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- Gladiolus12
-
Scratcher
58 posts
swc megathread ➷ march 2024
March 22 daily, 265 words
Rain had not fallen for many months. The ground was dry and parched. Cracks split through the middle, and there was only miles of dirt as far as the eye could see. There were no flowers—how could flowers grow without rain?
I kicked at the earth and watched the dust whirl into the air. I was thinking about Mama. When would she ever get better? I didn’t want to see her in those hospital beds anymore. I was tired of the white bedsheets and white walls, sick of the sterile hospital smell. It made me want to throw up. Would she ever get better? I was beginning to lose hope.
Days turned into weeks. I went to the hospital every day. And then one day, the doctor said Mama was getting better. She would be ready to go home in two weeks. It was the best news I’d heard in a while. I laughed and ran outside.
As Mama got better, the earth seemed to change. Clouds rolled into the empty sky, and the earth seemed to know this and waited expectantly. The air felt heavier, less dry than it had before.
The day finally came. As Mama stepped out of the hospital and into the world after so many months, the clouds opened and rain fell from the sky. It was a gentle rain, but it brought life back into the barren earth. The rain fell and fell, and slowly, the cracks healed up and the ground became whole again. And for the first time in a while, I saw flowers beginning to bloom.
Rain had not fallen for many months. The ground was dry and parched. Cracks split through the middle, and there was only miles of dirt as far as the eye could see. There were no flowers—how could flowers grow without rain?
I kicked at the earth and watched the dust whirl into the air. I was thinking about Mama. When would she ever get better? I didn’t want to see her in those hospital beds anymore. I was tired of the white bedsheets and white walls, sick of the sterile hospital smell. It made me want to throw up. Would she ever get better? I was beginning to lose hope.
Days turned into weeks. I went to the hospital every day. And then one day, the doctor said Mama was getting better. She would be ready to go home in two weeks. It was the best news I’d heard in a while. I laughed and ran outside.
As Mama got better, the earth seemed to change. Clouds rolled into the empty sky, and the earth seemed to know this and waited expectantly. The air felt heavier, less dry than it had before.
The day finally came. As Mama stepped out of the hospital and into the world after so many months, the clouds opened and rain fell from the sky. It was a gentle rain, but it brought life back into the barren earth. The rain fell and fell, and slowly, the cracks healed up and the ground became whole again. And for the first time in a while, I saw flowers beginning to bloom.
- -NightGlow-
-
Scratcher
500+ posts
swc megathread ➷ march 2024
Daily 22
word count - 300 words
Another day, and then comes night. I'm so tired of trying to live like this. In a society where I'm deemed unworthy for some reason. It's as if I'm an outsider, looking in through a window. Just blocked by the walls that others have forced around me. Through this window, I experience the world. The emotions of others, and the thoughts of the world.
Mid rain, the droplets were falling. Anyone could tell what the colored leaves meant - a time for change, to begin renewal after a somber good bye. As the droplets harshly fell onto the pavement, the wind made the leaves dance, or at least seem like they were dancing. Their elegance showed their innocence, proving the beauty of true nature itself. As they fell from the tree, twirling down, they were met with support from others.
Envisioning myself, along those lines, with someone who would catch me when I fall. It was just me being delusional, once again. If these walls could crumble, they would have been gone. But today, they still stand strong. Might and fierce. It's as if their state is permanent, and echo chamber to keep me trapped from the outside world.
For my safety? I wouldn't think so - probably for that of others. If I was just given the chance to fall, fall down like those leaves, I would be abled to experience a whole new part of the world. A feeling of beauty and innocence. Though one may not be there to catch me when I fall, my fall will open reality. Through which, I can grow. It's as if I'm a trapped plant. Not given any sunshine, nor rain for that matter, to prosper. To knock down these walls are my day long dreams, though who could muster up that courage.
word count - 300 words
Another day, and then comes night. I'm so tired of trying to live like this. In a society where I'm deemed unworthy for some reason. It's as if I'm an outsider, looking in through a window. Just blocked by the walls that others have forced around me. Through this window, I experience the world. The emotions of others, and the thoughts of the world.
Mid rain, the droplets were falling. Anyone could tell what the colored leaves meant - a time for change, to begin renewal after a somber good bye. As the droplets harshly fell onto the pavement, the wind made the leaves dance, or at least seem like they were dancing. Their elegance showed their innocence, proving the beauty of true nature itself. As they fell from the tree, twirling down, they were met with support from others.
Envisioning myself, along those lines, with someone who would catch me when I fall. It was just me being delusional, once again. If these walls could crumble, they would have been gone. But today, they still stand strong. Might and fierce. It's as if their state is permanent, and echo chamber to keep me trapped from the outside world.
For my safety? I wouldn't think so - probably for that of others. If I was just given the chance to fall, fall down like those leaves, I would be abled to experience a whole new part of the world. A feeling of beauty and innocence. Though one may not be there to catch me when I fall, my fall will open reality. Through which, I can grow. It's as if I'm a trapped plant. Not given any sunshine, nor rain for that matter, to prosper. To knock down these walls are my day long dreams, though who could muster up that courage.
- xXFierroOrFalafelXx
-
Scratcher
100+ posts
swc megathread ➷ march 2024
idk the title: maybe the chrysalis? wings? her wings? idk
tw: bullying of children and very manipulative parents, also basically racism, a little different but more or less the same.
At the edge where the meadow meets the forest, the dogwood grove grows, and when these trees bloom, they are covered in chrysalises, but these are not the chrysalises of ordinary insects, these belong to young faeries
Sylvie Wonderwish like all wingless ones, had no bigger dream than getting her wings so that she would finally be a real faery, especially since nearly everyone else had gotten to build their chrysalises, but the queen had not given her permission yet.
That morning she’d been taking care of the centipedes with her mother Cerise, a chemist who used their venom for medical purposes, when her best friend Briar ran over, eyes bright, antennae quivering with excitement.
“I’m going to get my wings!” he said, with a grin that took up his entire face.
Sylvie had grinned and congratulated him, but then his parents Dianthe and Cassian had put him on their shoulders to fly with him and her mother Cerise went with them too. Sylvie had to follow them to the grove alone on the ground, riding one of the centipedes.
She’d tried not to feel so lonely, of course she was happy for him. “How does it feel? Do you feel like you’re flying?”
“It’s like the world is so much more complete when I’m in the sky.”
“Just wait until you get your wings, then you’ll really be complete,” said Cassian.
“My little boy is all grown up,” Dianthe said.
“Mom, stop you’re embarrassing me.”
“Oh, let her embarrass you,” Cerise told him. “All mothers look forward to the day their children get their wings. Your parents are just proud of you.”
They’d gone on to talk about wings, and the chrysalis. Though each of them said very different things about metamorphosis. This made Sylvie pretty certain none of them really remembered what it was like. Or maybe it was different for everyone.
At the dogwood grove, when they set Briar down, she was able to hug him. “Good luck in there. You better come out with the most beautiful wings.”
He beamed. “Mom says that she thinks I’ll get deep violet wings like the night.”
“Happy metamorphosis,” said another young faery they knew named Clover.
More faeries were building their chrysalises today, not just Briar. “Remember, you don’t want brown wings,” said one mother. “Brown winged faeries were scared of changing, and I know you aren’t scared.”
“Oh, that’s a load of leaf rot,” Sylvie heard her friend Rusalka, a brown-winged faery, mutter from the front row, causing her to giggle a little.
Everyone except today’s eighteen candidates and the queen were asked to step or fly back and the queen gave a speech. “As our forest is blossoming, now it is time for you to transform into who you truly are. The time has come to shed this broken form and rise into the sky where you belong.”
Everyone cheered as the young wingless ones shared a dogwood petal, washed their hands and faces with dew drops, and then all of them climbed into the trees. Sylvie watched Briar and in less than a moment he was covered in a casing of pale green.
“Please,” she begged Cerise on the way home. “Let me make my chrysalis soon, let me ask the queen. I’m ready. I want to be a real faery.”
“The queen will tell us when you are ready.”
Sylvie crossed her arms. “You said it’s what all parents look forward to. Don’t you want to be proud of me?”
Cerise sighed. “Of course I do, but we can’t rush the queen. You’ll be a real faery one day, I promise you.”
“Mom…will I still be a real faery even if I have brown wings?”
Cerise flew down and walked next to her. “Metamorphosis is a big change, after all you have to become someone entirely new, a real faery. But not all faeries change the same amount. Even if you have brown wings, you will still be a faery, but I know you can get beautiful wings and be a better faery. You cannot be afraid to change, not like the brown-winged faeries.”
“My mom says you were afraid of change,” Sylvie said to Rusalka a few days later when they were in her workshop. “And that’s why you have brown wings.”
Rusalka didn’t look up from the twig she was sawing. “Everyone has this silly idea that bright colors are better than dull colors, because bright colors are more beautiful.”
“So… you are a real faery?”
Rusalka looked at her. “I could have purple wings, or striped red and black, and I wouldn’t be any more of a faery. And I’ll tell you a secret: You’re just as much of a faery as me, or your mother, or the queen.”
She shook her head, making some measurements on a large cattail and cutting a notch in it. “I need my wings and magic. To be a real faery.”
“Sylvie, you know those aren’t the only things that make you useful right? Few other fairies can build and work with machines and mechanisms the way you do. And you’re very creative. What about that delivery system you’re helping me make?”
“I guess that was pretty cool of me,” she said with a little smile.
Rusalka grinned at her. “See? You didn’t need wings or magic to think of that.”
When Briar came out of his chrysalis a few days later with sunshine yellow wings, Sylvie immediately knew that this was not the same person she used to run around the meadow with, pretending that flower petals were their wings. His eyes were like pebbles in a stream, hard and unfeeling when he saw her waving to congratulate him. “What is one of the wingless doing here? Get it away from here.”
The shocking sting of those words reminded Sylvie of something Rusalka had told her once. ‘Truth be told, I don’t think any of us remember who we were before we went into the chrysalis. It changes you.’ Looking at Briar now as he admired his wings and let others fawn over them, she knew what Rusalka had meant. Briar had gone into the chrysalis and been destroyed. Whoever this was, it was not Briar.
Cerise told her she was overreacting. “Why shouldn’t he be different? There wouldn't be any use for the chrysalis if he didn’t change.”
“Well, if that’s what the chrysalis does to you, then I’m not going through metamorphosis.”
Cerise choked on her berry a little but managed to dislodge it. “Who put this nonsense in your head?”
“I-I… don’t want to lose myself.”
“Metamorphosis won’t make you “lose yourself” it’s an upgrade.”
“But why do you care so much? Why can’t you love who I am now instead of loving who I might be one day?” Sylvie cried. “Why am I not good enough?”
“Oh, don’t try to manipulate me! Don’t try to make me feel like I’m a bad parent. I’ve given you nothing but love and guidance. You’re breaking my heart, wanting to stay half-formed, bound to the earth? Where did I go wrong?”
It hurt Sylvie’s heart to see her mother like this. “I’m sorry, I’ll get my wings. Don’t be angry.”
Sylvie was terrified the next day when she and the other five remaining wingless stood in front of the queen. “Make her proud,” she whispered to herself under her breath. The queen began her speech.
“No…” Sylvie said to herself at first, and then louder. “No. I’m not broken. I-I'm sorry mom. But I don’t need a chrysalis to fix me because I’m fine the way I am.” She felt her confidence start growing. “You were always the ones who wanted me to change. Rusalka is the only winged faery who ever thought that I mattered because I was me. I still think change would be good. I want wings, but not for that price.”
“Sylvie Wonderwish,” said the queen. “There is simply no way to get wings except metamorphosis.”
But Sylvie wouldn’t let this discourage her. “I’ll find a way. I’m very smart.” She heard several faeries laughing before quickly stopping with embarrassed coughs.
“If you do not go through metamorphosis, then I have no choice but to ban you from our society for you are refusing to become a true faery.”
Sylvie looked around. Everyone glared at her, Briar, Clover, Cerise was weeping. They really could not handle the idea of her not wanting to build a chrysalis. “Rusalka?” she called softly, dreading the way her mentor would react, but reaching out for that spiderweb of hope.
“I’m coming.” Rusalka landed next to her and took Sylvie by the hand. “It’s alright.” She glared at the queen. “If everyone here is so hateful, then I have no place here.”
Sylvie’s eyes widened. “You can’t leave everything behind!”
“I’ll bring my tools and we’ll start fresh.”
They left and no one stopped them. And as they packed up the tools and everything else that they could carry or strap to an earthworm, Sylvie’s guilt had not quite left her, but she was excited to change for herself. She would be fine, Rusalka would keep on guiding her. As they left, she turned to Rusalka. “Do you think it’s possible to build wings?”
“That depends. Why do you want wings?”
Sylvie knew this was a test, and though she was still hurt and shocked, she was done wanting to be like other faeries. “To see the sky.”
Rusalka smiled. “Then build some wings.”
tw: bullying of children and very manipulative parents, also basically racism, a little different but more or less the same.
At the edge where the meadow meets the forest, the dogwood grove grows, and when these trees bloom, they are covered in chrysalises, but these are not the chrysalises of ordinary insects, these belong to young faeries
Sylvie Wonderwish like all wingless ones, had no bigger dream than getting her wings so that she would finally be a real faery, especially since nearly everyone else had gotten to build their chrysalises, but the queen had not given her permission yet.
That morning she’d been taking care of the centipedes with her mother Cerise, a chemist who used their venom for medical purposes, when her best friend Briar ran over, eyes bright, antennae quivering with excitement.
“I’m going to get my wings!” he said, with a grin that took up his entire face.
Sylvie had grinned and congratulated him, but then his parents Dianthe and Cassian had put him on their shoulders to fly with him and her mother Cerise went with them too. Sylvie had to follow them to the grove alone on the ground, riding one of the centipedes.
She’d tried not to feel so lonely, of course she was happy for him. “How does it feel? Do you feel like you’re flying?”
“It’s like the world is so much more complete when I’m in the sky.”
“Just wait until you get your wings, then you’ll really be complete,” said Cassian.
“My little boy is all grown up,” Dianthe said.
“Mom, stop you’re embarrassing me.”
“Oh, let her embarrass you,” Cerise told him. “All mothers look forward to the day their children get their wings. Your parents are just proud of you.”
They’d gone on to talk about wings, and the chrysalis. Though each of them said very different things about metamorphosis. This made Sylvie pretty certain none of them really remembered what it was like. Or maybe it was different for everyone.
At the dogwood grove, when they set Briar down, she was able to hug him. “Good luck in there. You better come out with the most beautiful wings.”
He beamed. “Mom says that she thinks I’ll get deep violet wings like the night.”
“Happy metamorphosis,” said another young faery they knew named Clover.
More faeries were building their chrysalises today, not just Briar. “Remember, you don’t want brown wings,” said one mother. “Brown winged faeries were scared of changing, and I know you aren’t scared.”
“Oh, that’s a load of leaf rot,” Sylvie heard her friend Rusalka, a brown-winged faery, mutter from the front row, causing her to giggle a little.
Everyone except today’s eighteen candidates and the queen were asked to step or fly back and the queen gave a speech. “As our forest is blossoming, now it is time for you to transform into who you truly are. The time has come to shed this broken form and rise into the sky where you belong.”
Everyone cheered as the young wingless ones shared a dogwood petal, washed their hands and faces with dew drops, and then all of them climbed into the trees. Sylvie watched Briar and in less than a moment he was covered in a casing of pale green.
“Please,” she begged Cerise on the way home. “Let me make my chrysalis soon, let me ask the queen. I’m ready. I want to be a real faery.”
“The queen will tell us when you are ready.”
Sylvie crossed her arms. “You said it’s what all parents look forward to. Don’t you want to be proud of me?”
Cerise sighed. “Of course I do, but we can’t rush the queen. You’ll be a real faery one day, I promise you.”
“Mom…will I still be a real faery even if I have brown wings?”
Cerise flew down and walked next to her. “Metamorphosis is a big change, after all you have to become someone entirely new, a real faery. But not all faeries change the same amount. Even if you have brown wings, you will still be a faery, but I know you can get beautiful wings and be a better faery. You cannot be afraid to change, not like the brown-winged faeries.”
“My mom says you were afraid of change,” Sylvie said to Rusalka a few days later when they were in her workshop. “And that’s why you have brown wings.”
Rusalka didn’t look up from the twig she was sawing. “Everyone has this silly idea that bright colors are better than dull colors, because bright colors are more beautiful.”
“So… you are a real faery?”
Rusalka looked at her. “I could have purple wings, or striped red and black, and I wouldn’t be any more of a faery. And I’ll tell you a secret: You’re just as much of a faery as me, or your mother, or the queen.”
She shook her head, making some measurements on a large cattail and cutting a notch in it. “I need my wings and magic. To be a real faery.”
“Sylvie, you know those aren’t the only things that make you useful right? Few other fairies can build and work with machines and mechanisms the way you do. And you’re very creative. What about that delivery system you’re helping me make?”
“I guess that was pretty cool of me,” she said with a little smile.
Rusalka grinned at her. “See? You didn’t need wings or magic to think of that.”
When Briar came out of his chrysalis a few days later with sunshine yellow wings, Sylvie immediately knew that this was not the same person she used to run around the meadow with, pretending that flower petals were their wings. His eyes were like pebbles in a stream, hard and unfeeling when he saw her waving to congratulate him. “What is one of the wingless doing here? Get it away from here.”
The shocking sting of those words reminded Sylvie of something Rusalka had told her once. ‘Truth be told, I don’t think any of us remember who we were before we went into the chrysalis. It changes you.’ Looking at Briar now as he admired his wings and let others fawn over them, she knew what Rusalka had meant. Briar had gone into the chrysalis and been destroyed. Whoever this was, it was not Briar.
Cerise told her she was overreacting. “Why shouldn’t he be different? There wouldn't be any use for the chrysalis if he didn’t change.”
“Well, if that’s what the chrysalis does to you, then I’m not going through metamorphosis.”
Cerise choked on her berry a little but managed to dislodge it. “Who put this nonsense in your head?”
“I-I… don’t want to lose myself.”
“Metamorphosis won’t make you “lose yourself” it’s an upgrade.”
“But why do you care so much? Why can’t you love who I am now instead of loving who I might be one day?” Sylvie cried. “Why am I not good enough?”
“Oh, don’t try to manipulate me! Don’t try to make me feel like I’m a bad parent. I’ve given you nothing but love and guidance. You’re breaking my heart, wanting to stay half-formed, bound to the earth? Where did I go wrong?”
It hurt Sylvie’s heart to see her mother like this. “I’m sorry, I’ll get my wings. Don’t be angry.”
