Daily, 9th July, 201/200 words:

How many hours did you sleep the night before this daily was added? Today, our daily will have a bit of a twist—you must write 1200 words about your various characters’ sleep habits and the effects they have on them, but for every hour that you slept last night, you can subtract 100 words from the total (caps at ten hours for 200 words). For example, if you slept for nine hours, you'll only have to write 300 words. You'll earn 400 points from this daily.

10 hours

Ted sleeps fast but lightly. He'll have spent a day studying for difficult exams under a lot of pressure, then get into bed and pass out straight away. However, he's rather prone to waking up if other noises intrude or someone walks too close to him or a light get switched on. When this happens, he doesn't get angry like some people do, but either mutters something incoherent and falls asleep as soon as he's figured out what's going on, or wakes up fast and gets to business. Ted has a very healthy sleeping style, doesn't need much sleep at all, and doesn't care when he sleeps as long as he gets to.

Andy, by contrast, is a poor sleeper. She twitches, mutters, and is known for a disturbing habit of sitting straight up and saying something clear before either falling back asleep or waking up while groaning for being disturbed (she woke herself up). She needs more sleep than she gets — she needs eight and a half to nine and a half hours, depending on when — but she doesn't usually get it and this is probably one of the factors that makes her touchy, irritable, and nervous during the day.

Weekly 2 total 2062 words

https://scratch.mit.edu/discuss/topic/695082/?page=1#post-7369456

Part 1: How to write different relationships (platonic, romantic, rivalries, etc) and set them apart from each other (ib: @strange_skies) (937 words)

Choosing, setting apart, and defining relationships is very important in writing books. Writing them realistically can make readers enjoy your story much more. Well-written relationships, with their peculiarities, confusions, and consequences, will often inspire new directions to take the plot in.

So how do you define relationships, and how do you show the character's feelings towards them? How do you stop a friend being confused with a romantic interest by the reader?

Your character's emotional reactions towards others are very important to show their relationship. Generally, people will feel vastly different emotions depending on their relationship to a person who does something that affects them. For example, if your protagonist's best friend saves their life by pulling them back from the edge of a cliff that starts to crumble, they'll be grateful and happy, but probably not very surprised (alongside their relief from not falling over). Instead, if their rival who absolutely hates them and would stand to benefit by their death saves them, your character will probably feel surprise, disbelief, and possibly resentment. Whereas if a crush saved them, your character might feel a mix of embarrassment and a surge of feelings for that person and perhaps a dismayed realisation that they're not going to get over them very fast.

Obviously, your main character's own personality will affect their emotional reactions and the way they express them. For example, in the saving-from-falling-over-a-cliff example above, a quiet character might stare at their saviour in shock before remembering to speak (for someone unexpected) or hug them tightly without saying anything (for a friend). A loud, carefree character might exclaim, gasp, and verbalise their reactions in a way a quiet character wouldn't, then laugh it off.

If you're having trouble differentiating between whether your character has a romantic or platonic relationship with another character — although you know which one you want it to be, it keeps reading as the other — consider these points:

• Romantic relationships will usually have an element of tension in them before the characters get together. This stems from the will-they-won't-they aspect, aka the lack of surety as to whether or not the characters will end up together. A character with a crush will want the relationship to develop into something new. This means that they will start to gently test out where the boundaries are (by flirting / teasing / figuring out whether or not their crush is comfortable with touching them and using that to assess the possibility of romantic feelings being returned).
• By contrast, friends are generally more assured in their relationship to each other — both of them are satisfied with what they’ve got. If they’ve only just become friends, there will probably be a period where they both have to work out their dynamic and how they relate to each other (however unconsciously), but after a while, healthy friendships fall into a comfortable pattern, with understood boundaries.
• Close friendships will have different boundaries than looser friendships. For example, best friends may hug and touch each other a lot more than they do other people. This may start gradually as they get closer, for example just with celebrating a win or comforting each other, but then become a habit.
• Unhealthy friendships will also have different boundaries as well. For example, your main character may be friends with someone who pressures them into doing things they don’t want to (eg drinking heavily / using their magical powers to show off). There may be a cycle of Pressuring Character saying that it’s “just this once” and telling them they’re boring if they don’t do it, then guilt-tripping them (“it’s not the same without you”) until your protagonist ends up doing what they say. Your main character may grow used to ignoring this. While they might not tolerate Pressuring Character’s behaviour in other people, they could mentally excuse them by thinking “Oh, it’s just the way Pressuring Character is. We’ve been friends for so long; it doesn’t really matter.”

