Sweet dreams

Let's say, dear reader, that you are at the top of the highest tree in a forest. Don't focus too much on how you got there, how you'll get back, or even what forest it is, just sit there and enjoy the view.
And while you must see thousands of trees stretch out in either direction, do you see the break in the woods up ahead? It's almost like a path, isn't it? A winding, twisting, snakelike path made from the absence of trees.
What do you think it is? Let's take a closer look.
You climb down, just so you're level with the closest treetop. It's not very far, go on, climb over. You'll be fine as long as you're careful. Ah, there we go.
Now on the the next. Circle the tree, careful. There, now repeat what you did last time. Perfect!
You climb from tree to tree, gradually dropping lower, until, finally, you reach the mysterious path. Except it's not a path is it?
Instead, a big, lazy river stretches out before you, each bank farther apart than normal. And on the river bank are two young girls, sitting at a campfire. What? Yes, those ones, what other would I be talking about?
The sun has now set low over the treetops. You've been spending all afternoon getting here, after all. You come closer, silently making your way to a the tree closest them, and let yourself be enshrouded in the leaves. You listen. What are they talking about? Campfire stories? Yes? Okay.
You allow their tales of heroic exploits and haunted houses lull you to a rest, up there on your branch. It's not until long after you leave that the nocturnal forest creatures rise, awakening you from your half-sleep.
A badger paws at the tree, and you jump down next to it, giving the creature a pat. Not your best decision, but then again you were at the top of the tallest tree in the forest. The girls have long ago gone silent, and now all you hear from their tent is a soft snore. You almost expect one of them to walk out, asking you what you're doing, but nothing happens.
The badger pads away, leaving you in the campsite by the river. The forest is active, yet a sleepiness settles over you. It's so peaceful here. Why are you there? Does anyone know you're here? You seem too tired to answer. Perhaps you will head home, or find a good place to sleep.
But you seem intent on staying by the now-cold coals of the previously so lively campfire. You curl up next to it, in a mossy dent in the ground. It doesn't look very comfortable, but neither did the branch of a tree, so perhaps this is an upgrade.
You close your eyes and sigh softly, shifting and removing a stick from underneath you. What will the girls think about you in the morning? It- Oh, are you asleep?
Goodnight, then!
Now that that's dealt with, let's get to why we're really here, shall we?

Nov. Weekly #4

Your Journey: horror, option #1, adventure, option #1, mystery, option #3, hifi, option #1, poetry, option #3, bifi, option #2, fanfi, option #1, fantasy, option #3, scifi, option #2, thriller, option #3, script, option #3, realfi, option #3, dystopian, option #2, nonfi, option #1, folklore, option #2

(4032 words)
Today was a day like all others for Remi. Chock-full of chaos and destruction.
He didn't want to complain, it could've been a lot worse. In fact, it would have. He was glad it wasn't but this was getting incredibly tiring. Couldn't he just have one week off? To relax and enjoy the seaside, maybe go swimming a couple times, take nice long walks on the beach? Was it too much to ask for an ice-cream in the sun?
Apparently so.
This was his life, and he could deal with that, he just wished it were a little different sometimes.
The only thing that made it really bearable was putting on his mask. The blank one that covered his face completely, making him look like something from some cool movie. Sometimes he had to remind himself that it was for his protection, so they wouldn't find him when he wasn't wearing it, and not some cool accessory.
Well, it kind of was, wasn't it? The pearl-like white shine of it, the way it hid those parts that let him breathe and see so well it might as well have been one and the same material. He'd found it in an attic of the abandoned seaside cottage he lived in, and he intended to keep it forever.
So that morning, when he had eaten breakfast, dutifully ignoring the chaos outside, he felt a small thrill at pulling out the mask from its hidden space behind the fireplace and fitting it to his face.
The white satin cloak came next, and then he was off through the secret passage he'd fashioned for himself out to the neighbour's shed. No one lived there anyway.
He snuck out as quickly and sneakily as he could, heading towards the beach. He could already see the sea swirling and churning, unbeknownst to the swimmers that avoided the area subconsciously. The only comfort to him was that the cloak gave him the same effect as whatever was in the water. Unseeable and repellent to the regular person. Good for walking around like one of those creatures from that video game he'd played once before all this - Journey?
Without hesitation, he waded out into the saltwater, glad his cloak kept him dry, wishing it would let him walk through the water easily. In retrospect, he realized he might've been able to swim, but he was afraid to lose his mask. The water was working against him, pushing him back, yet he kept wading out, trying not to let it push him under.
It wasn't working very well, and he fell twice in four minutes, inhaling large quantities of water. But both times he got up again, coughed, spluttered, and heaved up what was left of it in his lungs.
And then he kept going.
Whatever it was this time, it was big. And most definitely a hazard to the general population on this beach. Once it got too deep to reach, Remi made sure his mask was on tight and dove under, swimming fast towards his target. So far his mask kept his eyes free of water, and he could see the dark shape ahead. It was huge.
He was increasingly glad he'd played the French horn before his ‘seaside retreat’. If not, he would have exceeded his lung capacity by then.
Tentacles. The first thing he noticed about the creature as he got closer. Any other defining characteristics were lost on him, as the creature seemed to be kicking up (flinging up?) so much sand it was virtually impossible to tell what he was dealing with. Why couldn't it have been up on the shore? Those were so much easier.
There was no more time to ponder his terrible luck, as he needed air. As quickly as possible. He paddled towards the surface, eternally grateful for the cloak that kept his clothes from becoming wet, and therefore heavy. He reached the surface with a gasp, struggling to keep himself aloft among the churning waves caused by his newest problem.
A pain, they were. But with him there to keep them occupied (or dead), they weren't such a widespread danger as they could be. It could be worse, he reminded himself yet again.
It could be worse.
And with that, he took a deep breath and plunged back down to take a proper look at the thing. He needed to know what it was before he could do anything to stop it from getting out of hand. Or tentacle.
I'll see myself out now, he thought, plunging headfirst into the sandy parts of the water.
A couple minutes later, he pushed to the surface, breathing heavily. A Kraken. Really? Was someone /trying/ to make things worse for him? With remorse, he remembered the last time he had to fight one of them. Having a special sword had been nice. Made things easier. But due to its origins, (unknown, he was more referring to the museum he'd stolen it from) he'd felt obliged to sneak back in and put it back. Now all he had was a lousy replica in his attic. The sword had been easy enough to steal, he'd just worn the cloak, ignored the wide-eyed kid that seemed to be able to see him (he felt bad for them, that could lead to a very unpleasant life), and deactivated the alarm. With a replica in place, it really wasn't hard to just walk out with it hidden under the satin, and slay the beast. But that had been a long time ago, and the sword had moved to another museum, too far away to ponder.
He questioned how to deal with his newfound issue. /Couldn't it have been something a little more… I don't know, killable?/ Was that a word? Why did he care?
Without any equipment, there was no way he was getting it under control, so he swam back to shore, running as fast as he could on his wobbly legs to the shed, making sure to take a detour in case anyone could see. Then he disappeared through the entrance back home. Once there, he wasted no time in taking off his mask and grabbing a book on sea creatures and flipped to the chapter on Krakens. It was clear that something had upset it, but there weren't any good indications as to why. The book wasn't much help. He sighed. Sometimes they could be reasoned with, but it wasn't even certain that this one could talk. He needed to figure out how to calm it down, and fast.
Krakens liked human flesh, but this was the first time he'd ever even heard of one so close to the shore. It didn't bode well. Remi had feared something like this might happen for some time, what with recent activity picking up, but it was greatly unnerving either way.
He gathered his strength and headed back to the water, this time swimming as soon as it got deep enough. This had ought to work, or he and possibly the rest of the people in the area were screwed. Once above the Kraken (a frightening thought, but he'd gotten used to stuff like that), he filled his lungs with air, and swam downwards. He got pretty far into the sandy abyss before he saw the shadows of the tentacles, moving dangerously fast. There was no way he was getting through them.
So without other options, he swam to the surface.
The other time had been way easier. Remi had seen a report on capsized ships farther out in the ocean on the news, and mistrusting as ever, he decided that the ‘hit an underwater rock’ theory needed to be tested. Once out on his sailboat, he found the coordinates had a mysterious-looking island on it that shouldn't be there. He wasn't dumb, it took him about a minute to find out it was a Kraken and sailed away as quickly as he could for fear of being dragged under as well. That one had been complacent, and he trusted locals to stay away for a while, so it was no trouble to take a bus to the museum, steal the sword, come back, and sail out to the same place again. The ‘island’ had moved slightly, but all he'd really had to do was get on it and plunge the sword deep into its head (what the part above land was). Easy. This… not so much.
Remi was seriously considering a sacrifice (only if all else failed, of course) by now. He would do it himself but he was scared it wouldn't work, and besides, who was going to take care of everything that was going wrong when he was gone? If he had a replacement, sure, but he didn't and his own death would lead to multiple others.
He tried going under again, and seeing if he could talk from a distance. That was less than successful, as speaking underwater was less than ideal, and nothing would have heard him. He was too far away. Looking at the dark mass beneath him, it didn't feel like enough. It'd been calm enough to allow him to get closer earlier, why couldn't it do that now? His life really was treating him less-than-ideally today. Chock full of chaos and (inevitable) destruction.
With no other option, he swam back to shore. Sitting in the sand, he contemplated his options. Draw it away with a decoy? Blood sacrifice? (No Remi, murder is bad)
That's when he saw that the person standing a few meters away, who had previously looking out at the water (right around where the Kraken was, but he wasn't paying enough attention to notice) had turned to him, frowning. He checked his surroundings, there was nothing out of the ordinary right where he sat. Except of course…
“What are you wearing?” they asked.
Oh.
They had been staring at the churning water after all. How did he respond? No one ever asked that kind of stuff because the few that noticed him often knew not to, or were too shocked to.
Remi was too dumbfounded to speak. The person asked again, probably thinking he hadn't heard them. That brought him back to his senses, and he started rambling. “Can you see me? Sorry about that, by the way. Sucks. Sorry, I've just not had anyone ask that before. See, most people don't really know I'm there when I wear this. And- and I don't talk to people about it. It has the same effect as they do, y'know? Sorry, I'm rambling, aren't I?”
They looked thoroughly confused. “What do you mean ‘don’t see you'? You're not invisible.”
“Yeah. No, of course not. But to regular people.”
“Regular…? What?”
/Ohhh/. They got the sight recently, didn't they?
“Do you see things other's ignore? Weird things?”
“I mean, I guess? Does the water count?”
“Yes! Yes, exactly like the water. You'd think people would evacuate it and there'd be news channels and stuff, right? But instead they just kind of avoid it? Like it doesn't exist?”
“My thoughts exactly. What are you getting at?” they asked, sitting down next to him.
“It's because they don't see it. There's something that prevents them from being able to. They move away from it subconsciously,” Remi explained, wishing he could take his mask off. But something might see him, and he wasn't about to endanger himself that much just for one person to trust him more. He looked at them expectantly, as their face contorted in even more confusion. As he waited for an answer, he got his first proper look at them, unobscured by the edge of the hood of his cloak. They were young, maybe a couple years older than him at best. Their skin was tan, and their eyes a dark brown. Short, dirty blond hair framed their face. His eyes were drawn to their eyebrow slit and downturned eyes. They were objectively quite attractive. Lanky frame, grace, all the things he'd wished he'd had in middle school.
“Why?” they asked, startling him from his revere.
“I'm not sure. There are certain dangerous creatures the average person just… can't perceive. I've dubbed being able to ‘sight’ but I don't think it has a name.”
“…Okay. Why didn't I have sight before, then? And what's that in the water?”
“I'm not sure. I got mine a couple years ago. Now I've made it my job to make sure they don't kill everyone.” He gestured at the waves. “And that's a Kraken.”
They hummed, nodding slightly. “Why aren't you doing anything about it then?”
“Um,” he wasn't used to talking to people outside of brief, polite exchanges, and he struggled to find the words. “I don't know how. Krakens are very invulnerable and this one is very agitated. I can't even get close. Besides, I've never even heard of one being this close to shore.”
“So you can't kill it?”
“Correct.”
“Can you get it to go away?”
What was with all the questions? Why weren't they denying anything? How were they so calm?
“Maybe if I lure it further from shore, but I don't know how.”
“I'll help.”
Remi took a few seconds to process what they were saying, and when he had, he almost yelped in surprise. This conversation was not going as he thought it would in the slightest.
“You- what?” he stuttered, doubting his ears. He did hear people saying the wrong thing sometimes, he'd gotten teased for it in middle school.
“I'll help you.”
“Why?” he asked dumbly.
“That thing's gonna kill people if we don't get it away from them. I'll help.”
He admired their stubbornness, but what? Why weren't they scared? Or surprised? Or anything? He wanted to shout at them for being so calm at a time like this. They weren't supposed to be calm. They were supposed to show emotions. Anger, sadness, terror, anything.
“Why are you so calm?”
“Oh, no, I'm freaking out. But it makes sense and I'm trying not to think about it right now. That Kraken needs to go, and I can save the processing for after. What do I do?”
“Well, um. We need a plan. And we shouldn't be out here. Come with me?” he asked, deciding to go with it. Their reasoning made sense, somehow. So it was okay, he guessed. Like they had said, save the processing for later. They had a sea monster to deal with. And he was good at that.
They looked sceptical, and considered it for a second. But it took less time than he'd expected for them to say yes. “Good, follow me, and stay inconspicuous,” he said, and then thought about how impractical that would be. They were gorgeous, and would surely attract tons of attention. Oh well, it would have to do.
He got up, and they followed his lead, walking through the sand towards the house with the shed. It was the house whose yard bordered his, and therefore made it less obvious it was his house he was going to.
With practiced ease, he snuck around the corner of the house and opened the shed with some keys he'd fashioned for the lock (a difficult process, but he'd had a lot of time). He ushered them in and locked the door from inside, wasting no time in leading them through the secret passage, but not missing the flash of genuine terror on their face and immediately realizing how it could be perceived. “Sorry,” he muttered, going first in the tunnel to provide them with a small sense of security.
Once out the other end, which was located in the closet attached to his kitchen, he pulled off the mask and opened the door, unfastening his cloak. They stepped out behind him, taking in his face. Immediately he became self-conscious about the small scar on his arm, his rounded cheeks and unattractive face. It took a lot to convince himself they weren't judging him, and then he wondered why he cared. He didn't normally. Why was he suddenly so self-conscious in front of them?
He cleared his throat. “You can just… come in here, I guess,” he muttered, gesturing to the living room/entrance. The blinds were all down, a safety precaution, but he was also grateful that they couldn't tell exactly where he lived, either. Not that it mattered much anyway.
Without a word, he gestured for them to sit down and headed to the attic, where he quickly grabbed his backup cloak and looked through an old theatre box to find a raven-themed mask that fit the top half of the face. It would have to do.
Quickly as he was able, he came back down with the things and handed them to the person on the couch. What was their name anyway?
“What's your name?” they beat him to it.
“Remi, yours?”
“Eli, nice to meet you.”
“Nice to meet you too. Now, do you have any ideas?” he asked, switching over to his business mindset.
Eli frowned for a second. “You know how whatever-it-is makes people not see things? What if there's a reverse? Maybe we can trick it into leaving with visions?”
“Even if that were possible, we don't know how,” he said, mind working overtime.
“Okay. It was just an idea anyway.”
Remi knew he'd said something wrong, but he was to busy trying to think of a good plan to think about it too much. At last, something in his brain clicked. “Oh! But I like your decoy idea. What if we have a boat pass overhead to distract it and I can try to get close to it?”
They brightened slightly. “Sounds good, but what will you getting close to it do?”
“I can try to talk to it. And if it doesn't listen it'll at least have a snack. Maybe it's hangry, I don't know.”
He looked up at them to find a look of shock and horror on their face. “You're going to let it /eat/ you?!”
“Sure. If I need to.”
It took them a minute to respond. “How are we gonna get a boat to go over it? Won't it just eat the people in it? You said people avoid things like that.”
He smiled, relieved that they weren't arguing. It made things a lot easier. “I have a sailboat, and I'm a fast swimmer. You can sail out, I'll jump off, and I should be able to get there before it tries to eat you. Accelerate the speed just in case.”
They breathed out, stone-faced. “Okay.” And then: “Are you swimming in that?” they asked, glancing at his cloak.
“It prevents me from getting wet, and it's really light.”
They didn't look convinced, but nodded anyway. “At least you'll get there faster if you're sinking,” they said jokingly.
“Exactly!” he exclaimed, glad they understood. Upon seeing their face, however, he realized they had been kidding. Oh well, it was true.
The two spent another few minutes revising and making sure they had everything. If something went wrong, they could both very well get eaten. He didn't have too many qualms with that himself, but he didn't want to be responsible for Eli's death. He didn't want them to die at all, but the guilt of being the one who caused it (though only temporary because he too would be dead) seemed as though it would be unbearable.
He'd felt responsible for another death, one of a citizen accidentally getting caught in the middle of a rampage. He'd been chasing it at the time but hadn't gotten there in before it was too late and would never not feel guilty about it. Eli was willingly walking into this with him. It was his plan that could get them killed. It would be all his fault.
That thought followed him all the way to the boat, and wouldn't leave as he taught them the basics on how to operate his boat, and it just kept staying as they cruised out on the water, both wearing white satin cloaks that hid them from the general population, both with masks on their faces.
Remi kept stealing glances at Eli, unable to look away. Somehow the contrast with the dark mask and the white cloak gave them an aura of an elf or some other elegant fantastical character. It suited them perfectly.
He wanted to smile at them, but the mask made it impossible to show any emotions. How he wished he could reassure them. He ought to be reassuring himself, too. Because the idea that his blank, emotionless mask would be the last semblance of a face they'd see before they died kept crossing his mind. He kept thinking about what would happen if he somehow survived but they didn't. His mind wouldn't stop coming up with things he would do after, what it would feel like, what he'd think about. /I can't believe it. Of all the things that could have happened, why this?/
It brought tears to his eyes, just the thought of it. He felt guilty before he even had something to feel guilty of.
To distract himself, he started asking questions. “Do you have any hobbies?”
“Well, I play the flute.”
“Great, I used to play the French horn.”
“We can start a band,” they joked, laughing dryly.
They were silent for a couple seconds. “I bake, too.”
“Really?” he asked, unsure why it surprised him so much. It was hard to imagine their elegance and almost magical aura paired with baking, of all things.
“Yeah, I love it. If we get out of this alive I'll make us turnovers.”
Then again, it explained the amount of lanky muscle they had in their arms. Because their arms looked /very/ strong. Right, he was supposed to answer. Because that's how conversations worked. “I look forward to it.” And that he did. Eating freshly baked pastries with Eli, celebrating a victory over the Kraken? It sounded too good to be true.
They chatted pleasantly until they hit the waves from the Kraken's domain. Remi instructed them as calmly as he could, steering them to the outside of the sandy part. Then, on impulse, he hugged them and dove off the boat, plunging towards the writing mass below. When he was almost as close as he could get with it thrashing around, the tentacles froze. Wasting no time, he swam down between them, towards the creature. The tentacles were swaying menacingly. Like some feline waiting for its prey. The eeriness of it made a tendril of worry shoot through his heart.
But then he saw the head, and he had other things to worry about. Lucky for him, the Kraken's thrashing had resulted in many bubbles, which clung to the fabric of his jeans. He collected them and put them to the mouth of his mask (not that it had a mouth, only a section for breathing), breathing them in. “Why are you here?” he asked, his voice coming out sounding odd but comprehensible.
The tentacles stopped swaying, and he hoped Eli had gotten away by now. In fact, they were constantly on his mind, in the background, nagging at him as he spoke to the ancient creature, right up until they were both sitting in his kitchen, eating blackberry turnovers and exchanging their experiences. Because once he'd stopped staring at Eli's muscles as they worked the dough, only then could he fully process the Kraken's voice, the enormity of it, the image of it, and much more terrifyingly, its demands.
Because the safety of everyone on the water came with a price, and he was going to pay it. He deliberately avoided it when recounting his experience with the thing. He felt like he'd known Eli for a long time, and though he knew that wasn't true, he didn't want to plague them with the idea of what he'd do. That would be a secret, for their own sanity.
At least it wasn't his or anyone else's life, but that sword was worth quite a lot.