Sylvie was terrified the next day when she and the other five remaining wingless stood in front of the queen. “Make her proud,” she whispered to herself under her breath. The queen began her speech.
“No…” Sylvie said to herself at first, and then louder. “No. I’m not broken. I-I'm sorry mom. But I don’t need a chrysalis to fix me because I’m fine the way I am.” She felt her confidence start growing. “You were always the ones who wanted me to change. Rusalka is the only winged faery who ever thought that I mattered because I was me. I still think change would be good. I want wings, but not for that price.”
“Sylvie Wonderwish,” said the queen. “There is simply no way to get wings except metamorphosis.”
But Sylvie wouldn’t let this discourage her. “I’ll find a way. I’m very smart.” She heard several faeries laughing before quickly stopping with embarrassed coughs.
“If you do not go through metamorphosis, then I have no choice but to ban you from our society for you are refusing to become a true faery.”
Sylvie looked around. Everyone glared at her, Briar, Clover, Cerise was weeping. They really could not handle the idea of her not wanting to build a chrysalis. “Rusalka?” she called softly, dreading the way her mentor would react, but reaching out for that spiderweb of hope.
“I’m coming.” Rusalka landed next to her and took Sylvie by the hand. “It’s alright.” She glared at the queen. “If everyone here is so hateful, then I have no place here.”
Sylvie’s eyes widened. “You can’t leave everything behind!”
“I’ll bring my tools and we’ll start fresh.”
They left and no one stopped them. And as they packed up the tools and everything else that they could carry or strap to an earthworm, Sylvie’s guilt had not quite left her, but she was excited to change for herself. She would be fine, Rusalka would keep on guiding her. As they left, she turned to Rusalka. “Do you think it’s possible to build wings?”
“That depends. Why do you want wings?”
Sylvie knew this was a test, and though she was still hurt and shocked, she was done wanting to be like other faeries. “To see the sky.”
Rusalka smiled. “Then build some wings.”
- 1lMaM
-
Scratcher
59 posts
swc megathread ➷ march 2024
{not mine}
At the edge where the meadow meets the forest, the dogwood grove grows. When these trees bloom, they are covered in chrysalises - belonging to young faeries.
Sylvie Wonderwish, like all wingless ones, had no bigger dream than getting her wings so that she would be a real faery. Nearly everyone else had gotten to build their chrysalises, but the queen had not given her permission yet.
That morning she’d been taking care of the centipedes with her mother Cerise, a chemist who used their venom for medical purposes, when her best friend Briar ran over, eyes bright, antennae quivering with excitement.
“I’m going to get my wings!” he said, with a grin that took up his entire face.
Sylvie had grinned and congratulated him, but then his parents Dianthe and Cassian had put him on their shoulders to fly with him. Her mother went with them too. Sylvie had to follow them to the grove alone on the ground, riding a centipede.
She’d tried not to feel so lonely, of course she was happy for him. “How does it feel? Do you feel like you’re flying?”
“It’s like the world is so much more complete when I’m in the sky.”
“Just wait until you get your wings, then you’ll really be complete,” said Cassian.
“My little boy is all grown up,” Dianthe said.
“Mom, stop you’re embarrassing me.”
“Oh, let her embarrass you,” Cerise told him. “All mothers look forward to the day their children get their wings. Your parents are just proud of you.”
They’d gone on to talk about wings, and the chrysalis. Though each of them said very different things about metamorphosis, which made Sylvie pretty certain none of them really remembered what it was like. Or maybe it was different for everyone.
At the dogwood grove, when they set Briar down, she hugged him. “Good luck in there. You better come out with the most beautiful wings.”
He beamed. “Mom says that she thinks I’ll get deep violet wings like the night.”
“Happy metamorphosis,” said another young faery named Clover.
Other faeries were building their chrysalises today. “Remember, you don’t want brown wings,” said one mother. “Brown winged faeries were scared of changing, and I know you aren’t scared.”
“Oh, that’s a load of leaf rot,” Sylvie heard her friend Rusalka, a brown-winged faery, mutter from the front row, causing her to giggle a little.
Everyone except today’s eighteen candidates and the queen were asked to step or fly back and the queen gave a speech. “As our forest is blossoming, now it is time for you to transform into who you truly are. The time has come to shed this broken form and rise into the sky where you belong.”
Everyone cheered as the young wingless ones shared a dogwood petal, washed their hands and faces with dew drops, and then all of them climbed into the trees. Sylvie watched Briar and in less than a moment he was covered in a casing of pale green.
“Please,” she begged Cerise on the way home. “Let me make my chrysalis soon, let me ask the queen. I’m ready. I want to be a real faery.”
“The queen will tell us when you are ready.”
Sylvie crossed her arms. “You said it’s what all parents look forward to. Don’t you want to be proud of me?”
Cerise sighed. “Of course I do, but we can’t rush the queen. You’ll be a real faery one day, I promise you.”
“Mom…will I still be a real faery even if I have brown wings?”
Cerise flew down and walked next to her. “Metamorphosis is a big change, after all you have to become someone entirely new, a real faery. But not all faeries change the same amount. Even if you have brown wings, you will still be a faery, but I know you can get beautiful wings and be a better faery. You cannot be afraid to change, not like the brown-winged faeries.”
“My mom says you were afraid of change,” Sylvie said to Rusalka a few days later when they were in her workshop. “And that’s why you have brown wings.”
Rusalka didn’t look up from the twig she was sawing. “Everyone has this silly idea that bright colors are better than dull colors, because bright colors are more beautiful.”
“So… you are a real faery?”
Rusalka looked at her. “I could have purple wings, or striped red and black, and I wouldn’t be any more of a faery. And I’ll tell you a secret: You’re just as much of a faery as me, or your mother, or the queen.”
She shook her head, making some measurements on a large cattail and cutting a notch in it. “I need my wings and magic. To be a real faery.”
“Sylvie, you know those aren’t the only things that make you useful right? Few other fairies can build and work with machines and mechanisms the way you do. And you’re very creative. What about that delivery system you’re helping me make?”
“I guess that was pretty cool of me,” she said with a little smile.
Rusalka grinned at her. “See? You didn’t need wings or magic to think of that.”
When Briar came out of his chrysalis a few days later with sunshine yellow wings, his eyes were like pebbles in a stream, hard and unfeeling when he saw her waving to congratulate him. Sylvie knew Briar was not the same. “What is one of the wingless doing here? Get it away from here.”
The shocking sting of those words reminded Sylvie of something Rusalka had told her. ‘Truth be told, I don’t think any of us remember who we were before we went into the chrysalis. It changes you.’ Looking at Briar now as he admired his wings and let others fawn over them, she knew what Rusalka had meant. Briar had gone into the chrysalis and been destroyed. Whoever this was, it was not Briar.
Cerise told her she was overreacting. “Why shouldn’t he be different? There wouldn't be any use for the chrysalis if he didn’t change.”
“Well, if that’s what the chrysalis does to you, then I’m not going through metamorphosis.”
Cerise choked on her berry a little but managed to dislodge it. “Who put this nonsense in your head?”
“I-I… don’t want to lose myself.”
“Metamorphosis won’t make you “lose yourself”, it’s an upgrade.”
“But why do you care so much? Why can’t you love who I am now instead of loving who I might be one day?” Sylvie cried. “Why am I not good enough?”
“Oh, don’t try to manipulate me! Don’t try to make me feel like I’m a bad parent. I’ve given you nothing but love and guidance. You’re breaking my heart, wanting to stay half-formed, bound to the earth? Where did I go wrong?”
It hurt Sylvie’s heart to see her mother like this. “I’m sorry, I’ll get my wings. Don’t be angry.”
Sylvie was terrified the next day when she and the other five remaining wingless stood in front of the queen. “Make her proud,” she whispered to herself under her breath. The queen began her speech.
“No…” Sylvie said to herself at first, and then louder. “No. I’m not broken. I-I'm sorry mom. But I don’t need a chrysalis to fix me because I’m fine the way I am.” She felt her confidence start growing. “You were always the ones who wanted me to change. Rusalka is the only winged faery who ever thought that I mattered because I was me. I still think change would be good. I want wings, but not for that price.”
“Sylvie Wonderwish,” said the queen. “There is no way to get wings except metamorphosis.”
But Sylvie wouldn’t let this discourage her. “I’ll find a way. I’m very smart.” She heard several faeries laughing before quickly stopping with embarrassed coughs.
“If you do not go through metamorphosis, then I have no choice but to ban you from our society for you are refusing to become a true faery.”
Sylvie looked around. Everyone glared at her, Briar, Clover, Cerise was weeping. They could not handle the idea of her not wanting to build a chrysalis. “Rusalka?” she called softly, dreading the way her mentor would react, but reaching out for that spiderweb of hope.
“I’m coming.” Rusalka landed next to her and took Sylvie by the hand. “It’s alright.” She glared at the queen. “If everyone here is so hateful, then I have no place here.”
Sylvie’s eyes widened. “You can’t leave everything behind!”
“I’ll bring my tools and we’ll start fresh.”
They left and no one stopped them. And as they packed up the tools and everything else that they could carry or strap to an earthworm, Sylvie’s guilt had not quite left her, but she was excited to change for herself. She would be fine, Rusalka would keep on guiding her. As they left, she turned to Rusalka. “Do you think it’s possible to build wings?”
“That depends. Why do you want wings?”
Sylvie knew this was a test, and though she was still hurt and shocked, she was done wanting to be like other faeries. “To see the sky.”
Rusalka smiled. “Then build some wings.”
At the edge where the meadow meets the forest, the dogwood grove grows. When these trees bloom, they are covered in chrysalises - belonging to young faeries.
Sylvie Wonderwish, like all wingless ones, had no bigger dream than getting her wings so that she would be a real faery. Nearly everyone else had gotten to build their chrysalises, but the queen had not given her permission yet.
That morning she’d been taking care of the centipedes with her mother Cerise, a chemist who used their venom for medical purposes, when her best friend Briar ran over, eyes bright, antennae quivering with excitement.
“I’m going to get my wings!” he said, with a grin that took up his entire face.
Sylvie had grinned and congratulated him, but then his parents Dianthe and Cassian had put him on their shoulders to fly with him. Her mother went with them too. Sylvie had to follow them to the grove alone on the ground, riding a centipede.
She’d tried not to feel so lonely, of course she was happy for him. “How does it feel? Do you feel like you’re flying?”
“It’s like the world is so much more complete when I’m in the sky.”
“Just wait until you get your wings, then you’ll really be complete,” said Cassian.
“My little boy is all grown up,” Dianthe said.
“Mom, stop you’re embarrassing me.”
“Oh, let her embarrass you,” Cerise told him. “All mothers look forward to the day their children get their wings. Your parents are just proud of you.”
They’d gone on to talk about wings, and the chrysalis. Though each of them said very different things about metamorphosis, which made Sylvie pretty certain none of them really remembered what it was like. Or maybe it was different for everyone.
At the dogwood grove, when they set Briar down, she hugged him. “Good luck in there. You better come out with the most beautiful wings.”
He beamed. “Mom says that she thinks I’ll get deep violet wings like the night.”
“Happy metamorphosis,” said another young faery named Clover.
Other faeries were building their chrysalises today. “Remember, you don’t want brown wings,” said one mother. “Brown winged faeries were scared of changing, and I know you aren’t scared.”
“Oh, that’s a load of leaf rot,” Sylvie heard her friend Rusalka, a brown-winged faery, mutter from the front row, causing her to giggle a little.
Everyone except today’s eighteen candidates and the queen were asked to step or fly back and the queen gave a speech. “As our forest is blossoming, now it is time for you to transform into who you truly are. The time has come to shed this broken form and rise into the sky where you belong.”
Everyone cheered as the young wingless ones shared a dogwood petal, washed their hands and faces with dew drops, and then all of them climbed into the trees. Sylvie watched Briar and in less than a moment he was covered in a casing of pale green.
“Please,” she begged Cerise on the way home. “Let me make my chrysalis soon, let me ask the queen. I’m ready. I want to be a real faery.”
“The queen will tell us when you are ready.”
Sylvie crossed her arms. “You said it’s what all parents look forward to. Don’t you want to be proud of me?”
Cerise sighed. “Of course I do, but we can’t rush the queen. You’ll be a real faery one day, I promise you.”
“Mom…will I still be a real faery even if I have brown wings?”
Cerise flew down and walked next to her. “Metamorphosis is a big change, after all you have to become someone entirely new, a real faery. But not all faeries change the same amount. Even if you have brown wings, you will still be a faery, but I know you can get beautiful wings and be a better faery. You cannot be afraid to change, not like the brown-winged faeries.”
“My mom says you were afraid of change,” Sylvie said to Rusalka a few days later when they were in her workshop. “And that’s why you have brown wings.”
Rusalka didn’t look up from the twig she was sawing. “Everyone has this silly idea that bright colors are better than dull colors, because bright colors are more beautiful.”
“So… you are a real faery?”
Rusalka looked at her. “I could have purple wings, or striped red and black, and I wouldn’t be any more of a faery. And I’ll tell you a secret: You’re just as much of a faery as me, or your mother, or the queen.”
She shook her head, making some measurements on a large cattail and cutting a notch in it. “I need my wings and magic. To be a real faery.”
“Sylvie, you know those aren’t the only things that make you useful right? Few other fairies can build and work with machines and mechanisms the way you do. And you’re very creative. What about that delivery system you’re helping me make?”
“I guess that was pretty cool of me,” she said with a little smile.
Rusalka grinned at her. “See? You didn’t need wings or magic to think of that.”
When Briar came out of his chrysalis a few days later with sunshine yellow wings, his eyes were like pebbles in a stream, hard and unfeeling when he saw her waving to congratulate him. Sylvie knew Briar was not the same. “What is one of the wingless doing here? Get it away from here.”
The shocking sting of those words reminded Sylvie of something Rusalka had told her. ‘Truth be told, I don’t think any of us remember who we were before we went into the chrysalis. It changes you.’ Looking at Briar now as he admired his wings and let others fawn over them, she knew what Rusalka had meant. Briar had gone into the chrysalis and been destroyed. Whoever this was, it was not Briar.
Cerise told her she was overreacting. “Why shouldn’t he be different? There wouldn't be any use for the chrysalis if he didn’t change.”
“Well, if that’s what the chrysalis does to you, then I’m not going through metamorphosis.”
Cerise choked on her berry a little but managed to dislodge it. “Who put this nonsense in your head?”
“I-I… don’t want to lose myself.”
“Metamorphosis won’t make you “lose yourself”, it’s an upgrade.”
“But why do you care so much? Why can’t you love who I am now instead of loving who I might be one day?” Sylvie cried. “Why am I not good enough?”
“Oh, don’t try to manipulate me! Don’t try to make me feel like I’m a bad parent. I’ve given you nothing but love and guidance. You’re breaking my heart, wanting to stay half-formed, bound to the earth? Where did I go wrong?”
It hurt Sylvie’s heart to see her mother like this. “I’m sorry, I’ll get my wings. Don’t be angry.”
Sylvie was terrified the next day when she and the other five remaining wingless stood in front of the queen. “Make her proud,” she whispered to herself under her breath. The queen began her speech.
“No…” Sylvie said to herself at first, and then louder. “No. I’m not broken. I-I'm sorry mom. But I don’t need a chrysalis to fix me because I’m fine the way I am.” She felt her confidence start growing. “You were always the ones who wanted me to change. Rusalka is the only winged faery who ever thought that I mattered because I was me. I still think change would be good. I want wings, but not for that price.”
“Sylvie Wonderwish,” said the queen. “There is no way to get wings except metamorphosis.”
But Sylvie wouldn’t let this discourage her. “I’ll find a way. I’m very smart.” She heard several faeries laughing before quickly stopping with embarrassed coughs.
“If you do not go through metamorphosis, then I have no choice but to ban you from our society for you are refusing to become a true faery.”
Sylvie looked around. Everyone glared at her, Briar, Clover, Cerise was weeping. They could not handle the idea of her not wanting to build a chrysalis. “Rusalka?” she called softly, dreading the way her mentor would react, but reaching out for that spiderweb of hope.
“I’m coming.” Rusalka landed next to her and took Sylvie by the hand. “It’s alright.” She glared at the queen. “If everyone here is so hateful, then I have no place here.”
Sylvie’s eyes widened. “You can’t leave everything behind!”
“I’ll bring my tools and we’ll start fresh.”
They left and no one stopped them. And as they packed up the tools and everything else that they could carry or strap to an earthworm, Sylvie’s guilt had not quite left her, but she was excited to change for herself. She would be fine, Rusalka would keep on guiding her. As they left, she turned to Rusalka. “Do you think it’s possible to build wings?”
“That depends. Why do you want wings?”
Sylvie knew this was a test, and though she was still hurt and shocked, she was done wanting to be like other faeries. “To see the sky.”
Rusalka smiled. “Then build some wings.”
- ChueyTheCat
-
Scratcher
100+ posts
swc megathread ➷ march 2024
Daily 023: 300 words, Cabin wars
Kalix sat in the middle of the floor, breathing slowly. Plants quivered around him, responding to the necklace he wore around his neck. Beneath him, the floorboards split as mushrooms peeked up, taking hold in the dead wood. Or, well, it had been dead. Now life quivered around it, almost visible. If he closed his eyes he could envision it–pulsing lines of green and gold, lifelines that lead to every plant he’d ever seen. It was magical, and beautiful…and purely imaginary. When he opened his eyes again, he could see nothing. Well, except for the plants. Sighing, he fingered the vestige and wondered if he’d ever be able to see the lifelines. Then he let go of the power, and took a swig of water, running his hands through his thick hair. Sometimes it was maddening, being able to see it in his mind’s eye but not call it to reality. Growling, he closed his eyes to try again, ignoring the way his mind strained as he called the plants forth again. He might be pushing himself, but that was okay! He’d reach his goal. Eventually. He’d get there, step by step, even if he ended up collapsing on the floor in between practice sessions.
His teacher had told him not to push himself too much, but it was just a matter of time before he broke through. Had to be. That was how it worked, after all. Practice made perfect! So, logically, all he had to do was practice. A lot.
The vestige fizzled and sparked, and with a groan he released his hold on the power. He might be willing to keep going, but if he pushed too far, he’d damage things, and that would set him back. He didn’t want that.
Whatever. He’d get it perfect tomorrow.
