone, still screaming as though judgment day had come.
I felt a rush of embarrassment come to me. Was she screaming at my bad playing?
I'd practiced for so long. Hours, days. I'd spent so much time slaving over my saxophone, studying my pieces, critiquing my playing, only for her to scream like I had played something so disgusting, she could hardly believe I had the gall to play it for her?
“Demon!” she screamed.
Only then did I realize that there was a chilling feeling in the room… and it wasn't nerves or stress or even the air conditioning.
I felt the saxophone drop from my fingers.
A cackle arose from the being slipping out of my instrument.
A little ghost, no larger than my hand, arose before me.
I'd had a ghost living in my saxophone.
Hysterical laughter rose from my throat.

Daily Haiku-

A week moved by fast
Poems read, tears wept, laughter shared
Marty's inhaler

Writing Camp Work

So I was at writing camp for a week, and here's the random nonsense I churned out while there-

Writing Scribble-
I am a writer. I am. I have been, I am, and I always will be. I love words. I love that each one, no matter what, had a feeling and a meaning. Isn't it glorious? That every single pencil stroke or keyboard tap is a teeny tiny fragment of a word that holds meaning, and all of those meanings combined make for stories and worlds and thoughts and feelings? If I should ever have to lose one of my talents, I'd never pick writing. It's my joy and my therapy and my unfiltered thoughts. Every character, every story, every word is a little bit of me, a piece to be preserved. I can't live without it. I write when I'm happy. I write when my tearsdrops make my keyboard wet and my pages soggy and gross. I write when I'm so nervous I can barely get the words out. I am a writer, and I am words. I am words. I can't live without them. My characters are some of my best friends, and my settings are homes, which is probably why I spend so much time in them. Every day. Even when I'm not writing, I'm still sutck i my word-world, with my characters talking to me and to each other in distinct voices. I love writing. So much. I have many pieces that I'm proud of. Even little unfinished story fragments from when I was eight, nine, ten, mean the world to me. They are precious memories of me when I was younger, whether or not they are fictitious. They are relics of myseld. I can look back and old pieces and I can become, just for a moment, who I was- I get put back in old worlds in my head. It's like dusting off old memories. All writing is precious, because all words are treasures- they are everything.
(315 words)

Great American Blurb Brainstorm
-Plot, setting, character, genre
- Dystopian/Realistic
-Alternating POVs
-Child dies at beginning
-Agdalen Yat, Ben Solice, on run from plague
- no name diarist
- A Ramshackle Paradise
- A Broken Eden
-Solace in Shambles
- Eden in Pieces
- Run from Eden
- Escape from Eden
- “World changing, seriously. I have no regrets in buying this book, and neither will anyone who reads this.”
- “Drop what you're doing and read this. Each word, each chapter, all of it left me breathless in the best way possible.”
- “This book is a wonder. It is, without a doubt, one of the best novels I've read recently.”

(99 words)

Sensory Details

Sight words- iridescent, ramshackle, glassy
Smell- musty, intoxicating, putrid, aromatic
Sound- melodic, cacophonous, discord, squelched, screeched
Taste- sharp, tangy, sickeningly sweet
Touch- silky, icy, pinpircks, velvety, coarse
Movement- panicked, slithery, hesitant

Sensory Exercises-

An anxious, wild gaze, staring toward an oncoming danger. Shallow, seemingly airless breaths. A sign, telling of a wicked, thieving bird. By his side stands a little figure of innocence, staring hopefully and happily, though somewhat hesitant, at the danger. The savory stench lingers almost threateningly in the air.
My fingers curl along the cold edges of the porcelain plate anxiously awaiting the upcoming meal. The violet of the blueberries stands out against the sky hues of the plate. The dizzying scent of maple reaches my nose, washing every sense in a feeling of anticipation. With a shriek, my younger sister knocks the plate out of my hand. I scream as my meal is stolen from me in one swift, painful, moment.
Thrilled cries sweep across the yard as we pull the stump, painted with celebratory colors, from the ground. My hands ache, the scratches pour drops of blood, but all they are are symbols of our triumph. The smell of dirt makes my mind hazy and tired, but I don't care- the victory is too sweet.
The sky above me is nothing but fire, as though the Roman gods of long ago were lighting things ablaze- Jupiter letting flames gather and crowd his domain. The statues atop the structure seem to be reaching up, trying to feel the searing hear of their fire enveloped sky.
The children shriek as the egg shaped lamp hits the ground and cracks open, instantly lighting the room. Flames spread rapidly across the wooden floor, like water across a tabletop. The flaims catch the tips of the wig, slowly climbing, proclaiming doom to the wearer. A scream echoes. The dragon artifact, seemingly a stuffed animal, has finally brought about a fiery vengeance.