March 2 Daily:

The words I used were: starless, midnight, ghost, falling, sight

(330 words)
I walked barefoot through the dewy meadow, periodically glancing up to the moonlit sky. I'd never seen anything like it before, and the only thing keeping me from staring up, completely mesmerized, was the fear I might trip or twist my ankle on the uneven grass. My pace was even, and I never faltered, my eyes fluttering between the oddly starless yet clear sky, unsure how to feel about it. I knew it wasn't normal, but what if I hadn't learned that? Maybe it could be like that sometimes? I couldn't fathom why not. We'd been withheld lots of information before, why should this be different? I smiled up at the unfamiliar moon and felt perfectly at home. My feet were numb, and my sight blurry from exhaustion from walking all day, but I didn't dare stop. It must have been midnight already, and I didn't doubt I was being sought after. But the meadow covered my tracks, and I was sure it would be safer when I got under the cover of the forest ahead. I had never been this far before. Maybe before I was collected, but there was no way I could remember that. I was sure I would have forgotten even if I had been collected later in life. But it was okay. Because I wasn't going back. Ever. I couldn't even think about what would happen if I was caught without the feeling of my insides falling down a bottomless pit, something I was used to. They'd do whatever they could to test me, I guess. But I couldn't go back. No hardship out here would ever be worth it. I would rather live as a ghost than as a plaything. A test. Inhuman in every sense of the word. That's how they saw us, too. I hoped Henry was okay. My guilt for leaving him and motivation to get a life for the both of us was the only thing keeping me from collapsing.

Weekly #1:

Part 1:

Kori comes out to their mom

Kori sat at the kitchen table, frozen to their seat, unable to move more than their fingers. Their words felt like lead in their throat, and they hadn't even tried talking yet. They were hyperaware of the paper in their pocket. Their mother was finishing dinner, but the idea of food was nauseating to them. “Hey mom?” they asked, ungracefully pulling the folded piece of paper from their pocket. The initial idea had been to read the letter out loud to her, but they knew they couldn't do that now. So, when their mother turned around, humming in reply, they just held up the paper between two fingers, eyes downcast. She frowned and took it from them, eyes scanning over the page, eyes turning from confusion to anger. “What's this?” she asked, voice strained. “A letter,” they mumbled, terror overcoming them. “Do you really mean this?” she asked, deadly calm now. They didn't dare look up. They considered taking it all back, saying it was all a prank or something, but they couldn't. They just couldn't. So they nodded, ever so slightly. The silence that came next would stay with them for a long time yet. It was so charged with malice that they couldn't think, fight or flight mode activated overpowering everything else in their brain. “Get out.” Kori looked up for the first time since they had sat down, and saw only anger in their mother's eyes. “What?” they choked out. “Get out. I don't want to see you.” They couldn't move. “OUT!” Something snapped within them and they stood, mechanically, and started walking towards the stairs to their room. “No, out. Get out of my house.” Oh.

She frowned and took it from them, eyes scanning the page. They watched as her eyes went wide with shock, and a smug grin spread across her face. “Jamie owes me so much money right now,” she said to herself, grinning wide. Suddenly, she seemed to notice Kori at the table, looking up at her, confused. “Oh, right. I'm happy for you honey, thank you for telling me,” she said, face softening as she put her hand on their shoulder. “Th-thanks?” they asked, still stuck on what she'd just said. “Say, you wouldn't mind me telling Jamie would you?” their mother asked, pulling out her phone.

