SWC daily #2

march 2nd

you are my moonlight

You toss and turn at night from side to side, turmoil clattering your thoughts as they spiral out of control. Replaying sweet memories like they are tapes, of toothy smiles and old games.
i don't need you mama.
You rewind the tapes again. They clash into each other, every moment merging to make some new colour. You cannot see what is real and what is not.
bambina, you cannot do this.
There was a girl. A girl who was falling apart, with black lustrous waves of hair that tumbled past her shoulder. Who used to hold her arms out to you as she tottered unsteadily. A four year old who clung tight to your arm with blue ribbons, weaved through her hair. Tugging your hand, pulling you back to see the pretty dewdrops of the spier’s web. Cigarette smoke obscuring her face.
gave you everything.
Something resurfaces from a dusty corner, crystal clear. When it gets bad, you let its light illuminate your face. A lullaby you sang to her to sleep with, a lifetime ago.

Stickers decorated the little room’s walls, showing Disney princesses that were faded, ripped and tattered. Belle’s face was half gone, Aurora had one hand and Snow White had no hair. There was a new lilac bean bag chair sitting in the corner, which seemed out of place in such a tired looking room.
But she loved her room and the stickers. You'd bought them at a garage sale, haggling for a lower price. The seller was clearly desperate.
They were falling apart, because back then it was too tight to even manage the slightest luxury. Even for her.
You offered her new ones when times got better, the fridge was full and in a flat instead of two rooms. She said she wanted to keep her old ones.

Tonight, she hummed an old tune under her breath. The clock had just struck midnight.
“Why aren't you asleep?”
She fidgeted with the duvet cover. “There's a monster under my bed.”
You sat down on the floral sheets
“Yeah. There is.”
She looked up with wide-eyed wonder. Inhaling sharply, she leant forward.
“He protects you from nightmares, and picks up the socks from the house. See?” You fished under the bed and pull out a dust-coated poor penguin, instead.
She giggled. “Can you sing me a song?”
You sang till your throat was hoarse. A timeless melody that hundreds of thousands of mothers have used to lull their children to sleep.

You are my sunshine
My only sunshine
You make me happy
When skies are grey
You'll never know, dear
How much I love you
Please don't take
My sunshine away

You crooned it to her gently, watching her eyelids close, listening to the steady rise and fall of her breathing.
You got up to tiptoe softly across the room, until a sleepy voice called out:
“Am I your sunshine, mama?”
Shuddering, thinking of the second verse of the
lullaby, you shook your head. She stuck her bottom lip out and began to wobble.
You gathered her close to you, holding her small, warm body. Your own blood runs in her veins. You are half of this sweet, innocent little child.
“You are like the moon in my night sky,” you whispered into her ear, “you are everything to me, bambina.”
“Promise?”
“Promise. The monsters won't come either.”
But the bambina is already half-dozing again. Her head lolls to the side slowly.
“Good night mama.”
“Good night, my love.”

The same words are enough to startle you back to the present. A cloak of darkness has settled over the world. The same voice turns out the lights and leaves the room. You are alone.
love you, mama.
And yet, somewhere, Bambina's hums the tune of the lullaby. It is the cadence of her voice that coaxes you to sleep. So much tenderness, so much love.
it isn't your fault
You drift in and out of consciousness for a little while. Sunlight may be golden, but you've always preferred the moon’s steady glow. Because sunlight can sear through your skin, can blind you with it's brilliance. They call it the colour of happiness. What makes you happy isn't meant to hurt you.
i love you
And the last thing you remember, is an old melody from a lifetime ago.

+726 words,
thank you to twilight_a for the compliment <3

SWC daily #3

defo not my best work, this was pretty hard lol

HI-FI - A Simple Melody

A renaissance you are enticed by,
with a simple melody
some soul plays on a lute
from the moment that the sun rose,
time was already a waiting woman,
knowing mankind could not stop her.

we made our mark on history
with brutal battles that soaked the earth with blood,
the sweat of labourers to raise monuments
the empires from the ashes they came
and to the ashes they returned .

forgotten cultures
buried in the ruins of their homes
the greatest loves and greatest hates
noble monarchs, the dead tongues they spoke

we sing the songs of our ancestors
whose prayers still protect us,
gazing upon the same sky
we are cursed and blessed to remember
indelible print on our minds

A renaissance you are enticed by
With a simple melody

FAIRY TALES - Sirens' songs

Do you hear the sirens underwater
their tunes are scarlet and silver
do you see the delicate morning light
and hear the fairies’ golden laughter?

in these deep woods
there's a saffron robed dawn rising above us
little red is skipping past the trees
a heart full of hope and brave thunder

an old bard, with stories tattooed onto every inch
of him
the four seasons may have weathered his bones
but time left his voice sonorous,
and his words laced with magic

there’s stories that are alive in our hearts
we tell to our own children later,
of dragons, of princes, of maidens and witches
this enchanted world full of richness!


+244 words in total

SWC daily #6

march 6th

dimension dancing (a new genre)

our souls are delicate things

- a note to the reader-
when it first began, i saw how reality's fabric began to fray. it has never been there, it is a shimmering illusion. our souls are delicate things, and chaos wrecked mine with the pain it bestowed on me.

may 2nd
death is not the end. i wake, in a sea of memories, with white wisps surrounding me. they hum and their laughter is the colour of the silver, tinged with darkness. ethereal, but pain reverberates through the musicality.
they let me stay there for a while, in a blanket of haziness that fogs over your head. the sound begins to drive me mad, although
i
don't know insanity yet.

and then the screaming starts. it is trapped underneath my ribs, in my skull, in the laughter. in the blurred faces of the wisps, that
are beginning to take form. the agony creeps under my skin, grief wails and clings to me with her razor sharp claws. i thought
i'd left her behind, in the last life.
but i am soft, so i stroke her poisonous forehead and whisper a prayer. the words come out cracked, every syllable feeling foreign on my tongue. who said a soul cannot be tormented? who said a soul doesn't exist?

may 9th
he comes on the seventh day. cloaked in shadows from head to toe, his face invisible except for his eyes. not ruthless. not evil.
weighed down with sorrow, with so much grief it made it difficult to hate him.
“i am sorry,” it is punctuated with resignation. a mask of glacial indifference.
i ventured to look up before i was plunged thousands of feet below the ground.

may 21st
i dance from one reality to another, witnessing everything with a hollowness in me, that hasn't been there before.

june 6th
some days are peaceful. quieter than others. i wake with a pillow underneath my aching head, drink coffee and watch the familiar yet unknown faces around me. school is a hive of activity, i go when i want to feel normal.

july 23rd
vivianne is with me. she says she is my best friend. vivianne is tall, graceful in her loping stride. her eyes are brown, tawny and bright. she chews a
stick of gum, her purple jaw working vigorously at it.
everyone here has dyed their skin strange colours.

september 4th
someone's name is on my wrist. rohan hastily scribbled letters, handwriting that looks like someone's back home. i can't remember his face, only his strong hands that sculpt clay into fine sculptures. rohan. my friend rohan, back home with the sweetest smile.

january 29th
destruction is rife, war soaks the earth with blood and chaos lays it's hands upon everything. is peace too much to demand? can you storm to the gods, and wring out your hands, grovel at their feet to beg? to beg for it to be different.
for something a little kinder.

two years later
the days start twisting around each other, merging into one. what is a day when you haven't seen your mother's smile in years. what
is a week when you can't remember the exact cadence of your lover's voice, what is a month when you measure time by how long you haven't held your sister. i am but fragments of my past life.

unknown day.
i see a toddler's burnt socks lying on the edge of the road. something in me stirs, a feeling i had forgotten existed. i gather the charred socks close to my chest. they are baby blue, with white flowers for decoration. daisies. my sister's favourite. we made crowns out of the ones in the meadows, when we used to sneak out late. i fold the socks carefully into my bag, trying not to cry.

+656 words. kinda got carried away lol

word war - march 6th

after we say goodbye

fifteen years later i bump into you in London. your hair is straightened, you wear blue sports jackets and have k-pop music blaring from your airpods. i raise my hand half-heartedly, at the sight of you across the street to see you force a smile.

there's an old wedding band on your finger set with amethyst. your favourite shade of purple. i fuss over it and you notice the gemstone sparkling on my left hand.

“you know it’s funny,” i’ll say looking at you, “we always said the other one would come to our wedding.”

you'll twist the corner of your mouth, “we used to hate people who broke promises too.”

i’ll watch the diamond sparkle in the sunlight as vehicles blare past us, letting you break me a little more. you might find my heart spilled out by ink, but you always could win with words.

