Uprooted. (Daily 13/7/23)

Lifting a small hand over a carnation brought it to life. It symbolised fascination, and that was all that was needed for the little girl Ambrosia to spring a tiny bud into something beautiful. It sprouted before her, fabric petals fluttering as they stretched towards the light, shimmering under the catch of the sun and laughing at the small traces of the wind as it scattered through the carnation’s hair while it grew. Ambrosia was in awe.

The carnation sprung to the sky like a tree, withheld by strong roots, scurrying out of the innocent earth and- eagerly considering the light above- rapidly approached the sky and its stars.

Ambrosia could only stare- smile- gasp… and feel the softness of every petal before it laced around another, decorating the candle which flourished in the centre. The petals simmered around her fingertips; it was ticklish.

As the carnation began to grow, and grow, Ambrosia knelt on her tiptoes, and stared upward. Her hands were raised beside her face, slowly waving to their sides from her sheer curiosity and overwhelming excitement, and her eyes were studded by gleaming stars, trembling with energy as the dance of the new bud enthralled her, leaving her giddy, and gleeful.

She was enamoured by the flower. Love returned.

For her, it was just the two of them. The little girl Ambrosia was the latter, a frustratedly curious kid who became enthralled by even the slightest discrepancy in her periphery; this was because the world was her tapestry in which she knew every seam. The former was a very docile carnation. It was very funny to watch it grow.

Then, the flower wanted to play a game. Ambrosia could only watch with sheer curiosity as it began to seethe away from her fingertips- severing their unity the two grips once had- and race into the thickness of the blue sky above without knocking off, shudders, discrepancies, or err- so the flower was tracing away from the little girl!

Ambrosia huffed at once, her cheeks puffing up in disagreement. It wasn’t allowed to do that!

In an instant, she had jumped up from her attempt to follow it. Her childish curiosity which initially stemmed from the small creases on the outskirts of a fragile flower- now turned into a protective motherly instinct like the way a mother duck protects her fleet- caused her to wave her hands, jump on her tiptoes and frown with anger flourishing in her face. Yet, the carnation slipped further and further.

She couldn’t stop- not now! Not now, when she’d only just fallen in love with something so beautiful! It was an eliciting fabric- one she so adorned- and one she absolutely deserved!

Ambrosia was studying the carnation’s movements like a hawk. It was swift as it hurtled into the beckoning blue sky, a repugnant composition darting alongside it, deserting from the little girl’s grasp without any regret or retaliation- its mind free. Then, the persistent little girl was following it, waving her hands and frantically pointing at the sky.

She tried running about to find something to cling onto. Yet, the room was a coruscating white, embellished with beams and illuminated with spacious doors of paths which led everywhere else, but nothing else. The endless expanse smiled at her, arms wide, doors open. The temptations were nothing on the tempted girl, however.

She started jumping up and up again. The flower’s stem slithered away further on. Ambrosia waved her hands on her tiptoes, but no response- reply- or simply acknowledgement was her behest, as the ignorant emerald green of the carnation stem proceeded the embarking of indifference, the empty air bearing the fruits.

The empty air laughed and giggled as the carnation wove its fickle petals around the sky’s cheerful laugh and excited gleam. All she was was a mockery, chest heavy.

Ambrosia meant love returned. Did she not love flowers? She did! She always did! Why doesn’t the flower want to be with her, then? It didn’t make sense.

Is it something she said? Did she hurt it when she felt its petals? Was she being too rough with the plant? Did… Did it even like her?

Her voice cracked, leading a strangled wail to escape her throat before it mellowed into a memory. Then, a mute girl continued to stare- trembling, whimpering, shivering- at the taunting gloat of the red carnation the sift of her hand had given life to, racing away from her palms, away.

—

The cacophonic morning was miserable. Ruffling under the covers. Groans. Mutters of irritation. The slam of an alarm clock, and the consequent nattering of the individual which came soon after. A small blare pulsated in the background- like the incessant ringing that unanimously plagued heads. Bitter curses. Frustration.

Those bed covers were grey. The bed was a chocolate brown. The alarm clock was red. The desk that had the alarm clock resting on it was flaxen.

Someone reached over to the windowsill. Something else was brushed out of the way by a hasty palm before the feat could be accomplished, and something else was the first thing seen. Then, she traced the crack on the edge of her years old vase, inherited as a gift from her father ever so long ago.

Just the thoughts, connotations and memories, were enough to enliven the girl. She grimaced as she reached out of her bed to the adjacent bedside, but calmed herself- biting her lip and holding her breath to stop the shaking from continuance. She was okay- standing up wasn’t an issue.

Then, she bent down to her side. Then, she clutched the watering can in hand, and sighed as she pushed the curtains away, and let light shine onto the flower she first saw.

This flower was the only one that had survived. Love in absence.

She watered the flower, humming to herself a soft tune only some were able to remember. She traced her adjacent hand on the little crack so foreign to most, but outstanding to her. She clutched the can without shaking, or a sigh.

Finished.

Forget-me-nots were stubborn flowers, especially in the late spring.

—

(author note (not part of oneshot): carnation: fascination, ambrosia: love returned, forget-me-not: love in absence)

July 13th - Daily
410 words

The sunlight streamed into Ruth's quaint little bedroom. She had a copy of the Victorian language of flowers spread open on her desk. She scanned the pages, noting each an every flower with its corresponding meaning and symbol. Lilies for prosperity, roses for love, violets for faithfulness. With a smile, she began carefully selecting the flowers she would need. She had always been enchanted by the language of flowers; a tradition in which each flower was believed to express a different sentiment when given to someone. To Ruth, it was far more meaningful than any words in the dictionary, or any gift money could buy.

The next day, the young girl found herself in a precarious position. She hobbled along the cobblestone streets of London, looking in the shop windows as she passed. She stopped and peered through the hazy glass at the florist shop in front of her. Ruth stood before the gates of the florist, breathing in the thick evening air filled with the scent of blooming roses, determined to make her present the perfect one. There stood beautiful, white roses at the side of the gate, pulled away from the vines that had tethered them for so long. Ruth wandered inside and was immediately captivated by the possibilities of flowers presented. Carefully, she managed to arrange a bouquet of lilies, roses, and violets. As she handed it over, she watched the florist put it all together in a delicious-looking display. As she touched the petals and breathed in the sweet scent, her heart began to beat faster. This would be one of the best gifts ever <3

To the unknowing eye, it was just a bouquet of beautiful flowers. But Ruth knew the deeper meaning behind it. Lilies for prosperity, roses for love, violets for faithfulness. She was wishing all these things upon her beloved.

When her gift was delivered, the receiver was speechless. They couldn't believe that something so aesthetically pleasing also had so much meaning. Ruth was glad she had put the effort into making this arrangement and even more glad that it had been received with such emotion.

Sometimes words can't convey the sentiment that needs to be expressed, Ruth thought, but the language of flowers can. It was the best way to express her feelings for another more clearly and articulately. She knew that this type of message was much more powerful than spoken words; it was a hidden language of the heart.

Daily #14
7/14/2023
1375 words (+26 words from Macbeth)

Original: Scratch Writing Camp (Family Madrigal Parody)
Hey Birdi!
Writing!
Friends!
Competition!
Let's go!
This is a camp, runs in March, July, and November
So full of people, each unique in their way
We are a family, we support each other
15 cabins, each one gets to shine
Oh!
But let's be clear, Birdi hosts this camp
Along with Bakie, Honey, and Kat
And every time it gets better again
There's just a lot you got to write down
Welcome to Scratch Writing Camp!
This is Scratch Writing Camp!
(You're gonna love it)
Where all the people are fantastical and magical
You can be part of Scratch Writing Camp!
OH MY GOSH SWC IS STARTING!!!!!
WHAT CABIN WILL I BE IN?????
WHO'S GONNA BE MY LEADER??? (WHAT ABOUT MY COS????)
Alright, alright, relax!
IT'S PHYSICALLY IMPOSSIBLE TO RELAX!!!
I CAN'T WAIT!!!
THERE'S TOO MUCH EXCITEMENT IN MY VEINS!!!
And that's why (diet) coke it's for grown-ups!

Google Translated
Goodbye friend!
you write!
Turn on the water!
skills to work with
OK let's go!
Training camps are held in March, July and November.
Density, each is different.
We are family and we support each other.
15 bright rooms
oh!
But let's be clear. Buddy runs the camp.
Pumpkin, honey and fish
And it keeps getting better
I have a lot to write
Welcome to Scratch Bootcamp!
First battalion!
(I hope you enjoy it)
This place is beautiful and everyone is.
Why not join the Scratch writing platform?
SWC didn't come out! ! ! !
what can i do? ? ? ? ?
Who knows (what will be my COS?)
yes take a break
Going to the movies is the best!
cant! ! !
I have money in my veins! ! !
Why can adults drink Diet Coke?

A/N: Before we start, I will say that this turned into a bit of a SWC fanfiction and everyone portrayed here is not 100% accurate. (I do not know how anyone acted as a toddler, nor can I verify.) This is not meant to make fun of anyone. It's just meant to be a fun little writing piece for your entertainment <3 (Let's see how many little references you spot~~ I added in quite a bit.)

