Cabin Wars

Trapped

The world seems like a peaceful place when it's quiet.

Just the presence — the mere sound — of silence can be enough to make things seem so much better than they really are.

Especially when make-believe is the only thing you can rely on. The only thing that can make it feel, despite everything, as though things could really be alright again.

“I'm cold, Ma,” Charlotte whispered, wrapping the blanket tightly around herself. “When are we going to find somewhere warmer to stay?”

Sylvia sighed as she stroked her daughter's face tenderly, a sad smile flickering on her lips. “I fear that that day may never come, Charlotte. Where are we supposed to go?”

Her daughter wrinkled her nose, deep in thought. “We could…we could go to the countryside. We'll be safe there Ma, I know we will.”

Sighing again, Sylvia's eyes wandered over to the massive hole in the house, created by a shell only a couple of weeks ago.

Thankfully, they had been in the bomb shelter when that section of the house had been destroyed, so neither of them had been hurt. However, as a result of the damage, life was more difficult than it had been already, and there was a constant cold breeze filling the gap.

Even the thought of that was enough to send shivers across her face.

“It's true that we'd probably be safer in the countryside,” Sylvia nodded. "But getting there would be a problem — and then we're adding living there to the mix. With the way things are nowadays, my dear, we'd have more luck making stuffed birds laugh than we would getting our hands on train tickets.“

Charlotte was quiet for a moment, pulling the blanket even tighter. Her teeth chattered and she couldn't stop herself from shivering, but there was still a spark of determination in her eyes.

A sign that she was going to give up.

At least, not just yet.

She opened her mouth to speak, but her mother interrupted before she could utter a word. ”Charlotte, darling…I think it would be best if you caught up on some sleep for now, okay?“

Her daughter gave her a quizzical look, and Sylvia only managed a tight smile in response.

Yes, there were sparks of determination in her daughter's eyes — small flickers of the hope that remained, even — but there were also dark circles.

Drooping eyelids.

A perfect reminder that, at the end of the day, Charlotte was just a child caught up in a war between adults. A war that no child — in fact, that no human being — should ever have to live through.

Yet, her mother had no choice but to encourage her weary daughter to endure for one more day.

And to be fair, what could one expect from a young widow with nowhere left to go?

”But Ma, I just…I just want to help you get us out of here!“ Charlotte protested. She furrowed her brow as she continued, ”all we get is rations and air. I hate it here, Ma. I-“

”I understand,“ Sylvia pqted her daughter's head affectionately. ”I don't like any of this either, sweetie. Neither one of us asked for this war. In fact, nobody here wants to be here right now. Nobody wants to go on each day wondering if their loved ones will ever come back home again. "

Sylvia paused, her eyes gliding over to the picture with smashed glass, hardly managing to stay hung up on the wall.

Within what was left of the frame stood a younger version of herself, beside her loving husband and young daughter, all smiling.

All happy.

Those days were gone forever now, weren't they?

“Robert, this is…”

“Where we first met, yes,” he grinned, and Sylvia couldn't help but smile somewhat bashful, looking down so that he wouldn't see the sudden change in the color of her cheeks,

She giggled all the same though, her delight unable to hide itself. “How romantic…”

“That's what I was going for!” Robert's grin widened as he spoke enthusiastically, his eyes shining. Then he cleared his throat, gesturing for Sylvia to sit on the wooden bench.

He tried to avoid her gaze, but their eyes met anyway and within mere moments they were helpless to stop their will to smile at one another.

Two butterflies twirled across the sunset as Sylvia sat herself down, looking out at the view of the town below. It was the time of day at which, provided there was a perfect angle, the sun would stream through the windows of the buildings and make it seem like all the world was glowing.

That evening, there was a perfect angle. One more perfect than any other means of perfection before it.

The dazzling light shone through one window to the next, streaming through without a need to disappear at any one point, decorating the world in a charming, peaceful kind of glitter.

But Sylvia's eyes were occupied by something else — something equally as dazzling. Something that revealed itself to her as it lay in a little box that Robert was opening, getting down on one knee as he did so.

Her heart skipped a beat before pounding in her ears louder tha it ever had before — so loudly that she almost had to pause and wonder if Robert could hear her.

He fumbled with the box for a moment so that he could hold her hand, clear.y nervous, but determined, too. Robert smiled at the woman before him — the woman he knew he wanted to spend the rest of his life with — and somehow that single act gave him the courage to force his nerves to one side.

Sylvia's heart beat more with anticipation as joyful tears pricked at her eyes. “Oh, Robert…is this…is this for real?”

He only smiled more in response, and that alone was enough to answer her question.


A gentle breeze brought Sylvia back to the present. She shakily took hold of her daughter's hand, continuing where she left off. “Believe me, I would love to pack up and move right now, too. But it's just not possible. You…you understand that this isn't the life I wanted for you, right?”

Charlotte nodded, resting her face in her mother's palm. "I know, Ma. But why does everything have to be so unfair? Why did this war have to happen? Why did it have to be part of our house that got blown to smithereens?"

“I'll get you anything you want,” Robert spoke firmly, lifting his five year old daughter into his arms. She shrieked and giggled, clinging onto him. Then she gave him a thoughtful frown, replying, “anything, Papa? Anything in the whole wide world?”