SWC daily #8

march 8th

letter to an inspirational women

dear nikita gill,

i have sought refuge between the pages of your poetry books for years on end, this is my heartfelt thank you to you. your words hold so much power, so much strength and give a voice to something i wouldn't be able to articulate myself. they inspired me to try writing poetry - i've never looked back since. you stand for equality, for oppressed women and your words speak of love, loss, conformity, regret, fear as well as anger. there is also so much joy in them that echoes reassurance. being rejected 137 times must have been excruciatingly difficult, yet it is inspiring to me how resilient you were - you didn't give up, not even for a minute. i can get lost of in your poetic myth retelling, that help me to see characters through new lenses. what you write resonates so deeply with me!

you aren't afraid to speak up for what you feel is right, you are direct and brave with your words as always. you make me feel seen, make me feel heard and documenting such raw experiences must be hard, it's hard for every writer but the honesty of your poetry stands out to me. you seek to remind people of their worth, to let them feel as if someone understands. for all of this, i applaud you so much because you inspire me on a daily basis to push myself to my potential, writing wise. that's why i'm writing to you now. i'm honestly so happy to have found your poetry, it was the first step on a long road to walk for me. so from the bottom of my heart, thank you.

i hope to be given half the courage you have
yours truly,
alaska

+293 words

prompted word war - march 10th

unclosed wounds

in the presence of ghosts, there was only one thing to do.
i tore my necklace from my neck. grandma had left me years ago and this was the only thing i had of her memory.
“be careful, ma chouette. this necklace has been in our family for generations. i hope you will never feel the need to use it.”
grandma's wish hadn't come true. howling banshees swirled around my head, piercing screams almost burst my eardrums. i took a deep breath and sent up a prayer.
“God,” i muttered under my breath, “i know you're there. help me, please.”
opening the locket, strange green light clouded the room. the ghosts yelped and stumbled backwards, falling over each other.
“don't kill our souls,” they whimpered, “we'll leave you.”
i shook my head decidedly.
“you have been tormenting my family for generations, for a crime that was committed centuries ago.”
“your anecstor robbed me of my mother,” an spirit in the form of an elderly lady came forward, “if i could see him, i would ask him one thing. how do i live the rest of my life without her?”
i spit out the next words, hard and fast.
“you are dead. you won't have to worry.”
her face turns ugly and i feel almost sympathetic.
“i'm sorry for the pain you've suffered. but i have to do this, for the rest of my bloodline.”
this spirit was hurt in her life - her wound never healed. yet, she still murdered every mother in our family history, for revenge. including mine.
“seize her,” the old woman's voice turns harsh.
i whisper another prayer and charge forward. my necklace hits the ghost squarely between the eyebrows and i hear shrieking from a thousand voices, that die a thousand deaths.
they are gone.
we are with you, ma cherie.

+295 words, prompt excluded.

weekly one

ITS FINALLY FINISHED GUYS

Part 1: Retelling
a jar of misery (pandora's box)

you have heard my story told for centuries by a bard's tongue or a poet's pen. it is my turn to tell you the truth.
zeus cast me from him, treated me as a pawn. i was molded from clay, by hephaestus's deft fingers. a beautiful woman, blessed by aprodhite. with the breath of a god, i was brought to life. nothing is my own, even my existence was a curse upon humanity, a “blessing” to a traitor's brother. you must forgive me for what i did. i only wanted something to be mine.
***
light flooded across the room, nymphs musical chatter filled my ears and i lay there, half-awake, half-asleep. i almost felt content, until i remembered everything i had lost by becoming epimethus's wife. everything i was forced to sacrifice. what could've been mine, had it not been for zeus. i should've had silver cutlery and a gold palace, riotous parties that my siblings threw. epimetheus had left early this morning after our fight last night.

“why are you like this?” i screamed at him, barely containing my fury.
he ducked as an object came flying at him, hands raised in surrender.
“you know why, pandora,” his voice is so soothing. like soft summer rain, a sweet rose in full bloom. his calm infuriates me further.
“why don't you ever give me anything? you keep me locked in this cage, a gold cage is still a prison, epimethus. you won't let me open the one thing that has been given to me, the only thing i have ever asked you for.”
for a moment, anger flickered across my husband's face. it was only there for a split second, a flash in his eyes and the tightening for his mouth.
“we are not allowed to open the jar. i only want to protect you.”
“i don't need protecting! you think i am not strong enough?” i hiss, words laced with poison, “you think i am as weak, as gentle as you? am i only beauty, a statue to gaze upon? tell me, husband.”
i had grabbed his face forcefully, spilling over with rage.
“i want something more. someone more. i should never have married you.”
epimethus was a pillar of strength. he was fortitude. sweet tranquility in the face of a storm.
“i know.”
silence had never been more deafening.
“it's like waiting to be mortal, waiting for you to love me.”
his eyes filled with tears. my epimethus, whom i had never seen cry.

you'd think that was enough to stop me opening the jar. but you see, i was hurt. i still am. being abandoned by the person who is supposed to love you unconditionally can wound you in unimaginable ways. so forgive me again, for the eager footsteps and scrabbling fingers. for the way i tore open the cupboard door with so much haste that the hinges screeched in protest, how i grabbed the jar with a greed that lead to so much misery.
the key is in my hand. epimethus's voice echoed in my ears - i only want to protect you. yet my father's booming voice fills my skull instead and bounces off each wall - you must not open it. i turned the key in the lock. with a sharp twist it gave away and the padlock clattered to the ground. i opened the lid.
then the world ended.

banshee screams, a torrent of suffering and the sick odour of death pervaded the air. grief wailed, settling itself upon the shoulders of humanity with a shriek. famine tears across the earth, illness claims lives of many and i slammed down the lid of the jar. breaking the wings of hope, a fragile little bird, that my distraught self didn't see.

“pandora?” epimethus crossed the floorboards swiftly to kneel next to me.
he saw my sobbing frame and the chaos. the jar sitting next to me.
epimethus is no fool.
at that moment, despite the anger and the sadness anyone else would've felt, he chose to hold the cause of it all. he cradled me in his arms as i cried into his chest, murmuring comfort into my ear. assuaging the guilt i felt, holding my hand.
because i unleased ruination on the world that day and broke hope's wings.
i shouldn't have asked you to forgive me.

+721 words

part 2: historical figures in modern times
this could be enough - a very unshakespearean play

shakespeare yawned and stretched out onto his bed. he opened his eyes, expecting to find himself gazing into his wife's face but instead he found - a mangy, flea-bitten dog? william closed his eyes again. perhaps it was some bad dream. he had been writing macbeth last night, after all. turning over to his side, he rolled right off his bed onto a hard surface.
“what mangled, idle-headed lout has done this? where is my sleeping place, where is my wife? and what on earth is this abomination i have been resting on?”
he held up an overfilled garbage bag. a foul stench poisoned the air and he began doubling over, coughing hard.
“alright mate? take it easy. you gone too hard on the rum last night?” a man thumped his back hard twice with concern. shakespeare ventured to look up into this unexpected saviour's eyes.
“i thank ye, peasant. thou truly art a brave, celestial smilet toast.”
his saviour shrugged.
“s'alright, but what are you wearing? ain't halloween quite yet. you dressed as shakespeare or summat?”
william's eyes brightened considerably.
“thou knowest who i am? oh, noble friend! tell me of wherest i may be, so i be on my way soon.”
“i can't understand a word you're nattering on about, mate. but this is a dirty part of london. not fancy enough enough for someone like you, i reckon.”
shakespeare seized the hand of the peasant, ignoring the dirt clinging to it like a second skin.
“i am more unfortunate than romeo and juliet's star-crossed love. oh, woe is me! woe is me! help me, help me.”
the man withdrew his hand with considerable alarm, for the first time wondering if this man was mad. a bit off his rocker, sure. but madness he wasn't equipped to deal with.
“look, mate. i'm johnny. come back to my apartment for a cuppa, and we'll get you sorted. that alright with you?”
the old playwright shuddered and looked at johnny in confusion.
“and what may a cuppa be?”
“a cup of tea,” said johnny patiently, “just some tea.”
shakespeare sniffed, and wrinkled his nose with distaste. the smell hadn't gone yet.
“anything to escape this stench that makes sick my nostrils. away, away! let us be gone, to this mysterious apartment.”
shakespeare banged down on the keyboard. his eyes were stinging from the hours he'd been staring at the screen. he wasn't too sure if he liked this new method, but it was certainly more efficient than his. anyone could appreciate that. the first draft of anythony and cleopatra stared back at him. this, johnny's kindness could be enough, for now. till he managed to find his way back home to his anne, his children and life.

+454 words

part 3: using sparks from the past: retelling
the last rose petal (beauty and the beast)

before we begin, let me tell you to not be afraid. i am neither monster, nor man. just a wretched being, cursed in his youth for his selfishness. everyone ran from me but even i ran from myself, then.

i can pinpoint the exact moment everything changed.

***
chandeliers twinkled up ahead, a warm light shining down on the castle's ballroom to illuminate the faces of dancing couples. grand stained glass windows and an enchanting melody lingered in the air. but my heart was blithe, my feet brisk and many maidens passed through my arms that night. the servants kept my champagne glass filled to the brim. every time i tried to put it down, it sparkled alluringly and i longed for the heady rush it gave me. a soprano's notes wavered in the air as I danced with some girl - i can hardly remember her name.
and then two sharp, rattling knocks came at the door.
the music stopped. everyone turned to me in bewilderment, although I had no answers.
“do keep calm, ladies and gentlemen,” i sipped more champagne, “let us be merry tonight! it is likely a beggar asking for alms.”
“sir,” a timid servant asked, “should we open the door?”
there was no need for such a futile question. the door sprung open itself, and the most grotesque hag emerged from behind it. i reared back in alarm, shaking off the women clinging to my arms.
“please, sir,” the old woman hobbled over with surprising speed, “can you spare a glass of water for an elderly one like me? just some water, sir.”
her face was even more appalling close up. a thousand wrinkles lined her face which was covered in dirt. her skin was shrivelled, her nose crooked.
she had a crooked back and stood hunched over, shivering from the bite of the night air, face mostly obscured by a block hood.
“no,” i said cruelly, “leave my palace, you twisted hag! never show your vile face here again, or i'll have you thrown down to the dungeons. ”
“watch your words, boy.”
the old woman shrugged off her black cape and began rising in stature. glass shattered, screaming rung out shrugged off her black cape and began rising in stature. people tripped over themselves in their haste to get away.
because before me, stood a 7-foot enchantress hovering in the air. she was dressed in robes of luminescent forest green that were made of some ethereal material. her skin was delicate, like porcelain yet shone with an astonishingly bright glow. her whole figure radiated light.
“phillipe louis alarie,” somehow, she seemed to tower above us all even more, “i curse you, so that what may be in your cruel, twisted, heart will show in your body.”
the enchantress held up a single rose with intricate petals.
“only a maiden's true love will free you from this curse,” she plucked a petal from the flower, “but if you haven't found true love by the time the last petal falls, you will stay this way forever.”

