claimin

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.˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ wynter's swc noveღber writing ✎ ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚
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.˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ wynter シ she/her シ script ´ˎ˗
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.˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ dailies ´ˎ˗
♡ ೋ no current dailies
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.˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ weeklies ´ˎ˗
♡ ೋ no current weeklies
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.˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ other ´ˎ˗
♡ ೋ no current other
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.˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ word wars ´ˎ˗
♡ ೋ /w windowcat1 (lost)
“This can't get worse, can it?” muttered Kaitlyn in the dark.
“Sure, just give me a few minutes,” says Eve. She laughs and presses a button. Kaitlyn's cell disappears, and a laser maze appears down the dark hallway.
“Good job, Kaitlyn,” you say spitefully. “Now we have to go through this!”
“You think that's what I was trying to do?” she says. She examines the laser maze; it doesn't look too bad when she looks at it. She crouches and slides under a laser シ 84 words
——————–♡————————
♡ ೋ /w lunar-x-celestiial (unknown)
The last thing you expected was a mango.
“This is your final challenge,” Eve said, smirking.
“Well, what are we supposed to do?” you ask.
“You have to figure that out,” she responded, “and in only 2 hours.”
“Oh,” Kaitlyn says. “That's a pretty long time.”
“You'll see,” she says. A timer appears above the mango, and Eve disappears.
“Well, now what? you ask, studying the mango.
”Do we break it open?“ she asks.
You throw it on the ground, but instead of hearing a splat! you hear a loud metallic thud. ”Why is it metal?" you mutter. You try stepping on the mango, but it still doesn't do anything. You シ 111 words
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.˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ credits ´ˎ˗
♡ ೋ thanks to ღoss, cara, and ღoonlit for hosting
♡ ೋ in-depth credits can be found here
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Kiara (She/her) ~ Fantasy ~ Goal: 10k

All my writing can be found here: Tada!

ahhh claiming <3

23rd 0:

WORDY'S SWC BANK OCT'23

NOV 2 | Welcome to the second daily of this session! Hope you're enjoying discovering what your cabin and storyline look like. In this activity, you'll be writing a letter to your future self. Mention any goals you have for this month, maybe talk about a writing project of yours? Anything you want to include is great :) We'll be opening these letters near the end of the session.

Dear future me (Ava),
Hello me. I have no idea if you'll still be here at this time, I usually don't make it this far. I have a feeling you will. You have lots of friends supporting you this time around, encouraging you to finish what you started. I know your main goal this month is NaNoWriMo, and you have loads of people encouraging you onward this session. I think that's really great, and I just want to remind you how you felt at the start, because we both know we'll be burnt out by then. Right now, I'm so excited. I got to do sprints with and call , and we all had so much fun discussing what we wanted to do. I was so motivated, I wrote 2k words. Trying and think back to that and really feel it, your cabin needs you!

I honestly am wondering what the story looks like right now, because I'm sure you're farther than my plotting goes. If you're not–why are you still on chapter five?! It's really not that difficult, me. Be better next time. I have a feeling I'll forget this later, but I think next month you should edit what you've got. Hopefully it will turn into something good, and the month after that you can publish it and start plotting for the next session of SWC. Wouldn't that be nice, to have a steady flow of books being sent out?

Either way, I'm proud of you for writing as much as you currently have, however much that is. It's a lot more than I thought I would writing this month, that's for sure. I think the best thing about this month is you get to flex your muscles and write a full book, not something like you've written before, Put your heart, brain and soul into writing a story, not tidbits of one. Also, I'm sorry about my lack of planning this month, I swear I'll try and be better next time we do this, be it March, November, or in 20 years. Kudos for you for making it this far.

Love,
Ava
356 words

NOV 3 | To pick the lock, 3 campers must write 200 words each. The scene you write must contain a character picking a lock. Proof is required. After roughly 24 hours are up, you can no longer write for this challenge. If you have a question, don't hesitate to ask me on my profile <3

The door is locked, and I growl. Why is the door locked, now of all times? The dress suit pulls at my body, the weight of it slowing me down. I’ve seen locks picked loads of times, when I was still free to do as I wished. Being poor had its perks, its own class. Lock picking was a necessary skill, one I’d used few times. Training is drilled into me, even now, but I hope that I can still remember how to pick. My hair is still twisted into a fancy bun on my head, and I know there are bobby-pins holding it up. My fingers dance through my hair, searching for the simple plastic piece that could be my downfall or my savior. Finally, I find it and pull it from my hair without much regard for the hairstyle, which is likely now messy and unkempt. The bobby pin slides into the simple lock, and I close my eyes for a moment, focusing on what I was taught. It is natural, a dance for my hand to pick this. Without thinking, I twist them pin and try the door. It is unlocked easily, and gives way. A breath of relief overcomes my body, a swell of nausea and exhaust. But I know I must continue on, to save myself. There is no stopping now.

NOV 4 | Today we're bringing back a classic SWC daily - constellations! Constellations have become a huge part of our society over the centuries, from using them to track crop growth, to navigation in the night, to even retelling legends about they were created. All of these constellations, including the Ursa Major, Orion, and Pisces, carry a variety of traits that make them unique! For this daily, you will write 400 words of either a fiction or non-fiction piece based on how your favourite constellation came to be.
The story of Ursa Minor is a truly sad one, in comparison to the other great stories of constellations. This one, taking place directly after the story of how the big dipper was thrown into the sky after not being good enough to hold mango nectar (mango juice), is the story of how no dippers are good enough for holding mango nectar.

Mango nectar is a legendary substance that is created from the tears of a god ((co)host) as they watch the world (SWC) burn down () into ruins from the crazy civilians (campers), and the government leaders (leaders) who encourage it. Mango nectar is most commonly used to poison food which is sent to different, usually enemy, civilizations (cabins) in hopes of stopping any efforts towards construction (dailies), engineering (weeklies) and other things that allow different civilizations to rise.

No one could touch mango nectar, it being so poisonous that it would instantly burn through anything it touched. The government leaders had already tried to use the big dipper to contain the mango nectar, but the big dipper had not been good enough because a big dipper is not good enough for the legendary mango nectar.

The government leaders had the genius idea to make the dipper smaller for some abstract reason, and so they did. They gathered the goddess moonsy and somehow made her cry, and tried to use the little dipper to collect the mango nectar. But alas, it did not work.

It seemed that the little dipper was yet another failure, but the government leaders were still proud of their creation so they put it in the sky to keep the big dipper company. It was a great idea to give the big dipper a companion, but it backfired terribly.

It turns out that the little dipper is jealous of the big dipper and they argued all the time, and it got too noisy for the gods to listen to, so they separated the two constellations. Unfortunately, that ruined other lesser-known constellations, so the gods had to move them back together again. There seemed to be no solution to the problem of the jealous little dipper, until some smart citizen had the idea to turn the big dipper and little dipper inanimate so they wouldn’t argue in the sky. The god’s agreed to give it a try, and so the big dipper and little dipper now are silent against the sky and one of the few well known constellations to not be living.
417 words

claiming it!!

Marbles' SWC November 2023 Writings

Dailies
November 1st
November 2nd
November 3rd
November 6th + 7th Bidaily
November 8th Daily
November 12th Daily
November 13th Daily
November 14th Daily (unsubmitted)
November 16th Daily

Weeklies
Weekly #1
Weekly #2

Others
Word Wars 1
Word Wars 2
Short Story 1
Critique for @Eeveedonut
Writing Comp Entry
Short Story 2

play sound [writing is life] until done

you walk past the arches into a garden and there sits a post and on it pointing in 4 directions is are the following words:
Dailies
Weeklies
Cabin Wars
Word Wars
You stare the directions for a few minutes, scratching your head. Then shrugging, you follow the arrow to wherever it may lead.



After following the long winding path for hours, you stop to take a break. This part of the path looks different from the rest. Instead of so many trees and random plants that you weren't sure if they were safe to eat or not, this place looked like a meadow with many bushes with berries that you know are good and butterflies hover near flowers and fly around. You walk over to one of them to take a closer look and it flies over and lands on your finger. You gasp and watch as their wings create words in the air to read. It looks like a swc daily.


November 1st -done
November 2nd - https://scratch.mit.edu/discuss/topic/720872/?page=3#post-7620624
November 3rd - https://scratch.mit.edu/discuss/topic/720872/?page=7#post-7623534
November 4th - https://scratch.mit.edu/discuss/topic/720872/?page=8#post-7627365
November 5th - done
November 6th, 7th - mIsSeD
November 8th - https://scratch.mit.edu/discuss/topic/720872/?page=11#post-7635252
November 9th - kinda ded
November 10th - more ded
November 11th - ooooooooooh ye we working on it
November 12th - missed
November 13th - https://scratch.mit.edu/discuss/topic/720872/?page=15#post-7645498
November 14th
November 15th
November 16th
November 17th
November 18th
November 19th
November 20th
November 21st
November 22nd
November 23rd
November 24th
November 25th
November 26th
November 27th
November 28th
November 29th
November 30th
November 31st



After what seems like a rather short time of walking through the bright, sunny, beautiful path, you stop at a lake. You walk over to the lake and peer inside and notice 4 different schools of fish. the fish seem to be minding their own business, but you notice that at the edge of the lake there are 4 pictures, one of each fish with the words “choose your fish wisely” You stare at the lake again and notice that each school circle around a water lily. You carefully select one fish and the school of fish jump out of the water and back in, and the water lily floats to shore and you pick it up gently and inside is a long scroll with the words 'Weekly #-

Weekly 1 - https://scratch.mit.edu/discuss/topic/720872/?page=12#post-7637481
Weekly 2
Weekly 3
Weekly 4




After what seems like a long time of wandering through a path of ever changing landscape you stop where the road seems to split of in many directions, and hoping that you choose the right one, you decide to head on the left-most path. You end up in a small graveyard. You walk over to a gravestone and read the engraving.
Word war #
CherryMango17 vs XXX
Winner: TBD
Every gravestone has the same engraving, not that there are that many. There couldn't have been more than 8 or 9.
“These must have been word wars that Cherrymango17 had with others…” You murmur under your breath.

Word war 1
CherryMango17 vs @Squidy-IceCream
Winner: @Cherrymango17
Link: https://scratch.mit.edu/discuss/topic/720872/?page=10#post-7629888


When you go towards the path for Cabin wars, the path is blocked by a large tree and a small piece of paper was placed on the ground. Curious, you pick it up and read
Return later pls
You shrug and sit down, you can wait for a long time…
Welcome! Follow the link and you will see the proof from all that writing!
https://scratch.mit.edu/projects/923054315/

┌────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────╖
⠀⠀ “future's heading for the past, full of sparks that couldn't last”
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ❀ about me ❀
chuey | any pronouns | real-fi | christian | KEEFE <3
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┌────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────╖
“now that you fell into me, hit me like a melody, whoa-oh-oh, whoa-oh-oh”
❀ weeklies ❀

weekly 4: obscure genres, 2400 words https://scratch.mit.edu/discuss/topic/720872/?page=21#post-7667374
weekly 2: everything is on fire, 1403 words https://scratch.mit.edu/discuss/topic/720872/?page=18#post-7653872
❧ weekly 1: Keep on Singing, 2347 words
He’s trying. Trying so hard.
He just doesn’t get it, doesn't understand.
Not as he bends over me, eyes green green green like shards of ocean. Not as he runs fingers through my hair.
I’m torn.
“Ray, I don’t want this,” I say. It’s hard to force the words past my lips for some reason. I don’t know why.
He stops.
“It’s all wrong,” I continue. “It feels like we’re forcing it, and–and I don’t want that. I don’t want something false.”
Nothing. Not a word. Nothing but the breaths that are fast becoming gasps.
It hurts. More than I’d expected. But I have to do this. For the family. For myself.
“I think I was wrong about us, and I need to tell you now. Before we get in too deep.”
Before I break his heart, but the way he’s looking at me, I think I may have already done that.
But he’ll get over it. He has to.
“Helen–” he starts, but I don’t let him finish. I’m afraid that if I do, all my resolve will crumble.
I offer him an apologetic smile, careful to keep anything but friendly remorse out of it. “It was never really…it’s not anything you did. Really. It’s all on me. And I’m sorry. But I think this is for our own good.”
His eyes shatter like glass. Emerald shards watch me, bewildered, confused. Betrayed.
My breath catches. I need to get out of here, or that gaze is going to make me take back everything I just said.
“I’ll still see you around,” I say, stepping back.
He offers no resistance, his fingers slack with disbelief and shock and hurt.
I try not to think about the hurt. He’ll get over it, I promise myself.
Or maybe not, but the thought is tinged with something else. Carelessness.
It’s his own fault for getting in so deep without asking enough questions.
And it’s that emotion that lets me walk away, determined not to look back, determined to walk into a shiny new future.
I look anyway.
He’s still there.
Still standing where I left him.
Broken.


Bio:
Name: Helen Mort
Gender: Female
Orientation: Straight
Age: 20
Species: Human
Physical traits:
Soft brown eyes peer out from between a curtain of thick lashes, set in a heart-shaped face framed with dark curls. Her full lips have a way of falling apart slightly to reveal pearly teeth when she’s concentrating hard, and her smooth, light-brown skin is scattered with freckles. She stands at 5’ 3”.
Personality:
(+) Hardworking, resourceful, studious, charismatic
(+/-) Ambitious, extraverted, curious, romantic
(-) Selfish, greedy, careless, quick-tempered
Detailed personality:
Helen is hardworking, meaning that she will work even when she doesn’t want to in order to achieve her goals. She is resourceful and tries to think outside the box to find solutions for problems. She’s studious and quite well-read, and this paired with her ambition makes her a good student. She’s never had trouble finding friends, as she’s extraverted and shows genuine curiosity in what other people have to say, and her charisma makes her an instant favorite with most people. She’s also quite romantic and loves nothing more than a good romance novel. Sadly, she’s also selfish and greedy, often doing things behind people’s backs to get what she wants and disregarding their needs. She can be quite careless when she thinks something isn’t worth her time, and she has a quick temper that flares easily when someone opposes her.


Singing along to her music playlist, Helen reminds herself why she’s doing this.
“I don’t know what I’m supposed to say,” Helen sang, holding the last note for as long as she could. “When love suddenly feels so far…”
She trailed off, the lyrics hitting her like a punch to the gut. “…away,” she finished quietly, turning the volume down. The situation was starting to seriously get to her. Everything she did poked another hole in her heart, and the question was beginning to eat away at her.
“Why am I doing this?” she asked the ceiling, surprised to feel a tear slide down her cheek. Sure, the past week had been stressful, but she hadn’t thought it was that bad. This whole thing was upsetting her way more than it should have.
Part of her was tempted to give up. Stop fighting. Admit that her dream was dumb and go back to Ray. He wouldn’t judge her for what she’d done to him, despite all the pain she’d caused.
She cranked the music back up, the song blasting at her from the tiny speakers in her headphones.
No.
This was what she’d been fighting for. Struggling for. Singing for.
When she started singing along again, she was proud that her voice didn’t tremble, and that no more tears followed the first.
This was her life. This was her goal.
She’d sing her way to fame, and nothing was going to stop her. Not even her rebellious heart.
It’d be better for her in the end.

After a conversation with Ray, Helen tells herself that what he wanted and what she wanted never lined up anyway.
The knock on the door startled her. She hadn’t been expecting anyone. Had she invited a friend over to study? She tried to remember, but her brain drew a blank.
Whatever. It was probably just some salesman or something.
She yanked the door open, ready to politely decline whatever product was shoved in her face, but Ray’s eyes met her instead.
Helen swallowed. “Oh. Hi, Ray. I, um, I wasn’t expecting you.”
He fixed his gaze on hers. She hated when he did that. He made eye contact so easily, like it was nothing. He was so honest she had a hard time believing it was real sometimes, but she knew it was.
“Do you need something?” she asked, not bothering to hide that she didn’t exactly want to talk right now.
Ray nodded, unruffled. “Yeah. I need to talk about us.”
That was so like Ray, cutting straight to the heart of the matter.
Helen managed not to react. “I don’t think there is an us.”
He tilted his head. “I don’t want to pressure you, Helen. But I’m going to be really honest with you. I love you, and I’m not talking about dating anymore.”
It took her a moment to process that. He…was talking about getting married.
She tried not to let her jaw drop, but even for Ray, that was about as honest as it got.
Helen briefly closed her eyes, wondering how she’d let it get to this point. What could she say? Sorry, not interested? I love you too, honey, but I want a real career first?
It suddenly occurred to her how ridiculous they must look, hanging out of the doorway while he all but proposed to her, and that thought gave her enough strength to straighten up and tighten her lips.
“Ray, I’m sorry, but I really don’t think there’s an us. Thanks for stopping by.”
She practically slammed the door, but not fast enough to shut out the view of his eyes, shattering all over again.
Shuddering, she collapsed onto the nearest chair, burying her face in her hands. They had never wanted the same things, she reasoned with herself. He wanted a wife. She wanted fame. She wasn’t ready to settle down.
She was wrapping herself in lies. She knew that, but right now they were the only way she could live with herself.
Otherwise she might lose everything.

A telephone call with her mom makes her more determined than ever.
Helen’s phone buzzed and she picked it up. Mom. Again. Sighing, she lifted the phone to her ear.
“Mom? Hi. How are you?”
Her mother’s voice sounded sharp and angry, and she didn’t bother keeping up the pretense of niceties. “Helen Mort, explain yourself. Ray’s mother told me you turned him down.”
Helen bristled. “Am I not allowed to do that? Do I have to marry the first guy who asks?”
“This isn’t about the guy. It’s about the future. You know that,” her mom shot back. “Nothing says you can’t be a singer and married to Ray.”
“Nothing says I have to marry Ray, either!” Helen shouted. “I feel so trapped, all the time, because that’s what everybody thinks I’m going to do! Why can’t I live my own life?”
“You’re breaking things, Helen. His heart. Yours. You’re letting your childhood fantasies get in the way of reality.”
Her mom’s voice broke. “I’m just scared, baby. Scared you’ll get in too deep and then discover that it wasn’t what you wanted, after all. Scared you’ll ruin your life chasing moonbeams.”
“They’re not moonbeams,” Helen said bitterly. “They’re what’s going to become my living. Thanks for checking in,” she added sarcastically, ending the call.
She was tempted to fling the phone against the wall, but she didn’t. She didn’t need a broken phone on top of everything else.
Why did everyone assume things would be a certain way? She’d always hated that. She had a right to live her own life.
This call had only solidified that for her. She was going to be a singer. A famous one. And she wasn’t going to let anyone else stand in the way of her goals.