So, if your characters who are meant to be platonic best friends of a few years keep overthinking whether or not it’s okay to hug the other and dwelling on it too much, that can give the impression that either a) they’re not actually close b) one of them has romantic feelings for the other.

Likewise, if your main character doesn’t really seem to care about their crush (who they’re not close to) taking their hand to pull them along for the first time, that doesn’t make it seem as if they’re interested. In that scenario, there should be more of a “they just touched me omg???” vibe, which can be portrayed through the character’s inner thoughts and physical reactions, e.g. butterflies, as well as them looking to see signs of whether this means anything to their crush (depending on their personality, this could be a direct smile with eye contact, looking away and grinning, or blushing slightly and avoiding eye contact). By contrast, in the same scenario with their best friend, the character probably isn’t going to think about it much.

If, however, someone they didn’t like took their hand, your protagonist will have very different reactions. They may drop their hand and glare at the person or express dislike of the action. If your character just lets their academic rival who they’re supposed to hate pull them along by the hand, readers are going to start to suspect that maybe their feelings for said academic rival aren’t quite all that they seem…

There’s a lot more to writing relationships that this, and I feel that this is slightly muddled but hopefully helpful to someone

Part 2: Describing a location (ib: @savebats) 589 words

Kneel down on the faded cushion. It's soft but you can still feel the hard wooden floor of the pew below. Is this how they used to do it, back when this church was Catholic?

Close your eyes. Don't think of the light streaming dimly through the windows, the dust motes floating faint in front of your nose. Don't inhale the scent of the wood polish. Don't listen to the bird repeating the same three notes again and again in the tree outside the west window. Don't feel the hairs on your arms rise in the sudden stone coolness, ignore the way your t-shirt wrinkles around your stomach. Just kneel and pray.

God has to be here somewhere. Maybe if you open the Bible on the end of the pew, He'll have a message for you inside the pages. You pick it up and hope He's watching. The pages are thin and soft, the cover bends, malleable, just like you remember. There's a bookmark laminated sharp, the creases where some child has bent it (maybe you?) forming hard ridges. The blue flower design is trapped underneath, with text written underneath in floating italic. If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just and will forgive us our sins and purify us from all unrighteousness. 1 John 1:9

Hold the bookmark tight in your hand, stop the tears forming. Look around the church and don't cry. It might be empty now but it won't be forever. People come and go but maybe the dark wood will be there longer. The stone pillars too. They hold up either side of their stone arches. Behind them, there's the windows. Some saints in their robes. You never really looked at the windows closely and you still can't tell who the saints are but you vaguely remember the dark blue signs underneath stating I AM THE BREAD OF LIFE. All the I AMs. You wish you could say something like that. I AM and a verb or a noun, all in capitals. Capital letters seem so confident, somehow. Fake it till you make it and all that.

The piano was your favourite thing to look at during church, when you weren't tipping back your head to stare at the thin rafters slotting together above you. You do that first – the ceiling doesn't seem as far away now, but you're standing up, not sitting — then approach the piano. It gleams. Black. A baby grand. It seems almost indecent to have something this good in a church, to have it locked away and played once a week, but nothing else would be fitting for this place. You try to imagine a wood-brown upright in its place. Not good enough. You feel a rush of sympathy for your imaginary piano, feel a surge of resentment against the glossy black surface of the grand. What gives people the right to judge, anyway?

Move away, down the blue carpet that stretches down the main aisle between the pews. Go through the door that swings to the outside, to the belfry and locked door up the tower. This is the oldest bit. There's a medieval memorial for a knight and his wife here, or something like that. You don't want to look. You never liked this part; you still associate it with waiting, bored, and staring out at the gravestones while your parents said their goodbyes. No goodbyes to say, now. You touch the wide smooth stone of the doorway and go out, back into the heat.