Kalix sat in the middle of the floor, breathing slowly. Plants quivered around him, responding to the necklace he wore around his neck. Beneath him, the floorboards split as mushrooms peeked up, taking hold in the dead wood. Or, well, it had been dead. Now life quivered around it, almost visible. If he closed his eyes he could envision it–pulsing lines of green and gold, lifelines that lead to every plant he’d ever seen. It was magical, and beautiful…and purely imaginary. When he opened his eyes again, he could see nothing. Well, except for the plants. Sighing, he fingered the vestige and wondered if he’d ever be able to see the lifelines. Then he let go of the power, and took a swig of water, running his hands through his thick hair. Sometimes it was maddening, being able to see it in his mind’s eye but not call it to reality. Growling, he closed his eyes to try again, ignoring the way his mind strained as he called the plants forth again. He might be pushing himself, but that was okay! He’d reach his goal. Eventually. He’d get there, step by step, even if he ended up collapsing on the floor in between practice sessions.
His teacher had told him not to push himself too much, but it was just a matter of time before he broke through. Had to be. That was how it worked, after all. Practice made perfect! So, logically, all he had to do was practice. A lot.
The vestige fizzled and sparked, and with a groan he released his hold on the power. He might be willing to keep going, but if he pushed too far, he’d damage things, and that would set him back. He didn’t want that.
Whatever. He’d get it perfect tomorrow.
just your friendly local neighborhood chaotic nerd author/artist christian keefe-loving coffee-drinking procrastinator
- booklover883322
-
Scratcher
500+ posts
swc megathread ➷ march 2024
354 words
Layla huffed, trying her best to catch up to the creature ahead of her. It was a snarling, snorting beast that resembled both a meatball and a boar that had been put through a blender and mushed together. It was disgusting, but its tusks would be worth a pretty penny if Layla got a hold of them.
She grabbed a knife out of her belt and burst forward, accelerating greatly. The flesh-boar squealed, zig-zagging around a tree in the densely packed forest. Layla jumped over a root protruding from the ground and switched directions as she pursued the fleshy creature. It squealed some more, approaching a river in desperation. Layla was gaining on it (a feat she wasn’t sure how she was accomplishing), and it would either have to cross the river or fight back.
The boar suddenly turned around once it met the river, catching her off guard. It rammed its tusks into her abdomen, sending her stumbling back. Her speed from before made the impact HURT, and her rage afterward showed it. She took her knife and slashed at the monster, quickly and masterfully dispatching it.
After the final blow, she watched the flesh monster lurch to the ground lifelessly. She took a second to catch her breath, sighing in frustration when she saw how much of a mess she had made of her clothes. They were darker colored, being mainly forest green and tree trunk brown, but the stains were still going to be hard to get out. There was NO way she was buying a new set of clothes, not when she barely had enough money to feed herself.
She heard a yip from behind her and turned to see her pet wolf, Blue. She smiled, still taking a second to catch her breath. Blue gave her a derpy grin as she scratched the back of his ears.
“You were late!” She exclaimed, “You would’ve been very helpful earlier.”
Blue just panted, looking up at her with huge, cute eyes.
Layla couldn’t help but smile. “Okay, whatever. You can make up for it later. Just help me dissect this thing.”
Layla huffed, trying her best to catch up to the creature ahead of her. It was a snarling, snorting beast that resembled both a meatball and a boar that had been put through a blender and mushed together. It was disgusting, but its tusks would be worth a pretty penny if Layla got a hold of them.
She grabbed a knife out of her belt and burst forward, accelerating greatly. The flesh-boar squealed, zig-zagging around a tree in the densely packed forest. Layla jumped over a root protruding from the ground and switched directions as she pursued the fleshy creature. It squealed some more, approaching a river in desperation. Layla was gaining on it (a feat she wasn’t sure how she was accomplishing), and it would either have to cross the river or fight back.
The boar suddenly turned around once it met the river, catching her off guard. It rammed its tusks into her abdomen, sending her stumbling back. Her speed from before made the impact HURT, and her rage afterward showed it. She took her knife and slashed at the monster, quickly and masterfully dispatching it.
After the final blow, she watched the flesh monster lurch to the ground lifelessly. She took a second to catch her breath, sighing in frustration when she saw how much of a mess she had made of her clothes. They were darker colored, being mainly forest green and tree trunk brown, but the stains were still going to be hard to get out. There was NO way she was buying a new set of clothes, not when she barely had enough money to feed herself.
She heard a yip from behind her and turned to see her pet wolf, Blue. She smiled, still taking a second to catch her breath. Blue gave her a derpy grin as she scratched the back of his ears.
“You were late!” She exclaimed, “You would’ve been very helpful earlier.”
Blue just panted, looking up at her with huge, cute eyes.
Layla couldn’t help but smile. “Okay, whatever. You can make up for it later. Just help me dissect this thing.”
Last edited by booklover883322 (March 23, 2024 02:02:37)
Hey! I'm Bookie! Co-Leading Fan-Fi, March 2024!
- Gladiolus12
-
Scratcher
58 posts
swc megathread ➷ march 2024
added word war 
Last edited by Gladiolus12 (March 24, 2024 03:23:41)
- sophcamps
-
Scratcher
100+ posts
swc megathread ➷ march 2024
✉ critique for niko
715 words
leaves rustled in the autumn air and crunched below ciaran’s boot. her lantern radiated a soft light, illuminating the beaten path. a squawk echoed through the woods as a crow flew through the thick branches landing stiffly on her shoulder.
i think that this paragraph is very well done <3 the setting is described in such a way where the reader can easily picture what you’re talking about. if you wanted to, you could elaborate on the “brightness” of the forest as there’s quite a wide range of it right now - it could be the middle of the night, early morning, dusk, dawn, you get the idea. to add a bit more of a mysterious element, you could also leave out that it was a crow or bird altogether, changing it to something like “a sudden squawk and the beating of wings echoed through the woods, and a shadow cut through the thick branches. “patience, kav,” ciaran muttered in a low whisper, addressing the crow now perching on her cloaked shoulder. “just a little farther.”
grammar - comma needed after ‘branches,’ could add confirmation in the first sentence that the second part is regarding the leaves, as it could be interpreted as the autumn air is crunching beneath her boot. comma needed after ‘landing’ in the third sentence.
“patience kav,” ciaran said in a low whisper, “just a little farther.”
really not much to say here, if you really wanted to, you could change “said” to a different adjective, but otherwise, great start!
grammar - comma needed after ‘patience.’ comma after ‘whisper’ should be a period.
the crisp, cold air of the night provided little comfort to ease her growing worry. the letter gave little information for ciaran to decipher and the writing was not like jadu’s familiar style. she found herself desperately hoping it was in fact jadu who sent her the message.
again, another well-written paragraphhowever, the ‘not like’ in the second paragraph feels a little awkward; i’d recommend you change it to something like ‘unlike.’
grammar - optional comma after decipher.
despite labeling herself the lone witch it had been months since she had been able to speak to her fellow witches in person. at least half of the coven had been killed in the past year and most of the rest were too deep undercover to be able to risk communication.
using the term witch twice in the first sentence feels a bit repetitive, so i’d say change it to something like sorceress or enchantress. i really like the way the plot builds in this paragraph, it really draws the reader in and raises the stakes.
grammar - comma needed after witch in the first sentence. optional comma after ‘and’ in the second.
a loud squawk brought ciaran back from her deep thoughts, “what is it kav?” she asked reaching for her staff. then she saw it.
since you’ve already used ‘squawk’ to describe the sound kav makes, it is, once again, a bit repetitive. a shriek would do the job just as well; perhaps you could use that in the first paragraph, as i suggested, to build suspense. ‘deep thoughts’ also seems a bit out of place, maybe replace it deep with profound or change the whole thing out altogether for introspection.
grammar - comma after ‘thoughts’ should be a period. in the quotation marks, there should be a comma after ‘it.’ comma needed after ‘asked.’
rhododendrons. blasted little flowers. the pink ones, common all across the country but the yellow ones, a symbol of the circle of the divine. witches gathered from across the globe hoping to reunite the land despite its catastrophic consequences. they had been after ciaran for years, trying to recruit her or simply get rid of her.
this section adds a lot of depth to the plot, but i do think it feels a little clunky. this is more of a grammar issue, but in the second sentence, i’d say to swap out the commas for either ‘were’ or add a hyphen instead. i believe that you’ve made them commas as maybe a way to add a little more to the story, but it is a bit awkward to read for your readers. as for the third sentence, ‘reunite the land’ definitely seems important but it doesn’t hold too much significance to the reader as there’s little to no explanation why. you might want to add a sentence before, like “after the death of blah blah blah, the kingdom had fallen into ruins. witches gathered from all across the globe…”
grammar - comma after country in the first sentence. comma after land in the third sentence, varies depending on what you mean as it is a little hard to understand.
“go, kav!” ciaran ordered, pulling out her staff as figures surrounded her, enclosing her in a circle. her eyes flew over their robes, examining the intricate designs which showed their power.
i don’t have anything to say about this paragraph, well done!
all green witches. powerful enemies in the midst of the forest but she still had the night to her advantage. the witches wore their flowers as crowns, high atop their heads, shining in the light.
love this section! i’d love to see a full-length guide about all the different kinds of witches.
grammar - comma after forest in the first sentence.
they would be resilient enemies.
really well-written ending to a fantastic story <3
overall, i really liked this piece as a whole - the mood was quite clearly established and you managed to do a good amount of world building in only 200 words. like i said, i’d love to see you add on to this story - it’s a really interesting concept and i’d be interested in reading more! you did a fantastic job on this piece, and although it does seem like i critiqued quite a bit, it actually took me quite a long time to think of any - even light - criticism since i liked this piece so much
critique for @flowerelf371 | piece critiqued: https://scratch.mit.edu/discuss/post/7860997/
☾ sophie ┆ she/her ┆ istj-t ┆ author
✧ campering in fawenclaw src <3
“i have loved the stars too fondly to be fearful of the night”
- unercornshine
-
Scratcher
14 posts
swc megathread ➷ march 2024
ignore this
Last edited by unercornshine (March 23, 2024 14:07:23)
“Imagination is more important than knowledge, for knowledge is limited, whereas imagination encircles the world”
~Einstein
Hi, I'm Unicornshine, call me Vicky, your multipotentialite here!
- unercornshine
-
Scratcher
14 posts
swc megathread ➷ march 2024
BWR – THE REBELS!
I furiously jumped onto the wooden crate before leaping of it whilst pushing it back to block the way, as I thrust myself into the nearest alley, flattening myself against the wall, staying on my toes until I heard their nearing footsteps behind me pass into the distance. I stayed there for a few seconds, watching the flower shop, listening to the bustling city, keeping a close eye on everyone that passed by, standing by my motive – trust no one. I fell to my knees, finally giving in to catch a few breaths before wearily eying my surroundings.
There was litter flooding all over the floor and the walls were thick with graffiti. The place smelt like my mum's burnt cottage pie left to rot in the summer for more than a month: basically, it smelt BAD. I turned my focus to the back wall of the alley, though there didn’t seem to be one. In its place was darkness, a never-ending void of darkness, that seemed to claw into my brain, reaching for my worst nightmares. I shook my head. I’m not afraid of the dark, I’ve never been afraid of the dark. But this dark sent shivers down my spine.
With trembling hands, I reached into my pocket, feeling for the comforting handle of my torchlight. *click* the satisfying noise of the light turning on echoed in the deafening silence. Pointing my torch towards the black, I plastered on a worried face. The light seemed to give little, if any impact on the void of darkness at all. It was like a thick, stubborn fog, slowly wrapping itself around me, choking me in its foulness, forcing me into its evil layer.
Just as those thoughts engulfed me, I heard a sound from deep within the alley. Ok, this is too hard to ignore now. I took a deep breath and walked right into the darkness, regretting all my life decisions. The sound sounded again, then, all of a sudden something happened. Something which I cannot describe, but I will do my best. I seemed to have collapsed to the floor as the darkness became darker, my thoughts seemed to disintegrate. That was when all consciousness I had, was gone…
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
My eyelids seemed like led, as I reluctantly opened my eyes, finding myself in an unfamiliar place. Without even properly observing my surroundings I locked up all my self-defenses and natural instincts: I already knew I was in THEIR headquarters.
“Ah, Echo, you’re finally awake!” a feminine melodious voice welcomed.
I furiously turned my head, to see a woman who looked around in her 40’s with piercing blue eyes and dazzling blonde knee-length hair. She wore a smart, sharp black and gold jumpsuit with a blazer hanging on her shoulders and thin tall heels. Stood firmly next to her was a dark-haired man with tanned skin who looked around in his late 40’s. He had solemn looking eyes and highlighted, sharp jaws. He gave the impression of a no-nonsense businessman. He wore a black all over tuxedo with formal derby shoes.
“WHO R U, WERE AM I AND Y DO U KNOW MY NAME!!!!!!” I screamed as my tummy rumbled, “also, do u have food?” I added hopefully. They raise their eyebrows. “I'm just hungry, no need to be rude,” I mumbled.
“Who are we, we are the Begonia White Rose foundation (the BWR) some call us the BBR rebels but that isn't formal. We are the counter act organization of the Begonia Black Rose’s. If you’re asking who we are personally, I’m Nat, short for Natalia, he’s Magnus, we’re the senior representatives of the organization. Normally we aren't the one to welcome new recruits, but you, are a special case.” Nat calmly explained.
“As to where you are, you have probably already worked out, you are in the BWR headquarters. Also, we know your name because we’ve been keeping a close eye on you for a while now.” Magnus announced. “Also, yes, we do have food if u REALLY need it.” he sighed.
I smiled, “you really expect me to believe that there is this ‘secret organization’ called the Begonia White Rose foundation and you’re some sort of repellants to the BBR. Nice try but I’m not fooled that easily, if u rlly have been keeping a ‘close eye’ on me, then u’ll know my motive – TRUST NO ONE!!!” I leaped into the air back flipping of the chair I’de been sitting on, neatly landing on the floor behind it. Slowly, I retreated towards the door, just as it shut behind me. DANG IT! I bent down to all fours perking my ears.
“There is nowhere to run,” Nat softly purred.
“There is always somewhere to run,” I firmly replied, “But,” I stood back up onto 2 legs, putting a hand on my hips. “I may be able to believe you’re not cappin’, IF, you can show me good, solid, FLAWLESS proof.”
A smile spread across Nat’s face, but Magnus’s stayed spotlessly emotionless.
“Please-” Nat started “Allow us to give you a tour-” Magnus continued “around the BWR-” “headquarters.” Nat stretched her arms wide out and Magnus simply folded his.
‘Welp, this is gonna be fun,’ I thought to myself as I followed the over- enthusiastic female SR, with the male SR following sternly behind…
I have to admit, they most definitely did show me good, solid, flawless and quite undeniable proof. After the tour, I agreed to join their society; after all, I don’t exactly have a choice – I’m practically homeless, I have no food and I’m being hunted down by the BBR everywhere I go, I mean, resistance is JUST what I need right now. Also, I have to admit, being in this group had some perks: I’ll be safe from the BBR, I’ll have food and shelter, I get cool high-tech gear AND, I’ll have fun, lots of fun. I mean like, there is nothing more fun than kicking BBR but right? Turns out I had to find out the hard way that it wasn’t all fun and games…
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
*Paddom*
My heart thunders in my chest.
*Paddom*
I peer around, dizzy, attempting to find an escape route.
*paddom*
The orb slips out of my hands, shimmering shards scatter.
* IT! I cursed, knowing that destroying the thing that they were after would only put me in more danger. Desperately, I continued to run blindly with no destination. I swished my head, left right, my greasy hair (which by now looked like seaweed) getting tangled in the process. In the corner of my eye, I spotted the flower shop. Aha! I was nearing the headquarters entrance, all I had to do now was loose the lumbering BBR goons following closely behind me, and I knew just how to do it.
I leaped onto the brick wall next to me, my grip gloves and shoes immediately clinging onto it, and, like a gecko, I climb the wall with ease, as I leap onto the roof. I lie down onto the floor so that the hems of the roof cover me: no one from below can catch a sight of me here. I lie there for a minute, watching the little dots of confused BBR secretary pass by, thinking I’m somewhere up ahead. I give a light chuckle, thrusting my hands into the air in triumph. I jump of the building, (no, I’m not crazy, I have soft landing in-built into my shoes) landing in the alley. I smile to myself; this is where it all begun. I hear the sound of my watch ticking. Well, no time to lose, I really shouldn’t be standing here thinking about the past, I must be getting ready for the future. I walk into the thick black fog that I was once scared of, walking deep into it until I can finally see light again.
“Yes – yes – sure – no,” A deep voice from beside me answers the phone.
I reluctantly peer at him, he seemed to be wearing a black and white tuxedo, a black rose and purple begonia sewn onto the front pocket of his blazer. He had dark hair, rlly dark hair, so dark that if I did not look at him for long, I would have thought he had black hair. He also had sharp, square jaws, neatly cut eyebrows and solemn eyes. He reminded me of someone. I furiously turn my focus to his wrist, in search of the BBR logo, the tattoo that they encrypt onto all of their members. I gasp, the half black rose, half begonia glaring straight at me. What was a BBR member doing at headquarter entrance, he looked like an important member too. He didn’t seem to mind that I’d found him out, he seemed to just be frowning at me, like his presence wasn’t unusual. I snapped out of the trance and tried to attack him, but my attempt was futile. He was built, like, RLLY built. He simply flung me of him before cutting of the phone.
“WHAT ON EARTH ARE YOU DOING??!!” he screamed.
“What else? You’re in our headquarters, we don’t allow members of the BBR here.” I replied defiantly.
“For your information, I’m not a part of the BBR, well, I am, but I act as a spy for the BWR.”
“We’ll see about that,” I don’t give in and decide to take my enhanced vision goggles out, to see if he has a BWR tattoo sunk into his skin like the rest of us. And indeed, he did. “looks like you are legit,”
He raises his eyebrow.
“what, were you expecting an apology or sum’?” I chuckle
“you’re Echo aren’t you. My Dad, Magnus has told me about you.”
“You’re Magnus’s sun?! Bruh, I expected you to be taller.”
“I’m 6 feet tall and I’m 6 inches taller than you, how am I not tall?!”
I shrug, “where are you headed?”
“my dad’s office, you?”
“same place.”
“he doesn’t normally accept more than one person in his office at a time.”
I shrug again before turning around to head for Magnus’s office.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
“I see you’ve met my son,” Magnus says, gesturing his hands towards the big screen, which displayed me attempting, and failing, to attack his son.
I blushed in embarrassment, “Yeh, I guess-”
“Father, I wanted to speak to you, in private, what is SHE doing here?” he rudely interrupts.