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to say,” Helen sang, holding the last note for as long as she could without her voice giving out. She was lying on her bed with her headphones on, singing along to her favorite playlist. This was what she had grown up listening to, what she had grown up longing to be. Longing to be on that playlist someday. She would be, she told herself, taking a deep breath as she prepared to sing the next line. “When love suddenly feels so far…”
She trailed off, the lyrics hitting her like a punch to the gut. “…away,” she finished quietly, turning the volume down. The situation was starting to seriously get to her. Everything she did poked another hole in her heart, and the question was beginning to eat away at her.
“Why am I doing this?” she asked the ceiling, surprised to feel a tear slide down her cheek. She wiped it away angrily, smearing it across a tissue. Sure, the past week had been stressful, but she hadn’t thought it was that bad. Or if she had, she’d been denying it–but she couldn’t help it, when Ray’s eyes kept filling her vision, shards of green glass slowly filling with tears. When her mom’s angry voice kept slicing across her consciousness, telling her the cold, naked truth. Begging her to see what she was doing. Begging her to come back. Helen squeezed her eyes shut and shoved the memories away. This whole thing was upsetting her way more than it should have. It shouldn’t have been such a big deal. She was allowed to do what she wanted. End of story.
But part of her was tempted to give up. Stop fighting. Admit that her dream was dumb and go back to Ray. He wouldn’t judge her for what she’d done to him, despite all the pain she’d caused him. The pain she’d caused everyone, all for a dream. Guilt trickled in like water from a leaky faucet, and for a moment Helen thought for sure she was going to pick up her phone and undo the work of the past few weeks. She stopped her hand an instant from grabbing the device and tucked it under her leg, struggling to reason with herself. This just wouldn’t work. She needed to snap out of it, but she didn’t know which side to snap out of. The one that wanted her to keep singing? The one that wanted her to stop breaking hearts?
She tried to lay it out for herself. If she told Ray she was sorry, she wanted to go back to him after all, he’d be so enthusiastic. He’d welcome her back with open arms. Her family would be proud of her, her friends would congratulate her, and she’d content herself with the knowledge that she’d done the right thing for her loved ones.
If, on the other hand, she kept on doing what she was doing right now, kept on singing, kept on burning her own trail, she had a shot at fame. At a career doing what she loved. At recognition, at respect, at everything she wanted. She was holding the future in the palm of her hand like a flickering flame, and suddenly she wanted to laugh at herself. Had she seriously been considering extinguishing that flame in search of something less worthy?
“This is all I have,” she told herself, willing her brain to believe it. Was she seriously considering giving up everything she’d ever wanted? What was wrong with her? She’d fought the battles. Broken the chains. That mental image pleased her. She’d grown wings and flown away, higher that they could ever reach. They were just jealous, trying to pull her back to the ground, trying to keep her at their level. Helen brushed dark curls from her face. Maybe others would call her selfish. Maybe she was selfish, and careless, and greedy for a future they could never hope to obtain.
She switched songs to a more upbeat one and cranked the music back up, the song blasting at her from the tiny speakers in her headphones.
No.
This was what she’d been fighting for. Struggling for. Singing for. She wasn’t going to cave in now, wasn’t going to look like a weak fool when she was this close to fulfilling everything she’d ever wanted. Ever would want.
And when she started singing along again, she was proud that her voice didn’t tremble, and that no more tears followed the first.
This was her life. This was her goal. This was her victory.
She’d sing her way to fame, and nothing was going to stop her. Not Ray. Not her family. Not even her rebellious heart.
It’d be better for her in the end.
╘════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════╝
┌────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────╖
“everybody says that nothing ever lasts forever”
❀ dailies ❀

nov. 30: a fond farewell, 562 words https://scratch.mit.edu/discuss/topic/720872/?page=21#post-7667545
nov. 22: unbreakable teeth™ - 242 words https://scratch.mit.edu/discuss/topic/720872/?page=20#post-7663500
nov. 21: mirrors - 450 words https://scratch.mit.edu/discuss/topic/720872/?page=20#post-7663078
nov. 20: like a pencil in need of sharpening - 566 https://scratch.mit.edu/discuss/post/7661978/
❧ nov. 18: Not All that Glitters is Gold - 869 words https://scratch.mit.edu/discuss/topic/720872/?page=18#post-7657906
❧ nov. 15: The Magical Wonderful Exploding Keyboard (Oops) - 660 words https://scratch.mit.edu/discuss/topic/720872/?page=17#post-7651825
❧ nov. 14: Dear Daily Team - 415 words https://scratch.mit.edu/discuss/topic/720872/?page=16#post-7647816
❧ nov. 13: The Greenhouse - 433 words https://scratch.mit.edu/discuss/topic/720872/?page=15#post-7647447
❧ nov. 12: Whispers - 587 words
Whisperstar closed her eyes, sighing. She hadn’t wanted it to come to this, but here they were, perched on the tip of a battle that would rip her clan apart.
Threelegs, her deputy, approached on padded paws.
“Are you all right?” he said softly. Whisperstar inclined her head to let him know she’d heard, but she didn’t answer. They all knew she was on her last life, and her muzzle was frosted with white hairs. Even if she had any lives to spare, she was older than some of the elders. She knew some in her clan would argue that she had no place going into battle, but she would not appear weak before WindClan. Her place was at her clan’s side, no matter how infirm she was. Cats all around her were preparing for battle, cats that only had one life to lose. Would she, who had already lived so many, hang behind? Certainly not.
Threelegs sighed. He wasn’t in fighting condition either; his left front leg had been missing since birth. He didn’t let it stop him, and his determination was part of why she’d picked him as deputy, but right now the two members of the clan who should have been the strongest were weak and infirm, and WindClan would not take pity upon them simply because they had lived many seasons.
A wind picked up and Whisperstar fluffed her tortoiseshell pelt out, shivering a little. Leaf-bare was on the horizon, and this battle would only make things worse. RiverClan was weak enough as it was; after the battle, when the river froze over, it would be a miracle if any of them survived at all.
Threelegs hovered for another moment before dipping his head and walking towards one of the other warriors. He had more to lose than just his life going into this fight, Whisperstar reflected–his apprentice’s life would be in danger, and Foxpaw also happened to be his nephew. It would be doubly hard for him if the young cat died.
Whisperstar gazed off into the distance, her eyes troubled. How did it come to this? How had they driven themselves into this corner? This fight, this feud, it was all pointless, a mere prey scuffle that had escalated into something devastating, honed on eager claws and sharp tongues and stubborn hearts. RiverClan was not the only one who would suffer after this; WindClan would undoubtedly bear the scar of this for moons to come.
Whisperstar stood, shaking leaf litter off her pelt. No matter what happened, she, at least, would stand firm. She would lead her clan to victory, no matter the cost, or die trying. And that was very much a possibility.
Before she could call her warriors together, though, Honeydrip rushed up. The pretty young she-cat looked terrified, her golden eyes wide. “Whisperstar! My sister, she’s gone, I think she–Oh, Whisperstar!” Honeydrip’s voice dissolved into a wail. “I-I think she went to WindClan–to try and stop the battle–Whisperstar, I’m so scared, what if they hurt her?”
Whisperstar bit back a sigh and licked the top of Honeydrip’s head reassuringly. “There, there. I’m sure she’ll turn up.”
She was concerned for the young warrior–Violeteyes had a habit of doing impulsive, hot-headed things–but a spark of hope flared in her heart.
If Violeteyes could pull this off, the future’s clouded skies might clear, just a little.
Just enough to keep her clan together for another moon. Another season.
Just enough to keep them from fading into nothing but a memory.

❧ nov. 10: Roses- 550 words
The first time he saw her, she wore roses in her hair.
They were wild, untamed, like herself, draped across her hair, tangled into the thick, dark locks. She was barefoot and laughing, cheeks stained sunset-red with merriment, eyes sparkling like dew-wet violets.
He had thought it was safe enough, safe to toy with this rose-child, wild-girl, sunset-woman. It had been innocent enough, he tossing mild flatteries to her like sweetmeats, her laughing at him while her dusky cheeks flamed.
He hadn’t expected those violet eyes to capture him, but they did. He, who had triumphed over so many hearts, was thoroughly crushed by a daughter of the sea, a fisherman’s child. He burned with shame and love.
She laughed in his face, but when he left she loosed a rose from her hair and pressed it into his hand, and he treasured it until it wilted and died and withered away to dust.
He was playing with fire, and he knew it. He was engaged to the beautiful heiress, Daisy Flower, a name that suited her like one of her delicate white gloves. She was petite, serene, gold and blue with hair that fell in curls that were the cause of sighing throughout the hordes of young men that haunted her domain. Daisy was the unanimous belle of the city, and she knew it well. Perhaps, too, she was a little vain, for had she not only to bat her eyelashes and capture a heart to do with as she chose? Certainly.
Yet her most prized one flew away from under her very nose, lost to a shore girl, shoeless, without a fortune or titled relative in the world, lost to a rose-girl whose eyes and cheeks and hair were vivid and piquant and magical in a way that Daisy, with all her foolish giggling and empty-headed prancing, could never be.
No, Daisy’s lover was lost for good.
But she did not know it.
It was a month later when he left the shore, having delayed his stay for as long as possible, delayed it for the fisherman’s daughter. He never thought of her as that. She was only the rose girl to him, the enchanting creature of the sunset.
Before he left that night a new flush was burning on the rose girl’s cheek, and his eyes were hard and resolved. Marry Daisy he would not. He could not tie himself to that empty girl, all for a fortune. He would work. He would find things to do with his own hands, give up the lifestyle of a gentleman, but he would have the rose-girl, the sea-daughter. He would.
Daisy was surprised to find his coldness upon returning. She tried, with all her pretty ways, pouting her adorable pouts, but he was not to be reclaimed.
Yet the climax was still to come.
They had made plans to announce their engagement at the ball to celebrate her birthday. She descended, lovely and pale, waiting for the words.
They did not come. In a rage, she demanded to know, what was he doing?
He had no choice but to tell her that the words would never come, that his heart was no longer hers.
It is not recorded what she said after that; but she never wore roses again.

❧ nov. 8: Timeless - 448 words
It was a strange meeting, no doubt about it.
Past stared with wide eyes, clutching a small notebook. Present was biting her hand to keep from laughing aloud at Past, and Future was doing much the same to both.
All of the laughter was good-natured, though. Underneath it all was a current of glee, a ripple of understanding. A connection that bound them.
They were all tied into the same fate, after all.
Past spoke first, fixing her gaze on Present.
“Are you a published author?”
Present let out a peal of laughter. “No. Not even close. But, hey, keep on doodling in that notebook of yours, because someday those scribbles might amount to something.”
Past beamed and clutched the notebook tighter, only shifting her grip a little to push up her glasses.
Future let out an unexpected squeal of laughter, and both Past and Present turned to her.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Future said. “It’s just…thinking of my past…”
She dissolved into helpless giggles again, and Present joined her, although Past didn’t her face confused. “Huh? What are you talking about?”
“It’s just…” Present tried to explain. “Cringe? Horrific? Lame?”
Past looked offended. “Hey! I worked for a long time on whatever you’re laughing at.”
Future patted Past’s back. “It’s okay, kid, you’ll understand one day.”
Past scrunched up her nose and didn’t answer, but she looked slightly pacified. “Well, you can’t say I didn’t work hard on them, anyway,” she muttered, but dropped the subject.
Present nodded, raising an eyebrow. It was a new trick, and she totally hadn’t practiced for hours in front of a mirror until she got it right. Totally.
Future looked like she wanted to make a comment about it, but she tactfully said nothing. Experience and walking down her own memory lane warned her that this wouldn’t be the wisest topic to approach. Still. She stifled another laugh all the same, thinking of her past self. There was nothing she loved better than an inside joke, and this was about as inside as it got.
“Of course, of course,” Present said. Her voice was heavy with sarcasm, but Past didn’t pick up on it. She grinned, her good humor restored.
Future checked her wrist. “Only a few minutes left before we have to return to our own times. Does anyone have anything they wanna say?”
Present waited for a moment before pointing to Past. “Be good and don’t be afraid to speak up. Your voice matters.”
Future turned to Present. “Don’t judge yourself so harshly. You have the capability to do great things.”
Present smiled. “Thanks. I–”
But whatever else she might have said was cut off. Their time was up.

❧ nov. 6: Of Ducks and Bread - 1207 words
The park was empty except for me, the winter weather having driven all the sane people inside. Normally, I’d have joined them, but I wasn’t entirely sure I was classified as sane anymore. Legs dangling off the bench closest to the pond, I tossed bread crumbs into the water. The ducks ignored them, for the most part. The bag of bread at my feet was nearly empty, and even they seemed to be growing tired of the flavor. If they even cared about how it tasted. I myself had only been able to choke down a couple of slices, even though the sweet cinnamon-pear bread used to be my favorite treat, partly because of how good it was, but mostly because of who baked it. Maybe it was because I knew she wouldn’t be baking any more batches of it. Not now. Not ever.
I kicked the leg of the bench with the back of my ankle. The metal was cold and rust-rough against it, and there were probably a gazillion spider webs under there. When I pulled my foot away, my sneaker was coated in a shower of dull green paint flakes.
I didn’t look up as he took a seat next to me. I didn’t have to see him to know that I was no longer alone.
He said nothing for a long moment, and I didn’t rush to fill the silence. I wasn’t so sure I wanted to talk, anyway.
“I brought a muffin,” he finally announced.
I didn’t reply, but I shifted slightly to let him know I’d heard.
He nodded towards the bag of bread. “I thought maybe you’d like something to eat other than that.”
Something warm and steamy was pressed into my hand, but it wasn’t the crinkly paper bag I’d been expecting. It was a styrofoam cup filled with–I dipped the tip of my finger in and brought it to my tongue–coffee. Just the way I liked it, with milk and sugar.
I thawed just enough to accept the muffin too and take a bite. Crumbly streusel tumbled over my lips, carrying the faint taste of flour and butter.
“Is it all right?” he asked, and I knew he wasn’t referring to the muffin, or the coffee.
Fine. If he wanted to dance around his true meaning, I could too.
“It’s fine. Could maybe use some cinnamon.”
He sighed. “Okay, okay. I get it.”
He reached over and took my hand, using his other one to tilt my chin up, forcing me to look him in the face. “Are you all right, is what I meant.”
I swiped him away. “I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be? I have my ducks…and bread.”
He didn’t reply, but I saw him subtly kick what remained of the loaf under the bench. I resented that. He didn’t have the right to care anymore.
“She wouldn’t want to see you like this, you know.”
I rested my chin on my palm, humming thoughtfully. “How would you know? I never thought you cared.”
The words were light enough, but the meaning was bitter, bitter, bitter, and he flinched at the sting. “Hey, I–look, I know–but–”
“It seems to me,” I continued, as though he hadn’t spoken, “that you never cared at all.”
The words hung in the frozen air, like little pellets of hail. Little pellets of hate. Daring him to contradict them.
I could feel his shoulders slump. “I know I wasn’t always there, but I didn’t think she’d gotten so bad. Honestly.”
I slid my gaze to him under my lashes. “Mm-hm. Yeah. Because coming for a visit would have been so hard. We both know the real reason you never came.” I dropped my eyes again and focused on his feet, which were bouncing and swinging. Just like old times. He was always so full of energy, so twitchy and restless.
Not enough energy to come make sure things were all right, apparently.
I heard the clang of metal as his fist struck the armrest, then a hiss of pain. “I’m sorry, okay? I really didn’t know. I thought you two were just…trying to get me to come home.”
I laughed, and it felt like swallowing broken glass. “You mean you thought we were faking. Making up some tragic story so you’d come back.”
He didn’t confirm it, but he didn’t say anything in denial, either.
I stood abruptly, fishing the bread out from under the bench. “Whatever. What’s done is done. I’m cold. I’m going home.”
He stood too, hand reaching for my shoulder. Forcing me to wait. I didn’t wrench away, but I kept my eyes fixed stubbornly on the grass.
“Alexis, if you knew how many times I’ve played it though my head, wishing I’d known, wishing I had found a way to get there sooner–” He broke off, biting his lip. I couldn’t see his face, but I knew he was, all the same. Sometimes I thought I knew him better than myself. Maybe I did.
I didn’t know who I was anymore.
“If you’d listened to us, maybe you would have. But she's dead, so there’s nothing you can do about it.” More broken glass, this time flying from my mouth. I imagined the words scraping against my lips, my tongue, leaving bloody trails of pain and heartbreak, and it felt so real I almost cried out.
He shivered, but he didn’t let go, not yet. “Alexis. I’m–actually. Nope. I’m tired of beating around the bush. I am sorry that I thought you and Mom were lying about how sick she was. I am sorry for being a terrible younger brother. I am sorry for being a jerk and making my girlfriend my highest priority, especially since she really isn’t a great person and I will never regret breaking up with her. I am sorry for leaving when you most needed me.” He took a shuddering breath. “Is that good enough for you? Or are you going to storm off again because I can’t be perfect?”
I had to swallow a few times before I could answer, and even then my voice was more like a fragile thread this time than shattered glass.
“I never…never wanted perfection. I just wanted you to be there, and she did too. She was asking for you up to the very moment she…”
A sob crawled up my throat, and I couldn’t say anything else. Styrofoam crunched in my fingers, and cold coffee dripped down my fingers. I’d forgotten that I was still holding the cup.
He didn’t say anything else. Just opened his arms.
I collapsed into them, dropping the cup and the bread. Liquid splashed over my sneakers, and his too, but neither of us moved. We just stayed there for a while, while the tears froze on my lashes and crusted on my cheeks.
I was warm for the first time since Mom died. Maybe even before that.
“I forgive you,” I whispered into his shirt. It was so quiet even I doubted I’d really said it, but his arms tightened around me, and I knew he’d heard.
I stretched one foot out and kicked the remainder of the bread into the pond.
Let the ducks have it.