Featuring: Starr, Luna, Alba, Cara, Robin, Katie, Sun, Elfie, Zaine, Moonlit, Moss, and Lio

“Bye, Birdi!” I say, hanging up on my roommate as I pull up to Scratch headquarters.
Whoo. First day of work at my family's business. This is going to be interesting. I think Mom said that they needed a supervisor and that I was qualified. Eh, I get paid, so why not?
Scratch Bootcamp, the family owned business going on 19 years, is where basically everyone in my family works. There's bound to be something for everyone. Or they set something up because ‘we’re keeping everyone in the business and there is no way you can find benefits this good anywhere else'. Aunt Candy wanted to teach writing, so they set up a writing platform. I think the graphic design department was made because Aunt Icy's kids were all artistically inclined or something?
I pull out my keys and get out of the car, making sure to lock it twice.
“SWC!” I hear the familiar bounce in Finn's voice.
I turn to meet my cousin. “Hey Finn! Look at us, parking next to each other!”
He gives me a wink and lowers his voice conspiratorially, “Must be the birthdays. We're totally twins; it's twin telepathy.”
“Who knows!” I shrug.
Finn and I were born on the same day and he's convinced that we're connected somehow. I mean, he's not wrong, because we're close and get along really well. But I'm not sure if it's twin telepathy or the fact that I saw his car following mine since I drove past his neighborhood that we parked next to each other.
We link arms and head towards the entrance. I can already picture Grandpa waving his hands, standing in front of the doors.
I hear him before I see him. “SWC! Finn! How are my favorite grandchildren doing?”
I unlink my arm from Finn's to give Grandpa a hug. “You say that to every one of your grandchildren, but I'll pretend that we are for the day. And I am doing great.”
“Have you ever heard me calling anyone else my favorite grandchild?” he asks, with a twinkle in his eyes.
I ponder for a minute before reluctantly sighing and replying, “No. But I bet you do behind my back. Love you!”
Finn gives Grandpa his mandatory hug and follows me through the glass doors. “Your mom's waiting upstairs, room 15,” he informs me before walking off to his office space.
“Thanks, Finn,” I wave before pressing the elevator button.
Scratch Headquarters only has 15 large rooms. Uncle Buddy, the current CEO of the company since Grandpa decided he was getting too old, has always being reluctant to adding more onto the building. I hear that he's caved and going to be adding 6 more rooms soon. I think construction is scheduled for the summer.
I ride the elevator up to floor 3, humming along to the Taylor Swift songs playing in the background. I get off and walk to room 15, knocking on the doorframe as I go in.
“Guess who's here!” I singsong, “Hey Mom! Woah!” I glance around the room, first at my mom and then the multiple toddlers.
“Hey SWC, come in!” she greets.
I shoot her a look, “Who are they?”
Mom waves my question away and turns to the kids. “Children, this is your supervisor, SWC. Say hi.”
An incoherent chorus of hi's and hello's come from the group.
"Okay, keep them busy; you get paid. Lunch break is at 11:30. Don't forget, I love you,“ Mom whispers, giving me a peck before she leaves and closes the door.
I try to mentally shake off the shock I'm feeling. ”Hi kids,“ I try to twist my grimace into somewhat of a smile.
”Hi!“ One of the kids chirps, playing with her hair, ”I'm Starr! This is Luna,-“ Starr nudges the girl with her nose in a book. ”-my best friend.“
I look around at the other kids and point at two girls huddled in a corner, giggling. ”Do you think you could help me out? Who are they?“
”Those-“ She glares at who I'm pointing at. ”-are the older girls and they get to do grown up things,“ Starr huffs, ”The one with brown hair is Alba and the one with darker hair is Cara.“
Suddenly, a blaring note pierces my ears. I spin to see two guilty toddlers staring sheepishly at the ground, both holding a clarinet in their hands. I let out a groan. ”What are your names and why are you even allowed to have those instruments in the building?“
The one with short black hair slowly lowers her clarinet from her mouth. ”Robin,“ she annunciates, pointing to herself and then points to her partner in crime, ”Katie.“
”Our moms said we had to practice,“ Katie whines, ”and your mom gave us permission.“
”I need a break,“ I confess, hiding my face in my palms.
A finger taps my shoulder. ”Yes, take a break. We are mature enough to take care of ourselves and watch over each other.“
”And, to quote Macbeth, act 2, scene 2 respectfully, ‘Sleep that knits up the raveled sleave of care, the death of each days life, sore labors bath, balm of hurt minds, great natures second course’,“ another recites.
”Where do you even learn this stuff?“ I mumble, ”Names, please? And no, thank you, I can rest later on break, now is not the time. I'm the grown up here.“
”Sun,“ the first replies, as the other says, ”Elfie.“
”Excuse me, Supervisor!“ another toddler announces, racing at me with a book in his hands. ”Oof!“ He trips over the rug and knocks a stand over. A small pumpkin, jar of honey, and toy fish come rolling off. ”Oops.“ He quickly picks them up, placing them back onto the stand and grabs his book. ”Supervisor SWC!“
”Yes?“ I ask, turning my attention away from Sun and Elfie, ”And what might your name be?“
”I'm Zaine and I really really love lasagna and I love playing the piano and when I go home, I want to watch a really cool movie,“ he rambles, ”but I was going to ask if I can go to the movies because in this book, Peter goes to the movies.“
”That's up to your parents, not me,“ I shrug, ”Maybe. You'll have to ask later.“
He grins and exclaims, ”Awesome! Going to the movies is the best!“ He runs off again, nudging the book back into the bookshelf and looking through the books.
A cry comes from the group of kids huddled near the toys. I rush over to check out what's going on.
”Hey, hey!“ I soothe, ”What's wrong here?“
”Moonlit was being rude to me! She said words that I don't think were very nice to say.“ a blonde points to a darker haired girl across from her.
Moonlit scoffs in response, ”I was not! All I said was that I think your idea is weird, Moss."
They continue bickering as I try to think of a way to deescalate the situation. Why did Mom give me this job again? I could mess up so badly…
“They're like this sometimes,” a small voice explains next to me, "Moss and Moonlit are usually best of friends, but they can get into really big arguments. I'm Lio.“
I give a half-hearted smile. ”Thanks, Lio. Let me see what I can do.“ I clap my hands together twice and the girls stare at me. ”Hi again. Okay, what's the problem? What was your idea, Moss?“
Moss perks up. ”I was trying to say that I want to be a superhero! I could have money in my veins and I could be rich and help people out! It'll be really cool!“
I nod, knowingly. ”Interesting and a very creative dream, Moss.,“ I turn to the other. ”Moonlit, why do you think that her idea is weird?“
”Who has money in their veins? That's so weird! It doesn't make any sense,“ Moonlit states.
”I have money in my veins,“ Moss mumbles, crossing her arms.
”WHY CAN ADULTS HAVE DIET COKE?“ a feminine screech catches my attention.
I turn to see Luna, now standing over her book, jaw dropping and looking betrayed.
”Food fight?" Zaine innocently asks, holding what looks like a open lunchbox in his hands. I desperately hope that it's not lasagna that I see him reaching for.
This is going to be a very long day.

Weekly Part 2 - Story from a workshop (1195/500)
Posted separately for the critiquitaire
From @extrovertedd’s workshop on plot and planning - https://scratch.mit.edu/discuss/topic/696746/?page=1#post-7372275