***
i spent years hidden away from the kingdom. too ashamed to show my face - the old woman had never been disgusting. it has been me along, and now I was cursed to have the cruelty of my heart reflected in my face. i felt feral, a deep sense of self-loathing washed over me during those years. i became more animal than man, during those painful years and my servants suffered the worst of it - for they were also part of the curse.

***
the merchant plucked a rose from the fragrant rose-bush, caressing it’s fragile petals. to any passerby my reaction would've seemed volatile but those roses were the ones i kept alive in my mother’s memory. even someone so selfish can have sentiments.
“how dare you,” i growled at him, plucking him by the collar, “after the hospitality i have shown to you.”
“I-i-it was a gift. for my-my daughter. she loves f-f-f flow-flowers. let me go. please. my children need me.”
the enchantress’s words made their way into my mind. only a maiden who loves you.
“bring her here,” i snarled at him, “and don't forget your promise.”

***
she was stunning, simply put. silky brown waves cascaded down her back, bundled together by a pale blue ribbon. a few tendrils had escaped and curled about her face. the sweetness of her expression with sepia coloured-eyes that showed fear, wonder and excitement. she tugged at my heart, captured it in that moment.
***
“marry me,” i said from the other side of the table, “this will all be yours.”
Isabelle put down the tattered book she was reading while eating her soup.
“i’m afraid not, beast. this soup is delicious, by the way. you are quite the cook.”
i watched her spoon the creamy soup into her mouth carefully, savouring every mouthful. liquid droplets dripped down my shaggy beard and i slurped the bowl. she was dignified, pretty and elegant. she would not be mine.
***
a snowball hit me in the face. ice cold and only one person would have thrown it. the sweet girl bundled up in a fur coat hysterically, giggling.
“i’ll get you back for that.” i lobbed a white mound at her and she shrieked.
“catch me if you can!” she sped off the corner.
ever the translucent butterfly, flitting out of my grasp.

***
“dance with me. i dance well,” i added, seeing the fear in her face. my heart ached every time i saw it.
tentatively, she placed her hand in mine. belle was in a gorgeous golden ball gown, shimmering at every touch of the light. in the white hollow of her throat lay the rose necklace i had given her, only two days ago.
i spun her around the ballroom which had seen much frivolity over the years. she let her other hand rest on my shoulder. looking up into my eyes, she smiled.
longing coursed through me, and just for a moment i let myself imagine her showing a scratched, broken pendant to our grandchildren.

***
“i want to go home,” she answered. i’d just asked her to marry me again, but today a sadness weighed down her light spirit.
“two months. just two. you must come back.”
i kept my voice steady although i couldn't help it breaking during those last two words.
“please, dear heart.”
isabelle got up and kissed me gently. a fluttering kiss, barely there.
“i will.”

***
it has been twelve summers since she made her promise. twelve winters have weathered my bones, i have waited for her every day since. but beings like me must not hope for happily every after.
and if you were wondering, the last rose petal fell long ago.

+1,134 words

part 4: magical realism

there was only one thing to do.
i tore my necklace from my neck. grandma had left me years ago and this was the only thing i had of her memory.
“be careful, ma chouette. this necklace has been in our family for generations. i hope you will never feel the need to use it.”
grandma's wish hadn't come true. howling banshees swirled around my head, piercing screams almost burst my eardrums. i took a deep breath and sent up a prayer.
“God,” i muttered under my breath, “i know you're there. help me, please.”
opening the locket, strange green light clouded the room. the ghosts yelped and stumbled backwards, falling over each other.
“don't kill our souls,” they whimpered, “we'll leave you.”
i shook my head decidedly.
“you have been tormenting my family for generations, for a crime that was committed centuries ago.”
“your anecstor robbed me of my mother,” an spirit in the form of an elderly lady came forward, “if i could see him, i would ask him one thing. how do i live the rest of my life without her?”
i spit out the next words, hard and fast.
“you are dead. you won't have to worry.”
her face turns ugly and i feel almost sympathetic.
“i'm sorry for the pain you've suffered. but i have to do this, for the rest of my bloodline.”
this spirit was hurt in her life - her wound never healed. yet, she still murdered every mother in our family history, for revenge. including mine.
“seize her,” the old woman's voice turns harsh.
i whisper another prayer and charge forward. my necklace hits the ghost squarely between the eyebrows and i hear shrieking from a thousand voices, that die a thousand deaths.
they are gone.
we are with you, ma cherie.

+301 words

part 5: if these walls could talk


my weathered bricks have seen some unspeakable things, love, loss and tragedy. when generations pass and you're the only thing left standing, you're bound to be lonely. i've kept so many secrets between my walls, but there was a boy. a boy who'd rip my heart out if i had one. he did something to me, that boy.

he was only small when he came here, ever so tiny yet curious. always poking around in my dusty corners, finding secret passages. used to be so bubbl'y, bright and his laugh was golden. i needed some joy after the previous family who had been grieving a son who passed from the war. ah, the war. the things i could tell you about those old soliders, the ones who screamed from nightmares and cried with anguish. poor, poor souls. but that's a story for another time.

the boy left one day, abruptly and sudden. his parents had been fighting for quite some time although with the obliviousness of youth and the innocence of childhood, he had neglected to notice it.
“we're leaving, nate. you, me and an adventure. how's it sound?”
the way his blue eyes grew so big and wondrous at the promise of adventure. even now, i want to open my mouth and tell him to stay here, within me and with his father. he cannot leave. cannot lose his sweetness.

i've seen so many children marred by life and her lessons that shatter them. young boys who left for wars, fresh-faced and joyful coming back as broken men, girls who stayed home waiting and watching, only to have their hearts broken by sweethearts who were buried underneath foreign soil. the death of a parent from a long illness, salvaging what little food is left in the cupboard whilst nurturing their siblings. i;m glad i'm not quite human.

when the boy came back, he was older and much quieter. the incessant chatter i remembered had been replaced by silence. not the comfortable kind, mind you but the kind that leaves so much unsaid and too many words hanging in the air for comfort. his father greeted him with a long hug
“i missed you, you know.”
“i know.”
the boy stayed in his room, day after day. his father cooked his favourite dishes but he only played with his food. pushing it around on his plate before he got up to stumble back to his room. he'd become numb to everything, just sat staring at my walls occasionally muttering things. often, he'd curl up and cry. there were multi-coloured bruises on his pallid skin and a fragility to him that hadn't been there before.
“i want to be okay,” i listened to him say those words over and over, “i want to be okay.”
he wasn't much different from the broken boys he was too young to remember.

***
i hear from death that his soul sat up to meet him. those are the best kind.
it was a car accident, from what i heard. when his father was told the news, he sobbed into his hands.
“they left me,” he whispered, “they both left me.”
the doorbell rang. a tentative knock at my door, a middle-aged woman standing outside. clutching two suitcases in both hands.
her forehead was lined with creases, her eyes drooping and heavy. but those eyes were the same shade as nate's cornflower blue.
nate's father wasn't getting up. the knocking grew more urgent. so i did the only thing i could. i swung open the door swiftly but gently, so as not to alarm anyone.
footsteps pattered across the floorboards.
“how'd you get in? i left the door closed.”
“rob,” she said quietly, “oh rob.”
there was a thud as the the two suitcases fell to the floor, and a rustle as they clasped each other tight for the first time in years.
“i'm sorry i let him hurt our baby,” she was fragile too, like nate.
robert rested his cheek on her head.
“i'm sorry it had to be this way,” rob murmured, “we only wanted the best for him.”

***
someone beat him and broke him. hurting him to weaken his spirit, the brightness in his eyes.
his memory leaves an ache in me, the kind i shouldn't feel because i'm not human.
but this is my story just as much as it is his.
his parents left this world holding each other's hands after their hair had turned white.
he did something to us, that boy.

+749 words

part six: oral retelling
brave ones

“hush,” mama whispered, “ do you want to die?”
it seemed a drastic question to ask an eleven year old girl, but it helped vivianne understand the seriousness of the situation they were entangled in. It was the 24th of December and they were huddled underneath rags, on a sordid street.
“no, mama.”
“ then keep that mouth of yours shut, hija,” she replied.

vivianne fidgeted with her fingers uncomfortably, underneath a tattered blanket which had so many holes that it could barely keep anyone warm. clutching the ragged teddy bear she held in her dirt-stained hands to my chest, she suddenly asked a question out of the blue.
“mama, ” she asked, “ will you tell me a story? ”
“ a story?” her mother said, frowning at the request, “ let me think.”
she leaned forward with her tired chin resting on her palms, and suddenly, her blue eyes lit up.
“what is it, mama?” her child asked carefully, treading the lopsided path that led up to her mother's mind.
she was jerked back to reality by her question, and adjusted her rag blanket so it would cover her.
“nothing, dear.”
but vivianne was restless, and nagged her while she sat thinking, pondering almost. and then she spoke.
“I will tell you a story, vivianne. a true story, which i think you should know. ”
her inquisitive eleven year old fancy was set alive with thoughts of unsolved mysteries, moral tales, old religious stories and fantasies about the damsels in distress being rescued by handsome knights.
“tell, madre, please,” she tugged at her elbow, and she chuckled softly.
“ok, mi querida” she answered, gently pulling her daughter over, and wrapping a thin arm around my shoulders. she snuggled into her.