Part 3, 536 words https://scratch.mit.edu/discuss/topic/694457/?page=22#post-7382526

Hey, just read your story and I liked it! Here's my critique

So, first off, here's a summary of what I can see happening in your story: a girl finds a strange necklace in a tree in the forest. When she touches it, it “awakens” and everything around her starts dying and this spreads out. She isn't, possibly because she's wearing the necklace. First she panics at the death around her and climbs a tree in an urge to get away from it. Seeing that it won't stop, she then clambers down in order to try to save the nearest village, but realises that she won't get there in time to make a difference. The story closes with the line “No one could stop death”, which emphasises the moral of the story — that death is inevitable.

I really enjoyed the idea itself and found it very creative. The descriptive opening lines paint a picture and are great for setting the mood. The imagery of the tree “clawing at the sky” suggests malevolence and a desire to harm the rest of the world, foreshadowing what happens next with the necklace.

My only criticism would be the paragraph starting from “She touched down on the brittle ground”. (I hope this isn't phrased harshly, I don't want to hurt your feelings <3 I understand that writing can be very personal and I've been upset by critique before and those feelings are completely valid and difficult to deal with, sometimes).

My issue was that I wasn't sure that the fact that her hair was “knotted and dirty” was necessary to emphasise. Taking a break from the action and talking about cleanliness takes away from the urgency and drama of the situation. I think it was used as a device to introduce the fact that this story takes place in the 16th century (I may be wrong and if I am, sorry lol), but I'd ask if it's necessary to tell the reader that? It doesn't seem important to the plot, because the scenery (forests bordering small villages) isn't something that's exclusive to the 16th century, and a magic necklace wiping out the rest of the world isn't either. I know it may seem to be better for setting the scene, but honestly you've already done that well in your atmospheric description — your audience already knows the “vibe” and it fits in well with the mood of the story — and mentioning the date sort of takes them out of it.

I liked the ending. The questions are great. I'd suggest changing the penultimate sentence, maybe? I think it would convey your meaning more clearly.

Original: She started to slow down. What would warning them have done, anyway? Made them panic? Made them terrified, in their last few living moments? Because there was nothing they could do.

No one could stop death.

Suggested: She started to slow down. What would warning them have done, anyway? Made them panic? Made them terrified, in their last few living moments? There was nothing they could have done.

No one could stop death.

I like the ending sentence — it concludes the story well, emphasising the themes.

That's my critique and I hope it was okay!

Critique for @Sunclaw68

part 2 critiqued

(First off, apologies if this isn't up to par, I'm still feeling a little under the weather haha.)

I really like your writing style — and the drama in this piece is very enjoyable. I LOVE scenes where characters meet up with people they used to be close to but are now fighting against, and you've really conveyed the angst in the phrases “But this is {Яedacted}” and “They should have known that their old friend would have a plan, a hook, and a way to twist the knife”.

I like the way the character seems rather out of it (which is what I think you're trying to convey), slipping away into relevant thoughts eg “The flames are a nice touch, in a morbid way”, but you can still get the gist of what's going on and what's important to them (saving the village and the trickery of ).

I think that maybe if a couple more references were made to the positioning of both and in the scene, it would give a slightly clearer picture to the reader?

So far there are two references to positioning that I can find — “the dark figure flying around them through the burning buildings” in the sixth paragraph, and “They don’t have the energy to try and pinpoint what direction it came from this time” (referencing Яedacted's black bolts of magic) in the eighth.

I know it's meant to be dreamlike and vague, but I think that maybe something like wondering exactly where is hovering above them could fit in, and make the reader imagine the scene better?

It's a very small nitpick and I probably wouldn't have spotted it if I hadn't been thinking about the flow

The only other thing I'd do would change "Who are you. What have you become. Why are you blaming me. to "Who are you? What have you become? Why are you blaming me?, just because I think they hit harder if you emphasise that they're questions — specifically, questions without answers. Tiny thing though and probably me overanalysing it though lol.

I love the ending, where the main character is passing out with thoughts darting around. From the flames in the sky "like fireflies — lovely imagery which really ties into the next phrase about childhood memories — to staring at stars with their former-friend/lover now-enemy, to wanting to sleep, to blaming themselves.