It wasn’t the fact that he was on the subway that scared me.
He had appeared for as long as I had been taking that route, always with his face hidden by a bright red scarf and overly large sunglasses, always in the same car as me, always watching.
Rather than being creeped out, I had grown to think of them as a fixture, simply part of the city. There were hot-dog vendors on every corner, taxis were the colour of mangoes, and the man with the red scarf always stalks me on the subway. It was simply another part of the New York lifestyle.
That being said, the only thing keeping me from filing a restraint order was the fact that it could very well be a coincidence. Perhaps he just worked at the same time as me.
Come to think of it, I never saw him get off the subway.
But the man in the red scarf isn’t what scared me. The man in the red scarf isn’t the reason I had to drop my life, my job and all my dreams and run.
No. What scared me was when he simply wasn’t there.
Like I said, he had always been a part of this city, as at home as the streetlights and whizzing traffic. But one day I settled down in my seat for the long commute and saw he simply wasn’t there.
I tried not to think about it, of course. I slipped in my earphones and put on my horror podcast, which is perhaps one of the worst things to listen to when one is so unsettled.
Still. I managed to almost forget about it. There was probably a natural reason for his abrupt departure, possibly he’d just been taken ill. But I couldn’t shake a deep sense of foreboding. I felt like something terrible had happened to him and would soon befall me.
I was right.
Ten minutes into the journey, I was resting my head against the cool glass windows because I simply couldn’t take another word bouncing around in my head. People chattered around me, some yelling into their phones, others typing away with a dull, monotonous sound that thudded into my brain. The lights flickered overhead. I felt more like a fish out of water than ever. Why on earth was I so worried about a maybe-stalker? Or was I simply paranoid? Why was I even here, when I could be safe at home in the sprawling countryside of England?
Then the lights went out.
Absolute total darkness blanketed the subway. I jumped, my hand instinctively reaching out to press something cool and metal. I sat ramrod straight in my seat. It was probably just a power cut or something. That was all. We would slow down and eventually stop because of the lack of electricity, but that was it. It would just be a hassle, not lethal.
But the sense of foreboding I had earlier was overtaking me, blanketing my brain like slimy tentacles gouging into my thoughts.
We weren’t stopping. In fact, the train was getting faster.
The lights above me flickered, throwing sparks. The brief moment of light illuminated the train car. Metal poles, plastic seats, white walls.
And not a single other person.
I was alone.
For some reason, I didn’t scream or move or do anything at all. I simply sat there, waiting. Knowing what I felt was coming had finally come.
The light sparked again, and this time I wasn’t alone.
There was a… fog in the train now. I don’t really know how to describe it, other than the fact that it curled and moved in tendrils like something alive and sparkled with electricity. It curled itself into a figure, towering high above me. Its face was made of smoke with no defining features. It was an amalgamation of every human I had ever seen, but I knew it wasn’t human at all.
The figure reached for me with what the smoke had formed to be hands and I finally moved.
I jumped up from my seat and flew down the carriage. I didn’t look back as I slammed headlong into the doors. The train was going so fast at that point, it was more like falling than running.
“HELP!” I screamed, pounding at the closed door with my fists.
I glanced over my shoulder, watching the figure glide towards me like it had all the time in the world.
I screamed again, loud and incoherent knowing no one would come. My legs gave way and I slid down to the floor.
Yes.
The voice seemed to come from everywhere at once. Smoke filled my lungs and burned my eyes and the air felt charged. I knew without looking back that the figure had reached me.
Yes, you will make an excellent host.
Pain ripped into my skull and I could feel the smoke grinding down my throat into me. It felt like swallowing glass. I wanted to scream, but I could only choke, watching as black stars and blue sparks flickered across my eyelids.
Not yet. Not yet. I didn’t want to die. Tears pricked my eyelids that had nothing to do with the smoke. Panic set my brain on fire, my chest burned, electricity sending pinprick sparks of pain into my skin
And then it stopped.
I couched, my lungs desperate to expel the shards of glass in my throat. I blinked my bleary eyes open against the bright light. I felt dizzy, and I had no energy to move myself from my spot on the ground.
The lights were back on. The train had returned to its normal purposeful but steady pace. Purposeful and steady, like everything in this city. Except apparently, smoke demons that want to kill me.
I wasn’t alone anymore.
This time, it did surprise me that the man with the red scarf was on the subway. Or maybe it didn’t. Maybe on some level I knew that he had saved me from what had almost happened. And he had been the reason it hadn’t happened sooner.
I stood up on shaky limbs, half leaning against the carriage door.
“You,” I rasped, “have a lot of explaining to do,”
He didn’t move from his spot by the door except to shift his sunglasses to rest on the bridge of his nose, revealing two piercing green eyes. Like mine.
“I’m aware,” he said, and I was surprised to hear the crisp accent and soft tone of home, “Which is why I’ll have to ask you to come with me,”
I hesitated, glancing around at the still empty carriage, “Beats waiting around for a smoke monster,” I shrugged, then coughed. Wheezing, so hard I was forced to bend over as pain shot through my ruined throat. He started towards me, but I held up a hand to halt him.
“Promise you’re not a psycho stalker serial killer,” I said.
“I promise I am not a psycho stalker serial killer” he said, placing a hand over his heart.
I nodded, allowing him to help me up.
And for the first time, we left the subway together.



Planning from the workshop (not part of the story)-
Exposition- who’s red scarf man
Rising action- lights go off, protag is alone
Climax- hello demon, nice to meet you
Falling action - hang on, I’m not dead??
Resolution - hello again mr scarf, hope you’re not sus at all.
Lol, this was a very rushed story, I’m sorry.

July 13th - Prompted word war
330 words

Alice had been on a mission to find her true self since she left home and hopped on the next bus out of town. She had been travelling the country for weeks, visiting and exploring places she had only dreamed about.

On one of her expeditions she stumbled upon a beautiful desert valley surrounded by mountains of a deep orange hue that seemed to tower over her. She marveled at the sight of it as the sun slowly set, casting a warm red glow on the endless horizon.

Alice decided to set up camp for the night and lie on the beach of the valley. As the sun disappeared and the stars began to twinkle in the sky, Alice spotted a vast cactus in the middle of the valley glimmering in the evening light. Its silhouette stood out amongst the dusky backdrop and its spiny arms seemed to reach out to her as if in invitation.

She laughed out loud as the thought of climbing the cactus crossed her mind. It was a silly idea, but one she could not resist. She began her ascent, and soon found herself halfway up the cactus, carefully making her way between the spines of the cactus. Suddenly, she felt a jolt and watched in awe as the cactus seemed to animate and form a face in front of her very eyes.

Now I had not anticipated the cactus to come to life, thought Alice as she stared at the face before her. But as fear began to rise within her, she noticed the gentle eyes of the cactus whose expression conveyed a sense of peace and understanding. The cactus was speaking to her, guiding her, and she suddenly realized that she had reached the place she had been searching for all along.

Alice was filled with a sense of awe and acceptance as she descended from the cactus with a newfound perspective, and the knowledge of where will truly belong in the world.

July 14, 2023

A knock.

I tensed up, but sighed exasperatedly. I knew exactly who was behind the door, and I couldn’t let myself show any sign of weakness.

Taking a deep breath, I opened the door and glanced up at the stone faced man standing before me. He was wearing his typical well pressed clothes and button down shirt. The sight of his slicked back hair made me want to roll my eyes.

“Caleb! So great to see you after all this time,” I exclaimed, trying to put on an innocent face. As long as I feigned ignorance, I would be okay.

“Cut the act, Carson,” the man replied in his gruff voice. “You know why I’m here.”

I pretended to think a while before shaking my head. “I’m sorry, I don’t understand. Why are you here?”

Caleb rolled his eyes and stepped into the room. The voice inside my head bitterly remarked how I had not invited him inside. But I held that voice back for now. “Give my half of the money. I know you’re hiding from me.”

“From the heist you mean?” I asked. “I don’t recall ever agreeing to split the money with you. Unless I’m remembering something wrong?” I raised my eyebrows and let a small smirk form on my lips.

“You specifically agreed to split the money with me that night!” Caleb argued. “And it’s protocol anyway. Most people would assume that there is an unspoken agreement to split it.”

“Unspoken agreement just sounds like two people not communicating and facing problems because of it,” I said flatly. “And who said it’s protocol anyway? It’s not listed in writing. It’s not my fault that you didn’t think things through.”

“I’m practically your boss!” Caleb said, throwing his arms in the air. “You can’t just run away from me. Look, if we can’t settle this peacefully, I’m going to have to take things a step further.”

“A step further?” I gasped and placed a hand on my chest, offended. “My dear Caleb, you can’t do that to your old pal. Your buddy!”

“I’ve had enough of this,” he sighed. Caleb looked out the door and motioned with his arm. “Now!”

I stood, bewildered for a second, before finally realizing what was going on. But it was too late. A man dressed in all black with a dark expression barrelled in out of nowhere and grabbed me, pinning me to the ground. I gasped for air, trying to get a good few of my attacker. But the man was a lot bigger and stronger than me. He pinned my arms behind my back as I heard Caleb speak.

“Tie him up and bring him to the car.” His voice was cold and unforgiving.

Panic began to set in. I wiggled around and kicked as hard as I could, but it hardly did anything, as I was lying on the ground. I probably looked like a flailing fish out of water. The man placed a cloth around my mouth and eyes, and I was left to the darkness. Left with only the humming of the refrigerator tying me to the physical world.

523 words

Daily: 14/7/23 (Broken Halos by for KING & COUNTRY except google translated)
I glance out from the window of the dome, admiring the sun’s sparkle. How I’d love to be one of the carefree citizens that have no idea what a broken floor they stand on. And they won’t know until it crumbles underneath them.
How I’d love to be one of them. But there’s no turning back. There’s no fixing the country’s broken floor either. We’ve done horrible things for the country, we’ve lied and cheated, we’ve stolen from the people’s hopes and dreams. But it’s too late to change us. We lost sight of what’s good years ago. Yet we still think the best way to solve the problem is to pretend it doesn’t exist. We’re all a patchwork of Band-aids. They hold us in for now. But the blood will spill. It has to. They’re just Band-aids.
We tell ourselves fairytales to get to sleep, tales of disasters outside of our control, tales of happy endings. We treat our halos better than we treat our people. We wear our shame every day, then wear a suit to cover it. Are our halos broken?
No. We can’t be broken. We must be perfect, clean, sinless. If we fail the standards, we’re broke. If we’re not perfectly together, we’ll fall apart. We can’t be like that.
We need to change. We need to rewrite our priorities before we rewrite the country’s. We need to let our past vanish into the wind like dust, leave not a speck of our masks on us. We need to escape our ‘perfect’ world and go somewhere that doesn’t care about our mistakes. We need somewhere that doesn’t hate us for our reputation, someone who can sit with us, someone who doesn’t judge. We need to find the real colour of life. We need another way of life.
We’ve given up the pursuit of hope for the pursuit of perfection. We only want to be better, ahead of the rest. Why can’t we just put our mistakes behind us? Who cares if they see our past? If we cover it with our hands and keep it close to our chest, we only take it with us. We’re not broke. We’re human.
We can rise above our past. I can rise above my mistakes. I can reveal myself and let it go. I don’t need my broken wings. What I need are new ones, wings that let me soar into the present, into a brighter future. There’s no need for hesitation, no need for worry. I’ll lay my mistakes in front of them. I’ll be the first to say it.
I’ll be the first to say I’ve given up hope for perfection, the first to say I only wanted to get ahead of the rest. I’ve accepted my mistakes. It’s time to burn them to ashes and let them fly into the distance behind me. I needed something better. I was desperate for something new. I thought I needed to be perfect. But I never will be. I’m not broke because I’m broken. We’re all broken.
We all wear broken halos.
514 words