***
“ there was a time, ” her mama began slowly, guarding her words with utmost care, “ when the world wasn't so peaceful, as it is today.”
she glanced at my green eyes wide with wonder. ”those beautiful eyes,“ she murmured dreamily, half talking to herself, ”so like your papa's.“
vivianne gently shook her out of her little reverie and she smiled at me so suddenly, a proper, beautiful smile one, she had not seen often. Then, she put her rough, work-worn cheek against hers
”mama?“ vivianne asked, tentatively, hesitating to disturb the moment. her madre, she was not one for physical gestures of affection, and as a child she often longed to be hugged, kissed and pampered like other children.
madre immediately withdrew, and cleared her throat.
”Do you want me to carry on?"
Vivianna nodded slowly.
“war ravaged the earth. and amidst it all, was a young girl. not too much older than yourself, hija. she had keen eyes like a - like a cat?” she glanced at vivianne’s face for encouragement.
at the sight of an encouraging nod, she went on, her words still halting.
“this young girl wanted to fight. not the play fighting julian did with papa, but real fighting. her mother didn't like that. she thought a girl should be a ladylike sweet cake. you follow, mi querida?”
“yes,” said vivianne, “can we have cake?”
“soon. all in good time. well, back to the story. the girl lived in a sparkling town, where laughter echoed in each corner of every room. Summer was the favourite season of all, because that was when countless hours could be spent roaming fields, childish hands gathered buttercups, daisies and every sort of flower.”
“i made a flower chain earlier today,” whispered the child, placing a petal crown on her mother's head, “you look like the fairy queen.”
her mother’s musical laugh made her happy, and she rested her head on her shoulder.
“well, the coldest season was spent huddled around fires, as frost sneaked in through the cracks of doors. but one day, the laughter stopped entirely. sorrow replaced it. the dreariness of war affected all, as death lay it's fingers upon this town.”

“did death take papa?” Vivianne questioned her mother, “is that where he is now?”
a sharp breath. the slow shaking of her mama’s head along with her rigid posture convinced her child not to ask any questions.
“your papa is here. not dead, just away? you hear me, vivianne marie santos?” it took a moment for the woman to compose herself.
“the girls' brothers drifted off one by one, away into the war. soon, she and a younger sister were the only ones left. the sister was tiny,” her mother
gestured to her waist, “only about this high.”
“restless with the thought of adventure running through her head, the girl got up and left.”
— just like that? so suddenly?
“yes. now, stop interrupting. you won't get the story otherwise.”
— sorry, madre.
“hmm. The girl met many kind travellers that took pity upon the young girl, giving her clothing and shelter. She shaved her head, her long locks a thing of the past. How else would she fight?”
– she fought? although she was a girl?
“women can do anything. we are strong people.
but yes, she fought. they almost caught her quite a few times. a lot of narrow escapes because of her darling. oh, the things that girl did.”
her mother clicked her tongue and chuckled quietly.
“she was masquerading as her brother who had passed a few years back. it broke her mother's heart, when she got up and left so abruptly. it also made her angry. don't get any ideas, vivianne. i will come and find you, regardless of where you are. don't be silly like catalina.
“I would never, madre. But how do you know her name?”
“oh, what does it matter? anyway, you should go to bed now. lie against me if you can't sleep. night night.”

“ what happened to the girl?” her daughter was insistent and stubborn. so like herself.
“i told you. she broke her mother's heart,” she murmured the last part, but vivianne’s keen ears caught the words, “twice, in fact.”
“did she die, mama?” vivianne asked bluntly.
a pause. the words came haltingly. “she fell in battle. her family was distraught. all her brothers came back. her family lost a lot.”
vivianne seemed content with that.
“they all must've been very brave, just like you.”
her mother laughed again, this time dry and empty.
“I am a coward, mi querida. but you,” this was said with a genuine smile, “you have courage, just like your aunt. like the rest of your ancestors, who smile upon your bravery today.”
“she was your sister,” vivianne pieced it together slowly, “did she break your heart too?”
“yes. she did. my twin sister,” a tear rolled down maria’s cheek, “how i miss her.”
“sometimes, i see her in you. bold, brave like a lion and a little - headstrong? impetuous? but you both have hearts of gold. she had a heart of gold.”
vivianna yawned and nestled against her mamma, who drew her closer.
“goodnight mamma,” drowsiness claimed Vivianna and she slurred the words.
“goodnight, mi querida. i love you.”

+1,177 words

4540 words in total that was painful

SWC daily #15

march 15th

we are the same people

“All these people think love's for show, but I would die for you in secret” – Taylor Swift, Peace

The words are deep and throaty as they leave the lips of the hooded figure. Cloaked in black with a stern rigidity, yet a melancholy to them i couldn't quite understand. They turn to leave but hesitate at the last second
“Be brave,” they whispered.
“ I will.”

***
“ I love you,” I say to my mother, “I love you so much."
A pause. “Honey, you don’t have to get so choked up. I’m always gonna be right here.”
She comes out from behind the till to tuck a piece of my hair behind my ear.
I grew up doing evening shifts in the diner after I came home from school. The scent of burgers and chips wafted under my nose whilst I smiled at customers, rung up their change trying my best to not collapse from sheer exhaustion.

The evening is pale twilight, a blanket of purple settling softly around the world. Even the universe is bidding me goodbye in the form of my favourite colour.
“Bye mom. Stay safe.”
Her lips turn up at the corners and I notice how many silver skeins are in her hair. Black circles ornament her walnut eyes as she waves at me.
“See you soon, Serena.”
No one told me it would be so difficult not to cry.

***
I wish the figure had given me more time. They came to me at seven, only giving me five hours to leave everything I’ve ever known. But some people’s deaths are swift, sharp and unexpected. I should be grateful, I tell myself as I turn my key in the door.
Grateful.
What a strange word.

Tomatoes sizzle with olive oil, seasoned with thyme and garlic powder. If I’m to die, I might as well have a nice last meal. My fingers itched to clutch something in their hands, to distract my mind from what was coming.
It’s funny, that after all this time I make the same meal. Golden omelette, fried tomatoes and potatoes just the way he used to make them for me.
Perhaps it’s the idea of my impending fate running closer and closer towards me. Or maybe a longing, that settled in the pit of my stomach causing an ache I never found the cause of.
Either way, I reach for my car-keys and drive.

***
The sound of the doorbell echoing through the apartment pulled me to my senses. What had I been thinking? Three summers, three bone-chilling winters later how would he remember? Us under the cherry blossom tree, making promises we never kept.
A fragile promise of spring and a whirlwind of a year that changed me.
“Hey,” brown eyes meet mine and the memories come rushing back.

A black glove. My first letter that he wrote to me. Green eye contacts, and cinnamon powder. Crescent necklaces, the fresh taste of mints.

***
We end up on the couch, laughing at each other’s jokes and reminiscing bout old times. He doesn’t ask why I’m here, we don’t fall into each other like they do in every movie. We’re friends again as he brings out a bowl of microwavable popcorn, chucking kernels at each other like children.
“What’d you wanna watch?” I ask him.
He looks at me for a long time almost as if I’m a puzzle he’s never learnt to solve. One that he tries over and over again to get right, but leaves halfway.
“I’ll put on a chick-flick if you don’t answer,” I giggle and throw the remote at him.
He catches it without even blinking.
“Serena.”
“Yeah?”
“Why are you here?”

I flinch. His tongue still cuts me after all this time, although I deserve it. I don’t know what I was thinking just appearing on his doorstep.
“I don’t know.”
“Well, that makes two of us,” he says dryly, “I thought you’d never come back. After everything, why would you?”
“Because,” and it’s an effort to articulate the words, “I miss you.” I can’t quite stop the lump in my throat cracking my voice.
“I missed you too. But this - us - isn't meant to be."

And I’ll tell you now, because what is there left to lose? I love that man. I'd die for him if I needed to, and he doesn't know it. The weight of words left unspoken drains me.
We carry Atlas’s burdens that break our backs, except our worlds are each other.

***
Not everyone has a happy ending.
Not every story is perfect.
My life was flawed. I made mistakes.
But I learnt my lessons, I tell myself as the clock ticks away. An ominous foreboding. I toss and turn in my bed, fighting sleep whilst praying it won’t overtake me.


It’s peaceful when it comes. The air is moist but not damp, my eyelids are wide open as the cloaked figure carries my soul away, away , away.

+819 words

critique for @cb2jkl

I really enjoyed this piece! I like your writing style. It brings the character to life, their emotions are clearly conveyed throughout which I found great.

Blake’s breath burns in his throat as his chest heaves. With trembling fingers, he grips the handle of his lance, red and white blurring his vision. He will not falter now.

Will not.

Can not.

The cost of failure will be his life.

The way you employ the method of showing your reader what the character is going through instead of just stating it, adds to the flow of the piece Things like “trembling fingers” instead of “he's filled with fear” are really effective. Also how you say “red and white blurring his vision”, we can tell he's feeling terrified which is causing physical side-effects. You do this well throughout the entirety of the scene, and it gives a layer to your writing.

Pulling at the reins of his stallion, he forces himself forward. In the heat of the battle, the air is thick and heavy, thrumming with tension. Screams of the fallen fill the air, desperate cries of those who were not fortunate enough to live.

