daily 2:


i used mouse's compliment - the shadows seem to like you

Dark wreaths of shadows envelop Jax’s open hands, palms lifted towards the sky. They cling to him like a child to a mother, blending in with his very skin.

“The shadows seem to like you,” Bridger comments, tilting his head to the side to shift a heap of brown curls out of his eyes. His chair creaks loudly as he leans back against a table, a bright pink lollipop on his tongue.

“I don’t care whether they like me or not, what matters is whether or not they will obey me.” Jax frowns disdainfully, clenching his fists together, extinguishing the shadows. He watches as they slowly dissipate, melting into the folds of his skin.

“Well, an unpopular leader can’t command anyone. It’s a good first step that they don’t hate you.” Giving his lollipop a long lick, Bridger looks back up at Jax, his gaze firm.

“But I don’t want to be taking first steps. I should be mastering this,” bites Jax.

“Look kid, your gift is one of the most complex out there. It took your father decades to master, you’re not going to get there in a matter of weeks. It might be hard for you to believe, but you’re doing well. Trust me.” Bridger gives Jax a strong pat on the back. “I know talent when I see it.”

“I know that, but it’s just…I need to be stronger. For everyone’s sake.” Jax bites his lip in frustration.

“And you’ll get there. But not by rushing. You need to build a strong foundation,” says Bridger as he examines Jax’s hands. “So let’s start from the beginning. Draw them out.”

Jax nods, taking a deep breath. Slowly, threads of darkness begin to emerge from his palms, unwound like string from a spool. They crawl up and down his body, chattering happily as they embrace their newfound freedom.

“Good, now make them go to another object.” Bridger nods approvingly.

Positioning himself towards a table, Jax tries to force the shadows off of his body, untangling himself from their grasp. Immediately, they push back against him, and he struggles to remain in control. Bridger frowns, deepening the lines on his forehead.

“Remember, the shadows like you, so they want to stay near you. Communicate with them. Tell them that going over to the table is a task you want them to do.”

Jax murmurs softly under his breath, and slowly begins to ease the shadows off him. They skitter over to the table, encompassing it in a misty layer.

(419 words)

i did anthems for thriller, utopian, fan-fi, and fairy tales! i apologize in advance for the low quality


Thriller
An academy bustling with life
Green stretches as far as the eye can see
Students laugh and sing

Wings, antennas, a swirling mixture of color
Unique and bold
Our creativity is unmatched
We are different than the rest

We speed across the sky
Our fingers tapping keys
Boundless enthusiasm
Flying higher and higher
Can we reach the top?

We are one
Brought together by our shared interests
Writing together
Learning together
Doing together
Persistent determination
Thriller will prevail

Soaring through the clouds
Faster and faster we go
Urging each other on
The world is a blur
What a thrilling adventure

(101 words)

Fan-Fi
We keep the order around here
Guides
With only your best interests in mind

Together we will prevail
Right the wrongs
Restore the balance
Everything in its proper state

Don’t stray too far from the path dear writer
We are never far behind
A constant presence
Leading you to your destination
Step by step

The rebels cause chaos
Tipping the scales
That were never meant to be touched by their hands

Flying through pages
Ink splatters across the pages
Hands scribbling furiously
There’s never enough time to write
Too many ideas
Not enough time

Endless fandoms
So many choices
Options
Each one of us is unique

(107 words)

Fairy tales
So many stories to tell
Not nearly enough time
Only a month

We write as fast as we can
Fingers fly across the keyboard
Strings of letters pour onto the page

Does everyone deserve a happily ever after?
That’s up to us to decide

The Archetypes
We guard the realm
Protecting it from harm
Nobody can get past us

The Wanderers
We must unravel the mystery
Find the clues
Retrace our steps
And make it back home

The keys are all hidden
Tucked away
For us to find

We will find them
No matter the obstacles
We will achieve our goals
Fairy tales cannot be stopped

(108 words)

Utopian
We live in a perfect society
Everyone is equal
Everyone is happy
What more could we ask for?

Stars glint in the night sky
The city is quiet
Calm
Peaceful
Perfect

The Starlands
Wish upon a star
Transported to a magical place
There are no flaws here

Our fingers hit the keys in a steady rhythm
No typos, no mistakes
Words flow across the page like water
We never tire

Utopian is above the rest
Other cabins look to us as an example
A role model
They want to reach our position
But many will fall short
Few ever make it

We are chosen
Chosen by the stars

(105 words)

total - 421 words

daily #4:


Rolls: 2 and 6
Present tense in 3rd person omniscient pov

this was a bit of a struggle im not sure if i did it right SDFS

The cool touch of the air brushes against Jayden’s skin, sending chills up his spine. Attempting to keep warm, he pulls his thin jacket tighter around himself. Distracted, he pushes leaf litter into small piles, looking down at his feet. They have lost their fall splendor, bright colors faded into drab brown.