Weekly, Pt 1
https://scratch.mit.edu/projects/873432508/ (abt 600+ words with planning)
Weekly, Pt 2
Natalia sauntered to her new school, as usual, confident and alone. I don’t need friends. I have my imagination, and that’s all a writer needs. Her head lifted and her posture upright, the sound of her measured steps could be heard along the pavement. Her beige backpack was casually slung across her right shoulder, and her long, beige skirt flowed as the wind swirled in circles around her. She saw a trio of girls walking to school together, laughing and giggling as they chatted. They’re definitely not writers. She thought. True writers are accompanied only by their minds.
——————————————————————————————————————————-
Elyssa strolled to school with Shaylise and Mikalea, her two best friends. They were chatting together, when Elyssa noticed another girl walking alone. She looks kind of lonely. She’s not really showing it though. Her eyes look, well, down. I wonder if she’s from our school? Elyssa’s imagination unfolded, bringing with it a million possibilities about the potential new girl. Did she just move here? Is she from another school? How old is she? She looks about my age. Her outfit is pretty. Did she buy or make it? What kind of person is she? Elyssa’s mind then drifted off to a math problem. Does backwards Pythygoras theorem work? If the square root of 1 squared plus 2 squared is 2.24, then 2.24 squared… … The whole time, her feet were tapping against the pavement to the jaunty tune playing on her white and rose-gold headphones. She spun around, pulling into a pirrouette, flipping into a single-handed cartwheel, turning and dancing a flicker of tap, her jet-black hair whipping through the air. That’s perfect for free dance later! Great, I lost my train of thought.
——————————————————————————————————————————-
Shaylise traisped to school with Mikalea and Elyssa. As usual, Elyssa was up in the clouds. It was habitual. She’s daydreaming again. Either about a book, maths problem or a dance routine. Shaylise marveled at how ‘cloudy’ Elyssa was that day. Off-white turtle-neck sweater, sky blue V-neck jumper, light-beige cargo pants. Even her high-tops had white clouds embroidered on them! Shaylise spun around, catching Mikalea trying to ‘mouse-ear’ her. It was their version of ‘bunny-ears’. “Mikalea!” They ran back and forth across the street, trying to mouse ear each other, eventually stopping just as they reached school with Elyssa.
——————————————————————————————————————————-
Mikalea skipped to school, full of energy. I’m behind Shaylise and Elyssa. Perfect for mouse-earing! She debated whether or not to mouse-ear Elyssa. Let’s not. She decided. The ratio of me mouse-earing Elyssa in a cloudy mood to the number of mouse-ear related scoldings from her is 5 : 7. That makes learning ratio a lot easier. So she mouse-eared Shaylise, earning her a sidewalk chase.
——————————————————————————————————————————-
When she reached the school building, Natalia went in, head held high. She did not want to blend in. Did not need to blend in. Did not care if she did. Her only need was to study hard, so she could be done learning as early as possible and focus on writing.
(501 words)
Weekly, Pt 3
https://scratch.mit.edu/discuss/topic/697983/?page=1#post-7379706
(200 words)
(1301 words in total)

Name: Ava
Cabin: Lyric
Wordcount: 477/400
Topic: Write a story using google translated lyrics
Content: July 14th Daily

LET'S GET IT

My lyrics: from anti hero
I should not be left to my own devices
They come with prices and vices
I end up in crisis (tale as old as time)
I wake up screaming from dreaming
One day I'll watch as you're leaving
'Cause you got tired of my scheming
(For the last time)
It's me, hi, I'm the problem, it's me
At tea time, everybody agrees
I'll stare directly at the sun but never in the mirror
It must be exhausting always rooting for the anti-hero

It will not take long,“ whispered the wind as it gently rustled through the trees, carrying the secrets of the world. The sun began to rise, casting its golden hues upon the sleepy town. The morning light revealed the price and disadvantages of the previous night's storms, as broken branches and debris littered the streets.

In a small house on the outskirts of town, a familiar voice sighed, ”I'm in trouble, as always.“ Emma woke up, her eyes puffy and red from a restless night. Tears had streamed down her face as she slept, leaving her feeling weary and emotionally drained.

”We'll see how the day goes,“ she murmured to herself, summoning the strength to face the challenges ahead. Emma was known for her resilience, her unwavering determination, and her ability to overcome any obstacle that life threw at her. But today felt different.

She stepped outside, taking in the fresh morning air, hoping it would soothe her troubled soul. The world seemed to be going about its usual business, unaware of the weight she carried on her shoulders. ”For you do not know my works,“ Emma whispered under her breath, as if seeking solace in the knowledge that her struggles were her own.

As the day progressed, Emma found herself wandering through the bustling town square. A small café caught her attention, its tables filled with people from all walks of life. ”Hello, I have a question,“ she hesitated, summoning the courage to speak up. ”Everyone drinks tea, but does anyone truly know the struggles hidden within each cup?“

Her question hung in the air, lingering like a delicate mist. People glanced at each other, their eyes reflecting surprise and curiosity. Emma continued, her voice gaining strength, ”I looked directly at the sun, not in a mirror, and found that sometimes the brightest light can reveal the darkest shadows."

She spoke of her own experiences, of the pain she had endured and the strength she had found within. Her words resonated with the crowd, as they recognized the universal nature of suffering and resilience. Emma, in her vulnerability, had become a beacon of hope.

Days turned into weeks, and weeks into months. Emma's journey continued, and she found herself in the pages of history. She had become a symbol of strength and compassion, an inspiration for those who struggled with their own demons.

And though she was still considered an anti-hero by some, Emma's selflessness and unwavering dedication to others outweighed any doubts. She had faced her troubles head-on, waking up crying but rising above the storms.

As the years passed, her story reached far and wide. The tale of Emma, the courageous soul who dared to look directly at the sun, became a reminder that even in the darkest of times, there is always a flicker of light that can guide us home.

THE END

.

YOU KNOW I WANT THAT HOoOoOoOoooOME~
YOU KNOW YOU GOT THAT HOOoOooOOoOOOOoME~

Critique for @FireBlood23 (447 words)
(also part 3 of the weekly)


Let me start off by saying, I loved this piece. I loved how more and more information was slowly trickled in, I love the extremely powerful emotional descriptions and the creative formatting made it super easy to read.

The gaps in information being slowly pieced together was brilliant. The exposition was in the perfect places, and it felt like we were processing the information along with the protagonist. I pretty much understood everything that was going on.

The emotion was absolutely incredible. I could feel everything the protagonist was feeling, the numbness, the sheer pain that comes with grief. It was beautifully done. Emotional impact 10/10


However, there are a couple of minor grammatical errors-

I sat, inanimate, staring at the wall but also past it. Looking at something else entirely. Looking at nothing. (snip) My mind is a minefield, one wrong step and I’m gone once more. It’s easier not to think, but I can’t stop thinking.

There’s a bit of a tense error here. The first sentence is in past tense but the rest of it is in present tense.

Its just nothing. It’s almost worse than the pain.
(snip) Its not physical but somehow emotional, mental pain is worse.

Technically, “It’s” should be replaced by “it’s” with an apostrophe (short for it is, while its means possession of something)

If they’re still breathing they’re lucky.

Should be a comma here. “If they’re still breathing, they’re lucky.”


As for word choice, there really is only one instance I can think of-

I draped the quilt that rested over my shoulders around hers. I took out a gift, she smiled. Her smile brighter than all the stars in the sky. Then leaned over and kissed me.

This could probably be phrased a bit better. And I’m not entirely sure what you meant to convey with the quilt. And again, it’s in past tense while the rest of the scene is present. It could probably be something like -

I see myself draping the quilt around our shoulders. I take out a gift, and I can’t remember what it was but the real gift was her smile. Brighter than all the stars in the sky. Then she leaned over and kissed me.

In terms of things to improve, it's already really good! The only thing that could really take it to the next level is making the main character a bit more relatable. Currently, we don’t really know much about anything, and while blurring the past adds a sense of mystery, it does make it harder to connect to the characters. Possibly, a couple of lines in the flashback sequence that hint at either of the character’s personalities could help. Plus, if the readers care about the characters, it doubles the emotional impact.

All in all, an absolutely incredible story. It really got me in the feels and I love the little segments in the formatting. Your style is great too, I loved how the descriptions stood out in the flashback. Most of all, I really felt like I was in the protagonist’s head. Anyway, awesome job. Thanks for choosing me to critique!

(sorry if I came off as too negative with the grammar errors, I’m a much better writer than a critiquer lol)

Weekly 2

(2982/1200 words)

Part 1 - Workshop (1340/500)

Plot twists

Once upon a time, a lonely boy met a girl lost in the woods.
The girl was tired, for she had been wandering for many days. She was scared, for it was rumoured that there were monsters in the woods.
The boy had been sent away on some mindless chore as usual when he saw her. She was bathed in dappled green sunlight, with hair the colour of gold and eyes shining like rubies. She looked like the most beautiful creature alive.
To her, he was the first person she had seen in so many weeks, ruddy cheeks and holding a bucket, gaping at her awkwardly.
“Hello miss,” he said, “Are you lost?”
She stared at him with those exquisite blood-coloured eyes, dead silent.
“No,” she grinned and her teeth were sharp and coated with something thick and dark, “I’m not lost.”
And then she turned, hair became fire, eyes turned into embers and skin became scales. The monster laughed.
And so she was finally full, satisfied with her meal.
And the boy fell to the monster in the woods like so many before him.
…

Did that surprise you? Was that at all what you were expecting? Did you guess that there was some sort of trick involved, perhaps the title of this workshop clued you in?
Or did you feel chills down your spine and sit up in your seat a little straighter? Did you feel like you got punched in the gut but couldn’t help but come back for more?
That my friends, is a plot twist. Or at least the best I could do with limited setup. And in this workshop we’re going to dive more on what exactly they are, writing them effectively, and a couple of tips and tricks as well as some activities (optional! Not part of the weekly, don’t sue me SWC).