Blake does not hear them, does not feel the pulsating wound on his thigh, does not see the bodies littering the ground. Piled on top of one another like beached fish washed ashore by a tidal wave of blood.

The simile you used here is great. I think maybe some more ambitious vocabulary could be used to improve this piece even further and add to it's overall effectiveness. You did that with “pulsating wound on his thigh”. Maybe instead of saying “desperate cries” you could say something like “the anguished wailing” or with “fill the air” you could say “saturate/flood/pervade the air”?

A dull buzz fills his ears.

It is do or die.

A calmness comes over him.

In a practiced motion, he drives his lance into the chest of his opponent.

The bluntness of the words, an almost numbness comes over your character and you portray this nicely in the first three lines with short, monosyllabic sentences. I love how we know what your character is feeling the entire time. However, I feel like you could add to your sentence length a little or vary your sentence structure a bit. For example, you use the “will not. can not etc” above and repeat a similar structure again with “it is do or die, a calmness etc”.

He watches as they fall, toppling from their horse like a domino. Another piece in the puzzle, another death added to the tally. As they hit the ground with a dull thud, their visor slips up, revealing a pair of startling blue eyes.

They meet Blake’s and despite everything, he cannot look away.

When you say, “another piece in the puzzle, another death added to the tally” it gives the impression that this victim is only a pawn in a greater scheme of things and you personalise them later on, with small details like:

]A thin pair of lips, half-open in shock.

A soft dusting of freckles, on the apples of their cheeks.

A slit across their left eyebrow, freshly cut.

This is actually one of my favourite parts of your piece because the knight pays attention to these features, after seeing the same person as a pawn only earlier on. The shift and sudden - guilt? fascination? - humanises your character, I think this was a great decision you made instead of deciding to keep them numb throughout the entirety of this piece. Also, the pace shift, how everything slows down was nice.

Blake hesitates. Then, with the tip of his lance, he flicks their visor down.

A faceless warrior once more.

Digging his heel into the side of his horse, he continues onward.

Focus.

He has to focus.

I like the way this was ended, the sudden guard slip was replaced by numbness/forced numbness again. I think that you don't need the “focus” part for your ending, I feel as if the ambiguity of “he continues onward” would be more effective, instead of repeating a previous sentence structure. but this is just my personal opinion.


Overall, this was a great. Your writing flows well, but I think some more ambitious vocabulary would improve it even further. Sorry if any of this seems harsh, I honestly think this is such a good piece. Thank you for letting me read this

+471 words (no quoted parts included)

a jar of misery - pandora's box

❝ i only wanted something to be mine ❞


for centuries, you have heard my story told by a bard's tongue or a poet's pen.

it is my turn to tell you the truth.

zeus cast me from him, treated me as a pawn. i was molded from clay, by hephaestus's deft fingers. a beautiful woman, blessed by aprodhite. and then, with the mere breath of a god, i was brought to life.

nothing is my own, even my existence was a curse upon humanity, a “blessing” to a traitor's brother.

you must forgive me for what i did.

i only wanted something to be mine.

***

light flooded across the room, nymphs musical chatter filled my ears and i lay there, half-awake, half-asleep. i almost felt content, until i remembered everything i had lost by becoming epimethus's wife.

everything i was forced to sacrifice.

what could've been mine, had it not been for zeus.

i should've had silver cutlery and a gold palace, riotous parties that my siblings threw.

epimetheus had left early this morning after our fight last night.

“why are you like this?” i screamed at him, barely containing my fury.

he ducked as an object came flying at him, hands raised in surrender.
“you know why, pandora,” his voice is so soothing. like soft summer rain, a sweet rose in full bloom. his calm infuriates me further.

“why don't you ever give me anything? you keep me locked in this cage, a gold cage is still a prison, epimethus. you won't let me open the one thing that has been given to me, the only thing i have ever asked you for.”

for a moment, anger flickered across my husband's face. it was only there for a split second, a flash in his eyes and the tightening for his mouth.
“we are not allowed to open the jar. i only want to protect you.”

“i don't need protecting! you think i am not strong enough?” i hiss, words laced with poison, “you think i am as weak, as gentle as you? am i only beauty, a statue to gaze upon? tell me, husband.”

i had grabbed his face forcefully, spilling over with rage.

“i want something more. someone more. i should never have married you.”
epimethus was a pillar of strength. he was fortitude. sweet tranquility in the face of a storm.
“i know.”
silence had never been more deafening.
“it's like waiting to be mortal, waiting for you to love me.”

his eyes filled with tears. my epimethus, whom i had never seen cry.

***

you'd think that was enough to stop me opening the jar. but you see, i was hurt.
i still am.
being abandoned by the person who is supposed to love you unconditionally can wound you in unimaginable ways.

so forgive me again, for the eager footsteps and scrabbling fingers.
for the way i tore open the cupboard door with so much haste that the hinges screeched in protest, how i grabbed the jar with a greed that lead to so much misery.

the key is in my hand.

epimethus's voice echoed in my ears - i only want to protect you.
yet my father's booming voice fills my skull instead and bounces off each wall - you must not open it.

i turned the key in the lock. with a sharp twist it gave away and the padlock clattered to the ground. i opened the lid.
then the world ended.

banshee screams, a torrent of suffering.

the sick odour of death pervaded the air.

grief wailed, settling itself upon the shoulders of humanity with a shriek.

famine tore across the earth.

illness claimed lives of many and i slammed down the lid of the jar.

breaking the wings of hope, a fragile little bird, that my distraught self didn't see.

“pandora?” epimethus crossed the floorboards swiftly to kneel next to me.

he saw my sobbing frame and the chaos. the jar, lying on it's side.

epimethus is no fool.

at that moment, despite the anger and the sadness anyone else would've felt, he chose to hold the cause of it all. he cradled me in his arms as i cried into his chest, murmuring comfort into my ear. assuaging the guilt i felt, holding my hand.

because i unleased ruination on the world that day and broke hope's wings.
i shouldn't have asked you to forgive me.

Weekly Two

okay so, in yesterday's daily i wrote about someone who goes to find someone else when they hear they're dying. what if that wasn't the first time? what if they knew they weren't meant to be, yet somehow they both can't let go. i wrote about the first time this happens to both of them.

Part 1: Flowers

❝my first letter that you wrote to me❞

Sometimes, what you’re meant to do doesn’t always feel right. You moved on, you tell yourself. You left them, right there with all the cluttered things you wanted to forget.
And you almost convince yourself.

**
The bouquet of flowers is waiting for me on my dressing table, when I arrive to get ready. Small, delicate bell-shaped flowers cluster on the side of the stalk. A gentle but rich fragrance pervading the air. Lilies of the Valley.

I touch them lightly - not quite believing someone could think of me so tenderly.

There’s a pink card. Intricate drawings decorate the inside, sketched in gold colouring pencil. The letters are written in a familiar, sloping script.


Dear S,

I’m sorry. For everything I broke inside of you, for the way I didn’t keep my word although I swore I would. I miss everything about you. How you used to eat cereal grain bars. Those dark blue frames you wore, two years ago. The way you’d throw your head back and laugh. How you’d pull me close when I turned away.

We broke each other’s hearts because we trusted the other to keep them safe. To not barge into it and wreck it, like all the people before. If it meant anything to you, meet me at the Lotus forest. Midnight, by the creek.

Yours ever,
Alder.

**
I perch at the edge of the water. It’s fifteen minutes past midnight, and there’s no sign of anyone here. Only moonlight ripples across the water as I dip my big toe in, making swirls idly.

“Hey,” Alder sits down next to me, “I’m sorry I was late.”
“You don’t have to be sorry.”

We sit there, for a little while. The silence stretches itself out in an attempt to widen the gulf between us even further. No one says anything, until Alder breaks it.

“S, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for what I did that day. It haunts me, the things I said to you. It means nothing but I want to take it all back. Every time I pushed you way, to your limit and you just left it. How I was so distant, so-”

“That wasn’t your fault,” I rest my hand close to his, not touching but close enough so he can take it if he wants to, “You were hurting. We both were.”

“ I think I hurt you more. ” Alder’s voice is soft, barely there.
“ It's okay.”

Our fingers interlace and I notice how mine fit perfectly between the grooves of his knuckles.

Only seventeen, young and stupid. Too caught up in each other to know anything better.

But this love will be our end one day.

We know it, even as Alder tucks the lilies of the valley in my auburn hair strands. The forest clearing is left behind, as we make our way home, still holding hands.

For now, we can live like this a little longer.

+492 words.

Flower symbolism - lilies of the valley are used to represent a return of happiness and in apology bouquets, lotuses symbolise renewal and a new beginning. Alder isn't a flower but I put it in anyway since it's a tree that symbolises perseverance and strength.

Weekly Two

(inspired by tsoa)

Part 2: Constellations
the ballad of the broken-hearted
❝ their hands met, and the light of a thousand suns flooded the room ❞


If Artemis made red roses from the blood shed by Orion on the white ones, if she made him a constellation out of love, Night would do the same. She didn’t want anyone else to suffer the way her and the Sun had, with a love cursed by the ancients. When she saw the girl and the boy, finding hope in each other after a lifetime of pain she did everything in her power to help them.

But the stars had crossed their love. The threads of fate are unbreakable unless meddled with by the stars who sent forth a prophecy by their messenger, “The Reaper”, known for his ruthlessness and the blood he shed so easily. Another being, cursed by them.

The words were chanted overhead in the skies for three days and nights - uncommon, since usually prophecies were only murmured during the night. The stars wanted the Sun to hear of this boy, for him to sear his spirit.

