Critique
Nova :: Mythsy <3

word count - 684 words

Iridescent rainbows
play on the surface
Something so beautiful
that the dolphin cannot ignore

You have a really nice and strong opening that gets the reader hooked from the very start - it sets the tone and describes the atmosphere almost perfectly. When reading this, I can truly envision this scene happening in my mind because your usage of exposition and imagery is absolutely amazing! I also truly love the meter and breaking/style you've used to add emphasis to certain phrases; it works extremely well in this case!

And it dives toward it

I would change this to “As it dives towards it” - changing the “toward” to “towards” would be something that I'd definitely recommend since the sentence makes more sense when you phrase it in such a way. As for changing the “And” to and “As”, I feel like it just adds more depth and continuity to the story, you know? By making is “As”, your poem seems more clear and the ideas connect better rather than ending abruptly (it also helps to keep the same tone that you built at the starting).

The weird meshy thing wraps

For me, this phrase kind of takes away from the whole “vibe”/feeling that you've built so far, if you get what I mean. This may be personal preference, so feel free to ignore this, but I find that this sentence seems “less serious” about the topic. I think in particular, it's the usage of “weird meshy thing” – I don't know why, but for some reason, it just sounds wrong and doesn't really work with the awareness atmosphere that you've built up so far with your previous stanzas. That being said, I would recommend changing that line to something like this: “The strange mesh-like object wraps”. By doing this, you add that serious hint back into your writing, which helps to hook your reader. Like I said before, this is purely personal preference, so if you'd prefer not to change this, then that's completely fine!

The dolphin realizes and tries to pull it off but

The starting of this phrase seems in complete for some reason - what does the dolphin realize? It realizes that plastic is harmful – and that's what you're trying to expand on after this. Since you've already established that, there's not much you should change about this. Though, I would suggest you to reword it to something like this: "The dolphin realizes this and tries to pull it off but…“.Since you've already stated that plastic is dangerous, adding the ”this" to that phrase will full tie together all the ideas that you've mentioned in this poem.

“Naia, take some more food,” her mother insisted, already scooping more onto her plate. The new girl - Naia - made a face but let her anyway.
Lumi turned away, anger boiling inside her. She did not like this girl, not one bit.

I love the descriptions you have going here - it really sets the tone for further character development, and we get a lot of characterization about both of the characters from just this one scene! I've got to say that your written dialogue portion is really well done. The structure is strong and consistent, and it truly conveys the mood affectively. Although there are some things I would alter about word choice and sentence structure, it has been framed really nicely.

Overall
Nova! I've got to say that you have a really unique way of writing that truly manages to captivate the reader. I just kept on wanting to read more and more ahah (I hope I'm right to assume that this story isn't done yet, I'd love to see the finished product when you do write it <3). In general I feel like your structure and ideas are all there and have been conveyed effectively. I had some notes about the poem that I listed above, but aside from that, I really liked the mood that it set up in terms of atmosphere. As for the story itself, the exposition and plot within it was really well written, and I feel the different perspectives were clearly shown and described. Like I stated before, I might recommend revising some word choice and descriptions just so that it can fit the tone of the poem you had at the start, but aside from that, I think there's not much else to had. Once again, thank you for giving me the opportunity to read your amazing writing! I can't wait to see the new heights this story reaches <3

Daily - 542 words
Inspired by Sleeping Giants by The Crane Wives <3.
“My pulse is clear, rushing in my ears, I hear something calling me”

Partridge wanted out of this. He wanted to get away as fast as he could. It scared him just how quickly things could fall apart. Because the trees were screaming and howling and the rocks were running faster than he could. He tripped over roots and leaf clutter, tumbling to the ground and forcing himself up again. He had to keep running. The rocks felt like they would catch up with him if he did not run as fast as he possibly could. For if he slowed, the trees would consume him and everything else. He hoped that Quail had gotten out of this easier than he had. He could feel his pulse beating in his ears and the wind screeching through the treetops. He dodged the branches as the fell, shaking his head to get the dew that fell with leaves out of his eyes. Run, run, run. That was all that was going through his head until he heard a voice cutting through the sounds of the night “PARRY”. He whipped around as the scream echoed throughout the forest. Quail, he could recognize his sister’s voice anywhere. Without a second thought he ran towards the voice, his feet clattering against the hard earth in time with the drumming in his ears. “Quail! Where are you?”
“Here! Follow my voice! I’m stuck.”
“Stay still!”
He followed her voice tumbling through the sylvan nightmare. He finally spotted her, stuck under a tree trunk. He shoved at the tree, trying to get it off of her and ignore his panting at the same time. He finally succeeded and pulled the smaller form up, she luckily seemed unhurt if not for a few scratches and bruises. He looked at her and in a moment of silent communication she nodded and they began running in tandem. He had to escape, they both did. Then they were pitched forward by the shaking ground and the pair crashed into a tree. He winced, that hadn’t been good for the gash on his knee. But the two stood up anyways and kept going. They had to get away as fast as they could. But he could hear the moon, hear the trees, calling him. Beckoning for the siblings to come closer, to submit, to surrender. He could still hear the steady beat of his pulse, humming, just like the large trees and shining moon. Humming with them. Partridge turned around, stopping dead in his tracks to look at the destruction behind him. Quail gripped his wrist “come on! We have to go!” Why was she doing that? Why did they have to go when he could feel the forest calling him, when he could feel the waking of the beast underneath. He looked down, staring at his captured hand. He took a step backwards, towards what they’d been trying to run away from and away from his sister. How odd it was that preconceived notions could fall apart so quickly. He stared down at Quail, a pair of blank eyes meeting her desperate ones. He couldn’t remember why he was running anymore. Why would he run when such wonders were behind him? He tried to yank his wrist away from her grasp. Partridge wanted out of this.

Daily 3/14 || 577 words

This creature was a disaster.
Meadow narrowed Meadow’s eyes at the creature on the rock. It looked like an amalgamation of creatures, a chimera gone wrong, like a bunch of animals were tossed into a machine haphazardly. Meadow may have been a sort of deer-dragonfly creature, but Meadow was beautiful, every piece of Meadow in the right place. This thing on the other hand…
It turned to look at Meadow, no emotion sitting within its goat-like eyes. It had a tongue that just peeked out of its mouth, like it had no control over it. It was honestly unsettling.
Within a second, the creature fluttered its little wings and zipped over to Meadow, Meadow shrieking in surprise. Meadow took a few steps back, but the thing was right in front of Meadow, burning its horrid image into Meadow’s soul.
Meadow turned and ran, beginning to hope that this was all just a dream. Meadow felt the creature chasing Meadow, heard the distorted ‘fwoop’s as it teleported, each one louder than the one before. Meadow was really scared now, running into the forest in hopes that the beast would be slowed by the trees. Meadow knew Meadow was wrong when Meadow began to hear the massive cracks of trees behind Meadow. Meadow kept running, not knowing what was behind Meadow. It wasn’t until Meadow saw a steep incline in front of Meadow that Meadow realized that Meadow needed a Plan B.
Meadow stopped and turned slowly…and then looked up.
When Meadow had first seen the creature, it was only about the size of a fox. But now…it towered over the massive pines of the forest, its dead eyes and tongue taunting Meadow as Meadow had to crane Meadow’s neck and stand on two of Meadow’s three pairs of legs to see it. The forest was decimated around it, huge trees on the ground, crushed under the chimera’s heels as it looked down at Meadow. The golden crown floating between its ears shimmered, demanding a different reaction out of Meadow rather than fear and disgust.
Meadow, horrified, slowly lowered Meadow’s body to the ground in a low bow. Meadow felt ashamed that Meadow had to bow to a beast that Meadow didn’t consider ‘pretty’ enough, but Meadow also did not want to die. “P-please don’t hurt me,” Meadow whimpered, Meadow’s long limbs trembling. “I’m sorry…” Meadow held this bow for a minute or two, until Meadow felt that Meadow had shown the creature enough respect to not be atomized.
When Meadow looked up, the creature had turned, slowly beginning to hop-fly away from Meadow. Meadow sat up and smiled a bit, before freezing when the creature turned its head to look at Meadow, its eyes continuing to show no emotion at all.
It then hit another tree with its tail for good measure, watching it break and topple over, before slamming against the ground with enough force to tremble the dirt underneath Meadow. It then returned to its original size and zipped away, so fast that it must’ve teleported.
Meadow stared at the destruction that its wrath had induced. Aside from the trees lying everywhere, giant boulders were just lying around, as if the thing had just summoned them out of midair to cause destruction. Fires crackled across the dirt, and a few had now spread to the trees, possibly with enough force to cause a forest fire. Meadow shook Meadow’s head in disbelief.
This creature was a disaster.

