Weekly #2

Flowers

I walked outdoors, breathing in the fresh air and gently swinging my basket of seeds back and forth. Spring was my favorite time of year, not only because it represented new beginnings, but also because I got to plant my garden.

The long path to the small patch of land I’d designated to be my garden stretched in front of me until it disappeared behind a copse of trees. It was faint and paved with only dirt, but I knew it by heart. I’d walked down it seven days a week, six months a year, fifteen years. Exactly fifteen years. Today was the anniversary.

My feet crunched delightfully in the dirt, and I smiled. It was surprisingly easy to find joy in the small bright spots of life, even when I was weighed down with thoughts of the anniversary and the day it commemorated.

The blue, blue sky enveloped the world above and around me, with birds spotted on it and chirping from far away. Mountains lurked far away on the horizon, forever threatening danger but never promising it.

I skipped through the copse of trees. The light broke through the canopy of leaves and sprinkled onto my face. I reflected again on my impressive ability to find joy.

Eventually, I broke through the copse and found myself in front of my garden. It was an impressively small plot of land with space for only three flowers. I only needed three.

I kneeled down and opened the bag of seeds. I pulled them out one at a time. First, an asphodel seed. Then, a meadowsweet seed. Finally, a zinnia one. I nestled each one snugly into the dirt.

When I was done I stood up, breathing in and out deeply.

It had been fifteen years since they’d all died, and I was sad, but…there was nothing I could do about what had happened anymore. I could only be happy. Maybe it was time to move on.

I walked back to my cabin.

Constellations

Our group stood at the edge of the rocky cliff, the wind buffeting and tearing away at us. The chill of the air seeped into the group’s bones, making all of us shiver periodically.

“How much longer do we have to wait?” I shouted to the rest of them, forced to fight against the wind to make myself heard.

Everyone else merely shrugged in response. There were thirteen of us in total. I silently hated all of the others because I knew they all judged me for what I was. Except for one of them who didn’t judge me because because they understood what it was like to be judged. For all intents and purposes, though, I was an outcast.

“I’m cold,” one of the others complained.

“Shut up,” another one snapped.

“Lay off of them,” the one who didn’t judge me said. I liked them. “We’re all cold. Admit it.”

“We don’t have any other options,” the snappy one said. “Complaining just makes the situation worse for everyone. So stop it.”

“You don’t have to be mean - ” the one who didn’t judge me began to argue. They cut off, however, when a light appeared in the sky - the light they’d all been waiting for.

The light grew larger and larger and took the shape of a humanoid being with oversized wings and luscious, flowing hair.

“I am here to take the worthy to the stars,” the angelic creature said.

This was it. This was the finale of every single one of their lives. The chance to be immortalized forever.

I watched as all the others slowly began floating upwards, all moving in unison closer to their new heavenly homes. Soon, they would be reaching the top of the sky and become the stars they had been promised to become.

I was left on the ground, tears dripping down my face as I watched the angelic creature leave with them.

Only later would I be able to realize that I had been the only one to survive. That the stars we had aimed for were only destined to be our final prisons. That my unworthiness had saved me.

But in that moment, all I felt was despair.

Aesthetic Set

https://scratch.mit.edu/projects/984002765/

SWC Fanfiction

I, the Cabin That Will Not Win, sat on a beanbag in the corner and watched their friends as they sat around a table, tensely discussing the future. They were having their annual gathering called Scratch Writer’s Camp. The latter part of the name was chosen for the sake of being inconspicuous when renting the place out. The former part of the name was chosen because Horror liked cats. And violence.

In reality, it wasn’t a Writer’s Camp. It was the triannual meeting of a group of estranged creative spirits that were slowly decaying and desperate for salvation.

“I don’t want to die,” Poetry wailed, tears dripping from their eyes. “I don’t want to die!”

“Shut up,” Science Fiction snapped. “We know! None of us want to die.”

“I just think I’m the only one that’s actually worried! You, and everyone else…you all act like it’s all going to be okay if we just think about it enough.”

Realistic Fiction shrugged. “It might be okay. But it also might not, I guess.”

“I think it will be okay,” Fairy Tales muttered, twirling their hair. “If we just have hope…”

Script slammed a fist down onto the table and then proceeded to jump on top of it. They swung their arm to point at Fairy Tales. “That mentality is the problem!” they exclaimed dramatically. “We can’t just hope! Hope gets us nowhere. What we need is grit and strength - and none of you seem to have any. Except for you, Epistolary. You’re pretty cool.”

Epistolary looked up from the journal they were transcribing everything said in the meeting into to smile and nod, then returned to journaling.

Script sat down, satisfied with the scene they had made—a true theatre kid.

Fanfiction leaned forward in their seat. “Script, I know you’re passionate about…well, everything, but I think that was a little too much. Leave Fairy Tales alone; what did they do to you?”

Script crossed their arms, sank down in their seat, and huffed. “Nothing, I guess.”

Science Fiction rubbed their forehead in exasperation. “This is pointless. Let’s get back to real discussion.” They pulled out a bag from underneath the table and opened it up. Slowly and carefully, they pulled out a decaying scroll. They rolled it onto the long table all twelve of them were sitting at. I couldn’t see it from where I was sitting, so I stood up to look at it over Science Fiction’s shoulder. I ignored their annoyed glare when they noticed I was behind them.

It was an ancient drawing of some kind. It was barely visible and severely faded, but I could make out a humanoid shape with large wings. Below the drawing was some text written out in a language I couldn’t hope to understand.

Science Fiction tapped the drawing. “I think whatever this is can help us,” they said. “I’ve managed to translate some of the text, but not all of it.”

“Maybe I can help,” Historical Fiction said, standing up to get a closer look at the scroll. They frowned. “Huh. I’ve never seen anything like this before. Yeah, I’ve got nothing.” They sat back down.

“Well, whatever it is, it can be found at this mountain once a year,” Science Fiction said, pointing at a detailed drawing of a mountain off to the side. “So I think that should be our next goal. Finding this mountain.”

Everyone nodded.

It would take us a long time to find that mountain - several hundred years, even. Every year, all of us would get a little bit more dead. We didn’t know how close death was, but we all knew it was too close. But eventually, we found it.

As I climbed the mountain, just behind the rest of the group, I let myself feel a little bit hopeful. Maybe everything will be okay.

critique for @unercornshine|

I put my hands to my temples to stop the searing pain going through my head as I knelt in exhaustion. I screeched and fell to the floor, tears streaming down my eyes.

I feel like this is a strong start, as it begins with an intriguing scene that makes the reader go on.

My body then gave up resistance. I fell backwards, hitting my head against the cold stone flood before a curtain of black blocked my eyesight. I saw a figure, with white robes, beautiful silky wings of cascading feathers and a golden ring above its head. It seemed to say:
“Natalia, do not forget us, we are always watching”, before disappearing out of sight and snapping me back to reality.

This adds mystery and excitement to the story, and leaves readers wondering; who was the mysterious figure? The choice of speech makes it even more interesting.

“Natalia, NATALIA!!!” someone screamed into my ears. I looked beside me to see drake bending over me in concern.

This was a really cool way to introduce a character! I like how you displayed a trait of that character by the way you showed Drake.
 
“Are you ok? I heard you screaming and came immediately but you were tossing and turning on the floor like you were possessed or something. I was really scared.”

This shows that Drake cares about Natalia, and shows insight on the outside of perspective too.

“Drake, Drake, you’ll never believe it! I had a vision from the angels!” I whooped in delight.

This starts to show relevance to that song you mentioned earlier! Now a reader knows who the mysterious figure in the vision was, they might begin wondering about the characters' backstories. I certainly am!

“Natalia are you ok?” he said with a trace of concern in his voice.
“I-I-I I just can't stop the screams inside my head. I remember when they had me, flying high like Sid and Nancy.” I explained with a much more doubtful voice.

This is sort of vague. when you say “they had me, flying high like Sid and Nancy”, what do you mean exactly?

He sat me up on a chair, brushing his hands through my hair before hugging me tight. I gave him a bent smile before breaking down and weeping into his chest.

I just love the emotion. It gives a sign that the story is transitioning onto the deeper parts.

“They say it's not the answer, but I can't carry on, ‘Cause I got nowhere, no one, without you boy I’m done, and when I'm gone, remember you're the one, and just because I fight doesn't mean that I never learned how to love, I wasn't born without a heart. You know, devils don't fly. So, don't expect me not to fall, devils don't fly, but God we almost had it all. How come we got chains, and they got wings, you know that life ‘aint fair sometimes, devils don't fly, but I try.”

This reveals some of the character's backstory. It edges readers forward. The character talks to someone she's close with, about how she feels inside. I really like this part!

“You’ve just got to be strong you know, that's my girl.” he smirked.

This is my new favourite part. It shows Drake comforting the main character, and it's just heartmelting for some reason.