“Jayden!” a voice calls. Immediately, Jayden looks up, turning towards the direction of the voice. A tall figure stands nearby, wearing a fleece sweater and a pair of baggy cargo pants. The apples of his cheeks and the tip of his nose are tinged a warm pink. Upon seeing him, Jayden’s face breaks into a wide smile, stretching from ear to ear.

“Liam!” he exclaims, taking off running. Jayden nearly knocks Liam over with the force of his embrace, wrapping his arms tightly around him.

“Woah, I didn’t know you were going to attack me when I got here.” Liam laughs, his breath turning to smoke in the chilly winter air.

“I missed you,” whispers Jayden, leaning his head against Liam’s shoulder.

“Aw, I missed you too bud.” Liam ruffles Jayden’s hair, messing up his curls. “How are Mom and Dad?”

“Good,” Jayden responds, looking up to meet Liam’s eyes. He’ll never understand how he and Liam look so different, despite being brothers. With his dark curls and brown eyes, contrasted against Liam’s wavy blonde hair and green eyes, nobody would guess they were related. “It’d be better if you were here though,” he adds.

“I wish I was sometimes. University is tough,” responds Liam, staring off into the distance at passing cars. “Speaking of university, how’s school going?”

“It’s going well, I enjoy most of my classes. Well, except for P.E.” Jayden glances down at his fingernails, picking at them. “Why did you have to leave?”

Liam lets out a long breath, a warm cloud escaping his lips and suspending itself in the air. “That’s… a hard question to answer.”

“Don’t I deserve to know?” Jayden inquires, scuffing his shoe against the pavement.

“You do. The most out of anyone, really. I just. I don’t know if I’m ready to tell you yet.” Liam bites his lip, avoiding Jayden’s gaze. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s…fine,” responds Jayden, an underlying bitterness in his voice. “I don’t need you anyways.” Liam looks away, hurt apparent across his face.

(387 words)

Daily 5:

I read the first chapter of The Infernal Devices.

“You fool,” Mrs. Black hissed, wrapping her fingers tightly around Tessa’s wrist, knuckles white. Tessa squirmed, trying to get away, but Mrs. Black did not release her ironclad grip. Tears threatened to spill out, but she furiously blinked them back. Tessa refused to show any weakness in front of the sisters.

“She has no idea what a privilege she’s being granted,” said Mrs. Dark, stood at the top of the staircase like a vulture, perched upon a branch. Her beady eyes flicked back and forth.

“What an ignorant little girl. It’s a shame that she has such talent.” Mrs. Black wrinkled her nose in disgust as she dragged Tessa up the stairs. “Are you a bag of bricks? You can walk up these stairs yourself.”

Mrs. Black’s slap sent Tessa reeling backwards, the side of her cheek burning with pain. Still, she kept her face emotionless, taking shaky steps up the stairs.

Eventually, they reached her prison cell, or room, as the sisters liked to call it. Pinning Tessa against the wall, Mrs. Dark looped rope around her wrists, knotting them tightly, tying her to her bedposts. Then, she made her way down to the ankles, giving them the same treatment. When she was finished, she smiled, jagged teeth showing through the red slivers of her lips.

(217 words)

daily 6:

Click.

“Your door is locked, Mattias.”

“I’m well aware,” a voice sounds.

“Really?” Wilhelm scoffs. “Is that how you want to play this game?”

“Game? This isn’t a game, it’s a serious matter, Wilhelm.” Mattias’ smooth, velvety voice makes the hairs on the back of Wilhelm’s neck stand up. He tugs at his shirt collar.

“Well, you’re certainly not treating it like one.” Wilhelm stands up, beginning to pace back and forth. His shoes tap in a rhythm against the wooden floor, and he unbuttons the top half of his shirt, taking a stack of papers from his briefcase to fan himself.

Click.

Clack.

The door swings open.

“Come inside.”

Wilhelm grabs the handle of his briefcase.

“Excited to see me, are you?” Mattias’ eyes flick to Wilhelm’s unbuttoned collar, an amused grin spreading across his face.

“I am not,” Wilhelm huffs indignantly. “It was hot outside.”

A cool winter breeze seeps in through a crack in the door.

“Of course. Now, did you want to discuss today?” Mattias questions, adjusting his spectacles carefully. He straightens out the stacks of papers on his desk, which are organized into perfect, neat rows.

“The business that your father left behind.” Wilhelm smooths the creases of his wrinkled suit. “To me,” he adds.

“I see.”

Mattias’ gaze drifts to a globe on his desk, which he begins to spin idly.

“And why do you suppose that is?”

“Pardon?”

“Why do you suppose that he left it to you, a stranger he’s never met, as opposed to me, his only son?” A smile sits pleasantly upon Mattias’ lips, his hazel eyes filled with what one might believe is genuine curiosity.

Wilhelm is not fooled.