(322 words)

Walk & Write

I walk through the area aimlessly, grasping at leaves and branches. I yank them off of the trees before dropping them. It's a pointless, repetitive motion but it provides solace from my anxious thoughts. I pull another shining green leaf from a shrub. As soon as I did, I felt a pain in my hand. I instinctively drop the plant. Blood slips down my fingers and onto my wrist, the red hue mingling with the green stains from the leaves.
“Thorns,” I thought. I grind my foot into the dropped plant.
Pointless anger courses through me, and nothing can stop it. I scream and yank leaves off of every tree I see. My shouts mix with the birdsong in the forest, creating a jumbled, melancholy melody.
“It's happening again,” I whisper.
I collapse on the forest floor, surrounded by the leaf carnage of my own making. With a huffed breath, I wipe the blood from my fingers and palms onto a nearby tree.
The blood leaves a crimson stain on the bark.
Only then did I realize my stupidity. Instantly, the leaves fall from the tree, brown and black as though it were winter. The once strong tree droops, eventually falling to the ground. The sound it makes feels like a hopeless, pleading cry, a sound very familiar to me.
I have the killing, destroying blood.
A drop spilt means a life lost.
I cannot control it, and I shouldn't fight it.
I do.
“Stupid,” I whisper to myself.

(249 words)
—
Poem-

Devilish, wicked grin
A smile that always existed
Hidden behind false kindness
A time that left me listless

You used to laugh
Giggle like today was it all
Then you lost your smile
You let your kindness fall

I still remember each blue bruise
I remember each wicked smile
You're the thing that can't be killed
You're that lingering trial

A warm and fly-by August day
A missing piece I'd found
But you lost it all, it all went wrong
Then we buried it in ice-cold ground

No one ever held you back
In line, you were never last
You're the villain in the storybook
But without the tragic past

(110 words)
—
Flashfic

I tiptoed across the round, though I was still already far away fromo the danger. I had the cloack wrapped tightly around me, with the hood pulled low over my face. The thick fabric and my heaving breathing made me feel like I was being drowned.
Get away, I thought. That had been my chant since I'd left my home. I had to get away from my past. I was in danger for no fault of my own.
Only I knew of my innoncent, unless you counted the dead.
I held my hand in front of the lantern, trying to fim it without extinguishing the light. The fire nearly burnt my hand. The heat, the constant hear, seemed to be choking me.
I heard an anguished cry of rage echo across the field.
With a steeling breath, I threw off the coat and ran.
(146 words)

Metaphor Exercise

Songs become my soul
A constant, changing tune
Of dreams and hopes and broken goals
And sunlit days gone all too soon

Courageous choruses, a heartbroken verse
A shifting melody of unspoken thoughts
Long lists of things I'll always curse
Lyrics mourning happiness lost

A drawn out, crying, sweet refrain
Of fighting for better days
A falling cry of bitter pain
And slowly, surely, finding a way

(67 words)

Walk and Write II

I grasp at the tree branch, trying to pull myself up.
I'm danging above the ground by one hand, which was already growing tired.
Below me, the small stream of silver liquid sloshes against the riverbank, the sound reminding me of what would happen if I failed.
“Get the leaf!” Sawyer cries from the branch below me.
“What do you think I'm doing?” I yell back. I knew I was ebing short, but firstly, the situation called or it, and secondly, we'd been friends for long enough that she knew to forgive me for the things I said while I was under pressure.
A river of lost memories runs below me, and a single bronze lead above me holds the secret to obtaining the memories. If I slipped, the river would drown me and add everything I'd learnt to its store of missing thoughts. The stress choked me.
I tried to pull myself up on the branch above me. I could see the lead- the way to bring back all of the secrets of mankind. The branch broke, and I felt a cold sensation consume me.
(186 words)

Poem-

I knew you didn't mean it
But I still wonder if everyone sees it
In honesty, it's a momentary lapse
That doesn't mean castles don't collapse

Six hundred housand staring eyes
Melogies coming out as silent cries
A feeling of sea sick, ice cold stress
A judgemental glare, an insult you press

Sitting and dreaming of a later date
Hoping and praying for a better fate
Knowing tomorrow is far too soon
Words fall out and sing a silent tune

(80 words)

Drop-Dead

No one knew the witch was dead.
Thoughts of her wrinkled, scrunched up face crossed my mind as I sat on my four poster bed, the very same I'd had since I was an infant, taken from my home to live out my days in a crumbling stone tower. The witch had told me every day how lucky I'd been to have been removed from society. By the six thousand, four hundred and fifty third time she told me it, wither her smirking motherly face and hard green eyes, I'd decided I was sick of her ‘oh-so-holy’ sentiments. The next morning, I chopped off half my hair as she was climbing it, sending her flailing toward the forest floor.
I didn't even bother to take care of the body. It eventually decomposed into some very nice compost, and there are even some lovely flowers growing there now. To this day, I smile whenever I see them.

(156 words)

Rants I wrote when I had the cheeriest of the cheery cases of writer's block

Stupid blank page
Ughh why am I so bad at writing? I'm awful at this and I hate sharing my writing because it's bad and awful (I was clearly in a fantastic mood).
Poem-
Pencil poised above a page
No ideas what to write
Feeling burnt out at a young age
Words don't feel quite right

Holding stories out of reach
Begging not to share a word
What ideas could I possibly teach?
Each page, worth less than dirt

Vent- I am being a perfectionist. I am not writing good stuff.