“Every book has three things: a beginning, a middle and, most importantly, a twist!”
- Goosebumps

What is a plot twist?
Most of you probably have a pretty good idea of what a plot twist is, since they’re fairly common in literature and pretty much exactly what they sound like. A plot twist is a literary device that introduces a sudden, unexpected change that sends the story in a different direction. These twists are often foreshadowed, which is when you allow the reader hints of what's to come while withholding the full picture. I didn’t have much room for foreshadowing in the example above, but you can go back and pay attention to the eye colour. Foreshadowing, while effective (and fun!) , isn’t necessary to create a good plot twist.
As masterclass.com put it, “Plot twists are changes in a novel, short story, movie, or TV series that subvert expectations. They don’t follow the linear path that may have been suggested by an author at the start of the story. When properly executed, these misdirections genuinely surprise the audience and thereby enhance their engagement.”

The twists you’ve untwisted:
“Luke, I am your father,” “The prophecy wasn’t real,” “You? But I thought it was-”
You’ve probably heard some variation of the above plot twists somewhere before. The antagonist is the protagonist's father, the bad guy wasn’t the bad guy you expected, the chosen one isn’t the chosen one at all.
Why do these plot twists work? They all provide internal conflict to the protagonists and an external conflict to the plot. In other words, they push the story forward while being enough of a surprise to gain the reader's attention.
The basic plot twists you’ve probably all heard of are - ally turned antagonist, a red herring, the story must be over - but something happens and it’s worse, a new character changes everything. I would go into these in detail, but there’s a word limit so… Most plot twists follow these basic types since they’re tried and tested to give satisfaction to the reader, but coming up with your own makes your story less predictable.

On actually writing plot twists:
How do you write a good plot twist? How do you conceal just enough to give the reader that moment of ‘wow! I never say that coming’?
There’s a couple of rules that can turn an okay plot twist into a great one -
1. Make sure the plot twist affects the story and the characters, it should either be a point of conflict or resolution.
2. The main goal is to satisfy the reader.
3. Be creative! Going beyond the usual plot twist can add a lot of colour and originality to your story.
4. Go against the setup! In the example above, I tried to add a fairy tale romance-like atmosphere to throw the readers off guard when the monster is revealed. This doesn’t always work, but feel free to play around with the mood and tone of your story.
Hiding a plot twist just enough to leave the reader with enough satisfaction is an art. If you withhold too much information, it will seem like you’re cheating the reader. On the other hand, the readers are smart. Too much foreshadowing or even following a predictable plot means that they will be able to guess it. The trick is to find the right balance. Beta readers help with this obviously, and as a general rule of thumb it's better to overdo it than underdo it. Even if someone anticipates the plot twist, the ‘aha! I knew it can be just as satisfying as the ‘wow, I never saw that coming!’ moment.

Some techniques:
- Elevate a minor character: they can be an antagonist, or a spy, or withholding crucial information, or maybe the protagonist’s greatest asset! Anything you can think of!
- Withhold information from the reader: use an unreliable narrator, create a riddle, just don’t tell anyone - whatever works for you. This doesn't always give the best satisfaction, but is very convenient and easy.
- Trope subversion - if you have a character who follows pretty stereotypical tropes, that could be an opportunity for a plot twist! The damsel in distress is actually setting up a trap to lure the hero in, the shadow-dwelling villain puppeteering the government is actually a child, the Mary Sue character is a spy and is hiding their true personality even from the readers.
- Let your character find the twist organically: Some twists are planned and others just spring into being. If you see a natural point for a plot twist, take it! It could be the difference between a good story and a great one!

A common misconception:
Not all plot twists have to be game-changing bursts of truth at the climax of your story. They come in all shapes, sizes and places. Putting a smaller plot twist in the middle or even the beginning of your story can be an excellent way to ramp up the tension. Sprinkle in misinformation, mess around with characters that can’t be trusted, hide people’s true intentions.

Activity (only do this if you want, not part of the weekly):
Write out a plot twist for about 100 words. It could be anything, a trusted character betraying the protagonist, a prophecy being a lie, or a character learning that they’re the child of ants. Anything!
Now go back and write a couple of shorter scenes - around 50 words - to foreshadow this plot twist!

Summary:
Just a quick recap -
Satisfy and surprise the reader
It needs to affect and change the direction of the story
Don’t worry too much about the plot twist being predicted, that can provide satisfaction in its own way
That being said, don’t go too hard on the foreshadowing
Any kind of plot twist works!
Have fun!

Conclusion:
That’s it! I hope this workshop gave you the information you were looking for! Sorry it’s a bit long and complicated and all over the place, I got a bit (very) carried away. That being said, plot twists are always really fun to read and worth the effort to write. Keep in mind that I am by no means a professional writer and the things that I say and that work for me might not necessarily work for everyone. Above all, I hope you had fun! Byeee~

Part 2 - Story from a workshop (1195/500)
From @extrovertedd’s workshop on plot and planning - https://scratch.mit.edu/discuss/topic/696746/?page=1#post-7372275

It wasn’t the fact that he was on the subway that scared me.
He had appeared for as long as I had been taking that route, always with his face hidden by a bright red scarf and overly large sunglasses, always in the same car as me, always watching.
Rather than being creeped out, I had grown to think of them as a fixture, simply part of the city. There were hot-dog vendors on every corner, taxis were the colour of mangoes, and the man with the red scarf always stalks me on the subway. It was simply another part of the New York lifestyle.
That being said, the only thing keeping me from filing a restraint order was the fact that it could very well be a coincidence. Perhaps he just worked at the same time as me.
Come to think of it, I never saw him get off the subway.
But the man in the red scarf isn’t what scared me. The man in the red scarf isn’t the reason I had to drop my life, my job and all my dreams and run.
No. What scared me was when he simply wasn’t there.
Like I said, he had always been a part of this city, as at home as the streetlights and whizzing traffic. But one day I settled down in my seat for the long commute and saw he simply wasn’t there.
I tried not to think about it, of course. I slipped in my earphones and put on my horror podcast, which is perhaps one of the worst things to listen to when one is so unsettled.
Still. I managed to almost forget about it. There was probably a natural reason for his abrupt departure, possibly he’d just been taken ill. But I couldn’t shake a deep sense of foreboding. I felt like something terrible had happened to him and would soon befall me.
I was right.
Ten minutes into the journey, I was resting my head against the cool glass windows because I simply couldn’t take another word bouncing around in my head. People chattered around me, some yelling into their phones, others typing away with a dull, monotonous sound that thudded into my brain. The lights flickered overhead. I felt more like a fish out of water than ever. Why on earth was I so worried about a maybe-stalker? Or was I simply paranoid? Why was I even here, when I could be safe at home in the sprawling countryside of England?
Then the lights went out.
Absolute total darkness blanketed the subway. I jumped, my hand instinctively reaching out to press something cool and metal. I sat ramrod straight in my seat. It was probably just a power cut or something. That was all. We would slow down and eventually stop because of the lack of electricity, but that was it. It would just be a hassle, not lethal.
But the sense of foreboding I had earlier was overtaking me, blanketing my brain like slimy tentacles gouging into my thoughts.
We weren’t stopping. In fact, the train was getting faster.
The lights above me flickered, throwing sparks. The brief moment of light illuminated the train car. Metal poles, plastic seats, white walls.
And not a single other person.
I was alone.
For some reason, I didn’t scream or move or do anything at all. I simply sat there, waiting. Knowing what I felt was coming had finally come.
The light sparked again, and this time I wasn’t alone.
There was a… fog in the train now. I don’t really know how to describe it, other than the fact that it curled and moved in tendrils like something alive and sparkled with electricity. It curled itself into a figure, towering high above me. Its face was made of smoke with no defining features. It was an amalgamation of every human I had ever seen, but I knew it wasn’t human at all.
The figure reached for me with what the smoke had formed to be hands and I finally moved.
I jumped up from my seat and flew down the carriage. I didn’t look back as I slammed headlong into the doors. The train was going so fast at that point, it was more like falling than running.
“HELP!” I screamed, pounding at the closed door with my fists.
I glanced over my shoulder, watching the figure glide towards me like it had all the time in the world.
I screamed again, loud and incoherent knowing no one would come. My legs gave way and I slid down to the floor.
Yes.
The voice seemed to come from everywhere at once. Smoke filled my lungs and burned my eyes and the air felt charged. I knew without looking back that the figure had reached me.
Yes, you will make an excellent host.
Pain ripped into my skull and I could feel the smoke grinding down my throat into me. It felt like swallowing glass. I wanted to scream, but I could only choke, watching as black stars and blue sparks flickered across my eyelids.
Not yet. Not yet. I didn’t want to die. Tears pricked my eyelids that had nothing to do with the smoke. Panic set my brain on fire, my chest burned, electricity sending pinprick sparks of pain into my skin
And then it stopped.
I couched, my lungs desperate to expel the shards of glass in my throat. I blinked my bleary eyes open against the bright light. I felt dizzy, and I had no energy to move myself from my spot on the ground.
The lights were back on. The train had returned to its normal purposeful but steady pace. Purposeful and steady, like everything in this city. Except apparently, smoke demons that want to kill me.
I wasn’t alone anymore.
This time, it did surprise me that the man with the red scarf was on the subway. Or maybe it didn’t. Maybe on some level I knew that he had saved me from what had almost happened. And he had been the reason it hadn’t happened sooner.
I stood up on shaky limbs, half leaning against the carriage door.
“You,” I rasped, “have a lot of explaining to do,”
He didn’t move from his spot by the door except to shift his sunglasses to rest on the bridge of his nose, revealing two piercing green eyes. Like mine.
“I’m aware,” he said, and I was surprised to hear the crisp accent and soft tone of home, “Which is why I’ll have to ask you to come with me,”
I hesitated, glancing around at the still empty carriage, “Beats waiting around for a smoke monster,” I shrugged, then coughed. Wheezing, so hard I was forced to bend over as pain shot through my ruined throat. He started towards me, but I held up a hand to halt him.
“Promise you’re not a psycho stalker serial killer,” I said.
“I promise I am not a psycho stalker serial killer” he said, placing a hand over his heart.
I nodded, allowing him to help me up.
And for the first time, we left the subway together.