❧ nov. 4: Pisces - 764 words
(author's note: this is not based on any actual facts or mythology, it's just a little story I made up)
The sisters had always been together, for as long as anyone could remember. Looking at them, you would feel that you had never really understood the word inseparable before, not until you saw the living definitions.
They were never apart, not even on their birthdays, for they shared one. Everything was done together, and as they grew, the twins became closer and closer.
But as everyone knows, that only makes the split hurt worse.
And the blade that split them was a particularly cruel one, known by some as a lover.
The thing about lovers is that generally, they can only fall in love with one person at a time.
But there’s no rule that says multiple people can’t fall in love with the same person.
There should be.
He came a-wooing, his splendid eyes fixed one of the sisters. The beautiful one, to be exact.
Twins are not always identical.
That isn’t to say the other was ugly. She was just average.
Average people are often overlooked.
The lover came with smooth words. Soft words. Adoring words.
And the beautiful twin fell for them. Hook, line, and sinker.
There are things in life that are very hard to resist. Compliments are one of them.
The average twin was angry. Beyond angry. She, too, loved the man, and now everything was being taken from her. The people she loved most–her sister and the lover–were going to go away together.
Secretly.
At least, it was supposed to be that way. The twin’s father did not approve. Not at all.
Perhaps he couldn’t bear giving up his daughter. Perhaps he saw through the empty lies of the lover.
But he refused to give his consent to the marriage, so the couple resorted to other means. They would steal away, in the middle of the night, to be married in his own country, where her father could not pursue them.
Secrets have a funny way of wriggling out. Becoming not-secrets. And though her lover had strictly charged her not to tell a soul, the beautiful twin couldn’t resist whispering it to her sister. Perhaps she needed to celebrate. Confide. Perhaps she wanted to gloat. Just a little. She felt her sister’s distance, and resented it.
She never imagined that her sister would tell, and indeed, at first she did not plan to.
But the bitterness was there. Increasing. Dark and slimy, like mud in the clear water of her heart.
She did not want them to leave. She wanted them to stay and face her father’s wrath. She wanted to see the tears drying on her sister’s face. Perhaps on the lover's face, too.
Love is the twin of hate, and often they are much closer to each other than one might think. Often they are pretending to be each other. Often they transform from one to the other.
And the average twin had loved her sister so very, very much.
Still. Something held her back. Something still bound her to her sister, whether she liked it or not.
She did not tell, in the end, but she followed them. Traced their path out from the manor where they lived, down to the seashore.
Fate has a funny way of twisting things.
For as she arrived, the lover was standing over his would-be bride at the edge of a cliff, the waves foaming over rocks below, a dagger in hand, about to kill her and take the rich clothes, the fine horse, the pretty trinkets away from her and sell them for bloodstained gold.
He had done this six times before, he told her, reveling in his wickedness like a pig wallowing in thick, rotten mud.
The average twin had a choice. Save her sister. Or run away.
She chose the former, of course, because all her hatred was torn away at that moment, revealing itself to be nothing more than petty jealousy.
Things are often like that.
She threw herself in front of the blade. Pushed her sister out of the way.
Sometimes things don’t turn out like we want them to. Sometimes, all the paths end sadly.
But sadness is golden sometimes. Even more so than joy.
The cliff crumbled. Rocks shattered. Perhaps one of them screamed. Perhaps not.
The body of the lover was washed up on the shore a few days later. The sisters were never found.
But a new cluster of stars was noticed in the sky that night. Two bright lines stretching out into the blackness, connected at the end.
They call them the fishes.
But you and I know better.

❧ nov. 3: Let it Shine - 941 words
It was a miserable-looking day. Rain dripped sullenly off the roof, turning the ground into a moist kind of slush. Everything looked gray, even the trees, the vibrant autumn leaves hidden behind a misty gray filter of fog.
It was the perfect weather for curling up in a ball and wanting to cry, which was exactly what she was doing.
It was different yesterday. Bright. Sunny. Like her mood. The pumpkin, ready, sitting on the table. Eyes, sparkling. Mouth, smiling. She took a special kind of joy in analyzing every little bit of happiness, like a giant checklist. It was part of the magic. Part of the wonder.
All of it made it that more devastating when the news came.
Every fall, her grandfather came down to carve a pumpkin with her. It was tradition. Schedule. He always came, without fail, punctually at the time he said he’d be there.
And it wasn’t any ordinary pumpkin carving, either. He’d sketch elaborate swirls and swoops onto the orange flesh, his hands twisting and turning the washable marker. Those same hands would plunge the knife steadily into the top, and then she would gleefully scoop the guts out and pick out the seeds for roasting later. Then they’d toss the slimy insides and start carving, his hands guiding hers when it was her turn.
The cuts she made were always shakier, more jagged, but whenever she voiced concern about that he’d laugh and wrap her in his arms.
“It’s beautiful because you infused it with love, sweetheart,” he said. “Love isn’t perfect. It has flaws.”
She loved that. Loved that he saw the beauty in everything. Loved that he could find perfection in imperfection.
Yesterday, the designated day, she had woken with a tingle of anticipation in her spine. She’d watched the clock. Waiting.
By ten, she was mildly antsy. He’d be there any minute.
By ten fifteen, she was pacing, wondering if he’d gotten stuck in traffic.
She might’ve panicked once the clock ticked over to ten thirty if the news hadn’t arrived first. The news that he’d fallen. The news that he wouldn’t be coming this year. Maybe not ever.
She’d rushed to her room. Buried herself in a cocoon of blankets, terrified and disbelieving. It was hard to imagine those steady, steady hands ever failing him. A part of her still hoped it would turn out to be a mistake, a misunderstanding.
But the day had passed, and with it her stubbornness. Blinking sleep-crusted eyes open, still tangled in blankets, she’d been forced to accept the truth.
There would be no pumpkin carving this fall.
Her parents had already packed to leave when she emerged, so she did too, mindlessly shoving clothes into a suitcase. They’d explained to her that they were going to see him, to say hello, and possibly goodbye.
She should’ve cried, but she didn’t. She just felt numb.
Now she was waiting for them to finish loading up the car, and then they’d be off.
Or so she thought, until her mom came back in. Without a word, she began rubbing her back, and then she knew.
“I received a call just now, honey,” she whispered.
No. Stop. This wasn’t happening. He was going to get better.
“He’s not coming home.”
Not coming home. Not coming home. Not coming home. The words rattled in her brain, incomprehensible, meaningless.
Not coming home. Not ever.
Because he was dead.
Lifelessly, she retrieved her suitcase. Unpacked.
Then she entered the cocoon again and ground her fists into her eyes and wondered when the insanity would stop.
The pumpkin still sat, forgotten, on the table. There it stayed for days, until her dad picked it up to toss it, not even bothering to cut it open and remove the seeds. She watched, and imagined the pumpkin was her heart. Forgotten. Rotting. Tossed away. Already, parts of it were turning slimy. Even if he had come, there was no way to make it beautiful now.
Yet his words rang in her ears.
“It’s beautiful because you infused it with love.”
Not because she was amazing at carving. Not because the pumpkin was extraordinary.
Not even because it was fresh and un-rotted.
“Wait.”
Her dad froze, peering at her over the woody stem.
She swallowed the lump in her throat and continued. “Can I…can I have it?”
He nodded. “Of course, honey. Do you want any help?”
He knew, and when she felt her mom squeeze her hand she knew that she knew, too.
She shook her head. “No.”
“Okay, then.” He handed her the pumpkin. “Just let us know if you change your mind.”
She grabbed a knife and then carried it outside, setting it on the porch. She didn’t bother to sketch out a design. She just scooped out the guts and started carving.
A line that reminded her of a gentle smile. A shape that looked like a pair of steady hands.
The tears trickled down and turned into icy salt on her cheeks, but she didn’t pause to wipe them away.
This was a new kind of carving. A healing kind of carving. It was dark by the time she’d finished, though she’d hardly noticed the time passing.
And when she set the candle inside, she realized that the gashes and cuts were what allowed the light to shine through.
One broken pumpkin. One broken heart.
She carefully lifted the candle out and cupped her hands around the flame.
A lump of wax was the pumpkin’s light. But her grandfather was hers.
And the cracks in her heart were what would let him shine through to the world.

❧ nov. 2: A letter to my future self - 365 words
Dear Chuey,
I hope you hit your word goal. And did the dailies. And weeklies. On TIME.
But more than that, I hope you made friends. Created ideas. Explored your own writing skills. Dug deeper into yourself.
And started writing Mystics lol (you really need to come up with a better name for that thing, by the way). If you haven’t, your past self is very irritated
at you right now.
Oh, also, I’m not leaving any halloween candy for you. Sorry. What can I say? I have a special passion for Kit-Kats. Supposedly the British ones are even better, but y'know. I take what I can get.
Anyways. Some other goals I have for you this month are a) squeal with *insert bff’s name* about the Lunar Chronicles. Get her to see that Wolf is amazing and wonderful if she doesn’t already think so. b) do your math. I know you don’t like it, because I don’t like, and I’m you. But I’m telling you anyway. Do your math. It’ll pay off in the end. Finally, c) make sure to interact with people. Sometimes you tend to stick to your little group, and that’s ok, but sometimes I feel like you (me?) have a tendency to ignore other people when you don’t really want to talk to them, and that’s rude. I can say that because this is me. (You? Whatever.) Oh also d) get *insert friend’s name here* to admit that KEEFE IS MINE AND ALWAYS WILL BE THE DICE SAY SO. Also technically John but I don’t care about him; he was always hers anyway. Even if the dice said otherwise.
Oh and maybe e) find another good series to read that you haven’t already reread over eighty billion times. Skyward does NOT count. I read the ending at least ten times. Speaking of which, f) reread Lord of the Rings! If you can just make it past the first part it’s all smooth sailing, mostly. If you don’t count the tragic deaths, horrific experiences, and Gollum.
Yeah. Totally.
I think that’s all the goals I have for myself, so I should probably wrap it up.
Yours,
Yourself. But better.
(Kidding)
(Maybe)
❧ nov. 1: done in studio, not counted
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critiques:
https://scratch.mit.edu/discuss/topic/720872/?page=15#post-7645637
https://scratch.mit.edu/discuss/topic/720872/?page=22#post-7668310
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“so I'm hanging on tight, tryin' to keep it all tied together”
❀ writing comp ❀
oops, i exploded - 1370 words: https://scratch.mit.edu/discuss/topic/720872/?page=19#post-7662430
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Claiming

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⚓︎┊CRYSTIE'S
TABLE OF CONTENTS
November 2023

⚓︎┊INFORMATION
✦ cabin ☆ fairy tales
✦ word goal ☆ 35k
✦ ( if a title doesn't have a link, that likely means I didn't decide to share it! )

⚓︎┊DAILIES
✦ ( title┊date┊word count┊summary )
✦ introduction┊november 1st┊n/a┊n/a
✦ dear future self┊november 2nd┊604┊a note to future me.
✦ the crumple of leaves beneath my feet┊november 3rd┊580┊the leaves fall while someone ponders the past.
✦ ( november 5th was the introduction to word wars )
✦ beneath the beautiful starry sky ( stars are just balls of fire )┊november 6th┊1,122┊someone reveals their past.
✦ ( november 9th was roleplay day )
✦ ( november 11th was cabin wars )
✦ bring back dailies!┊november 14th┊429┊a persuasive essay to the daily team.
✦ ( november 17th was take a break day )

⚓︎┊WEEKLIES
✦ ( title┊date┊word count┊summary )
✦ n/a

⚓︎┊WORD WARS
✦ ( title┊date┊word count┊won/lost )
✦ n/a

⚓︎┊OTHER
✦ ( title┊date┊word count┊summary )
✦ n/a

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Mango has claimed this post
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*very fancy intro music that sounds grand and epic*
Paper Mango
The Thousands of Writing Pieces
Mango's Table of Contents

Chapter 1: About Me
Heyo, I am Mango! I use they/them pronouns, and I am a HUGE Nintendo nerd. Seriously, never get me started with talking about Paper Mario, Mario & Luigi, or Kirby, or suffer the consequences of listening to me talk for thousands of years.
Anyways, jokes(?) aside, I also like writing, drawing, and cats (as my username suggests).
This session, I'm in Lit-Fi, so I guess I'm obligated to say Lit-Fi ftw! Can't wait for this session!

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Chapter 2: Dailies
Format: Link || Word Count || Prompt
1:
2:
3:
4:
5:
(And so on…)

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Chapter 3: Weeklies
Format: Link(s) || Word Count || Extra Notes
Week 1:
Week 2:
Week 3:
Week 4:

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Chapter 4: Word Wars
I will likely just make a post for word wars. Keep an eye out for that.

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Chapter 5: Writing Competition Entries
Format: Link || Title || Word Count || Author's note
Normal entry:
Fan-fiction entry:

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Chapter 6: Other Writing Pieces
Format: Link || Title || Word Count

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See ya ^-^

As you continue along your travels, you catch a glimpse of a large, ornate door that you were certain hadn't been there before. You glanced back, confused. You knew that doors couldn't just appear on their own, or at least, not regular doors. Allowing your curiosity to engulf all of your other senses, you reached out a hand and turned the cold, metal handle, pushing the door open so you'd be able to see inside. To your shock and amazement, behind the door lay a gorgeous, cozy room filled from top to bottom with bookshelves and stories. Directly ahead of you stood a grand desk. A tall, dark-blonde girl with large, round glasses stood behind it, and looked up as you walked inside. “Oh, hello traveller!” she said sweetly, with a grin. “I'm Ducky. Welcome to my library!”

nov 1 ~ visit?
nov 2 ~ visit?
nov 3
nov 4
nov 5
nov 6
nov 7
nov 8
nov 9
nov 10




weekly 1
weekly 2
weekly 3
weekly 4



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Thank you for visiting, come again soon!

Silvi's Thread! (claiming it )

Hello! I'm Silvi and i love creative writing, reading and music! I can't wait for my second session to begin! Steampunk ftw!

Don't look at this thread anymore, it is getting too jammed!

Cabin Wars Extra Challenges sorry this is so strange

Froggy stared through the small mat where a cat lay, stretching her mouth wide in a big yawn. The bat and the cat and the kitten flew in on a magic carpet, along with them a small dog.
“Woof!” it barked.
“Well, I don’t know what on earth that means, but Cat Mister…. Get outta here!” Froggy announced.
“Um, Mummy?” the little furry kitten asked. “Doggy cute!”
It bounced towards the small, yappy dog and mewed playfully, but Froggy yanked her away.
“No, KitKat.”
The kitten stared at Froggy mournfully.
“But doggy nice!” she protested. The dog yapped in agreement.
Her mother thrust through the crowd of animals.
“No! KitKat! Don’t go near that thing. He will eat you in one gulp!” she said, waving her tail for effect. KitKat trembled in terror. Her mother scooped her up protectively and curled her tail round her. She tried to speak, but it came out as a muffled ‘mmmmm’.

Froggy looked at this incredible gathering of animals. All of a sudden, the magic carpet slapped him in the face.
“What did you do that for!” he exclaimed indignantly.
“Stop!”
“Stop what?”
“Stop!”
“Stop what?”
The mat and the cat and the dog and the kitten launched themselves at him, their eyes glazed over in a trance. The mat somehow looked smug. Froggy sat down on a chair.
“STOP!” he shouted.
Everything came to a standstill. He had fluff all over him. The cat was now sitting on the mat and the bat had gone off in a little van.
“After him!” Froggy shouted. Everyone rushed forwards, a whirl of cat, dog, mat, frog and kitten. Froggy didn’t know what had come over him. A human stopped in the middle of the road and stared in astonishment. A bird and a duck joined the chase.
“Tweet!” went the bird.
“Quack!”” went the duck.
Everything was a little blur. Cows trampled onto the road, quickly followed by a stampede of sheep. Starlings pecked at the van. Soon all of the animals were there. A cat on a mat with a frog and a dog with KitKat, a bird, a duck, cows and sheep, pigs and horses, donkeys and even a whale were now flopping along the road. Some kids looked at each other when they saw the stampede and rushed forwards.
“Yahoo!” they shouted.
Flowers leapt up from the soil and the chase went on. At last, they caught the van, and it was held up by a murmuration of starlings, making a fat ‘L’ in the air.
“Yay!” Everyone yelled. They hurled themselves at the van, covering it in scratches.
“Yo!” The children were now shouting in happiness, and their mothers came onto the street. The bat emerged from the half destroyed van and was met by a flurry of wings, hooves, paws, jaws and beaks pecking and stomping him down.
“No!” the bat yelled.
He hurried off into the sky and was never seen again. The kids scurried off. The starlings flew away.


Cabin Wars!!!!

This is my take on our Steampunk cabin theme, quite different, but still using a few aspects of it like the clock. So, obviously, massive credit to Luka, Willow and Red! As well as this being for cabin wars, it is also a rough draft for my writing comp entry!

Sophie crept along the darkening street, hidden under a blanket of stars. There was a thrum beneath her feet. It was warm and alive. Electricity crackled in the air. Hum. Hum. Again and again. A sound that made her shudder. A sound that made her tremble. Then lightning struck. A great blinding flash forked from the sky, lighting up the world in terrifying glory. A whisper formed in the air. First quiet. Then louder. And louder. An eerie chorus of voices.
“Destroy. Destroy. Destroy.” the voice echoed menacingly.
A shiver raced down her spine, like a bucket of water had been poured over her. The moon shone dimly from above and the stars seemed to fade.
“Destroy. Destroy. Destroy.” Yet again it was louder. A crescendo of evil darkness. A shawl of terror. Sophie felt her feet pulling her somewhere. Something whirred. Something hummed. A click in the air brought her to a standstill. Sophie opened her mouth in terror to scream, her eyes swirling in a mixture of anxiety, terror and curiosity. But not a sound came out. She seemed to be frozen in time. The world passed by and the storm raged above her. However, no one seemed to notice her. Sophie’s mind was a whirlwind of thoughts. They were leaking out like water from the ocean.

Then she blinked. Suddenly, everything was just a blur. People whizzed past her until her eyes ached and Sophie felt that same tug again. Like a rope, fastening itself around her waist. She waited for what could have been hours, minutes, seconds, until finally, everything stopped. She realised that she was underground. The voices were so much stronger. Everything down here was boiling. She noticed. The terror had faded from her eyes, leaving a deep wonder. Steam rose from a ladder beneath her and she wondered where she was. A girl with dark, straggly hair and oily skin stumbled past her.
“Hello!” Sophie shouted.
“Hello!” her voice echoed back. The girl seemed far too preoccupied to even dare steal a glance at her. Sophie decided that she had to go down there. She had to find out what was going on. She took the bravest step that she had ever taken and stared down the hole. She could see metal and light, but nothing else. Sophie, without even thinking, gripped the ladder with her sweaty palms and swung herself into mid-air. For one moment, she thought that she would fall. Her hands were slipping and her feet scrambled to get a hold on one of the rungs. Then, she somehow managed to haul herself back on, and started climbing down. Every single fraction she moved downwards, a blast of hot air would breeze around her.

She had reached the bottom. And she was surrounded by the most extraordinary sight. Cogs were scattered everywhere, slicked with grimy oil, and machinery was steaming all around her. But the most incredible sight was the clock in the middle. It was a quarter complete, with ladders all around it. Boys and girls were clambering up and down, wiping their brows with exhaustion. As Sophie took in all of this, she realised that the whispering was coming from the clock.


Earthquakes
The ground shuddered. It wouldn’t be long now. Sparks erupted into the air and the sky rumbled menacingly. I gripped Anna’s hand and squeezed it comfortingly. She squeezed back. Her long dark hair framed her bony face and her eyes reflected the chaos happening around us.

A few days ago, my grandfather disappeared. I don’t know how or why, but the result of it was this. My father, George, told me that this would happen if anything happened to grandfather. And now it had. I felt so guilty. I should have done something. My friend Anna had stuck with me the whole way through, and I don’t know what I would have done without her. She stopped me from falling to my knees and giving up. She was so strong and whatever she said that I had to do, I knew she was right. I still don’t know how I have survived without feeling Grandpa’s weathered hands against mine or seeing his silky white hair blow in the gentle breeze.