“That's right, Lottie,” her father grinned. “Anything you want, okay? Anything for my little girl.”

“Robert…” Sylvia spoke with mock warning, and her husband only winked at her. “You took of course, darling. Whatever you want.”

Charlotte answered before Sylvia could, eating from ear to ear. “Then I want a ginormous house with lots of toys — like dollies! And I want to be with Papa and Mama forever and ever and ever!”

She giggled, and both her parents chuckled at her wish. “Okay, it's settled! Let's get a big house with lots of toys and stay together forever!”

“Yay!” Charlotte giggled more. Then her father spun her around, causing her to laugh and shriek, yelling, “higher! Higher!”

“Robert, put her down!” Sylvia intercepted the next swing, taking her daughter into her arms. “She's so little, Robert! What if you drop her?”

Her husband wrapped his arms around her, giving first his wife, then his young daughter, a tender kiss on the forehead. “I'd never let that happen. You know that.”

Sylvia sighed. She couldn't help but smile a little. “I suppose you're right about that.”

With a thoughtful gaze, Sylvia looked at her daughter now. Nine years older. Nine years paler. Nine years more tired and hungry and sad.

Had she failed as a mother?

No. War would do that to anyone — it had done that to people — and there's only so much a mother can do when everything her family knows and loves is taken away from them in only a mere matter of seconds.

“Life isn't fair, Lottie. We know that better than anyone.”

“Pa…” Charlotte murmured. A stray tear tumbled down her cheek as she looked up at her mother. “Why did it have to be him, Ma? Why us?”

It was all Sylvia could do to slip off her chair, settle on both knees, and pull her daughter in for a warm embrace. Charlotte sobbed quietly into her mother's shoulder as memories of her father flooded back into her mind.

Memories she'd tried so hard to lock away.

An ear piercing scream — followed by a loud thud — brought Charlotte running into the front room as quickly as she could, her heart pounding loudly as it tried to recover from the shock of hearing the noise.

Her eyes were met with the sight of her mother kneeling on the ground, clutching the family photo that usually hung above the mantelpiece close to her chest. Her shoulders rose and fell as she sobbed uncontrollably. The radio continued to talk in the background, insensitive to the situationat hand.

Charlotte tuned out its words.

Somehow, she had a feeling that she knew what it would be talking about…

…but that didn't mean that she wanted to believe it.

She walked slowly toward her mother, her hands trembling as she reached out. “Ma…?”

Sylvia's head jerked up, at her daughter's voice. She stood shakily, her knotted hair trying and failing to conceal her red-eyed tear-stained face. Charlotte's mother didn't say a word. She only wrapped her hands around her daughter in a tight hug, murmuring words her daughter couldn't hear.

Charlotte clutched her mother's sleeves, a lump rising in her throat as her eyes widened, struggling to release tears she was too overwhelmed to cry.

Sylvia held her daughter close now, forcing herself to look anywhere but the photo. She couldn't help but notice how her daughter shivered uncontrollably, and how cold her skin was to touch.

“Ma, are we trapped?”

Charlotte looked up with a dying hope in her eyes. Her eyes that seemed to grow more and more dull with every passing second.

It made Sylvia's heart hurt to see her daughter that way. What happened to the bright eyed five year old whose pearly laughter could have warmed the coldest of hearts? How could such a horrible war dim those eyes to the point that they were badly recognisable?

Sylvia stroked Charlotte's cheek, placing a kiss on her daughter's forehead as she answered, “I won't let any harm come to you, Lottie.”

“…You promise, Ma?”

“I promise.”

Charlotte managed a smile, squeezing her mother's hand tightly. She looked as though she wanted to say something more, but she thought better of it, shaking her head. “I believe you, Ma.”

Sylvia smiled warmly, slowly getting up. “I'll get you another blanket. You're shaking like a leaf, you poor thing.”

Sylvia glanced down at the ring on her finger as she walked toward the doorway. She found herself wondering if she'd ever be able to move on from the past — or, at the very least, grow to accept it.

A quiet thud behind her put a swift end to that thought process.

Sylvia stopped in her tracks, her stomach churning in anxiety as she spun on her heel and ran to her daughter's side, her heart beating wildly in her chest.

“Charlotte?” What was supposed to be a whisper came out as a quiet croak. Sylvia fell to her knees as she pushed the hair out of her daughter's face.

Her heart skipped a beat.

But her little girl was only asleep. The poor child was exhausted after all. Sylvia heaved a sigh of relief as she bundled her sleeping daughter into her arms as best she could, her heart still beating and throbbing harder than it ever had before.

She adjusted her daughter to a more comfortable position, a relieved smile settling on her lips as she pulled the blanket over her child.

“Sleep well, Lottie,” she hesitated as she stood up. “I'll keep my promise to you. I'll make sure of it.”

Daily; July 24th
In life, our perception of the world comes from the five senses: seeing, hearing, touch, taste, and smell. Using these is what helps to bring our writing to life! Write a descriptive poem that incorporates at least four of the senses in a minimum of 100 words to earn 200 points.

A gentle breeze blows
As the sun begins to glow,
Causing the branches of the trees
To dance; to sway; to swing with glee.
Whispering secrets; whispering words
In a language unbeknownst to you and me.

The green leaves fall with muffled sound
As they tumble over each other, tapping the ground
Gently — gently as can be
For the leaves, though rough to the touch, were as gentle and as free
As the blissful rain above the sea.