“B-B-But, what's a girl to do when she’s not strong, when everyone that holds my hands gets cut from all the thorns. I used to put my ears against the walls, to hear the screams, to hear the falls, more reasons to escape it all. And it's not the answer, but I can't carry on, I gave my best smile, my last dime, but I'm always getting wrong. It's not ‘cause I'm young, or from a broken home, maybe I just fought ‘cause I don't know where I belong. You know, devils don't fly. So, don't expect me not to fall, devils don't fly, but God we almost had it all. How come we got chains, and they got wings, you know that life ‘aint fair sometimes, devils don't fly, but I try.”

Aww. It's getting into the core now. Natalia's giving out her life's difficulties. It starting to get revealed just how deep her relationship is with Drake.

“Wow, Natalia I-”
“Oh drake!” I said as I hugged him tightly.

This is a lovely display of closeness and assuring and care between the characters. It's a really wonderful moment.

“You know that angels were never meant to fall, and you were the loveliest of all, if I thought that God could fix this, then I would pray for your forgiveness, but I've been cast out, thrown out, when I crossed to the dark side. No, devils don't fly! You know, devils don't fly. So, don't expect me not to fall, devils don't fly, but God we almost had it all. How come we got chains, and they got wings, you know that life ‘aint fair sometimes, devils don't fly, but I try.”

Drake's going deep now, too. He's trying to reassure Natalia, and he shows that he cares about her to the moon and back.

I stood up, and hugged Drake really tight clawing at his back, before pulling back and kissing him on the lips, much to his suprise. Though tears were still dropping down my face, this was the happiest I've ever been, to be able to express my feelings to someone.
“I love you, Drake.”
“I love you too…”

I really liked this ending. It's a romantic conclusion to a story. I enjoyed reading this, and loved the emotion that's scattered throughout the words. In short, this was an enchanting romance about a girl who's hurting deep and the one who's there to support her.

Weekly 002: 1345 words, A Blast in the Past

To an outsider, the two women would have appeared to be merely taking afternoon tea in a pleasant sitting room. It was only someone who inspected them closer that would notice how tightly the eggshell teacups were clenched, and how tense the silence between them.
The woman with dark hair spoke first.
“Up to old games, Any?” she asked, sniffing her tea. “Let’s see, that’s amaranth, hellebore, a dash of dark magic…my, my, someone’s in a bad mood today!”
The woman with blond curls snarled. “My name is Anastasia, and you are the one who invited yourself to tea. I can serve you whatever I choose.”
Her companion smirked and sipped her tea. “It wouldn’t bother me even if I were foolish to drink unknowingly. A pinch of witch hazel every day keeps the witches away, as they say.”
Anastasia’s teacup shattered with the force of her grip, and the woman with black hair clucked her tongue. “My, my, how very violent of you, Any,” she remarked calmly, taking another sip.
“I hate you,” Anastasia spat, her blue eyes glowing banefully.
The other woman laughed. “I well believe it! The trouble is, darling, you’re just as much to blame.” She tapped her fingers on the table absentmindedly, setting her fragile cup down on its saucer. “You see, Any dear, it all comes from dabbling. And dearest, dearest daughter, dabbling is a very dangerous thing to do.”
Anastasia stood up so abruptly that a creamer overturned and spilled its contents over the once-pristine tablecloth. “Don’t call me that!” she shouted, shaking with rage. “You can’t. You have no right to.”
“No right?” the woman with black hair asked, arching an eyebrow. “No right? I gave you life, sweetheart. You’re bound to me.”
Anastasia turned and left the room, trailing fury and heartbreak behind her with every step.
And her mother threw back her head and laughed, fearing that the tears would spill over if she didn't.

It was not until they met on the cliff that either of them began to seriously wonder whether she had been wrong. But neither would admit it.
Anastasia threw back her head in defiance. “You cannot stop me, Lillian,” she said, stamping her foot.
Lillian smiled coldly. “Calling me by my proper name won’t change the fact that I’m your mother, and you must listen to me.”
Anastasia whirled around. “Fine. Then I’ll–I’ll jump off,” she threatened.
Her mother laughed mirthlessly. “Or what? So dramatic, Any, but I don’t even know what the stakes are.”
“Give me my freedom, or I’ll take it for myself,” her daughter answered, gesturing to the drop behind her and the frothing ocean waves below.
Lillian shrugged. “Dearest, someday you’ll learn to stop pouting and accept that sometimes your elders know better than you do. Come, stop playing these games and come home, Any.”
She opened her arms wide, but Anastasia pushed her away and stepped closer to the edge. “I will,” she said firmly, drawing her lips to a narrow line.
Lillian shook her head and smiled condescending. “Oh, darling, rebellion is so petty. Let’s just get out of this place. You’ll come home like a good girl, won’t you?”
She reached out to stroke Anastasia’s cheek, but she took another step back, rubble crumbling into the dark water below under her weight.
The two women stared at each other, the potential bluff hanging between them.
Lillian reached into the folds of her dress and clutched an amulet, rubbing the smooth yellow stone that dangled from the silver chain. Slowly the tension eased from her. Any was hers, of course. She wouldn’t dare disobey. She lunged for her wayward daughter’s wrist, but Anastasia was already turning, leaping, it was too late, they were tumbling…
In the sky that night new stars shone, and astronomers jotted down notes. Strangely enough, there was no quibbling over what to name the constellation–one and all agreed that it most resembled a pair of witches, squabbling over an especially bright star that was suspended between them.
The sea murmured, and lapped at the shore, but the bones never washed ashore.
Perhaps the moon can tell you where they went.

Link to moodboard: https://scratch.mit.edu/projects/979670859

It was a perfectly ordinary day in Scratch Writing Camp.
You know what that means.
Campers ran through the halls, screaming as they chased each other with flaming mangoes and argued over whether apples or toads were better. A few of them were goats sometimes and others were not, and of late several campers had begun carrying frying pans for an unknown reason.
And today, one of the campers was planning more than the usual chaos.
Chuey dusted her hands off, surveying her work in satisfaction. She'd accumulated an entire pile of procrastination potatoes over the weeks, and now she was going to smuggle them into the Poetry cabin and steal all their motivation for Fan-Fi. Giggling to herself, she swung the bag full of potatoes over her shoulder and began walking towards the Poetry cabin, but unfortunately, she was stopped by one her camper friends–Mouse, leader of the Dystopian cabin.
“Hey, Chuey,” she greeted her, nodding towards the bag of potatoes. “What's that?”
Chuey plastered a smile on her face. She could totally smuggle these past Mouse. After all, wasn't she secretly-
Oops! Almost let it slip. Chuey winked up into the sky, where she knew the Readers would be gathered, then continued evading suspicion.
“Hey, Mouse! I have a present for some campers, but I want to keep it a surprise.”
Mouse raised an eyebrow and opened her mouth to ask a question, but before she could Bella tore by, screeching “You're Welcome” from Moana at the top of her lungs. Mouse sighed and went after her partner in crime to rescue her before anyone started throwing mangoes, and Chuey continued on her devious task.
But apparently today was her bad-luck day, because Summer turned up next. Chuey didn't know her too well, but she did know that Summer was the leader of the Poetry cabin, and she'd never let Chuey smuggle the potatoes in if she found out about them. Chuey waved a hand in greeting and then ran over to a cabinmate standing conveniently near. It turned out to be Vi, but Chuey didn't confide her plan for fear that the responsible co-leader would stop her. Instead, Chuey gave Vi a mango and then raced off again, leaving her friend staring at her in confusion. She dodged through another round of the apple-goat-toad war, started, as usual, by Chloe, peeped in at the proceedings going on in the basketball court, then finally, finally arrived at the door of the Poetry cabin.
Before she could drop the potatoes in, though, loudspeakers began to blare.
“CABIN WARS! HEAD OVER HERE TO-”
Chuey heard no more, her thoughts racing in panic. How was it cabin wars already? Drat, she didn't have enough time to leave the potatoes. She needed to do some warring! And some writing, because even from where she was she could see that Fan-Fi was already on fire, and what looked a Fairy Tales camper was running away and laughing to go set someone else aflame. Chuey growled in despair, but then a genius idea hit her. She had ammunition! All she needed was fire. She grabbed a lit torch from somewhere (it wasn't best to question the logic), and set the potatoes on fire, then began lobbing at them at whatever cabins weren't already smoking.
Heh. When it came to chaos, she was unbeatable.
Still. The other campers sure were giving her a run for her money.
She ran over to her cabin to help put out the fire, pulling out her laptop and typing as fast as she could. The smoke didn't diminish much, but that was okay–more Fan-Fi campers were coming in and beginning to scribble or type, and slowly the fire began to waver.
Chuey felt a smile spread across her face, even as she hurled more flaming procrastination potatoes at enemy cabins (and occasionally allies).
Scratch Writing Camp was the best.