“It will be alright, Lucy.” Anna promised me as she had been doing for so long. “We will get through this and we will find your Grandpa. I promise.”
Then the first explosion ripped through the ground and flames licked around the strong wooden frames of our houses. The clouds became darker and darker and ash rained down on us along with small bits of sharp rock. There was nowhere to hide. I looked into Anna’s face and saw the determined set to her jaw. I felt a new strength tingle in my bones, like I had been plunged into a freezing cold pool, and come back out again with my senses restored. Then I realised that I couldn’t see anybody else. Where were they? Then I saw them racing towards the barbed wire fence. Right next to where the first explosion had happened. And as the great mound of rock vibrated violently, I knew the same thing was about to happen again.
“Run! Get away from there! It’s going to erupt!” I yelled. But it was to no avail. They couldn’t hear me.
My mother who grew up in Spain shouted, “Cuidadosa!” (Which is Spanish for careful).
Then the next explosion echoed around me. I was blinded by flames and ash hammering down from the sky. A tree came crashing down beside us, toppling over the village hall. Then there was an eerie silence. My vision cleared and I saw most of the village crowding behind the barbed wire fence. But my mother. She wasn’t there. I saw my father, racked with sobs and I knew it was true. My mother was gone. I remembered her light curling hair and her warm brown eyes. I might never see that face again.

Hot tears welled up in my eyes and streamed down my cheeks. I fell onto my knees and Anna leaned supportively against me. I looked up into her swirling blue eyes and was engulfed by guilt and grief. That was two people I had lost. And I felt like it was all my fault.
There was nothing that I could do. I stared at Anna desperately and everything went black.



Daily 10

My name is Elizabeth. This is the factory. This is the Industrial Revolution.

I had been working so hard all day. Now the bosses were employing children, instead of staying at home with our mothers all day, working in the house, we now went to work. We use tools to create simple machinery but it is a lot harder than it looks. The grime gets everywhere and the musty smog gets in your throat and you are racked with coughs. Clouds of smoke drift around and I haven’t been clean since I first went to work here when I was 8. I’m actually doing the men’s job, but they are going to move me to textiles soon.

The boss came over to me, dressed smartly in a waistcoat and told me that it was time for me to leave. The stars twinkled at me from above and I felt like I could finally breathe. I passed the grey factories with chimneys the size of my grandpa (and he really is tall) with mammoth plumes of smoke billowing out from them. I stared around me. My home stared back. It was a typical house for most children I knew. We lived on a cramped street in a musty old house, with crumbling door frames and no windows. But what was more important was what was behind the crumbling shell of a house.

Behind our home, is the only speck of colour I have ever seen. A tiny flower, spiralling upwards, leaning against the wall. It is a deep, luscious red colour with pale green leaves. I was born in a world of grey, brown and grey. It was still the same today. But with one miniscule difference. My flower. My father, who died from a lung disease in the factories when I was 7, used to tend to this flower with such care. For a man like him, it seemed strange, but we all wanted some colour in our life. So when he died, I took over. I’m the only one who knows about this, but for some reason, I seem to want to keep it a secret. It reminded me of my father, with his leathery skin and dark brown eyes.

As I stood there staring at it, I heard my mother calling me.
“Elizabeth!”she shouted angrily.
“Elizabeth! I want you here right now!”
I sighed.
“Coming!” I yelled back. I trudged over to the door and stepped inside. My baby brother was crawling all over the place. We only have one room in our home, the other rooms above occupied by other factory workers. My brother,William, had knocked over the one rickety chair he had and thrown all of his delicately prepared food on the walls. Food was now so hard to get hold of and we had all worked double the amount of time recently to get enough for all of us and William.
“You were meant to look after him when you got back, not staring foolishly at that flower of yours!”
I reeled with shock. How could she know?
“I don’t know what you’re t-talking about!” I stuttered feebly.
“Yes you do young lady!”
And so went on the argument and I was locked away in my room, gazing wistfully over London, where in the distance, gold dots could be seen. These were the rich people’s houses or palaces, as we called them.

From the moment I was free, I raced to the tiny crack of space behind our house. I was met with a sight that appalled me. My flower. It had been ripped up from the ground, dead leaves scattered everywhere amongst the fading petals. Tears started in my eyes. The last memory of my father. Gone. Then I knew what I had to do. I felt awful. But I had to do it. I had to run away.


The next day was my first at the textiles factory. I walked in tentatively, my boots slapping the hard, echoey floor. There was yarn strung up on loons and steaming pots of dye in the corner. The noise was deafening. Straightening my spine, I stepped forwards. A clean-shaven man turned to look at me. I felt a shiver of anxiety ripple through me.
“There, girl! Now!” he shouted at me, pointing wildly at one of the loons.


I walked over and was met by a young woman with light hair.
“Hello!” I greeted her cheerfully. Then she gave a look that sent ice into my soul and then turned back and started working again. At the end of the day, my arms were aching with the raw effort of it and my head was spinning from the noise. I thought about my flower. It had kept me going for so long. And now it was gone. Gone along with my father. I made my final decision there. I would go. So, with the flower gripped tightly in my hand and the dying petals in my pocket, I stepped bravely out onto the little street. I quickened my pace. I was going to see the world. A world where there was endless peace.


Foxy!

The sun had disappeared beneath the shadowy trees and the moon glinted eerily, rays cutting through the cold November air. A bird tweeted for the last time and all was quiet…

Then, from out of nowhere, slunk a fox, with a bushy tail and sharp, angular jaws. Its hungry eyes sort out any unlucky creature to be seen, and there wasn’t just a silence now. There was dread. As if it knew what was going on, the wind slowed until it was just the occasional blow in the air and the rippling grass was now calmed. A courageous bat flew low from the dark, menacing trees, but this was not to be. The fox, seeing the bat, crouched low and when it was closest, gave an almighty leap, smacking straight into its prey. The fox landed on the ground with a triumphant thump, and the bat writhed desperately between its jaws.

With prey in his mouth, he strutted proudly across the road, the bat hanging limply from its mouth. His tongue swiped around his lips, as though he were already tasting it. Suddenly, car headlights swerved into view. The fox gave a shriek of terror before racing in horror to the far side of the road. But it was too late. The car was upon him. Bright white lights blinded him and he ran around, disorientated. The car slammed into it, and after a moment filled with sadness, he dropped to the ground, his eyes frozen with fear.
“Mummy!” a little girl shouted. The car had stopped. The doors slammed.
“Mummy!” the girl repeated again.
“Yes, darling.”
“There’s a foxy on the road. Can we help him?” she lisped. The girl emerged from behind the opaque windows. Dark, smooth hair swirled around her face as the wind picked up. Her sparkling blue eyes lit up her face in a glowing glory.
“No, I’m sorry Anna, but I just can’t have you up this late.” her mother told her sternly.
“Please?” she pleaded, and smiled sweetly. “I know you are so strict that you won’t let me stay, but foxy sad! You are so nice, I think that you will help foxy, please?”
The mother melted under Anna’s sweet, deceiving gaze and after a pause replied, “Of course. Mummy would let you do anything!”
A glimmer of happiness sparkled in Anna’s eyes.
“Yay! I’ll go look!” she squeaked.
“Darling, I don’t thin-”
But she was cut off by a gasp of terror.
“Mummy! Mummy! Quick! Look at poor foxy!”
The little girl was visibly distressed. Big tears formed in her eyes and she sniffed sadly.
“Anna… let’s go.”
“But Mummy! It worse! Foxy need help!”
“Anna, I’ll call the animal services. How’s that?”
Wiping her eyes, she looked confused, but nodded vaguely. Then the fox’s tail twitched. Just the slightest of movements. Then its ears flicked. Eventually, his eyes opened, still just as panic-stricken as before, it let out a mournful howl. By then, the animal services were here. Their sirens flared vibrantly.
“Thank you for saving this poor little creature!” one of them thanked them gratefully. He cast a tearful look at the animal. “Hmmmm…”
Then they streaked away in their little van, until they were just a single colourful speck in the distance. Both mother and daughter watched until it had disappeared completely. They were left with the strange silence from before. They both got into the car and electricity thrummed in the air. The stars twinkled brightly. Birds twittered happily. All the air was filled with the pure glory of nature.



Daily 8

This piece of writing is awful, please excuse it

My future self sidled past me in a casual style.
“Oh, hi there?” I sort of asked.
“Oh, hi past!” they answered
“This is weird.” I reply, raising my eyebrows at them, or, well, myself I guess.
“You’re the one who’s weird!” Silvi answered. (Silvi’s me, btw).
I stared around me. We were in a bustling crowd of people surrounding the latest trendy clothes shop. Trees wave wildly in the wind, as if trying to free themselves from the ground.
“C’mon, let’s go.” I decided. I led her towards the park, where the pond is, reflecting the dying sun beautifully in streaks of pink and red. I tried to act like it was normal.
“So, how are things in the future?” I questioned her, like it was an absolutely normal thing to be talking to the future.
“How are things in the past?” she retorted.
“Are you serious? You think that you are the present self?” I exclaimed.
“Uh-huh.”
A strange tingling sensation took over me for a while, and, just for a moment, all Ii could do was stare out into the distance, where the pond sent little waves onto the path and the trees were dancing in the sky.
“You’re me.”
“Yeah!”
“What is it like in the future?” I press meekly.
“Cool! The food there is great!”
“What about the technology?”
“Well, now we all run on solar power now, it’s kind of the law.”
“How are the schools there?”
“Alright. The food, as I said, is a lot better.”
I looked around me. Then I saw someone extremely familiar. It was me again. I was getting tired of myself… this version of me looked a lot smaller though.
“Hewo!” she lisped.
“Um… hi.”
“Who are you?” she asked.
“You.” I replied bluntly.
The other Silvi cut in, “The more Silvi’s, the better!”
Young me looked confused. I remembered how I used to blurt out what I thought when I was little, and say really stupid things.
“You’re my past self, I think.”
“Oh. What happens in the future then?”
“Well, I make lots of different friends and there is loads of new technology. Don’t say what you’re thinking, because it will get you in trouble.”
Young me looked even more confused. “So, when I tell my big sister a joke, she doesn’t want to hear it?”
“Well, not for now.”
Now the sun had almost disappeared beneath the horizon. The autumn leaves were little up in the last of the blazing glory of the sun and a single, faint star had appeared, twinkling feebly. I had to go.
“Bye, I guess?”
“Bye!”
“Bye!”
That was the strangest day of my life.


Bi - Daily 6th November

Robert stared at the dying flames of the fire. Slowly, the world around him got darker and darker until he was the only one left. His sister’s face stared at him through his thoughts. Her golden hair swirled in the hot wind and her eyes blazed in reflection of the fire.
“Robert?”
Sophia’s voice pulled him out of his thoughts. Robert instinctively pulled his blanket towards him.
“Robert?” she pressed again. He peeped out from behind the shield of his blanket. One of the girls who had come here for a summer camp had been pestering him ever since he arrived. This was her. The problem was, he was reminded so much of his sister. Every time he saw Sophia, he had to force himself not to kick her in anger that his sister was gone.

- Robert’s sister had gone missing a few months ago. She was his twin so he was very upset and when he went to sleep the night she went missing, he woke up in this summer camp - (Mr Narrator)

Tears pricked in his eyes. He looked away. He wouldn’t let this girl see him cry.
“Just go away!” he whispered angrily.
She looked at him, hurt, and her eyes shadowed with worry. She settled down again beside him and carried on eating her toasted marshmallow.

Robert tried to focus on things other than his sister. The sunlight dappling through the trees, the ferns swishing softly, the birds’ sweet song, but none of it worked. Every time he closed his eyes, all he could see was his sister, Angela.
“I just want her back!” he yelled, oblivious to where he was yet again.
Everyone turned to stare at him. Sophia gazed at him aghast.
One of the other boys sniggered.
“Does ickle Robbie miss his girlfriend?” he asked in a childish voice, his eyes glinting with cruelty. Everyone laughed. Robert felt a hot flush spread across his cheeks.
“My sister has nothing to do with you!” he shouted furiously.
“None of my business you say? You’ll pay.” The boy (Jack) looked around. The leaders were on the other side of the campfire, half hidden by the flames, engrossed in watching a small fox slink through the forest. Despite the situation he was in, Robert couldn’t help thinking about how strange some adults were.

Jack’s cough stopped any thoughts of strange adults.
“Ahem. If you will have my attention Mr Robbie.”
Robert slowly turned his head and saw Jack standing smugly in front of him. Sophia was now well back, her face white with terror. Jack slowly stepped forwards.
“Now, Robert. You look a little… soft. Why not harden you up a little?”
Before Robert had time to work out what he had said, Jack had advanced on him and his fist was inches away from his face. He drew it back and hit, hard. Robert ducked. He feebly kicked out his legs at Jack, but they barely travelled a centimetre.
“My, my. You really are quite a coward,”he sneered softly.
Robert turned around to look for an escape route. He was trapped. Two slender pines towered before him and in front of him was the fire. As he turned to look back, he saw a flash of golden light dart in front of him. A familiar flash of light.
“Get - away - from - my - brother!” she choked.
“Anglea?” Robert asked. His mind was a very very deep abyss of questions. Suddenly he felt a weight lift off his shoulders and he felt like he could fly.
Anglea stared at him for a moment as if contemplating what to say. Then, after a long, awkward pause, her face broke into a wide grin and she stepped forward.
“I think so, Robert,”she said happily.
“But how did you get here?” he asked blankly. Suddenly, a slight dizziness formed in his head. Black dots clouded his vision. All he managed to do was weakly step forward and fall into his sister’s arms and then… darkness.


Word Wars!!!
“The last thing I expected to meet was a mango!”
The cat on the mat with the bat stared at the frog in confusion. A small kitten padded up to them. The cat on the mat jumped off from the chair.
“My goodness! A mango!” she said, staring at the kitten.
“Wow! So it is!” replied the bat, also looking at the kitten.
“What! I’m not a mango!” squeaked the kitten.
The cat on the mat stared at the hat.
“Wow! There it is! My first ever mango!” she exclaimed.
The kitten’s eyes widened and her paws slowly grew bigger and bigger. Just then, a rabbit jumped out of the hat. It had long pointy ears and a small fluffy tail.
“A mango! How rare!” it said, eyes widening.
Out of the hat jumped another rabbit. The cat on the mat with the frog and the bat all looked very puzzled.
“What a strange day this is!” said the frog.
Behind the frog appeared a small fluffy dog.
“Woof!” it barked happily. It chased after the kitten eagerly.

“Look at that pretty robin flying around!” Sophie exclaimed.
“I know! It’s so beautiful!” Lucy replied.
The robin fluttered gracefully from tree to tree, it’s wings a whirlwind of beauty. A red breast glimmered in the sunlight and its chirping was like notes of music from a flute.
“I’m going to call him Robin!” announced Sophie.
All of a sudden, Sophue started clambering up the tree. Her hands gripped the rough bark and she stared at all of the leaves, their beautiful green colour glittering. The sun went in, and Sophie lost sight of the bird.
“No!” she shouted mournfully.
Just then, she lost her footing and tumbled towards the hard, concrete ground. Her face pale, her eyes flickered open.

“Look at that pretty robin flying around!” my heart fluttered. It had been ages since I had seen a bird. It flew prettily to the bird feeder and pecked at it with its sharp beak. Its beady black eyes flitted from tree to tree and it perched on a little branch.
“Wow! It’s wonderful!” my sister replied. She, too, absolutely loved birds and we followed it down to the park. The trees there were covered in russet and golden leaves, and they swirled in the gentle breeze. Like a dancer it fluttered to the nuts on the ground and pecked happily at them. It took off in a whirlwind of brown and red, and its amber breast puffed out proudly. All of the other children had stopped to watch and my sister stepped forwards with obvious practice. She whistled gently and the bird’s head cocked. I saw a little glitter in its eyes and it pranced to my sister’s hand. She leant down and picked up a handful of seeds that had fallen off the trees.



Word Wars!!!

“Look at that pretty robin flying around!” Sophie exclaimed.
“I know! It’s so beautiful!” Lucy replied.
The robin fluttered gracefully from tree to tree, it’s wings a whirlwind of beauty. A red breast glimmered in the sunlight and its chirping was like notes of music from a flute.
“I’m going to call him Robin!” announced Sophie.
All of a sudden, Sophue started clambering up the tree. Her hands gripped the rough bark and she stared at all of the leaves, their beautiful green colour glittering. The sun went in, and Sophie lost sight of the bird.
“No!” she shouted mournfully.
Just then, she lost her footing and tumbled towards the hard, concrete ground. Her face pale, her eyes flickered open.



Weekly 1

Part 1

Lines from Seven:
But I, I was high in the sky
Please picture me
Then you won’t have to cry
And though I can’t recall your face
Any time I wanted

Writing

I clutched the gnarled roots of the tree as if my life depended on them. But I was so hopeless that I felt like that was true. My sister gently took my hand. This was a strange thing for her to do as she was such a ferocious creature. Yet our loss had changed her, like when arriving in different places, you have to learn their ways.
“We have to stop remembering her. It’s the only way to stop the pain,” she told me wistfully.
I answered dejectedly, “ But Tiger! That’s too hard! It’s like we are trying to take her away from our lives and pretend she never existed!”
Tiger is what I called her as a nickname; her real name is Anya.
“I know, but if you keep remembering her, it will carry on. Once the pain is gone, you can remember her with happiness. But for now, you will only feel grief.”
My mind whirled in thoughts of anger. How could she think like that? She was just forgetting her, rubbing her out! Tears welled up babyishly in my eyes. I wouldn’t cry. I had never cried apart from when my mother died. It had been a year, and I could barely recall her face, but I still felt the pain deeply, an endless pit in my stomach.

Sometimes, I felt like I wanted to fly. Then I could get away from it all. From everything! Up there, hidden by the gentle wisps of cloud, I could scream as loudly as I wanted, weep so bitterly the pain was gone, and reach a place so high, I could sleep a sleep that wouldn’t be disturbed for centuries. But that was not possible.
“Tiger, I want some space.”
“Alright, Amil, I’ll meet you here later!” she answered lightly.
Amil is what she called me as a joke when I was little. She used to say I was such a tomboy that I needed a tomboy’s name. So, she called me Amil, which is actually a Hindish name. My real name is Amelia.

I tiptoed through the soft, damp moss, away from the crumbling orphanage where we were being kept, which was grey, grey and grey. My rich brown eyes scanned the trees and my light hair swirled around my face. Compared to Anya, I wasn’t beautiful at all. She had curly pure blond hair and sparkling blue eyes and flawless pink skin. Finally, my eyes focused. It was perfect! I raced over to it eagerly and stared up. An old, twisted oak tree towered over me. It was the perfect height. Not too high, but far enough away from the ground so I could really think.

I took a deep breath and launched myself at the tree in an enormous leap. I slammed against its tough bark and scrabbled for a hold. A small branch jutted out beneath me and I grabbed hold of it. I hauled myself up and felt a knot loosen inside me. My anger flowed out. I was up in the air. I was finally free.
Thanks to Katherine Rundell for a bit of inspiration.