Tears fell from the clouds that seldom wept;
Clouds that often quiet kept —
But now they roared and cried and thundered,
Forcing those below to find shelter to hide under,
Before blinding them with brilliant wonder

In the form of lightning.
Bright; graceful, yet frightening.
A sight that brought about the taste of dread;
A taste of salt and liquid red;
A taste that made you weary of where you chose to tread.

But alas!
All storms must pass,
And in doing so, bring about a sublime peace.
The timid creatures now released
Back into the wild, their fear decreased

At the wafting aroma of freshly baked pie,
From the bakery nearby.
An scent that dances on the summer's air;
Delightful and fair —
Or as fair as an aroma, to be, could dare

Gone are the days of the rain's pitter patter;
Here are the days of the kitchen's clatter clatter
As the sun begins to set.
Ribbons of orange and pink and gold bearing no regret.
They dance; they twirl; they are graceful yet

So fleeting.
In both leaving and greeting.
For even those graceful ribbons in pleasant meeting,

Exist only temporarily.

(271 words)

Daily; July 25th
Cabins are one of the most important parts of SWC - and thanks to the amazing leaders and co-leaders, all fifteen have unique themes reflecting the genre. In most cabins, you’ll see an introduction at the top of the studio description establishing this theme! Now, it’s your turn - come up with a theme for any SWC cabin (real or conceptual!) and write an intro for it. Your intro should be at least 100 words but fewer than 200 words for 400 points.

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The audience boos and yells, throwing tomatoes, cabbage and other vegetables your way.

You run off the stage in a hurry. With a sigh, you trudge into your dressing room and sink into the chair. Why didn't they like you?

It doesn't make sense.

Your gaze meets your reflection's and they stare back at you blankly. Then they blink and grin, causing you to jump up in surprise.

"What-“

”Hey,“ your reflection interrupts, still beaming from ear to ear. ”Why did the chicken cross the road?“

Your jaw drops open.

Then you clear your throat as you slowly back away. ”Um…to get to the other side?“

Your reflection laughs loudly, before stepping aside, revealing a road behind them. ”Come on then. Unless you're scared to get to the other side~“

You glance at your reflection warily. “Where does the road go?”

They roll their eyes. “The other side! Duh!”

They chuckle to themselves before saying, “Wonderland, obviously. Why else would you go through the looking-glass?”

You blink slowly, unconvinced. When you open your eyes again, your reflection is gone. Instead there are three cloaked figures before you. Covered in…vegetables?

“Welcome to New Wonderland — the land of comedy!”
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Daily; July 26th
As seen throughout history, the passage of time can bring about huge changes - especially to an environment. Forests are destroyed, cities rise, buildings are torn down, wastelands develop; and these are just scratching the surface. In as much detail as possible, describe a setting and post it in the comments. Then choose someone else’s setting (multiple people can choose the same one!) and write at least 300 words describing what it’s become after 100 years or any long period of time. You’ll earn 500 points only if you complete both tasks, and 200 additional points if you share your second description.

Part 1:
The cafe on the corner of the street is always bustling with customers. From small families in the afternoons to busy workers in the early mornings, the cafe is never quite empty. The front window has a nice view of the beach, with its golden sand and the eternally playful waves that dance upon the shore. It's a straight walk from the cage to the beach; just walk straight down the street and you're there. Then the cafe itself — there are posters on the walls pictures of printed on them, outlining the delicacies available to satisfy your hunger. The tables are rounded and wooden, accompanied by wooden chairs with beige cushions on them and the floor keeps up the wooden theme, too. There are a couple of hanging plants by the entrance outside, and above them is a slightly rusty sliver bell. But the true cherry on top is the lights, which are a warm amber color — they give the cafe a warm ambience.





Part 2:
Description used (written by @codergirl125)
an observatory with views so grand you could see faraway nebulas from it. it rests next to a volatile sea and is even dangerous to visit on some occasions, but is always full of researchers rushing from place to place. a library fills the walls, and an old map of constellations covers the ceiling when the telescope is closed. though a place of science, alien-looking plants are potted on shelves, and notebooks are strewn about with notes detailing fictional creatures.

My description:
The waves still rage and roar, abducting the last remains of whatever is still left on the shore as they come and go — pebbles, grains of sand, broken glass…

All the books in the library have gathered dust now. The shelves have crumbled under the weight of holding the hopes and dreams of various scientists over the decades — centuries even — but they had failed to keep those aspirations alive. Now the books they had once displayed so proudly lay lifeless on the ground, their spines crushed. A gentle breeze blows through from the hole in the ceiling, as though coming by to explore.

For the most part, the plants have thrived during what was evidently a period of destruction. Their blue leaves, complete with purple hues are large and elegant, and their stems are tall, towering above the ground. Some plants have clambered up the cracked walls of the observatory, reaching, longing for the sky above.

But the stars no longer twinkle as brightly there; the brown colored clouds ruled the sky now.

Then a slither of light from above, sneaking past the broken glass that was once the roof and reflecting off the shards scattered across the ground.

A telescope, dusty with age and badly damaged, but seemingly somehow still functional, stood proud in the one untouched corner of the observatory.

It was a big place, after all.