She frowned and took it from them, eyes scanning the page. Her face softened. “Oh love…” she said, striding around the table. “Thank you for telling me,” she said, standing next to their chair; “can I hug you?” They let out a sigh of relief, letting the tension leave their body. “Sure.”


Part 2:

(104 words)
Plot point 1: Kinn is walking home from school one day when he sees an a glint of something shiny on the ground. Thinking it's a coin or something similar, he stops to look at it and notices it's some type of earpiece unlike anything he's seen outside of sci-fi movies, and he stares at it for a while. Unsure what else to do, he picks it up and sets it on a fence post in hopes that the owner of the strange device comes by to look for it and sees it there, but in reality he really wanted to take it home and investigate it.

(102 words)
Plot point 2: For the next few weeks, Kinn walks on the same route, and every time he walks by the fence, he checks whether or not the earpiece is still on it. He counts the amount of fence posts and by the end of the first week he's more or less memorized when to look without having to count, and yet throughout all of this, the earpiece is still in the same spot, day after day, week after week, until finally, after a month, he decides that the owner isn't going to come back and takes it from its spot and brings it home.

(100 words)
Plot point 3: Once in his bedroom, he takes it out of his pocket and cleans it off with a disinfectant wipe, setting it on his desk and promptly forgetting about it, having things to do and not really wanting to get to it straight away, because he's a little scared. It takes him two days to stop procrastinating and check it out. He checks if there's any way to charge or connect it to anything, if there are any on or off buttons or switches, as well as putting it on his own ear to test it out, but to no avail.

(102 words)
Plot point 4: Two weeks pass without him so much as touching it again, having put it on his bookshelf, remembering it periodically and feeling unsure what to feel about it. Soon, though, he goes to take a book out of his bookshelf and accidentally knocks the earpiece to the floor, and when he goes to pick it up again, he notices a small blue light emitting from the centre. Heart racing, he sets aside the book and picks up the sci-fi looking device, intrigued and a little scared. He studies it again, though nothing new has become apparent apart from the odd blue light.

(101 words)
Plot point 5: Feeling slightly discouraged, Kinn yet again tries to put it on. This time however, instead of just making his ear cold, the earpiece offers him a screen of sorts, seemingly projected from the blue light somehow. It provides him with a simple home page almost, except everything is in some foreign alphabet he's pretty sure he's never seen before. With shaking hands, he goes up to touch the hologram, in hopes of it being a touch screen or something. To his delight and horror, the screen changes. He sits there on his bedroom floor, trying to make sense of the projection.


Part 3:

Summary:
(58 words)
4 people (Jordan, Anne, Erik, Amari), all of varying ages, class and times, all encounter a mysterious individual, a time traveller in various disguises trying to live out different lives. At first the reader doesn't know it's the same individual, but as the story goes on it becomes increasingly clear that they are in fact the same person.

Outline:
(409 words)
Jordan (a 1950's schoolboy) has an odd encounter with a customer at his mother's shop, where they try to give him long outdated money
Anne (a pirate in 1672) is gets a new crewmate, whom she is immediately sceptical of
Erik (a viking, 627 CE) encounters a priest of Frej before a raid, and talk for a while
Jordan sees the customer in public again, and on impulse goes up to them and asks why they had that money, having not been able to let it go since the encounter, to which they fumble before saying they are a collector, which doesn't make sense to him since surely a collector wouldn't make that mistake
Amari (a high school student in present time) has a teacher, who seems a little lost, and keeps grabbing their ruler when a student is misbehaving, and then setting it down again
Erik meets the priest again after his (successful) raid, and thanks them for their blessing
Anne follows the crewmate, trying to find out what's wrong with them and hopefully find something on them, but is only increasingly mystified by their behaviour
Amari (who eats in their classroom) has a substitute for the teacher that normally lets them eat in her room, and asks the new teacher if they can eat there instead, to which they're told that they can, and at lunch they start talking to the teacher
Jordan researches the money and finds out that not only is it outdated, but it's been almost a hundred years since they've been in use
Anne decides to confront the crewmate, to which they hint at the fact they're not from that time
Amari starts to gain the trust of their teacher over the months
Jordan meets the person yet again and lets them know how much their money is worth, to which they thank him
Amari talks to the teacher after school, where they joke that the last time they taught was quite a while ago, but when they ask how much, the teacher doesn't give a direct answer
Anne bids the crewmate farewell, as they leave the crew for good, leaving her with many questions
Erik yet again encounters the priest, after many years, except they're a farmer and keep denying that they're the same person, although he senses they're lying, and insist until they tell him the truth, and he is convinced that their time travelling is a blessing from the gods


Part 4:

(770 words)
Jordan sat at the counter of his mothers shop on a sunny afternoon, doing his homework and looking after the sales while she was away, when the bell at the front of the shop rang, signalling a new customer. He looked up, hurriedly closing his schoolbook and sitting up straighter as the person at the door walked in. He frowned, something about this person looked… off. He didn't know quite what it was, but something about their clothes, their hair, it wasn't right. Nevertheless, he sat respectfully behind the counter, waiting for them to ask for help of some sort. They went over to a display shelf, studying the contents, browsing with interest. A few minutes passed of them shuffling around the shop, looking at various items. When it seemed as if they wouldn't need his help yet, he opened his schoolbook again and resumed his homework, glancing up here and there to make sure they were alright. He was thirsty, but didn't dare go get himself water, might this person be a thief of some sort. The last thing he wanted was for his mother come back to the shop with something stolen and him having to answer for it. So, he sat back, not sure what to do on a question, and watching the strange customer with interest. Finally, they came over to the counter, holding a weird sphere-looking thing. He wasn't sure, he mostly just managed the cash register, pointing customers in the right direction at best. So he smiled politely, and they gave him a short nod. He checked the price tag and took the money they handed him before realizing that they weren't even using the right currency. The weirdest thing, though, was that he recognized it as not from another country, but simply as outdated Canadian money. He frowned down at it. “I'm sorry, this is outdated money you have there,” he said, handing it back to them. They blinked and sighed. “Of course, here you go,” they said, pulling out the right amount of money, this time the right kind. He smiled awkwardly at them and handed back their sphere. “Here you go, have a good day,” he said, watching them leave the shop, the bell ringing as they opened and closed the door, disappearing around a corner. Huh, odd.

Anne stood at the edge of the railing, watching the harbour approach. She smiled, knowing this meant a few days' break before they were back to sea. As much as she loved the water, it was nice to have a few days of free time before she had to work again. Just then, she was called to help with docking, and the thought left her mind as she hurried to help. A few days later, she was standing back on the deck, now watching the harbour gradually fade into the distance before her gaze wandered, yet again, to the spontaneous new recruit, whom she was sure should have had a more rigorous background check before they were accepted into the crew. Not that she cared much about backgrounds, she didn't know the story of most of her mates, but they didn't even seem to know the pirate's code, or even how to properly hold a sword. It seemed a waste of space to her. Besides, they unsettled her, and she didn't get that very often. For the most part, people who unsettled her were untrustworthy, so she came to the decision that they were, in fact untrustworthy. She didn't even know their name. No, this would not fly.

Erik was wandering without much direction, killing time before the feast. He headed just south of the village, listening to the birds cry and feeling optimistic about the upcoming raid. He felt that the gods were on his side, and it washed away all his fear of failure or death. He cast his eyes to the sky and grinned. When he looked down again, he noticed a person in priest's clothing standing at the edge of the path ahead. His smile widened. Surely, this was a sign that he was right. He walked up to them, and they looked up from their hands and greeted him. He replied, and found himself enraptured in conversation with , whom he learned was a priest of Frej, and while Frej was not a god of battle, he made sure to ask for his blessing regardless, for having a god on his side was sure to benefit him regardless. When he left to go to the feast in preparation for the raid, he was sure it would be successful.

(this is not the full story, but I'm only sharing this so far)

Bidaily #1:

“How could Rome fall, it was stagnant on the ground?” and “Shh… We can't let them know,”

(354 words)
“How could Rome fall, it was stagnant on the ground?” Marcella asked, staring at the wreckage that had once, in fact, been Rome.
“The gods were displeased, I guess,” Cassius answered, staring as well.
“Yeah, I suppose.”
There were a few beats of silence before she spoke again. “So.. what do we do now?”
“I don't know, it's not exactly like we can tell this to the others, is it?” Cassius replied.
“And why not?”
“Because our end of the deal was to bring them here?” he replied, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.
“And that we have.”
“But how would we be sure they would fulfil their end if Rome isn't even here anymore?”
“Good point.” She glanced at him with a frown. “So what do we do now then?”
“I'm not sure, should we scout it out?”
“Absolutely not, we don't know how stable anything there is, we might fall through.”
Cassius looked deep in thought, so to make sure he didn't do anything stupid, she added; “And they can't get us anything if we're dead in the rubble.”
He sighed, “Yes I suppose. What then, Marcella? We can't just go back and say it's gone.”
“What if we ask for the money first and then tell them? We have technically done what they want,” she reasoned.
“They're not stupid, they'll be sceptical.”
“Then what do we do?!” Marcella whined, just a little too loud.
“Shh… We can't let them know,” Cassius hissed.
“Sorry, sorry,” she said, lowering her voice
“It's okay, I'm just scared they'll find out before we have a good plan.”
“Yeah, me too, I shouldn't have been that loud.
”No, you shouldn't have,“ he agreed. ”But they probably didn't hear anyway, it's okay.“
”Thank you, but what do we do now?“
”Go back to camp and say we couldn't get to it, but that something was off?“ he suggested.
”That's good, we can judge their reactions and go off that," Marcella agreed, and turned around to hike back to the camp, with Cassius on her heels, discussing the details of their simple plan.

Daily 2

My words were: liberate, charcoal, water, despair, draw

(308 words)
Theo bent over his work, listening to music as he let his mind wander, some part of him intently focused on the task at hand and another lost in his head. A stray piece of hair fell into his face and he put down his charcoal stick to swipe it behind his ear before realizing he probably just smeared coal on his face. He sighed, pushing the drawing off his lap and getting up to wash his hands, grimacing as his legs wobble from sitting for so long. Turning the faucet on with the back of his wrist, he allowed himself a second to breathe, stop thinking about his art for just one second. He washed both his hands and then his face, mind flitting between what to eat for dinner and if he should contact an old friend or wether that'd be weird or not. He dried his hands on a towel and headed back to his workspace. Peacefully, he sat back down and tried his best to ignore his protesting legs as he got back to work. As he added some more depth to the face of the man freeing the zoo animals, the water on his face gathered into one, fat drop. He didn't notice it until the drop had landed right in the middle of the paper, making a little sound. In the split second it took for him to realize, he automatically reached out to wipe it off, only to smudge both the water stain and the charcoal. He groaned, horrified. Hours of work, ruined by just a single drop of water. He tried drying the paper gently by patting it with a towel, but the damage was done. The charcoal couldn't be erased. He sank to the floor, tears of frustration and despair making their way into his eyes. All for nothing.

Truth or dare:
(write at least 150 words in your least favourite genre)

I chose romance because as an aro/ace person I find it very difficult to write and honestly kind of boring to read if it isn't subplot to a more interesting story

(177 words)
I wake, breathing in sleepily as I become aware of the sunlight seeping through the blinds. I groan and roll over, almost jumping when I hear a soft chuckle beside me. Reluctantly, I force my eyes open and attempt to rub the gunk from them, smiling when I'm greeted by the sight of Chris, lying on his side and gazing down at me from his slightly elevated position in the pillows.
“G'moring,” I mumble, burying my face in the covers.
“Morning,” he replies, voice barely above a whisper.
I sigh, not wanting to be fully awake just yet. “Urgh, ‘time’s it?”
He pauses for a second, and I feel shifting as he presumably leans over to check his phone. “9:27.”
I grumble into my pillow and hear Chris laugh again. I open my eyes again, fighting to keep them open and looking over at him, amused smile on his face, hair mussed from sleep. I smile, wiggling so our faces are level with each other and pressing a kiss to his forehead. “Breakfast?” he asks.
“Okay.”