And her righteous, merciless lover did so. Night shed tears of silver along with the girl, and turned the Sun away when he next came to visit her.

“You are no lover of mine,” she hissed, “Leave me. Do not return.”

The balsam river

it was so easy to plant a whisper in a human’s mind.

take him there.

The girl gently lowered his body into the river, murmuring prayers to every god alive. Begging, grovelling on the floor with no shame for his sake.

And he returned, but not the same, because like the sun, the river had grown cruel over time.

He demanded something in return, a life for a life, a spirit for a spirit. Every magic takes after it helps you gain what was lost, and that is what the river did. It took the heart of the boy into its keeping, who was now made of cruelty and strange magic.

He no longer knew the girl, and the sweet melody their spirits had sung.

To save her from the wrath of the stars, of the other gods, Time hid the girl for a time. Until Night came to him, fifty odd years later and told him it couldn’t be like this any longer.

“You can’t keep reincarnating her, Time. She will eventually fall apart, from the burden of everything.”
Time looked at her. “Name a better way.”
The Goddess stared back at him, her eyes dark as a night without stars.
“I certainly will.”

***
Finding the boy was the hardest task. Night called for him, weaving her words with magic to lure him out of his hiding place and to find his once lost love. She sang, something she had only ever done for the sun.

“You have to help me,” she told the Moon, “I know you know where he is hiding.”
“I took an oath too, Night,” she whispered, “I can’t break it.”
Yet, one fateful night, her gentle face illuminated a coven tucked away and long forgotten.
“Thank you,” she told the Moon.
“I hope you know what you’re doing.”

Night carried the sleeping boy in her arms, to a love whom he no longer remembered, whose heart he’d broken years ago.

Time was waiting for her - but all time does is wait, what a stupid thing to say. He had the girl with him. Her eyes glistened with tears that she wiped away discreetly at the sight of her lover.

“Give her a moment,” muttered Night to Time who was frowning.
“But-” she yanked him away before he could protest any further.

Their hands met, and the light of a thousand suns flooded the room.

In a moment, it was all over as Night softly spoke the words of an ancient spell.

Keep them safe, she told the constellations above, they aren’t quite like you.

the actual ballad

once upon a time,
a girl who didn't know how to let go
and a boy made of memories
fell in love.

the goddess Night, blessed their love
although the sun God, after hearing the prophecy of the stars,
seared the spirit of the boy,

the girl bathed him in the basalm river, to
salvage his soul.
but every magic takes, after it helps you gain what was lost.

so the river took the heart of the boy.
the heart which breaks and bleeds and loves,
was ripped out from his chest.
and a curse was given.

the sun god taunted the girl
as the boy, made of cruelty and strange magic
forgot the melody their spirits sang.

time hid the girl,
to save her from the wrath of the gods,
night placed her and her lover in the sky,
it is said she still lives there,
only to be freed once the boy loves again.

– the ballad of the broken hearted.

+637 words for the above

Weekly 2

Part 4: SWC fanfiction

I incorporated lotus flowers from earlier.
Thank you to everyone who volunteered, I'm sorry if I didn't put you into my story <3

lotus flowers, hosts, and notes

Campers chatter fills the air, the ever-familiar bustle of SWC is rampant and the feeling of chaos never truly leaves us. Vi talks to Gurtle in the corner in a soothing voice, trying to convince him to not eat any more links after the recent fiascos. He’s one of the things which are making this session more and more chaotic.

I wave at my friends from other cabins. Some people try to talk to me, but I quickly shut down any conversation attempts. I’m on a mission, and I’m not going to be stopped.
Well, except by Amethyst. She comes out of nowhere and leans against the wall, crossing her legs.

“Talk. What are you doing, and where are you going? You’ve been acting weird all morning, Alaska.”

Trust Amethyst to sniff me out. And I thought I was being subtle. I dart my head from side-to-side and pull out a scrap of paper.

“I found this on my cabin doorstep this morning. It was addressed to me,” I thrust the note into her hands. She gawks at it and lets out a gasp.
“Shhh,” I cover her mouth with my hand. Her eyes grow wide and her voice becomes muffled, but I can’t risk anyone hearing.
Too late.
Summer saunters around the corner, stopping at the sight of us.
“Why didn’t you invite me into this gathering?” The spattering of freckles across her cheek twitch, I swear, “And what’s that in your hands, Amethyst?”

I sigh. Seems I’m going to have company.

**
“We should have a name.”
“No,” I say firmly, “Absolutely not.”
“Aww, why?” Amethyst pouts and brightens up within a split second, “I’ve got it! The Three Musketeers.”
“That’s not very original,” Summer mutters under her breath.

I lead them across the maze of rooms, the sudden sharp twists and turns, as well as one rickety staircase. We stop outside an oak door, three floors beneath the dining hall. SWC was built by a rich philanthropist who liked mysteries, for his granddaughter with the original idea. You can clearly see from the way this mansion is built, with the capacity to house hundreds of people.

“We need to listen outside. Anyone have three glasses we can use?” Amethyst is joking, but Summer pulls out three glasses out of her satchel.
“Why do you carry those?” I can hear my own voice filled with incredulity.
“Long story,” replies Summer.

**
“I found a cream envelope on my cabin doorstep this morning. It had the scrap of paper I showed you inside,” I hold it up for both of them to see, “It’s scrawled, so I think it was written in a hurry.”

I’m acting nonchalant, but I’m deathly afraid. That note was strange, like an ominous foreboding of what is to come.

“You sure no one’s playing a prank on you?” Amethyst asks. Her eyebrows are knitted together when she’s deep in thought, the way she is now.
“I’m not close enough with anyone in SWC for that,” I retort. Guilt swells up inside. Amethyst is only trying to help me. It’s not her fault I’m practically a recluse, as well as anti-social.

Dear Alaska,

You love mysteries. You said so on your first day. So here’s a mystery I want you to solve, or rather, you have to solve. There’s an oak door, carved out with a riddle somewhere in this house. Find it. Tell no one.
– The Ringmaster.

I’d already broken one part of the rules. I’d told two people about what had happened, even let them see the notes.
I can hear footsteps coming closer, Robin and Luna are arguing with each other over something. I freeze on the spot and Summer has to yank me into the little room with the oak door.
“Why are they here?” hisses Amethyst, “The hosts’ quarters are on the same floor as the dining hall. This floor is for storage.”
Summer shakes her head. “You’re not asking the right question. Why are they here today? Of all days, when Alaska gets this note.”
I mime for them to be quiet as the hosts’ draw closer.

“Moss found lotus flowers on her bed this morning, after she’d showered,” Luna lowers her voice to a whisper.
Robin comes to a standstill. “Lotus flowers? Does that mean…”
“Don’t say it,” I can almost hear Star gritting her teeth, “Because it can’t be.”
Luna inhales sharply.
“Birdi told me about something like this happening before. I think Alba, her, Kat, Honey, Li and Bakie were hosting that session. They found lotus flowers every night on their beds, before they went to sleep.”
“I remember that session,” Robin’s voice seems to tremble, “I think it was my first.”
Moore footsteps. Moss’s voice calls out.
“Guys? Hello?”
“Over here,” Star waves Moss over, “Are Moonsy and Sun coming? We told everyone to meet here at 10 sharp.”
“They wanted to sort out a few admin things and talk to some of the leaders.”


Amethyst coughs. I glare at her.

“Did you hear that?” Luna whips her head around, “This floor is haunted, man.”
Someone whimpers and all the hosts sigh in unison.
“Glad to see you could make it,” Star frowns at Moonsy and Sun who are swiftly approaching, “Did Moss tell you about the flowers?”

Sun nods.
“ Tell Moss, Moonsy and Sun what you said to me,” Star instructs Luna.
She brings them up to speed and Sun narrows his eyes.
“Didn’t the Romance Cabin have that happen to them, before…” he lets his sentence trail in the air. Everyone shudders.
“ I think that session’s campers were lucky to have nothing happen to them,” Moonsy almost whispers this, “But why is it happening again? And why now?”

Robin and Luna look at each other. From the silence, it seems they’re coming to a sort of decision.

“Because of this,” Robin pushes open the oak door and we press ourselves flat inside a storage cupboard in the room.
“They can’t see us,” grumbles Summer, “Get your foot out my face, Amethyst.”
“You get your face out of my foot.”


I hear the sound of machinery being turned, cogs whirring and a passageway opens. Inside is a girl, with icy blue eyes who turns in surprise at being disturbed.

“Hello, Alba,” Luna says wearily.

***
“She turned up disoriented and confused one day, about a month before camp started,” Robin informs her peers.
“And you thought it was a good idea to keep her in this room? And not tell anyone?” Star demands.
“We thought we were doing what was best,” Luna replies weakly.
“We’re a team. The host team. You can’t keep stuff like this secret.”
“Sun’s right,” Moss steps forward, “People could get hurt. We’re meant to work together. Have you told any of the other past hosts what’s happening?”

Robin’s voice is low.
“We tried to get in touch with Birdi, but she’s been unreachable. She sent us some coordinates and told us she’d be here by…” Robin checks her phone, “Today?”
A knock at the oak door.
“Come in!”

***

It’s Birdi, dressed in blue. She lowers her coat hood.
“Did you miss me?”

She’s greeted with a chorus of “Birdi!”
The hosts ambush her with hugs, till someone else raps their knuckles on the door. Urgent and sharp.
“Who’s that?” asks Moonsy, “Did anyone else come?”
Birdi shakes her head. “Not that I know of.”