Notebooks strewn across the floor, detailing accounts of encounters with creatures — and people — who would have been considered a myth or fiction mere centuries prior, constantly get their pages flipped by the curious breeze.

The books are relatively new, some still bearing the signature smell of freshly printed pages.

From a birds eye view, it would seem that the observatory had been completely destroyed by a storm only a couple of decades ago. One too unpredictable and powerful to prepare for.

Yet, if you look closely, you'll see a small group of scientists, sweeping away the dust and slowly but surely rebuilding the once grand observatory.

And rebuilding their dreams along with it.
(342 words)

Daily; November 19th
Metaphors and symbolism are common literary devices, but they can become quite a cliche. Fire for destruction, roses for love, light for hope, some symbols can be overused to the point they seem uncreative To circumvent this cliche, visit this project ( https://scratch.mit.edu/projects/756858370/ ), and generate a random object and a concept that that object should symbolize in your writing. The harder it is to draw a connection between your concept and object, the better! 400 words for 400 points, and an additional 100 points for sharing your writing.
What I got: a marble that represents the concept of self-acceptance
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I sit cross-legged on my bed, flicking through the photos on my phone and zooming in on all the ones with my friends or family.

Why did I always look so out of place?

My friends always looked so…nice. Their smiles weren't wonky, their eyes didn't look weird, none of them had a single pimple or imperfect on their skin…and my hermanos and Mamá were all so perfect. I sigh, clicking off of the gallery and opening my Photoshop app. Before I can fix myself in the picture, though, my ears perk up at what seems like my mother's voices.

“Tina!” Mamá calls again from downstairs and this time I groan, knowing that she'll be expecting me to run an errand for her.

If I pretend to be asleep, will she ask Alejandro or Jacinta to go instead?

"Valentina! Don't make me come upstairs!“

Jacinta giggles from her bed on the other side of the room, turning slightly to grin at me. ”You'd better go, Tina. You don't want to keep Mamá waiting, do you?“

I sigh, sliding off my own bed. ”Why can't she ask you to go?“

My sister chuckles, smirking a little. ”Because you're older than me.“

”Only by a couple of minutes!“ I pick up one of my pillows and throw it at her playfully. She catches it though, and chucks it right back at me, and unfortunately, I'm not fast enough to dodge.

I shriek as the pillow narrowly misses my face, instead falling back onto the bed. Even so, my heart is pounding loudly in my ears as Jacinta laughs again, pointing at me. ”Your face! You should've seen it-!“

”VALENTINA! Where are you?“

I share a glance with my sister before begrudgingly forcing myself to walk toward our bedroom door. ”Have fun!“ Jacinta calls cheerfully after me as I leave. ”Oh, shut up!“ I reply just loud enough for her to hear.

”It's not fair,“ I murmur to myself. ”Why does Jaci always look so pretty? And all her clothes always look nice too…"

I glance at the hallway mirror, feeling slightly irritated as I tug at my purple sweater. The top of it is crooked and looks so wrong. But no matter what I do, it doesn't look the way I want it to, so eventually I sigh and give up.

Then I make my way down the stairs — and to my dismay, Mamá is standing at the bottom, waiting with an expression that tells me that she isn't impressed by my lack of punctuality.

“Sorry Mamá, I was, um…finishing homework?”

My mother just sighs, shaking her head before muttering something under her breath. She smiles at me, beckoning for me to walk with her. “No matter. You are here now.”

“Mm-hm,” I follow after my mother, trying not to make my sigh of relief audible. To be honest, I don't think she was convinced by my lie, but if she'd chosen not to say anything, I wasn't going to bring it up.

“Valentina, I need you to run an errand for me, okay?”

Ugh, I knew it.

“-I was making Papas Con Mojo, but then I realized — I don't have any papas! And how will I make Papas Con Mojo if I don't have any papas, hm? So, you need to go and get me some, okay? Quick, before the shops close.”

I somewhat zoned out whilst Mamá was talking. I simply nod, saying, “right; potatoes. I'll get them for you.”

“Well, what are you waiting for? Go, go!” Mamá shoves me forwards playfully, before placing a quick kiss on my head. “Thank you. What would I do without you, hm?”

“Um, ask Jacinta or Alejandro?” I joke. Mamá laughs, shaking her head at me. "Just get me those papas already! And keep an eye out for your hermano whilst you're out, will you?“

I blink, slightly confused. ”He's not here?“

”He said he was going for a walk a while ago, but he hasn't answered any of my calls. I'm starting to get a bit worried, but you know your brother,“ Mamá shrugs, though there is a glint of concern lining her voice. ”He never really answers his phone anyway. Either way, it's getting late, so I'd rather have him home than wandering about.“

I nod, giving Mamá a quick hug before grabbing my shoes and my coat. ”I'll keep an eye out, Mamá.“

”Thank you, chiquita!" Mamá calls after me as I head out. I shove my phone into my pocket after checking the time: 17:23.

If I hurry, I might be able to finish editing before I need to do my homework.

*

I walk out of the shop, the potatoes in my shopping bag. There's nothing I want more than to hurry home and finish what I was about to start.

My mind casts back to my small pillow fight with Jacie. More Jacie herself than the fight — how her glasses seemed to complement her face shape and her hair always seemed so effortlessly gorgeous. I slowed to a stop outside the window of a closed shop, my hand subconciously reaching for my face.