Weekly #1


Part 1:

(303 words)
I've chosen the last panel of the silent comic ‘the secret of life’. So far in this comic we've seen the girl age with her bird, becoming an old woman and having lived her life with the bird always in the sort of ‘cage’ for her stomach. Now her life is over, and she lets her bird - I believe a peacock (all blue) - go as she dies. She's gone out to some sort of desert or rocky landscape, I can't really tell which, and her life ends. The panel itself depicts her lying on the ground, a heap of clothes, really, and the peacock flying out of her, beak open and a music note to show it's singing. There's dark at the edge of the sky, as if the bird is flying into the light, as if symbolizing it's life of captivity finally coming to an end. Now it may have loved the woman, and I believe they shared a strong bond, having lived together for so long, but the final panel is of it finally getting to live free from the bars of the cage that has been home it's whole life, and it sings of happiness. But I believe that the woman needs the bird to survive, why else would she have that cage for a torso? So when she's ready to let go of her life and let her bird free, she ventures out and dies peacefully, allowing the bird freedom. It has a sad/dark and yet hopeful feel to it, and reminds me of a phoenix being reborn. It dies (like the woman) and is reborn from the ashes (the bird). The colour pallet also helps with this, being mostly muted/toned down colours, but also a yellow glow towards the centre of it, where the bird is.

Part 2:

(417 words)
I hear the doorbell ring. Sighing, I turn the tv volume down low and get off the couch, heading into the front hallway and wondering who it could be. I'm not expecting any visitors, packages, or anything else for that matter. I unlock and open the front door, hoping it's not some advertiser or political speaker or something. On my step, though, is someone I never would've guessed would show up on a scorching summer's afternoon.
“Anastasyia?” I ask, clutching the doorknob, unable to think of anything good to say.
“Hi,” she gives me a small, awkward smile, clutching a container in her right hand.
“I thought,” I start, not knowing how to finish the sentence. I thought she left, I thought she didn't want to come back, even for me, I thought I'd lost her.
She nods, and I have no idea what unanswered question swarming in my brain she's indicating.
“I didn't want to leave you forever,” she mumbles. “I don't want to live here again but…” she bites her lip, staring at the ground. “But as much as I'm happy to be in Italy it's not home without you.”
I stand in the doorway, knowing I'm letting in hot air to the house but unable to move.
She looks up at me. “I made draniki for you,” she says.
My heart aches. I remember telling her how much I miss Belarusian cuisine, and her promise to learn how to cook for me. My mouth curls upwards as I try to repress the tears gathering in my eyes. “Come in,” I tell her, stepping back.
She hesitates, but walks up to the step and inside the house. I close the door. We're standing face to face now, and I give her a teary grin before pulling her into a tight hug, feeling her arms wrap around me.
“I missed you,” I whisper.
“I missed you too,” she whispers back.
We break apart, and I lead her to the kitchen, where she leaves the delicious-looking potato pancakes on the counter before sitting at the table. “I'm sorry I left.”
“I'm sorry I couldn't come with,” I reply, leaning against the counter for support. She nods. “I'm not staying.”
“I know.”
And I did know. She wasn't happy here, I wasn't going to force anything.
The kitchen is silent save for Anastasyia's nail scraping against the table as she traces the patterns in the wood.
“Should we eat?” I ask at last.
She grins at me. “Yeah.”

Part 3:

“Troublesome, careless child! And what are you doing now? You look quite red as if you had been about some mischief, what were you opening the window for?”

(405 words)
I glanced sheepishly at the window, half open and letting in a cool breeze. “It was quite too hot in here,” I said, hoping it be an adequate excuse but knowing better. “That must be why I look red.”
He glared at me, clearly not believing a word I was saying but unable to find a counter argument on the spot. “Close the window, it's plenty cold now. It takes effort to heat this house, and you have wasted much of it in your foolishness!” he looked quite livid.
Fear shot through me at the look in his eye, and I moved to do what I was told. “I did not mean it,” I mumbled, knowing that had he not come in just then the window would have been open for quite some time after I had escaped.
He took a step closer. “Did you not?” he asked, voice deadly calm.
I nodded meekly, struggling to close the heavy window.
“How could you not? You are with a brain are you not?” he near shouted.
I did not reply, but managed to get the window closed and started to work on the latch, a task proven difficult with my shaking hands.
“Are you not?” He yelled.
“I am,” I responded, my voice small.
“Then why would you open the window? Could you not take a walk?”
“I didn't think of that,” I said, not meeting his eyes.
Before I could understand what was happening, he slapped me across the face.
I looked up, startled, as the searing pain of his ring connecting with my cheek made my vision go fuzzy for a second.
“You are not to leave this room, is that understood?” he asked, voice back to its normal pitch, as if nothing had happened.
“Yes,” I replied, bowing my head and listening as he exited the room again, paying no heed to how forcefully he was closing the door behind him.
I cupped my face, feeling a cut on my cheek where his ring must've connected with my skin. My heart was beating furiously in my chest, for I did not know what would happen when he came back.
'Perhaps I should go through with my plan to escape through the window, as I was going to just before he came in' I thought, but decided against it, as the risk for him finding me again was too great and not worth it.

Part 4:

(426 words)
The silent comic ‘The secret of Life’ follows a cage-type thing with an egg inside that grows off a tree, that cage then going in place of a little girls nonexistent stomach/torso. As the girl grows up, the egg hatches into a small blue bird, which grows with her as she lives her life, finding a presumed partner, having a child and growing old, until, at long last, it comes to an end. She ventures out into a desert (potentially a rocky landscape) and letting the bird go, dying on the sands (rocks?) as the bird flies away.
I believe the bird symbolizes the girls' life, and that when she passes on, she is reborn with the bird's freedom, in a way.
Or perhaps even the opposite. The bird is ‘harvested’ from the tree and brought into town, where it's bought for a little girl. As it grows, so does the girl, until that girl is a woman and passes on, allowing it a new chapter in it's life, free from bars or cages.
Either way, I believe they're interconnected and that the woman's life depends on the bird, and when she's willing to let that go, she also lets it go.
The different stages of the bird's growth also seem to symbolize the woman's stages of life. Her early childhood, it's only an egg, and later childhood it's a small chick. When she grows into a young woman not only does the bird get bigger and more adult-looking, it also gets more detailed.
It seems to be only a dull blue in the beginning, and becomes more and more vibrant and beautiful, and illustrated with more detail.
It looks like every stage of the girl's life, the bird evolves, or perhaps it's vice versa. Nevertheless, they mirror each other perfectly in a strange yet beautiful way I can't quite describe.
In the last panel, the bird seems to be flying towards the light, almost sprouting out of the heap of clothes that was once the woman lying there. It sings, a single music note in the air beside it. It feels dark and hopeful at the same time, and I think it symbolizes, and does a good job showing, new beginnings.
The comic really makes you feel the connection between the two.
It seems to me as if the primary theme it demonstrates is life and it's nuances, as it really stands out to me in that way. Seeing both person and creature grow in different ways while paralleling each other is quite nice.

Daily #9

(719 words)
I'm writing about the sleeping habits of a few of my main characters throughout some stories

Luney - Luney is the type of person to be just fine with no sleep but will also sleep for hours if she can. Depending on the situation, she can sleep two or twelve hours just as easily. This is very helpful during missions, as she can be on lookout during the night and let everyone else sleep so they can function at their best when needed. She loves sleep and will get as much as she can when she can, and can pass out almost immediately. Despite that she's never put up a fuss with late night jobs and a few hours a night, which makes her very valuable and useful to the team. Of course her other talents is why she's there, but Alin isn't one to put such a thing to waste and often contacts her for late night jobs. She's the designated lookout, but will wake other people for her share of sleep as well. She's a very flexible person and her sleep habits reflect that perfectly.

Alin - Alin has a very hard time falling asleep, and is used to only a couple of hours a night. His mother taught him early on to be alert at all times, and at night is no difference. He often feels unfocused when he sleeps for too many at a time, and due to this stays up most nights. Often he uses this time to plan, go out, do jobs, etc. He's second designated lookout but due to the fact he's the leader he often will use this time to prepare and can't designate his time to looking out as much as Luney can. With prompting from the other group members, he will sometimes sleep in shifts, getting a somewhat decent amount of sleep put together. This is just one of the many bad but simultaneously useful things his mother has instilled in him.

Sage - After running away and starting her life in the way that it is, Sage has learned to sleep as much as she can when she can, but also how to be a light sleeper and how to function with only a few hours of sleep. She's very flexible, but only because she needs to be. Before this she was a very heavy sleeper who would often get ten hours or more a night. Now she sometimes has trouble getting as much as she used to, but tries to sleep for as long as she can.

Ethnia - Due to their culture and way of life, Ethnia sleeps about seven to eight hours a night, as that is the norm there and has been instilled into them from a young age. Any more or less often leads them to feel sluggish and tired, often more unmotivated and less precise. Because of that they favour just that. Between seven and eight hours, no more no less. They can easily take short naps and such, but anything else without a break takes its toll on them. They also quite enjoy sleeping, and find it comes easily to them. Since they've been away from home, they've also developed the skill to sleep at any hour of the day, and while it's still the same amount of hours, they can stay up all night as long as they get those seven to eight at some point during the day. It's inconvenient, but it works for them.

James - James has a bad sleep schedule in general. He goes to bed between two to five in the morning, waking up at seven thirty in the morning most days to rush to get sorted for school and head there at eight in the morning, often ten or so minutes later even. Due to how close he lives to school, he can pull it off, but he still only gets about five to two hours of sleep a night, and is often tired during the day. He's used to it, and can function okay with that, but it takes it's toll whenever he tries to do sports or anything of the sort. His not so good drinking habit doesn't exactly help with this, leading him to feel even worse during the day, having regular headaches and feeling hungover.

Part 2 of the weekly:

I used this workshop: https://scratch.mit.edu/discuss/post/7382021/

I decided to do an exercise where the same situation happens except the main character's relationship with the person changes.

(573 words)
Freya sat patiently at the edge of the dying fire, sneaking glances back at the tent where the others were sleeping peacefully. They smiled at the thought of Clem, lying sprawled on top of her sleeping bag because she'd gotten too hot, lips parted and face relaxed as she slept. They turned back to the dark forest, trying to focus. They were a lookout, they should pay attention to looking out, not Clementine. Just then, they heard a rustling from behind them and they snapped their head around to see Clem crawling out of the tent, putting on her shoes and walking up to the fire. “I'll take over,” she said, voice gravelly. She must've just woken up. “There's another hour until I'm done,” Freya reminded her, trying not to focus on her adorable bedhead. “You've been up long enough, you deserve a break,” Clementine insisted. Freya smiled at her. “Thank you,” they said, wanting to express their gratitude better but not knowing how. “Of course,” she responded, smiling back.

Freya sat patiently at the edge of the dying fire, contemplating wether or not they should add more wood, when they heard a rustling behind them. Freezing as they went on full alert mode, they turned back to see Clementine crawling out of the tent. They relaxed, gazing at her as she put her shoes on, wondering why she was getting up. It was another hour or so until they were supposed to change shifts, and Clem had already been up that night. One of the others was supposed to be the next. Once she was close enough to them for her to hear, they leaned in her direction. “What are you doing up?” they whisper-yelled. “I'll take over,” Clementine replied, standing next to them. Freya frowned. “I have another hour left, you don't need to.” She smiled and sat down next to them. “You've been up long enough.” They smiled back, grateful. “Sure, good night,” they replied, going back to the tent to get some sleep.