Daily #16
3/16/2024
1000 words (with time stamps)
931 words (without time stamps)

23:59 UTC
Time to check the main cabin. My mouse hovers over the reload button, as I anticipate the seconds ticking down until midnight.

00:00 UTC
The daily! I can't wait to get started. And ughhh, seriously? Poetry still isn't letting go of their first place spot… A new Google Doc is opened and I smile at the familiarity of the blank page.

00:05 UTC
My eyes focus on the screen as my fingers fly across the keyboard, inspiration flowing through me, with the added motivation of getting more points.

01:19 UTC
After a few breaks and quick editing, I submit my daily. Not my best work, but honestly, it was fun trying out something new.

01:25 UTC
Time to get back to working on homework before the day ends. I send one more lighthearted comment in our cabin before logging off.

02:27 UTC
I finish brushing my teeth and check my phone one last time before bed. A laugh escapes me, another quick remark sent to me in a conversation of bantering with some cabin enemies. I type out a quick roast and put the device down. I need some sleep.

10:45 UTC
My alarm wakes me up and I get up, turning it off and turning the lights on, a habit formed over years. I yawn and stretch, before I pull out clothes to wear for today.

11:30 UTC
I grab my schoolbag and sling it over my shoulder, calling out a goodbye to my mom, and head out the door to the bus stop. I smile in anticipation of potentially getting another English assignment. Last time, Mr. H had us do a literary analysis, and as fun as that is, a creative writing assignment is much more up my alley.

11:36 UTC
The yellow school bus comes to a screeching halt and I bounce on the soles of my feet as I wait for the doors to open. Once inside, I wave to Alex from the door and slide into the seat next to her.

19:23 UTC
I hug my notebooks close to my chest, weaving through the hallways, trying to get out of here as quickly as I can. I reach my locker, shifting my books to one arm and unlocking it with my spare hand. It’s finally time to go home.

19:44 UTC
Alex gets off before me and I'm left with my own thoughts. (And the endless chaos of the guys in the front, ugh. While I appreciate chaos, that is not the kind that I enjoy.) I slide an earbud into my left ear, putting my playlist on shuffle, and stare out the window as my thoughts are drowned out by Taylor Swift.

19:53 UTC
I fumble for the keys in my bag, eventually grabbing them and twisting the door open. Mom's out shopping, or something, and I intend to get some homework and the weekly done before she gets back.

20:12 UTC
I've got a few homework assignments to finish, but I got my research essay done over the weekend, so I've just got geometry, history reading, and the science booklet to finish. I pull up a study playlist on YouTube and lay out my assignments on the table.

21:21 UTC
I sit up, rolling my shoulders back. That science booklet took way too long to complete. Why does Ms. W always include the most obscure questions in these? I had to reread one page in the textbook 5 times before I found the answer. Might as well take a break and finish up the last part of my weekly.

21:34 UTC
I chew on the inside of my lip, my fingers hovering over my keyboard, as I play out the planned scene in my head. I was going to have Dani come in here and betray Gwen, but if she does that now, then Gwen won't be able to stumble upon Dani's room and find out that she's been betrayed that way…
Whatever.
It's just for a weekly; I can change this later and besides, I just need another hundred words to finish this up.

21:45 UTC
I finish formatting my weekly, making sure that I've got the correct word count and add it to my word count group.
And it's been submitted!
I smile, a small victory. Any point counts if I'm going to make sure my cabin makes its way up the leaderboard.

21:57 UTC
I'm chatting with one of my cabin enemies when Mom calls me for dinner. I send a quick message saying I have to go and let my nose guide me to the delicious lasagna.

22:31 UTC
I finish chatting with my family, after laughing at stories about our days. I've got about half an hour to burn before midnight UTC comes around…

22:34 UTC
I check the Mangoes and Mayhem account, clicking on the newest episode that I haven't had the pleasure of listening to yet. I open up Procreate on my iPad and start doodling.

23:00 UTC
Dang it. Daylight Savings is messing with me, and a lot of other campers too. It's another hour until the new daily comes out. The reloaded Main Cabin loads and I click on the word wars project.

23:11 UTC
Jordan gets back to me on his words, and yes! 185 v 166 words! I won this prompted word war.
'Gg!'
I quickly make my way over to the main cabin to claim my 125 points.

23:39 UTC
I've spent the past thirty minutes chatting with other campers from my cabin, discussing, most importantly, the betrayal that Tragedy has inflicted upon us. We'll make it up to them during cabin wars, I'm sure.

23:58 UTC
It's time for the new daily to come out! A smile plays on my lips as I get ready to reload the page and get some more words in.

Daily #16 - 325 words

It wasn’t every day that I had a free day, I was the perfect kid with straight A’s and the perfect family, at least that’s what everyone saw on the outside. On a normal day I’d be studying for exams, babysitting my cute little brother and sister, or doing homework.
It seemed like I never had the time for SWC, my parents kept me very busy after all. They couldn’t find out, never. I had to be perfect, straight hair, straight A’s, and collected.
If they had known about SWC, my mom would’ve destroyed me. She despised writing, whereas I enjoyed it. A lot. She said I would never earn enough money to live if I sought out writing as a career.
If she found out, she’d call me a reject. A failure. Worthless. But being the kind-hearted person I was, I took it. I took all of the pain and pressure onto me.
My aunt was the only person I could relate to, she was the older sister and she loved writing. She was a writer, and my model. But unfortunately, we never got to see her.
I kept writing my story, trying to finish it before my mom came up to wonder what I was doing.
Finally, the daily was done. I submitted it into the main cabin, checked out a few of my friends' dailies, logged out of Scratch, and cleared my browser history.
She could never know of my secret life as a writer. I finished up on my computer, making sure every trace of my life was hidden.
My mom was very strict, allowing me to not have a single social media. She would’ve died if she found out I had online friends, she barely even let me have friends in real life. “They are distracting,” she said.
Time to keep hiding, sacrificing my time for a silly camp on a coding website. Living the secret life of a SWCer…

Churro's Dailies No. 16- 3/16/2024
Collab with Seren <33

I turned to Seren, and we looked at each other, grinning. And what we both said next shall be written in the books forever.
“EAT DIRT, SCRIPT!”

—————————–
We burst out laughing. “How did we know to say that at the same time?” I ask Churro, who was shaking her head in disbelief.
“I don't even know, Seren,” She says through tears of laughter.
“We have like telepathy or something,” I reply.
“Eat dirt for breakfast and dust for lunch.” She says as we start walking around the exterior of the Sci-Fi cabin and near Tragedy, our siblings.
“We should have them eat mud for dinner,” I say back.
“And sand for dessert.”
“YES.”
“Belly button lint for a midnight snack.”
“I'm crying.” I say, on the verge of breaking out into happy tears. After a while of just laughing, I say, “That war was intense, bro. Let's go take a break and I'll meet you back here when the shield goes down?”
“You bet. Make Script some mud cakes and say they're brownies for me, okay?”
“Of course. Mmm, sounds yummy.”
We parted ways after that, Churro heading to the snack bar to see if they have any churros left over (obviously), me heading to the Sci-Fi cabin to continue writing my series. Can't leave my readers hanging. And make a cup of iced coffee, of course. I can't live without the sacred elixir.
I get back to the cabin and open up my laptop, eager to start writing again. I put on some classical music to get the creative juices flowing. My head fills with all my ideas for what happens next to my characters- this way or that? Left or right? So much could happen. And that's why I love writing.
After a bit of writing, I hear Churro coming back into the cabin before I see her, arms full of churros and crumbs getting all over the floor. “The shield's going up in a minute.”
“Nice. I'll be ready.”
“Oh… and I think Fairy Tales has attacked us this time.”
“Oh, schist. Got anything to feed them with?”
“…Schist.”

Even though it was my second session now, I was still a bit intimidated by SWC. I’d always been shy, never had very many friends at school. I’d never minded that, I’d always had my short story collections to keep me company. There weren’t that many short story collections in the school library, because it seems like everybody else prefers to read novels. But that wasn’t an issue. Once I’d read all the short stories I could, I simply started writing my own. Scratch Writing Camp is perfect for short story writers, but it can be less than ideal for shy kids. It’s kind of chaotic, overwhelming, and there are so many people. I was never in one of the big sessions I’ve heard about, the ones with more than five hundred campers. But even still, there were so many people, even just in my cabin, that I found it very hard to keep track of. I don’t remember how I found Scratch to begin with, it was probably through some sort of school thing. I had my account for a long time before I really became active. One time I randomly posted one of my short stories, I don’t even know why, and people from Scratch Writing Camp found it. A couple sessions later, I decided to join.
The writing part is a lot of fun. I really like having dailies and weeklies, these prompts to use when writing. I feel like it opens up my creativity in ways I wouldn’t have explored otherwise. But I still don’t quite know how to handle the people.
I’ve made it a goal for myself this session. I’m going to make friends. I’m going to talk to at least one person from my cabin, and at least one person from another cabin. I won’t be shy, or scared, and I won’t back out of the conversation. And hopefully next session it won’t be so scary anymore.

