You’ll be bathed in shadows, leaning against a wall. Around the corner there will be a long hallway, dark but the moment you move toward it it will be flooded with fluorescent lights. Your cover will be blown immediately, but you’ll need to move past it. At the end of the hallway there will be a rickety elevator, that you’ll be sure will collapse the minute you get inside of it. You’ll wonder if there’s another option besides the dire situation laid out before you. But you’ll know you won’t be able to turn back now. Not after so long.
You’ll hear footsteps, the slamming of a door. You’ll nearly jump out of your skin but silently. Always silent.
When no one comes toward you you’ll realize it was just another prisoner. Maybe leaving. Maybe entering.
There will be a dark feeling surrounding you as you imagine this new inmate, unaware of the hell they’ll go through in this dark place. You’ll banish the thought of them from your mind. You’ll know you can’t hesitate any longer, that you must make a choice.
You’ll glance backward, at where you came from. They won’t notice you missing until the shift changes. You’ll glance at your crude prison issue watch, and curse silently in your head. Always silent.
You’ll peer around the corner at the darkened hall in front of you, at who you could be if you escaped. Escape. After all these years, even the past twenty minutes you won’t have thought the word. Now that you’ll have given yourself hope there’s truly no turning back.. What a dangerous thing it is. A little insidious creature.
You’ll steel yourself, preparing yourself for the death defying sprint down the corridor into the waiting elevator. You’ll rear back, steadying yourself, then fly forward.
The lights will click on as you pass them. You’ll hear a screeching alarm. The adrenaline will pump through your veins, propelling you towards the end of the hall.
You’ll be closer.
Closer.
Closer.
You’ll fling out your arm as you approach the elevator, not slowing at all for you’ll know that’s death. You’ll smash your fist into the button and collapse into the tiny room as the door closes behind you. You’ll pause for a moment as the carriage goes down.
Down.
Down.
You’ll think that went rather well. Most inmates never made it past the hallway. You’ll take a breath in.
And exhale.
And then you’ll realize you aren’t alone.
Even before you can register that it was all a trap. All a ploy. You’ll feel pain.
And then you’ll feel nothing.
And then you’ll hear laughter.
My laughter.
So, Prisoner 1782, I offer you a choice. You can keep going down your delirious, fantastical path of freedom and know you’ll never get there.
Or you can cooperate.
Yes, that’s quite what I thought.

Mythology
1040 words

3. Retelling

The 12 Labours of Hercules - Told in the Modern Era
I had a really hard time keeping this scratch appropriate so if some things seem weird, that's why lol