(91 words)

Show, Don't Tell Exercise

The cliff beneath me shook as a dragon landed behind me. Even before he had landed, I had smelled the stench of smoke coming my way. I didn't even look up to see who it was.
“You did well,” the dragon said, and I recognized its voice as Sthor.
“In a sense,” I mumbled. I stared across the four lands, once united on a grand plateau overlooking a desert. Now, cracks ran along it, cutting them apart. A fire raged in the southwestern sector, filling the area with an ominous light.
The destruction, all of it, was of my own doing. My own recklessness. My naivete.
“You are regretting,” Sthor said.
He was reading my thoughts. Invading my privacy of mind. A burst of anger ran through my veins. I stood up, my fury overtaking me. I nearly tripped over the stones of the cliff in my haste, but I didn't even notice in my hot-headed fury.
“Yes, I am!” I yelled. “Wouldn't you?”
Sthor knew much of my wrongdoings, yet his face remained calm.
“I wouldn't, truly,” he said.
“It's destruction!” I yelled.
“It's rebirth.”
“Still!” I cried. “Death, pain!”
“No good thing can come about without both,” he said.

(201 words)

Ranting and Brainstorming

Bury me in my own remains
If you could ever find them
Sensibility lost in disdain
All you could do is condemn

Ughh.

I don't knowww ahh uhh I have no ideaass mpphhhahh nooo aghh uhhh I can't wriiite auhhh ughhhh ahhh ahhhhhhhh I DON'T KNOW WHAT TO WRITE- whoa that handwriting makes me look like a serial killer. Cool.
(Literally, exactly what I wrote).

(65 words)

Steampunk Exercise

Most cities would fade as the sunlight did, but London seemed to glow as the sun set.
I stand on the riser, looking down on the lamplit city. Bonfires are being lit across the city, celebrating the Fifth of November. From dozens of stories above the rooftops, each building looks like a thing of myth, a being of gears and wood.
Eventually, the smoke from the riser clouds my eyes, and I nod to the man operating the machine. He dips his head in acknowledgement and slowly turns the crank counterclockwise, lowering the machine's platform until my feet touch the pavement.
I tip the gentleman generously and I walk away, smoothing the folds of my skirt to remove any ash.
I walk across the city leisurely, waving at old friends. Occasionally, I will wave at a metal human, though I know they are unlikely to return the greeting.
As I approach the city center, intent on returning to our summer apartment for the Season, a crash echoes across the streets.
My heart stops.
(173 words)

Worldbuilding Map Practice

Indai-
Indai is a small city located near the forest of Lorelin. Generally used a a rest stop on trading routes, Indai is a very calm, peaceful place. When the protaginist, Kamist, is taken along with the rest of the village, the area is left open to thievery from otherworldly beings.
Castle Falais-
A castle located on a large misty mountain, inhabited by a corrupted human king and overlooking a city full of warlike people. Their forces eventually overrun Lorelain Forest and later Indai.
Fortress Kiyisi-
Located on a riverbank, Kiyisi is a walled area overseen by a lord. Unfortunately involved in the Falais trade overtake, they are fighting desperately to maintain their lands and to protect their trade routes from human greed.
Empo Mountain Range-
Populated by humans and half-eyes, these mountains are prone to landslides.
Cilliet Mountain Range-
Populated entirely by elifings, this area is generally very stormy and dangerous.
Spunlit Forest-
Named due to how the light is spun through the specially shaped leaves, this is an easily travelled forest where Kamist joins forces with a retired mercanary.
Castle Trellis-
A secluded castle inhabited by peaceful half-eyes, who hold the remaining records of the extinct dwarves. They assist in Kamist's education and help attack Falais during the story's climax.

(212 words)

Compelling Characters Exercises

1)) Loki tiptoed into the house and shut the door.
“Grandamama?” he whispered.
“Here,” a voice croaked, but it sounded surprisingly masculine and strangely hunky.
Loki peeked in and arched an eyebrow.
“Thor,” he said.
“Hello, dearest,” Thor said in a pathetic falsetto voice. “May I have one of those muffins?”
“Thor, this is pathetic,” Loki said.
“…but I wanted a muffin…” Thor moaned sadly.

2))Aururoriana was a Capital supporter. I would not stand for it.
Three days into our takeover, I tiptoed into her prison cell, which was surprisingly luxurious. She was out quarrying in the prison yard. I dropped nightlock into her daily fruit rations.
“Done,” I whispered, and I walked away.
The next time I walked into her cell, she was dead.
The weird thing was the dude sitting by her bed, leaning in like he was about to kiss her good.
“She's… dead…?” I said. He glanced up, like he couldn't believe I had the audacity to intrude, but it was him who was being a creep.
“But I love-” he began.
I shot him dead.

3)) The ugly duckling wept, his tears falling like morning rain into the pond.
“Ugly I am, and ugly I shall always be,” he bemoaned bitterly.
A crunch was heard.
“Lighten up,” a voice said. Another crunch.
“Pardon?” the duckling asked.
“I said lighten up, Feathers. You're not ugly,” the man said. He was wearing broken overalls and munching on corn chips. Fritos, the bag read.
“But I-I-” the duckling began.
“Are you blind? Look at the water, beauty queen,” the man said.
The duckling looked in and saw a swan.
“Wow,” he whispered.
“Yeah, wow,” Ralph said sarcastically.