Planning from the workshop (not part of the story)-
Exposition- who’s red scarf man
Rising action- lights go off, protag is alone
Climax- hello demon, nice to meet you
Falling action - hang on, I’m not dead??
Resolution - hello again mr scarf, hope you’re not sus at all.
Lol, this was a very rushed story, I’m sorry.

Part 3 - Critique (447/200)
From FireBlood23, here

Let me start off by saying, I loved this piece. I loved how more and more information was slowly trickled in, I love the extremely powerful emotional descriptions and the creative formatting made it super easy to read.

The gaps in information being slowly pieced together was brilliant. The exposition was in the perfect places, and it felt like we were processing the information along with the protagonist. I pretty much understood everything that was going on.

The emotion was absolutely incredible. I could feel everything the protagonist was feeling, the numbness, the sheer pain that comes with grief. It was beautifully done. Emotional impact 10/10

However, there are a couple of minor grammatical errors-

I sat, inanimate, staring at the wall but also past it. Looking at something else entirely. Looking at nothing. (snip) My mind is a minefield, one wrong step and I’m gone once more. It’s easier not to think, but I can’t stop thinking.
There’s a bit of a tense error here. The first sentence is in past tense but the rest of it is in present tense.

Its just nothing. It’s almost worse than the pain.
…. Its not physical but somehow emotional, mental pain is worse.
Technically, “It’s” should be replaced by “it’s” with an apostrophe (short for it is, while its means possession of something)

If they’re still breathing they’re lucky.
Should be a comma here. “If they’re still breathing, they’re lucky.”

As for word choice, there really is only one instance I can think of-

I draped the quilt that rested over my shoulders around hers. I took out a gift, she smiled. Her smile brighter than all the stars in the sky. Then leaned over and kissed me.
This could probably be phrased a bit better. And I’m not entirely sure what you meant to convey with the quilt. And again, it’s in past tense while the rest of the scene is present. It could probably be something like -
I see myself draping the quilt around our shoulders. I take out a gift, and I can’t remember what it was but the real gift was her smile. Brighter than all the stars in the sky. Then she leaned over and kissed me.

In terms of things to improve, it's already really good! The only thing that could really take it to the next level is making the main character a bit more relatable. Currently, we don’t really know much about anything, and while blurring the past adds a sense of mystery, it does make it harder to connect to the characters. Possibly, a couple of lines in the flashback sequence that hint at either of the character’s personalities could help. Plus, if the readers care about the characters, it doubles the emotional impact.

All in all, an absolutely incredible story. It really got me in the feels and I love the little segments in the formatting. Your style is great too, I loved how the descriptions stood out in the flashback. Most of all, I really felt like I was in the protagonist’s head. Anyway, awesome job. Thanks for choosing me to critique!

(sorry if I came off as too negative with the grammar errors, I’m a much better writer than a critiquer lol)

My writing thread

Name: Ava
Cabin: Lyric
Wordcount (critique): 431
Content: Critique (For their writing)
Writing by: @Yellow_Owlet

LET'S GET IT

The writing in your story is vivid and engaging, creating a sense of intrigue and adventure! I loved the story and I think the plot is very good, and jere are a few suggestions for improvement:

1. Show, don't tell: While you do a good job of describing Ethan's journey and the challenges he faces, consider incorporating more sensory details and specific actions to immerse the reader in the story. Instead of simply stating that the sea felt unfamiliar and unpredictable, you could describe the crashing waves, the smell of salt in the air, and the way the boat pitched and rolled.

2. Develop the characters: Ethan is the main character, and while we know he is a young fisherman with a sense of adventure, we don't get a deep understanding of his personality, desires, or motivations. Consider adding more insights into his thoughts, feelings, and background to make him a more relatable and well-rounded character. Additionally, you could introduce other characters in the town of Seabreeze who have an impact on Ethan's journey.

3. Build suspense: While there are obstacles and challenges in Ethan's journey, try to heighten the suspense and tension to keep the reader engaged. You can do this by emphasizing the risks he faces, exploring his doubts and fears, and creating a sense of urgency as he approaches the hidden island and enters the cave. This will make the eventual discovery of the pearl and the realization of his purpose even more satisfying.

4. Vary sentence structure: To enhance the flow and rhythm of the story, consider using a mix of sentence lengths and structures. While the current writing is generally well-paced, incorporating shorter, punchier sentences during moments of action or intensity can add impact. Similarly, longer, more descriptive sentences can help set the scene and create a sense of wonder.

5. Provide more details about the mystical island: The island Ethan discovers is described as lush and beautiful, but you could add more specific details to make it feel even more vivid and magical. Consider describing the sounds of exotic birds, the scent of tropical flowers, or the unique characteristics of the island's flora and fauna. This will help transport the reader into the enchanting world you've created.

Overall, your story has a solid foundation and captures the essence of a classic adventure tale. By incorporating these suggestions, you can further enhance the reader's experience and bring the story to life.

As for a name: Maybe you can name it The pearl of the seas? Sounds pretty nice to me KEEP GOING, YOU'RE AN AWESOME WRITER!

.

YOU KNOW I WANT THAT HOoOoOoOoooOME~
YOU KNOW YOU GOT THAT HOOoOooOOoOOOOoME~

hiii!


Dailies:
July 14th
July 16th




Weeklies:
Weekly 2



Word Wars:
Word war w/ @coclate123
Word war w/ @Dawnflower29

Critiques:
Critique for @PoppyWriter
Critique for @charliesunset (see Weekly 2)

Writing Competition entry:
Entry

July 14th Daily

Song: Little Talks by Of Monsters and Men
Languages Translated: English ➡ Spanish ➡ Polish ➡ Indonesian ➡ Czech ➡ Filipino ➡ Romanian ➡ English
Start: I don't like walking around this old and empty house
So hold my hand, I'll walk with you my dear
The stairs creak as you sleep
It's keeping me awake
It's the house telling you to close your eyes
And some days I can't even dress myself
It's killing me to see you this way
'Cause though the truth may vary
This ship will carry our bodies safe to shore
There's an old voice in my head
That's holding me back
Well, tell her that I miss our little talks
Soon it will be over and buried with our past
We used to play outside when we were young
And full of life and full of love
Some days I don't know if I am wrong or right
Your mind is playing tricks on you, my dear
'Cause though the truth may vary
This ship will carry our bodies safe to shore
Don't listen to a word I say
(Hey)
The screams all sound the same
(Hey)
And though the truth may vary
This ship will carry our bodies safe to shore

End: I don't like walking around this old empty house
So hold my hand, I'll come with you
The stairs moved when he slept
I won't be allowed to sleep
This is a house that makes you want to close your eyes
And I couldn't get dressed for a few days
It's annoying to see you like this
Because even the truth can be different
This ship will bring our bodies safely to shore.
It was an old voice in my head
it kept me going
Well, tell him I missed our conversation
Soon it will be over and buried with our past
When we were children, we used to play outside.
And full of life and full of love
There are days when I don't know if I'm right or wrong
Your mind is playing tricks on you, my love.
Because even the truth can be different
This ship will bring our bodies safely to shore.
Don't listen to a word I say
(How are you)
All the screams sounded the same
(How are you)
And even the truth can be different
This ship will bring our bodies safely to shore.

Story: (446 words)

I held the young boy's hand tightly, not wanting to admit that I was doing it more for my comfort than his. Every little noise we made echoed throughout the dark, empty house. As I led him to his bedroom, and he became sleepier and sleepier, and I could hear the stairs start to move. He had some sort of power over the house; when he was asleep, it was awake. The house, wanting to be awake, forced him asleep. I, on the other hand, could never sleep. I was always working, cooking, making sure he had the great life I once briefly had. I remembered a time, when I was his age, that the house hadn't been dark. It had been comforting, and full of life. A little girl who shared the boy's warm smile played with me outside. We lay on the grass outside, thinking about what our lives would be like in a few years. If we would still know each other. If we would still be there for each other at every moment we needed it. I can still hear her voice sometimes, and it helps me in ways you cannot imagine. Sometimes I think about what my life will be like in a couple years, laying on the dead grass underneath the gray clouds. Will I still be stuck in this life, caring for the love of my life's child who isn't mine? Or will I be with her in the afterworld, enjoying a picnic in the park? I had always known she had had some type of power, some divine feeling to her. It had obviously been passed down to her son. Sometimes, I wished I had it too, and not because it seemed like magic, but because it would give me some feeling of connection to her. A connection that was lost a long time ago, well before she died. Does she remember me, her childhood best friend? Whom she discussed everything with? Or does she live in heaven, wishing she could be with her child's father, who left her to care for her son herself? If she was still here, I knew she would make everything better. She could tell her son how we knew each other, because the memories are too painful for me to tell. She could bring some warmth to the dark, miserable place that had once been her home. But alas, I knew that would never happen. Ever since her death, I had lost all faith in the world, though I still thought about what would be different in my world- and her son's- if everything I had just thought about could come true.