March 16 daily, 515 words

The alarm blares out, breaking me away from the pleasant dream I was having. I shoot up straight in bed, half-confused, and then groan in annoyance. It takes a lot of effort to pull myself out of the warm blankets, but I get up, trying (unsuccessfully) to rub the sleep out of my eyes, and stumble over to my phone to turn the alarm off.
Then I go straight back to bed. And when I wake up next, it’s already seven thirty, and Dad is yelling that I’m going to be late for school.
~~~
School passes boringly, as always. I swear I almost fall asleep in biology. We’re watching a video on… something, I forget—but the room is so dark and the voice drones on and on and on… on and on and on… and my head begins to nod and my eyes begin to close, and it takes all my effort to stay awake.
When the bell rings for lunch, I immediately jump up and grab my backpack, rushing out the door with everyone else. I have Language Club today, and it’s one of my favorite clubs. Every week, we learn about a different language from a different part of the world, and the best part is that the presenter is usually a person who actually speaks in the language. I love listening to people talk about their native languages; I see their faces light up and it makes me happy. About a month ago, I tried giving a presentation too, and it didn’t go as badly as I thought it would have, but I had always been terrible at speaking in front of others and I still stammered more than I would have liked to. Still, it had gone better than I had expected.
~~~
Language Club is pretty much the only interesting thing that happens at school today. The rest of it drags by. I’m so happy when I finally get back home. I toss my backpack onto the couch, and, for the first time that day, I get out my computer and log on to Scratch. I see that I have a few messages, but first I want to check the SWC Main Cabin. I scroll through the comments and see people’s submissions for the daily… and the weekly…
Oh my goodness! The weekly! When is it due again?
I check, and the weekly is due two days from now. I breathe a sigh of relief. I should probably start it, I think. But instead, I go to YouTube and start watching random shorts. Before I know it, half an hour has passed and my mom is calling me.
“Have you started your homework?” she yells.
“Okay!” I shout back absent-mindendly, not really hearing what she’s saying.
“What?!”
“Wait! Just a few more minutes!”
She yells something else, so I sigh and get off YouTube. I don’t have any homework (for once, because I finished it all in school) so I decide to actually spend my free time doing something productive.
I open up Google Docs and get started on my weekly.

Daily: 3/16/24
Word count // 481

I was laughing. Not very hard, it was more of a chuckle, but still, it was a laugh. I just read one of the stories for the daily, and I couldn't help but laugh at this one joke. I switched back to my Google docs and kept writing. Suddenly, the best writing idea ever came to mind. “YES!”
“What?” My mom asked. She came into my room wondering what I was yelling at. “Are you okay?”
I laughed. “Yeah, I just came up with a really good plot twist.”
“Oh, cool.” She had no idea why I had freaked out. My mom wasn't as interested in writing as I was. Sure, see thought it was cool that I loved it, but she didn't get why I reacted to stuff like this. “Well, I'll leave you to it.”
“Thanks, Mom.”
She left, and I went back to writing. I kept writing one thing, deleting it, writing another thing, and repeating the whole process over again. This daily stumped me. Sure, other ones had stumped me before, but this particular one was leaving me feeling stuck. Even that good idea I had didn't feel right. Eventually, I decided to take a walk. It would help me think and it was good for me. I loved going on walks, especially where we lived. We lived a little in the middle of nowhere, and it was beautiful up there. There were mountains everywhere that blended with the sky. I always felt calmer when I was out there. Also, it seemed like a good chance for me to run a few miles in preparation for track tryouts. They were in a week, and I needed to be prepared, so I put on my shoes and headed out.
The walk lasted about twenty minutes, and didn't bring any ideas like I had expected. I actually got so distracted, I forgot one of the ideas I had. Yeah, it was a bad idea, but it was still an idea. I went through my notes when I got home, but couldn't find it.
I walked upstairs to get a snack when my mom caught me. “I have the best idea for a story you could write.”
I wasn't really interested in her idea, but I listened, after all, it was my mom. After she was done telling me, I was fully invested in it. It was such a good story, how could I not write it?
I have to admit, I was slightly surprised. My mom had thought of this. My mom. It also worked with the daily. It was perfect. “Mom, I think you just solved all of my problems.” I ran back to my room to start writing, while she watched me confused. “Your welcome!”
I wrote for about ten minutes, edited for another fifteen, and then made the final edit for another five before it was perfect.
“Thank you, Mom.”

-lxve-bug- wrote:

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


AYYYY IM 100TH LMAO

3-16-24 daily submitted just in time TT ty @-SimplyWatermelon- for allowing me to borrow your daily life lol, enjoy !! +367 words


Summer’s fingers flew over the keys, attempting to speed run the day’s daily before school started. The bell rang just as she typed the last word. She sighed happily, and posted a quick comment in the main cabin, before packing up her things, and leaving the cafeteria, preparing herself for another mundane day of filling her brain with (mostly) useless knowledge. The day wore on, and the last bell (finally) rang. Filled with excitement, Summer gathered up her things, and made her way to the doors, eager to get on her bus and go home. She returned home, stepped inside, and kicked off her shoes. When she began her homework, she was greeted with a rather pleasant surprise; her history teacher had postponed the test until next week. Summer was grateful for the extra study time, but she had other things to do. She finished her homework, and then promptly journeyed to her piano and sat down, fingers poised over the keys. She took a breath and began to play, the notes cascading out of the instrument, her fingers mashing the keys. She enjoyed piano, far more than clarinet. She often skipped clarinet practice in favor of voice and piano. She played piano for a little over an hour, not realizing how late it had gotten. She got up from her post, and ventured up the stairs to her bedroom, flopping on her bed. She stayed there for a few minutes, and then remembered productivity was important. She scrolled around a bit on her phone, looking for a good song to sing. After finding a good one, she started to sing. Summer did this for a while, and then it was dark outside. She logged on to Scratch to check up on her beloved campers, and checked the Gardener’s Shed. Upon seeing a new profile picture order, she got to work. She finished the picture quickly, and smiled at the finished project. She shared it, and let the poet know it’d been finished. She stretched and yawned, glancing at the clock. It was funny how fast time flew. Before she knew it, she was in bed, ready to wake up and do it all over again tomorrow.

daily march 16, 310 words
I wake up, yawning and averting my eyes from the sunlight streaming in from my window. It’s a Saturday morning, I think to myself. Saturday.
It takes me a minute to realize–cabin wars! I dash downstairs, grab a glass of water and a mango (necessary sustenance), and run back upstairs. I settle down at my desk with my laptop, opening it quickly and settling my fingers over the familiar keys. Time to write!
First up, sent an hour ago, is a massive war from an enemy cabin–I get quickly to work, starting and finishing up an essay for school that was on my to-do list for a while. We still need a thousand more words… I work together with another camper to finish up the war and secure a victory.
Since our shield is up, I head downstairs and practice my violin for half an hour, for the upcoming concert I have. As I wrap up the last song, my cabin’s shield falls, and another war is placed on our virtual doorstep. It’s from… an ally? I’d never have thought our ally would do such a thing… we’ll have to retaliate soon with a war of our own. Fortunately, there’s no need to hire a mercenary, since it’s a relatively small war that we can easily manage.
Like a good SWCer, I’m very productive, but not on the things I have been planning to do for a while. I decide not to work on my novel, and instead write a series of short stories. One is in an epistolary format, as per a writing dare I receive.
I turn some music on, and again enter my writing groove. My fingers fly on the keyboard, surpassing whatever WPM I’ve ever achieved before. I did all my planning the day before, so the ideas flow freely. This cabin war, I am invincible.