“You’re my best friend,” he says.
I’m six years old and I’ve never had a best friend, not in my whole life. It feels very special. I turn back to him, temporarily abandoning the drawing I’m making on my new easel, and I make him a promise. “I’ll be your best friend forever.” It’s the most serious statement I’ve ever made, and I intend to do everything I can to keep the promise.
When I finish the drawing I’m making, I fold it up nice and small, put it in an envelope and write “To my best friend” on the address spot. When I give it to him he says he’s going to keep it forever.

“You’re my best friend,” he reminds me, like he somehow still believes that isn’t going to change. I’m nine years old and this is the last time I’m going to see him because I’m moving across the country at the end of this week. I don’t really want to, even though I told my parents otherwise. But I understand why. My dad can get a job there, and we need the money.
“I will text you every day, and call you on the weekend whenever I have time. You won’t miss me, even a little bit. I promise.” I believe him, even though he’s crying. He’s always been better at keeping promises than I am.

“You’re still my best friend,” he assures me over the phone, as if I would have had my feelings hurt by the thought of him hanging out with people who aren’t me. I’ll be eleven years old in three days, and this phone call is what’s come of his insistence to celebrate my birthday with me.
“I know that,” I say. “But best friend doesn’t mean only friend.”
“You don’t have other friends,” he points out. It’s not him being mean or anything. It’s just a statement of fact.
“That’s different,” I say. I know he wants to argue that it’s not, but clearly he doesn’t want to get in a fight because he stays quiet.
The silence drags on for too long before I say. “Besides, I’m happy. I don’t need other friends, I have my books. You, on the other hand, don’t have the attention span to read a road sign and would die without social interaction. It’s perfectly natural you have friends and I don’t.”
He smiles the particular smile he has when I’m teasing him and he’s trying to be annoyed at me and failing.

“You’re my best friend,” he whispers, his arms wrapped tightly around my chest and refusing to let go. “You’re my best friend, and everything is going to be okay.
I’m thirteen years old, and I’ve moved back with my mom to where we used to live, so that we could be near her family. My dad’s not here. Everyone says he’s gone, but that just sounds like he went off somewhere, on a work trip, or a visit to friends. No. He’s not gone. He was killed in an accident. He’s dead.
I don’t know when I’ll be able to stop crying. It’s been weeks, I still haven’t yet. At least now I have my best friend back. At least now there’s someone who will hug me and not stop, and who doesn’t flinch when I say dead.

“I kept it forever, like I said I would.” he shows me the drawing, the whale family, my first gift to him when we were six years old. We’re sixteen now, it’s been ten years to the day.
He’s going on about sappy, sentimental things like this and I’m not sure I like where this conversation is headed.
He lists off things about me he thinks are awesome, tells me about memories I too have as though I would have forgotten them. And he ends his speech by asking me to be his girlfriend.
I’m shaking my head and crying before I even fully process what he said.
“I’m sorry,” I finally say. “You’re my best friend.”

Daily #14
3/14/2024
550 words

AN: I don't have much experience in the hospital, nor have I had broken any bones, so I have no idea how much of the little bits of medical talk are accurate :') Nothing explicit, but hints of loss of a family member and spiraling thoughts that things are worse than they are.

Kat stares at the wall, watching the second hand on the clock tick, tick, tick.
The sterile white walls taunt her, faded memories from her childhood in this very room flickering through her mind.
How long has she been in the hospital, waiting for any answer about Antony? She's been observing the clock, for almost 2 hours, but it feels like it's been much longer than that. The hum of chatter and footsteps meld together, as people walk by her in a blur.
She didn't mean to hurt Antony. She really didn't. She didn't mean for them to be all cooped up in a stuffy hospital when they should have been celebrating his birthday. She didn't mean to wait this long to tell him- well, she didn't mean for a lot of things to happen.
This wasn't her first time in the waiting room. Kat knows this place far too well for her own liking. She was a rambunctious kid, and with that territory came several broken bones. Honestly, she didn't mind those too much. There was something about the way you get treated when you have a cast on that makes everyone nicer…
But there was also her mother. Kat shudders in response to the cold thoughts that seep into her mind. She didn't want to think about those days.
Hospitals are tied to negative memories for her and Kat doesn't believe that will change.
Especially when she's currently in the hospital.
Waiting for any hint that her best friend was okay.
He will be alright; surely he will be alright. He- he didn't look too hurt when he fell. He could walk. He limped, but he could still walk. She doesn't think it's more serious than broken bones, but oh- what did she know? She wasn't a doctor! She's just a high schooler.
Kat buries her head in her hands, letting her eyes close and rest from staring at the clock that moves all too slowly.
The doctors not getting back to her for half an hour could mean a lot of things. They're really busy, running behind schedule, or- Or he could be seriously hurt and they need to examine him more. Her breath hitches, as she ponders the possibility. Anything but that.
She doesn't really believe that he's so hurt that he has to get extra scans done. No, she really doesn't. But with every tick of the clock and every group of doctors passing through, she waits for an answer. Something to let her know that it's not as bad as she fears.
How long would it take her to get in and out of the hospital when she was younger? Her mind's muddled right now, she doesn't know, she doesn't know, she doesn't know. They should get back to her soon? Ugh, she's been thinking that for the past hour and that hasn't proved to help anything so far.
She hears a louder voice over the muffled crowds, and she sits up straighter. Her name. Kat nods; yes, she's Katherine. Mhm, she's waiting on Antony. A ‘thank you’ escapes her lips.
He's alright. Ant's alright. He'll be released in the next ten minutes or so.
He's okay.
Kat loosens her balled fists and glances at the clock, as the second hand ticks, ticks, ticks…

Daily 014: 530 words, Smiles

She had a treasure trove of smiles.
Wide smiles for joy, sly smiles for inside jokes, normal smiles for everyday greetings, slightly strained smiles for photos.
She had tiny smiles for the kind of humor that could get someone in trouble and yet is funny nonetheless, overjoyed grins for presents and hugs and intertwined hands.
She had a smile for every occasion, in fact. Even occasions that normal people wouldn’t smile at. Perhaps even for occasions they shouldn’t smile at.
Sometimes it hurt her cheeks, smiling so much.
Sometimes it felt like her heart was kept under lock and key, smiling so much.
Sometimes she wanted to scream.
So she just smiled wider.
People came and people went. Laughter and tears whirled by, ever changing, but she stood, unaffected, in the midst, smile never faltering. Friends confessed imperfections, flaws, secret crushes. Sometimes she wondered what would happen if she shut them out. If she started returning confidences. Sometimes she wondered if they really cared, or if they just wanted a safe place to vent.
Fine, then. She’d be a safe place. She’d take on the burden of the secrets, the strains. Sometimes she thought she knew more than even the nosiest gossip. Inevitably, she knew all the juiciest pieces of news before they erupted forth in their scandalous waves.
She had plenty of secrets herself. But no one ever learned them.
Just keep smiling, she told herself. That was all she had to do. Maybe, one day, they’d feel real.
Maybe, one day, she’d be able to shed her burden of being the strong one, the cheerful one, the smiling one, and be able to be a real human being.
Maybe one day, she’d learn how to cry.
She wanted to let the mask slip. But then she’d let them down. So she taped it on with more smiles and shoved her heart aside.
It didn’t matter anyway, how she felt. It didn’t matter how tired or stressed she was, because her job was so easy. All she had to do was keep smiling. Keep being cheerful.
She was sick of looking in the mirror and seeing nothing but a failure.
But that was okay. One day she’d be able to let the smile slip.
That was the lifeline she clung to amidst the storm of life, although she knew deep down that it was a false one. There would never be a better time than now.
But she couldn’t disappoint them. So she kept on smiling.
She had a treasure trove of smiles.
Wide smiles for joy, sly smiles for inside jokes, normal smiles for everyday greetings, slightly strained smiles for photos.
She had tiny smiles for the kind of humor that could get someone in trouble and yet is funny nonetheless, overjoyed grins for presents and hugs and intertwined hands.
She had a smile for every occasion, in fact. Even occasions that normal people wouldn’t smile at. Perhaps even for occasions they shouldn’t smile at.
Sometimes it hurt her cheeks, smiling so much.
Sometimes it felt like her heart was kept under lock and key, smiling so much.
Sometimes she just wanted to scream.
But she never did.

Daily 14
word count - 524 words

The lights went out, and amongst the shadows lurked evil. No one knew what they were or who they belonged to, which is why we all hid in fear and agony. Why would someone want to risk their life by heading outdoors - staying inside was always the safer option, or at least, that's what we were told. From a young age we've all be monitored with a close eye. Rule after rule, day after day, it was like a never ending list that you somehow had to keep track of. We were expected to be the best and somehow keep track of all these rules, and I was so sick and tired of it.