4)) Inigo sat in the tower and slashed at pieces of straw.
“Foolishness,” he said to himself.
By becoming the Dread Pirate Roberts, he'd been in many situations, but this was ridiculous. Spin straw to gold? He would need a miracle, but Miracle Max was likely long gone.
Until he wasn't. He appeared.
“I'LL SPIN IT IF YOU GET ME A NICE MLT WITH THE MUTTON NICE AND-”
“Alright!” Inigo shrieked. He tossed the straw to Max.
…
…
Little did Inigo know that there was a mutton shortage, and other arrangements would have to be made.

(374 words)

Walk & Write- Song Edition

(verse)
Remember our night staring at the stars
Said no other love could ever be like outs
Said that we'd found our ‘ever after’
Till I heard that distant, evil laughter

(chorus)
I was a supernova filling up a darkened night
You're a fallen star, fighting every fight
You turned around, didn't say goodbye
But that's alright, I don't care, you won't see me cry

(verse)
It was a night of falling stars and tears
Wondering why I'd stayed here all these years
You'd miss me when you saw the skies
Honestly, my eyes are paper dry

(chorus)

(bridge)
Mostly, nearly, almost there
I'm good at saying I don't care
But daylight fades as nighttime shows
I'm wondering where I'm left to go

(chorus)

(Outro)
But now it's over for good
No longer hiding behind a hood
Not using a fake ‘don’t care' cover
What ever happened to star-crossed lovers?

(150 words)
—
(Yes, this is botany themed. But that's what happens when you want to write a breakup song and you ask your roommates for a random topic)

(verse)
You handed me a bunch of flowers
Looked at me with heart-eye power
Those flowers turned out as poison weeds
Didn't know our love was botany

(chorus)
Fell for you like a winter dead hopeless tree
Wondered if you'd bring me red roses home to me
You and I wilted, falling like sunless plants
You left me, dead at our prom dance

(bridge)
Forests of sad memories
Twisted words sound flowery
Poison plants, deadly spines
Should've seen all the signs

(chorus)

(outro)
If roses are red
And violets are blue
If it were up to me
I never would've met you

(128 words)
—
Third Grade Breakup Song
Yes, it's a breakup song for third graders. You're welcome to all those heartbroken nine year olds out there.

(verse)
You looked at me ‘cross the cafeteria
Blue eyes the color of wisteria
Lost in your lovely playground gaze
Missing in our love-lost schooldays

(chorus)
You’re just a no-good schoolyard boy
Playing with me like your favorite playground toy
Left me for a blonde-haired fourth grade girl
You sick, twisted ruler of my pencilbox world

(verse)
Raised your hand in writing class
Winked at me through the window glass
Met me out in the third grade hall
Back then when I thought I had it all

(chorus)

(bridge)
Broken pencils ‘cross the floor
Tears behind a bathroom door
Is fourth grade really all that grand?
’Cause your gaze is on my unheld hand

(chorus)

(outro)
Cross the cafeteria
Lovely eyed wisteria
Walk across the third grade hall
Back when I knew I had it all

(136 words)
—
Population Worldbuilding Exercise

Half Eyes- half human, half elfing, they are called this because half of their eyes have a violet-blue pigment belonging to elfings.

Kamist's Backstory and Details
- Two sisters, Evi and Culci, and his two parents
- Mostly half eye blood, and the only known carrier of dwarf blood, which helps enhance strength, reaction time, and ability to absorb large amounts of information
- Coppery brown hair, purple and green eyes, freckles, average height
- Lived in Indai before the siege, taken to Falais and trained, escaped during a battle in which his family is killed, teams up with Kiyisi as a double agent, goes to Trellis, etc.

(104 words)
—
Implementation of Horror Techniques

(violence)

The drops from the leaky faucet hitting the metal sink can be heard echoing around the lower level of our house.
I wrap my Disney princess blanket around my shoulders tightly, my arms pulled close to my side beneath the fabric. I fill my water glass and take a long drink. The cold water makes my teeth ache.
I flip on the kitchen light, a singular lightbulb filling the nighttime darkness with bright yellow, 500 watt light.
The leaky sink continues its dripping in a seemingly panicked, yet steady rhythm.
I drop my cup next to the plates on the counter.
I hear a joint pop, and it's definitely not mine.
I whip around, slapping myself in the face with my long, flipping hair, but I don't see anyone in the general area.
I look outside. My parents Volvo car isn't parked, which means they're still on their business trip. My brother is locked in his room, asleep, and will be very angry at me and my mischief when he can't open the door the next morning.
I hear a bump, but my exhaustion smothers the unease in me, urging me toward the stairs and my queen sized bed, which is awaiting my return upstairs.
I hear an unholy, hollow shriek, and a flash of metal comes at me.
I duck in time to avoid the kitchen knife.
I look up, and my brother is holding it.
Before he can slash at me again I knock it to the ground with the cutting board on the counter beside me.
My brother's eyes suddenly pop open.
He had been sleeping.
I only glance at him once- horrified, betrayed, scared, before running upstairs and toward his room.
The knob- and lock- are ripped out of the wooden door, leaving splinters spread across the carpet.
He'd ripped it out with inhuman strength.
I back away again as he suddenly grabs his lamp and swings it in my direction, his eyes closed once more.