Part 2
Character Sheet
Name: Anya
Age: 9 years old
Gender: girl
Eye colour: light blue
Hair colour: blond and curly
Skin colour: tanned with lots of freckles
Height: 134cm
Scars: One long scar down her right leg from a dog when she was 3 years old
Any other features: she is quite a skinny person (naturally) and she has more leg than a giraffe has neck (hehehe just kidding)
Birth date: 2nd June 1853
Personality: She is very fierce and her sister calls her Tiger, but can be very gentle when her sister is upset. She is always happy and quite cheeky.
Weaknesses: She doesn’t have much empathy for most people, yet she cares too much about her sister to worry about herself. She never tells anyone about anything that is wrong because she is too embarrassed.
Skills: She is great at telling what other people are thinking and also art.

Part 3
Character: Anya
Scenario 1:
Anya watched her sister’s eyes gently close as she went into a deep sleep. She sighed. Her sister was always so miserable these days. Amil wanted to run away, and Anya was perilously close to giving up all hope of ever being adopted. She, like her sister, was now getting weaker and weaker every day. The orphanage was being destroyed and Anya didn’t know what to do. What was going to happen to them and the other orphans. No matter how much she hated this place, it was the only home that they had ever known. Their parents were dead and the orphanage hadn’t even bothered to look for any relations of theirs.

She fingered the long, fresh ferns. Her sister’s eyes snapped open. Although she was the younger sister, now she felt like she had to look after Amil. Sweat trickled down her forehead and she was panting furiously. Anya looked at her sister in despair and opened her mouth to say something, but thought better of it. The only place they stayed in was the forest now. And only one thing kept Anya from breaking down like her sister. And that was her endless bond of love.

Scenario 2:
Anya raced through the forest, her heart racing in her chest. She had to carry on. Her belly rumbled angrily at her and she shivered in the cold, damp air. She needed to find somewhere warm to rest and somewhere to eat. Half of her felt like collapsing down onto the ground and falling asleep, but that wouldn’t solve any of her problems. Dappled light filtered through the trees and she realised it was dawn. A mist swirled around her and birds chirped happily. However, that was the opposite of what she felt. Amil, who had been too exhausted to do anything, was asleep in the orphanage. She had left a note for her explaining everything.

Anya had left her sister to find somewhere safe to rest, other than the grey, derelict orphanage. She had planned to be back by the end of the day, but now it had been two days and she had no idea where she was. Now she was just focusing on keeping herself sustained enough to live. Then she spotted some fruit dangling from a tree and she reached for it hopefully… her eyes flickered open. She was in her rattling bed in the orphanage, with her sister sleeping peacefully next to her.

Scenario 3
Anya woke up in a cold, damp room. Lots of children were already up, brushing their hair obediently or washing their faces. Their expressions showed radiant hope like the sunshine appearing through a blanket of dark clouds. Then she remembered. It was adoption day.

She raced over to wake her sister.
“Amil! Amil! It’s adoption day!”
Amil opened her eyes blearily.
“Ok, fine. I’m getting up.”
Amil hauled herself out of bed with obvious effort. Anya felt really guilty. She shouldn’t be forcing her sister to get up so early. But if they got up any later, then they wouldn’t look spotless like all of the others already were. For all of her life, Anya had been desperately hoping for a real family. People who loved her and cared for her. Not some starchy old woman who shouted at them to do their chores. So, if Amil was to come with her, she had to look her best.

A few hours later, they were all in line, with Mistress Troystare. We all called her Mistress Hardstare though. A warm, friendly looking couple came in and their eyes went sad when they saw the hopeful children.
“Couldn’t we take all of them?” the lady whispered loudly.
“No, Helen, we don’t have enough money.” the man breathed back.
Their eyes flicked over the sorry-looking bunch of children, until their eyes rested on Amil
“Now who is this?” she asked Mistress Hardstare.
“That is Amelia, older sister of Anya, next to her.” she answered coldly.
“You poor thing!” Helen exclaimed to Amil. “Henry, we simply must take her. And the sister.”
Anya felt a rush of warmth spread through her. She was finally free of the orphanage!

Part 4

Anya was led by Helen and Henry to a large gilded carriage. On the front were two handsome black horses. She had never seen such luxury. Then she realised that today was her birthday. She was 10 years old! This was the greatest birthday present she could have ever wished for. Amil climbed in after a moment's hesitation. A tingle of excitement coursed through her. However she knew what her sister was thinking. She thought that these people would be like Mistress Hardstare. But Anya knew that they weren’t.
“So, Anya, how old are you?” Helen asked kindly.
“10 today, miss.” she replied politely.
“No need for formalities. Call me Helen for now and this is Henry. Could you tell me about your sister? She looks very ill…”
“Well, she’s never been like this before, but I think after so much time in the orphanage, she is just sick of it.” Anya answered bravely.
“You look a bit unwell too, come to think of it.”
Anya stared down at herself. She realised that her woollen dress was practically falling off her. She had been too wrapped up in her sister’s worries to care about herself.
“I’m fine…”
The carriage jolted to a stop outside a posh Victorian house.
“This is our house!” Helen announced proudly.
Anya gaped at it stupidly.
“We must get your sister to bed immediately. We’ll bring some food up for her, but you can stay with us. We’ll get the fire going and you can tell us all about yourself.”
So, they stepped down from the carriage onto cobbled streets lined with the same style of house that they were going to live in. They were led into a hallway with panelled mahogany walls.
“Henry will put your sister to bed and I will take you to your bedroom.”
“My bedroom?” Anya said, amazed, then shut her mouth hurriedly.
“Yes, your bedroom!”
“Excuse me, but may I sleep with my sister for now?” she asked timidly.
“Of course. I’ll ask Henry to move one of the beds into her room.”
Helen then took her to a large room with a roaring fire in the grate. She sat her down and Anya sank down gratefully. The heat of the fire warmed her to her heart and she had never been so happy.
“Wait here while I get you some food.”
Anya gazed at her surroundings. Paintings of beautiful women were hung up everywhere!
A young woman came scuttling from the hallway. She was dressed in a plain woollen dress just like hers and had dark hair in a tight plait down her back.
“Who are you?” asked Anya curiously.
“I’m one of the maids.” she replied curtly. “And you?”
“I’m an orphan. Helen and Henry adopted me.” she said happily and then realised how quickly she had settled in. She had only come in a few minutes ago, and here she was, already talking to one of the maids.
At her words, the maid had sunk low to the floor in a deep bow. Anya stared at her in confusion. She was a complete stranger almost to the maid, and she was bowing! Then Helen came in and gave her a dazzling smile. Maybe she had found her true home.
1955 words.



Daily 4
Credit to greekmyths-greekmythology website.
Ursa Minor, also known as Little Bear, was created by Zeus and Callisto.

Once there was a girl called Callisto. She was from the followers of Artemis. Artemis is one of the maiden gods, and to be with her you have to swear to never marry. Artemis can choose who she wants to look like, so she chose a twelve year old girl. Artemis would be furious with you if you broke that sacred vow.
Callisto was the daughter of King Lykaon. Her name means ‘the most beautiful’ however she did not decide to marry, but instead joined the followers of Artemis, goddess of the moon and twin of Apollo. There are two myths about how she became a constellation. This is the first:

Zeus, the king of the Greek gods and god of the sky, had many girlfriends. This angered his wife Hera, who knew about this. Out of all of his girlfriends, Callisto was one of his favourites. She was very beautiful and had captured Zeus’s heart. Hera was very jealous of the love between beautiful Callisto and her husband Zeus. Hera wanted to take revenge on them.

So, one day, Callisto and Zeus were walking through the woods together. It was a perfectly normal day for Zeus, and he didn’t realise what was happening until it was too late. He noticed Hera approaching, and knew that he had to hide Callisto from Hera, who was known for her cruelty. So, as quickly as possible, he turned her into a great bear. When Hera arrived with him, she just saw him on a walk in the woods, all by himself. But Hera knew that this couldn’t be true. She knew her husband better than that.

So, knowing that he must have done something to Callisto to hide her from Hera, she offered to walk back to Mount Olympus, the home of the gods, with Zeus. But Zeus didn’t want that to happen, so he tried as hard as possible to persuade her to let him carry on walking. But Hera did not give in, and finally Zeus gave up. He desperately wanted to stay to free Callisto from the spell that kept her a bear, but he couldn’t.

The same day, Callisto’s son, Arcas, was out hunting. With Zeus back at Olympus, unable to change back Callisto, he spotted the great bear (Callisto) and, not knowing what he had done, shot her in the heart. His arrow shot well, and hit its target. The great bear had a fatal wound and started dying before him. As this was happening, it turned back into Callisto, and he started crying, as he realised what he had done.

Soon, Arcas learnt that she had been with Zeus, and he was the one who transformed her. At this he was enraged, and cried louder and sadder. Zeus knew that Hera could hear the heartbroken man as well, so he urged him not to tell the secret. Arcas kept to his word, and Callisto was transformed back into a bear and became the largest constellation, the Big Dipper or the Great bear. He also turned Arcas into a constellation, a smaller version of his mother, Little Dipper or Little Bear.

That is the first and most well-known myth. This second one is a variation:

Zeus saw the beautiful Callisto with the other huntresses. He instantly fell in love with her. So, tricking Callisto into thinking he was Artemis, he set out to try and ‘mate’ with her. Hera knew her husband’s way and how he would trick any beautiful maiden in order for them to fall in love with him. So, she tried to catch them, but Zeus, knowing what was to happen, turned Callisto into a bear again.
628 words.

Where Nature Grows

This piece was to show how much people care about nature and the things it can make them do. However, I wouldn’t suggest running away like Anna and Lucy, because (no offence to my beloved characters) they were being very stupid

I stared up through the mossy branches and searched hopefully for a single star. It was what I did every night. Search for the stars. Here, life had become so focused on the new technology, that they didn’t think about the impact on nature. But the impact it had was vast. The stars were gone, hidden under a cloud of smog and the trees were slowly blackening. Never did we see a single bird, nor a shining flower.

My name is Anna. And this is the story of how I ran away in search of real life, with only one person with me. I hope when you have finished reading, that you will understand why I did this, and fight, like me, for nature.


The 2nd of April. The day I ran away.

The night sky was covered in a diseased blanket of pollution and the sharp, cold wind carried the sound of buzzing electricity. A new device was being built, the Staticiser, and it was said to be powerful enough to power half of the world. All through the night, bright lights flashed, blinding us, and with each flash the Staticiser got more and more strong, and the world was a heartbeat closer to being destroyed.

My friend Lucy, who was an orphan, stood determinedly beside me, her expression a mixture of anger and anxiety, twined her fingers through mine. I squeezed her hand comfortingly. Lucy had come to live with me after her parents had died, so we became like sisters. We searched the thick, heavy clouds for one faint star but none appeared. We had decided that if we saw a star, then we would stay, but not a single glimmer lit up the sky. Even the once-luminous moon was now invisible. That was when I thought about how mad we were to be doing this. How stupidly brave but dangerous it was. About how we might never return. But only people who do stupidly brave or dangerous things in life ever actually reach their goals.

So, I went back indoors and left a note on the table, practically falling apart from being opened again and again. Here is what it says.

Dear Mum and Dad,
I’m really sorry but I can’t bear it much longer. I have to run away. Lucy and I have gone to find a place where there is nature. Then we can talk to some people like us, who care, and we can save our planet. Please don’t worry, we will be safe and we will return. When we do, we can stop the Staticiser being built. I love you so much and we should be back in about a month.
Lots of love,
Anna xxx

Now I look back on this note, it was very stupidly worded. I imagined if I were in their place and their adopted and birth daughter had both run away, I understand how anxious they were feeling. Also, they didn’t even know about my obsession with nature anyway.

A few miserable days later, we were trudging through the blocks of flats and towering electric lights in a place that meant nothing to us, when we spotted an actual speck of green. This wasn’t the colour that we had on our pencils at school. This was a proper lush green, glowing vibrantly. It really was quite distinctive in the hard, cold landscape surrounding us.

For the past few days, we had been finding inns and places to sleep in. I stole some money which I am very guilty about, but our mission is more important. So, we carried on with renewed energy, heading for the tiny little green dot. Every step it got larger and larger until in the distance we could see trees! They were great pines, towering majestically above our heads.
“Come on! Look! Trees!” I whispered excitedly to Lucy. Her eyes lit up and we raced towards them. The tarmaced streets were now lined with dark bushes, heavy with succulent fruit.

Then a rumbling sound echoed from the forest.
“What is that?” asked Lucy.
Then a massive metal machine emerged from the forest with blades double the size of me and Lucy. It was cutting down the trees.
“Come on! We have to get out of here!” shouted Lucy over the roaring of the tree-cutter.
“But-”
“Come on!”
We raced back to the safety of the houses and Lucy looked anxiously at me.
“We have to get home.”
“But the trees!”
“It was a stupid idea. We have to get back!”
After an hour of persuading, she finally made me agree. So we trekked back home.

Gradually the trees grew thinner until the very tip of the Staticiser was just visible. Even though they were a few towns away yet, it was so visible against the stormy sky. After two more days of travelling, we finally reached the outskirts of their town. We ran, exhausted and sprinted to our home until we reached the front door. We rang the doorbell and waited. Mum appeared at the door, her face drawn with worry. She saw us and we collapsed into her arms. Then, a loud bang echoed through the air. Electricity crackled around us and I peeped through the gap in Mum’s arms. The Staciser had a web of white electricity around it. We hadn’t made it in time.



Daily 3

Amil tugged at her hair in annoyance. The russet and gold leaves carpeted the mossy floor in a glistening dazzle of autumn, and yet she could barely see it, hidden under her blanket of grief. Her sister, Anya, or Tiger as she liked to call her, sat next to her, eyes glittering at the beauty of the forest.

Amil and Anya were supposed orphans. Their parents went missing the day that their second child, Anya was born. Amil (Amelia) had only been one, so she couldn’t remember. This was her eleventh year at the orphanage. And she could feel her strength and rebelling fading. Anya too was surprisingly sad for her naturally happy character. Even the orphanage was starting to crumble from the years of screaming children battering its walls. And yet the beauty of the forest never went away.


Nobody knew that they were here. They came here every afternoon once their chores were done. Amil stared up at the sky with longing and prayed that they would get away from this place. But they wouldn’t. Everybody ignored her pleas apart from her sister but she brushed them away and said we couldn’t survive out there, which is probably true, but it would be better than the orphanage.

As the weeks went on the wind blew more harshly and the trees were stripped bare of their leaves. They swirled and twirled in the strong breeze like dancers, but soon lay dead on the ground, icy frost enclosing their beauty. As the wonderful autumn carried on, each day, hour, minute and second became more and more miserable. The trees withered in the battering storms and the summer flowers had all disappeared. In early November, even Anya was now not her usual sunny self, but her eyes now gazed into the distance with melancholy. There was one reason for this unendurable pain. Their family.

Amil had now learnt how to climb the trees in a particular way and spent her days in a mossy nest she had created, staring at her surroundings, searching for a place to go to.
“Tiger…” she started hesitantly. “What are we going to do when we’re adults? We can’t stay here forever. I couldn’t survive here. I know you can’t either. I’ve seen how you’ve been behaving lately. Even you are sad.”
Anya had a troubled expression on her face and an awkward silence fell between them for a minute.
“Well,” she started, “I don’t know. We could try running away - just for a day, of course - and see what everyone does in town. They will probably find a family for us before then though. They will know what to do. We must make ourselves look even more presentable than ever before, then they should pick us!”
Amil stared at her. Anya had never, ever suggested running away. She was too perfect to do that. Her heart sank. If these were her sister’s thoughts, then something must be up. An aching pain formed deep in her chest, and as autumn mingled with winter, Amil watched the orphanage crumble above her head, and trees and fences collapse in the wind. Her heart ached for the new life and hope of spring… 536 words


Daily 2
Dear future me,
Hello! This is Sivi, your past self! I’m writing to tell you that I know you will make it through. Here are some things I would like you to do as it will make my life a lot easier.
1. Let that writing competition that I entered not show the results until SWC has ended, as I will be too busy to look.
2. Steampunk ftw!!! (obviously)

Thank you! Now, I would like to try to do as many dailies and weeklies as possible, but this may be harder than last session because school goes the whole way through and they have lengthened our school days I would also like to enter the writing competition. Can you help me? I would love Steampunk to end up in a good place at the end of session, as well as getting as many gears and cogs (our cabin currency) as possible.

Now for the most important thing. Getting to know everyone! Now that I know how SWC works, I really want to get quite involved and make lots of friends! This will be really important for everyone. Also, I hope that next session you get a really good cabin and enjoy as much as I enjoyed last session and I know I will enjoy this session. Did you work out that thing about motifs? Did you enter the writing competition? Did you enjoy school (this is not likely, as school has become very boring). I hope you did, as this will help me a lot! Most importantly, which cabin won Scratch Writing Camp this session? Oh, and did you do all of the weeklies, as I have lots of things to do this week?

Now, instead of asking about your achievements, how are you? I hope you are really good! Then I can write in peace and harmony… Future, future, future self, how is the March session going? I already can’t wait for it, and I’ve only just started this one!

It’s been really, really nice to write this letter and I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it. Please reply to this soon, as I love to hear your answers to my endless questions. I hope to see you on the 31st November! Goodbye for now!
Silvi!

'Over the top' writing
546 words

This was a piece of writing that we did at school, but I wanted to redo. Enjoy!

Shoulder to shoulder we stood solemnly, our faces expressionless. I could feel my heart thundering in my chest like hammers. Muddy rain steamed down our faces, and the world seemed more colourless every second. I could feel myself trembling in fear, clutching my rifle. I squeezed my eyes shut and imagined I was home, with a roaring fire warming us up like a soft blanket and eating steaming food off plates. The illusion was ripped away when the sergeant told us to fix our bayonets. My cold, paper-white hands shook as I pushed it on. All safety was gone now. We had been pulled away from our families and there was nothing we could do. We might never see them again. Tears pricked at the edge of my eyes.

The rain slapped our faces and the wind battered our arms. Our boots were disappearing in a sea of horrible mud. William next to me was silently muttering prayers, his eyes scrunched up in terror. Robert was crying, hot tears cascading down in a great waterfall of sadness. I shook as I saw this sight. Many of us wouldn’t come back. Thoughts of my family came rushing back to me again, and I saw them at home, my wife in the munitions factory, my daughter at school, her face blotchy with crying. I reached out and took her hand, but it faded from my touch and I was back in the trench. The mud squelched underneath our hard, crusty boots, and rats scuttled deviously around. But I didn’t care. I just wanted my family back.

The shrill blow of the whistle cut though my thoughts and we all rushed to the ladders. At last I gripped the icy rungs, and knew I might never come back. I hauled myself up and, gathering my remaining strength, charged into battle. Gunshot echoed around me and dark plumes of smoke clouded my vision. Sparks flew into the air; I had never felt so terrified. A bullet raced past my ear, inches away. I saw the enemy charging in our direction and gently pushed the trigger. An eerie shriek rang in my ears, and I felt that horrible guilt that I had killed someone with a loving family back home. How could I have done that? I had to pull together.