“I have decided to place a meeting with, you, Viktor, and you, Echo together, because I want to place you on a mission together.” Magnus replies.
I fluster in anger at the rudeness of Viktor, and the audacity of his father: “me and HIM, on a mission together, yeh, sooo not gonna work.”
Magnus simply ignores me (RUDE!!), “Viktor, Echo, the two young masters of stealth, specialized in the department of spy. Yes, I’ve decided you two, will lead a mission, the mission that many associates have attempted, and, failed, but, I have a feeling you two will not, I’m asking you to try and penetrate into the BBR headquarters…”
I furiously jumped onto the wooden crate before leaping of it whilst pushing it back to block the way, as I thrust myself into the nearest alley, flattening myself against the wall, staying on my toes until I heard their nearing footsteps behind me pass into the distance. I stayed there for a few seconds, watching the flower shop, listening to the bustling city, keeping a close eye on everyone that passed by, standing by my motive – trust no one. I fell to my knees, finally giving in to catch a few breaths before wearily eying my surroundings.
There was litter flooding all over the floor and the walls were thick with graffiti. The place smelt like my mum's burnt cottage pie left to rot in the summer for more than a month: basically, it smelt BAD. I turned my focus to the back wall of the alley, though there didn’t seem to be one. In its place was darkness, a never-ending void of darkness, that seemed to claw into my brain, reaching for my worst nightmares. I shook my head. I’m not afraid of the dark, I’ve never been afraid of the dark. But this dark sent shivers down my spine.
With trembling hands, I reached into my pocket, feeling for the comforting handle of my torchlight. *click* the satisfying noise of the light turning on echoed in the deafening silence. Pointing my torch towards the black, I plastered on a worried face. The light seemed to give little, if any impact on the void of darkness at all. It was like a thick, stubborn fog, slowly wrapping itself around me, choking me in its foulness, forcing me into its evil layer.
Just as those thoughts engulfed me, I heard a sound from deep within the alley. Ok, this is too hard to ignore now. I took a deep breath and walked right into the darkness, regretting all my life decisions. The sound sounded again, then, all of a sudden something happened. Something which I cannot describe, but I will do my best. I seemed to have collapsed to the floor as the darkness became darker, my thoughts seemed to disintegrate. That was when all consciousness I had, was gone…
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
My eyelids seemed like led, as I reluctantly opened my eyes, finding myself in an unfamiliar place. Without even properly observing my surroundings I locked up all my self-defenses and natural instincts: I already knew I was in THEIR headquarters.
“Ah, Echo, you’re finally awake!” a feminine melodious voice welcomed.
I furiously turned my head, to see a woman who looked around in her 40’s with piercing blue eyes and dazzling blonde knee-length hair. She wore a smart, sharp black and gold jumpsuit with a blazer hanging on her shoulders and thin tall heels. Stood firmly next to her was a dark-haired man with tanned skin who looked around in his late 40’s. He had solemn looking eyes and highlighted, sharp jaws. He gave the impression of a no-nonsense businessman. He wore a black all over tuxedo with formal derby shoes.
“WHO R U, WERE AM I AND Y DO U KNOW MY NAME!!!!!!” I screamed as my tummy rumbled, “also, do u have food?” I added hopefully. They raise their eyebrows. “I'm just hungry, no need to be rude,” I mumbled.
“Who are we, we are the Begonia White Rose foundation (the BWR) some call us the BBR rebels but that isn't formal. We are the counter act organization of the Begonia Black Rose’s. If you’re asking who we are personally, I’m Nat, short for Natalia, he’s Magnus, we’re the senior representatives of the organization. Normally we aren't the one to welcome new recruits, but you, are a special case.” Nat calmly explained.
“As to where you are, you have probably already worked out, you are in the BWR headquarters. Also, we know your name because we’ve been keeping a close eye on you for a while now.” Magnus announced. “Also, yes, we do have food if u REALLY need it.” he sighed.
I smiled, “you really expect me to believe that there is this ‘secret organization’ called the Begonia White Rose foundation and you’re some sort of repellants to the BBR. Nice try but I’m not fooled that easily, if u rlly have been keeping a ‘close eye’ on me, then u’ll know my motive – TRUST NO ONE!!!” I leaped into the air back flipping of the chair I’de been sitting on, neatly landing on the floor behind it. Slowly, I retreated towards the door, just as it shut behind me. DANG IT! I bent down to all fours perking my ears.
“There is nowhere to run,” Nat softly purred.
“There is always somewhere to run,” I firmly replied, “But,” I stood back up onto 2 legs, putting a hand on my hips. “I may be able to believe you’re not cappin’, IF, you can show me good, solid, FLAWLESS proof.”
A smile spread across Nat’s face, but Magnus’s stayed spotlessly emotionless.
“Please-” Nat started “Allow us to give you a tour-” Magnus continued “around the BWR-” “headquarters.” Nat stretched her arms wide out and Magnus simply folded his.
‘Welp, this is gonna be fun,’ I thought to myself as I followed the over- enthusiastic female SR, with the male SR following sternly behind…
I have to admit, they most definitely did show me good, solid, flawless and quite undeniable proof. After the tour, I agreed to join their society; after all, I don’t exactly have a choice – I’m practically homeless, I have no food and I’m being hunted down by the BBR everywhere I go, I mean, resistance is JUST what I need right now. Also, I have to admit, being in this group had some perks: I’ll be safe from the BBR, I’ll have food and shelter, I get cool high-tech gear AND, I’ll have fun, lots of fun. I mean like, there is nothing more fun than kicking BBR but right? Turns out I had to find out the hard way that it wasn’t all fun and games…
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
*Paddom*
My heart thunders in my chest.
*Paddom*
I peer around, dizzy, attempting to find an escape route.
*paddom*
The orb slips out of my hands, shimmering shards scatter.
* IT! I cursed, knowing that destroying the thing that they were after would only put me in more danger. Desperately, I continued to run blindly with no destination. I swished my head, left right, my greasy hair (which by now looked like seaweed) getting tangled in the process. In the corner of my eye, I spotted the flower shop. Aha! I was nearing the headquarters entrance, all I had to do now was loose the lumbering BBR goons following closely behind me, and I knew just how to do it.
I leaped onto the brick wall next to me, my grip gloves and shoes immediately clinging onto it, and, like a gecko, I climb the wall with ease, as I leap onto the roof. I lie down onto the floor so that the hems of the roof cover me: no one from below can catch a sight of me here. I lie there for a minute, watching the little dots of confused BBR secretary pass by, thinking I’m somewhere up ahead. I give a light chuckle, thrusting my hands into the air in triumph. I jump of the building, (no, I’m not crazy, I have soft landing in-built into my shoes) landing in the alley. I smile to myself; this is where it all begun. I hear the sound of my watch ticking. Well, no time to lose, I really shouldn’t be standing here thinking about the past, I must be getting ready for the future. I walk into the thick black fog that I was once scared of, walking deep into it until I can finally see light again.
“Yes – yes – sure – no,” A deep voice from beside me answers the phone.
I reluctantly peer at him, he seemed to be wearing a black and white tuxedo, a black rose and purple begonia sewn onto the front pocket of his blazer. He had dark hair, rlly dark hair, so dark that if I did not look at him for long, I would have thought he had black hair. He also had sharp, square jaws, neatly cut eyebrows and solemn eyes. He reminded me of someone. I furiously turn my focus to his wrist, in search of the BBR logo, the tattoo that they encrypt onto all of their members. I gasp, the half black rose, half begonia glaring straight at me. What was a BBR member doing at headquarter entrance, he looked like an important member too. He didn’t seem to mind that I’d found him out, he seemed to just be frowning at me, like his presence wasn’t unusual. I snapped out of the trance and tried to attack him, but my attempt was futile. He was built, like, RLLY built. He simply flung me of him before cutting of the phone.
“WHAT ON EARTH ARE YOU DOING??!!” he screamed.
“What else? You’re in our headquarters, we don’t allow members of the BBR here.” I replied defiantly.
“For your information, I’m not a part of the BBR, well, I am, but I act as a spy for the BWR.”
“We’ll see about that,” I don’t give in and decide to take my enhanced vision goggles out, to see if he has a BWR tattoo sunk into his skin like the rest of us. And indeed, he did. “looks like you are legit,”
He raises his eyebrow.
“what, were you expecting an apology or sum’?” I chuckle
“you’re Echo aren’t you. My Dad, Magnus has told me about you.”
“You’re Magnus’s sun?! Bruh, I expected you to be taller.”
“I’m 6 feet tall and I’m 6 inches taller than you, how am I not tall?!”
I shrug, “where are you headed?”
“my dad’s office, you?”
“same place.”
“he doesn’t normally accept more than one person in his office at a time.”
I shrug again before turning around to head for Magnus’s office.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
“I see you’ve met my son,” Magnus says, gesturing his hands towards the big screen, which displayed me attempting, and failing, to attack his son.
I blushed in embarrassment, “Yeh, I guess-”
“Father, I wanted to speak to you, in private, what is SHE doing here?” he rudely interrupts.
“I have decided to place a meeting with, you, Viktor, and you, Echo together, because I want to place you on a mission together.” Magnus replies.
I fluster in anger at the rudeness of Viktor, and the audacity of his father: “me and HIM, on a mission together, yeh, sooo not gonna work.”
Magnus simply ignores me (RUDE!!), “Viktor, Echo, the two young masters of stealth, specialized in the department of spy. Yes, I’ve decided you two, will lead a mission, the mission that many associates have attempted, and, failed, but, I have a feeling you two will not, I’m asking you to try and penetrate into the BBR headquarters…”
“Imagination is more important than knowledge, for knowledge is limited, whereas imagination encircles the world”
~Einstein
Hi, I'm Unicornshine, call me Vicky, your multipotentialite here!
- silverlynx-
-
Scratcher
66 posts
swc megathread ➷ march 2024
Night
My weary eyelids drooped as the train chugged through the patchwork of fields. The pale moonlight lit up the rugged mountains, bruised with lilac heather. Spindly trees reached their branches up towards the moon, the pearly light bathing the harsh landscape in a soft silver glow. I sighed happily and a smile curled on my lips as my head tipped back and sleep beckoned me, warm and tempting.
Screech!
I lurched forwards, my heart pounding wildly in my chest as the train slowly came to a standstill. Bright amber lights flashed on, glary and blinding. I gently leaned back again into the coarse fabric of my seat. People filed out through the doors, eager to be outside, gulping in the pure, clean air. Fyrian, my feisty little dragon, wriggled impatiently in my pocket, his leathery scales rubbing against my smooth olive skin, velvety and silky.
“Can’t we get off?” He complained to me, plumes of smoke erupting from his nostrils.
I stroked his emerald head.
“Soon.” I promised him, my voice strong and confident. On the inside though, my stomach churned with anxiety and my head burned with worry.
Exhaustion washed over me and tears brimmed in my swollen eyes. Once more, they flickered, spots clouding my vision. I clenched my fists to a piercing white, urging myself to stay awake. But I couldn’t resist. Then I saw something out of the corner of my eye.
I swivelled my head around swiftly, my breath catching in my throat. But all I could see was the night sky, stars shimmering at me warmly. My brow furrowed in confusion. I knew something was there. But I didn’t know what. I turned my attention to Fyrian, who was now snoring, his chest heaving up and down. Gradually I relaxed, reassuring myself that everything was going to be fine. I smiled softly as the train shuddered back to life, its movement creaky and ancient.
This time I was wide awake, my eyes glinting jewels in the harsh light. My ears were alert and I could feel every vibration juddering beneath my feet. Every pinprick of light in the endless darkness was clear as day.
Night.
A voice echoed in my blank mind, ringing out loudly.
Night.
It was malicious and triumphant.
Night.
It was dark and wicked.
Look out of the corner of your eye.
I immediately snapped my eyes shut, willing myself not to open them. Don’t do it.
Do it.
Don’t. My eyes gradually fluttered open and flicked hurriedly to one side.
I am Night.
Elegant slender fingers stretched out towards me, blending in with the ebony sky. Night embraced me with a cold grip, my blood turning to ice. An unearthly sound tore through the air. I flinched, my breath catching in my throat. Then I realised it was me screaming. I was being thrusted into the air, my legs dangling over the rusty carriage.
The freezing air punched me and I was thrown back further into Night’s calloused clutch. Starlight tangled in my fingers as I was lifted steadily up, moonlight framing the edges. It ripped at my clothes and wove itself around my throat, further and further. The golden net enclosed my feeble figure, cocooning me in a soft trap. I spluttered and coughed, trying to get the air back into my lungs. My eyes rolled back into my head. I blacked out.
My weary eyelids drooped as the train chugged through the patchwork of fields. The pale moonlight lit up the rugged mountains, bruised with lilac heather. Spindly trees reached their branches up towards the moon, the pearly light bathing the harsh landscape in a soft silver glow. I sighed happily and a smile curled on my lips as my head tipped back and sleep beckoned me, warm and tempting.
Screech!
I lurched forwards, my heart pounding wildly in my chest as the train slowly came to a standstill. Bright amber lights flashed on, glary and blinding. I gently leaned back again into the coarse fabric of my seat. People filed out through the doors, eager to be outside, gulping in the pure, clean air. Fyrian, my feisty little dragon, wriggled impatiently in my pocket, his leathery scales rubbing against my smooth olive skin, velvety and silky.
“Can’t we get off?” He complained to me, plumes of smoke erupting from his nostrils.
I stroked his emerald head.
“Soon.” I promised him, my voice strong and confident. On the inside though, my stomach churned with anxiety and my head burned with worry.
Exhaustion washed over me and tears brimmed in my swollen eyes. Once more, they flickered, spots clouding my vision. I clenched my fists to a piercing white, urging myself to stay awake. But I couldn’t resist. Then I saw something out of the corner of my eye.
I swivelled my head around swiftly, my breath catching in my throat. But all I could see was the night sky, stars shimmering at me warmly. My brow furrowed in confusion. I knew something was there. But I didn’t know what. I turned my attention to Fyrian, who was now snoring, his chest heaving up and down. Gradually I relaxed, reassuring myself that everything was going to be fine. I smiled softly as the train shuddered back to life, its movement creaky and ancient.
This time I was wide awake, my eyes glinting jewels in the harsh light. My ears were alert and I could feel every vibration juddering beneath my feet. Every pinprick of light in the endless darkness was clear as day.
Night.
A voice echoed in my blank mind, ringing out loudly.
Night.
It was malicious and triumphant.
Night.
It was dark and wicked.
Look out of the corner of your eye.
I immediately snapped my eyes shut, willing myself not to open them. Don’t do it.
Do it.
Don’t. My eyes gradually fluttered open and flicked hurriedly to one side.
I am Night.
Elegant slender fingers stretched out towards me, blending in with the ebony sky. Night embraced me with a cold grip, my blood turning to ice. An unearthly sound tore through the air. I flinched, my breath catching in my throat. Then I realised it was me screaming. I was being thrusted into the air, my legs dangling over the rusty carriage.
The freezing air punched me and I was thrown back further into Night’s calloused clutch. Starlight tangled in my fingers as I was lifted steadily up, moonlight framing the edges. It ripped at my clothes and wove itself around my throat, further and further. The golden net enclosed my feeble figure, cocooning me in a soft trap. I spluttered and coughed, trying to get the air back into my lungs. My eyes rolled back into my head. I blacked out.
- iinspirqtion
-
Scratcher
1000+ posts
swc megathread ➷ march 2024
SWC Writing Competition
“Let’s make an exchange, shall we? An exchange of memories,” The woman in front of you murmurs. You sit in the dimly lit room, looking straight at the strange memokeeper, trying not to show any emotion. She smiles elusively and picks up one of the cards that were laid on the black marble table.
Your vision blurs, and the next thing you know, you are staring at a strange and mystical swirl, in the middle of an universe. A dark and barren planet lies broken into pieces in the background. A pulsating light seems to come from the middle of the swirl, and your eyes are captivated by it.
“I dreamed of a ray of light, of a crystal chalice. The light that shown from that crystal spoke to me: listen to the parable of the stars.”
Her hands are below your gaze now, putting back the sleek card, and grazing her black-gloved hand over the others. “The nameless one, the pathless one,” she taps her fingers as she thinks. “Arrived from the edge of the wilderness, clad in stellar radiance.”
You listen to her, knowing that this information will soon be very useful to you, she will tell you all you need to know. The crystal candles flicker with a bright yellow flame behind you, and you try to focus on her soothing tone.
“Go now, march unwaveringly into the solar wind. In the end, you will return to my embrace-but march towards the light,” she picks another card and holds it firmly in her hands. “The Aeon of Destruction,” she tells you. “Nanook. Unpredictable, angry, and powerful. Yet that light began to burn, piercing through the clouds as a golden death. Towers crumbled and the people fled, for the sun was soon to set in the barren wasteland and meet with vicious Destruction.”
“Me,” you speak in wonder.
“Yes,” she says gently, “Your first form after the Stellaron emerged.” She placed down the card to the side, picked another, and continued to tell her tale. “Lan, The Hunt, they are determined, ruthless, tenacious and righteous. But be not dismayed, O child of the world! The Lux Arrow will descend to destroy the wicked abominations of Destruction. You must follow the traces left behind in the storm’s wake. Stay true to your path, they tell you.”
You think back to all the memories you have made, the Astral Express, and how you left them all behind for today. A sick feeling starts to pool in your gut, as you try to ignore the fact.
“The Path of Erudition, led by the Aeon Nous. If the truth of the universe is cruel and stale, would you still yearn for the answer?” The memokeeper seems to ask you.
You nod, at this point, it’s almost indifferent, you already knew how you’d answer.
“The celestial one guards their secrets, plotting out the roots that connect all things. But they are silent, like a shroud of mist at the center of the universe, waiting for things to unfold. Listen to the silence and you will know where the stars are resting.”
There are now three cards piled up on each other, in the corner of the table. You silently acknowledge that observation, and watch as she pulls another card yet again. “Yaoshi, The Abundance, enemy of Lan. Let your staff strike the earth, they say, once, and again. The tender sprouts will grow to the sky, and the dew that fall from the branches will rid you of sickness and poison, but in the end, will you truly attain immortality, or suffering?” She seems to be in a strange daze now, reciting lines as if she’d memorized them from long ago.
Sighing, she continues to speak, taking another cad. “IX, The Nihility. Nothing, and everything. Blindfold your eyes, they say, let the approaching darkness and defeat may strike no fear in you. Let it not burden your soul nor numb your stride.”
You feel as if the idea of a vast world is infinite, and the words she says make it even wider, the beings above make you feel like an ant compared to them.