Why couldn't I look more like my sister?

My hair had a slightly unbecoming wave to it, and always seemed to have knots and tangles. My skin was far from perfect, with pimples and acne scars all over it. There was hair on my arms, which I always tried to hide under long sleeves, and my smile was somewhat crooked. Not to mention the ugly birthmark under the left side of my lower lip…

A lump rose in my throat as the frustration started to get to me.

Why couldn't I be perfect, too? Why was I always the one who had to be-

“Admiring yourself?” An unfamiliar voice asks.

I turn around to see a lady, maybe in her late twenties, standing next to me. She smiles, but it sends a shiver down my spine and I can't help but try to cover myself up and hide, even though I probably look like any other person to her anyway.

“I'm just, uh… trying to get something out of me hair,” I mumble.

She nods, chuckling. “Well, I think you managed to get it.”

I sneak a glance at the lady. She looks strangely like me, with the same kind of slightly wavy dark hair and even a similar looking birthmark under her lip.

But her eyes twinkle, her smile doesn't look crooked at all and she looks just like everyone else I know — flawless.

“I need to head back home,” I say after a moment, turning around. The lady taps my shoulder before I can scurry away. “Wait. You dropped this.”

I turn around as she drops something into my hand. “Quite pretty, right? You're lucky,” she says. I look at the green marble she's given me. I've never seen it before, and I'm about to point out that I don't think it's mine — but when I look up, she's gone.

“Hello? Miss?” My voice is quiet, and even if she had still been around, I doubt she would've heard me. I'm about to look for her when I catch a glimpse of what appears to be Alejandro turning round the corner behind me.

“Alejandro?”

“Tina?” My brother turns around from the edge of the street, confirming that it is him. He waits for me to catch up to him and when I do, I ask, "where were you. Mamá was starting to get worried, you know!“

”Well…“ Alejandro scratches his head, smiling awkwardly at me. ”You wouldn't believe me if I told you.“

”Try me,“ I raise an eyebrow just as it dawns on me that something peculiar happened to me, as well. ”Um, Alejandro…nobody gave you any marbles, did they?“

My brother glances at me, wrinkling his nose. ”What?“

”…Nevermind.“

”I think you've finally lost it, Tina,“ Alejandro laughs. I shove him and we continue home together. Still, the memory of the stranger — who, now I think about it, seemed like someone I'd met before — lingered in my mind.

*

You know, maybe I'll never figure it out.

Why I was given the marble, I mean. Perhaps the lady just made a mistake.

I stare at the green marble on my desk, tapping it gently with my finger, then watching it roll away.

It almost seems to stare back at me, its gaze soft and pitiful, as though it knows something about me that I don't know yet. Something I'll probably never know.

”What do you think you're looking at?“ I mutter under my breath, half expecting a reply.

Of course, I don't get one.

”Tina, Jacie, Mamá says it's time to eat," Alejandro calls from outside our bedroom door. I shove the marble into my drawer and wonder whether I'll ever get to editing.

*
15 years later…

I'm making Papas Con Mojo today.

I ran out of potatoes, but luckily, I managed to buy some more just before the shops closed. I reach for the green marble in my pocket, feeling a sense of reassurance when I hold it.

Then I see my younger self, in a purple sweater, standing outside a shop window.

I smile. Am I daydreaming all this up, or is she really here?

I recall being given my marble back when I was 15, by someone who looked just like me. Maybe this is that moment…or maybe I'm actually asleep.

I shrug, walking over to her.

Either away, I know what I need to do.

I take a deep breath before speaking.

“Admiring yourself?”

Daily; July 9th (except it's 2023 now XD)
How many hours did you sleep the night before this daily was added? Today, our daily will have a bit of a twist—you must write 1200 words about your various characters’ sleep habits and the effects they have on them, but for every hour that you slept last night, you can subtract 100 words from the total (caps at ten hours for 200 words). For example, if you slept for nine hours, you'll only have to write 300 words. You'll earn 400 points from this daily.
Hours of sleep: 5
Word count: 702
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Alina is a person who likes to stick to a routine of sorts if she can, so she usually goes to bed around the same time every night. Typically some time between 9pm and 10pm, but if she gets caught up with working on something or other, it's not particularly difficult for her to end up staying up much later to get the task done before heading to bed. Which is a bit of a double edged sword, when you think about it: exchanging a good night's sleep for a well done task. But it's an exchange Alina is partial to making, if need be. She's also a pretty light sleeper, so it doesn't take a lot to rouse her. Heavy rain or storms during the night, for example, or loud noises in general. And other things too, like Boba (her cat) deciding to climb onto her bed and cuddle up next to her. The good news is that, despite being quite a light sleeper, Alina can get back to sleep pretty easily even if she does wake up due to disturbances during the night. Now, that's not to say that these disturbances don't have their consequences — for example, being a lot more groggy than usual in the mornings — but at least she doesn't stay up all night afterward.