Yes, it often felt like a chore. I had to consistently remind myself to do this, or not do that. It was mentally draining, and I was already stressed from school and whatnot. I had no time for anything I love, and I honestly just felt like my life was on the verge of collapsing. The seams that were holding it together for this long were slowly starting unravel, breaking every day, and growing weaker by every minute. I knew there was eventually going to be a time when everything would just crumble. But I wanted to hold on until then. If not for me, then for my sister who desperately needed me in order to survive in this harsh and cruel environment.

The only thing keeping me going were the stars - they shined bright in the night, keeping me awake and dreaming. Their utter beauty was absolutely indescribable. I was in awe to see them every time, because they brought so much joy not only to me, but I also to my sister who rarely smiled these days. It felt great to hear her innocent laugh, to see her brown locks of hair fall onto her face. It was at those times that I truly missed our parents, just wishing that we could've spent one more day together. Just one. That was all I had wished for. Every night looking up at the stars, I felt lucky. But that feeling was somewhat of a curse. With the rules, I had to be thankful for what I had - and truth be told, I am thankful. Though as someone who has suffered a lot, it's almost impossible to not hate life sometimes.

I know that we have no say in what obstacles get thrown at us, but how could I stay still when my parents were gone. Gone from this world because of those evil shadows. Gone from this world.. because nobody else wanted to be a sacrifice. To this day, I still despite them for it - did they not think about what following through that mission would do to my sister and I? Perhaps they didn't realize they would be gone, but I'm sure that even if they did, they wouldn't care nevertheless. They went into the shadows, knowing the dangers, and now it's my turn..

The lights went out once more, and into the night I went. The shadows began to lurk about, sucking up everything in it's way.

Date UTC: March 14th
Time Comp. UTC: 11:58
Prompt Sum.: Write a story that starts and ends the same way
Point Value: 400
Extra Points?: 100 for proof
Total Points: 500
Word Count:701 /500
“Nobody tells me that. I can do what I want.” I said, wrenching her fingers off the ledge. She fell to the ground, “Oof! Hey!”
I smirked, jumping down off the playground.
Mikayla huffed, “That’s not how you play!”
I shrugged, “But that’s how I want to play.”
“That doesn’t matter!”
I made a face, not responding.
Mikayla got up and brushed herself off.
“Should we keep playing?”
I nodded, and after that, we skipped off.

Kindergarten was simpler. Now, in high school, Mikayla and I have grown apart. She bumps into me but pretends like I don't exist. At least until she had to acknowledge me.
“Mikayla Owens and Bella Johnson, please report outside your classroom.”
I glanced over at Mikayla, but she was already up from her desk, walking out with her backpack.
I wondered why they needed both of us.

Mikayla and I were led out of school into the parking lot by an old woman. She was short, like really short. Her hair was grey and a little sad looking, but it was okay. Every time I tried to ask a question, I was met with the same answer. “Later, I will answer all.”
This made me want to ask even more questions. Mikayla seemed totally fine, as if this was just every other Tuesday.
We got into a small black car. Mikayla went into the front seat, still not acknowledging my existence, which frustrated me. Just because we had a fight didn’t mean that we couldn't at least be cordial to each other.

The drive was long and silent. I tried taking out my phone, but there was no service and therefore nothing to do. I really hoped that this wasn't something shady, but the further and further we got away from the school, the more that hope died.

We entered a building full of screens, so many screens. The old woman took us into a small back room filled with chairs. I took a seat on one, and Mikayla sat next to the old woman, who sat across from me.
“Bella, I have something to tell you.” Mikayla started, and honestly? Hearing her voice was a relief. She was talking to me, finally. Little fights weren’t a huge deal.
I responded, “Okay, so what is that? Why did we have to come all the way out here for you to tell me?”
Mikayla twirled her dark hair around her finger, “Well… ever since we stopped being friends… I got involved in some… rather shady stuff.”
I raised an eyebrow, or at least tried to, “What do you mean?”
Mikayla fidgeted some more. “Well… Ms. Lauren can tell you more about that.”
Ms. Lauren looked at me and told me all about it. I had a gift, and so did Mikayla. She had found out much earlier than I had, and she had just been scared to tell me, and so she ended our friendship.
“You two were destined from the beginning to meet. There are forces that require you to dispose of them, and you are required to help.”

Training was tough. Mikayla didn't let me really try, but instead she beat me up easily. It was humiliating, trying to use this new power for good. She controlled the darkness, I controlled the light. We were opposites, and it showed.

This was it, this was our time to shine. Mikayla and I were at the peak of the mountain, ready and waiting for the battle that was to come.
Mikayla breached the silence, “Do you… know about what they’ll do to us after this?”
I was taken aback, “What do you mean?”
“They’re disposing of us. We apparently aren't good enough.”
Tears came to her eyes, “I’m supposed to capture you. I… I thought that you deserved to know.”
I hissed, feeling betrayed, snd without a word pushed her a bit. It got worse as we shoved each other. Eventually, Mikayla got too close to the edge and fell, holding on by a thread.
“Hey! Help me back up! You need to help me!”
I slowly started to wrench her fingers off of the ledge. “Nobody tells me that. I can do what I want.”

“Everything comes back to you eventually,” Shade growled, cold fury wrinkling her snout, tugging back her lips. “One day, you will have to face the consequences of your actions. Are you really willing to go through with this?”
Ash did not flinch, his countenance solid as ice. Somewhere deep beneath the frozen layers, a part of him recoiled at the words. But the barriers refused to melt. Baring his teeth just slightly, Ash spread his wings and met her gaze.
“I am,” he replied. “Unless you want to try and stop me?”
Shade held eye contact for a moment longer, then looked away, fur bristling. “You will regret it in time.” She folded her wings against her body, backing away from Ash’s challenge. Without another word, she turned and flew off, her anger settling into a racing determination. It was up to her to fix this.
The deal had been made so haphazardly, she hadn’t able to get things under control in time. She and Ash had rarely agreed, but she had been willing to accept her father’s choice to make him the next leader. And then at the last minute, Swift had decided it should be her instead. However, they hadn’t had time to make the proper arrangements before Swift had been killed by a wolf, and now… Now everything was falling apart.
Ash had assumed the role of leader, anyway, and was enforcing stricter organization upon the shazarxi. He was unstable, lashed out, made terrible decisions. Shade knew that somewhere, deep down, it was because he was afraid: Afraid to let go of his power, afraid to admit that he didn’t know how to protect the colony, and afraid to admit it.
Shade despised him.
It had all gone downhill since Moss had left. If there was one thing Ash and Shade could both agree on, it was that the colony was not the same without him. He had been the one spot of calm in any storm, a friend to all. But he had left along with Shade’s mother, Moon, and Shade had been the one who stayed behind to deal with the mess left in their wake.
In moments of weakness, Ash still thought of him, the memory sweet, but tinged with pain. Their former friendship haunted him like a shadow, something he could never quite free himself from. In the darkness, there was no escape from his past.
Shade didn’t give up. She assembled her own colony, defectors from Ash’s unrighteous leadership. Day by day, they planned and trained, their hearts and minds bursting at the seams to make a difference in this world. Smiling with confidence, she signalled to them to follow her, a spark of pride welling up at their courage, their loyalty, their vibrant spirits. They were strong enough now. It was finally time to accept the challenge.
Ash felt as though the shadows were swallowing him whole. Trapped deep beneath the icy shell, he was numb, the pressure holding him down, down, until there was nothing else. Just darkness and cold. Not even the memories could touch him here.
When Shade came, it was just one more shadow, come to block out the last of the sunlight. Something had already broken within him, and now he was falling… falling…
And then it was over.
The ghosts left with the moonrise, taking with them the fragments of ice that had at last shattered. Shade rose in their place, standing firm against the skyline, banishing away the last traces of fear. This victory was hers.
The dust settled and life moved on. Until, one day, older and weathered, Moss returned. The time had changed him, as it had changed them all, but there was still the same kindness in his eyes, the same softness in his pawsteps.
Shade knew as soon as she saw him that her brother had finally come home.
And yet, she saw the longing in his eyes as he learned of Ash’s downfall. So when the ghosts returned that night, Shade let them. She could have stopped him if she had wanted to, but, hesitating for only a moment, she stepped away. This was a peace that she did not need to know.
“I never thought you’d come back,” Ash whispered, his spirit a blurred outline in the mist.
Moss purred, curling his tail into a gentle loop. “Everything comes back to you eventually.”

Critique for Puppy
3/14/2024
391 words

-lxve-bug- wrote:

(#310)
daily for pi day <33 570 words !!

This is a really interesting piece and I enjoyed how it discussed the thought process of being quiet and not wanting to talk much and how it affects the character when she doesn’t have that option :0

She took a sip of water, unsticking her throat.