Bi-daily, 18th-19th July, 426/400 words for 600 points:

For our second bidaily of the session, your first task is to create and share a bizarre picture of an odd arrangement of everyday objects (for example a tower of forks or a row of clocks interspersed with carrots). If you are unable to take a photograph, a drawing or collage will work as well. However you choose to create your image, make sure to upload it to a project and share it in the main cabin's comments.
Then, claim someone else's picture, and write a 400 word analysis, story, or poem about whatever the image depicts. You'll earn 600 points for doing this bidaily, and sharing is required for both parts.


my collage

collage I'm using

The princess stood in front of the mirror, holding the rough worker's cap in one hand. Inside were two objects. The first was a hairbrush, the one her maids would probably end up using to smooth her hair tomorrow for her wedding to the prince she'd never met before this evening. He seemed alright as a person. A good dance partner, relatively polite. But did she really want to marry him when that was all she knew about him? He could turn out to be anything.

The other object was a pair of sharp scissors. Hair scissors.

She stared at both, indecisive, then closed her eyes and reached out for one. Without opening her eyes, she knew she'd picked the smooth metal blade of the scissors.

Well. This made things easier.

She tied up her hair, staring at herself in the mirror. She was going to miss this version of herself. She'd always been rather happy with her long brown hair — it was smooth and easy to style comfortably and elegantly.

Oh well. The princess gritted her teeth and chopped off the majority of her hair, then released it from its tie and started to cut it into the best imitation of a worker's hair she possibly could. She shoved the cap on top and stared at her reflection, not recognising her own face.

That's a positive, she reminded herself. She couldn't help feeling a sense of sadness, followed by a jolt of laughter at the contrast between her head and the dress she was still wearing.

She changed into the navy uniform, running her fingers over the rough, slightly itchy cloth. She'd never worn anything of this poor quality before. Life was going to be very different from now on, and maybe not entirely in a good way. But all the same, she enjoyed the new sensation of trousers — they seemed restricting and freeing at the same time. She could run in these without having to hold them up, but having each leg so visible at all times was… weird.

She took one last glance in the mirror before she went out. She saw a young worker's face staring back at her, wide-eyed. Rather pale, but that could be explained by the fact that it was winter and had been raining for weeks, surely?

This is it. She opened the window as quietly as possible and started climbing down the tree outside. Now all she had to do was get across the grounds to where her maid would be waiting with a horse.

Weekly 3
total 2877 words
https://scratch.mit.edu/discuss/topic/695082/?page=1#post-7382139

Part 1 153 words

intro: Sparrow is having trouble with her new job, feeling under appreciated and longing for something better and more expensive to do with her talents
conflict: she sees a poster with an advert for a competition to win a scholarship to Oldhaven, a prestigious boarding school in World 3, then has to persuade her parents to let her go and spends time preparing for it. added stakes: has to quit her job at the potions shop because she's busy practising for the scholarship competition
climax: the competition. series of fighting tests which are rated on a score of 100 as well as tests on potions, how to discover poison in food, for instance.
conclusion: Sparrow is told she, along with a few other characters, have won the competition and will be going to Oldhaven — but there's a catch. along with balancing schoolwork, they're going to have to be bodyguards for a rich girl.

Part 2 intro, 560 words

Sparrow Lockett was up to her elbows in empty cauldrons, all crusted with smoking remnants of various potions. She’d filled the sink with cleaning potion, its iridescence now dimmed to an ugly, slick brown, scrubbed them thoroughly, and was now cursing off the various lumps that still clung on stubbornly, one by one.

This was not exactly how she’d pictured her job at the biggest potions shop in Walford to go.

She’d thought they’d appreciated her talent when she’d aced the test they’d handed out at the interview in under ten minutes and produced a sparkling, pure rehydration potion in twenty. She’d been the first to finish and she’d thought she’d seen a sparkle of interest in the previously bored recruiter’s eye as she answered his extra questions fluently.

Apparently, as a fifteen year old, her talent was only up to the magical equivalent of doing the dishes.