Due to the fact that Alina's bed is pretty small (which makes sense, considering she's had the same one since she was fourteen years old which, in the period at which the story takes place, was ten years ago), she's often cramped at night which leads to her sleeping in the fetal position. The other reason for this is that it was a somewhat comforting position to readjust into after having nightmares in her teen years, but nowadays the main reason is solely the mere fat that the bed is small and therefore it's a struggle to fit into it comfortably. Having only a single, thin blanket at night also means that the bedroom is a lot colder in the winter. To counteract the lower temperature (particularly in the evenings and nights), Alina usually sleeps an hour early during winter months, whilst the sun — if it was ever visible at all — is still out and another half an hour or so of warmth is available. On the other hand, sleeping at the usual time in summer seems to be the better option. That, and opening the window. Oh, and tossing the blanket away. Who needs a blanket to keep warm at night when the sun doesn't fully set until well after 10pm anyway?

In regard to what time she wakes up and stuff…usually the same time every day: 5:30 am. Her phone is very old, but she does have an alarm clock that mostly works, and something that mostly works is better than something that doesn't work at all. At least then, it still has a bit of use, you know? Which Alina's phone doesn't — at least when it comes to setting alarms — since phones with apps were yet to be created during the time in which Alina's phone was made. Anyway, Alina usually wakes up at 5:30am sharp (courtesy of the mostly working alarm clock, of course) to prepare for her part time jobs. Since she isn't much of a deep sleeper, as mentioned before, she doesn't usually linger in bed for a couple of extra minutes. The aforementioned fact also means that Alina doesn't really have dreams whilst sleeping.

Though Alina does occasionally toss and turn in her sleep, she doesn't tend to move around all that much whilst asleep a majority of the time. There isn't a particular reason for this or anything; that's just the way it is. Additionally, she may, or may not, snore a little.

As for Boba…he likes to cuddle next to Alina on her bed occasionally or, alternatively, actually sleep in his own bed. Most of the time, though, Boba likes to laze about — and often sleep ) especially during the day, as opposed to during the night) on — the top shelf in the living room. Why on earth does that happen to be the case, you ask? Well, he's a cat. Why else?

Daily; July 12th
We have a never-before-seen variety of cabins this session—you might be spending your time doing anything from joining the revolution to navigating through tunnels on an alien planet to working at the circus, or so much more. Today, you'll get a chance to create your own storyline by writing a cabin intro! For inspiration, check out you own cabin's intro (the introduction to the storyline usually found at the top). Then, write a suspenseful introduction to a cabin with a genre of your choice (it doesn't have to be an existing cabin!) Your writing should be between 100 and 200 words, and you will earn 200 points for completing it. Sharing is required for this daily—we'd love to see what you create!
200 words! I did an entry for the genre of legends (even though I don't know that many XD)
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The sword before you glimmers in the sunlight, as it sits there on the rock, seeming to stare back at you. Almost as though it's daring you to pick up the note beside it.

After a moment of deliberation you shrug, picking the note up and reading it:

'BEWARE OF ROBIN HOOD.'

Confused, you put the note back. Just as you turn to leave, an arrow lands in front of you, and you yelp, jumping back. “Who shot that thing?!”

Someone taps you on the shoulder. You whip around instantly, your heart nearly dropping down into your stomach. “Who are you?”

"I'm , and this is and .“ Two other people wave awkwardly from behind the first stranger. You raise an eyebrow as the first person speaks again. ”Hurry, come with us. Someone is rewriting the legends again…so Robin Hood isn't exactly the friendliest guy right now…“

”Huh?“

They grab the sword from before and pass it to you. ”Here! Take Excalibur!“

All three strangers whistle, and a creature that greatly resembles the Loch Ness monster rises from the lake beside you. They hop on, and one of them helps you up.

You sigh.

”This is going to be a long day…"

Daily; July 15th
Another classic SWC daily - google translate! Copy and paste a song lyrics into google translate, and translate it into multiple different languages until the lyrics are completely different. Then, write a 400 word story based on the translated lyrics! This daily is worth 400 points, and 50 extra points will be awarded for providing proof.
I translated the song ‘Hollow Woods’ by Nomi (1st verse, prechorus and chorus) and got this: I feel like I'm in an empty forest
I left everything behind
everyone, every voice, everyone, every voice
Why am I asking you?
but i have no choice (but i have no choice)
A big fan fell
keep what I hide
I can't go back
I'm far from home (everybody, every sound)
I never felt alone in the empty forest
I feel like I'm in an empty forest
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My fingers trail along the bars of the window, gathering a tiny amount of dust as they travel. Though it's midday, there isn't a single sound spreading through the house; nothing but my own breathing and footsteps…

…And the ticking of the clock.

Now, that's the funny thing about the old clock: it had been broken for half a decade. So every time the hands move — instead of creating a ‘tick tock’ sound — I hear a peculiar ‘tick…tick…’

It's annoying — most clocks are, in a way. But it's familiar, too.

That's what makes this place feel a little more like home: the familiarity of individual objects.

I sigh, moving away from the window and flopping down on the bed. I stare up at the fan on the ceiling as it whirs around quietly, spinning and spinning as though the world would end if it stopped.

“Why, don't you miss your friends and family?” A voice inquires. I turn to see Adelaide sitting on the couch opposite the bed, raising her transparent fingers to her chin as she looks at me thoughtfully. “Are you not lonely, Jadesola?”

“It's quiet here,” I reply. “I don't mind it so much, actually.” I sit up, crossing my legs as I look over at Adelaide. “And like I said before, just ‘Jade’ is fine.”

“Then, if you don't mind…” Adelaide looks up at me with enthusiasm, her eyes twinkling. “…it would bring me great delight if you would call me ‘Addie’, Jade.”