(330 words)
—
Random Snippets

Cinderella crying in her room
Angrily grasping at a soot-stained broom
Wishing she'd never left for the ball
Hearing voices out in the hall
//
We never planned any part of it
Missing long days I'll always covet
//
My ‘studio’ is my desk or the couch. I'm lazy, and I can see random stuff. I'm just cozy and it keeps me from stressing about my writing too much. My studio also includes my *headphones!*
I write in the morning, afternoon, night, or any time that you should totally be asleep. I can write nearly every week day, for about thirty minutes up to two hours after school or in between classes, and I can write for hours and hours on weekends, including after three in the morning.
//
The following is a list of things that keep me from writing-
School, tired, phone, violin, piano, ukulele, choir, family, babysitting, responsibility, eating, homework, hand cramps, and sickness.
//
My ‘writing studio’ sign
“WRITING STUDIO”
Belonging to (irl first name the irl last name)
Don't you dare disturb me
Leave me alone or suffer the consequences
I'm /writing/, for heaven's sake
Get the /heck/ out
…
…
Love you! <3
//
Total snippet word count-
197 words
—
Lit Slam Entry

I wrote up my name for this camp's lit slam
I had six thousand ideas, then *bam*!
They left my brain in ten seconds flat
Now I'm left with a ‘cat on a mat’

And here I stand like a right old idiot
Hoping you all are deaf or oblivious
If you all can't tell, I penned this last night
And eleven p.m. is the worst time to write

I suffered from hours of cruel indecision
Each word written with zero precision
I flicked my pencil with no true direction
Pretending each line was a show of perfection

I'm grinning at you like a dumb Cheshire cat
Not even knowing where this poem is at
My roommates are staring over my shoulder
As the path to stability grows ever colder

As I'm approaching this *'s conclusion
I apologize for subjecting you to my delusions
I'm struggling to fill in my slot of time
So here I'll throw in a convinient rhyme

I've run out of any clever things to say
And I've lost all real reasons to stay
So here I'll beg for your attention's release
And I hope and I pray you'll forget this, please

(196 words)
—
Show and Tell Free Verse Poem

Blazing songs of summer love
Singing round a carpeted room
Hours of tiptoed dancing dazes
Unfazed by the times ahead
Weekslong, laughing conversations
Discussing tales of ancient times
Take me to a sunlit place
Pull me away from the pulls of life
Telling me to take a breather
Hand me red plastic cups
Nickname scribbled in Sharpie
Talk of summers long ago
Beneath an old pink lamplight
Tell me of the things I'll know
Take me away from a Tuesday wind
Friendly trash talk competition
Singing to loud show tunes
With hairbrush microphones
Discuss new songs that we've found
But never forget the old ones
Tease me of summer love
But know that I'll tease you back
Well forget all of the jokes we've had
We'll discuss the dozens of summers ahead
Three years and it will all be gone
But don't ever think of that

(146 words)
—
Walk & Write

(verse)
I met you on an April, Monday afternoon
We were singing along to the same 60s tune
Our eyes met, I laughed kind of nervously
That one street cross was the best time that serviced me

(chorus)
They say April showers bring May flowers
But it was sunny all that year
We built our own dream made towers
You hold me through my hardest fears

(verse)
Once upon a time was a pretty good start
Full of love, it had some heart
It's the ‘ever after’ I love, though
The promise of “I'll never go”

(chorus)

Fairy tales and comedies
Our love, a perfect oddity
Love you more than a cloudless sky
Love you every time I cry

(chorus)

(120 words)
—
Fears
The following is a list of my worst fears, and why I fear them.
So this one time I was in England I was walking across a field, and my family and I spotted this herd of cattle who were grazing freely, which wasn't a weird sight in that area of town.
Anyway, one of the cows was a lovely reddish rusty color, like a penny. My older sister mentioned that it was a really pretty cow, with its big brown eyes and prettily colored coat.
In an instant, the cow went from docile to demonic.
I saw my life flash before my eyes, and I was disappointed by how much time I had spent asleep.
I sprinted away, screaming and gasping, hearing an angry snort behind me.
Thankfully, I lived, but I'm not the same person I was before.
For example, I'm significantly more afraid of cows than I was before.
//
I love my family, and if they died, I'd die. I'm terrified of losing any one of them.
//
I wouldn't want to fail a class because
a/ high teacher expectations
b/ high friend expectations
c/ high college application expectations
d/ high myself expectations
e/ high everyone expectations
f/ I literally would die if I saw an F on my grade website
So therefore, I'm so scared of failing a class.
//
Car crashes look terrifying, and I hate passing them by on the road. This is why I will probably grow up to be an annoyingly cautious driver.
//
And finally,
SPIDERS ARE DECIL SPAWN AND OUGHT TO BE NON EXISTANT
*logic*
The End.