Writing Contest Entry:
——- Chapter ——- 1 ——- ——-
November 2057, SWC Main Cabin
A mango zoomed over my head as I hid behind a partially ruined wall. Everywhere was just chaos. There wasn’t a place anywhere that wasn’t covered with mangoes or hadn't been ars0ned. Everyone was panicking, wondering when - or if - the hosts would fix things. Then I remembered- the mango time machine! We had saved it for an absolute emergency, and I thought then had definitely counted as an emergency. I raced to the garage, dodging mangos the whole way. I lifted open the door, and in all its glory, there was the time machine- the one thing that hadn't been covered in mango. I climbed in, and traveled back to 2023. There HAD to be someone that could fix things…
July 2023, A beach
She sat on the beach, her laptop on her lap (how ironic), looking up weird cliche writing prompts because she was bored and unmotivated and feeling like arsoning her sister. Her research had led her to the site ‘5 Cliche Prompts You Should Never Use.’ Except, she was going to use one. Suddenly, the huge mango time machine glided in behind her on the beach, not so quietly. from her distance away she probably couldn’t tell, but I bet I looked like a food war involving mangoes had just happened. “Hey!” She called to me. “What are you doing, where did you come from, where did the MANGO come from, and how are you here?” she asked.
I jumped off the giant mango, and walked over to her. “1. Escaping from a mango war, 2. I come from the future, 3. The future, and the mango is a time machine.”
“Umm… and why are you here?” she asked.
“You have to stop a mango war.”
“Wait, what-”
“I’ll explain on the way!” I yelled, running back toward the time machine. “Come on!” I yelled over my shoulder.
“Ummm… ok?” She ran after me and climbed into the mango time machine. “So what year are we traveling to?
“November, 2057. Prepare for chaos.”
——- Chapter ——- 2 ——- ——-
“So… will you explain?” She asked
“Wait until we get back to the mango war- it’s hard to talk while the time travel machine is going.” I flipped the switch to start the time travel.
November 2057, SWC Main Cabin
I pulled her out and we hid behind the time machine.
“Now will you explain?” She asked
“Oh. Yeah. So, first I should explain SWC to you so you understand what’s going on better,” I said.
One long explanation of SWC later…
“So, there are 21 cabins and people are sorted into one of them? And they try to write the most words?”
“Yep, that’s the basis of it! There’s a lot more fun stuff but I won’t bore you, you don’t need to know the details.”
“Hmm… so tell me more about this ‘mango war’ I have to stop.”
“Well, Horror and Thriller’s leaders went crazy and decided to ars0n the main cabin, then sabotage all the other cabins with mangoes and fire, even their siblings.
“And I have to stop them?”
“Yep. I have one lead though- I think that Sci-fi’s star map had something to do with it.”
“What makes you think that?”
“Why are you asking? I'm smart, that's how.”
“Well whatever let’s get going-”
We left the garage and looked at the incredibly messy scene in front of us. Mango stains were everywhere and more were being created every 5 seconds- we would become targets like everyone else ourselves if we didn’t get moving. “Come on,” I said.
“Where are we going?” She asked, looking around.
“Just going to look at what’s happening, observing and such.”
“Well, do you have any ideas on how to stop this war?”
“You’re on your own for that.”
“REALLY WHY-”
“Well I haven’t got any ideas you could recruit some other peeps but until then you’re on your own.”
“You know, I’ve been wondering- why haven’t you gotten involved in this?”
“I’m a host.” I rolled my eyes.
“Oh yeah that makes sense.” she paused. “Why can’t you stop it? You and the host team?”
“The host team… the host team is d3ad. I’m the only one still alive.”
“Hmm. Wait, what's your name? You never told me.”
“I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours.”
“Fine. You first.” She said.
“Whatever. Mine’s-” Someone yelled from a distance away.
“Hey! Isn’t that a host?” they yelled. They were pointing at us, and everyone looked.
“Yeah! That’s a host!” someone else yelled.
I looked at her. “Oh no.”
——- Chapter ——- 3 ——- ——-
Suddenly some rando gets a podium and stands on it. “I AM ANI YOU WILL LISTEN TO MEEEEE TRUE SWC FOLKS EAT MANGOES AND DRINK COFFEEEEEEEEE ESPECIALLY CAPPUCCINOOO!” they yelled. Then they noticed that everyone was looking at me and her. “Hey isn’t that a host-”
“Yeah, that's a host! But who’s that person next to them?” Someone asked.
Suddenly, she disappeared in front of me. “What-” I said.
“Shh.” she whispered. I look down and can’t see my hands.
“Did you turn me invisible?” I ask.
“Shh.”
“Um, why did those people go invisible-” Ani said, looking at where we had been.
I rolled my eyes, but pulled her away to TCTWNW’s cabin. It was damaged more than the other cabins; me and my co had vowed not to participate in the war, leaving us an easy target. It wasn’t completely abandoned though- most of our campers were still there, as well as my co.
{UNFINISHED}
923 words~

July 14th Daily
Tw: Bl00d, murder, and other stuff that you would see in a horror movie
I did the lyrics to Smooth Criminal by Michael Jackson




Your Crash Annie (The Day Is Gone)

I came up to my apartment and put the key in the lock. The door opened with a creak. I walked across the room, my feet squishing with each step. Ew. Finally, I looked down and there were bloodstains on the carpet. There was the sound of scuffling. Just then, a figure darted across the room and slid underneath the table. Well, more like tried to slide underneath the table. When he saw that he couldn't, he ran into my bedroom. Then a woman stalked out of my kitchen into my bedroom. Screams erupted from there. I whimpered and decided to hide behind the couch. I took out my cell phone and began texting my roommate. Annie, how are you? Are you good? Tell me you're okay. Then the woman from before came out of the room with a piece of paper and posted it in the window. The Sharpie bled through the paper, revealing the words, “She Killed You - Great Woman.” Then she closed the curtains. I gulped as she passed me on her way out the door. Then I shot up and ran to lock it behind her. I called Annie, but the phone went straight to voicemail. "Annie! A guy came to my apartment, and then there was a woman, and they left bloodstains on the carpet and now there's a guy in the bedroom and he is not okay, I-" A loud groan came from my bedroom. *. I dropped my phone in surprise, which in retrospect was not a good idea, but I was terrified. I crept to the door of the bedroom. The man groaned louder. “Did…did y-you…of-ff-fend…” he moaned. “What?” I muttered to myself under my breath. “Yo-you…c-can't, you can't…wait,” he wailed. “Oh, goodness,” I murmured. “NINE ONE ONE!” the man shrieked, making me scream. Then everything fell silent. “You were killed by a dangerous criminal,” a voice said from the room. It wasn't the man and it sounded vaguely disembodied. “Oh, no,” I muttered. “Crescendo beat you, man,” the voice said. I speed-dialed Annie again. “ANNIE!” I screeched. “What the…” the voice said confusedly. I backed up until my back hit the door, then I scrambled to open it. I ran out, panting. “Annie, are you good? Annie, I need you to answer me. Annie?” Then I ran into a woman that had the same silhouette as the one from earlier. But…the face was familiar. “Annie?”

July 14th - daily
435 words

I saw it in the grocery store.
I don't think we've met before.
Nice to meet you.
How can I not see you?
He was wearing shorts.
He looks like a child.
Truth of truth.
Yes, I love you.
I know I've been through it.
I have to accept that.
I don't see the end of ‘reason’.
You have to die for me.
My enemy, but now.
You are me and you.
You are me and you.
I've seen my life.
In front of you

__________________

Mila had been down on her luck since she was laid off from work and had turned to the local grocery store to make ends meet. As she walked up and down the aisles of food, she noticed a boy at the end of the aisle, wearing a pair of colourful shorts and an off white t-shirt. She couldn't understand how she hadn't seen the boy earlier, as all the other shoppers had seemingly parted around him. The town was quite small, everyone knew everyone else, and one of the top places for gossip; with mostly retired elders, news always spread quick.

Oddly, Mila immediately felt a connection with the boy, and decided to approach him. He was only a year younger than her, Mila in her first year of college, and the boy, a senior in highschool.

“Hi! I don't think we've met before. Nice to meet you, ” she smiled, throwing out her hand. “I'm Mila.”

The boy looked up in surprise. His face was young and innocent; the face of a child, but the body and mind of a teenager. “Uh, how can I not see you? You look like a normal person,” the boy laughed and shook Mila's hand.

Mila smiled at the reference. ‘Truth of truth. I love it,“

The boy’s eyes widened in shock and he took a step back. ”You're a fan??“ He was genuinely surprised to meet another (fandom name). First time hearing about one in the town too.

Mila sighed, reciting her family favourite quote from the show, in character. ‘I know I’ve been through it and I have to accept that. I don't see the end of ‘reason’, but I know that now, here in front of you, you are me and I am you. I've seen my life played out in front of me, and I know that sometimes I have to die for myself and my enemy for all of us to survive. ”

The boy stuttered, not able to comprehend what was happening. Eventually he gathered his composure and said, “You're right. I'm so sorry I didn't see you until now.”

Mila smiled and nodded. “It's okay, I understand.”

“End scene,” the boy laughed, along with (possibly) his new friend. “By any chance..” He stuttered. “Would I be able to get your number?”