At least you’re earning money outside of school now, she pointed out to herself, savagely zapping an angry pink chunk of anti-pimple potion away from the last bowl. She dumped it on the side and let out the sink. You can replace your shoes next week without bothering Mum and Dad or making Wren wait for a new shirt.

Still, as she dried out the cauldrons with an enchanted towel, then went through to put them back in the store cupboard, she found herself growing more and more frustrated. Couldn’t they see she was capable of more than this?

It was only the third week of her after-school job, and already she was thinking about quitting. Even if she didn’t actually have any intention of doing it, it was rather pathetic.

Sparrow cast a drying charm on the towel and stalked up the basement steps. “Done here,” she announced to the guy behind the till. Marcus. He wasn’t too bad, to be fair. He’d only attempted to underpay her once and had immediately given her the rest of the money when she’d threatened to hex him. Maybe he’d been in Wren’s year at school and knew the Lockett family’s reputation.

“How much is it, again? Fifteen?”

Twice, then. “Twenty,” she said through gritted teeth.

“You seem a little upset, sweetheart. I was just kidding, you know.” He dropped the coins into her hand. “Anything else the matter?”

Sparrow counted the coins through. “Nothing much. Just. Are they ever going to put me on anything other than cauldron-scrubber duty?”

Marcus shrugged patronisingly. “You’re the new kid, you get the boring job.”

“I can brew better than practically everyone upstairs.” Sparrow shoved the coins away. “They’d benefit from having me up there. I wouldn’t burn out cauldrons or waste ingredients or take forever because I didn’t get it to the right consistency and have to recharm it—"

“I believe you, sweetheart. I believe you.” Marcus held up his hands in a show of mock terror.

“Stop calling me sweetheart. It’s annoying.” This didn’t have the desired effect, so she added, “Also creepy, seeing as you’re what, three years older than me?” in the hope that his face would drop.

There was only a slight change before he recovered. “You’re sixteen, right? Two years,” Marcus said.

“Fifteen. So three.” Sparrow gave him a smug look.

“Still,” Marcus said, and smirked at her, deliberately overdoing it.

Sparrow laughed, despite herself, and stepped out into the street.

Part 3 conflict, 499 words

Outside was cold and wet. Quick-falling raindrops were highlighted underneath the orange-tinted light from each lamppost. Sparrow shivered and zipped her coat up; it would probably soak through before she got home. She needed to see if she could get a copy of the drying charms from somewhere. Maybe the library would have some.

As she continued along the street, she became aware that posters were plastered on each lamppost. They were bright and glossy, undisturbed by the constant drizzle; either they had to be very new or they had much better water-repelling charms than Sparrow had ever seen around here. This last thought inspired her to pull one off, turning it over to see if there was a charm scribbled on the back that she could replicate.

To her delight, there was. It didn't look difficult and she resolved to use some of her spellpaper for her coat as soon as she got back home. If Robin was nice to her, she'd do it for him as well — she'd noticed his coat was getting particularly soaked, recently.

She was about to stuff the poster in her pocket when she read the letters on the front.

Scholarship Applications for Oldhaven School of Magical Studies Now Open.

It had to be a scam, she knew. But all the same she turned it over to read the details on the back.

Apparently, there would be a competition in a couple of weeks in order that excelling students (anyone who regularly got over 85% on tests and had an average of around 90% from the previous year) from over the various worlds could take place in (necessary portals free of charge). Four to six students would be selected after going through rigorous written examinations and practical demonstrations.

Sparrow realised she'd been staring at the paper long enough that her coat actually was soaking through. She sighed and muttered a warming charm under her breath. Although it helped with the coldness, it made her steam as she made her way back, and she felt like she was a giant pudding being transported through the streets.

She had to figure out a way to persuade her parents to let her go. They were usually very against anything from the higher worlds, saying that higher worlds just tried to exploit lower ones, but this… this was different. This could be Sparrow's ticket out of here. As for her family, they'd lose her income, but four people were a lot easier to feed and board than five. And when she graduated, her future job would get all of them out of miserable Walford. Out of World 5, even.

She had to do this.

•••

Five days later, they'd given in. Six days later, Sparrow had quit her job in order to practice for the competition. And two weeks and three days later, after having taken the portal and ended up with the other candidates, she knew she had to get one of those desired spots.