(264 words)
—
Worldbuilding Final Project

My chin trembles, and I cling to my mother as though I were five years old, rather than nineteen.
As the soldiers in silver and bronze armor approach my family's small house, I pull myself out of my terrified stupor. I run inside and grab a large wooden pole, the one my parents use to help hold up our canopy at our stall in the market.
A man in bronze armor reaches our door just as I arrive outside.
“Aside,” he says shortly.
I take a calming breath, turn my eyes away from the large sword at the soldier's side, and I swing the pole at his head.
With an agility I found almost incomprehensible, he ducks and yanks the pole from my hand. He sweeps it behind my legs, knocking me off my feet. I sit on the ground in a daze.
“Who is the boy?” the soldier asks my mother.
“Kamist is his name, sir,” she says.
“Age.”
“Nineteen,” she says. Her voice almost imperceptibly trembles.
The man in bronze sneers at me. “He's a half-eye.”
My mother inclines her head slightly. I turn away and close my eyes, my half-blue, half-green eyes.
The man snaps his fingers at two soldiers in silver on the side of the road.
“Five,” he says to them. One begins to scribble furiously on a clay tablet. “Two male, three females, all half-eyes.”
“Half elfing?” one man says incredeously.
“Yes,” I say. I pull myself off of the ground and push my coppery brown hair out of my eyes.
The man grins at me wickedly, and his pure blue eyes stand out to me. They aren't the distinctive emerald of elfings, nor the strange half-and-half of those with mized elfing and human blood- those like me.
“Brilliant,” the soldier says, still grinning at me.
I don't have time to open my mouth and retort before the hilt of his sword comes crashing down on the crown of my head.
My knees collapse, and I crumple to the ground.

(336 words)
—
Implementation of Magical Realism

Names have been omitted, as this is based off of a real life memory (mixed with fantasy elements, as per the instructions) and it contains the my name, the name of one of the counselors, and my roommates' names.

“B, Hogwarts!” (name) cried. He smiled at us when none of the three of us marked off a space.
“I'm going to lose!” I moaned.
“You really are,” a cold voice said. I felt a hand on my shoulder. I whacked it off. I turned around to face the person.
“Not you!” I yelled.
The Grim Reaper nodded. “Heyooo…”
“Grim!” (name) cried happily. “I missed you!”
The cloaked being nodded. “I don't get that a lot.”
“Come to watch the suffering?” (name) said. My roommates and I instantly continued bemoaning our inevitable losses, except for (name 2), who was lokig at the 500-count bag of Dum-Dums expectantly.
The Grim Reaper nodded once more. “You know, I find bingo incredibly refreshing.”
“In the same way that a mob boss finds blood refreshing?” I said.
“Exactly,” the Grim Reaper said thoughtfully, clearly not picking up on my very obvious sarcasm.
“Theres a unique sense of hopelessness and agony to the game, don't you think?” The Reaper leaned over my nearly empty card and nodded again as though it perfect showcased his sentiments.
“Why don't you call out some, Grim, if (my irl name) wouldn't mind?” (name said), grinning wickedly at me. I crossed my arms and stuck my tongue out at him, not minding that I looked like a petulant three-year-old.
“Don't mind if I do,” the Grim Reaper said.
I moaned again as he called- “G, Hedwig!”
(236 words)
—
That's all, folks!

(total of 5441 words)

Critique for Lark

- First impressions

- I love the description of your walk down the street and the sensations you're experiencing- the rainstorm and the birds and such. It's really nicely written and wonderfully descriptive.
- Your descriptions of anxiety are super relatable and really well described!
- Description of ‘silent alliance’ and ‘silent cues’ with Emily is really good- it's something that I think is very real (if that makes sense…) and you do a great job of explaining it.
- I love the last two paragraphs. I've never done dance, but I think the principle applies for many hobbies in that you can't really focus on anxiety when you're in that focused state of mind.
- Overall, just the way that you described those feelings and those social ideas is incredibly relatable (I'm a very socially anxious person too), and the way you write about it makes it come alive on the page… or screen I guess. Seriously, you did an amazing job, and you should be very proud!

-Advice

- In some ways, I feel like the first paragraph is a little bit stiff. I think there may be a few ways to change the wording here and there. If you need further clarity on that, please let me know!
- Very small grammatical thing, but like I said, it's very, very small. In the fifth paragraph, I think you may have forgotten the word ‘few’ at the end of it between ‘a’ and ‘seconds’? Like I said, it's really tiny.
- The paragraph that begins with ‘so far’ reads a little bit stiffly, so same thing with my first piece of advice. Maybe change the wording here and there, and let me know if you want more specific ideas in that regard.


-Final Notes

- So amazingly written! You've portrayed these ideas and emotions so wonderfully. All my advice is super nitpicky, and I think you should be very proud of what you've written. You're incredibly descriptive in the best way, and you're very good at showcasing your ability to portray different feelings. Nice job!

July 20th

Daily-
I picked the constellation Aquarius!