“Aeon of The Preservation, Qlipoth. “Push open the majestic gates, they say, and lift the tablets of lapis. Read them aloud, let the fire that forged the bricks and the ones that laid the wall’s foundation be known!” Before you can tell her to stop, she continues again, picking up the seventh and final card. “Xipe, The Harmony.”
Her voice seems to join together with other harmonious ones, calling out to you, telling you the sweet and bitter story of the stars. “Then they say, O you who have reached the end, enter into the paradise that harbors all! Join this great choir and feast, listen to the beating of billions upon billions of hearts, holding you in their embrace…” It seemed as if she was offering you an opportunity, to join the Aeons, and become one.
Before you could respond, she continued to speak. “Look upon the courtesans’ extravagance (The Elation), the mariner’s intemperance (The Voracity). Listen to the infant (End of All Things) in the mirror (The Beauty) the waves as they enter the dream (The Propagation), the tipping of the balance (The Enigmata), the shapeless prince (The Equilibrium). And finally, measure the world against yourself, and take all such things to heart. This is the path you should walk, they say. Akivili (The Trailblaze), departs once more, Akivili (Trailblazer)!” Taking a deep breath, she looks up with a sparkle in her eye. “Countless shooting stars streak the sky tonight… Should you choose the right one… it will carry your wish to thousands of distant worlds.”
She closes the book that you didn’t even realize she was reading, as strange chimes sound in the distance. “Well then Trailblazer, what is your choice? Continue on the Nameless Path, trailblazing your way through different worlds, or create your path, and be revered among the many universes?” Her eyes look at you as if she already knows what you’re going to pick.
The Stellaron pulses inside of you, as you think about her offer. Being an Aeon would mean living forever, with infinite possibilities, but you think back to the Astral Express. All the planets you’ve visited, and the ones promised to come. A wonderful life for a cursed person, yet the deeds you have done have even caught the attention of the Aeons. You know you’d never be as powerful as them, you have much to learn, many more friends to make, and more memories to have. You’re not ready yet.
“My wish is to continue on the path of the Trailblaze,” you tell her confidently.
Even though you refused, she smiled at you and disappeared. “Explore the world, Trailblazer! Dream of a better future.”
Total word count: 1138
“An Exchange of Memories”
“Let’s make an exchange, shall we? An exchange of memories,” The woman in front of you murmurs. You sit in the dimly lit room, looking straight at the strange memokeeper, trying not to show any emotion. She smiles elusively and picks up one of the cards that were laid on the black marble table.
Your vision blurs, and the next thing you know, you are staring at a strange and mystical swirl, in the middle of an universe. A dark and barren planet lies broken into pieces in the background. A pulsating light seems to come from the middle of the swirl, and your eyes are captivated by it.
“I dreamed of a ray of light, of a crystal chalice. The light that shown from that crystal spoke to me: listen to the parable of the stars.”
Her hands are below your gaze now, putting back the sleek card, and grazing her black-gloved hand over the others. “The nameless one, the pathless one,” she taps her fingers as she thinks. “Arrived from the edge of the wilderness, clad in stellar radiance.”
You listen to her, knowing that this information will soon be very useful to you, she will tell you all you need to know. The crystal candles flicker with a bright yellow flame behind you, and you try to focus on her soothing tone.
“Go now, march unwaveringly into the solar wind. In the end, you will return to my embrace-but march towards the light,” she picks another card and holds it firmly in her hands. “The Aeon of Destruction,” she tells you. “Nanook. Unpredictable, angry, and powerful. Yet that light began to burn, piercing through the clouds as a golden death. Towers crumbled and the people fled, for the sun was soon to set in the barren wasteland and meet with vicious Destruction.”
“Me,” you speak in wonder.
“Yes,” she says gently, “Your first form after the Stellaron emerged.” She placed down the card to the side, picked another, and continued to tell her tale. “Lan, The Hunt, they are determined, ruthless, tenacious and righteous. But be not dismayed, O child of the world! The Lux Arrow will descend to destroy the wicked abominations of Destruction. You must follow the traces left behind in the storm’s wake. Stay true to your path, they tell you.”
You think back to all the memories you have made, the Astral Express, and how you left them all behind for today. A sick feeling starts to pool in your gut, as you try to ignore the fact.
“The Path of Erudition, led by the Aeon Nous. If the truth of the universe is cruel and stale, would you still yearn for the answer?” The memokeeper seems to ask you.
You nod, at this point, it’s almost indifferent, you already knew how you’d answer.
“The celestial one guards their secrets, plotting out the roots that connect all things. But they are silent, like a shroud of mist at the center of the universe, waiting for things to unfold. Listen to the silence and you will know where the stars are resting.”
There are now three cards piled up on each other, in the corner of the table. You silently acknowledge that observation, and watch as she pulls another card yet again. “Yaoshi, The Abundance, enemy of Lan. Let your staff strike the earth, they say, once, and again. The tender sprouts will grow to the sky, and the dew that fall from the branches will rid you of sickness and poison, but in the end, will you truly attain immortality, or suffering?” She seems to be in a strange daze now, reciting lines as if she’d memorized them from long ago.
Sighing, she continues to speak, taking another cad. “IX, The Nihility. Nothing, and everything. Blindfold your eyes, they say, let the approaching darkness and defeat may strike no fear in you. Let it not burden your soul nor numb your stride.”
You feel as if the idea of a vast world is infinite, and the words she says make it even wider, the beings above make you feel like an ant compared to them.
“Aeon of The Preservation, Qlipoth. “Push open the majestic gates, they say, and lift the tablets of lapis. Read them aloud, let the fire that forged the bricks and the ones that laid the wall’s foundation be known!” Before you can tell her to stop, she continues again, picking up the seventh and final card. “Xipe, The Harmony.”
Her voice seems to join together with other harmonious ones, calling out to you, telling you the sweet and bitter story of the stars. “Then they say, O you who have reached the end, enter into the paradise that harbors all! Join this great choir and feast, listen to the beating of billions upon billions of hearts, holding you in their embrace…” It seemed as if she was offering you an opportunity, to join the Aeons, and become one.
Before you could respond, she continued to speak. “Look upon the courtesans’ extravagance (The Elation), the mariner’s intemperance (The Voracity). Listen to the infant (End of All Things) in the mirror (The Beauty) the waves as they enter the dream (The Propagation), the tipping of the balance (The Enigmata), the shapeless prince (The Equilibrium). And finally, measure the world against yourself, and take all such things to heart. This is the path you should walk, they say. Akivili (The Trailblaze), departs once more, Akivili (Trailblazer)!” Taking a deep breath, she looks up with a sparkle in her eye. “Countless shooting stars streak the sky tonight… Should you choose the right one… it will carry your wish to thousands of distant worlds.”
She closes the book that you didn’t even realize she was reading, as strange chimes sound in the distance. “Well then Trailblazer, what is your choice? Continue on the Nameless Path, trailblazing your way through different worlds, or create your path, and be revered among the many universes?” Her eyes look at you as if she already knows what you’re going to pick.
The Stellaron pulses inside of you, as you think about her offer. Being an Aeon would mean living forever, with infinite possibilities, but you think back to the Astral Express. All the planets you’ve visited, and the ones promised to come. A wonderful life for a cursed person, yet the deeds you have done have even caught the attention of the Aeons. You know you’d never be as powerful as them, you have much to learn, many more friends to make, and more memories to have. You’re not ready yet.
“My wish is to continue on the path of the Trailblaze,” you tell her confidently.
Even though you refused, she smiled at you and disappeared. “Explore the world, Trailblazer! Dream of a better future.”
Total word count: 1138
“Do not pity the dead, Harry. Pity the living, and, above all those who live without love.”
Theerreeee once was a boy named harry who was destined to be a star…
- 2GS6
-
Scratcher
500+ posts
swc megathread ➷ march 2024
Gen's writing thread
Unspoken - an writing competition entry
I wanted to challenge myself to write a story in less than 1000 words
Unspoken
Have you ever been in a situation where you wished you could be somewhere else? Just any place but the place you are at right now?
I certainly have. It often happens when I am sitting in class with no way to escape.
Once again, I found myself gazing at my notes, hoping the lesson would end before the teacher would get a chance to call on me.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
Like a warning, the ticking of the big clock in the front of the Room reminded me that there was still plenty of time left for class.
The teacher asked a question and started to scan the room to find his next target. Someone he could call on to answer his question. Preferably, someone who hadn't contributed something to his class yet. Like me.
I wished I was somewhere else.
Time suddenly seemed to slow down.
The little voice in my head that had been there since I could think, my personal inner critic, used this as an opportunity to confirm my thoughts.
“You really need to raise your hand and answer his question. He will call on you anyway”
“I can't” I thought. “The words get stuck in my throat when I am trying to speak them out loud.”
It was pointless arguing with a voice in my head that was my very own creation.
“Just do it. Talking is not rocket science” the voice in the back of my head tried to convince me to do the impossible.
“You know that I can't articulate my thoughts.” I tried to tell myself.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
Time didn't seem to pass.
I really wished I was somewhere else now.
I tried my best to ignore the voice in my head while simultaneously trying to avoid eye contact with the teacher, who was still looking for his next target.
For a second it seemed like he had chosen another student, and I could already feel the relief washing over me.
The next second he moved on, and I could feel myself getting nervous again. I shifted uncomfortably in my seat. The murmuring of the other students made the atmosphere in the room tense.
“You're brilliant. You know the answer. All you need is in your head. Just put your hand up and answer the question” the relentless voice started again. “He will call on you anyway, and you know it!”
My thoughts were interrupted when my eyes met the teacher's. I knew what was about to happen now.
I wished I was somewhere else.
The teacher seemed to stare right into my soul. Seconds passed. I could see heads slowly turning in my direction.
Whispers.
Then the teacher's mouth opened and the inevitable words I tried to avoid the whole time came out, hitting me like a wave crashing down.
“What is your opinion on this?”
It seemed as if time had stopped. I couldn't hear the ticking anymore. Everybody was looking at me. My heart was beating in my chest.
“Just say something. Anything.” the voice in my head urged me. “It's not that easy” I thought.
“You can talk to your friends. Why are you unable to talk now. Just say something” my inner critic further urged.
I didn't even understand why my own voice betrayed me in situations like this.
What I understood was that I would have loved to be somewhere else now. Instead, I was sitting here, being a prisoner in my own mind, unable to let the words escape.
Everybody was still looking at me. I tried to take a deep breath, but the air was suddenly really thick. How much time had passed since the teacher called my name? Minutes? Hours? Years?
Tick. Tick. Tick.
The familiar ticking of the clock confirmed that it had been only a few seconds. I could feel the palms of my hands slowly starting to get wet. I opened my mouth.
“Now you only need to get those words out, and then you are fine” the voice in my head tried to encourage me.
I imagined standing up. Leaving this room. Escaping this Situation. Being somewhere else.
But in real life I was sitting here, feeling paralyzed, unable to form a clear sentence.
“You're missing an opportunity” the voice in my head whispered.
I closed my mouth again. Not a single word had left it. My heart was racing faster than a rollercoaster.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
“Just say something. Say anything. Please. Do it. For me. For yourself.”
The voice was too loud now. It was almost everything I could hear in my mind now. I couldn't form one clear thought. Everything started spinning. The classroom and the whispers of my classmates seemed to fade far away.
It almost seemed like I got my wish granted. I was in a different place. Far away from the echoing clock. Far away from everything.
The teacher finally moved on with a disappointed look on his face. I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding. My thoughts started to become clear again, and I returned to reality from the strange place I had been seconds before.
I was relieved.
“I'm glad I didn't get up and leave” I thought.
“Liar” the voice in the back of my head said. “You would have loved to be somewhere else. But you can't escape it.”
The school bell rang. My way into freedom. I got up and gathered my belongings.
“No matter how far you run away, you can't escape yourself” the voice confirmed what a part of me was thinking.
I took a deep breath. “Not today” I whispered to myself, “But who knows what the future holds. One day I might be able to speak up. Even if it's just a single sentence. Even if it's just one word that won't remain unspoken.”
975 words
Last edited by 2GS6 (March 24, 2024 10:38:07)
- silverlynx-
-
Scratcher
66 posts
swc megathread ➷ march 2024
Weekly #3
1700 words
Part 1
(Sorry that these are long; I got carried away lol)
Plot Point 1
George and Isla (the main characters) are woken up at night by a loud clattering noise. It is 2:00am. They looked outside to see what was going on, and heard other similar noises in their garden shed. They pressed their faces against the window and through the misty rain spotted a shadowy, tall figure stooping in the shed. The figure carried on searching, unaware of the two siblings and with a quiet cry of triumph brandished a large spade. They ran away into the inky night, leaving George and Isla astonished. They look at each other, their mouths hanging open, and talk softly to each other about the dreadful events. They decide to go back to bed and tell their parents in the morning.
Plot Point Two
A few hours later, at approximately 6:00am in the morning, a piercing scream wakes up George, Isla, their little brother Felix and their parents, Rose and William. They rush to the scene and discover a friend of theirs, who had been staying with them (called Amy) de@d on the ground. There is a deep gash embedded in her head, and her eyes are wide open and terrified, glazed over and distant. William hurries to the phone to call the police, but Rose and Isla just stay standing there in horror, their mouths hanging open. George carries away Felix, shielding his eyes from the harrowing sight.
Plot Point Three
Over the next couple of days, the police apologise about being unable to visit the house and investigate due to the heavy floods that surround it. Rose stays hushed and silent, tears brimming in her eyes as she flicks through pictures of Amy on her phone, the bright light glaring up at her. Meanwhile, George and Isla stay upstairs in their room, investigating. They work out that the murderer must have been the figure in the shed, because the mark on Amy’s head could have only been made by a spade. The murderer must have been quite tall and probably from the block of flats they lived in or any friends that the family had. They write it all down and try to look at the body. When they finally get a glimpse, they discover many important clues included in Part 2
Plot Point 4
The police arrive and carry out strenuous investigations and remove the body. This proves to be frustrating for George and Isla, but they stay up one night investigating and hear the banging of a door. They rush to the window and see someone loping away from the block of flats through the patchwork of fields, long hair flying out behind them. Isla recognises her as one of their most suspicious suspects, Eva, a lady from the flat below them. They are convinced that she is the murderer until…
Plot Point 5
They uncover many important, very surprising clues and solve the murder. It was their mother, Rose! They are deeply shocked and upset, but all the evidence is pointing towards her due to what they have found out about Eva. The police reported back to the family that morning that Eva had been running from them with some precious jewels she had stolen from Amy, but could not have killed her because she was on holiday in France at that time. She had only arrived back three days ago, and it was proved that she was in France by the airport. She could not have gone back without being noticed due to security at the airport and ferry, and was only there when she left a week ago and her arrival back in England three days ago.
Part 2
Clue 1
The murderer was seen with a spade in a shed at night. The mark on the victim’s head was a large dent, quite bruised and quite large, which was most likely made by a spade. The next they looked in the shed and saw blood stains surrounding their Dad’s tools, proving that the murderer had stolen something and used it as a murder weapon.
Clue 2
A blood stained cloth snagged on the window’s hinges, fluttering in the wind. It had tears and rips in it and had obviously been hurriedly shoved out of the window, trying to hide evidence. This was in Eva’s room, who was later discovered to be innocent, due to her holiday ‘during the murder.
Clue 3
A diary in Amy’s pocket. It said that she was going to go to London the next day, back to her home, and never return to the house again. She wrote of dreadful arguments with Rose and bitter anger. She said that she wanted to kill Rose in it. This gives Rose an obvious motive. There were bloodstains running down the notebook, but it was lying face up when she was found, so she must have been standing up after being hit, allowing time for the blood to run down her diary, then she must have d1ed.
Clue 4
Piles of paper in their rubbish bin, describing Amy in terrible ways. The handwriting was recognised as Rose’s. They told of horrible arguments as well and it said that Rose wanted to murder Amy. A red scarf (Rose’s) was found later and had darker streaks down its side. It was also found in the bin. The other cloth must have framed Eva, because she was on holiday, so it had to be Rose.
Part 3
1. Where were you exactly on the night of the beautiful, innocent and delicious - I mean harmless mango?
2. What were you doing that night?
3. What do you know about the murder?
4. Tell me every single detail of your movements and anything suspicious >
5. At any point did you see the mango at all, or maybe a flash of orange in the darkness?
6. Did you hear anything unusual while you were out at night? It is imperative that you don’t miss anything out. >
7. Did you notice the mango behaving strangely beforehand?
8. Were you friends or did you know the mango at all. If so, were you close friends and how long had you been like that?
9. If the answer to the last question was yes, have you had any lasting quarrels ever, whether it was recently or long ago? Do you have a grudge against him?
10. Could you tell us the name of the mango, since we could find out a lot about him if you did.
11. Could you name anyone else who was up on the night of the murder who knows the anonymous mango?
10. And finally, and most importantly, did you murder that mango?
Part 4
I groaned and turned over in my bed. George yawned beside me, thrashing in invisible pain in his troubled sleep.
“Gerroff!”
I swung my legs over the side of my bed and crept to the window soundlessly. It opened and a rush of cold air slapped me like raw and biting water.
A faint shape darted out of the building, hair flying out behind her wildly. Eva.
I shook George violently!
“Get up!” I whispered insistently. He opened his eyes groggily and flinched as he saw my urgent eyes.
“What?”
“She’s getting away!”
“Who?”
“Eva!”
I clenched my fists with irritation at his slow reflexes. He sighed and hauled himself up from bed, dawdling to the window.
“We have to go after her!”
I knew that Eva must be involved somehow. The handkerchief was proof of it! I clattered down the concrete stairs and banged furiously on the locked doors.
“Argh!” I cried, my voice hoarse and gravelly in the deadly silent atmosphere. George poked his head around the bland wall.
“Do you want to go back now?” He asked hopefully.
I nodded wearily, my eyes closed in defeat.
“You’re so over the top about everything, Drama Queen!” George teased.
I jutted out my lower lip defiantly and glared at him.
“Meeting.” I told him coldly. He nodded happily and bounced back up into our flat.
He leapt into his bed and disappeared underneath his covers and immediately started snoring.
“This is a murder!” I hissed.
He rolled over and looked at me, creases carving a path through his head.
“I just want to sleep.”
“This is a murder!” I repeated.
“Fine. You start. What clues do we know?”
I took a deep breath and began.
“We know that there was a handkerchief covered in blood by Eva’s window, the murder weapon was a spade. The murderer was quite tall and had long hair. Amy’s diary is very suspicious. It says terrible things about murder. It gives Mum a motive, but Eva is very good friends with Mum as well, and we’ve seen her running away, so she is more likely. Also, she wasn’t there at the murder scene, which suggests that she ran away.”