A few perilous hours later, the battle was over. We trudged through the battlefields. Although we had won, all of us were quiet, unspoken words hanging in the air. I searched for my friends anxiously. I spotted William lying nearby. I rushed over to him. He had a deep gash down his leg.
“Tell my family I love them…” he rasped. He took one shuddering breath and went still. I barely knew him, but tears ran, hot down my cheek.

Soon I was carrying him on a stretcher back to the trenches. I heaved him away to be buried and I found myself under one of the shelters, pressed against the war. I took a feeble breath in and buried my head in my arms. It was hell. I closed my eyes and fell into a light, troubled sleep.

Silvi's Thread!

Daily 15

I strolled through the park lazily, practically falling asleep on my feet and I tried to think. My best friend had been reported missing and I didn’t know what to do. I had known her since I was so young and her face stuck in my mind every time I closed my eyes. Her hazel brown eyes and smooth dark hair stared had stared at me for so long, a stark memory of her existence.

What was I doing, talking in past tense? It wasn’t like she was dead. She could be anywhere doing anything, but she couldn’t be dead. I arrived at the school gates and stopped for a moment. I gathered up all my physical and mental strength and stepped tentatively through the sturdy old doors. My ears were filled with the sound of hundreds of teenagers shouting and screaming and my head was aching. As I walked through the crowds of people, they all gave me sympathising looks. I had to bite back my fury. Everyone had been pestering me for days and I just wanted some time alone.

The shrill echo of the bell rang through the school and the children swarmed towards the classrooms. I stayed still. Time seemed to slow down and the noise of the children was just a soft buzz. I couldn’t bear it any longer. I turned and sprinted towards the doors. I rushed through them and suddenly everything was peaceful. My mind was clear and birdsong twittered from the trees. But I knew that I couldn’t just walk back in. It would be too much. The screaming, the shouting, the pitiful looks, the questions.

Instead, I casually creeped across the road and finally ran into the park. I breathed a deep sigh of relief and looked around. Tall impressive oaks surrounded me with clusters of bushes, heavy with fruit. I spotted a hollow gap in the bushes and pushed my way through. A tiny clearing filled with dappled sunlight lay before me, just the size of two tree trunks. But here it was different. It was so quiet and suddenly all of my thoughts came back to me and an ocean of sadness. I sat down amongst the ferns and bushes and buried my head in my arms. Hot tears cascaded down my cheeks and I stayed like that for a long time.

At last, I lifted my head and looked at my watch. It was 12:45 and everyone would be wondering where I was. I decided to go somewhere that I had been going to since I was a baby. It was a mile’s walk from the park, so I got to my feet and started climbing up the massive hill that blocked my way. I reached the top and the same excited sensation rushed through me. Below me lay a sparkling turquoise bay with glistening sands. I stumbled down the hillside and sank my feet into the warm sand.

I heard a shouting behind me and turned my head.
“The Pride of Kent leaves in one minute!”
A feeling that I couldn’t describe rushed through me, and before I knew it I was about to step onto the first ever boat I had ever been on. I stuck out one foot over the beautiful glittery water and set it on the rickety bridge. The wobble of it made my whole body shake.
“You going on or not then, miss?” asked the same person who had shouted earlier. I looked at his deep blue eyes and smooth slick hair, then back at the boat, and then at the land, I couldn’t do this.
“No, Sir.”
“Well, get out of the way then!” he yelled furiously. He shoved me back onto the warm soft sand and watched as a rumbling sound filled the air, and the boat slowly edged away from the shoreline. Then I saw a familiar face on the deck. Hazel brown eyes and smooth dark hair. Our eyes locked.
“Amelia!” I shouted. But my best friend was gone.


The Whisperers

(this is my second draft)
Massive credit for Steampunk (my cabin!) as they let me use inspiration from their story line. This is sort of my take on it, with quite a few different aspects, but a few the same! <333



Sophie crept along the darkening street, hidden under a blanket of stars. She could see the famous shadowy figure of the shard towering over the rest of London, stark against the dark night sky. There was a thrum beneath her feet. It was strange and lively, like the beat of a drum. Electricity crackled in the air. Hum. Hum. Again and again. A sound that made her shudder. A sound that made her tremble. She looked around her street. Everything was silent, all the people in bed. Sophie didn’t know what was going on. But she knew that it was something important.

Then lightning struck. A great blinding flash forked from the sky, lighting up the world in terrifying glory. A whisper formed in the air. First quiet. Then louder. And louder. An eerie chorus of voices.
“Destroy. Destroy. Destroy.” the voice echoed menacingly.
A shiver raced down her spine,and she felt a strong wind practically pulling her off her feet. The moon shone dimly from above and the stars seemed to fade.
“Destroy. Destroy. Destroy.” Yet again it was louder. A crescendo of evil darkness. As it grew in volume, an image formed in her head. It was a picture of a dark shadowy figure in some sort of factory. Sophie felt her feet pulling her somewhere. Something whirred. Something hummed. A click in the air brought her to a standstill. It was a mechanical noise, like part of a clock or a cog fitting into place. Sophie opened her mouth in terror to scream, her eyes swirling in a mixture of anxiety, terror and curiosity. But not a sound came out. She seemed to be frozen in time. The world passed by and the storm raged above her. However, no one seemed to notice her. Sophie’s mind was a whirlwind of thoughts. They were leaking out like water from the ocean.

Then she blinked. Suddenly, everything was just a blur. People whizzed past her until her eyes ached and Sophie felt that same tug again. It was an invisible rope, and she felt its rough cord, fastening itself around her waist. Time was speeding up and she could barely see anything, just a flash of light, then darkness. She waited for what could have been hours, minutes, seconds, until finally, everything stopped. She realised that she was underground. She was standing on a smooth blanket of soil, carefully flattened to make a sturdy platform. The voices were so much stronger. Everything down here was boiling. She noticed. The terror had faded from her eyes, leaving a deep wonder. Steam rose from a ladder beneath her and she wondered where she was. A girl with dark, straggly hair and oily skin stumbled past her.
“Hello!” Sophie shouted.
“Hello!” her voice echoed back. The girl seemed far too preoccupied to even dare steal a glance at her. Sophie decided that she had to go down there. She had to find out what was going on. She took the bravest step that she had ever taken and stared down the hole. She could see metal and light, but nothing else. Sophie, without even thinking, gripped the ladder with her sweaty palms and swung herself into mid-air. For one moment, she thought that she would fall. Her hands were slipping and her feet scrambled to get a hold on one of the rungs. Then, she somehow managed to haul herself back on, and started climbing down. Every single fraction she moved downwards, a blast of hot air would breeze around her.

She had reached the bottom. And she was surrounded by the most extraordinary sight. Cogs were scattered everywhere, slicked with grimy oil, and machinery was steaming all around her. The walls were made of sliding panels in brass and gold and silver, some rusted with age, but some gleaming and bright. But the most incredible sight was the clock in the middle. It was a quarter complete, with ladders all around it. Boys and girls were clambering up and down, wiping their brows with exhaustion. As Sophie took in all of this, she realised that the whispering was coming from the clock.


Daily 14

Everything was chaos. From the moment the daily had announced they were going on strike, everything had fallen apart. Without dailies, Scratch Writing camp wasn’t fun anymore. Some of the cabins had started leading protests. That is why I am writing to you.

Dear Daily Team,

I have no idea why you are going on strike and you’ve seen the reaction from above. Do you really want this to happen? This might stop this session, maybe the next one, the next, or maybe even SWC forever. I myself am absolutely devastated. This November is only my second session and I’ve been looking forward to so many more. I just can’t imagine what it must be like for the people who just joined this session, as they have barely got to know it. The people who have been on SWC for years must also be really upset, as they have stayed with it for so long and known it for as long as they can remember.

I’m not trying to force you to stay, you don’t even have to bother acknowledging this piece, but I know that so many people are desperate to carry on with this Scratch tradition. When I joined up for my last session, it was amazing. I have learnt so much from SWC, even though I’m only on my second session. I also made a gazillion friends last session and I’m making even more this November. So, me and probably the rest of Scratch Writing Camp are begging you to carry on with dailies. As I said, without dailies, what I know as SWC might just stop. The dailies are what hold everything together. It is called Scratch Writing Camp, after all, and only having a piece of writing a week would stop it from having the whole writing theme.

When I joined Scratch, which was only 5 months and two weeks ago, the main reason I joined was for SWC. As well as all of this, think about what you would be losing. All of you on the daily team are about as experienced as you can get when it comes to SWC, and you’ve known it for so long. You know everyone so well, and imagine a life without the familiar rush of doing the daily, or for you adding up points, all of the mangoes and campers. We can’t imagine a life without SWC, and I know that you can’t either. Please, please carry on with dailies. Not just for us campers, but for yourselves. If us campers really feel the loss, then you must feel it ten times worse.

In this letter, I’m not trying to make you or force you to bring back dailies. I’m trying to make you think about your own choice, and all of the campers. SWC has gone on for so long, and we don’t want this session to finish. I know this whole letter is very OTT, but these are the very small possibilities. Please, take some time to think about this and I hope you can write to me soon with your decision.

Best Writing Wishes,
Silvi.


Weekly 2 1550 words

Part 1
This is about Luka, my cabin leader, Willow, my co-leader and me!!! Sorry Luka, as you definitely don’t lie around all day, but it was just a joke!

Luka (strolling past): Hey! Silvi! What do you love about SWC? They’re doing some sort of survey. I honestly have absolutely no idea what it’s about, but it sounds like we can get points, hehehe.

Silvi (grinning cheekily): What do I love… hmmm, well, I love the writing, the really friendly people who are always so kind and the absolutely incredible amount of mangoes. Really, you can’t get anywhere in life without mangoes…

Luka (laughing and taking notes): I know! Mangoes are just the best!

Silvi (raising an eyebrow): And we can’t get anywhere in life without fragments for our clock, can we? Otherwise… we will die! (cackles evilly)

Luka: Yes, we certainly do need a lot of those. But, if we do enough writing and get enough gears and cogs, we should just make it!

Willow (tapping Luka on the shoulder): I shouldn’t be too sure about that. I know two campers from Steampunk who were just chattering away. No idea who they were though! (winks knowingly)

Luka (jumping in surprise): Willow! You scared me!

Willow (mocking): Now, Luka. What did I just say? Remember those two anonymous campers who were talking?

Luka (smiling ruefully): Fine, fine! I’ll go! But I’m a leader! I have many important duties to attend to! (walks away).

Willow (turning to Silvi): Pah! That lazy lump just lies around all day! Like he has any duties to do!

Silvi (looking doubtful): Perhaps he does! Anyway, he was talking to me for one of his so-called duties.

Willow: And what was that then?

Silvi (pretending to shake in terror): J-just some sort of survey, I dunno really!

Willow (laughing): You can’t fool me, Silvi! The mighty Willow can read your thoughts!

Silvi (straightening up again): I mean, he was though. He could have been pretending, I guess.

Willow (tapping her foot): Time for an investigation!

Silvi (giggling): The SWC detectives! I don’t think so. My detective skills go about as far as finding out where my missing food goes. The answer to that I found out eventually. On my sister’s plate!

Willow: You can’t put anything past that Luka! Anyway, we’re becoming as bad as him, standing here gossiping to our hearts content! Get back to work!

Silvi (mock saluting): Work! My heart feels like it will plop down to my boot! But, yes ma’am! (walks off).

Willow (staring after Silvi): Honestly! My cabin mates!


Part 2: Song Parodies

Original Song: Just a Spoonful of Sugar
My version: Just the mention of word wars

In every word war that I have done,
There should be some writing fun,
If you find it, great!
The war’s a pleasure.

But all wars I struggle through,
Seems such work, type, write, phew!
A wait! You see! They’re so hard to complete… so

Just the mention of word wars make my heart go plop,
My heart go plop-opp,
My heart go plop,
Just the mention of word wars make my heart go plop!
In the most horrific way!

A happy camper typing for their life,
Sees word wars and grabs a knife (me)!!!
So, waiting for a reply in boredom ,
Tap their feet, much less than awesome!
They have no thoughts inside their head,
Apart from, when will this end? Which proves that just…

The mention of word wars makes my heart go plop,
My heart go plop-op,
My heart go plop,
Just the mention of word wars makes my heart go plop,
In the most horrific way.

The camper who replies with a post,
Fills you with warmth just like toast,
And you type eagerly, happily, yay!
And they light up your day,
Every comment they make,
So then (so then)
It’s fun (it’s fun)
Because your daily might be done…

Ya-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-y!

Just the mention of word wars still makes my heart go plop,
My heart go plop-op,
My heart go plop,
Just the mention of word wars still makes my heart go plop,
Yet in a less horrific waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay!

Spoke: (Every time that they are done, I sigh, goodbye!) (mock salute)



Part 3: Fanfiction

I strolled through camp, watching other campers race around hurriedly. The pretty strings of lights waved gently in the breeze and the early morning sun shone through from the woods. I had just got out of bed, and I was still in my pyjamas, my hair straggly and tangled as usual and my eyelids drooping, heavy with sleep. However, the moment I spotted today’s daily, I immediately snapped my eyelids fully open and my senses sharpened at once. No more tired Silvi!


As I walked into the main tent, where we all congregated, ate our meals and found out all of our dailies and weeklies, I noticed Luka leaning casually against a tree.
“Hi, Luka!” I greeted her.
“Morning Silvi! Have you seen the daily?” she asked.
I yawned. “No, not yet. Why?”
“You’ll see….”
I honestly didn’t see the point of asking him why she was being so mysterious, so I just carried on. It was a typical SWC day. All of the campers were munching lots of extremely unhealthy food (with the exception of mangoes) and the hosts were stretching very lazily in their luxurious armchairs. I don’t know where or why they got those heavenly cushions, but I was going to get one when I got home.

I went to the buffet table where there was an endless amount of food. Very tasty food.
“What would you like today?” Mouse asked me cheerfully. “Pancakes, pancakes or pancakes?”
I considered it carefully. It was going to be a very hard choice.
“I think that I’ll go with pan-”
“Oh! I think that I forgot to mention that you could also have waffles, sausages, waffles, bacon, waffles, baked beans, waffles, toast with unhealthy jam, waffles or anything nice and unhealthy that you can see from inside this tent!” she cut in.
I considered even harder. “Perhaps I’ll have-”
“There’s also anything that you want with mangoes in!”
I sighed. This was going to be the hardest decision of my life. “I’ll have some mango juice and some mango smiley faces, along with some, er, some pancakes, sausages and bacon!”
“Coming right up!”
In almost an instant, she popped up her head and slid a plate of steaming food onto the counter. “Here ya go!”
I greedily grabbed the plate and scuttled off. I joined my cabin table and sat down next to May.
“Silvi! Breakfast is almost over!”
“I know! But I couldn’t resist a long sleep!” I protested. I gobbled my breakfast hastily and then ran to our cabin’s section, where we were gathering together to hear the daily.
“Morning!” Starr greets us all.
“Morning!” We chorus back.
“Ok, kids. We’re gonna be doing word wars today!”
I groaned. Word wars were horrible!
She carried on, “But these aren’t usual word wars. Today, we’re going to be doing actual wars!”
Everybody cheered. So did I. Once we did proper wars for word wars, but that stopped a long, long time ago. I came back fine, apart from about 100 bruises, lots of cuts and a fractured wrist. Apart from that, absolutely fine! I had no idea why they stopped it. It was great fun! The other word wars were as bad as maths in Year 6 (which is very bad) but these were almost, I repeat almost, as good as mangoes. But mangoes were definitely better!

We all went to get kitted up with extra protection. Instead of the tiny, meek little felt hat I got 5 years ago, I got a proper metal helmet, a breastplate, knee pads and a bunch of other things. We all made alliances. Dystopian, Sci-Fi, Mystery, Real-fi, illu-Fi and Horror joined us, and the remaining cabins all got into other teams. It was going to be a fierce fight…

I leapt through the trees like a startled deer, streaking away from the army of other cabins that were charging at me. I ripped vines and branches out of my way with my sword and looked extremely heroic. I wish. No, instead I slammed into a bunch of tree trunks, and with my head spinning dizzily and clumsily tripped in different directions and looked more like a donkey.
“Yaaaaaa!” I yelled. The enemy were closing in. I could hear the dramatic music in my head getting louder and louder and louder… doo-do-do-do-do-do-do-do-do-do mm-mm-mm-mm-mm-mm-mm…
Anyway, enough of all of that. They had almost got onto our land. We had hidden a stash of words in a fox’s burrow, so I was sure that they wouldn’t find it. I scrambled up a tree. What looked like some massive birds were squawking wildly above me.
“Shut up.” I said stupidly.
“YAAAAAA!” the birds shouted. They jumped down from above me and took off their masks. The enemy. Oh dear. I remembered my mother telling me sternly before I went to camp, “I don’t want you wildly running around and coming back covered in dirt and bruises and cuts.” I had the strangest feeling that this forest muck was not getting out of my hair. Oops. Sorry, Mum.


Daily 13

And before you know it, you’re being pulled away to the broken clock tower…

The clock tower stood mighty and tall, its gears grinding with a horrible screeching noise. I stared back desperately at my friends. May tried to run towards me, but Faith grabbed her arm and yanked her back. She whispered something urgently into her ear. I saw Oliver being pulled the other way, towards the mammoth glass building, which hurt my eyes to look at, as the dazzling sun was reflecting off its smooth, silky surface.

The man who was leading me away had a grizzly beard which had little bits of twig sticking out. His eyes were a startling blue and his hair was a nutty hazel brown. I started dragging myself the other way. For some reason, he just chuckled heartily. My brow furrowed in confusion.
“No use trying to escape, kid.” he sneered. “We’ll try to get you back to your little friends, but we need you here for now.”
I stopped struggling and let myself be helplessly taken away. I felt so bad just giving up, but this man was way too strong for me. I watched his muscles rippling. Way too strong. Instead of focusing on my friends, I stared up in awe at the clock tower. It had to be at least 500 metres tall and had cogs sliding across it. Bronze, gold, copper, silver all shone out at me. It was a masterpiece. Every single gear and cog slid perfectly into its own position and were slowly gliding across its surface.

But the thing that stuck out most was the gaping empty hole in the middle. It was a perfect circle, but inside of it was just black. My guide (if you could call him that) turned to me and then looked back at the hole sceptically.
“That’s where you’ll be going if you don’t cooperate,” he threatened with a nasty grin. I shivered. I didn’t want to go in there. Finally, the man stopped at a large wooden door. It was the only thing that I could see that wasn’t metal but it had a brassy, rusted cog door knocker on the front as well. Typical. A little side door opened and a tanned face peered out at us, her face drawn with terror. Then she relaxed a little and stepped forward.
“Oh, it’s only you, Tom.” she sighed with relief. “And who is this? A new recruit?”
Tom looked really grumpy.
“Yeah. She was found loitering with her gang of friends outside. She really stunk of our kind.”
Our kind? This day was getting worse and worse by the second. The girl stuck out her hand in a friendly manner. She had light hair and green eyes, which really stood out against her freckled face.
“Mia.” She introduced herself. “And this is Tom, as you know. He’s the keeper. Don’t mind if he’s a little grumpy, he’s like that around strangers. How about you?”
I didn’t realise what she was saying for a second, but then I worked it out. I took her hand which was slick with oil.
“Lottie.” I replied, and then blushed, It sounded really childish.
“Well, Lottie. Welcome to the Clock Tower. I think that we need your help.”
Her face darkened for a second, like it had just started raining. Then she forced a grin. She ushered me forwards and I tentatively tiptoed inside. Around me there were massive wooden tables where lots of teenagers were hard at work. Some were trying to fit cogs together and some drawing complicated diagrams.
“What is this place?” I asked. My voice echoed around the bright hallway, where light was dancing on the walls from a spitting fire in the middle, where someone was melting iron. Then every single person dropped their gears, cogs, diagrams and turned to look at me.