Moss opens the door.
Three worried leaders stand outside, two campers in tow. I hear Recca, Rae and Alana all beginning to talk over each other.
“I don’t know where Amethyst is,” Alana is hysterical.
“I can’t find Summer either,” Recca frets.
“One of my campers is missing! I haven’t seen Alaska all day,” It’s Rae speaking now.

Recca is gawping at Birdi - “Is that…Oh my god,” she faints, and both the campers, Poppy and Luna from Script have to clutch at her to keep her upright.

I nod at Amethyst and Summer. We emerge, shame-faced from the storage cupboard much to the surprise of everyone in the room.
“Hi,” Summer mumbles.
Amethyst looks at her feet.
“This was my fault,” I announce. I don’t know what I’m doing, but I can’t let them suffer the consequences of my actions. “I found a note telling me to come here. I’m meant to solve something.”

Alba stumbles out of the passageway, and clutches my shoulders.
“You!”

+1404 words

once upon another time

❝ i am but fragments of my past life ❞

- a note to the reader -
when it first began, i saw how reality's fabric began to fray. it has never been there, it is a shimmering illusion. our souls are delicate things, and chaos wrecked mine with the pain it bestowed on me.

may 2nd

death is not the end. i wake, in a sea of memories, with white wisps surrounding me. they hum and their laughter is the colour of the silver, tinged with darkness. ethereal, but pain reverberates through the musicality.
they let me stay there for a while, in a blanket of haziness that fogs over your head. the sound begins to drive me mad, although
i
don't know insanity yet.

and then the screaming starts. it is trapped underneath my ribs, in my skull, in the laughter. in the blurred faces of the wisps, that
are beginning to take form. the agony creeps under my skin, grief wails and clings to me with her razor sharp claws. i thought
i'd left her behind, in the last life.
but i am soft, so i stroke her poisonous forehead and whisper a prayer. the words come out cracked, every syllable feeling foreign on my tongue. who said a soul cannot be tormented? who said a soul doesn't exist?

may 9th

he comes on the seventh day. cloaked in shadows from head to toe, his face invisible except for his eyes. not ruthless. not evil.
weighed down with sorrow, with so much grief it made it difficult to hate him.
“i am sorry,” it is punctuated with resignation. a mask of glacial indifference.
i ventured to look up before i was plunged thousands of feet below the ground.

may 21st

i dance from one reality to another, witnessing everything with a hollowness in me, that hasn't been there before.

may 26th

it hurts too much to write about.

may 29th

there's a kind of ache which weighs me down, leaves me shrieking inside. the first time it happened, i was so
confused. i awoke in an alleyway, shivering with a thin white dress serving as my only protection against the bone-chilling cold. a mist had settled over
that world. i could feel its breath on my neck, it's fingers creeping into my spine.

june 6th
some days are peaceful. quieter than others. i wake with a pillow underneath my aching head, drink coffee and watch the familiar yet unknown faces around me. there's lia, with straight hair and manicured nails. so different from the girl with thick black frames who punctuates every other word with sorry.
school is a hive of activity, a chaos that i somehow find comfort in.
i go when i want to feel normal.

july 23rd

vivianne is with me. she says she is my best friend. vivianne is tall, graceful in her loping stride. her eyes are brown, tawny and bright. she chews a
stick of gum, her purple jaw working vigorously at it.
everyone here has dyed their skin strange colours.

september 4th

someone's name is on my wrist. rohan hastily scribbled letters, handwriting that looks like someone's back home. i can't remember his face, only his strong hands that mold clay into fine sculptures. rohan. my friend rohan, with the sweetest smile who was meant to be something more.

january 29th

destruction is rife, war soaks the earth with blood and death lays its hands upon everything.
is peace too much to demand? can you storm to the gods, and wring out your hands, grovel at their feet to beg?
to beg for it to be different.
for something a little kinder.

two years later

the days started twisting around each other, merging into one. what is a day when you haven't seen your mother's smile in years? what
is a week when you can't remember the exact cadence of your lover's voice, what is a month when you measure time by how long you haven't held your sister?
i am but fragments of my past life.

unknown day.

i saw a toddler's burnt socks lying on the edge of the road.
something in me stirs, a feeling i had forgotten existed. i gathered the charred socks close to my chest. they are baby blue, with white flowers for decoration. daisies - my sister's favourite. “how can you not like the daisies? they tell you if you're in true love.”

we used to make flower crowns in the meadow, when we snuck out late. those raucous nights filled with laughter, road-trips to a destination we hadn't decided on. wild and free, young and stupid.
there was so much i took for granted.

i folded the socks carefully into my bag with trembling fingers, trying not to cry.

i would just keep on driving, because i was free


+790 words

critique for poppy

i liked this piece a lot - it was engaging, and this was a really nice snapshot of an almost dystopian world.The way you open drew me in - I was hooked with a fascination!

The piece is very to the point, has a detached feeling to it which I think portrays the character emotions well.

However, I think you could employ the technique of showing your character’s emotions more often instead of directly telling the reader.

The scent makes me dizzy

Instead of stating this directly, you could say something like “causes my head to swirl” (bad example, sorry lol).

I name the shudder fear

This is great, I love this moment.

I shake his shoulder with my shivering

The next sentence feels a little cluttered to me, I think something like “as I shivered/shiver” would flow better, but I'm not entirely sure what you're trying to say here.

"I … I don't know.”

When the character tells the other one they have to open their eyes, but doesn't want to tell them they're afraid is so realistic. It portrays how they're afraid, that this strange experience has bonded them with a stranger but not enough for them to share their fears/insecurities. That exchange is sweet yet sad.



Going back to the beginning, adding more imagery would also help the reader to visualise things better and add another layer + more colour to your piece. For example, the scene takes place in an alleyway. You could describe what it looks like - bin bags overflowing, maybe some mangy animals in the corner, abandoned furniture or cigarettes littering the floor.

The gray-blue of his irises almost blends into the haze around us.

You do this here - this is a really good sentence, because the reader can deduct how the surroundings look from that.

tresses of smoke

I like this visual a lot and the way it's described

"You gotta keep your eyes open.”

The repetition here and the ending of the piece is powerful, leaves us with a sense of ‘we will learn, we will know in due course’. I think it's a very effective way to end the piece, it's an almost ominous note that adds to the despair/desolation we know the characters are feeling.

This was really enjoyable, as I said before! I think just describing surroundings in more depth, and using more literary techniques would be even more beneficial to this already great piece. Thank you for letting me read this, you are such a good writer

+368 words without quotations

SWC daily #20

march 20th

family can mean terrible things

TWs for death, fire

It is dead.
This house that has seen me through almost my entire life.

It is known for its frivolity and ebullient spirits, its mirth, laughter and bright spirit.
Was. I keep forgetting, although I pick my way through the destruction.
A child, when I first came here. A child who only wanted a home.

Mama used to say me and my brother were inseparable. Two boys so closely knitted together. One wild with an untameable spirit, one destined to never be anything except for his shadow.

Twenty minutes older, Julien was, and those twenty minutes had defined my entire life.

“Checkmate,” Elodie said, moving her bishop. She is Mari's, the kind lady, daughter,
Julien was stranded. Nowhere to go and nothing to turn to.
“Admit defeat. Julien, you are more proud than your father.”
They laughed simultaneously, but there was no mirth in it. Elodie sighed softly.
“I am sorry. I should not have said that.”
“You have nothing to be sorry for,” one side of Julien’s mouth turned up in a half-smile, making Elodie’s heartbeat a little faster.
“Coccinelle?” She asked, not quite believing this display of nonchalance.

Coccinelle meant no secrets. No lying through your teeth and every guard down. At least, that’s what Julien told me.

“Why ladybug? It is a strange word.”
Julien shrugged. “It is her favourite.”

I watched them, day after day, observing the slight flush in Elodie’s cheeks. How Julien’s gaze lingered on her face a little too long, and the prolonged touch of their fingertips every time their hands brushed.

***
“I think I love her,” Julien told me one summer.
We had just turned seventeen. Both tall, broad and strong, drifting apart slowly but surely.
This day felt different. Like nostalgia and hazy memories, our childhood friendship clung to the air as a reminder of what had been.
I turned away from the sunlight, letting the darkness hide my anguish.
I did not trust myself to speak for a couple moments.
“I know.”

***
When my brother had fled town, rolling in debt and embroiled in scandal, he had paid off every last penny. I’d gone round soothing indigent villagers, comforting troubled Marie and broken Elodie.

Friendship, offering her a hand to hold in the midst of Julien’s absence.
But I’d always known we’d become something more
The early days of us were fluttering, crisp and golden. Even April rain showers could not marr the beauty and the fragility of our love.

And then. Julien, like a hurricane on a gentle spring evening, when the hum of nature filled the air. A tidal wave in a calm ocean, thrashing with rage.

“Betrayal,” he hissed in Elodie’s ear. He made no attempt at hiding the venomous hatred he felt towards me.

“Enjoy your happiness. May your days be fruitful, bright and abundant.”

He struck a match, and set fire to their house. I lunged for the door, only to find it locked. Julien had taken their only key. Bolted every window with a vengeance. I ran to the kitchen and grabbed the first thing I saw: a rolling pin. I smashed the window, glass shards shattered and decorated the floor. Elodie screamed, and stumbled. The soles of her feet were red, tender and swollen.

“I cannot make it through the window,” she whispered, “Not with my feet like this.”
“You must. I beg you, please. Please, Elodie.”
“It is not only that, Alexander.”
She removed the hand pressed to her stomach, only to reveal a large, gaping wound. Julien had been threatening her with a knife. How had I not noticed my wife cry out? How could I be so uncaring, so selfish?