Part 4 climax, 1085 words

It'd been scary at first. The inter-world portal had made Sparrow want to throw up, her stomach screwing up and her limbs shaking, but she refused to vomit under the eye of the polished escort. “Not your first time, then?” had been her reward, along with the surprised look when she contradicted him.

After that, she'd arrived in a gigantic hotel with what seemed like thousands of other fifteen and sixteen year olds wandering around, reciting spells under their breath or revising from books. She'd felt intimidated and had had trouble sleeping. But after a large breakfast — which was excellent; World 3 food had nothing to beat it — and eyeing up the other students, plenty of whom she decided were no competition whatsoever, she pulled herself together. She had everything she needed. She could do this.

The first test was easy. A basic knowledge test. Components of a detoxification potion? Sparrow could write pages on that — and she did, her hand cramping as it struggled to keep up with her brain. She forced herself to ignore the expressions of the people who were escorted out of the exam room when they proved unable to write much on the paper. She was doing this for herself.

She thought she'd done pretty well, only spotting one other person near her — a dark-skinned girl with large glasses — who seemed to have written more.

She was told she'd passed an hour later, and to prepare for the second test which would be in half an hour. That proved to be harder — it was an obstacle course in the courtyard outside, which she had to fight through, along with the other students who had made it through. She nearly messed up her flame-flattening incantation, but rescued it by turning it into a water wave on the spur of the moment.

She ended up being the second student to get out of the obstacle course, following hard on the heels of a dark-haired boy who eyed her warily. She didn't begrudge his surprise. The fact she'd finished so soon was mostly owing to the fact that she'd seen the course from an upstairs window before coming down and committed it to memory as best she could. She hoped the examiners wouldn't know.

They both leaned against the wall, watching the examiners looking at different mirrors (presumably tracking the other candidates?), conjuring diagrams, and writing things down. Neither of them said anything, and Sparrow was glad when others started to make their various ways out.

The third test was battling against an examiner. They were put into fours — apparently randomly — and told to try to collaborate and work together.

“So what's everyone good at?” Sparrow asked. “Personally, potions are my strong point, so I'm great at lightening and darkening spells. Could use that to blind the examiner at various points.”

One of the other candidates volunteered that they were good at water spells, so Sparrow decided to organise a strategy where they made the examiner slip around while blinded, while one of the other candidates cast counters to their spells and the other cast a spell to tie them up. Looking at their hesitant stances, she wasn't sure they'd prove up to the task.

Sparrow's doubts were proved correct when the counter-caster got herself pinned down to the ground with a jaw-lock spell, then the candidate who was meant to tie the examiner up lost his focus and found himself in a similar position.

Angry with being stuck with them, she cast a circle of fire around the examiner and screamed a flame-petrifying spell. Although he tried to counter it, with the reinforcement of the water candidate, the flames hardened into stone, trapping the examiner inside a box. They reinforced it, then cast a rope spell around the outside. When the examiner broke out, the ropes flew at them, trapping them and binding their hands and gagging them.

It had seemed too easy — the counter to a flame-petrifying spell was well known, but she supposed they didn't want to risk hurting any of the candidates, and maybe a sense of strategy was more what they were looking for? After all, she thought Oldhaven was primarily looking out for a good grounding in the basics, raw power, and signs of intelligence. It would teach them how to use them.

The last test was basically what was a free-for-all. The goal was to be the last man standing. When it had been announced, Sparrow had immediately searched for the dark-haired boy. She found him standing by himself against one of the walls, looking around himself suspiciously.

“Hello,” she greeted him. “I was second in the second task, along with you.”

He nodded. “Yeah.”

“How about we team up for this last task?” she suggested. “We're probably a couple of the best people here. If we get through it together, then we can fight it out at the end.”

He looked her up and down for long enough that she began to feel uncomfortable.

“Well?”

“Alright,” he said eventually, and she noticed that he had a thick accent. Not from one of the higher worlds — definitely a lower one. Was he from Seven, maybe? “But let's do a… binding spell. No betrayal until the others are done.”