She watches me with excited anticipation, and I sigh. I don't really know what the big deal is, but a simple request shouldn't be too hard to fulfil. “Sure. Addie it is, then.”

Addie clasps her hands together — though, of course, no sound is made — and she starts to float around in glee, going in circles just like the fan. “Oh, thank you!” She clears her throat, sitting back down. “I mean, you have my gratitude, Jade. So, did this house belong to one of your ancestors?”

I shake my head in response to Addie's question, watching her somewhat warily as she floats over to me, her nose wrinkling with curiosity. “No. I just moved here because it's the only place I can afford. My job doesn't pay very well, and I didn't have a lot of money when I moved to this country in the first place.”

“I see.” Addie glances at me as she speaks. A somewhat awkward silence befalls us, interrupted only by a creaking sound above. Addie speaks again, tilting her head as she does so. “Why would you leave everyone behind? I don't think I'd have had the courage to do the same if I were in your shoes. I would never have survived on my own in my time period.”

I glance over at her.

“Well-”

Another creak interrupts me, this one much louder than the last. A shiver dashes down my spine as a wave of trepidation crashes over me. I stare at Addie, my eyes widening as I speak, my voice quivering a little. “What's that sound?”

Before she can reply, there's a loud crash as the fan collides with ground. I let out an involuntary scream, my hands trembling as I stare at the broken fan on the ground.

Addie inches closer to it, picking something up from among the rubble. “What's this? A key?”

We share a curious glance.

Then we hear another crash.

Cabin Wars!

Cabin Wars! Write 4500 words as a cabin in the next 7 hours, or else lose 700 points. Extra challenge: Ask any other swc-er for a writing dare, and complete it! The dares given out should be able to be completed within a short time frame; any dares that set a word goal over 500 or a time goal over 15 minutes are ineligible. Every cabin member who does this can claim 50 points for their cabin! This applies for up to six campers (resulting in 300 points earned maximum.)

There's one thing most languages have in common — and no, it isn't ingenious words to describe concepts that ought to be summed up in a single word, such as Freudenschade (a word originating from the German language which means ‘joy that comes from witnessing the misfortune of others’) — but rather it's alphabets. My word, that was a really long sentence-

But anyway, how can one not find alphabets so…fascinating? Especially with the latin alphabet. It was originally used by the Ancient Romans back in the day to write, well, latin. But today, hundreds of other languages, each with various pronunciations of letters, are derived from this one alphabet.

Of course, there are exceptions, such as Arabic, Chinese, Urdu, Korean, Japanese and many others.

Similarly, though, there are many that do use the latin alphabet — English, German, Twi, Catalan, French…you get the point.

And the point is, the latin alphabet (or rather, the variety of languages that stem from it) is truly an interesting thing. I mean, the fact that the letter ‘a’ can be pronounced in a variety of ways depending on what country you ask someone to say it in is just so…I mean, it's pretty cool, right?

The latin alphabet itself even has ties to the Ancient Egyptians' hieroglyphics! And the term ‘alphabet’ originates from the first two letters of the Greek alphabet ‘alpha’ and ‘beta’, but it actually was first used in its latin form ‘alphabetum’ and that form was derived, somewhere down the line, from Ancient Egyptians' hieroglyphics…

…Yeah, you get the point. No need for another long sentence.

Now, I know what you're thinking. You're thinking ‘did I really just read over two hundred words about the alphabet?’

No, wait, you're thinking ‘wow, that sentence really was long’.

Okay, okay, maybe I don't have a clue what you were thinking. But I can definitely tell you what Angelica Bella Collins was thinking five years ago, when she set out on her journey. Half of the reason for that is because she's still thinking about it and a quarter is because that's all she ever thinks about, really.

What's the other quarter, you ask?

Well, how am I supposed to know? Do I look like a mind reader to you? Kind of? Whatever.

Anyway, Angelica Bella Collins — or just Angie for short — grew up with friends who were all geniuses. Not just any geniuses though: geniuses who were gifted when it came to matters of mathematics and science.

Her best friend Donut Edmunds could answer any maths question; her other best friend Felicia Goldmoon could explain all three of Sir Isaac Newton's laws in depth, and some even dare to say that she understands the laws better than Newton did himself. Her third best friend, Hector Indomie knew everything there was to know about the rates of chemical reactions — and probably more than that, too.

But unlike her friends, who were unrivalled when it came to matters about mathematics, physics and chemistry, Angie wanted to know more about linguistics. She wanted to study etymology and foreign languages. She wanted to be a great philosopher who not only challenged the modern understanding of languages and the barriers the create, but also someone who could reshape the global concepts around these things.

And so, five years ago, she set out on her journey to follow her dreams.

Of course, it was hard for her friends to understand at first. They couldn't help but wonder why Angie was so insistent on chasing after a goal that was so different from what they'd thought she'd want (you see, they had all been convinced that she would complete their friendship group of geniuses by understanding everything there is to know about biology).

I mean, why wouldn't they wonder? Together, they were the ABCDEFGHI squad. They'd always done everything together; all their goals used to align without discussion. It was almost like an unspoken contract between the friends: to always follow similar dreams no matter what, so that they would always be able to stick together.