“Oh, mon amour,” I took my wife into my arms, gently rocking her back and forth.
The flames built around us.“You have to leave.”
“No,” I shook my head, “not with you like this.”
“You will die.”
“There is no me without you, Elodie.”
“Mon cher, I know. I know, but you must go. Please. Please. For me.”

I hope you will never know the strength and pain it takes to leave someone you love in a burning house.

***
I lived in anguish, and not only for Elodie.

For a brother, whom I’d so selfishly sacrificed, to pay for my cruelty.

You shouldn’t believe everything you read, reader.
I was the one who ran away from town.
Julien stayed behind, and married Elodie.
I started the fire, with the cowardly rage that was always hidden away.
Although, I have always loved Elodie. Longer than even Julien, perhaps.

And maybe, reader, I have lied to you.
But what is a story with only truth?

Blood is blood, Julien said to me, when I tried to stop him from turning himself in at the station.
We are family.

And sometimes, family can mean terrible things.

+806 words

Critique for Sienna

(read the original here: https://scratch.mit.edu/discuss/post/7876092/)

Critique for Sienna

(read the original here: https://scratch.mit.edu/discuss/post/7876092/)

opening thoughts I like how you begin. To me as a reader, it feels quite engaging. Although I think adding paragraphs would make the story flow better, but this is just a minor tweak <3

Rage bubbled up inside her, and she allowed her face to take on a scowl.

Rage bubbling up inside is such a good way to describe anger. It gives the impression of something that might overflow if provoked any further.

“Allowed her face to take on a scowl”

I feel as if maybe it would be clearer if you said “she scowled” of “felt her features twist into…” etc if you want to keep that sentence structure, since it feels a little blocky.

“Boot-licking slug”

This is hilarious, it made me laugh aloud.

“He knew her just as well as she knew him, barely at all.”

asfdsdghjk this line is great.

He turned to meet her gaze, his deep brown eyes meeting hers.

I feel it would be more effective if you didn't use the word “meet” twice or made this sentence one part instead of two. Maybe you could say “His deep brown eyes met her gaze” instead?

She suddenly felt the urge to share every last piece of fury pent up inside her. It wouldn’t matter what she said anyway; her fate was sealed.

The sort of “don't care, so what” impulsive attitude speaks volumes about the main character. Through a couple sentences, her characterisation is made so vivid.
And I really like the phrase “every last piece of fury pent up”.

“I want him to know what it’s like to not get everything you want, just once. I want him to see that the world doesn’t revolve around him. I can’t, though, because I’m going to be forced to marry him. He’ll have his way again, and my life will be ruined.” Her voice broke at the end, and she angrily swiped a tear off her face. Crying wouldn’t do her any good.

I love how Adella gets gradually more emotional here, showing how it's a sensitive topic for her. I think maybe you should add in the word “that” before obvious, since I feel it would flow better but that's just personal preference haha.

It was common knowledge that she’d never left the castle before, at least as far as her father and the rest of the world knew. With the current state of the country, he didn’t think it safe for her to wander freely. Her people didn’t even know what their princess looked like.

This allusion to what kind of place Adella lives in that could attribute to her circumstances is something I really like. It's subtle, but there. However, you could also vary your sentence structure a little bit here to change things up ^^

“Of course I know how to escape this place. The real question is: can you keep a secret?”

This has me grinning and raising my eyebrows

.°˖✧ ୨ ✴ ୧ ✧˖°

Adella had broken the latch many years before, and by some miracle no one had discovered it in that time. Even if they had, she would have found another way out. She was a force to be reckoned with.

I love how Adella’s bold, adventurous and impulsiveness is present even in her younger years, and how you show that to the reader.

The cool evening air swept around them, much more welcoming than the royals and diplomats within the castle.

This is a really nice sentence, we can gauge so much from that one line.

Being outside the walls was liberating, even if they were directly behind her.

You have a knack for alluding to things very subtly, which add to the story and the overall experience of this story, I love how much you leave unsaid but still imply.

The woods stretched out before them, tall regal oaks with gently waving limbs beckoning them on as the stars twinkled above in the darkening sky.

Woahh this imagery of the wood is stunning, “gently waving limbs beckoning them” is incredibly poetic and “beckoning them” makes it seem almost inviting.

She’d snuck out before, but it felt different this time, since she’d run off with a prince. more real.

the flow is interrupted slightly because the m in “more real” needs a capital letter <3

Adella expertly wove her way through the woods, following a memorized route to somewhere more peaceful. The two of them walked without speaking, listening to the leaves rustle overhead and a single owl hooting as the night began. She didn’t need much light to know where she was going; she’d walked this path many times.
Finally, Brendan broke the silence. “Funny how well you know the area considering you’ve never left the castle,” he said playfully.
“Is it so obvious that I sneak out?” Adella replied in mock horror, despite the sincerity of her question. “I was under the impression that the world believed me to be an obedient little princess.”
“Most people do,” he admitted. “I thought so too before today.”

I really like how well your story-telling is paced here. Nothing is an overload of information or dragged out, which makes the piece flow really well.

Another silent moment passed between them as Adella let that sink in.

I think you don’t need the repetition for “another silent moment” as Adella processing what Brendan said already implies that.

“He doesn’t know anything about me,” Adella said with a scowl. “And I don’t really care what he thinks either.”
“But he’s your father.”
“He doesn’t act like my father.”
The words tasted bitter on her tongue, though they weren’t hard to say. Something about Brendan made her want to confide in him. It was a strange feeling, to say the least. She had only ever fully trusted one person, and that had been the biggest mistake of her life.

I can tell that Adella clearly has a rocky relationship with her father, and how she's gradually beginning to like Brendan more and more. I like how you write “the words tasted bitter, though they weren't hard to say” because I can almost feel the slight guilt/uncomfortableness Adella is going through.

a babbling stream came into view, shore strewn with riverstones and blossoming flowers. It was familiar to Adella, a safe haven from the tumultuous world back home. The mere sight of it released the tension in her muscles, and she relaxed for the first time in almost a week.

Adella sat down against a tree, basking in the grounding feeling of the rough bark against her back through the fabric of her dress.

Babbling stream is great personification! However,
I think you can omit the “she relaxed” part because the tension being released already implies that. Maybe you can rephrase the “rough bark” sentence because it's quite long.

Twirling the bright flower in his fingers, Brendan came to sit beside her, leaning back against the tree as if he belonged there.

This line and the image it conjures, I can practically see Brendan in front of me.

His smirk was back, and his eyes locked with hers. She didn’t look away this time. There was nothing to be nervous about anymore.

It’s official. I ship them. He smirked, they’re meant to be. The gradual shift in their relationship throughout the course of this piece is perfect.

“It’s not like your kingdom here. My father rules it all, and I’m just a pawn in his game.” She struggled to find the right words to explain.

Perhaps a new line after “his game” would be good to feel the full effect of that line <3

Brendan hummed, in disagreement or discontent, Adella wasn’t sure.

I think you meant to say “hmmed” here ^^ A full stop after “hmmed” could be added as well.

“I don’t mean to be rude,” he started, “but if you’re going to yell at Julian as harshly as you did tonight regularly, I doubt he’d agree to marry you.”

That elicited a giggle from her, and he seemed pleased with himself for it. “You can’t say things like that. The thought of torturing him for all his days is too tempting for me.”

The humour is almost a tension breaking point to ease the mood and the reader, I’m not sure if this is intentional but it's very effective. The way it’s sprinkled throughout the story at all the right moments is awesome. May I also add that I love how humane your characters are, as they laugh after something serious instead of the solemnity which is so typical in books, but not in real life.

“Or you could break his heart now and stand up to your father.” He said it as a joke — at least that’s how he presented it. Looking away, he added, “After all, there are other princes in this world.”

It's the implications of the line-

She blushed, hoping it was too dark for him to tell. Her heart pounded as she raced to come up with a reply. There didn’t seem to be any words to suit the situation, so she resorted to other measures instead.
She reached for his hand, squeezing it to tell him all the things she wanted to say but didn’t know how. He twined his fingers around hers, and they sat together like that for quite some time, although neither of them could be sure how long.
The stars shimmered above their heads, glinting through the canopy of branches swaying in the light breeze. The flower still in Brendan’s hands caught Adella’s eye, pulling her back into the present moment.

Aaaahh! This part is my favourite throughout the entire piece. The bit about all the things she wants to say is an amazing line! It's made it into my top ten book quotes. I like how you ended this picturesque moment with the flower, for me the wildflower is symbolism. I'm not sure if this was intentional, but it's lovely.

The future he had implied made her heart flutter, even as she knew how unattainable it was. It was nice to imagine, just for one glorious moment, that anything was possible.

This is a perfect ending. It leaves just the right amount of suspense and a will they, won't they hanging in the air.

(I really want to read the rest of this novel now, if you ever publish it please send me the link because I physically need Brendan and Adella now, I've formed an emotional attachment to them)

Closing thoughts: The pacing is incredible. None of it is too fast, too slow and the information given about the characters is rarely direct, but that doesn't mean they're not characterised well, everything we’re given lets us draw our own conclusions. I would say to maybe make some minor tweaks regarding some sentence structures, and add paragraphs to make it flow even better than it already does. I also love how relatable your characters are, and how easy I find it to connect with them. The humour peppered throughout balances everything as well. I really like your writing style, I think you should definitely consider submitting this for the writing comp. Thank you for letting me read this amazing piece, it was so enjoyable