Freya sat patiently at the edge of the dying fire, glancing back at the tent every now and then, tense as ever. They couldn't fathom why Clementine of all people had possibly decided to join this mission. It was enough to be a lookout for outside threats, having a possible inside threat was really messing with Freya's head. They heard a rustle from behind them, making them somehow even tenser. They turned their head, on full alert, to see that it was Clementine herself. The girl payed them no heed, putting on their shoes walking up to the fire, sitting opposite them. “I'll take over,” she said, looking up at me. Having somewhat relaxed, the sentence caught Freya off guard. “You'll what?” Clementine sighed. “I'll take over.” Freya couldn't believe this could possibly come from a place of concern for them. “I have another hour left, go back to sleep,” they said. “I can't. You've been up long enough anyway,” she responded. Freya eyed them suspiciously. “I think I'll just stay here until my shift is over, thank you for offering.” Clementine looked up and smiled wryly. “Don't you trust me?” She looked at them, as if awaiting a response. When she didn't get one, she shrugged. “We can both keep watch, then, but I'm not going back to sleep,” she said, sounding defiant, as if sleep was a bad thing. Freya nodded. “Fine by me.”

Part 3 of the weekly/critique for @SqueakyBird520:

SqueakyBird520 wrote:

I stared at the person that looked like my friend in horror. Of course, it wasn’t my friend, it was a ghost in my friend’s body, and I knew that. But that didn’t mean I wanted to fight her.
The ghost had been possessing my friend’s body for over a month at this point, and we had been able to figure out a few things about her, but the biggest thing that mattered at this point was that she knew how to use a sword. Luckily, that was knowledge my friend didn’t have, so maybe being in a body that can’t tell a block from a slap fight would give her a disadvantage. It was up to me to decide whether or not I was going to fight her.
If I could fight the ghost and maybe be able to make her leave, we would all be fine. If I lost and she killed me, I would be out of her way, and I’d been told that I was the only thing standing between her and her goal of killing someone I barely knew, but cared about either way. And that person I barely knew was protecting my best friend and his brother who my friend deeply cared about. But maybe if I didn’t fight her, we’d still be fine. I mean, she wouldn’t be in control of my friend forever, right? And if I fought her, especially with a sword that I only knew the basics of how to use, I could end up harming my friend. And if I hurt my friend, what could I say? What if I got carried away and stabbed her by accident? What if I accidentally killed her? How could I explain that to people? “Oh, she was possessed and I had to sword fight the ghost to make it go away”? If they didn’t put me in prison for that, they’d put me in a mental institution. Maybe it was best not to fight. But I wasn’t any coward, was I? Maybe… But I couldn’t let my friend stay like this! But I would be too scared to risk my life… But I needed to come through for my friends, they would do this for me, why was I hesitating to do this for them? Because if I died, they’d be in even more danger! And maybe it was better for the ghost to stay in my friend’s body, because what if when she left, she killed my friend due to not needing her anymore. She seemed a spirit of her word, though, so if I could get her to agree to a deal that would keep everyone safe as long as I won, all I had to do was beat her and we’d all be fine. But what if I didn’t win?
Oh, who am I kidding? The ghost died at eight years old and she can’t stand sunlight, and this fight was taking place in broad daylight. If she wasn’t weakened already, I’d be surprised. I grabbed my sword and came out of hiding to face the person who looked like my friend.
“I’m ready to begin the duel, but you must first agree to my one condition…”

(342 words)
Overall, this was quite good and captured the hesitation of the main character quite well, but there were still smaller things you could change to make it better. First of all, in the start it says the main character is staring at the ghost, but at the end it says they come out of hiding to face it. It's as if it changed somewhere halfway. If you wanted them to be hiding from the start and establish that you could say something like: ‘I hid behind the wall, staring at my friend in horror through a crack. Of course, it wasn’t my friend, it was a ghost in her body, and I knew that.' I also got rid of the ‘person that looked like my friend’ part, since it's wordy and implies that it isn't your friend at all, and just someone that looks like her. I'm also confused about the ‘in horror’ part, since it implies something horrifying has happened, such as the main character having found out their friend is possessed, or that the ghost has done something. But I got the impression they'd known for the whole month, and with what you've written the only horrifying thing would be the duel, and it seems like it was proposed before this. Another thing is I think you should've added the fact the ghost was 8 when it died, and that it's at a disadvantage due to the sunlight sooner, because where it's at now makes it feel like a fact that was just thrown in there, and it could heighten the internal conflict as well. Maybe the main character would have qualms with fighting a child, despite the situation. I also feel like they wouldn't be having this conflict right before the fight, but rather before they decide to show up, which is kind of how it's painted. They could of course just have been proposed this, but why would they have a sword then? So altering that somehow would also feel more believable. Other than that, very well done!

Weekly #2:


Part 1:

(1005 words)
https://scratch.mit.edu/discuss/post/7382971/

Part 2:

(573 words)
https://scratch.mit.edu/discuss/post/7384937/

Part 3:

(324 words)
https://scratch.mit.edu/discuss/post/7384979/

Writing piece for the competition (rough draft)

Tw: Mentions of death, implied trauma, reference to substance abuse, weapons, somewhat graphic description of decay??, implication of suicidal ideation, possibly triggering for people with trypophobia? If you visualize?, etc.
All of these are not actually as bad as they seem listed but do tread with caution if you have any of these triggers

1957 - my grandmother is born
1960 - my grandfather is born
1985 - the virus breaks out and my community is formed
1986 - attempts to communicate with the outside world are fruitless; we are on our own
1989 - my parents are born (my mother within the community, my father somewhere unknown)
1994 - my father is found wandering just outside the community and is taken in by Frank, a kind old man whose family was lost to the initial outbreak
1996 - my grandfather is lost and declared dead after an unsuccessful attempt to find my fathers origins
1997 - a moat is installed to ensure the community’s safety after it is pointed out that the infected cannot swim long distances
2007 - travel outside the community is deemed unnecessary and dangerous, a ban is put in place
2008 - I am born
2012 - Frank dies of illness
2023 - the infected are growing restless and the community is running low on supplies; I go against the community and begin my journey to the outside world
-
That was two weeks ago. Now I’m hiding out in a blocked up abandoned building, on my way to the nearest harbor, if my map serves me right. Not that I’d be surprised if I was going the wrong way, I’m surprised I’ve stayed alive this long. I know I’d be safer if I left Berry and continued without him, but to be honest I may go mad without company, even if that company is just a flightless bird.
The world out here is desolate and oddly beautiful, and oh so dangerous. Humans used to be at the top of the food chain, now I am caught in a sea full of predators who have gone too long without prey.
-
It’s dusk when I emerge from the shelter me and Berry had hidden out in all day, yet again grateful for the fact infected are diurnal creatures. I strap my carving knife to my belt, sling my bag over my shoulder and lift Berry over the torn-down blockade, setting him down next to me and beginning my walk through the abandoned town, feeling oddly calm in the beauty of the overgrown weeds and plants growing from the fissures of the old road. I deduce this was an old place even before the outbreak, the places I passed through before this were in much better shape.
The end of the world is calm and beautiful compared to the stories I’ve heard, although it’s not hard to envision the panic of 38 years ago, when this place was filled with people desperately trying to save themselves.
I hear a low, almost human whimper, and immediately tense. Setting my foot in front of Berry to signal him to slow down, I clasp the hilt of my knife and continue, uneasiness washing away the feeling of tranquility.
I’ve barely walked for a minute more when I see the source of the noise, an infected, toothless and covered in dark holes, lying on the road, seeming to have torn too many muscles to walk anymore. Incapacitated, the closest to death these things get.
I give it a wide berth as I walk around it, Berry following closely on my heels, clearly sensing my unease. I look down as I pass, making eye contact with the infected, its lifeless eyes staring intently as it whimpers again. An uncannily human noise.
I can’t help but feel pity for the thing. I’ve many a time thought about what these things used to be, how they still have the physical capacities of their past selves. How human are they really? How much of their brain is still left?
I shudder, speeding up. The sun has set, and the shadows cast around me bring with them the paranoia that the infected may be hiding in any corner. However human they may be, they’re still predators.
My hand stays on the hilt.
Hours go by, and I’ve long since left the town, terrified of the possibility my map may be wrong. If I can’t get to a dwelling of some sort before dawn, I might not survive.
The idea of turning to one of them terrifies me more than death ever has.
By the time the looming shadows of a city come into view, the soles of my feet are burning, my legs are aching, and my vision is blurry from having walked for so long without food or water. Relief washes over me, and my footsteps quicken.
Soon I reach the closest house, a nice cottage with cracked flowerpots in front and some sort of creeping plant covering the porch. Adrenaline floods through me as I once again grab the hilt of my knife and open the door, planting my foot in front of Berry to make him stop.
He’s used to the routine by now, as am I.
I take out my flashlight and shine it inside, scouting for material to block the door and windows, looking around for infected. When I’ve gone through the whole house without finding any, I go back to the door and usher Berry inside, closing, locking, and blocking all the doors and windows on the first floor, then finding some stale dried apples in the pantry and blocking us into the bedroom on the second floor. I pack the apples away and finish off the nuts I’d eaten yesterday before giving Berry some of the dead flies on the windowsill and stumbling to the bed, falling asleep almost immediately.
-
I wake up earlier than usual and look outside the window, the low sun illuminating the town outside. I avoid looking at the few infected down below, and my breath catches in my throat as I stare at something I hadn’t been able to see down there at night: The harbor. And beyond that, the open sea.
My heart races as I duck to avoid being seen by the infected. I’ve made it. I’m really here, I’m almost free. I look at Berry, who’s burrowed into the blankets at the edge of the bed and is sleeping peacefully. I hope he follows me onto the boat, although I know he needs land, eventually.
Tonight, I’ll search the town for food for us both, and whatever we need to make it to the closest landmass. I’ll find somewhere for my community, if I can get back. I’ll live somewhere better. An island untouched by people, a boat for supplies. Something that can last, where we can gaze at the stars and live above ground, live as humans.
I feel tears gathering in the corners of my eyes. I’m so tired of this life of fear. I’m so, so tired.
-
It took me two nights to prepare a boat and find supplies.
It took me two weeks to see shore, in which I learned to lower an anchor, set a course, and how seasickness felt.
I lower my anchor at dawn. Afraid to attract attention during daytime and having developed a nocturnal schedule, I make plans to dock at what looked like a fishing town from a distance, and go below deck, feeding Berry and then myself before going to sleep.
When I emerge again it’s dusk, and I unanchor the boat in a sleepy daze, drinking the last of my water and steering the boat towards the harbor. However, as the sun sets and I get closer to land, I catch sight of something that makes my limbs go slack. Lights. As the sky goes dark, the town becomes awash with lights. Streetlights shine bright, windows illuminate with warm, artificial light.
My mind races. Another community? I see no boundaries, no borders, no protective measures whatsoever. What if the infected here have gained superior intelligence? My blood runs cold at the thought. But as I come even closer, I see movement, life, cars. More than that, I hear them: people. Survivors, I think, inhaling sharply with joy.
I dock mere minutes later, concerned at the lack of care the community here seems to have for a foreign vessel in their harbor.
Deciding to leave Berry on the boat until I make sure it’s safe for him, I climb off the boat.
I spot a person wandering along the docks, and call out. “Hey! Hey!” my voice is scratchy and odd.
They look up and spot me, smiling hesitantly.
“Excuse me,” I rasp, aware of how dry my throat feels.
“Yes?” they ask in an accent I don’t know, not moving as I walk towards them on unsteady feet. I can’t help but frown at their odd clothing choices.
“Where am I? I can’t believe you’re alive,” I say, realizing I really can’t. The town doesn’t look protected at all.
They stare at me, clearly confused. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Shouldn’t you be more protected? What about the infected?”
“The what now?”
It occurs to me they might call them something different. “The undead things? Victims of the outbreak? My community calls them infected.”
“Outbreak? Are you high, kid? There’s no such thing as zombies.”
“Zombies?” I’ve heard the word before.
“Where do you live, kid? Can I get you home?”
I gaze at them. What’s wrong with this place? Out of politeness, I answer anyway. “New Zealand.”
They look at me, and their lip quirks. I stare right back, unable to think of anything to say, when all of a sudden they start to laugh. “Oh yeah, you’re definitely high. Kid, New Zealand went under water like, 40 years ago. Where do you live?”
I freeze. What? Suddenly everything makes sense, and I wish it didn’t. The infected didn’t exist here. They don’t even know what the infected are. They think my island doesn’t exist anymore. I stagger back as a horrifying thought surfaces in my mind, and I know it’s true.
There is no apocalypse. The world didn’t end. I’ve been abandoned, isolated, sacrificed and erased. We all have. Tears fill my eyes and brim over. I bite my lip, aware of eyes on me but unable to care as realization sinks in. We aren’t survivors of an apocalypse, we were left to die.