I understand what ‘unsticking’ is supposed to convey here, but I’m not sure if that’s the best verb to use here? I don’t have any suggestions as to replace the word, but you could also reword the second part of the sentence to show how her dry throat is feeling hydrated?

She’d been trying fruitlessly for the past week and a half to coax some sort of sound out, but no matter what she tried, nothing happened.

Love the word choice here!

She didn’t have many friends, but her close few made an effort to still include her, regardless of whether or not she could respond to them.

This sentence would flow better as ‘her close few still made an effort to include her’.

She supposed it was because she didn’t have the ability to stay silent anymore. She didn’t have the option to talk. When she wanted to talk, she did, and when she didn’t, she didn’t and that was that. She didn’t want to get all sappy or inspirational or anything like that, but she thought that it was possible she didn’t realize how valuable talking was until she couldn’t do it anymore. She couldn’t speak up for herself even if she wanted to.

I love this section and how it comments on autonomy. We can take for granted what we do have autonomy over and this was a great insight into how it feels to have that taken away. There are many things that are valuable for us to have, but we don’t realize it until it’s gone.

As mentioned earlier, she’s always been a very quiet person, in fact, she was so quiet her parents used to think she was mute until she was about 4 and asked for a pet unicorn.

This seems wordy and a bit redundant. You restate the fact that the character is quiet, and go more into how quiet she really is. A suggestion I would make is the rewrite the beginning part of the sentence to tell that the character was also quiet when she was younger, so much so that her parents thought she was mute.

She was a normal, happy, albeit rather quiet kid.

‘She was a normal, happy, and, albeit, rather quiet kid.’

She took a few deep breaths, trying to come to terms with her permanent silence. It wouldn’t be that bad, she can still text, and write. She could always learn sign language.

I also love the optimism here and the alternatives the character is thinking of. Even if we lose autonomy in some way, there are almost other ways that we can go about doing things to make up for the loss of one area of our life.

Eventually she got up from her perch on her bed, and walked down the stairs to the kitchen. Her mother asked if she wanted to refill her water. She nodded, and her mom walked over to the sink to put more water in the cup. She took it with a smile, unable to say thank you, and took the glass back up to her room. She took a seat on her bed once again, and took another gulp of water. See? She could still communicate with people even if she didn’t have a voice.

There should be a comma after ‘Eventually’. And one thing I noticed was that it never mentions her having a cup or taking it down. You could probably insert a little bit about it, like ‘got up from her perch on her bed, grabbed her cup, and walked down the stairs’ or if she already had it in her hand, ‘got up from her perch on the bed, tightened her grip on her empty cup, and walked down the stairs’ or something along the lines of that.

Overall, this was an interesting read and a fascinating topic to explore as well! You did a great job capturing the thoughts that would run in one’s mind if such a thing should happen. I enjoyed critiquing your piece and great job!

-lxve-bug- wrote:

pup's thread (boy am i late :skull: )


AYYYY IM 100TH LMAO

WOAH. I’m actually blown away by this, it’s so cute- but anyway on to the critique! As a general overview, I really enjoyed this. It felt like fragmented happy memories. It sort of feels like when you remember a time where you had so much fun but all you remember are just pieces of overwhelming happiness, if that makes any shred of sense. The overall vibe was really sweet as well. I think the style was consistent as well! I often struggle with style inconsistency too, especially in short stories, but this one I think was really well done. The only thing I’d say is the part with “heart on her sleeve, he loves her vulnerable ect” part. Not sure if it was on purpose or not but both sentences ended with “times like these” and it felt a bit weird in terms of syntax/ flow. It’s VERY consistent and honestly I applaud that. The whole thing feels very cohesive, and complete. Which brings me to my next uh thing I guess; the ending! I actually loved the ending. It felt very complete and very satisfying, if that’s the right word. I really enjoyed it because it brought everything to a very nice close, wrapped up in a little bow. I think it could be a bit less abrupt, but honestly I think it actually flows really nicely because of the rest of the piece. The piece jumps around a little bit from time to time, and I think the ending fits in with that. I love how it's a sort of baby reflection on the past five years, and ending with a hope for the future. It really puts a positive spin on it and I can really tell that it's a very wholesome, green flag relationship All in all this was a super great piece, thank you !!

In the dimly lit streets of Rome, a cloaked figure emerged from the shadows, his voice a whisper carried on the chilly breeze. “Beware the Ides of March,” he intoned, his words dripping with an ominous warning.

The recipient of this cryptic message, Marcus, a prominent senator of Rome, froze in his tracks, his heart pounding with a mixture of fear and disbelief. The words echoed in his mind, stirring ancient superstitions and fears. He knew the significance of the Ides of March, the day that marked the fateful end of Julius Caesar's life. Could it be that his own demise was imminent?

Marcus wrestled with conflicting emotions. Should he heed the warning and take precautions, or dismiss it as mere superstition and carry on with his daily affairs? The thought of his mortality loomed large in his mind, casting a shadow over everything he held dear.

As dawn broke over the city, Marcus found himself torn between two courses of action. On one hand, he could barricade himself indoors, surrounded by guards and shields, hoping to thwart whatever danger awaited him. On the other hand, he could embrace fatalism, accepting his fate with stoic resignation and spending his final day in quiet contemplation.

Ultimately, Marcus chose a middle path, neither succumbing entirely to fear nor resigning himself to fate. Instead, he resolved to spend his last day in Rome as he would any other, attending to his duties as a senator and father, yet with a newfound sense of urgency and purpose.

Throughout the day, Marcus found himself haunted by the specter of the cloaked figure and his ominous warning. He couldn't shake the feeling of impending doom that hung over him like a dark cloud. Yet, despite his unease, he forced himself to maintain a facade of normalcy, concealing his inner turmoil behind a mask of stoicism.

As evening fell and the streets grew quiet, Marcus retreated to the solitude of his home, seeking refuge from the chaos of the outside world. Alone in his chamber, he pondered the mysteries of life and death, grappling with existential questions that had long eluded him.

In the end, Marcus found solace not in the certainty of his fate, but in the uncertainty of what lay beyond. He may not have been able to escape the Ides of March, but he refused to let fear dictate his final moments. And as the clock struck midnight and the world outside fell silent, Marcus closed his eyes and embraced the darkness, ready to face whatever fate had in store for him.

As for the cloaked figure and his ominous warning, Marcus could only wonder at the enigma of it all. Had it been a mere coincidence, a trick of the mind, or something more sinister? He may never know the truth, but in the end, it mattered little. For in the face of death, all that remained was the simple act of living, and Marcus had lived his life to the fullest, right up until the very end.
+505 words

March 15th Daily || 801 words

“Mav, don’t approach the stranger… I know what usually happens when you approach cloaked strangers, and it never ends well…” Mango said with worry.
“It’s fiiiiine, what’s the worst that can happen?” I said back, getting closer to the strange cloaked person just standing in the middle of the forest. When I finally approached him, he appeared to be… laughing?
“Hello… Maverick…” the man said, looking down at a small piece of paper when saying my name. Not very professional, if you ask me. “I have come here to warn you… today will be your FINAL day of existing. I recommend you make the best of it…” he said, suddenly swishing his cloak around, and then running away, leaving only the cloak behind, likely attempting to be ‘magical’ or something.
“Pfft- what a joke, am I right, Mango? Just some random prankster trying to scare me! That ain’t working!”
Mango, however, wasn’t laughing with me. They looked absolutely horrified. “Y- you really think that was a joke? I mean, it very much could be, but you take such a warning with no seriousness whatsoever!?” they exclaimed.
“If it wasn’t a joke, whoever sends out these messages really needs to think of hiring a new guy to actually send the messages.”
Mango grabbed me by the shoulders. “Stop trying to make this funny! It’s not working! This could be serious, and I could very much lose you today!” they screamed. They paused and took a breath. “Ok… maybe I went a bit overboard, but I care about you, and even the smallest chance of something bad happening to you scares the living hell out of me! So, this… THIS is my WORST NIGHTMARE!”
“Gee… you’re really believing this… whatever, I’ll humour you. I’ll stop making fun of this whole situation that’s such a big deal to you…”
“That’s better. Now… let’s go home. We can play some video games or something…” Mango grabbed me by the arm and dragged me back to our house.

When we arrived home, Mango sat me down on the couch, and surrounded me with soft things, probably to prevent me from getting hurt or something. They then handed me a game controller, and played Mario Kart with me. They babied me the entire day. They barely allowed me to get up and do something. Whenever I asked for something to eat or drink, they’d give me something that was easy to eat, and they watched me like a hawk when I ate. They adjusted everything in the room to make sure there was no way anything was much of a fire hazard. They were taking this more than seriously.