I panted, exhausted from my long speech. I gestured at him to carry on.
“Well,” he started unenthusiastically,” We know it can’t be Dad, Jim, Laura and everyone else in Block A apart from Mum, Eva and Sam. It probably isn’t Mum, but she does have a motive for killing Amy…”
He paused, staring anxiously at my watery eyes. It couldn’t be Mum.
“If we want to rule Mum out, we could go look around the living room, kitchen, bathroom and her bedroom in the morning. Right now we can have a look in the living room, kitchen and bathroom. How about it?”
I nodded mutely.
A few minutes later, we were searching for any suspicious clues under the sofa or cushions, floorboards and cookers, inside cupboards, even bins!
I stuck my hands into the recycling bon while pinching my nose, thinking of all the things that Dad put inside it. I pulled out a cluster of paper, scrunched up, the ink running down them. I could just make out the words.
I want to get rid of her.
Get rid of her, once and for all. She deserves it. Get her out of my life.
Rose.
But that was-
“Mum.”
1700 words
Part 1
(Sorry that these are long; I got carried away lol)
Plot Point 1
George and Isla (the main characters) are woken up at night by a loud clattering noise. It is 2:00am. They looked outside to see what was going on, and heard other similar noises in their garden shed. They pressed their faces against the window and through the misty rain spotted a shadowy, tall figure stooping in the shed. The figure carried on searching, unaware of the two siblings and with a quiet cry of triumph brandished a large spade. They ran away into the inky night, leaving George and Isla astonished. They look at each other, their mouths hanging open, and talk softly to each other about the dreadful events. They decide to go back to bed and tell their parents in the morning.
Plot Point Two
A few hours later, at approximately 6:00am in the morning, a piercing scream wakes up George, Isla, their little brother Felix and their parents, Rose and William. They rush to the scene and discover a friend of theirs, who had been staying with them (called Amy) de@d on the ground. There is a deep gash embedded in her head, and her eyes are wide open and terrified, glazed over and distant. William hurries to the phone to call the police, but Rose and Isla just stay standing there in horror, their mouths hanging open. George carries away Felix, shielding his eyes from the harrowing sight.
Plot Point Three
Over the next couple of days, the police apologise about being unable to visit the house and investigate due to the heavy floods that surround it. Rose stays hushed and silent, tears brimming in her eyes as she flicks through pictures of Amy on her phone, the bright light glaring up at her. Meanwhile, George and Isla stay upstairs in their room, investigating. They work out that the murderer must have been the figure in the shed, because the mark on Amy’s head could have only been made by a spade. The murderer must have been quite tall and probably from the block of flats they lived in or any friends that the family had. They write it all down and try to look at the body. When they finally get a glimpse, they discover many important clues included in Part 2
Plot Point 4
The police arrive and carry out strenuous investigations and remove the body. This proves to be frustrating for George and Isla, but they stay up one night investigating and hear the banging of a door. They rush to the window and see someone loping away from the block of flats through the patchwork of fields, long hair flying out behind them. Isla recognises her as one of their most suspicious suspects, Eva, a lady from the flat below them. They are convinced that she is the murderer until…
Plot Point 5
They uncover many important, very surprising clues and solve the murder. It was their mother, Rose! They are deeply shocked and upset, but all the evidence is pointing towards her due to what they have found out about Eva. The police reported back to the family that morning that Eva had been running from them with some precious jewels she had stolen from Amy, but could not have killed her because she was on holiday in France at that time. She had only arrived back three days ago, and it was proved that she was in France by the airport. She could not have gone back without being noticed due to security at the airport and ferry, and was only there when she left a week ago and her arrival back in England three days ago.
Part 2
Clue 1
The murderer was seen with a spade in a shed at night. The mark on the victim’s head was a large dent, quite bruised and quite large, which was most likely made by a spade. The next they looked in the shed and saw blood stains surrounding their Dad’s tools, proving that the murderer had stolen something and used it as a murder weapon.
Clue 2
A blood stained cloth snagged on the window’s hinges, fluttering in the wind. It had tears and rips in it and had obviously been hurriedly shoved out of the window, trying to hide evidence. This was in Eva’s room, who was later discovered to be innocent, due to her holiday ‘during the murder.
Clue 3
A diary in Amy’s pocket. It said that she was going to go to London the next day, back to her home, and never return to the house again. She wrote of dreadful arguments with Rose and bitter anger. She said that she wanted to kill Rose in it. This gives Rose an obvious motive. There were bloodstains running down the notebook, but it was lying face up when she was found, so she must have been standing up after being hit, allowing time for the blood to run down her diary, then she must have d1ed.
Clue 4
Piles of paper in their rubbish bin, describing Amy in terrible ways. The handwriting was recognised as Rose’s. They told of horrible arguments as well and it said that Rose wanted to murder Amy. A red scarf (Rose’s) was found later and had darker streaks down its side. It was also found in the bin. The other cloth must have framed Eva, because she was on holiday, so it had to be Rose.
Part 3
1. Where were you exactly on the night of the beautiful, innocent and delicious - I mean harmless mango?
2. What were you doing that night?
3. What do you know about the murder?
4. Tell me every single detail of your movements and anything suspicious >
5. At any point did you see the mango at all, or maybe a flash of orange in the darkness?
6. Did you hear anything unusual while you were out at night? It is imperative that you don’t miss anything out. >
7. Did you notice the mango behaving strangely beforehand?
8. Were you friends or did you know the mango at all. If so, were you close friends and how long had you been like that?
9. If the answer to the last question was yes, have you had any lasting quarrels ever, whether it was recently or long ago? Do you have a grudge against him?
10. Could you tell us the name of the mango, since we could find out a lot about him if you did.
11. Could you name anyone else who was up on the night of the murder who knows the anonymous mango?
10. And finally, and most importantly, did you murder that mango?
Part 4
I groaned and turned over in my bed. George yawned beside me, thrashing in invisible pain in his troubled sleep.
“Gerroff!”
I swung my legs over the side of my bed and crept to the window soundlessly. It opened and a rush of cold air slapped me like raw and biting water.
A faint shape darted out of the building, hair flying out behind her wildly. Eva.
I shook George violently!
“Get up!” I whispered insistently. He opened his eyes groggily and flinched as he saw my urgent eyes.
“What?”
“She’s getting away!”
“Who?”
“Eva!”
I clenched my fists with irritation at his slow reflexes. He sighed and hauled himself up from bed, dawdling to the window.
“We have to go after her!”
I knew that Eva must be involved somehow. The handkerchief was proof of it! I clattered down the concrete stairs and banged furiously on the locked doors.
“Argh!” I cried, my voice hoarse and gravelly in the deadly silent atmosphere. George poked his head around the bland wall.
“Do you want to go back now?” He asked hopefully.
I nodded wearily, my eyes closed in defeat.
“You’re so over the top about everything, Drama Queen!” George teased.
I jutted out my lower lip defiantly and glared at him.
“Meeting.” I told him coldly. He nodded happily and bounced back up into our flat.
He leapt into his bed and disappeared underneath his covers and immediately started snoring.
“This is a murder!” I hissed.
He rolled over and looked at me, creases carving a path through his head.
“I just want to sleep.”
“This is a murder!” I repeated.
“Fine. You start. What clues do we know?”
I took a deep breath and began.
“We know that there was a handkerchief covered in blood by Eva’s window, the murder weapon was a spade. The murderer was quite tall and had long hair. Amy’s diary is very suspicious. It says terrible things about murder. It gives Mum a motive, but Eva is very good friends with Mum as well, and we’ve seen her running away, so she is more likely. Also, she wasn’t there at the murder scene, which suggests that she ran away.”
I panted, exhausted from my long speech. I gestured at him to carry on.
“Well,” he started unenthusiastically,” We know it can’t be Dad, Jim, Laura and everyone else in Block A apart from Mum, Eva and Sam. It probably isn’t Mum, but she does have a motive for killing Amy…”
He paused, staring anxiously at my watery eyes. It couldn’t be Mum.
“If we want to rule Mum out, we could go look around the living room, kitchen, bathroom and her bedroom in the morning. Right now we can have a look in the living room, kitchen and bathroom. How about it?”
I nodded mutely.
A few minutes later, we were searching for any suspicious clues under the sofa or cushions, floorboards and cookers, inside cupboards, even bins!
I stuck my hands into the recycling bon while pinching my nose, thinking of all the things that Dad put inside it. I pulled out a cluster of paper, scrunched up, the ink running down them. I could just make out the words.
I want to get rid of her.
Get rid of her, once and for all. She deserves it. Get her out of my life.
Rose.
But that was-
“Mum.”
- AmazaEevee
-
Scratcher
500+ posts
swc megathread ➷ march 2024
Weekly #3
3/23-25/2024
1676 words
Part 1:
374 words
Exposition: POV is from A. We start off at the scene of the crime, a game of murder mystery. Someone here is the murderer, a protector, detective, and the other 3 are innocents. The rules have just been explained, you are out if you receive a paper with ‘x’ on it. Everyone sits in the living room, all wary of each other, but chatting all the same. It takes a sudden pause when B starts dramatically coughing and slides off of their seat on the couch, a slip of paper in their palm.
Rising Action: A starts documenting what has been going on. Who are hanging around each other, who could be deemed safe. They eventually go around and talk to C and D, who are not current suspects. A gets more details that they have missed. They decide to walk around, writing down more details.
The Climax: A goes over the information they have collected so far. They start piecing together two possible suspects. They overhear part of E and F's conversation, which seems friendly, but there seems to be a strange undertone to it. A keeps a close eye on them and sees a brief interaction between them before they separate. A comes to a conclusion.
Falling Action: A tries to find where D is, the one that they are sure is not the murderer. They bump into C, who isn't with D for once. They mention that D went to pry some more information out from E, who A suspects as the murderer. A looks at C warily, but thanks them quickly before going back to where E was last.
Resolution: A doesn't see anyone as they make their way to where E was. They go over the details through their head again, and hopes that C wasn't lying to them and that D was actually on their way to E. They don't see anyone in the main rooms, so A goes off into the dimly lit hallways. Turning around as they feel a tug, a slip of paper is shoved into A's palm, and they lift it to see a red ‘x’ on it. They look up to see the murderer and walks away from them a few steps before crumpling to the ground.
Part 2:
295 words
(whoops, thought i had to do 4 red herrings </3 um)
1. C is wary of A, because of how ‘nosey’ they are being, and thinks that A might be the murderer, so they lie when talking to them. This causes A to think that C is the murderer because all of the facts together make sense, other some of what C has said.
2. E manages to convince F that they are innocent, and so they kind of stick together, and E makes sure that F is protected, making A think that they are okay, though A does think that they are a bit off. However, seeing as F has stayed safe, A brushes off the fact that E is the culprit until the last minute.
3. E slips B the paper with the ‘x’ very early on, so when B takes extra long to react to the paper, E goes back, trying to see if they actually got the paper, leading A away from the fact that E could be the culprit, as they were on their way towards B, before they dramatically dropped.
4. Because A is suspicious of C, when they tell them that D was on their way to E, they worry when they don't see D. A thinks that C may have eliminated D already, and getting A off of their trail so that they could go off and eliminate others. C suspects A, so they are extra jumpy around them, which only deepens A's suspicions.
5. During E and F's conversation that A overhears, F is starting to lose trust in E and they are trying to convince F that they are innocent. Upon seeing A in the room, E starts to talk more gently to F and shifts the dynamic to try and get attention off of them.
Part 3:
230 words
https://scratch.mit.edu/users/SqueakyBird520/#comments-320561477
Part 4:
777 words
(I remembered that I wanted all of my weeklies to have an SWC fanfic of an SWC fanfic from the POV of a cow, so somethings have been changed, and I'm mostly taking some inspiration from the previous parts, even if I stray away from them a bit <3 Also tenses are so mixed up here akjash-)
“So there has been a murder in the past and we are trying to figure out what that is now, but the murder is still here and we have to find them before the rest of us are eliminated. If you get a paper with an x on it, you're dead, meaning that after a little while, you faint, or you know, die.” Ara looks around at the group. “Alright, does everyone understand the rules?”
Some semblance of a yes rises from them and I excitedly attempt to join in.
Mistress stood up, clearing her throat. “So, we're playing a game, where one of us is the murderer? And these sheets we have here,” she waved the paper in front of her, “are our character alibis and facts that we know. So It's like kind of a premade thing, but like also currently happening kinda thing?”
Ara stared at her for a minute, her brows furrowing together. “Cheese, um. Yeah, I think you've got it.”
“Okay, sounds good!” My lady plops back down into the bean bag chair next to me, lifting me up and onto her to stroke my fur.
“If that's all the questions there are, then let's get started!” Ara proclaimed, taking her seat.
I feel a tug and I hear Mistress whispering to me.
“Okay Junior, here's the plan,” she said, “I'm not the murderer, but if anyone is, it's totally Paige.”
I moo in response, because, of course my lady makes sense.
“Also, it says here that I'm Madame Plume–what a ridiculous name–and I'm an undercover detective of sorts,” Mistress whispered excitedly. In “undercover fashion” as Mistress put it, we watched and stared at the others, who were starting to mingle and chat with one another.
I watched Eevee, packet of dried mangoes and all, walk up to Pxl, when Pxl suddenly crumbled to the floor, a small scrap of paper fluttering out of her hands.
The room freezes.
Eventually, my lady looks up, eyeing Paige and Eevee, who are whispering with one another. “Cheese Junior, I, Cheese, hire you to go over there and mingle with the enemies. They're up to something…”
Upon request and because my tummy is starting to grumble, I walk over to the duo, quickening my pace as my nose catches the aroma of dried mangoes.
They speak in hushed whispers. “Everyone's going to think that I'm the murderer, but I'm not! In the game.”
“I know that, Paige, and I believe you. Don't let the game go to your head, even if Cheese is going to eye you suspiciously all night long. Come on, if you were the murderer, you would have gotten me already.”
“Eevee, if I was it, I would have gotten Cheese and Junior there,” I freeze at the sound of my name, “before everyone else.”
Eevee turns to see me. “Hey there, Cheese Jr. You're not going to report back to Cheese about this are you?” she says, in the sweet tone that I love. It means food. As I had suspected, I see the yellow before I taste it.
Yum.
I have done my duty and I return to my lady.
“Huh,” Cheese said as I come up to her, “Eevee bribed you or something, didn't she. She's suspicious… Come on, Junior, we've got to do some asking around. I have to figure out who this Kaleigh person is.”
I follow Mistress around blindly, chewing on the dried mango, until I bonk into her leg. She's stopped.
“Hello there, you wouldn't happen to be Kaleigh Bradford, would you?” Cheese asks, the edge of an accent creeping into her voice.
Ella looks up, quickly double-checking her alibi sheet and nodding. “Yes, I would, and who would you be?”
“I'm Madame Plume,” she responds, dragging the name out, “and I would like to ask you a few questions.”
“Shoot.”
My lady pauses for a second, before continuing, “Would you be acquainted with a Zara Sanders? Ever heard of her?”
“I don't believe so; who is she?” Ella asks, crossing her arms.
“Wait, you don't?” Cheese breaks from her accent, looking at her alibi sheet and the information she's been given. She resumes in the same accent, “She's the roommate to the first victim. But anyways, do you at least know of Scott? Scott Larson?”
Ella's eyes light up in recognition. “I do! He was a friend to both the victim and I, before we had a falling out. Scott was torn, but he never chose between us.”
“Huh, okay,” Mistress said, “Thanks…”
Once we were far enough, my lady brings me close to her. “I have a suspicion, Junior. Follow me.”
3/23-25/2024
1676 words
Part 1:
374 words
Exposition: POV is from A. We start off at the scene of the crime, a game of murder mystery. Someone here is the murderer, a protector, detective, and the other 3 are innocents. The rules have just been explained, you are out if you receive a paper with ‘x’ on it. Everyone sits in the living room, all wary of each other, but chatting all the same. It takes a sudden pause when B starts dramatically coughing and slides off of their seat on the couch, a slip of paper in their palm.
Rising Action: A starts documenting what has been going on. Who are hanging around each other, who could be deemed safe. They eventually go around and talk to C and D, who are not current suspects. A gets more details that they have missed. They decide to walk around, writing down more details.
The Climax: A goes over the information they have collected so far. They start piecing together two possible suspects. They overhear part of E and F's conversation, which seems friendly, but there seems to be a strange undertone to it. A keeps a close eye on them and sees a brief interaction between them before they separate. A comes to a conclusion.
Falling Action: A tries to find where D is, the one that they are sure is not the murderer. They bump into C, who isn't with D for once. They mention that D went to pry some more information out from E, who A suspects as the murderer. A looks at C warily, but thanks them quickly before going back to where E was last.
Resolution: A doesn't see anyone as they make their way to where E was. They go over the details through their head again, and hopes that C wasn't lying to them and that D was actually on their way to E. They don't see anyone in the main rooms, so A goes off into the dimly lit hallways. Turning around as they feel a tug, a slip of paper is shoved into A's palm, and they lift it to see a red ‘x’ on it. They look up to see the murderer and walks away from them a few steps before crumpling to the ground.
Part 2:
295 words
(whoops, thought i had to do 4 red herrings </3 um)
1. C is wary of A, because of how ‘nosey’ they are being, and thinks that A might be the murderer, so they lie when talking to them. This causes A to think that C is the murderer because all of the facts together make sense, other some of what C has said.
2. E manages to convince F that they are innocent, and so they kind of stick together, and E makes sure that F is protected, making A think that they are okay, though A does think that they are a bit off. However, seeing as F has stayed safe, A brushes off the fact that E is the culprit until the last minute.
3. E slips B the paper with the ‘x’ very early on, so when B takes extra long to react to the paper, E goes back, trying to see if they actually got the paper, leading A away from the fact that E could be the culprit, as they were on their way towards B, before they dramatically dropped.
4. Because A is suspicious of C, when they tell them that D was on their way to E, they worry when they don't see D. A thinks that C may have eliminated D already, and getting A off of their trail so that they could go off and eliminate others. C suspects A, so they are extra jumpy around them, which only deepens A's suspicions.
5. During E and F's conversation that A overhears, F is starting to lose trust in E and they are trying to convince F that they are innocent. Upon seeing A in the room, E starts to talk more gently to F and shifts the dynamic to try and get attention off of them.