(I wasn’t sure if we were supposed to pick a specific person or invent an imaginary SWCer, so I went with the latter, because the first one would have required a lot more stalking on my part… xD)

My alarm goes off, and I immediately reach for my phone to silence it. Groggily, I sit up and check my messages. Notifications, mostly from my friends, fill my inbox, and I take the time to respond to all of them before I finally slide out of bed and prepare to start my day.
I wake up my brother, and we get ready for school. I grab a quick smoothie for breakfast and run out the door to catch the bus. Once I get to school, I slide out my laptop and log in to Scratch. The March session of Scratch Writing Camp has just begun, and I’ve been sorted into Mythology! It’s one of my favorite genres, and I can’t wait to get writing. The daily today is three-word-stories- an easy one.
“The mango explodes,” I type, and the next person comments “all over my,” and a third adds “face. It’s quite…”
Unfortunately, I don’t have time to see how the story continues, because the bell rings and I have to pay attention to my class. It’s Chemistry, not one of my favorites. It isn’t too bad, but I’ve never been into science.
I have a lot more fun in 2nd period, Band. I play the flute, and the music fills my head, making me imagine all sorts of wondrous things. I’ve gotten pretty good at playing it, and I’ve been thinking of learning another instrument, too.
The rest of the school day passes relatively quickly. At lunch, I sit with my friends, and I show them the three-word-stories. Some of them are weirdly deep, and others are hilariously unpredictable. My friends give me suggestions for how to contribute to the stories, and, giggling at their ideas, I do it.
After school, I once again hop on the bus, and head home. My brother is already there, and we play video games for a while, before I reluctantly leave to go do my homework. Thankfully, I manage to finish most of it before dinner, which is chicken pot pie.
I eat, grab a cookie for dessert, then head up to my room and try to begin the weekly for SWC. However, I can’t seem to find motivation. I decide that since it isn’t due for a few more days, I can afford to procrastinate. So, instead, I grab a book and read until I grow tired.
When I decide it’s time to sleep, I take a shower, brush my teeth, and get my pajamas on. I collapse into my bed, ready to dream of mangoes and music, and all the other wonderful things that tomorrow might bring.

word count - 307 words

My alarm went off at 7 am- I was definitely not ready to wake up but I had to get ready for school. As I went to brush my teeth, I realized it was a snow day. Considering that it was exam week, I was feeling really thankful for getting a much needed extra day to study. It felt like my wishes were actually coming true since this was just the saving I needed!

Now that I didn't have to worry about going to school, I decided that my next best bet would be checking in on SWC. After all, a lot of interesting things tend to happen while I'm sleeping, and I would hate to miss out on something special! As I made my way to the main cabin, I noticed that the daily had changed - how could I forget?! We were only 500 points away from first, and I knew that completing this daily would help us move ahead.

Although deep down inside I knew my exam was the priority, I couldn't help but consider doing the daily before it. After all, what harm could a little daily do, right? Little did I know that I would spend the next four hours browsing on Scratch without getting a single piece of work done… an average day in the life of an SWC-er, am I right?

Anyways! Before I knew it I had already wasted more than enough time practically doing nothing. I mean, yes, I got to catch up with a lot of cabins in the main cabin and whatnot, but both my daily and exam study prep had gotten absolutely nowhere! Talk about procrastination, am I right? Personally, I'd like to say that it's more of a “do other things” and “come back to it later” strategy, but who am I to decide that?

Daily 016: 302 words, The Perfect Camper

Perfect woke up at four am precisely and turned her alarm off. She wrestled her sheets into place, put clothes on, and then began to write. She did this every day, especially during March, July, and November. Her WPM was an impressive 100, and she easily tapped out a thousand words before taking a short break to drink some water. Perfect did all the dailies every session, turned in every weekly on time, and did both a critique and a word war a day. On top of all this, she kept up with school work and her family. You might even say that like her nickname, she truly was perfect.
You'd be wrong.
Her very first SWC session, she had failed to add words one day. It rankled in her soul that she hadn't added them precisely on time.
Other than that, yes.
Oh, and of course her anxiety, depression, and the fact that her best friend was sick and dying–but those didn't matter, right? Just more stuff to fuel her words. Just…more…experience.
That was what she told herself when she cried in her bedroom at night (she had a perfect sleep schedule, or, well, she always went to bed on time, at least). It would just make her writing richer and more realistic.
But deep down, she wondered. If she let herself go, would she feel better? If she took care of herself, would it fix things? Or was she doomed to be broken forever?
Did it matter, all her accomplishments? Did it really, truly matter? Would she care when she was grown? Would she care when she was struggling, late in life, exhausted and worn out and sad? Would it matter when she died?
She didn’t know.
Did it matter?

author's note: life > swc take care of urself guys

Writing Competition, 249 words (that word count bugs me to no end sobbing), Luck

Luck is a fickle lady.
Spin the coin, roll the dice.
A lady easily swayed by her own desires.
Who’ll buy, who’ll buy?
Purchase her favor at your own risk.
Take a chance, dance with death.
Will today be the day you die?
Luck is a fickle lady.
Heads or tails, life and death.
The wheel is always spinning.
Yours today, gone tomorrow.
A lady easily swayed by her own desires.
Will today be the day you’re winning?
Laugh, for tomorrow you may scream.
Will today be the day it ends?
Purchase her favor at your own risk.
Spin the wheel of fortune, bold one.
Come, will you trifle with fate?
Fortune’s threads are always spinning.
Come, will you trace your life in the weaving?
Nimble fingers, changing heart.
What will you give for your heart’s desire?
She laughs at your tears; no grieving.
May luck pass you by entirely.
All who brush past her are tangled in her web.
Empty smiles, heart of stone.
Come, are you one whom Fate loves?
Will today be the day you die?
Fate has no loyalties, only desires.
Heads or tails, life and death.
Will your thread hold fast or will it tangle?
Pray that Luck won’t fetch her scissors.
Laugh, for tomorrow you may scream.
Clever hands but empty heart.
Deal the cards, fan them out.
Luck’s the Queen of Hearts.
Smile when they love you, frown when they don’t.
Fate’s behind it, never fear.
May Luck pass you by entirely.

Author's note (not included in word count): Thanks to @silverlynx for critiquing, and my irl friends for their encouragement <3 Also, a quick note on the uppercase-ness (help i cant) of luck, i think there was a place i didn't uppercase it so dw that was on purpose (or was it the other way around…? idk anymore guys lol just assume everything was on purpose XD)

such a special thing ( such a hurtful thing )
a writing competition entry

Author's Notes:
✦ Word Count: 1,984 woah cutting it close
✦ i know how much it seems like it but i PROMISE that there's no romance between any of these characters sobbing
✦ if you remember any other swc works of mine with a character named evan/derek ,, yeah these are the same people lol
✦ i know a lot of this is tell not show, that was on purpose but i don't know if what i was trying to do came off nicely whoops
✦ i feel like i was gonna add more here but i forgot so uh yeah enjoy
✦ title may be changed later oops. if you're here for critique then I'd be glad if you lmk if the title fits :]

if you're curious:
periwinkles = memories and friendship
everlasting peas = remembrance
zinnias = thoughts of absent friends
fuchsias = anxiety
dandelions = faithfulness

February 3rd, 5:08 PM
Derek Crescent + EEVAN

EEVAN: DEREK
my dear friend
do you want to go to the local garden
i am suddenly feeling nostalgic right now and i have not been to the garden in a while

Derek Crescent: YES
when and what time?

EEVAN: tomorrow at 5pm??

Derek Crescent: that works! :]

EEVAN: YAYY

◦ ✦ ◦

“These are new,” Evan says as he crouches down to be eye level with a garden bed of periwinkles. Their brilliant purple hue glitters like an amethyst in the late afternoon rays.

The sun was beginning to set, casting a faint tangerine glow onto everything it can touch. The sight is breathtaking. The day is perfect, just him and his best friend on a Saturday afternoon, surrounded by a variety of flowers that he has not seen in years.

“Periwinkles symbolise friendship.” Derek smiles softly. He pretends to pluck the flower and hands the imaginary bloom to Evan. “Here’s to you.”

“Here’s to you?” Evan asks, but accepts the ghost periwinkle.

“What else am I supposed to say?” the other boy replies.

“For someone who gets excellent grades in English, you really are bad at coming up with sentences sometimes.”

“It’s not even that bad,” Derek laughs. The laugh echoes throughout the empty garden, and Evan soon finds himself laughing as well.

“We’re so weird.” Derek chuckles.

“Weird is the best personality trait.” Evan grins.

◦ ✦ ◦

The next Monday, Evan does not show up to school.

◦ ✦ ◦

February 7th, 7:59 AM
Derek Crescent + EEVAN

Derek Crescent: haven’t heard from you in a while, are you alright?
school is about to start so I’ll reply after school :]
hope you’re doing well
Unread

February 7th, 8:13 AM
Derek Crescent + EEVAN

Derek Crescent: sorry for the messages again, but we’re learning about space today!!
apparently there’s gonna be a group project with three people.
when you’re back at school, would you like to pair with me and piper?
Unread

February 7th, 11:02 AM
Derek Crescent + EEVAN

Derek Crescent: just got sent the article from a classmate. are you alright?
if you don’t want to talk, that’s fine. I’m here for you though.
Unread

February 7th, 11:04 AM
Piper! + EEVAN

Piper!: Hey Evan!
I don’t know if you’ll see this, but you’ve officially been declared missing.
Derek is struggling. Please come back soon if you’ve run away.
I’ll give you all the space you need if you’d like.
Unread

◦ ✦ ◦

LATEST NEWS
Excerpt of article: 15-year-old Evan Grey declared missing – Police are searching
Written by Leah Sierra

On February 7th, Tuesday, at 9:38 AM, 15-year-old Evan Grey from Soaring Bluebells High School was declared missing.

According to his parents, he “mysteriously disappeared without a trace” on Monday morning when the parents woke up.