Once the day was nearing its end, and Mango was asleep (in my room, may I add), I decided to leave. To prove that whatever the guy said was fake. I ran across the road a few times, I stood just inches away from a small fire that some neighbours were around, I even did a backflip. I was in no way harmed. What was Mango getting all worried about?
Suddenly, I smell something… smoke? I look around, and I suddenly see a bunch of trees nearby burning. The fire that I had been near had gone out of control in mere minutes. The worst part, I had wandered out to the forest to explore yet again, mostly to see if the cloak from earlier was still there to take. The fire kept blazing, approaching me very quickly. I had to leave, now.
Possible exits started disappearing, and the ones that remained were becoming smaller. I had to run quicker…
The cloaked man was right, wasn’t he?

I had no idea how long I was in that maze of flames, but as I was about to give up, a pair of arms snatched me. Eventually, I was back in my room, Mango panting. I rubbed my eyes, and saw that they had soot all over them. I had a few burns all over me, but nothing major.
“What were you thinking!?” Mango suddenly yelled when they caught their breath.
“I- I have no idea… I guess I wanted to prove you wrong… and I almost proved you right in doing so…” I said, absolutely ashamed of myself. Mango worried for a reason. They always did everything for a reason, I suddenly realised.
Mango didn’t respond, other than giving me a huge hug. They then went back to sleep. And I decided to do the same. But, instead of sleeping, my mind raced. Maybe I wasn’t gone yet, but just seeing what happened, the man still might be right. I kept thinking about it, until I drifted off to sleep.
Anyone could disappear at any moment.
But, it was clear that the world was trying to make me disappear.

(for the critiquitaire)
First comes the tingle in my spine.
I glance up at Josi’s soft, soil-brown eyes, the only thing that comforts me as I shake in my chair, gripping the wooden table. I know she understands me, but I feel alien, strange. As if I’ve been one of them all these years.
Josi runs over to me as I lose my grip. “Are you okay?”
I fall to the floor. “No-”
“Let me get you some water.”
Lying on the cold floor, I feel for the cold power bank under my shirt. Its comforting, icy touch is gone. My arm next to me lengthens, my fingers grow. Bones crack, reshaping under my stretching skin. Josi will understand. She will understand.
Josi’s eyes are locked on me. They have been from the start. She hasn’t even grabbed a cup. Cautiously, I stand up, using a chair to steady myself. I wobble on my legs, the ground just a little further away. I focus on the feeling of relief in my legs, my arms, my chest, my head. My eyes find the door, all four eyes, seeing the wonderfully clear dints and scratches lining it. My skin is blood-red. I’m two meters tall, my limbs full of muscle I didn’t have. She knows it’s still me, that I haven’t really changed. She does. She must.
“Laine?” she says.
I try to reply in English.
Josi stares at me, perfectly still. Then she sprints to the door and slams it behind her.
I saw the look in her eyes. I saw the terror.
“Help!” Josi shrieks from the street.
Next come the humans.
I try to escape the house, but human hands and bodies push me back, trying to hold me down. Eight hands grip my arms. They don’t know I’m stronger. Twisting in their grip, I quickly pull away, their hands ripping off my arms one by one. I sprint for the street.
Dust floats behind me as I run across the red dirt road, sun burning in the sky. They stampede towards me, the senseless two-eyed humans. Josi isn’t one of them. She’s my friend. She’s still my friend. But the mob is coming closer. My house is the only retreat.
At my house is the ship they gave me when they revealed my first mission. I pass the bank, the post office, a few shops, all whizzing by in the chaos of thunderous footsteps, yells, and crashes behind me. I can’t stop. It’s not over yet.
The ornate blue door runs to meet me. I yank the handle, pull myself inside and slam the door behind me. There’s no lock. My breath rushes out in heaves, my legs shaking. I haven’t done something like that in years. I lean against the door, keeping them outside.
Faint voices stream outside, a few clear above the rest.
“Looked like Laine,” a gruff voice says.
“It isn’t.” Josi’s voice. My heart pulses in my ears. “It’s a monster.”
Something tightens and seizes my chest.
Holding my hurt, I listen to their cries of alien and creature and beast, feel their hands press against the door. I can’t hold them all.
One thought hammers into my head. Josi. She’s only a human. I knew friendship would never work out. But I still had a spark of hope, back when I felt like a real spy, waiting to be snuffed out before it grew into something dangerous.
I need to get to the ship.
Opposite the front door is a rickety back one, made of straw and logs, sandwiched between two lime walls. I run the length of the small room and fling it open. Behind it is a patch of dry, overgrown lawn, just big enough to fit the slim, coal-black spaceship.
The front door bangs open.
I push a button and the ship’s door opens with a whoosh. Human steps grow nearer as I slide inside and close the door. They burst through the house, through the back door. I turn the accelerator clockwise with shaking fingers and rush into the air.
Last comes the comforting knowledge that I’m going to be home.

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Critique for @CleverComment

You are not okay.

Your sleep is catching up to you. You need to rest. You need to relax.

(That's what they all say).

A very nice intro to show us the conflict this character faces. I can tell that they are sleep deprived because of the issue they face. They are not okay which is why they can't relax, but they must. And the last sentence shows that the narrator doesn't care about what they say. An interesting thing to show that the character is reclusive to the world. (so relatable ;-;)

Your third birthday - you watch as your parents blow out your candles. Everyone cheers. It's all good. The newborn is going to have a great life.

Your thirteenth birthday - you complain as your parents walk in the dark room, fiery candles illuminating their journey to the dining table. You’re too old for birthdays, you say. (Inside, you’re jumping for joy).

Your thirtieth birthday - you spend the day sleeping on your couch. You spend the day scrolling on your phone. It’s your birthday! You deserve the rest.


There is no cake on your thirtieth birthday.

Your parents call you on the phone, you laugh, you smile, and you hang up after three minutes.

(You haven’t seen them in a year.)

Here we get a comparison between three different birthdays. It is very well laid out on how the character experiences their birthday on a different generation. When they were three, they were excited. When they were thirteen, their outward appearance says “I'm too old for birthdays” but on the inside it says, “oh my gawd it's my birthday yayyy”. And then things start to get depressing. On their thirtieth birthday they are alone. No spouse, no friends, no family. Only through the screen and there is no celebration. And then they hang up on their parents after a short time interacting with each other. I can tell they really want a birthday party and to meet their loved ones, but they've isolated themselves that they can never have a party again.
(also not much to say about the three hundredth birthday because it's very similar to the previous one. Also they have a sister? I don't see any mention of it throughout the text…)

You watch as the sun rises on your three hundredth birthday.

You decide that nothing is everything, and that everything is nothing.

You decide to walk to the tree that grows on your parent’s graves. And you cry.

You are so sad that you wasted your life. You are so sad that you never appreciated your life.

You are not okay.

The narrator has lost everything. Their life is nothing. They regret everything. And it's because of their actions. And now the last sentence really connects back to the start. You are not okay. It's VERY GOOD. It not only reveals to us why they're not okay, but also why they are tired. They are old, they need to rest. But the narrator doesn't want to because they wanted to visit their parents's graves. They want to apologize for what they done. (I hope this is really what you meant but if it isn't then whoops )

And with your tears, you notice that a flower grew on your parent’s grave.

And you start crying for years.

A nice way to show growth through a flower. But then you are feeding a flower through your guilt and remorse? That sounds depressing and not so positive…

On your three-thousandth birthday, you are a tree.

You watch as the sun goes down.

You are at peace.

(Everything is better when you are a tree).

You watch as the world goes dark.

There is no cake on your last birthday.

(But you are not alone).

OMG THIS IS SO GOOD. The final part just shows what they are upset about previously, having no cake. But they have their family with them, and watching the sunset with your family and just when the sun rises you are alone. It's a perfect way to conclude an ending. Although I'm really confused about the narrator being a tree. Did they reincarnate? Although I'm sure you added these questions for suspense.

Overall, your story is amazing. I love the parts when you add minor details in the passage, just to use them again later on with a more powerful meaning. Everything is well put together with only two mistakes I can spot. Firstly it's the parts that gave me more questions than answers. Sure it's good for suspense, but why does the narrator live for 300 years to begin with? And why did their relatives die and not them? The second issue is the age. You described it as words instead of numbers. I'm saying this because I got a little confuse right there. (or maybe because you wanted more words?) But it's really good and I believe if this was in the writing comp I think you can win a prize or something. Thanks for letting me read this

566 words (without the emoticons)

play sound [writing is life] until done

Elise

“Leave me alone!”
The shout rang through the air, fierce and commanding. A sob built up in my throat.
“I-I never meant it like that! I just want to be your friend… come on, Elise.” I trailed off, my voice cracking with emotion. I stared intently at my old friend. Her eyes brimmed with tears, threatening to fall. I spread my arms open, a safe haven of warmth, welcoming her in.
“No!”
She ran out of the room, her hair flying behind her tear-streaked face.
“Elise! I need you! Don’t go!” I called after her. Salty water cascaded onto the stiff concrete floor, a waterfall of sorrow. Elise’s smile seared in my memory, painful yet comforting. I inhaled deeply, and shakily stood up. I stomped out of the changing room, my ragged clothes scattered on the floor behind me, left over from Sports earlier that day. I didn’t care. All I cared about was the look in Elise’s eyes as she argued with me ferociously. The thought sent pain like daggers through my heart.