Critiquitaire (critique for @icebunny11):

icebunny11 wrote:

Dark walls were barely illuminated by lanterns, which seemed to float in the air. A boy walked with purpose, followed by five men in dark robes. He was dressed in a black shirt and a purple robe. His black pants clung to his figure as he continued to lightly walk forward.

The boy hummed, completely opposite to his dark, eerie surroundings. The men, however, blended right in. Their faces were stoic, while the boy switched to another tune.

The man on his right opened his mouth slightly before receiving a warning pat from one of his comrades. They conversed silently through their eyes before the man hesitantly opened his mouth again.

“Master Callous,” he said, careful with his wording, as the other four men stared on at his brave attempt. “A-Are you sure you-” he gulped slightly, “Want to continue with the procedure? I-” he bit his lip, not risking anymore.

“Of course,” said the boy cheerfully. “Don't you think I would have gone back if I had changed my mind? How silly of you, Dran.”

The man nodded and retreated. The man next to him patted his back.

After a while, they reached a hollowed-out place underground. It was the size of two football fields, and there were stone seats around the amphitheater look-alike. There were thousands in the crowd, cheering. The defining sound only got louder as the boy walked into the underground theater from the tunnel.

There was a person on the elevated ground in the middle.  On closer look, it wasn't exactly a person. It was a black smoke cloud shaped like a human on the top and floated away like a ghost on the bottom. The boy walked next to the humanoid figure and said, “Thank you, announcer.”

The announcer excitedly spoke. “Welcome your prince, Lord CALLOUS!”

The screaming got louder.

As the boy, who was now receiving chants of his name, stepped on an even elevated ground in the center of the stage, he started muttering a spell. A green aura started floating around him, and people “oohed”. It gave a slight whiff of medicine, like the liquid your mother would put on you so you would fall asleep.

After the green aura had become so intoxicating that some people had even drooped off, Lord Callous opened his mouth.

But it wasn't his voice that spoke.

It was the voice of the forbidden prophecy.

(205 words)
Ok so in general this was quite well done, I loved the concept and it set the tone for the story quite nicely, but there are of course some things you could improve on. First of all, the writing near the beginning of this story feels a little wordy, I feel like you can cut down on a lot of flowery language to get more directly to the point and have a better flow. You could also add more detail if that becomes too little, but I feel as though some of the language you're using is more of a kind of ‘many words for one simple thing’, if you get what I mean? Also, the way you described Dran when he was trying to speak to Callous is more the way you would write if it were in Dran's perspective, and I'm not sure if that's what you wanted or not. Generally the perspective seems rather omniscient but I feel as though you could establish it more solidly. Either keep it as if you were on the outside looking in or tie it to a person in some way. Other than that this was really good! I'd love to read more of this story!

Stranded

Tw: Mentions of death, implied trauma, reference to substance abuse, weapons, somewhat graphic description of decay??, implication of suicidal ideation, possibly triggering for people with trypophobia? If you visualize?, etc.
All of these are not actually as bad as they seem listed but do tread with caution if you have any of these triggers

1957 - my grandmother is born
1960 - my grandfather is born
1985 - the virus breaks out and my community is formed
1986 - attempts to communicate with the outside world are fruitless; we are on our own
1989 - my parents are born (my mother within the community, my father somewhere unknown)
1994 - my father is found wandering just outside the community and is taken in by Frank, a kind old man whose family was lost to the initial outbreak
1996 - my grandfather is lost and declared dead after an unsuccessful attempt to find my fathers origins
1997 - a moat is installed to ensure the community’s safety after it is pointed out that the infected cannot swim long distances
2007 - travel outside the community is deemed unnecessary and dangerous, a ban is put in place
2008 - I am born
2012 - Frank dies of illness
2023 - the infected are growing restless and the community is running low on supplies; I go against the community and begin my journey to the outside world
-
That was two weeks ago. Now I’m hiding out in a blocked up abandoned building, on my way to the nearest harbor, if my map serves me right. Not that I’d be surprised if I was going the wrong way, I’m surprised I’ve stayed alive this long. I know I’d be safer if I left Berry and continued without him, but to be honest I may go mad without company, even if that company is just a flightless bird.
The world out here is desolate and oddly beautiful, and oh so dangerous. Humans used to be at the top of the food chain, now I am caught in a sea full of predators who have gone too long without prey.
-
It’s dusk when I emerge from the shelter me and Berry had hidden out in all day, yet again grateful for the fact infected are diurnal creatures. I strap my carving knife to my belt, sling my bag over my shoulder and lift Berry over the torn-down blockade, setting him down next to me and beginning my walk through the abandoned town, feeling oddly calm in the beauty of the overgrown weeds and plants growing from the fissures of the old road. I deduce this was an old place even before the outbreak, the places I passed through before this were in much better shape.
The end of the world is calm and beautiful compared to the stories I’ve heard, although it’s not hard to envision the panic of 38 years ago, when this place was filled with people desperately trying to save themselves.
Now everything is overgrown and abandoned, beautifully eerie.
I hear a low, almost human whimper, and immediately tense. Setting my foot in front of Berry to signal him to slow down, I clasp the hilt of my knife and continue, uneasiness washing away the feeling of tranquility and leaving my surroundings feeling just eerie. The beauty is gone and all I feel is hostility from every shattered window, every dented car, every ivy-covered brick building. I shudder.
I’ve barely walked for a minute more when I see the source of the noise, an infected, toothless and covered in dark holes, lying on the road, seeming to have torn too many muscles to walk anymore. Incapacitated, the closest to death these things get.
I give it a wide berth as I walk around it, Berry following closely on my heels, clearly sensing my unease. I look down as I pass, making eye contact with the infected, its lifeless eyes staring intently as it whimpers again. An uncannily human noise.
I can’t help but feel pity for the thing. I’ve many a time thought about what these things used to be, how they still have the physical capacities of their past selves. How human are they really? How much of their brain is still left?
I shudder, speeding up. The sun has set, and the shadows cast around me bring with them the paranoia that the infected may be hiding in any corner. However human they may be, they’re still predators.
My hand stays on the hilt.
Hours go by, and I’ve long since left the town and followed the road through towering fields and new forest, terrified of the possibility my map may be wrong. If I can’t get to a dwelling of some sort before dawn, I might not survive.
The idea of turning to one of them terrifies me more than death ever has.
By the time the looming shadows of a city come into view, the soles of my feet are burning, my legs are aching, and my vision is blurry from having walked for so long without food or water. Relief washes over me, and my footsteps quicken.
Soon I reach the closest house, a nice cottage with cracked flowerpots in front and some sort of creeping plant covering the porch. Adrenaline floods through me as I once again grab the hilt of my knife and open the door, planting my foot in front of Berry to make him stop.
He’s used to the routine by now, as am I.
I take out my flashlight and shine it inside, scouting for material to block the door and windows, looking around for infected. When I’ve gone through the whole house without finding any, I go back to the door and usher Berry inside, closing, locking, and blocking all the doors and windows on the first floor, then finding some stale dried apples in the pantry and blocking us into the bedroom on the second floor. I pack the apples away and finish off the nuts I’d eaten yesterday before giving Berry some of the dead flies on the windowsill and stumbling to the bed, falling asleep almost immediately.
-
I wake up earlier than usual and look outside the window, the low sun illuminating the town outside. I avoid looking at the few infected down below, and my breath catches in my throat as I stare at something I hadn’t been able to see down there at night: the harbor. And beyond that, the open sea.
My heart races as I duck to avoid being seen by the infected. I’ve made it. I’m really here, I’m almost free. I look at Berry, who’s burrowed into the blankets at the edge of the bed and is sleeping peacefully. I hope he follows me onto the boat, although I know he needs land, eventually.
Tonight, I’ll search the town for food for us both, and whatever we need to make it to the closest landmass. I’ll find somewhere for my community, if I can get back. I’ll live somewhere better. An island untouched by people, a boat for supplies. Something that can last, where we can gaze at the stars and live above ground, live as humans.
I feel tears gathering in the corners of my eyes. I’m so tired of this life of fear. I’m so, so tired.
-
It took me two nights to prepare a boat and find supplies.
It took me two weeks to see shore, in which I learned to lower an anchor, set a course, and how seasickness felt.
I lower my anchor at dawn. Afraid to attract attention during daytime and having developed a nocturnal schedule, I make plans to dock at what looks like a fishing town from a distance, and go below deck, feeding Berry and then myself before going to sleep.
When I emerge again it’s dusk, and I unanchor the boat in a sleepy daze, drinking the last of my water and steering the boat towards the harbor. However, as the sun sets and I get closer to land, I catch sight of something that makes my limbs go slack. Lights. As the sky goes dark, the town becomes awash with lights. Streetlights shine bright, windows illuminate with warm, artificial light.
My mind races. Another community? I see no boundaries, no borders, no protective measures whatsoever. What if the infected here have gained superior intelligence? My blood runs cold at the thought. But as I come even closer, I see movement, life, cars. More than that, I hear them: people. Survivors, I think, inhaling sharply with joy.
I dock mere minutes later, concerned at the lack of care the community here seems to have for a foreign vessel in their harbor.
Deciding to leave Berry on the boat until I make sure it’s safe for him, I climb off the boat.
I spot a person wandering along the docks, and call out. “Hey! Hey!” my voice is scratchy and odd.
They look up and spot me, smiling hesitantly.
“Excuse me,” I rasp, aware of how dry my throat feels.
“Yes?” they ask in an accent I don’t know, not moving as I walk towards them on unsteady feet. I can’t help but frown at their odd clothing choices.
“Where am I?” I ask, and get a blank stare in return. “I can’t believe you’re alive,” I say, realizing I really can’t. The town doesn’t look protected at all.
Their brow furrows and they look closer at me, clearly confused. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
I pause for a second. Something about their body language, their tone of voice, their utter cluelessness is making alarm bells go off in my head. “Shouldn’t you be more protected? What about the infected?”
“The what now?” they ask, tone almost disbelieving.
It occurs to me they might call them something different. “The undead things? Victims of the outbreak? My community calls them infected.”
“Outbreak? Are you high, kid? Do you mean zombies?” they scoff, “There’s no such thing as zombies.”
“Zombies?” I’ve heard the word before.
They ignore me. “Where do you live, kid? Can I get you home?”
I gaze at them. What’s wrong with this place? Out of politeness, I answer anyway. “New Zealand.”
They look at me, and their lip quirks. I stare right back, unable to think of anything to say, when all of a sudden they start to laugh. “Oh yeah, you’re definitely high. Kid, New Zealand went under water like, 40 years ago. Where do you live?”
I freeze. What in-? Suddenly everything makes sense, and I wish it didn’t. The infected didn’t exist here. They don’t even know what the infected are. They think my island doesn’t exist anymore. I stagger back as a horrifying thought surfaces in my mind, and I know it’s true.
There is no apocalypse. The world didn’t end. I’ve been abandoned, isolated, sacrificed and erased. We all have. Tears fill my eyes and brim over. I bite my lip, aware of eyes on me but unable to care as realization sinks in. We aren’t survivors of an apocalypse, we were left to die.