Part 3:
230 words
https://scratch.mit.edu/users/SqueakyBird520/#comments-320561477
Part 4:
777 words
(I remembered that I wanted all of my weeklies to have an SWC fanfic of an SWC fanfic from the POV of a cow, so somethings have been changed, and I'm mostly taking some inspiration from the previous parts, even if I stray away from them a bit <3 Also tenses are so mixed up here akjash-)
“So there has been a murder in the past and we are trying to figure out what that is now, but the murder is still here and we have to find them before the rest of us are eliminated. If you get a paper with an x on it, you're dead, meaning that after a little while, you faint, or you know, die.” Ara looks around at the group. “Alright, does everyone understand the rules?”
Some semblance of a yes rises from them and I excitedly attempt to join in.
Mistress stood up, clearing her throat. “So, we're playing a game, where one of us is the murderer? And these sheets we have here,” she waved the paper in front of her, “are our character alibis and facts that we know. So It's like kind of a premade thing, but like also currently happening kinda thing?”
Ara stared at her for a minute, her brows furrowing together. “Cheese, um. Yeah, I think you've got it.”
“Okay, sounds good!” My lady plops back down into the bean bag chair next to me, lifting me up and onto her to stroke my fur.
“If that's all the questions there are, then let's get started!” Ara proclaimed, taking her seat.
I feel a tug and I hear Mistress whispering to me.
“Okay Junior, here's the plan,” she said, “I'm not the murderer, but if anyone is, it's totally Paige.”
I moo in response, because, of course my lady makes sense.
“Also, it says here that I'm Madame Plume–what a ridiculous name–and I'm an undercover detective of sorts,” Mistress whispered excitedly. In “undercover fashion” as Mistress put it, we watched and stared at the others, who were starting to mingle and chat with one another.
I watched Eevee, packet of dried mangoes and all, walk up to Pxl, when Pxl suddenly crumbled to the floor, a small scrap of paper fluttering out of her hands.
The room freezes.
Eventually, my lady looks up, eyeing Paige and Eevee, who are whispering with one another. “Cheese Junior, I, Cheese, hire you to go over there and mingle with the enemies. They're up to something…”
Upon request and because my tummy is starting to grumble, I walk over to the duo, quickening my pace as my nose catches the aroma of dried mangoes.
They speak in hushed whispers. “Everyone's going to think that I'm the murderer, but I'm not! In the game.”
“I know that, Paige, and I believe you. Don't let the game go to your head, even if Cheese is going to eye you suspiciously all night long. Come on, if you were the murderer, you would have gotten me already.”
“Eevee, if I was it, I would have gotten Cheese and Junior there,” I freeze at the sound of my name, “before everyone else.”
Eevee turns to see me. “Hey there, Cheese Jr. You're not going to report back to Cheese about this are you?” she says, in the sweet tone that I love. It means food. As I had suspected, I see the yellow before I taste it.
Yum.
I have done my duty and I return to my lady.
“Huh,” Cheese said as I come up to her, “Eevee bribed you or something, didn't she. She's suspicious… Come on, Junior, we've got to do some asking around. I have to figure out who this Kaleigh person is.”
I follow Mistress around blindly, chewing on the dried mango, until I bonk into her leg. She's stopped.
“Hello there, you wouldn't happen to be Kaleigh Bradford, would you?” Cheese asks, the edge of an accent creeping into her voice.
Ella looks up, quickly double-checking her alibi sheet and nodding. “Yes, I would, and who would you be?”
“I'm Madame Plume,” she responds, dragging the name out, “and I would like to ask you a few questions.”
“Shoot.”
My lady pauses for a second, before continuing, “Would you be acquainted with a Zara Sanders? Ever heard of her?”
“I don't believe so; who is she?” Ella asks, crossing her arms.
“Wait, you don't?” Cheese breaks from her accent, looking at her alibi sheet and the information she's been given. She resumes in the same accent, “She's the roommate to the first victim. But anyways, do you at least know of Scott? Scott Larson?”
Ella's eyes light up in recognition. “I do! He was a friend to both the victim and I, before we had a falling out. Scott was torn, but he never chose between us.”
“Huh, okay,” Mistress said, “Thanks…”
Once we were far enough, my lady brings me close to her. “I have a suspicion, Junior. Follow me.”
Last edited by AmazaEevee (March 25, 2024 23:33:27)
- CherryMango17
-
Scratcher
71 posts
swc megathread ➷ march 2024
**Part 1: Plot Points**
1. **The Discovery:** A valuable necklace belonging to Mrs. Hawthorne goes missing during a dinner party at her mansion. The lights flicker off briefly, providing the perfect opportunity for the thief to strike.
2. **The Suspects:** Among the guests are Mr. and Mrs. Smith, known for their financial troubles, and the eccentric Professor Green, with a penchant for rare artifacts.
3. **The Alibi:** Mrs. Smith claims she was in the restroom during the theft, while Mr. Smith insists he was in the garden. Professor Green, however, refuses to disclose his whereabouts.
4. **The Hidden Motive:** Investigator Jones uncovers a secret rivalry between Mrs. Hawthorne and Mrs. Smith over an old inheritance dispute, adding a layer of suspicion to the case.
5. **The Twist:** Just when the culprit seems caught, a second theft occurs – this time, a painting from the study. Could there be an accomplice or a copycat at play?
**Part 2: Clues and Red Herrings**
**Part 2: Clues and Red Herrings**
1. **Clue:** Upon closer examination of the broken glass found near the scene, Investigator Jones notices peculiar scratches on its surface. The scratches seem deliberate, almost as if someone had etched a symbol or a pattern. Jones wonders if this could be a signature of the thief, a subtle clue left behind amidst the chaos.
2. **Clue:** As Jones scrutinizes the footprints in the garden, he notices something peculiar—a faint residue of soil clinging to the edges of the prints. This suggests that the person who left these footprints might have recently traversed through freshly dug earth. Could they have been burying something—or perhaps retrieving a hidden treasure?
3. **Red Herring:** Rumors swirl about the mysterious stranger seen lurking around the neighborhood. Some claim to have spotted them casing the mansion days before the theft, while others dismiss the sightings as mere paranoia. Jones ponders the possibility of this stranger being a decoy, intentionally planted to divert attention away from the real culprit lurking within.
4. **Red Herring:** Mrs. Hawthorne's maid, known for her clumsy demeanor, seems unusually jittery when questioned. Her hands tremble as she nervously brushes aside strands of hair from her face, prompting Jones to wonder if her fidgeting is a sign of guilt or simply her usual anxiousness in high-stress situations. However, upon further investigation, Jones discovers that the maid's behavior might stem from a recent personal trauma, unrelated to the theft.
5. **Clue:** Hidden amongst the foliage near the mansion, Jones stumbles upon a torn piece of fabric caught on a thorn bush. Upon closer inspection, he recognizes it as belonging to a distinctive scarf worn by one of the party guests. The torn fabric raises questions—was there a struggle, or is this merely a red herring meant to mislead the investigation?
6. **Red Herring:** A stray cat is spotted prowling near the scene of the crime. While initially dismissed as irrelevant, Jones begins to wonder if this feline intruder could have inadvertently triggered the series of events leading to the theft. Could someone have used the distraction caused by the cat to execute their nefarious plan unnoticed?
7. **Clue:** Upon examining the locks on the doors and windows of Hawthorne Manor, Jones notices traces of fine powder—a common tool used by burglars to detect tampering. This suggests that someone might have attempted to bypass the security measures, raising suspicions about the possible involvement of an experienced thief.
8. **Red Herring:** A rare species of bird is sighted in the vicinity of the mansion on the night of the theft. While some speculate that its presence could be a sign of good luck, others view it as an omen of impending misfortune. Jones contemplates whether this avian visitor holds any significance to the case or if it's merely a coincidence.
**Part 3: Witness Encounters**
1. **Mrs. Hawthorne:** In the dimly lit sitting room of Hawthorne Manor, Mrs. Hawthorne sat wringing her hands, her eyes red from tears shed in private agony. “I trusted them,” she whispered brokenly, her voice barely audible over the ticking of the grandfather clock. “They were my friends, my guests… and now this.” Her gaze drifted to the empty space on the mantle where her beloved necklace once sparkled. “It's not just about the necklace,” she confided, her voice trembling with emotion. “It's about trust. How can I trust anyone now?” As she recounted the events of the evening, her distress became palpable, each word punctuated by a hitched breath or a stifled sob.
2. **Mr. Smith:** In the parlor, Mr. Smith paced back and forth, his frustration evident in every sharp turn and clenched fist. “I didn't do it,” he insisted vehemently, his voice rising with each denial. “I may have gone to the garden, yes, but only to clear my head after… after an argument with my wife.” His brow furrowed, lines of worry etched deep into his features. “I wouldn't stoop so low as to steal from a friend,” he added, though the conviction in his voice wavered slightly. As he recounted his version of events, his alibi seemed plausible enough, but Investigator Jones couldn't help but wonder if there was more to Mr. Smith's story than met the eye.
3. **Mrs. Smith:** Seated primly in the drawing-room, Mrs. Smith maintained a facade of composure, though her eyes darted nervously around the room, betraying her inner turmoil. “Professor Green,” she began, her voice laced with a subtle hint of accusation, “he's always had a keen interest in Mrs. Hawthorne's jewels.” Her fingers twisted the lace of her handkerchief, a nervous habit that belied her outward calm. “I saw him near the study earlier in the evening,” she continued, her voice growing more insistent. “Perhaps he found the temptation too great to resist.” Despite her composed demeanor, Investigator Jones couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to Mrs. Smith's story than she was letting on.
4. **Professor Green:** Across the room, Professor Green lounged in an armchair, his expression one of studied nonchalance. “I collect rare artifacts,” he stated matter-of-factly, his tone betraying a hint of defiance. “But I am no thief.” His gaze met Investigator Jones's squarely, a silent challenge in his eyes. “I was in the conservatory during the party,” he explained, his voice steady and unwavering. “I have no need for Mrs. Hawthorne's trinkets.” Yet despite his outward confidence, Jones couldn't shake the feeling that Professor Green was hiding something, something that could unravel the entire mystery.
**Part 4: Mystery Scene**
The study of Hawthorne Manor was cloaked in an eerie silence as Investigator Jones stepped through the door, his footsteps muffled by the thick carpet underfoot. Mrs. Hawthorne sat perched on the edge of a high-backed chair, her hands folded tightly in her lap, her gaze fixed on the empty space where the painting had once hung. “It's gone,” she murmured, her voice barely audible, the weight of her loss palpable in every syllable.
Taking a seat opposite her, Jones leaned forward, his brow furrowed in concentration. “Tell me what happened,” he urged gently, his voice a soothing balm in the tense atmosphere of the room. And as Mrs. Hawthorne recounted the events of the evening, her words tumbled out in a rush, each sentence punctuated by a catch in her breath or a tremor in her voice.
Next, Jones turned his attention to Mr. Smith, who paced back and forth across the room, his agitation evident in every sharp turn and clenched fist. “I didn't do it,” he insisted vehemently, his voice rising with each denial. Yet despite his protests, Jones couldn't help but notice the subtle flicker of uncertainty that danced behind Mr. Smith's eyes.
Across the room, Mrs. Smith sat primly in her chair, her expression a mask of composure, though her fingers twisted nervously around the hem of her skirt. “Perhaps Professor Green found the temptation too great to resist,” she suggested, her voice laced with a subtle hint of accusation. But as Jones probed deeper, he couldn't shake the feeling that Mrs. Smith was hiding something, something that could unravel the entire mystery.
And finally, Jones turned his attention to Professor Green, whose relaxed demeanor belied a hint of defiance. “I collect rare artifacts,” he stated matter-of-factly, his tone unwavering. “But I am no thief.” Yet despite his outward confidence, Jones couldn't shake the feeling that Professor Green was hiding something, something that could hold the key to solving the mystery once and for all.
As the investigation unfolded, Jones realized that each witness held a piece of the puzzle, but none seemed willing to reveal the whole truth. With the stakes rising and the culprit still at large, he knew he had to tread carefully to unravel the mystery lurking within the walls of Hawthorne Manor.
+1465
1. **The Discovery:** A valuable necklace belonging to Mrs. Hawthorne goes missing during a dinner party at her mansion. The lights flicker off briefly, providing the perfect opportunity for the thief to strike.
2. **The Suspects:** Among the guests are Mr. and Mrs. Smith, known for their financial troubles, and the eccentric Professor Green, with a penchant for rare artifacts.
3. **The Alibi:** Mrs. Smith claims she was in the restroom during the theft, while Mr. Smith insists he was in the garden. Professor Green, however, refuses to disclose his whereabouts.
4. **The Hidden Motive:** Investigator Jones uncovers a secret rivalry between Mrs. Hawthorne and Mrs. Smith over an old inheritance dispute, adding a layer of suspicion to the case.
5. **The Twist:** Just when the culprit seems caught, a second theft occurs – this time, a painting from the study. Could there be an accomplice or a copycat at play?
**Part 2: Clues and Red Herrings**
**Part 2: Clues and Red Herrings**
1. **Clue:** Upon closer examination of the broken glass found near the scene, Investigator Jones notices peculiar scratches on its surface. The scratches seem deliberate, almost as if someone had etched a symbol or a pattern. Jones wonders if this could be a signature of the thief, a subtle clue left behind amidst the chaos.
2. **Clue:** As Jones scrutinizes the footprints in the garden, he notices something peculiar—a faint residue of soil clinging to the edges of the prints. This suggests that the person who left these footprints might have recently traversed through freshly dug earth. Could they have been burying something—or perhaps retrieving a hidden treasure?
3. **Red Herring:** Rumors swirl about the mysterious stranger seen lurking around the neighborhood. Some claim to have spotted them casing the mansion days before the theft, while others dismiss the sightings as mere paranoia. Jones ponders the possibility of this stranger being a decoy, intentionally planted to divert attention away from the real culprit lurking within.
4. **Red Herring:** Mrs. Hawthorne's maid, known for her clumsy demeanor, seems unusually jittery when questioned. Her hands tremble as she nervously brushes aside strands of hair from her face, prompting Jones to wonder if her fidgeting is a sign of guilt or simply her usual anxiousness in high-stress situations. However, upon further investigation, Jones discovers that the maid's behavior might stem from a recent personal trauma, unrelated to the theft.
5. **Clue:** Hidden amongst the foliage near the mansion, Jones stumbles upon a torn piece of fabric caught on a thorn bush. Upon closer inspection, he recognizes it as belonging to a distinctive scarf worn by one of the party guests. The torn fabric raises questions—was there a struggle, or is this merely a red herring meant to mislead the investigation?
6. **Red Herring:** A stray cat is spotted prowling near the scene of the crime. While initially dismissed as irrelevant, Jones begins to wonder if this feline intruder could have inadvertently triggered the series of events leading to the theft. Could someone have used the distraction caused by the cat to execute their nefarious plan unnoticed?
7. **Clue:** Upon examining the locks on the doors and windows of Hawthorne Manor, Jones notices traces of fine powder—a common tool used by burglars to detect tampering. This suggests that someone might have attempted to bypass the security measures, raising suspicions about the possible involvement of an experienced thief.
8. **Red Herring:** A rare species of bird is sighted in the vicinity of the mansion on the night of the theft. While some speculate that its presence could be a sign of good luck, others view it as an omen of impending misfortune. Jones contemplates whether this avian visitor holds any significance to the case or if it's merely a coincidence.
**Part 3: Witness Encounters**
1. **Mrs. Hawthorne:** In the dimly lit sitting room of Hawthorne Manor, Mrs. Hawthorne sat wringing her hands, her eyes red from tears shed in private agony. “I trusted them,” she whispered brokenly, her voice barely audible over the ticking of the grandfather clock. “They were my friends, my guests… and now this.” Her gaze drifted to the empty space on the mantle where her beloved necklace once sparkled. “It's not just about the necklace,” she confided, her voice trembling with emotion. “It's about trust. How can I trust anyone now?” As she recounted the events of the evening, her distress became palpable, each word punctuated by a hitched breath or a stifled sob.
2. **Mr. Smith:** In the parlor, Mr. Smith paced back and forth, his frustration evident in every sharp turn and clenched fist. “I didn't do it,” he insisted vehemently, his voice rising with each denial. “I may have gone to the garden, yes, but only to clear my head after… after an argument with my wife.” His brow furrowed, lines of worry etched deep into his features. “I wouldn't stoop so low as to steal from a friend,” he added, though the conviction in his voice wavered slightly. As he recounted his version of events, his alibi seemed plausible enough, but Investigator Jones couldn't help but wonder if there was more to Mr. Smith's story than met the eye.
3. **Mrs. Smith:** Seated primly in the drawing-room, Mrs. Smith maintained a facade of composure, though her eyes darted nervously around the room, betraying her inner turmoil. “Professor Green,” she began, her voice laced with a subtle hint of accusation, “he's always had a keen interest in Mrs. Hawthorne's jewels.” Her fingers twisted the lace of her handkerchief, a nervous habit that belied her outward calm. “I saw him near the study earlier in the evening,” she continued, her voice growing more insistent. “Perhaps he found the temptation too great to resist.” Despite her composed demeanor, Investigator Jones couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to Mrs. Smith's story than she was letting on.
4. **Professor Green:** Across the room, Professor Green lounged in an armchair, his expression one of studied nonchalance. “I collect rare artifacts,” he stated matter-of-factly, his tone betraying a hint of defiance. “But I am no thief.” His gaze met Investigator Jones's squarely, a silent challenge in his eyes. “I was in the conservatory during the party,” he explained, his voice steady and unwavering. “I have no need for Mrs. Hawthorne's trinkets.” Yet despite his outward confidence, Jones couldn't shake the feeling that Professor Green was hiding something, something that could unravel the entire mystery.
**Part 4: Mystery Scene**
The study of Hawthorne Manor was cloaked in an eerie silence as Investigator Jones stepped through the door, his footsteps muffled by the thick carpet underfoot. Mrs. Hawthorne sat perched on the edge of a high-backed chair, her hands folded tightly in her lap, her gaze fixed on the empty space where the painting had once hung. “It's gone,” she murmured, her voice barely audible, the weight of her loss palpable in every syllable.
Taking a seat opposite her, Jones leaned forward, his brow furrowed in concentration. “Tell me what happened,” he urged gently, his voice a soothing balm in the tense atmosphere of the room. And as Mrs. Hawthorne recounted the events of the evening, her words tumbled out in a rush, each sentence punctuated by a catch in her breath or a tremor in her voice.
Next, Jones turned his attention to Mr. Smith, who paced back and forth across the room, his agitation evident in every sharp turn and clenched fist. “I didn't do it,” he insisted vehemently, his voice rising with each denial. Yet despite his protests, Jones couldn't help but notice the subtle flicker of uncertainty that danced behind Mr. Smith's eyes.