I lay in bed, the springy mattress as hard as stone, sending a chill up my spine. My eyes were swollen and bloodshot. I listened to the inky black crows outside cawing furiously at each other. There was a glint in their eyes, dark and angry, yet despairing and anguished. Just like Elise… I swung my legs over the side of my bed and opened my window. The freezing night air surged into my dimly lit room, a cooling relief after the argument I’d had with Elise.

What are you doing, Amy? You know she never actually cared about you.
Leave it.

I ignored the malicious voice in my head and gazed out of the window at the glittering stars. They radiated harsh white light, harsh as the sodden concrete floor, glistening with tears I had shed. Tears I had shed for Elise.

She’s not worth it, Amy. Didn’t you see the spite in her face?
She would never shed tears for you.

I knew that wasn’t true. I had seen them in her eyes, as clear as a vibrant flower on a rainy day. She was that flower, strong and kind, her personality vivid and dramatic. I tiptoed to my desk and turned on the lamp. Golden light flooded my room, blindingly bright. I fingered my woven friendship bracelet, the colours comfortingly familiar. Without realising what I was doing, my hands were clasped around the smooth wood of my pencil.

It danced across the page, elegant and graceful, like a bird. I sketched the mischievous twinkle in Elise’s eyes, the faint birthmark on her cheek, the small dimples in her cheeks. I became lost in the art, not stopping to think about the quarrel. The Elise I knew was still alive on the paper, smiling up at me with immense love.

Stop it. You know she’s not real on that paper.
She’s made her choice.

I shook my head and focused on the drawing, shading on the delicate bracelet around her wrist. Beside her I drew a hand reaching towards hers from the edge of the page. It had an identical friendship bracelet. I saw the rain patter softly outside, its fingers drumming on my window, washing away my tears. A light flickered on, opposite my house. A pale, blotchy face stared out at mine. Its lips curled into a smile. Elise. I laughed, a sound that made my tears fall faster and faster.


No
No

No

The voice in my head grew silent and I laughed. It was a sound that held hope. A sound that held life. A sound that held love. Love for Elise.

return to main post

March 15th Daily

I froze at my seat, the world around me is no longer advancing. It can't be… “Unfortunately, Marbles, it's reality. Tomorrow is your last day. Spend the remaining hours with your family and loved ones.”

The doctor's words resonated in my head as I awoke this morning. My mental health has gotten the hold of my physical body, shutting down my systems entirely. I can no longer eat nor see, which is why Weren sent me to doctor for checkup, only to receive bad news. “Marbles, I'm sorry. This is all my fault…” Weren spoke to me last night, but I cannot find ways to comfort him. Both of us needed each other in dark times, but I can't imagine a world regarding his life without me. But I suddenly remembered an incident not long ago, the reason why I was so paranoid of death.

Two weeks ago, when strolling down an empty alleyway after my school, I got lost and found myself in a sinister place. I checked my watch and it was midnight on the dot. Strange… I thought quietly as I just left school and classes end in the afternoon. Somehow I forgotten where I was, the alleyway was a shortcut back home, but instead it keeps on going forever. How ominous… Eventually I came to a dead end. “Wh-Where am I?”

“Somewhere where I can talk to you personally.”

A hooded figure appeared behind me through a spiral of shadows. Its voice was enough to send chills across my body in the dark, cold night sky. “Who are you? Why are you doing this? Let me out of here! Where even am I?” It just laughed, “My, my. So many questions… I'm merely just a messenger.” I was puzzled by the answer, “Messenger? Of whom?” I asked desperately, “That is not important right now. I'll get to the point. You will perish in the time of two weeks due to a secret you hold that has embedded into your very soul. It will become stronger than you and will take away your soul and your being, killing you in the process.” I refused to believe whatever this con man might be doing, “Look, you may not be real. But why do you randomly presume this?” It shook its head and said, “I'm just speaking from what my master says, whom they have seen many die due to the same consequences as you. To avoid this, you must tell the truth to others. Every little secret you hold dear must be spilled for your life. Goodbye.” With a whish of smoke, it was gone. Light filled the alleyway as I noticed the dead end was gone. It was still afternoon. “That was weird…” I said, neglecting whatever nonsense that guy threw at me.

This is bad. I never hoped what it said was true, because my secrets are too humiliating to expose. What will they say to me after this? “Marbles? Are you okay?” Weren opened the door, I noticed his face had streaks of flowing tears, but he did a horrible attempt to cover it. “I-I, I'm fine, Weren. It's okay.” I said as I approached him, embracing him to comfort him, but that just made my anxiety worse. “Marbles. Something isn't right you know. I know that you're hiding something from me. And when you leave, how will I ever know what's making you struggle? Maybe if it was gone, you could keep your life…” I stared at him, seeing if he were joking. But he wasn't, his eyes were etched with seriousness all over. “But if I'm gone, you'll never know… And I rather keep it that way!” I blurted out, covering my mouth instantly. "Marbles, this isn't the way. What will my life be without you?“ I looked at him with horror. I never thought about it. ”Weren… I'm sorry. I was too selfish…“ ”It's okay…“ I took a deep breath as it was his turn to comfort me, ”I like you.“ My words spilled out again, I flushed in embarrassment as I clapped my hands over my mouth, but Weren caught it. ”Hmm? Really?“ He said, somehow excited. ”Y-Yes! I never wanted to tell you because I was so scared. What will you think of me? Everyone abandoned me because I like someone of the same gender. I was afraid you would do the same…“ I said, softer with each word spoken. ”Oh, Marbles. I really like you too! Which was why I was desperate about my life without you.“ I bore into his eyes. They were serious, he wasn't joking. ”Really?“ He smiled, ”Of course.“

The clock struck midnight. It was time.

”Weren, I-“
”It's okay. You will be alright. If my hypothesis is right."

I took a deep breath, looked one last time at my surroundings and closed my eyes, feeling Weren's embrace and warmth, comforting me if I could never open my eyes again.

830 words

play sound [writing is life] until done

A Crack in the Window

Gently, you put the key in the lock.

Click.

Softly, you turn it.

Click-click-click.

Slowly, you open the door.

Creak.

You don’t dare make any more noise than necessary. It’s a quiet night, and you don’t want to disturb it. It doesn’t make any sense, but you know it would be wrong.

You step inside, shutting the door behind you with no great fanfare. Now that you’re out from underneath the shining stars and watchful moon, everything seems more mundane. You hang up your all-in-one key ring. The keys on it include your car key, house key, and a whole lot of other keys you needed once but have stopped using since then.

You take off your shoes and coat next. You breathe a sigh of relief as it starts to sink in that you are home, and that you can relax.

Your next step is to go into the kitchen and make yourself a microwave dinner, which you take to sit in front of the TV and watch the news until your eyes start fluttering shut. When they do, you turn off the TV and head to your bathroom to brush your teeth and then to your bedroom to put on your pajamas.

Something is wrong, though. As you stretch out onto your full-sized bed, lying on your side to face the window as you usually do, you frown.

There’s a crack in the window.

How did that get there? you wonder, sitting up. You don’t remember anything hitting it. No one lives near you, so it couldn’t have been the fault of a neighbor. You gently run your finger across the crack. It’s small, but still concerning. You just don’t know what could have happened.

You’re tired right now, though. You resolve to investigate it in the morning when you can put more cohesive thought into the issue.

So you lay back down and go to sleep.

~…~

In the morning, you forget about it entirely. You vaguely remember thinking something about a window, but you write it off as a random dream. Like normal, you get ready for the day, and head off to work.

The day is average and passes by almost mechanically. In what feels like moments, you’re on your way home. Once again, you go through your nightly routine and eventually climb into bed.

The crack has grown.
You shoot up, heart pounding, everything from last night coming back to you in a rush.

You study the crack. Its paper-thin tendrils reach farther - stretching out, grasping at the edges of the frame. It makes you feel odd.

What is cracking your window? It has to be something. It has to be someone. A prankster, who thinks it’s funny to mess with you like this, who’s throwing a rock at your window nightly.

You look down at the entirely rock-less field surrounding your house.

Or something.

Tomorrow is Saturday, so you don’t have to go to work. You decide you’ll spend the day keeping watch.

~…~

Nothing happens.