Daily #28

I was given the challenge to put a playlist on shuffle play and try to adapt the story to the vibe of the music but for some reason all the songs that were popping up had depressing themes :sob:

(395 words)
Tyler sat down at his couch, sighing heavily and burying his head in his hands. It had been a bad idea to go see his father again, he'd known that since before he'd made the decision to do so, but yet he'd done it anyway.
What was wrong with him? Why was his father this way? Was that why Tyler was the way that he was? He didn't know, but it still stung how much he cared about his fathers opinion after so long. It shouldn't matter, it really shouldn't. But it did. He rubbed his eyes and yawned, getting up to get some sort of comfort food to try and cheer himself up a little. He opened the fridge, scanning the items and took out some leftover soup from the fridge. Just as he did, his phone buzzed. Alan. He really should just tell the guy straight out at this point that he didn't want to be friends with him. He didn't even read the message, just put his phone in his pocket and got out a bowl for his soup. He didn't need any toxic friends on top of his father.
He microwaved it and sat at his little kitchen table, thinking. If he was ready to cut off Alan, maybe there was hope for him yet. And any other person like him.
There was hope yet, people did get out of toxic situations a lot. And he knew it was toxic, now, too. He just needed to actually do something about. It felt pathetic he hadn't yet, but the lies were weighing down on him and he needed to get out some way or another.
He had friends, too, and they'd help too surely. They'd told him they would, even when they didn't help themselves, he thought grimly, thinking about Lily and her stubbornness to refuse to get help. It was getting really bad, he was taking every chance he could to get her to eat something, but it was hard.
Tyler wouldn't ‘hand her over’, she would never forgive him and it would cause her so much stress if he betrayed her trust, but he wasn't sure he was seeing another option, she needed help, and if she wouldn't find it herself he might have to do something about it wether she liked it or not. The thought made him uncomfortable.

Weekly #4

Completed song:

(135 words)
Oh Humpty Dumpty hasn't dared sit on a wall
Since that one time in March, the time of his great fall
Far too afraid of what all the kings horses, and more so his men, might think of him
If they have to try to piece him back together again.

Humpty Dumpty is fragile, they'll taunt him
Humpty Dumpty is fragile, every king's man will say
But it's true after all;
Humpty Dumpty is fragile

But now he's far too afraid of failure to make his up his mind
He's sitting on a fence, not a wall
No, never a wall
And yet he is still so scared to be left behind
So he sits on his fence, staying there until again he will fall

He's a mess, oh Humpty's a mess, a half-baked disaster at best
He's being pushed to his limits, oh, it's only a matter of time before he falls apart
And this time not even all the king's horses nor all the kings men can come together
For all their efforts, this time even they can't put Humpty back together again

The leaves are falling and he still cannot make up his mind
He's sitting on a fence, ivy covered and worn, but not a wall
No, never a wall.
And yet he is till so scared to be left behind
Humpty sits on his fence, staying until his inevitable fall

Prompt 1 (steampunk):
(the second prompt)

(420 words)
A couch in a world governed by steam power is sure to be much more interesting (and possibly magical) than your ordinary couch you might find in someone's house today.
These couches could maybe fly, or float around your house so you don't have to get up, or perhaps they can convert into a bed with just the press of a button. That would surely be one way to do a pullout couch.
They might have a little pop-out control panel on the side of the armrest (or perhaps one on each), where you can have all kinds of functions.
It might fetch you your remote or an extra blanket or pillow with built in steel hands, or it might grow legs and walk you out your door.
The inside of the couch, well hidden by its comfortable cushions and pillows, might be full of pipes that makes it possible to have all of these functions.
The couch might be a popular furnishing in an airship, or substitute as a bed for a clockmaker.
There might be a hatch in the living room ceiling that you could open and have your couch fly right out and transport you where you need to go.
Perhaps the backrest could recline the whole way and it turn into a double bed of a sort.
Maybe there would even be couches with clear sides so you could see the gears and cogs moving within it, and maybe there would even be ones so clear you only see the insides of it rather than the outside. This would be a popular edition amongst the rich and fashionable, I'm sure.
Perhaps couch maker would be a well respected and well paying job of higher society, perhaps it would be something any old inventor could whip up. Perhaps both.
There would be constant new models and ideas for different kinds of couches, and it would be a blooming industry.
But then again maybe it would be a dying job. Perhaps people have moved on from the craze of multi-purpose couches, and the couch makers that make steam-powered couches are a dying breed. They might be looking for other jobs, and finding work as toy manufacturers, clock makers, inventors, airship makers, and much more.
There are many possibilities for a simple couch in a steam powered world. The steam powered ones could be common, or a rarity, they could be popular or just a furnishings, who knows? And what could happen when you sprinkle magic into the mix?

Prompt 2 (mythology):
(second prompt)

(421 words)
The animals on the island are all interesting and diverse, with many creatures that exist in this world as well, such as sheep and deer, but there are also many that cannot be found here.
Jørdrinn the creator is very inventive and constantly creating new animals, some regarded as commonplace and some considered sacred. The Dyrhàre, (pronounced th-yu-r-har-eh) for example, the mystical deer-like creature that freely roams the island, incredibly sacred and protected by it's status as one of a kind. Being of the gods and considered a blessing, this creature is not to be approached and treated with utmost respect. It's dark feathered head and deer-like body makes it a creature of incredibly beauty and grace.
The only creatures on the island not created by the gods are the ljoslös (pronounced yu-s-l-uh-s), the fallen stars. These creatures, having once been the Stars, higher than the gods themselves, are treated with respect when possible, but these shadowy things are aggressive and nothing like what they once were, and to protect themselves people will often hire someone to get rid of the ljoslös in the area. They're not mortal in the same way other creatures of this world are, because they were once of the sky, but they're manageable if you have the right equipment to banish them out of an area, or sometimes into containment. They are not a huge issue, as they tend to just stick to the shadows and the woods, but when they come into contact with humans they can become dangerous.
Ormar (ou-rm-are), singular orm, are small, commonplace snake-like reptilian creatures with two front legs and a bite that is venomous for smaller creatures, but the most it can do to a human is slight stiffness around the bite for about six hours. They tend to live in warm, dark places, and can often be found in villages and where people live as opposed to the wild. They don't cause much trouble for humans, and tend to be desired for their ability to exterminate vermin around the house. They don't bite unless threatened, and live peacefully beside humans. Their coloration may vary, but depending on the region, they are often yellowish or dark blue, but can be found as albino, black, green, or orange. Their cousins, snakes and serpents, also exist here, but are much more rare than they are.
Depending on where you are on the island you will find different wildlife, and the only guarantee is that the fauna and flora are thanks to Jørdrinn.

Prompt 3 (contemporary):
(first prompt)

(510 words)
Tired (he really should start prioritizing sleep over writing), Orion stumbled into the folklore cabin, a little cabin in the folklorian woods, nestled in the foothills of the evermorian peaks. Seeing that it was mostly empty, he went over to his usual corner, opening his bag and taking out his laptop. He tapped the table absently as he waited for the weekly to load so he could start working on it. He knew he shouldn't be putting it off so late, but he did work best under a bit of pressure, so he supposed it was to be expected. It wasn't as if he hadn't done this before and managed.
As he was browsing a list of idioms to use for his chorus, he felt a tap on his shoulder. He looked up to find Reese, one of the coleaders and the person he knew best in his cabin. “Hi Ori!” she said, voice low but lively, as she usually was.
“Hi Reese,” he replied with a smile, closing his laptop. “How are you?”
“Good! How are you?” she asked, sitting down at the end of the little table Orion was at.
“I'm good, trying to do the weekly,” he huffed a laugh. “Failing to do so.”
She laughed. “I know the feeling.”
“Yeah,” he said, looking down at the stickers on his laptop. “So why are you here?” he asked.
“Just checking in on the cabin!”
Orion glanced around the mostly empty space. “Is it up to your standards?” he asked jokingly.
“Of course. Should I leave you alone?”
“No no, I'm just staring at a blank page at this point, I should probably get out,” he admitted.
Reese lit up. “In that case, do you want to go somewhere with me?” she asked.
“Sure!” he smiled, putting his laptop back into his bag. “Where?”
“I have no idea,” she admitted
Orion thought about it for a second. “What about one of our sibling cabins? I haven't been in a while.”
“Yesss, that's a great idea!” Reese smiled, getting out of her chair.
They visited the sibling hangout first, but when they arrived and no one was there, they decided to go to the Fantasy cabin, as it was the closest one. Once they got there, they hung around and chatted with the people who were there, meeting some new people and reconnecting with others.
The Script cabin was even more active, and Reese found a friend she ended up chatting to for quite some time, while Orion bid his farewell and headed to the main cabin for some inspiration. He stuck around for a while, talking to Mako, a camper he'd seen a few times in different sessions, and saying hi to a few old friends (specifically Alex, who he'd met on his first session) and acquaintances before tiring from all the social interaction. He headed back to the Folklore cabin to work some more on his weekly, stopping by steampunk just to have a fresh look at the cabin theme for his steampunk part of the weekly.

Prompt 4 (tragedy):
(first prompt)

(641 words)
Luney sat on the dark dungeon floor, looking around her at her companions, all with desolate expressions on their faces. She'd known it was too late for all of them, that Roth would have gotten caught as well if he had tried to help them, but it still left her feeling empty that he had left them so easily, as if he had not cared at all. Alin was not one to care about getting caught, but Luney had wanted to cry when she saw the expression on his face when they realized Roth wasn't coming back. Genuine betrayal and confusion, some of the rawest emotions he had ever let her see.
The rest of them sat in the cell, waiting in silence. Luney had a small knife still on her self, but it was no use to pick the lock in such a heavily guarded place.
Footsteps echoed down the corridor, and the next thing they knew the king stood on the other side of the bars, eyes on Chasi and Chasi only. “Hello, son.”
Luney saw them flinch and resisted the urge to correct him.
“Unlock the door, and keep an eye on the rest, I want the prince out of that cell. I'm going to talk to him later,” the king said, his gaze sweeping over all of them and lingering on Niah for an uncomfortably long time. Luney felt disgust surge through her.
The guards escorted Chasi out of the cell, and as they turned back to look at them, all she saw on their face was absolute despair.
Once they were long gone, the king dressed them again. “I understand it was you who organized this?” he addressed Alin.
“Correct,” he said dryly.
“Then I will have to have you taken away from them, lest you give them ideas,” the king said, gesturing for the guards yet again, who in their turn escorted Alin, stone faced as ever, further into the dungeons.
The king surveyed the rest of them. “Are you here legally?” he asked Greta, who nodded, her usual cheer replaced with a look of absolute terror. It hit Luney what it meant. They might send her back. Oh, Greta, she thought taking her hand and giving it a squeeze, trying her best to give her any strength possible.
“I'll get that verified,” he said, and Greta stood up and walked to the bars, no words needed. Compliance. Oh, no. Luney felt tears at the corners of her eyes.
Next, he turned to Niah. “I was not expecting this, I will admit. A woman of your fine standings would have no reason to steal from a king.”
Blome spoke up for her. “Good thing she isn't. You can't legally do anything to a child under sixteen,” he snapped. It was the first time Luney had ever heard anything so spiteful from the man, but she was beyond glad he was standing up for Niah.
The king looked amused. “Last time I checked, she was well into her twenties, how would she magically regress ten years?” he asked.
“I'm an artist,” Niah said with a sneer. “An actor, not who you think I am.”
He looked almost taken aback at her tone. “Then who are you?”
“A twelve year old, your majesty, take your eyes off her,” Blome gritted out.
The kings eyes widened. “A- Nevertheless, you sir are to be taken for questioning, and your little actor friend must be detained until your claims can be backed up. Guards.”
And with that the two were led out of the cell, leaving only Luney.
It didn't matter what they did to her now. The others weren't safe, so neither was she. She couldn't go on if Greta was sent away, or Alin was locked away forever, if Blome never saw his daughter again. She just couldn't.


Also I used the text based version which I got from Moss

Weekly #1
Total word count: 1580


Part 1:

Song: Bigger than the whole sky

(239 words)
We stood at the edge of the wall that had served to contain us and stared at what had been our lives for the past 10 years. I bit my dry, swollen lip, the adrenaline still rushing through my veins. None of us said anything. I wished someone would. Normally, that would be me, but nothing was coming to me. I felt relieved, of course I did, but I couldn't help feel empty, too. What was my life without constant fear?