“Please…” Hercules sat straight backed in the huge plush chair, facing his cousin.
Eurystheus steepled his fingers and leaned forward slightly, staring at Hercules until he became uncomfortable and looked away. Satisfied, he spun around and stood up, walking over to the huge glass window overlooking the city. There he stood with his hands clasped behind his back.
Hercules fidgeted in his seat, wondering what Eurystheus would say when he finally did speak. He didn't have to wait long to find out.
“Very well… cousin.” Eurystheus turned to face him again, his face he still the cool, cold calm it always was. “You may work for me and I will pay off you debt. You start now.” He strode back to his desk and leaned down to print off a sheet of paper. They waited in silence while the printer did its work, quietly humming.
Eurystheus handed Hercules the sheet. “Here are your tasks for the week. Complete them all and your debt will be paid.” He made a shooing motion with his right hand, pulling his cell phone out with the other. “Now, off you go. I'm a busy man.” He smiled cruelly. “And so are you.”
Hercules exited the office, breathing a sigh of relief. For the first time, he glanced down at the list in his hand. He blinked twice, sure he had read it wrong. What was this? He had assumed he would be doing office work or running errands, maybe cleaning if his cousin felt mean enough. But this made no sense. He reread it:
1. Head to the local sl@ughterhouse. Assist them with the animals for the first half of Monday. They're expecting you.
2. Head to the local butcher shop and assist the butcher for the second half of Monday. Tell him I sent you.
3. Grandfather has invited you to go hunting on his private grounds. Capture a large stag. You may not use any weapons. This should happen on Tuesday afternoon.
4. Tuesday evening, return to the hunting grounds and capture a boar. Again, you may not use any weapons.
5. On Wednesday head to my house. You will meet the butler there. He will instruct you on what to do.
etc.
When Hercules finished reading the list, he leaned against the wall. What were these tasks? They made no sense whatsoever. For a moment, he considered going back into his cousin's office and confronting him about the list but then thought the better of it. He really did need his cousin's help paying off his massive debt. He could do this. It was only one week after all.
Squaring his shoulders, Hercules exited the building. He better get started.
By the end of Monday, he was exhausted and he didn't think he could ever eat beef again but it was over and done with.
The next morning, he groaned and lay in bed. He really didn't want to get up and do the tasks his cousin had assigned. But he didn't have choice. Rolling out of bed, he slipped on some comfortable clothes and drove out to his grandfather's estate. His grandfather met him at the gate.
“I've been expecting you.” He hugged Hercules and led him to the golf cart waiting to take them down the hill towards the enclosed forest that served as a private hunting grounds. “But? Where are your weapons? No gun or arrows?”
Hercules sighed. “No. I'm not allowed to use them.” His lip curled, showing his disgust and annoyance for his cousin.
His grandfather didn't seem to catch the undercurrent in his tone and just clapped him on the back. “That's my grandson. Probably going to fashion a trap of some sort, eh?” Not waiting for an answer, he plunged on. “Well, just make sure you disassemble it before you leave, wouldn't want anyone getting hurt.” With that, he walked away, leaving Hercules to his task.
It took Hercules several hours but after a great ordeal, he managed to capture a stag. He dragged him to the edge of the forest, where he found his grandfather's butler waiting for him.
“Ah, I see you were successful.” The butler nodded to the stag Hercules pulled behind him. “Well, leave him here, one of the other employees will take him. You grandfather wishes for you to eat with him before you return to your hunting.”
Hercules sank into the back of the gold cart, grateful he wouldn't have to walk all the way up the large hill to his grandfather's mansion.
Dinner passed without any issues, his grandfather didn't seem to mind the dirt Hercules brought in and neither spoke much. After dinner, Hercules went back out and repeated the afternoon. Only, it was much harder in the fading daylight. He worked long into the night before he managed to capture a boar.
Once he had made it home, he took a quick shower to cleanse himself of the dirt and grime he had acquired from a long day in the forest and fell into bed.
The next morning he woke up aching. Every movement hurt and he dreaded the day before him. But he managed to make it out of bed and into his car, where he drove to his cousin's estate out in the countryside.
There, he found out what the day held for him. The butler drove him across the estate, to a large stable. It was disgusting and filthy, filled with manure and old hay.
Hercules almost gave up right there and then. But he persisted and after a hard days work, the stable was squeaky clean and sparkled like new. His cousin wouldn't be able to complain that he didn't do his job.
After that day, the rest of the tasks seemed easy. They were still hard but Hercules found them easier and more enjoyable than the stables.
By the end of the week, he had successfully completed all of his tasks and returned to his cousin, weary but satisfied.
Eurystheus was impressed that Hercules had actually managed to complete all the tasks within the given timeframe and reluctantly paid off his debt. Hercules was so happy he could have cried. But instead, he went home and slept for many hours.

Hi-Fi
278 words

4. If These Walls Could Talk: The Events One Place Has Seen

A fictional tale taking place in the Nazi-Occupied Netherlands during World War II
The story is taking place at Corrie Ten Boom's house. However, Corrie and her family are the only real people. The story is just something I imagined could have happened <3

Oh, the tales I would tell, given the chance! However, I myself will never get to share all the sights I've seen and the things I've overheard. But I can share a few with you, dear reader.
First, let me introduce myself, I am the house that Corrie Ten Boom lived in during World War II, now known as the Corrie Ten Boom Museum. I housed a watched shop as one point as well, that was Corrie's father, Casper Ten Boom's business. But let me tell you a tale from before that war, when Corrie was just a young girl.
Corrie must have been no more than five years old, and her sister, Betsie, no more than twelve. The two sisters loved each other dearly. They got along like bread and butter. And boy, did they get into a lot of mischief! Nothing bad, just childish pranks. They loved to play hide and go seek. Oh, it was so much fun to see them racing around the house in their stockings! I remember once, when they were supposed to be quietly eating dinner, they kept slipping their potatoes under the table to the dog! They're father didn't notice, but not much slips by me. It's hard to hide things from a house.
Speaking of hiding things, Corrie and Betsie had a secret hiding spot in Betsie's room. They hid their journals and sweets there. It still hasn't been discovered. And I hope it stays that way. Oh, I do miss them! It's good to have an authentic piece of them left with me.
Oh, but listen to me ramble on. It's getting dark. Time for you to sleep!

Fairy Tales
___ words

Folklore
___ words

Dear future Kit,
How goes it? Oh, right, you can’t answer questions. Not that that’ll stop me from asking.
Did Script win? Ah, right, you probably don’t know yet either; I bet even when you’re reading this, results still aren’t out yet. I don’t want to know, anyway. I hate spoilers. I guess it’s a good thing you can’t answer, huh?
Anyway, I hope you had a great session. I hope you participated in in-cabin activities, did at least ten dailies and one weekly, and entered the writing comp. I hope you got some more work done on that fanfic. Most of all, I hope you made friends and memories, and had fun.
I’m looking forward to the rest of this month! Script’s storyline is so cool, plus I get to be a child who wants to play with fire, which should be fun. Beyond that, I’m not sure I’m excited for anything in particular, just for… the session overall. And cabin wars. Cabin wars are always a blast.
Well, best of luck. Or maybe you should be wishing me luck, since you- Wait. That doesn’t make sense. Does that make sense?
Let’s not get stuck on that. Again, I hope it’s been a great session.
Yours(elf),
Present Kit - or, in your time, past Kit

Weekly #1

Mythology
Retelling of the Hades and Persephone story - 350 words

In which some goddesses realize how awful the gods are and decide they'd make much better rulers. It's not extremely well written but who cares.