Your resolve begins to fade by noon, and around 3 P.M. you give up entirely. I’m making too big of a deal out of this, you think. A mountain out of a molehill. There are probably plenty of normal, non-suspicious reasons for which a window would crack. You just don’t know about them, because you are not a…window technician? That is a profession that probably does not exist, but you use it to comfort yourself anyway.

You briefly consider setting up cameras while you’re gone but dismiss the idea upon consideration of the prices involved. As you told yourself before, you’re being incredibly overdramatic about a crack in your window.

You decide to go for a walk. You need some fresh air, and a break from keeping watch. You realize how crazy of an idea “keeping watch” was in the first place. Yes, some fresh air will do you good.

Half an hour later you return and decide to go check on the window. You promise yourself you won’t stay in your bedroom for long, though. You just want to have a look.

The crack is even bigger now.

Your heart pounds and you cautiously step closer to the window. Why am I so nervous about this? you ask yourself.

You can’t answer that question.

The crack hasn’t just grown, it’s grown into…something. There’s a shape there, one you can’t make out. It’s not natural, and it makes you sick. You tear your eyes away, steadying yourself on your bed as you feel your knees go weak.

You don’t care what’s causing this anymore. You just want it to go away.

Hardly conscious of your movements, you run out of your room, rip your keys off the hook, and slam open the door. You barely remember to shut it behind you before you tear open your car door and jump inside. You jam your keys into the ignition and slam your foot on the pedal.

You’re heading to Home Depot.

~…~

You take determined steps toward the section labeled “Windows”. You try to remember the approximate size of your window but are struck by involuntarily produced images of the crack.

You end up grabbing a random one. You’ll make it work.

The cashier gives you an odd look, and you remember you didn’t brush your hair today. Or your teeth. And that you’re still wearing your pajamas. You consider this for a moment and conclude that you don’t care.

Once you’re home, a bit of your adrenaline has faded, and you have to work up the courage to face the window again. You manage to procrastinate by watching and re-watching a YouTube tutorial on how to replace a window and grabbing the necessary tools. But then you remember what you’re doing, and why. The design of the crack strikes you again, and you are filled with both new fear and new determination.

Your determination convinces you to face the music. You drag the window that is probably the wrong size outside, along with the bag of tools and materials, and walk around your house to where you know your bedroom window is waiting for you.

Now that you’re there, you’re filled with a rapacious hunger to just get the job done. Everything from the tutorial flies out of your head, and you just grab the chainsaw from its position beside your bag of tools and drive it into the frame. You drag it up the left side, then yank it out to drive it across the top. Next is the right side. For the bottom, instead of using the chainsaw, you just rip out the window with your hands. They’re covered in splinters now, but you don’t care.

You stare at the window for a moment, and fear overtakes you again. This thing needs to be destroyed, now. Screwing your eyes shut, you use the strength you didn’t know you had to hurl it into the distance. It ends up buried by the tall yellow grass, so you don’t know where it fell. You don’t think you ever want to know.

As your panic and rage subside, you begin to see just how much of a mess your window frame is now. It’s uneven, and the cut is messy. You grimace. That’ll take a whole lot of money to fix, you think.

You look at the replacement window, leaning against the wall. Now that you can see how big it’s supposed to be, you can tell that it’s way too small. Not that it would have worked if it was the right size, given the state of the window frame.

You’ll just have to go without a window for a bit and call a professional sometime to fix this. You wonder how you’ll explain this. Maybe you’ll just play dumb. Pretend you were stupid enough to think you were just supposed to cut out the old window and shove the old one in. It’ll be embarrassing, but at least they won’t think you’re crazy.

Are you crazy?

It doesn’t matter. It’s over now.

~…~

A few hours later you lie down on your bed, excited for a good night’s sleep now that you don’t have to worry about your window - or the crack in it - anymore.

Then you see your window.

It’s back in the frame, which is as good as new. And the crack…

Before you can even think about what you’re doing, you’re reaching for the toolbag you laid at the foot of your bed, too lazy to put away. You reach your hand into it for a moment, then pull it out, move it slightly to the left, and grab your chainsaw.

Something is cracking your window.

You decide you’ll crack it yourself instead.

With a yell, you flick the chainsaw on full power, and in one fluid motion, ram it into the window.

The sound of it shattering is deafening. Glass flies everywhere, and you feel shards dig into your skin and rip at your clothes. They coat your bed, and every movement hurts, but you don’t care, because the crack is gone now - it has to be gone. It’s gone, right?

You direct your eyes - both of them, even though one of them has a piece of glass in it and doesn’t seem to work right - at the window. It’s gone, but so is the field, the sky, and everything around your house.

Instead, it’s just white.

This is the culprit, you think. The void. Grabbing a hold of the window’s shattered edges, you slide a leg over the edge, and then another. The rest of you - broken and bleeding you - slides through after them.

Your house disappears. Everything disappears. It’s just you and the white, now. None of your cuts hurt anymore.

“Are you what’s been cracking my window?” you ask the void.

The void does not respond. Only silence does. Silence, silence, silence. But then the silence begins to crack. It cracks into patterns you don’t understand, and don’t want to understand. It cracks all around you, and you feel yourself cracking, too.

You scream. The pattern, it’s the same one, it’s everywhere, it’s the one you can’t comprehend, it’s covering you, consuming you, breaking you - it’s everywhere - it’s everything - it’s cracking - cracking - cracking - until finally -

it shatters.

Weekly #2

1881 words

Part 1
I stared at my father dubiously. He nodded at the postman, his eyes deep and serious. Clutched tightly in his grasp was a flimsy bunch of fennel, bay leaves and a stunning amber flower with soft velvety petals. I frowned. What was he doing? He had been receiving lots of flowers lately, some beautiful, some alien and some completely normal and ugly. Why?
“Bye!” My father called after the postman gruffly.
I wandered up to him casually.
“You know, Dad… why have you been receiving so many flowers lately? I mean, it’s a bit strange, isn’t it?”
Dad nodded vaguely and scratched his chin thoughtfully. His dusky hair was impeccably neat and tidy. His smooth olive skin was flawless. His clothes didn’t have a speck of dust on them. Just the same as always. What was wrong with him? He had been acting distant lately, often gazing into the distance, carving a smile into his lips. It was so disconcerting. Me and my mum had to poke him and shout at him to get him out of his daze. He trudged away, stepping carelessly on bits of rubbish left scattered around the house. I sighed. It seemed endless.

The next morning, I decided to pay closer attention to him. At first I had remained politely ignorant, but now curiosity was pulling me the other way. I yanked open the door open for the postman, with Dad distracted with my so-called leaking roof. A flicker of confusion passed over his face, surprised not to see my Dad.
“Hello. Uh - could you get your Dad?” He inquired clumsily.
I shook my head at him.
“Sorry. He’s not well today. Whatever he needs, I can take it to him!” I told him proudly, my head held high.
Dad thundered down the stairs, his face stormy. I shrunk back. He softened as he saw the postman, and stared at me suspiciously.
“Do you have any post?”
“Ah - yes!”
The postman brandished a berry-red t-shirt and a darkly-coloured flower from his pocket. Dad gasped. He leaned in close to the postman and began muttering. I craned my head to listen to what they were saying.

“Ragged robin? And nightshade! Surely it can’t be that serious, Hyacinth?”
I sniggered. Hyacinth?
“It is. The flower language isn't working. Somehow someone has found out what we’re doing. We have to find another way.”
“What about base? Is Snowdrop alright?”
“They’re all gone! I went to base and no one was there.”
My heart thudded in my chest. What was this?
“Dad?” What are you talking about?” I exclaimed.
Dad stared at me blankly.
He clenched his fists.
He slammed the door.
He burst into tears.

Part 2
This is not completely accurate.

I soared through the sky, my feathers quavering in the vicious breeze. I swooped and curved, pirouetted and twirled, my eyes closed in bliss.
Get on with it!
Zeus’ voice was gravelly and rough, full of wisdom and age, yet merciless and brutal. I was glad I was working for him, not against.
There!
My inky eyes trained on a small dark pinprick in the vast grasslands. I dived towards it, growing gradually faster and faster, plummeting towards him, focused on nothing else. My beak glinted in the sunlight, snapping ferociously. My mind whirred, the speed making me exhilarated. So close…

Ganymede ambled through the dusty, rough landscapes, the cracked parched soil a sight of sadness to his young, innocent eyes. They had never seen anything bad, anything sorrowful, anything dark. The sun beat down from the dazzling sapphire sky, making him glow, luminous and radiant in the dying terrain. He smiled softly, his eyes crinkling. He wished life was this peaceful. The silvery birdsong and the twisted trees, light dappling through their rich leaves.