“At first, we thought he just left to clear his mind, so we didn’t report to the police. Evan has left the house without notice before, but he always came back within a few hours.” said his mother, Caroline Grey. “He hasn’t come back, though, and it’s been 24 hours. We’re worried.”

Police have opened up a search group for Grey. They assure that Evan will be found within a matter of time. Friends, family and classmates of Grey will be interviewed and asked questions and whereabouts. More updates to come soon.

◦ ✦ ◦

February 10th, 4:21 PM
Piper! + EEVAN

Piper!: Derek has been going pretty bad.
I understand if you need some space.
But if you could just let us know that you’re fine, then that’d be great.
Unread

◦ ✦ ◦

Derek visits the local garden again, this time alone.

He sees another new flower: fuchsias. He gazes at them wordlessly, but his mind is running with so many things he wishes he could say. Things he wished he said.

◦ ✦ ◦

February 13th, 6:54 AM
Derek Crescent + EEVAN

Derek Crescent: sorry if this message is too soon, I don’t wanna come off as clingy.
but it’s been a while.
mrs. and mr. grey are on the news. they’re worried.
if you’re out there, just lmk and I’ll stop messaging.
hope you’re doing good.
Unread

February 13th, 6:56 AM
Piper! + EEVAN

Piper!: Hey Evan, are you alright? It’s been a while and the police search is still ongoing.
Piper!: Your parents are on the news.
Unread

◦ ✦ ◦

LATEST NEWS
Excerpt of article: Search for highschooler Evan Grey still ongoing – people are worried
Written by Leah Sierra

Almost a week ago, 15-year-old Evan Grey was declared missing after “mysteriously disappearing” on a Monday morning.

“I miss him, our boy,” said Jay Grey, Evan’s father. “We want him to come back.”

“He’ll come back,” said one of his friends, Piper Summer, in an interview. “He wouldn’t leave without telling one of us.”

Police doubt that it was a matter of intentionally leaving. They believe that something has happened to Evan, but it will be resolved soon. The search continues, and any volunteers are welcome to join in.

“If they can’t find a young boy who still has a lot to do in his life, then I’m worried about the future of our police.” said an anonymous critic. The police reassured her that Grey would be found. More updates to come soon.

◦ ✦ ◦

February 16th, 6:56 AM
Piper! + EEVAN

Piper!: Please come back.
Even strangers are starting to get worried.
Unread

February 17th, 7:12 PM
Piper! + EEVAN

Piper!: Please, be alright.
Unread

◦ ✦ ◦

Derek wanders through the neighbourhood, his footsteps echoing on the cobblestone path. He kicks rocks, seeing how far they can roll depending on how much force he puts in. Piper walks beside him, but she doesn’t say anything. She just listens to the hum of the birds and the laughter of the local children.

Life is still going on without him, Piper thinks. It doesn’t feel like it, though.

Piper has to be strong for Derek. She cannot let a tear fall from her eye. She was always the comforting friend of the trio, the one who had everything under control at all times. If she breaks, then everything will shatter.

There are zinnias on the side of the road. They are a wonderful scarlet shade. Scarlet like strawberries. Derek sees them as well and plucks one. He holds it close to his chest, and Piper can tell that he is lost in thought.

Piper picks up a zinnia as well. She inhales the flowery, cozy scent. She silently mourns for someone who she hopes she has not yet lost.

◦ ✦ ◦

May 22nd, 8:41 PM
Derek Crescent + EEVAN

Derek Crescent: search declared over.
Unread

◦ ✦ ◦

LATEST NEWS
Search for highschooler Evan Grey is “useless,” police say
Written by Leah Sierra

Derek does not read more before he drops his phone.

◦ ✦ ◦

Derek is in his backyard, sorting the flowers.

He sees a dandelion. He plucks it and blows, letting it fly away so far where he cannot reach.

◦ ✦ ◦

July 30th, 10:34 AM
Derek Crescent + EEVAN

Derek Crescent: I miss you.
Unread

◦ ✦ ◦

Draft; Unsent
Hey There
To: Evan Grey
From: Derek Crescent

On February 4th, we looked at periwinkles. I still remember the date, since my favorite number is 2417 after you once asked me for an oddly specific number and that was the first thing that came to mind. We were in Math, then, and that number was on the board. It’s weird, I know, but weird is the best personality trait.

I did not remember at the time, but periwinkles also symbolise memories. I was not aware that we were making memories. Were were just two young highschoolers, laughing and being silly.

Piper is trying to be strong for me. She tries to hide it, but I can tell. You always said I had a talent for reading people. I wish I could have read you and what you were feeling before you left, but it’s too late now.

It’s hard without you. You are my best friend, someone who was always there for me whenever I felt like a raindrop threatening to fall.

It’s been a while since you left. I guess I accepted it. You’re no longer by my side, and I have to deal with it.

I miss you. I miss the way you brightened up any room with your clever jokes. I miss how you would always be by my side.

I promise that, regardless of where you are now, you’ll still be my friend, forevermore.

◦ ✦ ◦

Derek sits on the swings. He swings slowly, making sure not to fall off. He's heard of stories of people falling off of swings, and it’s terrifying. He doesn’t want the same thing to happen to him. So he’ll swing leisurely and be safe.

The playground is empty other than Ma, who is sitting cross-legged on a bench, reading a book. There are no other sounds than the gentle blow of the breeze, the creak of the swings, and the faint flip of a page. It’s nice. He doesn’t like anything loud.

Then Derek hears another sound enter the scene, and he pauses. He listens. The sounds grow louder and closer and he realises that the sound is another person. Derek frowns. There is usually nobody in the playground.

The person comes into view. It’s a boy, and he’s accompanied by his parents. His parents send him off to play as they go over to the bench where Ma is sitting.

The boy scans the playground. He looks around at all the fun stuff he can play on. The boy sees Derek and they make eye contact for a split second. Before Derek can glance away, the boy is already running at him with a wide smile on his face.

“Hi!” the boy exclaims, bouncing on his heels. “I’m Evan! What’s your name?”

Derek frowns. “Ma said not to talk to strangers or give them any personal information.”

“Oh…” the boy slumps his shoulders. Then he jumps up, and Derek can practically see the lightbulb lighting up in his head. “Then let’s be friends so that we’re no longer strangers!”

“Friends?” Derek says the word, and it feels unfamiliar on his tongue. He distantly remembers the word, but it has no meaning or value to him.

“Yeah! Friends!” the boy grins like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

Derek tilts his head. “What’s a friend?”

The boy stares at him. “You don’t know what a friend is?” he asks.

Derek nods.

“Really?” the boy asks. “Well, a friend is someone who is always there for you. It’s someone who makes you happy.”

“Oh,” Derek says. “That sounds nice.”

“Yeah! So would you like to be friends?” the boy queries, holding his hand out.

Derek takes his hand and they do a handshake, like they’re professionals accepting a business deal.

The boy smiles. “I’m Evan! What’s your name?”

“Derek,” Derek replies. “It’s nice to meet you, Evan!”

“Nice to meet you too, Derek!” Evan says. “I promise that I’ll always be by your side.”

He grins at a promise, a promise for a new friendship. A promise that they’ll always be there for each other, no matter what monsters come to them.

Evan defined the word friend for Derek. Evan put meaning and value in the word for him. Now he’s gone, and Derek is trying to figure out what it means again.

◦ ✦ ◦

January 1st, 12:00 AM
Derek Crescent + EEVAN

Derek Crescent: happy new year!
I remember we used to always get ice cream on new year.
life has been hard, but I’m getting better.
I’ve never forgotten you for a second.
hope you’re doing well, wherever you are. :]
Unread

February 3rd, 9:52 AM
Derek Crescent + EEVAN

Derek Crescent: it’s been a year.
they’re holding a memorial.
I brought periwinkles and everlasting peas. ^^
Unread

◦ ✦ ◦

Acceptance
A poem by Derek Crescent

Everlasting peas
Signify remembrance.
I remember you
But I won’t hold on,
I’ll let go.