The young lady dipped her cup into the small pool of crystalline water and brought the vessel to her lips.
The water slipped down her throat and she breathed deeply. The mundane task of fetching water was a relief from the constant chaos that existed back in the central part of town.
“Refreshing, is it not?”
The girl screamed and dropped the cup in her hand, as well as knocking over the pitcher that was beside her. She didn't spare a thought on thinking of her clumsiness, she was simply engrossed by the being before her.
A person, covered in stars. Hundreds of stars. Thousands. They shone so painfully that the girl felt compelled to look away, but the person kept her sights entirely pinned on them.
“Who-?”
The girl couldn't even force the rest of the words out of her mouth. She was utterly awestruck, and all normal and stable thoughts seemed to have escaped her.
“You are chosen,” the being said. Their voice seemed to be a thousand voices layered on top of each other, the way that their clothes were thousands of stars woven together.
“I am… chosen?” she stammered. She knew she sounded like a lack-wit, but she simply couldn't make any other words come to her. She was acting utterly clueless, and the being was rather cryptic.
“To be one with the stars.”
“I- I apologize, but I don't believe I quite understand your meaning. Could you please-” the girl began.
“One with the stars,” the being repeated. They set down a piece of silver. Upon closer inspection, the girl recognized it as a ring.
Her first thought was that it would fetch a good price if she could sell it at a market. A stupid thought, of course, when she was being faced with this seemingly heavenly being. Her second thought was to run.
In her jumbled thoughts, too much time had passed.
The being grabbed her wrist, shoved the ring on her littlest finger, and in an instant, she vanished.
Up in the stars, a new set of stars appeared. A small girl, likely no older than twelve, holding a small pitcher. The pitcher had vanished likewise.
“Complete,” the star-being said.
In an instant, they disappeared too.
The girl, before becoming one with the stars, had never learned why she had been chosen. Not for her deeds, or for a chance encounter.
She had the star-blood.
A simple water-carrier, with star-blood.
A ridiculous thought, but true.

(413 words)

Daily Haiku-
Land-locked love story
A rejection on the sea
Said- “You pierce my soul”

(it's written about the book Persausion <3)

Weekly #3

Part One

- The inciting incident of the story- The village of Indai is invaded, and a soldier in silver and bronze armor comes to Kamist's home (the protaginist). He briefly notes that Kamist is a half-eye, before hitting Kamist over the head with the hilt of his sword, knocking out Kamist. Just before he blacks out, Kamist hears his family cry out, and he can hear those screams echoing around the town.
- This will include the introduction to Kamist's character. How he is sort of an innocent, but when put in difficult situations, he can muster up the courage to fight back, even if it makes him uncomfortable.
- This should be fairly clear what place this is- a small village in the middle of the forest, and it's set in ‘old’ times- not a concrete time, but just in an obvious fantastical past.
- And it definitely will have the ideas
- Kamist is brought to the castle, is trained, fights, loses his family, and runs away.
- Since I can't fully display the whole story in this number of words, I'm ending it where he makes it to the castle for elfings, and they accept him as one of their soldiers, despite being half human.
(202 words)

Part Two

I cling to my mother, as though I were nine rather than nineteen. As soon as I realize I'm turning her fingers purple, I release them stiffly and grab my sisters' hands instead.
The men in bronze before us glower at us, as though we'd done them wrong.
“Names,” one said.
My mother's voice trembled just slightly as she whispered, “My name is Elda, my husband Onlii is in the central market as we speak, and these are my children- Evi, Culci, and Kamist.”
At the sound of my name, a chill runs down my spine, and I force back a shudder, trying to remain strong for my mother and sisters. All of us must have felt it, because my two little sisters cling to my hands. One man begins to scribble frantically on a tablet, likely recording our names. The man who had spoken doesn't seem to notice their terror, nor mine. Instead, he glares at me deeply.
“A half-eye,” he says.
I shut my eyes so he can't look at them anymore. My half blue, half green eyes. Those of people with elfing blood and human blood, mixed. I knew that people outside of Indai sometimes found that to be a mark of dishonor, but I'd never been called out on it before. It wasn't an uncommon sight in my town, and truthfully, I had spent my whole life believing it wasn't strange anywhere else either.
Despite being in a swirl of confusion, my uncertainty dissipated as soon as I saw the soldier who had spoken pull out his sword.
I don't even have time to scream before I feel the hilt of the sword descend upon the crown of my head, knocking me entirely unconscious. Before the night-like darkness consumes my waking thoughts, I hear my mother and sisters scream.
I try to reach out to help them, but my hands won't move, and my mind falls into the darkness, like surrender.
—
When my eyes open again, I'm in a cell with fifteen other men.
The stench of blood clogs my sinuses, and I lean over and retch.
(351 words)