Ganymede noticed a tiny brown rabbit, its fluffy fur sticking up wildly from its slender back. Long ears perked up, buried in heaps of fur. Its eyes narrowed and it glanced up at the sky before hurrying away anxiously. The birdsong eased into piercing shrieks and ear-splitting screeches. The wind blew faster and faster by his face, making him shiver and hunch his shoulders. He swivelled around at the last minute to see flexing talons rush to him, a dark feathered head staring at his. An eagle. The bone-breaking weight landed on his head and he collapsed to the peaty soil, unmoving.
I stood proudly on his soft, dusky hair triumphantly and gently picked up the pale boy, heaving him into the air, my wingbeats slow and sluggish, struggling to lift him to the clouds.
Quicker!
I shrieked in irritation. Couldn’t he just leave me alone? The boy stirred in my claws, sickly pale and drowsy. As his eyes gradually opened, they grew wide in sheer terror. He opened his mouth to scream, but no sound came out. I dipped my head to him respectfully. I wished I could speak to him. He was just a child. I pressed on, my head tilted up to the clouds, my brown, sleek feathers rippling softly.

Ganymede snapped open his eyes. His tongue was dry and thick, his throat parched and sore. He was surrounded by smooth, dazzling white pillars and lying on a cold, intricate mosaic floor. The eagle hopped by his feet, sniffing him curiously. I coughed, my chest heaving. The eagle leant its silky head and nuzzled me. But he didn’t care. He was glancing around at his mind-blowing surroundings, his mouth hanging open in astonishment. Zeus towered over him, his lightning bolt glinting dangerously.
He was in the home of the gods.

Part 4
I rushed through the terminal, my legs a blur as I delivered the letters back and forth. The fresh dazzling white paper crackled in my weathered hands, thick and rough. The looping script painted a picture of beauty to my awed eyes, the writing sending a thrill through my heart. I could feel the mysteries waiting to be read inside them, all the secret messages from illusive spies. A smile blossomed on my flushed face, warming me from the very tip of my highest strand of oily hair to my aching feet.

Cuts peppered my hands, blood blooming from them like crimson flowers. The paper dug into my hand yet again and I winced as the pain shot through me like a needle.
“Working hard as ever, I see!”
The voice distracted me from the sting as I spun around to see a kind soft face, amusement glimmering in her eyes. I nodded politely, my tongue thick and dry, sticking to the roof of my mouth whenever I spoke to anyone I didn't know well. Anxiety built up in my throat as she stared at me curiously, a frown carving lines through her face.

“Are you alright?” She asked tentatively.
“Yes.” I croaked shortly. I grinned as cheerfully as possible and raced over the smooth, polished floors. I thrusted the doors open and skidded to a halt in front of a crumbling, ancient Victorian house, and rapped gently on the door. This time the paper was brown and delicate, threatening to disintegrate at the slightest breeze. Fresh ink dripped down the page, and I made out a stamp of a robin with nightshade clutched tightly in its jaw. The robin’s feathers were sticking up and ragged, its eyes witty and mischievous.

A resounding bang revealed a small petite woman with curly brown hair and serious hazel eyes. I passed her the envelope silently and watched as her hand fluttered up to her mouth in horror. She slid the letter out of the envelope and read quickly and anxiously. She slammed the door in my shocked face. I flinched, the sound startling me. I had read one word from that letter. I know I shouldn’t have… but I did. I clattered down the steps clumsily and hastily before collecting my thoughts. ‘Wit.’ The one word I had seen. Written in big bold letters, underlined three times.

“There’s going to be a letter rush soon.”
I braced myself for the attack of letters, while bathing my sore hands in soothing water, the cold stinging, in a good way. Birds flapped around outside, their eyes small and malicious. Dangling from their sharp talons were letters and flowers, parcels and presents. One caught my eye. A sprig of nightshade. The envelope.

I looked on quietly as the bird spiralled down to the exact house where I had delivered the letter. I frowned. It fluttered to the roof of the house and dropped it down the chimney.
I scrambled up the steps to Yume.
“Uh - I’ve got a letter to post.” I stuttered.
“Ok! You don’t have to come and tell me, you know.”
“Oh - yeah.”
I blushed, my embarrassment visible.

A few minutes later, I was standing outside the peeling crusty door, wondering what to do. I couldn’t just ask to go in! It turned out the solution came to me.
“Come on in, dear! I’ll make you a nice cuppa. You look dreadfully cold!”
I nodded eagerly and stepped inside. What I saw astonished me.

The walls inside were concrete and bland, painted an inky black, no paintings adorning them. The floor was a harshly coloured wood, also black. I felt as though I was walking in space, the darkness cloaking me in its icy grip. . But what shocked me lay ahead.
In front of me lay piles, masses of letters, all stacked up against each other. A robin flitted around the room, chirping furiously. Nightshade was bundled up against the walls and ink was splattered everywhere. The bin was overflowing with discarded letters, many written again and again, with slight modification.

“Sorry about the mess, sweetie.”
I gulped. Now we were inside, her face was cold and stern, bony and thin. She spoke in a sickly sweet way, her voice laced with malice.
“Now, while the kettle’s boiling, let’s have a nice chat about that letter!”
I backed away.
“Um… maybe another time.” I muttered shakily.
Her face creased with sorrow.
“No, no, come on! I don’t bite!”
She laughed heartlessly at her own joke. I edged back into the room, dizzy with fear. What was she going to do to me? But curiosity overpowered that sense. I had to find out what was going on. She gestured for me to sit down. I perched on the metal chair nervously, the freezing metal biting my back.

“You saw that letter. You’ve seen out secrets. You have to be dealt with.”
“W-what do you mean?”
She sighed.
“You know what I mean! Keep this to yourself, and don’t tell anyone! Especially not-” She shuddered, “Yume.”
I arched an eyebrow.
“What does Yume know about this?”
She shook her head.
“Don't tell anyone.”
“Or what?” I asked rudely, mischief building up inside me.
“You don’t want to know!”
A triumphant smile formed on her face, seemingly strange on such a person.
“Now go!”
I jumped and darted out through the front door, dashing down the street until I couldn’t go any more. I collapsed onto the rough ground, tears of exhaustion brimming in my eyes. I breathed out heavily. What was this? Who was she?
And with that, I bolted down the street, and never looked back.

Daily 15th March

“You’re going to die.”
I flinched.
“What?”
But the darkly cloaked figure was gone.
I frowned.
What did they mean?
Who were they?
Why were they dressed like that?
Was I going to die?

No!
I was not going to die.
Never.
Ever.
I couldn’t leave this place without saying goodbye!
What about my family?
I gulped, tears welling in my eyes.
They shone and glittered in the harsh sunlight.
They spilled down my face,
Splashing onto the floor.
I had to ignore them;
They were just scaring me.
Was I going to die?

“Katy!”
My mum’s voice was far away,
Just an echo in my swirling thoughts.
How would I tell her?
I hurried to the window,
Trying to calm myself,
Reassuring.
Comforting.
I gently stooped and picked up,
A ragged toy,
Worn thin with handling,
Wet with tears.
I cuddled it close to my,
Heaving chest,
And brushed my lips against its,
Coarse fur.
Was I going to die?

“Katy!”
My mum was furious now,
Fuming.
Raging.
“I need you!”
I buried my head in my hands,
Bit my lip,
Blood bloomed, crimson and shiny,
I couldn’t die.
I wouldn’t die.
Was I going to die?

“I’m coming upstairs!”
I leapt onto my bed,
Elegant, graceful,
Slid underneath the,
Silky covers.
My door banged open,
I shuddered,
The sound,
Piercing my heart into,
A million pieces.
Boots slapped the soft, woolly carpet,
Growing gradually softer,
Softer.
Was I going to die?

“Katy?”
She pulled back the covers,
Revealing my huddled form.
She gathered me up in,
Sturdy arms.
I sobbed,
My misery pouring out.
Was I going to die?

“What’s wrong?”
I wound my arms around her,
Warm back,
Her clothes sodden with,
Endless tears.
“I’m so scared.”
My voice a croak,
A whisper,
A mutter.
Quiet.
Mournful.
Anguished.
Woeful.
Was I going to die?

“I’m not going to die.”
I squeezed my mum,
So hard,
Never let go.
My vision blurred,
Clouded with tears.
Hold on.
Hold on!
“What do you mean?”
I couldn’t bring myself,
To utter,
Those dreadful words,
That would break her cracking heart.
“I won’t leave you.”
I felt the truth,
Singing,
Shining out,
Bright and radiant.
Was I going to die?

“I’ll never leave you!”
Her voice cracked with sheer emotion,
It sent shivers down my spine.
Something churned inside me,
Pulsing and aching,
Throbbing,
A fatal warning.
Fast, shallow breathing,
My mother held me close,
My last link to the alive world,
“I love you.”
I was going to die.