“Well,” Elias said hoarsely, “that's that then.”

Sigyn let out a small, breathy laugh. “Yeah. That's that.”

I smiled. At least I had my family. Somehow, the prospect of a life after what was down there felt scarier than staying in danger. There was so much to live without, so many bad things, yet I felt myself cling to them. Some irrational part of my brain told me it wasn't supposed to be over, I wasn't supposed to just leave.

“We gotta move on,” I heard myself say.

Kieran nodded bitterly. “It's hard to imagine how we're supposed to. We're not suited for this,” he said, gesturing behind them.

“It'll get easier, I promise,” I said, turning towards them, away from the edge. I didn't believe it, not really, but looking at them, the ones who had survived, I allowed myself to believe that I could learn to. Just the seven of us against whatever challenges we encountered.


Part 2:

(162 words not counting questions)
Name: Oz
Age: 14
Pronouns: They/them
Strengths: Resilient, good leader, strong (physically and mentally), fiercely protective
Weaknesses: Gets dizzy easily, bad depth perception, hates feeling out of control (to a point it causes great distress), gets carried away with their thoughts
Habits: Double checking everything, fidgeting with anything they can, cleaning/sharpening/fixing things when they have nothing to do
Appearance: Long tied-up light brown hair, brown eyes, tanned skin (from so much time in the sun), lithe, freckles, dark circles under their eyes
Friends/team: Elias, Sigyn, Kieran, Vijaya, Tamar, Viktor
Common situations and how they handle them: They come across a ‘zombie’ (taking the lead, trying to find a safe way out, fighting if necessary, but generally letting the better fighters take over), they're forced to relocate their camp (quick to action, tries their best oversee everything and do their share), any of the team fight (try to intercept if they feel it's necessary but will step aside, feels awful about it either way)
Motives: Survival, for both them and their team, the hope for freedom


Part 3:

Scenario 1: The team are checking out a potential camp and run into an issue (motivation: keep themself and the team alive/basic needs)
(210 words)
“How long ago did Tamar and Elias leave?” I asked, picking apart a leaf I'd pulled off a nearby tree.
“Not too long, no need to be concerned yet,” Vijaya replied, composed.
I turned back to my leaf, tearing it into tinier and tinier pieces until there was nothing left. I sprinkled the little leaf bits, watching as the wind caught and carried them a short distance before they settled on the ground.
“Nest,” hissed Tamar, seemingly having popped out of nowhere. So much for a camp here then, I thought, immediately dropping the rest of the leaf and standing up.
“Did they notice you?” Kieran asked, voice so low it might as well have been a whisper.
“Not yet,” Elias grinned.
I grabbed my pack, glowering at Elias. “Well? Let's get out of here,” I hissed, scanning the team to make sure they were all there and doing their part. “Viktor, knife,” I said, noticing his carving knife still on the ground. He nodded in thanks, and I herded them all out of there as quick as I could, adrenaline slowly subsiding as we got further away.
No matter how many times we did this, the very real possibility we wouldn't be so lucky one day kept me weary.

Scenario 2: Physically, Oz is now free of that place. Mentally, not so much. (motive: protect the team in any way possible)
(208 words)
We'd only been in the city for about 20 minutes before Viktor needed to sit down. His stamina had never been amazing, and we were all exhausted. It took us a bit, but we found some steps to sit down on and rest for a few minutes, and we all collectively rushed to sit down. Vijaya took out a water bottle from her pack and we passed it around silently.
A woman dressed in black business attire walked past us and huffed in our direction, muttering under her breath. The other's didn't seem to have heard - or noticed - her remark. But I did.
I sprang up, anger coursing through me. “Hey!” I yelled and she spun around, the elegance of the way her clothes lifted slightly at the movement only fuelling my anger. A waste of space, she had said. Did she know what had happened to us because of views like that? Did she care?
My hand found the dagger at my side. I knew it was irrational, but all my instincts knew were harm and run.
“Oz,” Kieran warned. “Don't.”
The woman looked from him to me, sniffed, and turned on her heel.
I kept myself from running after her. I couldn't risk endangering the others.

Scenario 3: About 3 years prior, their first human contact since they lost their community. (motive: protect team and make themself useful)
(218 words)
It'd been three years since the one safe community in our confines had been destroyed, leaving only six survivors. Children. My only family. I was 11 now, and I believed that if we'd made it this far we could survive another three years, and then another.
It was what kept me going through long hikes to find shelter such as these.
“Can we take a break?” Viktor, the youngest, asked.
“In a minute,” Vijaya replied, not looking back.
I myself was at the back, which made me feel useful, like I could look after them all.
Just as I thought that, I heard a rustle in the leaves behind me. Immediately, I tensed, turning around to see a scared-looking kid - my age or younger - frozen in her tracks, gripping a knife tightly in one hand and clenching the ratty fabric of her pant leg in the other.
Before I could think properly, I had my own hunting knife out. “Who are you?” I demanded angrily, ready to launch myself at this little girl if she posed any kind of threat to my family.
The girl didn't answer, still frozen. The other's must have heard me, because I felt Jessie's presence right behind me. “Ozzie, it's just a person, calm down,” she said, and I lowered my knife, reluctantly.


Part 4:

Scenario 3

(543 words added)
It'd been three years since the one safe community in our confines had been destroyed, leaving only six survivors. Children. My only family. I was 11 now, and I believed that if we'd made it this far we could survive another three years, and then another.
It was what kept me going through long hikes to find shelter such as these.
“Can we take a break?” Viktor, the youngest, asked.
“In a minute,” Vijaya replied, not looking back.
I myself was at the back, which made me feel useful, like I could look after them all.
Just as I thought that, I heard a rustle in the leaves behind me. Immediately, I tensed, turning around to see a scared-looking kid - my age or younger - frozen in her tracks, gripping a knife tightly in one hand and clenching the ratty fabric of her pant leg in the other.
Before I could think properly, I had my own hunting knife out. “Who are you?” I demanded angrily, ready to launch myself at this little girl if she posed any kind of threat to my family.
The girl didn't answer, still frozen. The other's must have heard me, because I felt Jessie's presence right behind me. “Ozzie, it's just a person, calm down,” she said, and I lowered my knife, reluctantly.
There was another rustle from the bushes to the left, and a boy my age sprang out, makeshift sword in hand. “If you hurt her, you're dead,” he said fiercely, voice cracking slightly.
I stepped between him and the others, knife held out, my only thought being to protect them. My vision unfocused for a couple seconds, and I blinked urgently. I was dizzy from walking in the heat, and I absolutely could not afford to be.
Vijaya, the oldest, and the strongest fighter, joined me. “Who are you kid?” she asked with what I knew must be a menacing look, but I had already turned back to the girl, considering the other one less of a threat with Vijaya ready to fight him if necessary.
“Elias,” he said proudly. “Who are you?”
“Vi,” she answered shortly. “What are you doing here?”
“Home,” the girl piped up.
“You live here?” Viktor asked.
The girl nodded. The boy, Elias, brandished his makeshift sword. “What are you doing here?” he asked in what he must have thought was a threatening manner.
“Just moving through, we'll be out of here soon,” Kieran said.
Vijaya cast a glare over her shoulder at him. “Are you two alone?”
They both nodded. I picked at the hilt of my knife, wishing I had a more threatening weapon. A bow and arrow like Kieran would be nice, but I couldn't aim very well.
“How long have you been alone?” Vijaya asked, voice softer now.
“Since Mamma died,” Elias said, arm shaking a little.
“Would you like to come with us?” she offered. Kieran and I both started protesting. We didn't know them! What if they were dangerous?
To my surprise, no one else did. The others seemed to all agree this was a good idea.
“Safe?” the girl asked, seeming a little more at ease.
“We'll protect you,” Jessie said from behind me. “Strength in numbers.” I whirled around to look at her, she had a point. But that didn't mean it wasn't unsafe.
Tamar nodded. “Not like there's a lot of people left here.”
I considered it. No, there wasn't. Up until a few months ago, I'd thought us six were the only ones. Having more people would keep us safer, if Elias and the girl were trustworthy, of course.
The girl nodded. “Safe.”
Elias dropped his sword arm. “Okay then,” he said, still frowning. “What's your names?”
Jessie supplied him with our names, pointing at each person as she did so, saying something about each of us. I smiled with pride when she got to me, replaying the words in my head. /'This is Oz, they're like a leader, even if they're only third oldest.'/
“I'm Elias, and she's my sister, Sigyn.”
“Okay then Sigyn, Elias. Welcome,” I said. “But you try anything and I won't go easy on you, ok?” I said, summoning as much menace as I could.
Elias nodded, thoughtfully. “Okay. Where are you going?” he asked, walking the rest of the way up to us, taking his sister's hand. Sigyn looked completely at ease, as if she'd completely forgotten how scared she'd seemed just minutes ago.
“Dunno,” Vijaya replied, smiling, already starting to walk again.
“Let's find out,” I said, putting away my knife.

Also and if you read through this and notice I mention 7 of them at the beginning and then include 8 in part 4 or notice Jessie isn't listed in the character sheet, it's intentional, I made more lore than needed for this weekly haha (spoiler alert Jessie perished sometime in those 3 years ehehehe)

Character sheet for Cabin Wars:

Name: Niah
Age: 12
Nationality: Helinian
Personality: Very sassy, mature, defensive,
Appearance: Anything she wants it to be, but generally mousey brown hair, blue eyes, average height, fairly unassuming
Strengths: Extremely good with disguises, resilient, self-sufficient
Weaknesses: Huge fear of abandonment (to the point she wouldn't let herself get close to anyone until she met the crew), sensitive
Hopes for the future: A good education, perhaps a job in acting, to become a member of society in some way
Morals: Morally grey, but fairly righteous considering she's a criminal to an extent, will steal and such for survival mostly, but will absolutely not kill or hurt anyone unless she's forced to (very dire situation), yet she will associate with people who do such things
Brief backstory: Mother died, leaving her and her brother on their own. Her brother left one day, and she's been left to fend for herself. She disguises herself and gets food and shelter in any way she can.

Also if you want other characters the names of the crew I have so far are Roth, Luney, Alin, Chasi, and there are two others with no names for the time being but you can fill it in if you want

Character Swap (Cabin wars):

(352 words)
Lark was sketching again. Sitting at the end of her bed at the boarding house, sketching her mother. Her mother's hair, the way her face looked when she laughed, her in her uniform the day she left, her hand holding the necklace Lark was wearing. Anything and everything she could remember about her mother, everything she was too scared to forget, all that she needed to document and preserve.
She finished off a small sketch of her and her mother when she was younger and dropped her pencil, massaging her cramping hand. How long had she been at it anyway? She peered up at the clock above the door and her eyes widened. Two hours? It had only felt like one at most.
With a start, she realized she'd promised a couple of the younger kids to play hide and seek today. She scrambled to put away her sketchbook and hurried out of the dorm, going downstairs to where the kids usually were.
“Lark!” called Daniel, happy smile plastered on his little face. “You're done!”
“Will you play with us now?” Anya asked.
“Of course,” Lark replied, smiling down at the expectant faces of the gathered children.
“Yay!” Called little Robin. “You're it!”
The kids all scattered, and Lark covered her eyes, starting to count.
“…Fifty-seven, fifty-eight, fifty-nine, sixty!” she called, opening her eyes and scanning the room. “Ready or not, here I come!” she said, pretending not to hear the giggle coming from the nearby supply closet.
She made her way through the building, making a big deal of finding each kid and thanking them sincerely when they pointed out the hiding spots of their friends. It didn't take too long to find them all, although Robin, wedged behind a kitchen counter, had been a bit of a struggle.
Just as the kids began to beg her for another round, the dinner bell rang.
“Sorry guys, we can play more later, okay?” she said, heading for the dining room. The kids all agreed that was a brilliant idea, and they headed off to dinner. Lark smiled. Oh, how she loved them.