Daily 12

Tongue Twister: Bluebells bloom by the brook’s bank

A crisp spring day, a little brook trickled down through the mossy woods. Light filtered through the lush green trees and little pansies and daffodils were blooming vibrantly. But the best thing of all were the beautiful bluebells. In their wonderful glory, they spread their petals, the colour of aqua bays, and when the sunlight shone through the branches, they glowed majestically.

They were a sea, a river, of wonder and beauty and with each day they got better and better. Upon the carpet of moss and grass, they waved gently in the breeze. The sparkling brook rushed on and on through the wonderful landscape of forests and hills. Up, down, up, down it went on and one, Everywhere it went, so did the bluebells. On the peaty banks of the brook, they were sprayed with water, but stayed rooted to the ground.

One day, some people were going for a walk. A little girl with curly golden hair danced and skipped through the woods, singing sweetly. The birds chirped along with her song and the rough, thick branches seemed to wave in beat to her dance. The whole forest lit up with her presence as she had the gift of nature. The gift of nature is a wonderful thing. It can be harsh and fierce in storms and gales, but gentle and kind like streams and flowers. This girl was both.
“Mummy?” she asked happily.
“Yes, dear.”
“May I go pick some bluebells?”
“Of course, May.”
The little girl, May, danced along happily to the side of the river. She gazed as if in a trance at the gurgling brook. Pebbles were lifted from the bed in its strong current and created clouds of mist sand. At last, she turned around and reached down with her tiny hands. They gripped the stalks of the bluebells with great and tender care and gently pulled them up from the ground. One by one, she collected them and put them in a small bunch. Finally, she stopped, and tied them up with some thick brown string.

As they carried on walking, May stopped every so often to dip them in the river, to let them drink the pure water. The woods, bursting with the new life of spring, eventually trailed off and they came to some hills. They towered over May, for she was so small, and they clambered up the side of it. They reached the top, clutching their sides and panting, stopping for a small rest, before racing down the other side.

They reached their car and got in, exhausted from their walk. The bluebells however, were as glorious as when they were first found. They zoomed home and eventually stopped at a large, Georgian country house. Virginia Creeper was tangled together on the walls and bushes and flowers neatly lined the driveway. And then, in the corner, was a babbling brook. Surrounded by trees, it was dappled and pretty. May took the bluebells inside and found a tinkling glass. She filled it with water from the brook and carefully placed the bluebells inside.

One crisp spring day, a girl called May collected bluebells by a glimmering brook.



Cabin Wars!

Forgotten City
This is a story, young one, of our mysterious unknown past.

In the beautiful ,snowy forests of Russia, lies the remnants of a forgotten city. Ruins scatter for miles and miles, yet no one had set foot here since the tribes were driven out. Some say that the wails of the trapped can be heard even from Petersburg. Flurries of snow covered this once glorious city in an endless freeze. All that could be seen was the sturdy firs, their branches dripping with icicles and cold, thick layers of snow. The extraordinary, glowing orange sunsets and sunrises were the only light that they saw for a hundred years.

Yet there is a story of how it was rediscovered. Listen, little one, for one day you will come to understand this story of terror and bravery and triumph.

It is said that a boy of 9, who was cast away from a nearby orphanage, was left wandering for days through these treacherous, yet incredible forests, with no idea where he was and just a single fur to keep him warm. This was the cruelty of back then. Then, one day, he stumbled upon this ancient, crumbling settlement. He apparently found it when he stepped forwards and then he was gone. He woke up hours later, the colour of the frozen sea, shivering for all he was worth, when he found out he was surrounded by stone. He was in a little igloo, sort of, and as the day went on, it grew warmer and warmer. Here he was sheltered from the cold. But he had not eaten for three days.

The next day, he decided to go out hunting. He fashioned an arrow from a stick in the woods and used his penknife, his only belonging, to carve a few more of these, along with a strong bow. He went out into the woods and soon spotted a deer amongst the trees. It had a strange silvery glow, but almost mad with hunger, he did not care. He pulled his bow from behind his back and aimed skillfully at the deer. He pulled back carefully on the bowstring until it was reached to its full extent (he had made the string from fibres of wood) and was about to let go when the deer stepped forward and looked him straight in the eye. It was a powerful stare and showed great confidence and bravery. The boy leant back in mid-air. The bow slid helplessly from his grip and disappeared under a blanket of silky white snow.
“Teo.” the deer whispered, stamping its left hoof. The boy flinched, for this was his name, a word that had not been used for many years in his world. He was used to the title ‘boy’.
“How?” he breathed, his voice almost silent as he had not used it for so long. The deer’s pelt shone.
“We are the animals of the forest who will guide you through every step. You have the gift of speaking to us. We are dead from so long ago, but we know the hidden past, and that can help you.”
Teo blinked, his eyes glazed with wonder.
“Oh.”
“Good luck, Teo. Remember, we will always be here, but you must not destroy our kind.”
With that, the deer faded and Teo was left, standing there with a look of immense happiness on his face. But he had still not eaten. ‘You must not destroy our kind.’ Teo knew that this meant he must not kill them, but then what was he to eat?

As if they had heard him, a fruit drooped down from the tree above. He stepped forward eagerly and picked it up. It was shaped like a pear, but orange and pink and red in colour. He bit into it. Succulent juice flooded into his mouth and he felt strength return to his body immediately. He looked up at the tree it had fallen from. It was a small, gnarled tree with low hanging branches, heavy with fruit. He collected more of these and then returned to his igloo. He lit a fire just outside the entrance to the hole, and its flames flickered and danced around, sparks flying into the air. Warm and well-fed, Teo settled down and closed his eyes. Almost immediately, he was pulled into sleep.


Odysseus and his men
This is not historically accurate, I thought you might want to know, just me trying my best to get a cabin war done, and this was the first thing that popped into my head from school.

Mist drifted over the waves of the raging sea. Crash! The waves towered higher and higher, reaching for the dark, stormy sky, and then receding down again with an almighty splash. Trees were just visible on a little island, but other than that, you could see nothing apart from the cloudy, damp mists and the frothy grey sea.

A little boat with white sails was being tossed and turned upon the mammoth waves, then being hurled to the ocean floor in a flurry of shouts and screams. Onboard, everything was chaos.
“Odysseus! Odysseus!” the men shouted at their master. “Help us!”
The Greek men were racing about the boat like hares, throwing bucketfuls of water out of the boat. The rain slapped their faces and the wind ripped their sails. Sea spray was foaming up in the small boat, and every drop of water, the men grew more agitated.
“Please! Let Poseidon have mercy, for we have done nothing to deserve this!” they wailed, flailing their arms. A deep voice rumbled from above.
“Go to the island where all is bare, you will find lasting peace there.”
The voice was strange. It was rough like the storms on the waves, yet peaceful, like gentle ripples in turquoise bays.
“Poseidon speaks!”they shouted, their voices still shaking with terror.


For a long time, they stayed in the water while the storm battled their ship. Lightning forked from the darkening sky, a bright, white streak of light clearing their view for seconds only. Yet the one with eagle eyes spotted it. An island made of rock. There was nothing on it except for grey, grey stone. Not a splash of green, nor yellow, nor red glowed on that island. Just grey, grey and grey.
“Land ahoy!” they yelled, their expressions brightening just a little. “Poseidon was right! He led us to this place!”
The men all hurried to parts of the ship; one at the steering wheel, one at the sails, one clambering up the rigging and so on. The sea was merciless though. It pulled them and threw them and whirled them through the ferocious waves. For many hours they stayed on their battered ship, until they were finally too exhausted to carry on. The deep, inviting shawl of sleep enveloped them until they were soon dreaming peacefully, oblivious to what had been happening.


A few hours later, they woke up. They opened their eyes groggily and squinted from the sparkling sunlight. A look of confusion passed over their faces, and then the harsh reality returned to them. They were stranded in the middle of the ocean. As they finally sharpened their senses again, Odysseus and his men realised that they weren’t on a ship anymore. They were on an island. An island where as far as the eye could see, was just pure, pale rock. The shattered remains of their ship lay beneath them: planks of splintered wood, ripped, drenched sails and the twisted ropes of the rigging.

All of the men stared in utter and sheer astonishment. What were they to do? After a few minutes of awkward, scared and horrified silence, Odysseus cleared his throat and got up to speak.
“We explore this island, my courageous men, and see what this island has to offer. The ocean may have destroyed our ship, but we will carry on. Follow me. We must not split up.”
He rasped weakly. The men cheered.

In a battered parade, they marched behind him, eyelids drooping with exhaustion and legs occasionally buckling under their heavy weight. Yet their determination and loyalty kept them going. Eventually, they couldn’t go any further, and in the middle of the island, they all stopped. A small clearing of tiny pebbles lay before them and after a second of thought, they rushed forwards and sank gratefully to the ground. Yet again, sleep got the better of them, and they dropped off, completely unaware of the miracle that lay just a little way ahead of them, hidden by shards of jagged rock.

Daily 23
882 words.
Rhododendron means danger
Everlasting pea means remembrance
Snowdrop means hope
Periwinkle means friendship and memory

I heard a knock on the front door. It was sharp and almost seemed… frightened? I heard frantic muttering, in a terrified voice. I heard the sound of boots slapping the porch outside as the person paced around. I knew that sound. It was Silo. I rushed forwards and tugged at the door handle, fished in my pocket for the keys, my hands slipping in wonder, fear and excitement. At last I slipped the key into the old, rusted lock and it gave a creaky, yet satisfying click.

“Sil-”
“Shhhh!” Silo cut me off. His eyes were wide open in fear with dark bags hanging underneath and he was deathly pale. I tilted my head curiously at him. The Silo that I knew was bouncy and lively, not miserable and scared. You see, Silo and I met when I moved house. He said that he was a gardener, but I knew that there was something he wasn’t telling me. Anyway, from the moment that I arrived in the village, he immediately went out of his way to be nice to me. My parents didn’t like this though, so instead we talked through flowers from the post. He had never turned up at the front door like that. He was never this sickly pale and he was never, ever scared in the slightest. He was as brave as a lion!

Silo gave me a look that sent shivers down my spine. I knew he was trying to tell me something. His face was urgent as he pressed a ripped and scuffed letter into my hands with a third class stamp. It had the proud and bony face of Queen Victoria on it, looking as if she was going to bite my head off.
“Silo? What’s going on? I mean, you’re never like this!” I breathed anxiously.
Silo’s eyes bored into mine and I found myself shifting uncomfortably.
“Don’t tell anyone.” He warned me.
“What are you talking about?”
But he had already gone. I saw a ghostly pale oval peer from behind the bushes, then a pair of intense hazel eyes blinked and he disappeared.
I stared down at the scruffy package he had brought me. I gently slid my finger underneath the flap and a golden, glowing flower drifted gracefully to the ground. I picked it up delicately to find that the beautiful petals just fell back down. Then I realised what flower it was. A rhododendron. Danger was on its way.

A few days later, I was pondering what Silo had meant when there was a tentative knock at the door. In our last secret meeting, Silo had shyly hugged me and looked mournfully at the trees. He had seemed so sad to see me go, and I had seen a single sorrowful tear sliding down his cheek. But I forced myself to push his image out of my mind. I knew whoever was behind the door had important news for me.
“Come in,” My voice echoed around the room. The door was pushed open a crack and then I saw my mother, her swirling brown hair tied back in a severe bun and her eyes, like Silo, were wide open with worry.
“Mother?” I asked her worriedly.
“Oh… Alice, I-I’m so sorry.”
She put her arm round me awkwardly and I flinched back; this was an unusual gesture for her to make. My mother was well known for her strict demeanour, and she was just the same to me.
“What is it?” I asked shortly.
“Well, someone, er-”
“Yes?” I interrupted impatiently.
“Well, someone died. Sid, was it? And his funeral is now. You’d better come down.”
Silo. Silo was dead. As far as I knew, my best friend, and now he was gone. A hot, silent tear streaked down my cheek and something in my chest burned. My heart. I remembered the endless amount of flowers that we shared together through the post and our secret meetings in my back garden. Now I would never experience them again. I felt like my heart had been shattered into a million pieces.

At his funeral, which was a stuffy occasion, I reached into my pocket for what felt like the last time. I pulled out an everlasting pea for remembrance, a snowdrop for hope and a periwinkle for friendship and memories. My lip trembled violently and my legs threatened to collapse. I gripped the stalks of the flowers tightly and ripped off a petal from each one, sliding them into the sweaty palm of my hand, and they would soon be kept on a bookshelf, never, ever lost or thrown away. I tossed each flower in one by one. Remembrance. Hope. Friendship. Memory. Then I recalled the rhododendron. Danger. I shivered. What had happened to Silo? I saw a man pull a gun and point it at me. My parents seemed to be frozen. What would happen to me? I saw the bullet race through the air. So close. It seemed to unfreeze my parent’s faces as it passed them. It was just an inch away. Thud. I let out a piercing, heart-wrenching scream. Then I tumbled forwards. Right into my best friend's grave.


Daily 22

Do you need something to brighten up your day? Just a little bit? Are you tired of maths and comprehension and computing? Well this is the thing for you! I present to you (drumroll please) … THE TEACHER-CRAZIER-O-MATIC!

This highly clever and useful machine will make your really boring teacher become c-c-crazy! They will completely forget about your work and just dance around like a monkey for probably the rest of your life! Not only this, but they will let you off school forever! No more maths, no more comprehension, no more computing! Heaven! But this is not all.

I now present to you our most highly prized machine… THE PET-O-MATIC!!! This incredible, extraordinary, wonderful, fantastical, unique and cheap invention will create any pet that you have ever wanted. For example, I have always wanted a calm floffy golden retriever or a cross-breed collie, as I love them so much! They are very silky and friendly and affectionate and everyone in the world needs one, but anyway, let’s get to the point. All you have to do is pull a lever, press a button, pull another leaver and type in your pet and then with a spark of magic… you have a pet (a golden retriever preferably)!

So buy these two unimaginably magical machines today and your life will be so much easier. The best thing is that they are perpetual motion machines, so they carry on forever! You don’t need to give them any maintenance and they are on offer for THIS WEEK ONLY! So buy your Teacher-Crazier-O-Matic or the Pet-O-Matic at a wonderfully cheap price from SilviSummons, the best shop ever!

Warning: Teachers may go too mad and destroy your classroom (which I’m sure you won’t mind about).


Daily 21

I didn’t really understand this daily, so sorry if I got it wrong. Credit to Fairy Tales for their lovely storyline that I'm using!!

Your delicate wings flutter nervously as your name is called to see what team you will be in. Your heart is beating as fast as a cheetah and you tremble in anxiety.
“Just touch these petals, and you will find out what team you’re in.” Yume instructed. You tentatively reach forwards and gently touch the petal with the tip of your finger. It glows a vibrant blue colour and you are guided to a shivering group of fairies, chattering nervously.

“Hi…” You meekly say. “I-I’m Silvi.”
A warmly smiling fairy steps forward and reaches out her hand. She has flowing blond hair and green eyes.
“I’m Li!” She takes my hand in a firm grip and you are comforted by her kind demeanour.
“Welcome to Team Blue! You’re the last of our group and we plan on going to the Three Little Pigs houses. I hope we get to the crystals!”
You smile weakly and look around as Yume’s twinkly voice rings out.

“On three, you may begin. One, two, three, GO!”
You are carried along by the rest of your group rushing frantically towards the middle portal. Almost there… made it! You sigh with relief. All around you, the rest of your group are staring around urgently. Thick bushes surround you and spindly clumps of trees are scattered around the clearing. In the distance you can see a dark plume of smoke rising from the trees.

“That’s where we’ll head!” Via, another member announces. You bounce off with the rest of your group, eagerly searching for any sign of a crystal. For a while, all you see is trees, but then there is a big thump. The ground shakes menacingly and you look around in worry. Your group are frowning, some have tears sliding down their cheeks.
“Come on! To the house! That must be where the crystal is!”
You sprint away, thoughts racing and finally come to a halt in front of a small wooden hut with a thatched roof. Li steps forward and raps neatly on the door.
“Excuse me? Excuse me?” she asks politely. But nothing happens. As you and your team are just about to turn around and find somewhere else for the crystal to be, a long furry tail wraps around the house.
“The Big Bad Wolf!” Someone shrieks, then runs off. But you stay with everyone else and determinedly face the terrifying creature.
“Well, well, well! Some baby fairies, I see… hmmm, well you would make rather a nice snack I suppose!”
Ou shrink back in terror and let out a small, yet piercing scream.
“Ah, you! Nice and plump!” And the wolf lunges at you. From out of the corner of your eye, you see something glowing blinding white around the wolf’s neck. That is when everything goes black.



Kidnapped

I stared in horror as I was dragged away to my doom. My family, who were oblivious to what was going on, were lying on the floor, their faces deathly pale and stone still. I tried to let out a scream but I found that I couldn’t. My tongue was thick and my voice barely a whisper.
“Help,” I breathed weakly. Then I couldn’t bear it any more. My eyelids were increasingly heavy and I felt as though someone was pulling a dark veil over my head, blocking out the rest of the world. As I was thrown carelessly into a coarse sack, I lay back in defeat and dejectedly closed my eyes. Sleep enveloped me like a warm blanket and the last thing I heard was a cold, piercing scream.

“She has to know, Natasha,” a gravelly voice rasped.
“And if she doesn’t? Adash, we can’t just torment this girl. We have ripped her away from her home. She doesn’t deserve this!” A softer, kinder voice protested.
The other person replied, “If she doesn’t, we shall send her back. But we need this information now.”
I opened my eyes groggily. I was in a dark, cavernous room. Tall, detailed pillars stood on either side, and at the front a beautiful statue stood proudly. To one side of me a tall man and a slightly smaller woman were having an intense conversation. The man had intelligent hazel eyes and neat brown hair. The woman had light, silky hair that waved gently in the breeze and was in a simple pleated skirt and a pretty cardigan.