Sparrow wrote it out on paper, and he looked it over carefully before they linked hands and said the words together, channelling their magic into it. As the spell released, Sparrow felt a strong surge of magic, enough that her eyes widened in surprise. The boy must be strong, then. She knew she'd picked well, even before they'd taken down all the other candidates except a freckled girl who'd paired up with the dark-skinned girl she'd noticed in the first test. Then they got taken down by a rather brutal slashing spell — Sparrow screamed as her hand was cut open, and that distracted her partner enough that he'd got encased to his knees in mud, and after that it was easy enough for their opponents to immobilise them.

She'd done well on the first three tests, but she kept worrying about the last one until the end of the day when the results were announced, a magically amplified voice echoing around the cafeteria of the hotel.

“If we could have your attention.” The room went silent. “After careful deliberation, four students have been selected for the Oldhaven scholarship. Isabel Meyer. Adisa Abiodun. Leo Campos.”

Sparrow clasped her hands on the table, knuckles going white. Please…

“And Sparrow Lockett.”

Part 5 conclusion, 580 words

The walk through the now mostly empty cafeteria was silent. The only sounds were their echoing footsteps as the four scholarship winners made their way out, followed by the accusing eyes of the twenty or so other candidates who had had a chance until a few seconds ago.

Sparrow couldn't keep the smile off her face. Glancing at the other candidates, she saw they had similar expressions; evidently this would change a lot for them too. The dark-haired boy she'd teamed up with (Leo Campos, apparently) had the first proper smile she'd seen from him, lighting up his entire face. The other two girls — the pair who'd beaten them in the last round — were whispering to each other, grinning; from the tone of it, they were making plans for what they'd do in school. Isabel and Adisa. She couldn't remember their last names. Well. There'd be time to learn them. They were going to be classmates.

It hit Sparrow all over again as the secretary leading the way opened a door, revealing an office with thick plush sofas. She couldn't stop herself from grinning like a fool as she sank down onto one. She was going to Oldhaven.

The secretary was talking to them, telling them about Oldhaven and how it would be a prestigious school and they needed to make sure they kept all the rules. Sparrow nodded along with the other students — even in her happy haze, she knew there was no way she'd ever risk her place at Oldhaven for something as stupid as taking bloodbane — until the secretary abruptly said, “Anyway, that's all I've been cleared to say to you. You're going to hear a last… condition. Remember, you can still refuse,” and pulled open the door to admit a man in what Sparrow could immediately tell was a very expensive suit, followed shortly by a teenage girl in jeans and a sweater. She looked casual, but the way the sweater and jeans fit on her, as well as the way the fabric moved, was something Sparrow had only seen at the movies before.

All having made the assessment that these people were important, the four teenagers got to their feet.

“This is Edward Valentino, and his daughter Jasmine,” said the secretary. He paused before saying, delicately, “Your positions at the school have been very generously funded by Mr Valentino.” At a nod from Mr Valentino, he shut the door and went out.

Mr Valentino inclined his head. “Please. Would you sit again.” He moved with the girl to sit on the sofa at the head of the room. They had the same flawless light brown skin and straight nose, although there was a difference: where he was an average middle-aged man, though slimmer and taller than most, she was beautiful. Her eyes were large, with huge eyelashes and perfect, slightly arched thick eyebrows, her smile was enchanting, and Sparrow was sure she'd seen her in a magazine somewhere.

“Well, congratulations on making it to the final round of the competition,” he began. “I looked through your entries and selected you all personally for the task I require of you.”

“A task, sir?” enquired the red-haired girl. Sparrow thought she was from World 4 by her accent. “There was no mention of that in the application when we applied.”

“Ah, yes,” said Mr Valentino. He paused before saying, “I did not want it widely advertised that I was on the lookout for bodyguards for my daughter.”

writing competition entry 596 words

unshared poems from two poets who don't talk to each other anymore

if I could change anything ever
it would be what I did to you.
the pain I caused won't linger forever;
hopefully the bruise has faded from black to blue.

(but underneath, there may linger a scar from my knife)

there's nothing that I can say
but I want to say it to you.
I wish I hadn't thrown us away
I wish I knew what to do.