But what happens when an unspoken rule makes you feel suffocated? What happens when it feels like you're restricting yourself — like you're holding back on your dreams — just so you can fit in, nicely and neatly, into a box that everyone else has prepared for you? A box that everyone else has told you is the perfect size, when it actually is the most uncomfortable box you've ever tried mailing yourself in?

Well, that's how good old Angie felt. Then one day she realised something important: she couldn't keep holding herself back just to keep her friends happy.

At times she wondered if it was selfish to risk sacrificing her friends happiness for her own. But how could it be wrong to prioritise her own joy? Could it really be so bad to chase after her ambitions? Dreams, after all, don't come true if you don't try to make them come true with effort. Eventually, with hard work and determination, you can make your dreams come true…and Angie wanted to achieve that more than anything. From the day she had learned the alphabet for the first time, she'd known that linguistics was her calling. Giving that all up now, just because her friends might not understand? How could she do something like that to herself? It wasn't an option; no way was it an option.

Just like that she knew: it was time to tell her friends how she felt about her dreams. Knowing that their friendship was stronger than a few silly ideals gave her hope that her friends would understand: and they did. Like the true friends they were, they put aside their ideals to try and understand what it was that Angie wanted — not what they thought might be nice.

Maybe that gave Angie the strength to believe in herself a little more: knowing that her friends would always have her back. Not long after that discussion, she started brainstorming ideas for her next steps in making her dreams come true. Of course, unforeseen circumstances happen, and these can ruin your plans. Plans that you work hard on; that you want to stand by; that make it seem like your goal is within reach. Quietly watching those plans be destroyed by a situation you have no control over can be hard, there's no doubt about that. Right when it seems like everything is going well, things can start to go wrong.

So you have to have a backup plan, no matter what. That's what Angie did: she made sure to have a plan A, B and C, just like her initials.

…Unfortunately for her, though, nothing went according to a single one of her plans. Voicing her dreams and ambitions to her friends went well, but it was a different story when it came to her caretaker: her grandfather. When she told him about her desire to study linguistics and etymology he only had one thing to say: that she should follow in her parents' footsteps and become a pilot instead. Xenophobia had been a bit of an issue for them since they decided to travel the world together on their plane, but the sights they had seen made up for a lot of that. You know, amazing waterfalls, melting ice caps and wild animals. Zebras and hyenas trying to board the plane?

That's the kind of life Angie's Grandpa Jonas wanted for her.

And so, that was her first (well, second, I suppose) obstacle: convincing good old grandpa that she should and could follow her dreams.

The question is this, and this alone: did she?


1273 words

Daily; July 25th
Ever wanted to write like the showstopping and starstrucking @Stariqe? Jealous of @Alocasia's unbeleafable writing skills? Or maybe you want to learn how to cook up sweet creamy stories like @caramelize. Well, this bidaily is the one just for you! Everybody's got a distinct style, and we'll be playing a style swap. In the comments, post a writing piece that best represents your style (if you don't have a distinct style, pick your best or more recent piece). Then, claim somebody else's piece and try mimicking their style by writing a different 400 word piece. Pay close attention to sentence structures, perspectives, imagery, and characterization. Completing this bidaily will earn you 600 points! Sharing your writing is required. This is the first day of this bidaily!
The example of my writing used by someone else (@*) was 'Cityscape'

I wrote in @Caesious' style, and attempted to write a continuation of the excerpt she provided (so I guess it's kinda like a fanfic XD) I tried to pay attention to as many things as possible — tense, vocabulary, paragraphing, sentence structure, punctuation etc — so I hope I was able to do her style justice! ʕ⁠·⁠ᴥ⁠·⁠ʔ
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The Aftermath

Upon reflection, the chance to say goodbye to someone departing this world is essentially more of a formality than anything else. It has become a privilege most people expect to receive. Yet there are many who are subject to losing this opportunity. Through misfortune and circumstance, the opportunity to bid farewell to those we hold dear can slip through our fingers. I myself was one of those people who clung desperately to the expectation of having that chance. I had known from the moment my scream had pierced the air, really.
Cold water is stagnant, unmoving and rigid. It is a ruthless and cruel constituent of nature. My love was already freezing before I began to scream. He was frozen whilst my voice rang out. He was dead long before my voice grew hoarse. The attire we were wearing throughout the tragedy, without a doubt, was nothing but a curse. It allowed him to sink whilst preventing me from running to him. I knew better than to run across the ice. It would have shattered within an instant, just as it had done before. That did nothing to avert the shaking of my legs or the despair of my mind. My only desire was to run to him. I wanted to grab his hand and pull him out of the water. I longed to hold him in my arms once more.
When I eventually held his hand one last time, it was cold to the touch. No amount of warmth transferred from my hand to his was enough to revive him. That moment corroborated the fact that it was over. I would never see him again. There would be no goodbyes, nor would there be second chances. That is the reality of life. I was left to be haunted by guilt and grief. Despite the inconveniences created by the attire and the broken ice, there was a chance that I could have saved him. Perhaps I ought to have seized that chance whilst it was available. Instead, I am forced to acknowledge that the accident was my fault. I might have been able to prevent it. If not, I might have been able to save him.
Now I spend endless nights alone, without my favorite companion. My heart is shattered like the ice from that day. The warmth of our memories abandons me for the cold of grief.

I did not think it would end like this.

407 words