Part Three

“Easy there, son,” someone says.
I shake and retch a little more.
I look up. Against my hopeful thoughts, it's not my father.
As if reading my thoughts, the aging man before me whispers, “He died.”
“What?” I choke.
“He died protecting your family,” he says.
Somehow, despite the terror and heartbreak coursing through me, I can't make myself cry. Instead, I sit there pathetically and keep choking like I'm about to die, but I don't.
“What's happening?” I find my voice saying, though I can't tie my own thoughts to the voice speaking. The voice that's speaking is calm, gathered, and even seems confident. That's not me. Not in any way.
“It's the humans. Falais.”
The name of the castle rings in my ears. That's where I must be. Castle Falais. Human inhabited. Ruled by King Effin, son of Lord Gerrling, generally considered a fair ruler to his people, though he is rather warlike.
The facts swirl across my head. It's good. I like facts. There is no emotion to fact, because truth is simply the way it is.
The choking comes back, and I struggle to breathe.
The middle aged man before me grabs a battered waterskin and tips water down my throat until my thoughts can rearrange themselves until I feel capable of normal thought.
“Why?” I say. No other context is needed. The man knows what I mean.
“We're to be trained. To fight in the war between Falais and Fortress Kiyisi, elfing occupied, just across the river.” Something about the familiar way this man speaks, with his sentences short and phrases clipped soothes my broken, messy nerves. This man is a bit of home. The inmates surrounding us are bits of home.
“War?”
“Warring for trade routes. The humans at Falais want them, and Kiyisi is defending as best as they can, and Falais needs more fighters,” the man says.
“So they took us.”
The man nods.
“My sisters?” I say. “My mother?”
“Taken to be trained as well. Likely in medicine, but your sisters may be trained in warfare. They're fairly young and in good shape, so they may decide to put them on the lines.”
Bitterness. Fury. It all runs through me.
It escapes as soon as a soldier in bronze comes in and unlocks the door.
“Training time,” he says, as though there were no merrier occasion to be found anywhere else.
–
Hours of training. Hours.
I struggled through the soldiers whips and screams, being taught how to battle with a sword. It feels cumbersome in my hand, and I'm still struggling to breathe.
(433 words)

Part Four

Two days of training, and it's time for war.
It's hopeless, it is. Nothing else.
The wind whips at me, and I struggle against the cold. I can see the enemy approaching, but I don't feel panic. All I can feel is relief that my sisters were placed in my regiment. I'm standing with them, and they look up at me with their once-innocent eyes.
“CHARGE,” my seargent screams.
My legs run. My arms swing, narrowly missing the men in my limited training. My head dodges blows. But my soul isn't in it. My heart can't find any rhythm to move to in this battlefield.
I keep fighting. I see one elfing, one who might be kin, and I swing at him with my sword. He uses a long, sharpened staff and takes a stab at me. I skip out of the way. I duck and dodge. I uses the small knife in my belt to take a jab at his head, but he moves slightly and I miss.
A scream echoes across the battlefield. A dying scream.
I keep fighting the elfing, but eventually he moves away to fight another soldier, who is likely more experienced.
I can fight, or I can be killed by my “superiors”.
I suddenly miss having a choice in my life, and I realized how often I took it for granted.
But regrets can't exist on a battlefield. I've been told by other “forced-fighters” that regret is supposed to come after battles, not during. Still, guilt seems to slosh around in my stomach. Or maybe it was hunger. I hadn't been fed much since arrival, but I hadn't really expected to be fed anyway.
Finally, I see that the battle is ended, and the enemy retreated.
My eye catches on something.
A long, loose curl of auburn hair.
Evi.
I see a limp arm with little inked designs running along it, drawing leaves and flowers and little insects.
Culci.
My sisters.
Something comes, but it isn't regret like I expected. It isn't the heartbreak I felt when I learned my father had died. It wasn't the terror that I felt when I saw the soldiers in bronze descending upon my hometown.
This is fury. This is vengeance.
I run.
Away from the battlefield.
Away from Falais.
Away from my sisters' corpses.
To the wilderness.

(390)

Part Five

I camp out in the forest.
“You're a fool,” I whisper to myself. My voice is crackly and hollow, as though I am missing something important to the process of speaking.
Will to do so?
I shrug. I'd never had thoughts like that, such devestated, pathetic sounding thoughts, before I'd been taken away from Indai. I suppose I'd never had reason to do so, but still. What I change I'd undergone.
I am not quite sure if I like my new philisophical self.
“Excuse me?”
It takes me a moment to realize that it was a voice speaking, and not my delusional mind.
I grasp a branch. It was sharp enough and large enough that I could likely defend myself from most passersby, but I still feel the worry that I'd grown somewhat accustomed to.
A man walks through. Thirty years or so, pepper-colored hair, and covered in scratches as though he'd run through a pile of thorns.
“What do you want?” I say.
“You're Kamist, are you not?” the man says.
I crease my brow. He should not know that. No one in this forest should know that, much less this strange man.
“They're looking for you at Trellis,” he says, as though it makes complete sense. He's giving me a look like it's some sort of code that I should be able to easily decipher, but I can feel my brow furrowing in confusion, despite my attempts to appear calm and collected.
“Trellis?”
“You didn't think you just had elfing and human blood, did you, boy? There's much more to you than you know.”
I grip the branch tighter.
Why does “Trellis” sound so familiar?

277 words

COMPLETE

….I thought I'd never finish that.