(I know I can't heal you but something must)

I hate you like you're the nightmare that wakes me in the morning
breathing hard, sweating out a poison that tempts you to drink it,
swearing never to go back.

I miss you like you went out to sea one day
everything was sunny and heaven smiled as we kissed;
you were meant to come back.

but then the storm came, hail crushing our house, destroying the garden we planted together
and I learnt that you caused it, uncaring,
before it pulled you down with it.

now I stand on top of the cliff
and refuse to look at the wreckage washed up on the beach;
I can't tell if it's our house or if it's your boat.

once you told me I was kind
while you lay in my lap, eyes trusting and wide.
I knew the truth of my own mind —
thought of the things I did, then lied
by returning the smile, pretending I thought
everything in me was that which you sought.

two minutes ago, you became real again.
I was frozen in traffic outside the cafe you liked
thinking of you like a dream, then feeling insane
when you ran out holding someone else's hand. regret spiked
as I watched your lover lift you off the ground
and you call I love you, laughing while spinning around.

I remember saying I loved you three times:
first when the girl at the bar who I kissed, then blamed
told you. I briefly felt sorry for my crimes
then thought more of myself for even being ashamed.
so you trusted me as I lied that she'd done it all,
and I loved you too much to ever so fall.

the second time was darker; your father had hit you.
I held you for ages while you sobbed in my arms
and at least that time I said it, it was true.
we made stupid plans to return all his harm.
(I never carried out a single sobbed-out threat
but I knew I treated you better and that killed my regret.)

the third time was one of my worst days ever.
it was bad for you too, but you felt some relief —
I could see it on your face as you decided to sever
the bond between us, choking down your grief
as you told me, neatly, the truth of what I was.
a lying, self-satisfied cheater; the words deserved applause.

you said it quietly, without any tears
but there was a look on your face I'd never seen before that day
and I knew right then what has been true all these years;
no one would ever understand me the same horrible way.
I said the only thing I could. Please. I love you.
strangely enough, I think it was true.

(please, for your own sake, don't ever come back)

spring is here once more
and although its raindrops on flowers and long evenings and green grass are all its own
maybe the long winter makes it all the sweeter

perhaps someone has to teach you how to crash before you can learn how to fly

Notes: these poems are written by me, from the perspective of two poets who ended their relationship.

The first and third poem are written by the same poet, who was the main cause of the ending of their relationship. They regret the way they treated the second poet. Their first poem is a simple lament, expressing their regret and hopelessness, as well as an understanding of the harm they caused to the second poet. It is probably written shortly after the end of their relationship.

This is followed by the second poem, which is written by the second poet, also likely very soon after the relationship ended. The second poet uses free verse to express their feelings, which although a stylistic choice, also shows that their feelings and emotions are very raw and it's difficult to express them, let alone put them into neat rhymes. They express their feelings of anger and resentment towards the first poet by comparing them to a “nightmare” and using images of “poison”, then continue on to express their sense of betrayal and loss.

The third poem is, again, written by the first poet. It appears to be written later than the first poems; they have the distance to look back and analyse their relationship, as well as their own role in destroying it. This poem takes the reader through a much more in-depth view of the relationship. It shows the timeline of what happened as well as the fact that “years” have passed and their ex has moved on.

The first poet take a harsh line on their own behaviour, portraying themselves as easily self-satisfied with low standards for themselves in lines such as “…I briefly felt sorry for my crimes / then thought more of myself for even being ashamed” or “(I never carried out a single sobbed-out threat / but I knew I treated you better and that killed my regret.)” They admit guilt in the relationship, finishing with a single bracketed line: "(please, for your own sake, don't ever come back). This is the only line in the poem that doesn't fit a strict ABABCC pattern; perhaps this shows the poet's deep remorse and urge to say something else after neatly formatting their feelings into rhymes.

The last poem, written by the second poet, is just a few lines. Again, it is written in free verse, which makes it seem open and honest. It seems to be celebrating the arrival of “spring” after a “long winter”, which could be contrasting their new relationship and their old one. It makes the point that winter makes spring “all the sweeter”, and their closing line expresses a similar sentiment; perhaps the second poet finds consolation in treating their experience with the first poet as a way to grow as a person.