She cleared her through and began speaking with an accent. “And let the Russians know who I am?” another reference. She pulled out her phone, trading it with the other boy.

The two of them walked out of the store. Together, they'd found a reason to move forward.

July 14th Daily
423 words
Google Translated “Paint” by The Paper Kites
I eat my holiday
Sit down and practice
I am looking for a circle of love
It's not there yet, but I'm still getting it
Maybe you're married
I will
And I laugh as I go
It's in my head, it's in my head
I painted what I want no one to see
There aren't many
nice to see you
Just give it to me
Just give it to me

Alizarin Crimson. Cadmium Yellow. Prussian Blue.
Dab. Swish.
The first stroke.
It shone bright on the blank canvas.
With paint, there were no mistakes. Everything was just … final.
Prussian Blue stood alone against a backdrop of white.
Brush. Brush.
It carefully spread out and filled the empty space.
Dab. Swish.
Something new.
Cadmium Yellow crept up the corners.
A masterpiece was made of every stroke. It was defined by everything that came before it.
Pause.
Solitary colors against a vast blankness.
Dab.
They waited for the next stroke.
Swish.
Alizarin Crimson brazenly made its way into the unknown.
In a single moment the three were united again.
If something went wrong, it could be fixed. Covered up. Remade and absorbed into the symphony of paint on the canvas.
Cadmium Yellow sang as it met Alizarin Crimson.
Not too much!
A new note played.
The thrum of Orange vibrated across the canvas.
Crimson rushed to meet Blue, Blue turned to Yellow, and the canvas felt a little less empty.
Colors joined hands and danced to a new song.
The sound of the paint on the canvas rang out in perfect harmony.
Each detail of a painting stood out together to form a feeling. The experience of something never seen before.
Color defeated the barrenness, the impassivity, the loneliness.
Brush. Dab. Swish.
Colors sang their song and swirled into something recognizable.
The patter of paint blended with the hum of music in the background.
Crimson, Yellow, and Blue led Orange, Purple, and Green to their places.
Details sharpened into focus.
Color held its breath for the last note.
The paintbrush shook.
Every painting had this moment. Each aspect suddenly came together and something new was born. A piece of art was added to the world.
Dab.
Alizarin Crimson was called one last time.
Swish.
It sang its solo for the earth to hear.
Letters on a portrait.
Paint on paint.
A name.
The song was over; the work was complete.

Drip. Drip. Drip.
Rain pattered against the sidewalk in an untamed symphony.
Click. Click. Click.
She walked along the pavement.
Click. … Click.
Stop.
She looked through the gallery’s foggy glass.
A painting.
It shone bright in the dreary day.
The rain danced faster on the sidewalk, its steady drum growing louder.
Automobiles rushed past, their tires sending swells of water rolling over the curb.
But the noises of the city gave out in a single moment.
Her red umbrella stood alone against a sea of black.
Dab. Swish.
She brushed a tear away.

daily 7/14/2023
1001 words
mainly the translated lyrics (die for you) make an appearance at the halfway point of the story

_________________________

The police found out about it.
About the weapons.
His lungs filled up with that sickly smell of blood, as it must have for every other man charged with a crime here at town square. Everyone was punished here, in front of their neighbors, friends, and…
Family.
They were shot with their wives, uncles, grandparents, and children at the front row. Since the republic took over, punishment had to be brutal. Otherwise, would anyone stand for this torture?
“Stand up, you cur.”
The officer snarled, watching as the man weakly got up and walked over to the execution grounds, his thin hands clenched by the rusty iron shackles. His face was badly bruised, with more scars than his pure skin. The ability to properly walk had been lost– all he could go was stagger– a true battle between his once athletic figure and a limp.
And then, from the corner of his eye, he saw a woman. Her almond colored hair was a mess, her fingers stained with dirt, and her pretty face was covered in glass tears, sharper than a dagger. They pierced his heart.
The officers didn’t even announce his name.
They spat at him, before the tallest one delivered his decree. “Charged with distributing weapons to the public, this man here will be facing a brutal punishment.”
A blonde man with green eyes– the supreme dictator, who had decided that this was more important than his coffee break, began laughing in his twisted way. He then cleared his throat, silencing the murmurs of the townsfolk.
“I love watching people squirm in fear. I like to see their faces turn stone, their shaking hands. Fear is absolutely delicious. It is like a caramel lolly… the more you suck at it, the more of that inner core will be exposed. This man has acted without fear for his life by distributing weapons to you all.”
A few people in the crowd began clapping for the man, only to be silenced immediately– with a bullet shot into their heads.
“And although I do admire his bravery.. he is still a mangy cur, is he not? Which is why anyone clapping for him will be punished, just like our little rats over there.” He smiled in that awful way once more.
Taking a break to scan the area, he then picked up right where he left off. He watched all of the town shiver in fear, and licked his lips.
“Now, because our little friend here is so brave, I thought we could give him a special punishment.”
The crowd’s mouths dropped, watching their leader pull up a paper. They watched his beady green eyes scan the paper, looking for something. They then looked at the guilty man, who seemed to have a look on his face. A look of terror. He knew what was to come.
“The little lady in the pink dress… or, shall we say, our friend’s wife, please come up to the wood in front of your husband.
Sounds of shock and pity burst around the scene, as the tear stained woman walked over to her husband. A short range gun was thrust into her hands.
“Shoot.”
The woman looked at her husband and continued to cry. Her tears hit the ground with more force than an earthquake.
“Shoot, you dog!”
The officers began to lose patience, until the dictator began to speak.
“My friends, come over here for some lemonade. It is so hot. Give the couple two minutes.” The blonde man motioned for his comrades to come over to his balcony.

In between sobs, the lady reached for her husband’s scarred face. “What happened to you? Why did you never tell me you were doing this?”
He looked at her tears and his eyes began to turn red. “Please don’t cry…”
“How can I not? I’m afraid of losing you, I don’t want to feel this way…We have always tried,” she burst out.
Placing his bloody hand in hers, he whispered, “I know I will die… but I will die for you. I want to die for you. You are so–”
As his voice cracked with tears, he looked for a way to control his emotions. She was his world. She was so perfect and he would die for her. Always. Every second between them was a struggle that he was willing to face if it meant she was safe.
“You are too good for me,” his wife croaked out.
“This disease will not last long, my dear. We will be free.”
“How can I be free without you?”
Hands gripping each other, the town looked at the couple with love, and then at the dictator and officers with fury. And so they went back to the game of their youth– telephone– in order to save their fairytale.
“ONE MINUTE LOVE BIRDS!!” The dictator shouted, smirking as he did.
Placing a hand on her cheek, the man looked at his wife with tender eyes, his expression softening. “When you look into my eyes you’ll see. Tell me the truth. Tell me that you hate me for all of this. It’s your last chance.
“You’re lying.”
“I won’t lie to you. You must hate me for all of this, no?”
She raised her voice slightly, making sure the whole town could hear her plea.
“You’re lying that this is our last chance!”
She pulled the trigger on the office next to her in a flash, and without skipping a beat, the whole town charged at the men.
“VIVE LA REVOLUTION!” The town shouted, rushing up stairs, climbing statues, and much more. The dictator could not do much, for all his men had been shot, and soon he would come. “REINFORCEMENTS!!” he screamed in that same delicious terror he spoke of
Her husband looked at his wife and smiled before picking up a gun.
The disease would not last long. Never would it, with so many people united against it.

Critique for @Random_ballerina
——————————————-

Hi! I really liked this piece of writing– there was a distinct tone and personality for each of the characters and their perspectives, and I really liked hearing each of their thoughts in the same scene. So for writer's voice, I think you did an excellent job, and you were very consistent! One example that I appreciated was the very first line:

Random_ballerina wrote:

Natalia sauntered to her new school, as usual, confident and alone.

You used the word “sauntered” to describe Natalia's gait, which gives the reader some nice imagery and sets the mood for this character who I interpreted as having a bit of an ego/being a bit judgmental. Personally, my connotation of “sauntered” fits really well with her personality as you continued to describe her. Great job!

For some other feedback, I noticed 2 inconsistencies in the tense and POV you were writing in. First,

It was habitual. She’s daydreaming again.

This story so far has been in past tense, but here it deviates briefly to present tense. You write, “she's,” as in “she is” which is a bit off-putting. It should be “she was,” which isn't normally (if ever) abbreviated as the word “she's.” Second,

Mikalea skipped to school, full of energy. I’m behind Shaylise and Elyssa. Perfect for mouse-earing!

For just one sentence, Mikaela's perspective is suddenly in first person (I, me), when the rest of the story as well as her own part of it has been in third person (she, they, etc.) Now, with this example it would be completely appropriate to write this if it were perhaps in italics, or followed by a dialogue tag such as “she thought,” that clarified this was apart from the main narrative. Maybe something like this:

I'm behind Shaylise and Elyssa, she thought. Perfect for mouse-earing!

(If it is in italics, you may not need the tag, and vice-a-versa. Up to you!) If you weren't intending this to be Mikalea's thoughts, then you might instead want to write it like this,

She was behind Shaylise and Elyssa. The perfect opportunity for mouse-earing!

Or some variation of that. Anyways, I hope this is helpful feedback– I'm not entirely sure what FID is, but I think these were pretty much the only technical/grammatical errors I could spot! Overall, this is a really great piece and I loved seeing the different character's perspectives and hearing their individual voices and thoughts. Keep up the good work! And thanks for your feedback on my poem again.
-Reeds <3