“Demeter?” Hestia asked in surprise, looking the woman at the door up and down. Demeter didn’t usually come by Olypmus, she preferred to be down on earth with the mortals, helping them tend their fields. Now, she looked bedraggled and heartbroken. “Come in,” Hestia said without another word. She ushered her sister inside, guided her to a seat near the hearth, and took her own place comfortably on the rug, tending the coals.
“What brings you here, sister?” she finally asked.
Demeter’s eyes brimmed with tears. “It’s Hades,” she explained. “He took her - Persephone. I looked so long, only to find out he had taken her for his bride. And I would have brought her back, but he’d tricked her into eating the fruit of the Underworld. Oh, Hestia! The mortals’ crops won’t grow. I can’t help it. I’ll only get to see my daughter for half of the year.”
“Oh, my dear…” Hestia wrapped her arms protectively around the other goddess. “I’m so sorry. If there’s anything at all I can do…”
Demeter continued to sob quietly into Hestia’s arms, for so long that Hestia began to think she hadn’t heard the question. But then after a long time, she answered: “There’s something we both can do. All of us, all our daughters and sisters. The gods have taken advantage of us for far too long.” She looked Hestia in the eye. “We have to make a change.”
“Demeter, I understand how you feel, but I don’t think such drastic action will end well.”
“Hestia. I know your chief goal has always been peace in the family, and I admire that greatly, but it can only get you so far. Don’t you think that if you were in charge, you could make things better for everyone?”
“I would do my best.” Hestia agreed.
“Then join me,” Demeter pleaded. “I know you’ll make a good queen.”
Hestia looked into the flames of her hearth and was quiet for a long time. Finally, she whispered, “I will help you. I will do it. And we’ll start by getting Persephone back.”

(Persephone ends up taking over the underworld and turning it into a flower garden paradise, for the good people at least. bad people get digested for eternity inside a venus flytrap (or an aphrodite flytrap? lol)

Hi-Fi
If these walls could talk: the events one place has seen - 225 words
My house

The walls upstairs liked to gossip about the crazy things children got up to. The walls in the master bedroom often complained of the endless wailing of newborn babies, to which the other bedrooms would remind them of the endless fights they’d had to experience when two siblings shared their room. The room at the end of the hall was just satisfied at the shift in its occupancy from one teenage girl to another.
Downstairs, the bedrooms were thought to be ridiculous. They didn’t have to deal with the spills and handprints, or the time the kitchen had almost caught fire.
But deep down they all did cherish all the little lovely things of life that happened inside them. Different sets of siblings playing together, multiple generations sharing stories. The siblings who had once been children in the house were now grown up with their own kids, and things would likely repeat themselves as more children grew up within these walls. More tantrums happened, more kids refusing to put their dishes away. But things were calmer, overall, and the people were learning, growing, as one generation learned from the former’s mistakes.
If only they’d stop leaving gray handprints on the walls - the walls could never figure out which child had done it! And it just kept happening. The bathrooms just laughed at their disgust.

Original character in historical times:
Ahsoka Tano in medieval times - 248 words

Ahsoka dashed through the trees, dual sabers drawn, glancing back every few moments to see her pursuers advancing. Pine needles crunched under her feet, and thinking quickly, she sheathed her swords and leaped, grabbed hold of a tree branch, and swung up into the branches.
Her pursuers stopped, gazing up at the trees, trying but failing to spot even a slight movement in the leaves.
Ahsoka smirked. She was now many trees away, not sure where she was heading, but knowing she’d be safe for the night as long as she got far enough away. She kept moving, but soon felt it was safe enough to drop down from the trees, and after a few hours found a small clearing in which to make camp.
Ever since she’d been accused of betraying the king, knights had constantly been at her tail. She had to be careful not to go anywhere with a strong military presence, or to show her knight’s sabers in public. It was all getting much harder to do, with the war worsening.
Her small tent shelter set up, Ahsoka sat on a fallen tree trunk and ate her meager rations of bread and milk, which she’d stolen from an enemy camp near the warfront. Her long, striped veil hung over each shoulder and down her back in her signature style, and she thought of her teacher, Anakin, who was still one of the king’s knights, though she didn’t blame him for anything that had happened.