◦ ✦ ◦

February 18th, 11:47 PM
Derek Crescent + EEVAN

EEVAN is typing…

'when i was a child, i heard voices' - arsonist's lullaby

The backyard is my favourite place to go. I don't have a normal backyard - lawn, more lawn, maybe a small veggie garden - I have a forest. It spans twelve acres, twelve acres of towering gum trees, wattles, grevilleas, other trees I don't know the names of. Birds sing through the forest as I walk around. I could never have anything better. It's my only escape from the real world, the world of permanent snarls and smiles I know are fake. This is different. Peaceful, but not alone.
I hear human voices too, sometimes. It's only on the north end, only at night. I'm sitting on a rock, surrounded by darkness, trees rustling around me. And, for a faint second, I hear them. People, children, calling to each other like the birds. But I understand them. They play tag, have fits, learn lessons, like any child does. I never got to do that. They kept me at home. But I never see the kids. They run right in front of me, and I don't see them. Anyone would call it creepy. They'd call the children ghosts. But to me, it's beautiful.
Tonight, I've been testing my luck, listening to them play for two hours. I don't know what time it is. I don't care. I don't want to disturb the gentle laughter ringing through the woods, the swishing of leaves above me. It's almost unthinkable that I'd speak. But the idea slowly forms in my mind.
“Hello,” I say before I can decide otherwise.
The children stop. The movement stops.
A hard pit drops into my stomach, solid, heavy.
Then their feet start moving again. They move slowly, as if in mud, as one unit. Towards me. Whispers swarm through the bush, whispers of amazement, whispers of finally and child. A faint glow of moonlight sweeps the forest floor.
I see them.
Their bodies, tinted by moonlight, are perfectly human, perfectly normal, except for one thing. It's different in all of them: one has a missing eye, one has no arms, one's nose looks sliced half-off. The children stare at me with earnest faces. I look back at them, my eyes darting from child to child.
“Who are you?” they whisper.
“Me?”
“Yes, you.”
“I'm Hannah. I'm eight years old.” I try to smile.
The girl without an eye frowns. “You're not a moonlight child.”
I shrink back. “What's a moonlight child?”
“Us.”
“Oh. Why aren't I a moonlight child?”
“You aren't missing something, and nothing's broken either.”
I raise an eyebrow. “So?”
“But you can hear us. Only moonlight kids hear us.”
A few of the children turn to the girl with no eye, confused. I'm only growing in curiosity with her every word.
“How do you know that?”
“Your eyes have been tracking our movements since you-”
“You knew I've been here?”
She chuckles. “You didn't think? You don't think my eyes can see?”
“You never came up to me.”
“You never asked,” she says.
Some of the younger children walk away to play tag.
She smiles sadly. “You're not one of us. You don't need us - you're not broken like we are.”
I do. She doesn't understand.
“You'll be better off without us. Out in the world, where normal children like you play.”
The world calls me a freak. The world calls me an enemy.
“No, please,” I croak out.
“Why not?” she says, confused. “Don't you like being normal?”
Everyone else leaves, shouts of laughter ringing out across the forest again.
“I'm not normal-”
The girl with one eye takes my wrist, gently at first. Then squeezes it. Bullets of ice stream through my veins. She tries to keep me down. But she's only five. Only one person. I rip my arm out of her grip and sprint, as far as I can, through the trees, into sticks and branches and leaves. I run until my legs burn and my breath feels hollow and unyielding. I run, closer, closer. And I find home.
—
Trees rustle in the breeze, just like they used to. The moon sits in its throne high above me. I walk past gum trees, wattles, grevilleas, acacias, crepe myrtles, other trees I can't name. I use the glimpses of the moon I see to go north, until I find a small rock.
It's too small to sit on, but I sit on it anyway. I concentrate, but I can't hear anyone.
“Hello,” I whisper into the dead night.
Nobody responds.
(749 words)

Weekly #2

Part 1 — flowers
518 words

As Lucerne walks through the gardens, the monster follows her.
It has hollows where its eyes should be, and too many spider-like legs. Its claws are garden shears and they click-click-clack as it slinks through the flowers. It has crooked, churning rakes instead of teeth, and it takes bites of the rhododendron and the oleander as it passes. It salivates poison, half-chewed petals dripping from its jaws. It is slow, but it doesn’t care, because it knows Lucerne will need to stop at some point. Lucerne will tire before it will. Easy prey, it must think.
Lucerne tries not to let her fear show. She doesn’t look over her shoulder — as if that will make it go away. It can smell her cold sweat, it can hear her rapid, shallow breaths. Perhaps it can even sense her heart — her bloody, mortal heart — beating away in her chest. It will not let go of its target so easily. It is midway through a hunt, after all.
Click. Click. Clack.
Lucerne hurries around a corner — then freezes. There was nothing but a towering, thorny hedge before her. Blocking her way. The path she’d been following had been nothing but a dead end.
She stops breathing. Click. Rushes to the hedge, grabbing at the leaves, at the thorns, the sharp prickles slicing open her palms. She feels no pain, despite the blood running through her fingers. Click. Will it hurt when the monster devours her whole? (14 words have been removed here due to being not scratch appropriate afbjsfbsj) Clack. She is only ten. She cannot fight a monster this big.
It begins to round the corner.
Click, click—

Lucerne wakes with a gasp.
Sun filters through her windows, spilling squares of light onto the rows of plants lined across her shelf. The rhododendron is wilting, she realises. She must remember to water it, before her mother pesters her to.
Click. The metallic clink of the spoon against the pot echoes from beyond her room. Click. Her mother must be cooking something, stirring something, in the kitchen. For her breakfast, maybe. Clack.
The door swings open suddenly, and Lucerne flinches.
She exhales in relief at the sight of her mum in the doorway.
“It’s only me, Lucy,” her mum says. “I didn’t realise you were awake. I thought you wanted to sleep in.”
“Had a bad dream,” Lucerne mumbles.
Her mum moves in to comfort her.
“Don’t worry, sweetpea. It’s okay. I will always be here for you.”

Lucerne brings marigolds to the grave.
Her mother’s name blurs in front of her eyes. Her grief roils in her stomach. She is only eleven. She cannot fight a monster this big.
Somehow, she keeps going anyway.

The next day, there are flowers on Lucerne’s doorsteps.
A peculiar arrangement. Roses, amaranth, rosemary — and purple lucerne flowers.
It begins to snow, but Lucerne doesn’t move. She catches a single drop of snow in her palm.
She smiles. She knows. She doesn’t know why — but she knows there must be a reason. She trusts.
Despite being apart, her mother is still here for her.

Kind of deteriorated towards the end lol, thinking of continuing this at some point :00

Flowers mentioned: Lucerne (life), rhododendron (danger), oleander (beware), sweet pea (departure), marigold (grief), rose (love), amaranth (immortality), rosemary (revival), snowdrop (hope).

Part 2 — constellations
413 words

Orion’s favourite hunting dog was missing.

“What do you mean, missing?” He spat at his second-favourite hunting dog, who had slunk up to him a moment before, tail between its legs, and told him of the news. “Go find him!”

The dog hesitated for a second. “Well— maybe missing wasn’t the right word. We know where he is. We just can’t… we just can’t get him back.”

“What do you mean, you can’t get him back?” Orion spluttered. His fingers twitched towards the bow at his side. “You will get him back, and you will get him back now.”

“Er, sir, you see, the problem is…”

“Out with it!”

The dog flinched at his hunter’s raised voice. “He followed an enchanted fox, sir, we warned him not to, he did it anyway, he followed it all the way to the lake and, well…”

A pause. Orion’s face was turning a peculiar shade of scarlet. He gestured for the dog to go on.

“He, er, he fell in. Sir.”

“Are you telling me my favourite hunting dog has drowned in the bottom of a lake?” Orion boomed, seizing the dog by the scruff of its neck.

“Not really,” the dog wheezed, squirming in an attempt to free himself from his master’s tight grasp. He tried not to let Orion’s pointed comment sting.

“Then WHAT are you telling me?”

“You see, sir, he didn’t fall into the water. The ice cracked and he fell through the Barrier and into the sky.”

Orion dropped the dog, abruptly. “Not again,” he muttered. “Those meddling gods. Always doling out punishment. Always sending poor animals to that prison of stars they have. I’m done with it.”

The dog kept quiet. He knew what he was hearing was treason. He knew his master didn’t care.

“What are you waiting for?” Orion growled, before the dog could slink away. “Go into the sky and find him.”

“But… but the sky is the bear’s territory,” the dog whimpered. “I’m not going up there.”

“If you’re too much of a coward to go, I’ll go myself.” Orion pulled an arrow from his quiver. He kept his eyes fixed on his dog as he notched it to his bow.

His glare was shaper than the arrow could ever be.

“No, I’ll go, sir,” Canis Minor protested. “I’ll find Major.”