Across the room, Mrs. Smith sat primly in her chair, her expression a mask of composure, though her fingers twisted nervously around the hem of her skirt. “Perhaps Professor Green found the temptation too great to resist,” she suggested, her voice laced with a subtle hint of accusation. But as Jones probed deeper, he couldn't shake the feeling that Mrs. Smith was hiding something, something that could unravel the entire mystery.
And finally, Jones turned his attention to Professor Green, whose relaxed demeanor belied a hint of defiance. “I collect rare artifacts,” he stated matter-of-factly, his tone unwavering. “But I am no thief.” Yet despite his outward confidence, Jones couldn't shake the feeling that Professor Green was hiding something, something that could hold the key to solving the mystery once and for all.
As the investigation unfolded, Jones realized that each witness held a piece of the puzzle, but none seemed willing to reveal the whole truth. With the stakes rising and the culprit still at large, he knew he had to tread carefully to unravel the mystery lurking within the walls of Hawthorne Manor.
+1465
Last edited by CherryMango17 (March 23, 2024 21:31:19)
- -lxve-bug-
-
Scratcher
22 posts
swc megathread ➷ march 2024
pup's thread (boy am i late :skull: )
AYYYY IM 100TH LMAO
daily for poetry !! 559 words about my dream room <3
My hobbit hole, hm… Well for one, there would be leafy vines absolutely everywhere. The overall aesthetic would be a sort of grunge-y cottagecore type of thing. There’s fairy lights hanging from every wall and random strings of multicolored lights, too. One wall is dedicated to music posters. There’s lots of hangings of bands, as well as a monstrous number of kpop posters. Some of the musical artists included on that wall are Sabrina Carpenter, Taylor Swift, Laufey, Olivia Rodrigo, Alice in Chains, Rush, Ateez, Stray Kids, TxT, Enhypen, and Xdinary Heroes. I love all of those artists a very normal amount.
The next wall has an enormous floor to ceiling bookshelf, overflowing with every assortment of books possible. There were strings of lights and vines on the shelf, and some random cute decor items as well, such as Sanrio plushies, miscellaneous anime figurines, and a rather absurd amount of Harry Potter memorabilia. There are also a handful of rubber ducks scattered on the shelf as well.
There were two good sized windows on each of the outside walls as well. The curtains were red, and usually closed. Sometimes they’d be open to allow the natural light to come in for the many real plants that were in the room. Most of the time, my hole would be dark, light solely by the strings of lights and a few dim lamps. The best kind of lighting is dim, but light enough where you can still see.
Besides the onslaught of music posters, there were also stranger things posters, heartstopper posters, harry potter posters, percy jackson posters, and various anime posters such as dragon ball z, sailor moon, spy x family, ect. Not only that, but there were just random posters across the hole. Some of them I have made myself! Others make no sense at all, I just thought they looked cool.
On the ceiling, there were lots of various hanging things. There were butterflies made of old newspaper pages and colored paper. There were a few cute hanging stingrays made of cardboard and paper mache. In addition, around the central ceiling light, there were bunches of paper red flowers. This gave the light, and the room, a very pretty, soothing reddish-pinkish tint. There were also vines strung across the ceiling haphazardly.
The bed… the bed was where it was at. It was a canopy bed, and the canopy was made of blood red fabric, flowing over the bed. There were SO. MANY. PILLOWS. Black pillows, red pillows, white pillows, gray pillows… the list goes on. On top of the bed, there was a red and black fluffy comforter and a few miscellaneous throw blankets, quite literally thrown onto the bed. There were numerous plushies on the bed as well, including, but not limited to, frogs, squishmallows, sanrio, cows, skzoos, and aniteez (if you know, you know).
There was a nook corner as well. This corner was separated from the rest of the room by hanging vines and fairy lights. There was a small, but nice tv in there, with a vine draped over the corners. There was also a beanbag chair, and lots of supplies for knitting, crocheting, and art. There was a cd player as well, and a humongous collection of cds from the artists mentioned earlier. I want my room to look like this so bad.
- PixelDucko
-
Scratcher
77 posts
swc megathread ➷ march 2024
✦ Critique for @ChueyTheCat
Word Count: 500? what :sobbing: I promise it won't take that long to read through though lol
Immediately, I noticed that the formatting was a tad hard to read. I think it would be nice to add a few paragraph breaks after each lyric, though this is just a personal choice!
If I quoted something but I didn't write anything underneath, that means I have no comment since it alright works great.
Also, excuse me in advance for my constant repetition of the word “well.” :,D
Overall, the piece was really fun to read and it had a cool concept! Sorry if any of this critique doesn't help, I'm relatively new to critiquing :,D
Word Count: 500? what :sobbing: I promise it won't take that long to read through though lol
Immediately, I noticed that the formatting was a tad hard to read. I think it would be nice to add a few paragraph breaks after each lyric, though this is just a personal choice!
If I quoted something but I didn't write anything underneath, that means I have no comment since it alright works great.
Also, excuse me in advance for my constant repetition of the word “well.” :,D
'Cause it makes me feel betterThis is a good opening!
Sometimes you wonder what it'd be like to have real friends.
Not that she isn't real.
But you're not sure whether she's even a she.
Maybe you should shut it all down.
But then it'd hurt.
Sweet true liesThis lyric fits really well with the entire piece.
All you've ever seen of her is her profile picture. Her texts.I really like this part! Excuse me if my inner English teacher is coming out, but the first verse sort of makes you wonder what the piece is about, then this verse clarifies it.
Is she funny in real life?
Does she really have a pet cat?
Does she actually like you?
You wish you knew the truth.
Against the odds, we bring a bloodless sacrificeThis lyric could fit with the story if you think of it enough ( bloodless sacrifices are basically just sacrifices ), but if you just let it pass by, it might seem a bit strong/warrior-like for the story, if that makes sense? Do what you wish with this.
Would it hurt that much to give her up?Maybe you could put this part somewhere else in the story, like after the next verse? The piece feels a bit back-and-forth with this here, but if that was what you were going for, then I'd recommend adding a few more contradictions like “but” or “though” before lines.
Maybe then you'd be normal.
Friendless.
But normal.
There were lots of friendless normal people out there, right?
It wasn't like you were letting a real friend go.
She was just an icon on the screen.
Let it goI interpret this part as “Let it go” being the inner voice of the character, and then the non-italics being the character arguing with themself. If you wanna know how this part might come off as, then yeah haha.
She makes you laugh like no one else does.
She's the reason you get up in the morning, to see what greeting she's sent today.
It's silly, isn't it, to feel this way about someone you've never even met.If you want to add more dramatic-ness to this line, then you could replace the comma in “isn't it,” to a question mark. It still works well with a comma though!
Silly to have to battle with yourself about turning the phone off.No critique here, I love this.
Silly to shake so violently when you see that she's typing a response.
Maybe today will be the day you get over it.
All those years, wasted wishes drowning in the wishing wellThis fits a lot!
You wanted a friend for so long, so badly. No one felt the same way towards you.
You were just the weird one. The odd one out.
She makes you feel like you belong.
But maybe she doesn't care either.
It's easier to lie when you're hiding behind a screen.The way this flows is great! The short sentences work well here.
Easier to cry, too.
You're crying.
Is this real?
Do you care?
Oh, I'm feeling better nowI think this works really well with the context of the next few lines.
Maybe it's better this way. Hiding behind a screen.The repetition is a nice addition!
That way she can't see your flaws.
Maybe that's the real reason you have no friends in real life.
Maybe they were too scared.
Maybe they just didn't think you were worth their time.
It's probably the best this way.
But are you really solving anything?
Or are you just sticking a mental band-aid on the problem?You could remove “mental” from here and it would still work well.
Let's go on dreaming, though we know it hurtsThis lyric really fits.
Maybe one day you'd be brave enough to fix things.If you wanna reference the beginning of this piece, you could replace the last line with “But then it'd hurt.”
Maybe one day you'd turn the phone off.
Maybe, instead, someday you'd tell her all the things you hate about yourself, see if she really meant what she said.
Maybe she'd turn the phone off and solve all your problems herself.
But that would hurt.
Oh, you could do this for hours. Thinking of solutions to fix your life.
You should have done this sooner. Distanced yourself sooner.
Not that she's bad. She's funny, and good, and sweet.
But she might be lying.
You know you are.
Nightingale in a golden cage, that's me locked inside reality's mazeThe lyric fits. Even the symbolism of a nightingale is kinda accurate to the story.
The other day she told you that you were as cool as a sparkly mango.I know this is part of the daily, but if you're planning to edit it without the daily in mind, then the “sparkly mango” part could be changed to something that feels a bit more serious so that it flows more? You could even something like “as cool as a nightingale” if you want to reference the lyric.
You joked about it with her for hours.
But does she really think you're cool?
Or is she like you? Desperate for an escape?
Desperate for a portal from reality?
You know nothing.
The world is crumbling.Maybe you could add a sort of break between these two lines to add more suspense or whatnot? Like another lyric, another line, or just simply a paragraph break.
You reach for the phone and turn it on.
It doesn't matter.A wonderful way to end this off!
Just another lie.
Overall, the piece was really fun to read and it had a cool concept! Sorry if any of this critique doesn't help, I'm relatively new to critiquing :,D
┌─── . . . ☾ CRYSTIE
⌗⌗ ☆ an introverted artist who enjoys writing
☆ Scratch Writing Camp
July 2022 ⌗ Hi-fi Faire w/ Sun, Goose and Star
November 2022 ⌗ Poetry Isle w/ Finch, Badowie and Viara
March 2023 ⌗ Poetry Coffeeshop w/ Stingray, Ivy and Hop
July 2023 ⌗ Folklore Woods w/ Skye, Reese and Hop
November 2023 ⌗ Fairy Tale Academy w/ Yume, Soph(ie) and Sarah
March 2024 ⌗ Epistolary Letter Terminal w/ Yume, Nat and Silky
☆ Scratch Art Camp
October 2022 ⌗ Botanical Birdhouse w/ Cloudii and Dawn
November 2022 ⌗ Traditional Towers w/ Finch and Alex
February 2024 ⌗ Gouache Gorge w/ Maia
⌗⌗ ☆ thanks for reading !!
└─── . . . ☾ GOODBYE
- ChueyTheCat
-
Scratcher
100+ posts
swc megathread ➷ march 2024
Critique Infinity: 467 words, @PixelDucko
Hey folks! Today, I'll be critiquing a stunning piece by Crystie. First of all, I just wanna say, this is SO. AMAZING. I was on the edge of my seat reading this, and the ending took my breath away. Your writing is beautiful and expressive, and the texting format really makes it come to life. I could seriously rant on and on about how awesome this is, but unfortunately, I must tear my eyes away from the introductory paragraph and get critiquing LOL.
Let's start, shall we?
(oh, and only words outside of quotes are mine!)
First of all, I'd suggest combing the sentences “He pretends to pluck the flower” and “He hands the imaginary bloom to Evan” into one sentence, to make it flow a little better. Second, I think I'd change the “with” in “with him and his best friend” to a “just” instead. Finally, I'd remove the “best type”, as it isn't really needed.
Okay, that's about all for this section! Let's move on to the next one.
Oh, and this is just a punctuation thing, but I'd add a comma after “back” and before “though.”
Aside from those, this is still looking great! Moving on.
Oh goodness, that ending absolutely shattered me. You crafted a beautiful story, held the tension really well, nice and taut, and ended it with something that was heartbreakingly stunning. Anything I thought needed adjusting in the section above was mentioned beforehand, so now I just get to rant about how gorgeous this is haha. The flower symbolism is really well done; it brings everything together nicely, as do the interludes and the flashback. I love that flashback–it lets the reader know how much Evan means to Derek.
That's all I have to critique about this piece, so I'll wrap it up here. Thanks for being so patient with my poor, forgetful, procrastinating brain, and for letting me critique this. It's truly amazing, and I can't wait to see what else you write in the future.
Adios!
Hey folks! Today, I'll be critiquing a stunning piece by Crystie. First of all, I just wanna say, this is SO. AMAZING. I was on the edge of my seat reading this, and the ending took my breath away. Your writing is beautiful and expressive, and the texting format really makes it come to life. I could seriously rant on and on about how awesome this is, but unfortunately, I must tear my eyes away from the introductory paragraph and get critiquing LOL.
Let's start, shall we?
(oh, and only words outside of quotes are mine!)
February 3rd, 5:08 PMCool, cool! Love the way this starts off. Looking over this, there are really only a few areas that could use some polishing, so let's take a closer look at those!
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, with 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. He 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 type of personality trait.” Evan grins.
◦ ✦ ◦
First of all, I'd suggest combing the sentences “He pretends to pluck the flower” and “He hands the imaginary bloom to Evan” into one sentence, to make it flow a little better. Second, I think I'd change the “with” in “with him and his best friend” to a “just” instead. Finally, I'd remove the “best type”, as it isn't really needed.
Okay, that's about all for this section! Let's move on to the next one.
The next Monday, Evan does not show up to school.Great transition here between Evan being present and Evan being missing–the only edit I'd suggest is changing the part about the parents. The word “magically” kind of cuts through the tension building up here, since it's of a more whimsical, lighthearted nature, and I think adding more distress to the dialogue would make it more realistic and tense. Parents in real life whose son was missing would probably be more than worried–they'd be out of their minds with fear and stress.
◦ ✦ ◦
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
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 “magically 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 reassure that Evan will be found within a matter of time. Friends and classmates of Grey will be interviewed and asked questions and whereabouts. More updates to come soon.
Oh, and this is just a punctuation thing, but I'd add a comma after “back” and before “though.”
Aside from those, this is still looking great! Moving on.
◦ ✦ ◦Quick tiny thing here, I'd put a comma after “Ma” and move the word “other” after “no” and before “sound.”
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
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 “magically 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.
◦ ✦ ◦
March 22rd, 8:41 PM
Derek Crescent + EEVAN
Derek Crescent: search declared over.
Unread
◦ ✦ ◦
LATEST NEWS
Search for highschooler Evan Grey is dropped
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 type of 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 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 is no sound other 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 word 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…
Oh goodness, that ending absolutely shattered me. You crafted a beautiful story, held the tension really well, nice and taut, and ended it with something that was heartbreakingly stunning. Anything I thought needed adjusting in the section above was mentioned beforehand, so now I just get to rant about how gorgeous this is haha. The flower symbolism is really well done; it brings everything together nicely, as do the interludes and the flashback. I love that flashback–it lets the reader know how much Evan means to Derek.
That's all I have to critique about this piece, so I'll wrap it up here. Thanks for being so patient with my poor, forgetful, procrastinating brain, and for letting me critique this. It's truly amazing, and I can't wait to see what else you write in the future.
Adios!
Last edited by ChueyTheCat (March 26, 2024 03:00:48)
just your friendly local neighborhood chaotic nerd author/artist christian keefe-loving coffee-drinking procrastinator
- unhinged_musings
-
Scratcher
46 posts
swc megathread ➷ march 2024
Daily Mar. 24th
The hobbit-hole that could be described as mine wasn’t particularly noteworthy. It wasn’t lavish and expensive, but it also wasn’t barren and cheap. It was just modest and nice - a true example of neutrality. It was homey, like most others. Maybe it was a bit on the bland side, when compared with some others. I wouldn’t describe it that way, though - it was just a little bit less enthusiastic about the aesthetic of things than those other establishments. I don’t think you could blame it for that, either, especially if you were to see the types of decorations the other hobbit-holes had inside of them in an attempt to achieve that aesthetic.
It had a long and tall wooden door - at least, for a hobbit-hole door, it was long and tall. Its hinges creaked when strained, and had even broken once before when someone had slammed it open with a bit too much force.
Beyond the door was a neat, tidy, and narrow hallway with only one item hung along its walls - a mirror that produced a reflection that was ever so slightly tarnished.
At the end of the hall was the dining room, featuring a well-made wooden table set with serviceable silverware and plates. A single candle sat at the center of it, its gentle flame twitching and flickering.
Behind the dining room was a door to the kitchen, which was perpetually cluttered but never quite messy. It had normal cupboards and a normal stove. All in all, it was an average room. Not particularly noteworthy.
To the right of the dining room was the short hallway that led to the bedroom. This hallway was wider than the entry one to make space for a bookshelf. It was one of the most-used things in the hobbit-hole, and it was absolutely stuffed with a wide collection of well-worn books. Some even rested on top of it and to the sides of it because there was no room for them on the proper place on the shelf.
The bedroom was the final notable room. It was ever so slightly messy, with various trinkets and baubles lying about on the ground. A desk sat in the corner, with a stack of paper and a quill in a pot of ink. The bed was perfectly sized, with a comfortable arrangement of pillows and blankets.
All in all, it was a very nice hobbit-hole.
The hobbit-hole that could be described as mine wasn’t particularly noteworthy. It wasn’t lavish and expensive, but it also wasn’t barren and cheap. It was just modest and nice - a true example of neutrality. It was homey, like most others. Maybe it was a bit on the bland side, when compared with some others. I wouldn’t describe it that way, though - it was just a little bit less enthusiastic about the aesthetic of things than those other establishments. I don’t think you could blame it for that, either, especially if you were to see the types of decorations the other hobbit-holes had inside of them in an attempt to achieve that aesthetic.
It had a long and tall wooden door - at least, for a hobbit-hole door, it was long and tall. Its hinges creaked when strained, and had even broken once before when someone had slammed it open with a bit too much force.
Beyond the door was a neat, tidy, and narrow hallway with only one item hung along its walls - a mirror that produced a reflection that was ever so slightly tarnished.
At the end of the hall was the dining room, featuring a well-made wooden table set with serviceable silverware and plates. A single candle sat at the center of it, its gentle flame twitching and flickering.
Behind the dining room was a door to the kitchen, which was perpetually cluttered but never quite messy. It had normal cupboards and a normal stove. All in all, it was an average room. Not particularly noteworthy.
To the right of the dining room was the short hallway that led to the bedroom. This hallway was wider than the entry one to make space for a bookshelf. It was one of the most-used things in the hobbit-hole, and it was absolutely stuffed with a wide collection of well-worn books. Some even rested on top of it and to the sides of it because there was no room for them on the proper place on the shelf.
The bedroom was the final notable room. It was ever so slightly messy, with various trinkets and baubles lying about on the ground. A desk sat in the corner, with a stack of paper and a quill in a pot of ink. The bed was perfectly sized, with a comfortable arrangement of pillows and blankets.
All in all, it was a very nice hobbit-hole.