“Excuse me?” I asked stupidly. Immediately their heads sharply turned to face me and hope lit up their eyes like a dazzling fire. I flinched at the obvious pressure on me.
The woman, Natasha I presumed, smiled warmly and answered sympathetically, “I’m so sorry about what we did to you, Ava, what we did to your parents…”
“Are they alright?” I demanded fiercely.
“Fine, fine,” Natasha assured me, “ They were simply knocked out with a sleeping pill that I put in their food. They will be awake and fine now. But I suppose I had better explain what is going on though.”
Then I noticed an intricate engraving in the wall in delicately carved calligraphy letters, a simple word, ‘Guardian.’
Adash turned his unreadable stare on me and said, “We have brought you here to ask you something. There is a boy called Oliver, who has run away. We need him for… something and he is very important to us. If we don’t have him then something terrible will happen. The world will be half destroyed and humankind will cease to exist.”
I frowned. What was this ‘something’? It was then that I noticed a small huddle of terrified-looking children, trembling as they watched me. They were quite young, about seven, but there was something familiar about them.
“So,” he carried on, “There are two things we need to know. Firstly, do you know this boy Oliver at all, and if so, do you have information about him? Secondly, have you felt anything strange lately? Anything at all: strange dreams, a buzz in the air, things happening to you that have never happened before? We need to know.”

I pondered this for a moment, and then something took me by surprise. It was a sharp stinging pain that made my eyes snap open. And when they did, I was in a different place entirely. I was in a tranquil forest with a stream burbling beside me. Towering slender pines surrounded me and a serious boy stood in front of me. He had black greasy hair and sharp blue eyes.
“I’m Oliver. Don’t tell anyone, but you’re one of us. A Guardian.”
“But what is that?”
“We guard the world from the terrible monsters that lurk in an unearthly, hidden place. We call them the Wanderers. Please, help me Ava, for I’m in trouble. Tell them that I’ve gone to the Sorar.”
“Who are-”
But he had scampered off into the undergrowth, leaving me with the twittering birds and my own whirling thoughts.
“Ava?” Natasha’s gentle voice broke through my thoughts. “What happened?”
“I think it was a memory,” I started, “I saw Oliver and he told me to tell you that he went to the Sorar. He said that I was a Guardian.”
Adash and Natasha exchanged a look that sent a chill through my bones. “What’s wrong?”
Natasha glanced at the shaking children then tentatively told me, “I’m afraid that you're going to be staying with us for a while.”



Bi-Daily

I stepped through the threshold, my heart beating at a thousand miles per hour, golden light weaving a net of glowing wonder above me and underneath my feet, a million stars danced through the endless night sky. Something scuttled around beside me, and made a pitiful squeak, and between us, a terror ripped through our lungs and we both screamed in terror. Then I realised it was just a miniscule meek mouse with velvet shoes and little twitching ears. I sighed in elated relief. This place was making me go mad like a clown! I was scared of a tiny mouse that I could crush in a single cruel stamp of a foot. What was I thinking?

I had received an outlandish dream some months ago, and it still made me shudder in fear. I was falling, tumbling, plummeting down the side of a steep cliff, brushing against vibrant tufts of grass and I was about to hit the glistening water, when I was stopped, frozen in mid-air, facing the water, then something yelled out, “Stop!” and I was plunged into the freezing midst of the ocean.

I would then wake up on an island where a dazzling fire swept through the gently waving trees, blackening them like they were just paper, then they would crumple to the ground. A deep rumbling voice told me this would happen to the world unless I stopped it. One day after that, I received a letter that told me to go to Los Angeles with school, but then on the day, I went with some strangers. That is how I ended up here. A 10 year old boy without a clue what he was doing. Hopeless. A 10 year old boy who had the weight of the world on his shoulders, slowing him down like it was a thousand tons of metal. Never, ever would he succeed.

Something like static electricity sparked through me as I stepped into another portal. I felt like I was being stretched to my very limit (quite literally) and all I could see was darkness. Finally, a single flicker of light appeared ahead of me and I rushed towards it hopefully. However, time slowed down, and I was walking through mud, ploughing my way through. It was almost in touching distance when…

WHAM!

I felt myself being yanked back and I saw all of the places I had passed earlier until I stopped. Then I realised that I wasn’t in Los Angeles anymore. I was in London. Below me, in the Houses of Parliament, men gathered, listening intently to a tall man with a clipped moustache. I craned my neck to hear what was going on, and a warm breeze lowered me down gently until I was standing amongst glittering riches and an unbelievable amount of men and women. I looked out of the mammoth windows and saw the churning brown waters of the Thames swirling beside me.

“Today, in this very building, we shall change the course of history!” The man at the front exclaimed in excitement. I flinched. This could be what my dream meant.
“We will take over the world and we will be kings! Soon we shall create technology like never before, and nature won’t get in our way! Every single tree, every flower, every blade of grass will be destroyed!”
The people cheered. An eloquent-looking man stood up politely and spoke in a stream of elaborate words, most of which I didn’t understand. This is what I thought it meant though.
“How can we destroy nature when, despite its problems, without it this world wouldn’t be here?” he asked.
“Our technology will keep this world held in place forever!” the man at the front announced. The other person still looked perplexed. I looked at my feet and saw that they weren’t there. I was invisible. I stepped forwards confidently. The people carried on with their meeting.
“Stop!” I yelled. Every single head turned to look at me. I stared at the flowery intricate patterns of the mosaic floors for a moment. Then I lifted up my head determinedly.
“This. Isn’t. Right.”


Daily 18

I watched as The Master crept through the shadowy hallway, gliding silently across the mosaics and tiles. He reached out for his sword and a small clinking of metal revealed a glinting silver sword with a jewel encrusted handle and a pure gold sheath. The Master sneaked along through secretive passageways and dimly lit rooms, his eyes blazing with fury as he saw a beautiful skilled painting of William slaying soldier upon soldier in the terrifying battle of Hrae.

William is my master’s sworn enemy, as he killed his father. William called himself a prince and killed many innocent people fighting for our kingdom. Worst of all, he stole the crown when The Master was on holiday, and forced people to protest against his old traditional ways. Since then, he has given William no more chances and is bitterly furious at even the mention of the name. In the battle of Hrae, my father and uncle were killed too, and I now seek revenge against this beast of a man.

Finally, he reached the softly carpeted stairs with its gilded bannisters and he carefully stepped upwards and looked down at me quickly. I could see what he was telling me. Be quick. So, as he heroically readied himself for what was about to happen, I slipped between the shadows and towards the kitchens. That was when I heard a loud…

BLOOP!

I saw The Master sigh and he picked up his phone.
“Billy, where are you? It’s dinnertime and your sister is throwing a tantrum!”
“Mum!” he hissed in annoyance. “Mum, I’ll be back in about an hour or so, but I kind of have something important to do.”
“Yes, you do! Looking after your younger sister! I want to see you back here in half an hour!”
“Ok, mum.” he whispered dejectedly.
I sniggered. The Master had the same name as the person who he has hated for eternity! Priceless!
“Billy!” I mimicked. “Billy, get down from there at once!”
“Stop that attitude, or I’ll sack you!” he threatened. I shrank back in mock fear.
“Yes, s-sir!” I stuttered. The Master, or Billy as it was now, carried on his ascent. He had sent me to check for anyone in the house and to poison the food that had been set out for the next morning, so if he didn’t succeed, then this would work anyway.

Instead, I waited for him to disappear from my sight, and I made my way onto the stairs. My feet sank into the soft fabrics on the stairs, and I felt myself relaxing visibly. I shook my head in irritation. Focus! So, I climbed the seemingly endless stairs and saw The Master disappear into a room with a large, gold doorway. I peeked through the doorway and noticed that the bed was empty. He looked around and then settled himself between the covers and closed his eyes. He was going to sleep! This was my chance to show that I wasn’t just some useless sidekick!

I observed the way his chest was rising and falling and the deep snores he gave, until I decided it was safe. I ran to the door on the other side of the corridor and opened the door. It slid open with ease and I tiptoed inside. A man with a flowing brown beard and a head of neatly shaved hair was lying on his side. I pulled a small, ruby encrusted dagger out of my sheath and crept towards him. I lifted the dagger high in the air and it rushed through the air and I drew in a sharp intake of breath. Almost there… his eyes snapped open.
“Aaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!” he screamed. My master appeared from behind me.
“What on earth?” he bellowed in outrage. I stepped back. Right onto the bed of William. Right onto the bed of the man I was supposed to kill.




Writing Comp Entry

The Whisperers (second draft)

Massive credit for Steampunk (my cabin!) as they let me use inspiration from their storyline. This is sort of my take on it, with quite a few different aspects, but a few the same! <333



Sophie crept along the darkening street, hidden under a blanket of stars. She could see the famous shadowy figure of the shard towering over the rest of London, stark against the dark night sky. There was a thrum beneath her feet. It was strange and lively, like the beat of a drum. Electricity crackled in the air. Hum. Hum. Again and again. A sound that made her shudder. A sound that made her tremble. She looked around her street. Everything was silent, all the people in bed. Sophie didn’t know what was going on. But she knew that it was something important.

Then lightning struck. A great blinding flash forked from the sky, lighting up the world in terrifying glory. A whisper formed in the air. First quiet. Then louder. And louder. An eerie chorus of voices.
“Destroy. Destroy. Destroy.” the voice echoed menacingly.
A shiver raced down her spine,and she felt a strong wind practically pulling her off her feet. The moon shone dimly from above and the stars seemed to fade.
“Destroy. Destroy. Destroy.” Yet again it was louder. A crescendo of evil darkness. As it grew in volume, an image formed in her head. It was a picture of a dark shadowy figure in some sort of factory. Sophie felt her feet pulling her somewhere. Something whirred. Something hummed. A click in the air brought her to a standstill. It was a mechanical noise, like part of a clock or a cog fitting into place. Sophie opened her mouth in terror to scream, her eyes swirling in a mixture of anxiety, terror and curiosity. But not a sound came out. She seemed to be frozen in time. The world passed by and the storm raged above her. However, no one seemed to notice her. Sophie’s mind was a whirlwind of thoughts. They were leaking out like water from the ocean.

Then she blinked. Suddenly, everything was just a blur. People whizzed past her until her eyes ached and Sophie felt that same tug again. It was an invisible rope, and she felt its rough cord, fastening itself around her waist. Time was speeding up and she could barely see anything, just a flash of light, then darkness. She waited for what could have been hours, minutes, seconds, until finally, everything stopped. She realised that she was underground. She was standing on a smooth blanket of soil, carefully flattened to make a sturdy platform. The voices were so much stronger. Everything down here was boiling. She noticed. The terror had faded from her eyes, leaving a deep wonder. Steam rose from a ladder beneath her and she wondered where she was. A girl with dark, straggly hair and oily skin stumbled past her.
“Hello!” Sophie shouted.
“Hello!” her voice echoed back. The girl seemed far too preoccupied to even dare steal a glance at her. Sophie decided that she had to go down there. She had to find out what was going on. She took the bravest step that she had ever taken and stared down the hole. She could see metal and light, but nothing else. Sophie, without even thinking, gripped the ladder with her sweaty palms and swung herself into mid-air. For one moment, she thought that she would fall. Her hands were slipping and her feet scrambled to get a hold on one of the rungs. Then, she somehow managed to haul herself back on, and started climbing down. Every single fraction she moved downwards, a blast of hot air would breeze around her.

She had reached the bottom. And she was surrounded by the most extraordinary sight. Cogs were scattered everywhere, slicked with grimy oil, and machinery was steaming all around her. The walls were made of sliding panels in brass and gold and silver, some rusted with age, but some gleaming and bright. But the most incredible sight was the clock in the middle. It was a quarter complete, with ladders all around it. Boys and girls were clambering up and down, wiping their brows with exhaustion. As Sophie took in all of this, she realised that the whispering was coming from the clock.

critique
Overall I think that you used the speech very effectively. I mostly understand what is going on and the layout is very good. However, as you say (no offence) the grammar is quite bad. You’ve missed out lots of commas and full stops. Anyway, you didn’t want to hear about that, so let's get on to what you want.

First of all, some of the play I just don’t get. When Oliver says, ‘my boyfriend’s gonna be a rockstar,’ it sounds like he is speaking as if his boyfriend isn’t Ronan, but later on he says that he is Ronan’s boyfriend. Also, when it says about McKenzie, I don’t know who that is. I know that he is Ronan’s kid, but it needs more context. Is that Ronan’s surname, so they are just calling the kid by that name or something else?

At the start, when you set the scene, I think you need a bit more detail. As I haven;t read the other acts of this play, they might already know the scene, so that’s fine. But if they don’t know the scene, then you need to add a bit more detail. Now of course plays aren’t about writing detailed settings, but I think if you are reading this as a reader, then they will want more detail. For example, instead of ‘small restaurant, kitchen,’ say whose restaurant it is, or what time of day it is as well.

The only other thing is that when you are talking about the cup and how it represents Ronan, I think it seems a bit too planned, because surely they can’t know that this is going to happen as it doesn’t fit with the plot. When Oliver throws it to Zoe and she passes it back, how can she know to pass it back. I think that part is really good symbolism anyway.

In these earlier paragraphs, I am being very harsh, and when I did another critique for you it was a lot kinder. Focusing on the good points, the speech is really effective and the whole thing flows really nicely. I also like the creativity in this piece and you are a really good writer I think in general it is really good and you just need to focus on grammar a lot more hehehehe! Well done though, and I hope this helps!!!!

claiming <3

https://scratch.mit.edu/discuss/topic/721486/

Claiming <3333
- -
name: ✎ Digital • °
word goal: 5,000
• current amount: 963
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➳ Dailies:
(Nov. 3) In the beautiful, but cold autumn town, the leaves fell from the trees, with a gentle breeze making them pass right next to Sylvia’s window. The window, old and creaky, had to be held up or else it would fall. Sylvia did hold it up, and smelled the crisp air, and heard the rattle of the dead leaves still attached to their trees. It soothed her, and made her feel nice, even after the crazy day she’s had. It all started with school. Sitting in a classroom with all of your friends is fun, but really hard in the sense of being quiet. Chuckling and talking was not uncommon with our friend Sylvia, and she practically embraced it. She let her words come out like a strong wind, constantly pushing you with the sheer metaphorical force. Alas, despite having a horrible behavior grade, she still manages to keep her tongue moving.
If you knew her, you know it can get annoying at times, and that’s where her next unfortunate event happened.
One of her best friends, Maria, left her for the cool kids because I quote: “too talkative.” Of course, Sylvia was crushed, but she still somehow kept her straight face and continued with her talkative ways. Sure, she felt like a dead leaf on the inside, slowly falling down with grace, still sad, but why let that out? She couldn’t imagine losing more friends for being too dramatic.
But as luck would have it, her new best friend, Vin, left her too. This time, it was for her looks. She literally said her pigtails “was giving second grade.” But again, Sylvia pushed on through, with her ideology of caring what other people think at a zero. But nonetheless, it still feels like getting poked with a thousand pine needles. It hurts and stings.
Sylvia waked home from school that fateful day, still shook up about how many people left her for being who she is. She may not be the prettiest leaf on the block, but kids shouldn’t be so mean about it.
Sylvia walked inside, “Hello, Sylvia.” her mother said solemnly, while folding laundry.
But Sylvia did a grunt, then walked down the hall of their apartment.
She climbed up the ladder to her loft bed, and self reflected.
She knew what she had to do.
She returned to school the next day, with her head up high, and made new friends, helped other people going through the same thing as she did, and denied her “friends”, Maria and Vin when they came to apologize. She was not gonna let them bring her down again. They obviously weren’t her real friends. All Sylvia needed was her new friends, and I'm sure, she truly left her mark, just like a leaf being rained on for several days, and stains the sidewalk.

(Nov. 4) A beautiful, white, and heavenly bull roamed the heavens, wrecking everything. From buildings, bridges, roads, walls, and even toilets. In the beautiful land of Heaven, nothing was left unbroken. Of course, this angered everyone who roamed it, when their holy resting place was being destroyed by a reckless animal. In their rage, they started a huge rebellion. They fought long and hard, using torches, pitchforks, and even themselves, to draw out this bull.
But alas, the gods loved this bull, and had a special place for it. They would not get rid of it.
The people were so furious by this ruling that they started threatening the gods by using the words “overthrowing”, “sentencing to the pits of the underworld,” etcetera.
The gods were more than displeased with these horrible threats, but had no ideas to stop them, or get revenge.
Zeus looked around the heavens and the earthly world, looking for something to show the dead that they are superior.
Then, an eureka moment hit Zeus like a gigantic passenger steam locomotive.
Zeus got on his golden chariot, and raced back to Mount Olympus.
He told the other gods of his genius plan, and they debated about it for a while, to perfect the plan. It would go like this: the bull would die, but it would be engraved into the stars, in a place untouchable by the dead, the living, or even the strongest of gods.
This meant that they had to be precise and careful during the ceremony.
They also decided that it would take place in April/May, and be a month-long ceremony.
It started the following thirty days, and the entire city gathered in the center square, with the bull being tied down with a heavy rope.
Zeus called for everyone’s attention
“Hello, all of my peers, the dead, the holy.”
“Today is a very special day, as the holy bull, Taurus, will be sent to live somewhere else.”
Everyone cheered with true and absolute delight. Zeus was not surprised by this reaction, and held his hands up to silence the eager crowd.
“It will be a month-long ceremony, so I advise you to pray and be on edge every day, or this will be the same fate you get.” He announced.
“Anyway,” he said.
And his hands touched the bull, and it faded away into the sky.
–
Nighttime - Ceremony Day
That night, everyone in the city got the shock of their lives.
The bull, the one everyone despised, the one called “Taurus” has appeared in the sky.
As a designated grouping of stars.
Burning bright, with no intention of ever leaving.


➳ Weeklies: no weeklies done

➳ Cabin stuff:
wotd (nov. 1): I was there, sitting in the band room, with everyone waiting eagerly for the band director to lift her hands to start the piece. But alas, when she did, the poor clarinet player dropped their clarinet on the hard, tile floor. “BANG” is the sound it made. “AAA!” The player exclaimed, with a horrified look on their face.
- -
➳ Word War (status: won)
Alissa was sitting at her desk at school, filling out a hard algebra worksheet. After what seemed to be the longest hour of her life, she shot up from her desk and screamed “Done!”. Ms. Yang looked up from her desk. “How was the worksheet, Alissa? ”Good,“ Alissa replied.
”Good.“ Ms. Yang uttered, then looked down at her computer. ”Couldn't get worse, can it?“ Alissa blurted out, then instantly realized her mistake. ”Sure,“ Ms. Yang replied. ”just give me a few minutes.“ Alissa's eyes widened. She couldn't possibly do another worksheet!
Ms. Yang went to the printer, printed a new sheet, and handed it to Alissa. ”Advanced Calculus.“ Ms. Yang whispered.
And walked off.
Alissa, looking horrified, reluctantly did the paper, and of course, being in the early 5th grade, could not do a lick of calculus.
She miserably looked at her ”finished“ paper, and turned it in.
”All wrong…" Ms. Yang said, and a laughing snort snuck out.


➳ ➳ ì'ʍ ą ղҽచҍìҽ, ʂօ օէհҽɾ ìղƒօ చìӀӀ ҍҽ քմէ հҽɾҽ Ӏąէҽɾ
☘️ llu-fi for the win!!!!