“Pathetic mongrel,” Orion grumbled, but his tone was less sharp. “I can’t let my second-favourite dog get lost in the stars, too. We’ll both go.”

yes, this is a continuation of the other constellation dailies i’ve written (Ursa Major & Minor, Canis Major & Minor)

Constellations referenced: Orion, Canis Major & Minor, Ursa Major & Minor

Part 3 — aesthetics

https://scratch.mit.edu/projects/984193816/

Part 4 — swc fanfiction
656 words

It was March 2024, and someone had left a bouquet of flowers on the Main Cabin’s doorstep.
A strange group of creatures had gathered, and were peering at the peculiar arrangement. There was a turtle, a rather small planet, a griffin, a three-headed unicorn with a mermaid tail, an alpaca, and a camel — and all of them were incredibly perplexed.
“What’s the point of these?” The planet, Saturn Peeles, asked.
“Who sent them?” The unicorn, George The Unicorn, chimed in.
Gurtle prodded the bouquet. “There’s no note, either.”
Eugene, the camel, peered over his best friend Claude The Alpaca’s shoulder. “I KNOW WHAT FLOWERS THOSE ARE,” he suddenly proclaimed. “I HAVE WRITTEN MANY A POEM ABOUT THEM!” He cleared his throat. “SWEET RHODODEN—”
“We don’t need to hear your poem,” Claude interrupted hurriedly. “We already know—”
“THAT I AM THE GREATEST POEM THIS SIDE OF THE INTERNET? THE GREATEST WORDSMITH OF ALL OF THE SWCKINGDOMS? ALL OF THE GALAXSWC?”
“Yes, yes,” Claude agreed. “Could you please tell us with your extraordinary incredible wonderfully poetic brain what these flowers are — without using verse? Think of it as a… a challenge!”
“RHODODODODODENDRON!” Eugene yelled, excited at the prospect of a challenge. “AND… AND… and I don’t know.” His face fell. “I forgot.”
The griffin, Helios, stepped forward. “It’s oleander. And Eugune is right, the other one’s rhododendron.”
“I WAS RIGHT!” Eugene crowed. “DID I WIN?”
The others ignored him. George leaned forward, a hoof brushing the pink flowers—
Helios drew him back with a flap of a metal wing. “Don’t touch those,” they muttered. “Oleander’s poisonous. Very poisonous.”
George flinched back. The bitter disappointment of betrayal threaded his tone. “Who would send us poisonous flowers? They were so pretty, too. Were they trying to…”
“WERE THEY TRYING TO ASSASSINATE US?” Eugene finished, furious. “US, THE BELOVED MASCOTS OF SWC?”
“Who would do such a thing?” Saturn asked.
“What’s more, rhododendron means danger and oleander means beware,” Helios whispered. “I think someone is trying to send a message. That we’re in danger. That something bad is about to happen. Perhaps someone is even out to get us.”
“How do you know?” Saturn asked, curious. “About the meanings of flowers, I mean.”
“Alba,” Helios replied. “But that’s not important. We need to—”
“TAKE DOWN WHOEVER IS TRYING TO HURT US!” Eugene exclaimed, interrupting poor Helios.
“Yeah, that,” Saturn said. “But who could that be?”
“I think I know someone,” George swallowed, hard. “Someone evil. Someone dangerous. Someone who might want us gone.”
“WHO?” Eugene, Saturn, Helios and Claude asked in unison.
George looked at the ground. He began to shake, his voice a rasp as he spoke the terrifying, terrible name:
“Harry The Capybara.”
Silence fell among the SWC mascots. Some of them had never heard of this dreadful villain. Others were too afraid to say a word.
“Who’s that?” Saturn piped up.
“I don’t know, either,” Gurtle, the turtle, added. So far, they had been staying out of this conversation. They had known what the flowers and their meanings were from the start, and they didn’t want to get caught up in any danger. But their friends were in danger — so they knew they had to help. Capybaras weren’t that scary, anyway.
“Years ago, there was a terrible rivalry,” George The Unicorn began. “Between myself, from the wonderful cabin of Myth, and Harry, the mascot of the tyrannical dictatorship that called itself Thriller. Myth was the rightful ruler of the First Place Throne of the Main Cabin, but Thriller wanted to steal Myth’s place. Terrible battles ensued all throughout the month of July 2022. Thriller, and Harry, were eventually defeated and ended up in second place. Harry The Capybara never showed himself again, and many believed he had died of the humiliation at being second. But they were all of them deceived. He must have risen up again, seeking vengeance. He will stop at nothing to rule the Galaxswc.”

Unfinished but I’ll leave it there! It was so much fun writing about all the mascots again <33
I can’t remember who created all of them, but credit to everyone who helped make these wonderful characters! Claude The Alpaca I’m fairly sure was made by @-redredrobin-, Eugene The Camel was by me, George The Unicorn was by everyone in Myth July 2022, Harry The Capybara was by Thriller July 2022, Helios The Griffin was by the Fantasy November 2022 leading team and named by a camper, Saturn Peeles was by last sessions hosting team I think? And Gurtle was by this sessions hosting team, I think as well <33
And did you spot the lord of the rings reference ;)

Critique


Overall, I absolutely love this poem! I love all of the personifications and metaphors. This poem really blew me away!

-SimplyWatermelon- wrote:

Driving at night,
Sometimes I wonder
Does the moon ever miss
The shining sun

This is a great clear opening for your poem, and flows beautifully. I think you don’t really need to change anything on this one! It is nice and simple and easy to read, yet you have managed to incorporate some lovely poetry tools.

He didn’t want
To do it long distance
She said, if they tried
Then they’d make it work

In this verse, I think that you could change the second line, as it doesn’t flow as smoothly because of the amount of syllables. I also think that you could change the last line so it doesn’t have the ‘then’ at the beginning, also to make it flow more smoothly.

Some nights they see
Just a glimpse of each other
But some nights it’s dark
And they’re both all alone

I love the personification in this line and how you make the sun and the moon seem like they’re together, sometimes apart. This is a very creative idea! To improve, I think that you could shorten the last line, just take out one syllable.

Down here on earth
Whenever he sees her
His smile lights up
Our cold darkened skies

In this verse, the first line feels a bit muddled and confusing because the moon is never on earth. I don’t really understand what you’re trying to say in this line. The rest of the verse is really lovely, especially the third line!

Then there are nights
That come once in a lifetime
When he steals in between
And eclipses us all

I love how you use eclipses in this, as they are quite mysterious, fantastical occurrences. Again, I don’t really understand what you mean on the third line, so if you try to make this line a little bit clearer. I also would recommend shortening the second line! <3

But on dark nights like this
Does the moon ever miss her?
Sometimes I wonder
Driving at night

I really like how you swap around the lines of the first verse for this last one, and how you end the poem with your title. This verse is flawless (in my humble opinion) and I don't think you need to alter this at all!


I hope this critique helps! I really enjoyed critiquing this poem. Thank you for sharing it with me! <3

Daily 17th March

554 words
Lyric: ‘Sweet music playing in the dark.’

I glided through the shadowy rooms, my feet brushing the jagged wood. Serrated nails poked up from the floorboards, biting into my raw, blistered feet. The pain shot through my like a needle and I recoiled, my eyes stinging with tears. My mind was a mess, the past hours just a blur in my muddled thoughts. I shook my head viciously, desperately urging the memory to come back. Then I remembered.

Anger bubbled up inside me, hot and insistent. I narrowed my now cold, hard eyes, my mouth turned down into a malicious frown. All of the previous events came flooding back to me.
“Ha! Like she’d survive a day at the palace. She’s far too scruffy!”
Laughter rippled through the buzzing crowds. Crimson stained their lips, bitter and strong. Held in their hands were glittering glasses, brimming with the blood-red wine.
I drew in a sharp breath, flushing with embarrassment as everyone turned towards me, amusement glimmering in their eyes. Embarrassment turned to irritation, irritation to fury, fury to venom.

I shrank down into a corner, discarded plates clattering down beside me. I didn’t care. But I did care that my best friend had insulted me. She had insulted me in front of her adoring audience. They admired her as a princess, a brave courageous princess, not afraid to face her fears. I saw her as my best friend, someone who was sincere and kind. Now I was a lion, prowling through the dusty savannah, teeth bared back in an endless snarl, seeking revenge. She was a cat, dark and untrustworthy. I bit my lip, trying to hold back the babyish tears, searing my smooth olive skin.

“Why did you say that?” I cries in outrage, my fists clenched till they were pearly white.
She smiled softly.
“They deserved to know what some people out there are like.”
Her voice was laced with poison and hatred. I gulped and held my wobbling chin high.
“But I’m your friend, Annie!”
Her eyes hardened.
“You were never my friend.”
Boots slapped on the creaking staircase outside the door. She relaxed her stiff posture and pointed down some cracked stone steps. I craned my neck and peered into a cramped room, bathed in inky black.
“There’s your room!” She laughed sweetly.
“That?” I screamed. “The least you could give me is a nice room after what you’ve done!”
I panted, my throat a dry desert, sore from the shouting. A tall man strode into the room.
“Down you go.” He told me sternly.
I jutted out my lower lip.
“Let’s go, Father.”

I closed my eyes, relieving myself of the pain that tore at my heart. Melodies drifted through the air, pure and clear, ringing out beautifully in the dark. Sweet music playing in the dark. I hauled myself to my feet, drawn towards the stunning music. I snuck through the hefty wooden doors and sat down on a coarse braided rug, listening as skilled fingers plucked the vibrating strings. The tune was sad and nostalgic.
“Amelia…”
I flinched. How did they know my name? I withdrew into the welcoming shadows, embraced by the freezing darkness. A light flicked on, blinding my vision with golden mellow light. A familiar pair of eyes stared back at mine.
“Annie!”