Note: This is not historically accurate to any particular medieval time or place, but I tried to keep it somewhat consistent with what I know of medieval Europe. What that amounts to is that medieval people wore veils. and that knights were a thing, at some point. *shrugs*

Fairy Tales
Retelling of Hansel and Gretel - 391 words

Once upon a time, a boy and a girl walked through the woods. They were a brother and sister, named Hansel and Gretel.
Oh, and then there was Pretzel, trailing along behind them, but we don’t talk about him much.
The siblings’ parents had abandoned them in the woods to fend for themselves, because their family didn’t have enough to eat. Messed up, I know. And you may have heard that the children left a trail of breadcrumbs so that they could find their way back to their atrocious parents. Well, in reality they were actually fed up with the adults in their lives and had decided to go and live on their own, if that’s what their parents wanted. They had heard about a house in the woods made of candy and, confident that they could fend off any witch with their pitchforks, they went to check it out.
It wasn’t hard to find, what with the sickly sweet smell of gingerbread and candies floating through the air. The three kids stared at the ginormous, lopsided house.
“Where do you think the witch is?” said Hansel.
“Probably brewing potions inside,” Gretel replied.
“It looks yummy,” Pretzel offered.
“Shut up, Pretzel,” Hansel and Gretel both snapped.
And so Gretel led the children into the house’s dark front hallway.
“Helloooo! Any witches here?” she called.
An evil cackle came from down the hall. “Come in, children, and have a bite to eat,” she called.
Pretzel obediently took a bite from the wall, while his older siblings rushed forwards, into the kitchen, and pushed the witch into the oven in less than a minute. She was very old and weak, after all.
Unfortunately, they accidentally spilled the cauldron of potion she’d been brewing, and by the time Pretzel caught up, the potion had turned his siblings rainbow colours - their skin, hair, and eyes. Pretzel snickered.
“Shut up, Pretzel,” they both said.
And so they all lived happily ever after in the gingerbread house. Pretzel ran errands and got groceries for his siblings, as they could no longer show their rainbow-coloured faces in public without getting mistaken for otherworldly monsters. So the older two spent their time at home, baking gingerbread to replace the roof shingles and chunks of wall that kept disappearing, thanks to Pretzel and some children from a nearby village.

(For context, my friends and I used to read this book called Hansel and Pretzel, and then we'd play a game called Hansel, Gretel, and Pretzel, so that there were enough characters for her brother to play, too. I sort of adapted some of that into this story.)

Folklore
Oral retelling - 222 words

A young girl holds a bunch of threads steady as an elderly man weaves them into a complicated cord. As he moves the loops of string between his fingers, he tells a story he heard from his own grandparents.
“Idna, listen carefully,” he tells his granddaughter. “I will tell you the tale of Ashla the Endeavourer. Long ago, when the trees in Faywood were still young, the child Ashla cared for her little sister. She and her dizdal, Jyanna, grew up being more like parents to the little girl. They also grew up training to fight, but Ashla and Jyanna each used these skills in different ways…”
Years later, Idna, now a grandparent herself, retells this tale to a group of young ones, all yawning and tired for bed. She related to them her grandfather’s words.
“Ashla grew up to use her power - which also included a gift of magic from the spirits - for good, while Jyanna swerved from that path and fell over the sharp, sudden ledge that is anger and despair.”
A wide-eyed little girl gazed up at Idna, soaking up every word. Eyes sparkling, the old woman added something just for her; “Anyone can follow either of those paths. What matters is realizing the road you’re on and then deciding which fork in the road to take.”

Notes: This is related to an actual original novel I'm working on, so I might remove it from scratch later. Also, dizdal is a word from the world of the story and it means ‘someone whom you consider to be like a sibling to you, but who is not related to you.’)

Regional differences (from the same world as the last story) - 254 words

The Tale of Lodem/Loten

Excerpt from the Faywood version:
Lodem was a typical young man. He made his living as a nature druid, growing tree houses for people to live in. In return they gave him food and a place to stay. But over the years Lodem turned haughty. He thought he should be treated like he was special, because in his eyes the fact that the spirit of nature had gifted him with powers meant he was special. He began to demand bigger and bigger payment for his work, more than he could ever use on his own, and more than the people he built homes for could spare. This was not right, in the balance of things, and one day Lodem found he could no longer cause even a single flower to grow.

Excerpt from the Yedalbroze version:
Once there was a young man named Loten, who used his skills as a nature druid to grow and harvest wood for boats for the people who live on the great lake of Au’een. They paid him fairly for it, but he thought he deserved more, and soon began to purposefully make boats of lesser quality for those who could not pay him all that he desired. He thought his gift from the spirit of nature made him special. But no one thing is special in the balance of the world, and one morning Loten awoke to find that his powers had been stripped away. He couldn’t do more than make a branch bud.