“I don’t know anything more about the matter than you,” he responds, choosing each word carefully. “As you mentioned, I’ve never met your father before.”

“So you say,” muses Mattias.

“Are you calling me a liar?”

“Of course not.” Mattias laughs loudly, as if shocked by Wilhelm’s accusation, “I was merely commenting,”

(332 words)

asdfds this is terrible my brain juice is so low


Dear Katherine Johnson,

From the beginning, when I first watched a movie about you (Hidden Figures), I was amazed by your talent. I’ve always done well in math, but what you did was on a whole different level. Additionally, as someone who plans to go into the STEM field, I’ve always found your work interesting.

I especially admire the way that you broke down barriers, even though many didn’t believe you could, or that they could be broken at all. You didn’t care what others thought of you, and persevered despite them.

As someone who is transgender, I believe that there are many barriers for me, personally, in the field, and seeing what you did was very inspiring. In fact, I think it’s inspiring to many other people around the world, who may be in a similar situation to me.

Even though I know that you’ll never see this, I’m glad I was able to write it. I know that people telling me that they appreciate them really means a lot to me, so I hope it’d be the same for you. To close this note, I’d just like to give you a final thank you, for all you’ve done. Thank you.

Sincerely, CJ

(204 words)

uh these slowly degrade in quality so only read like the first two ty ;D

Weekly 1:

Part 1:

Myth - Retelling

Abduction of Persephone

Orum brushes his fingers against the delicate stem of an iris, feeling the ribbed texture.

“What a peculiar sensation,” he muses out loud. With careful hands, Orum plucks the flower from the earth, tucking it behind his ear. The vibrant purple and yellow stand out among his dark curls.

A warm summer breeze dances across Orum’s skin as he walks through the flower fields, long stalks of grass brushing against his exposed knees. Out of the corner of his eye, he spots a brilliant blue flower, overflowing with color in a way Orum has never seen before. It’s as if it’s coated in sunlight, blindingly so. It calls to him.

“Come,” it whispers, a voice like sweet summer rain.

A drowning sensation fills Orum’s body, yet he has no need to breathe. Floating through a strange golden liquid with careless abandon, it’s as if he’s entered a state of eternal sleep.

He’s tired.

So

So

Tired

“Welcome to the Underworld,” a deep, rolling voice sounds. It’s the crashing of waves and the thundering of storms, and Orum doesn’t want it to end. A cool hand touches Orum’s chin, running a finger across his jawline with delicate precision. Power courses through his veins, and he feels alive in a way he’s never felt before.

(213 words)


Part 2:

Hi-Fi - Original Characters in Historical Times

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

Will not.

Can not.

The cost of failure will be his life.

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

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

A dull buzz fills his ears.

It is do or die.

A calmness comes over him.

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

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

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

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

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

A slit across their left eyebrow, freshly cut.

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

A faceless warrior once more.

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

Focus.

He has to focus.

(272 words)

Part 3:

Fairy Tales - Retelling
Cinderella

Ash gazes out of the attic window, his breath fogging the glass. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees a glint of gold through the trees. A carriage rounds the bend, pulled by two bay stallions. They pant heavily, breath suspended in the cold winter air.

The carriage is decorated with dark velvet, adorned with gilded leaves that intertwine to form a crown.

“Nobles,” Ash notes, observing the scene carefully. The carriage screeches to a stop in front of a house.

His house.

A tall young man steps out, dressed in a champagne colored tunic. Resting upon his shoulders are a pair of golden epaulets. Brushing his dark hair behind his ears, he glances around at his surroundings. His eyes trail over the house, before finally coming to rest on Ash.

A small smile forms on his lips, and he waves.

Instinctively, Ash smiles back, admiring the man’s brilliant green eyes. They remind him of emeralds. Or sweet summer rain.

There’s something about the way that his features fit together, his dark gelled hair, strong nose, and long eyelashes. It raises the hair on the back of Ash’s neck.

He’s… beautiful.

As soon as the thought enters Ash’s mind a fierce blush creeps across his cheeks, making his face hot. Quickly, he ducks out of sight, embarrassed.

What is he thinking?

He’s a commoner.

Ash looks down at himself. Dirt underneath his fingernails, and ash streaks across his face. Worn overalls with holes at the knees, and scabs across his arms.

Bang

The door to the attic swings open, doorknob slamming against the wall. A tall woman enters the room, a broomstick clenched tightly in her hand.

“What are you doing in here, foolish boy?” she hisses, yellowed teeth showing. “The prince is coming, and I will not have him seeing such an unsightly thing as you.”

Prince.

Ash tries to wrap his head around the word.

Prince.

“Why?” The word slips out from Ash’s lips before he can stop himself.

(333 words)



Part 4:

Folklore - Oral Retelling

“When my great grandfather was younger, he was the crown prince’s best friend. Prince Edward was his name. They did everything together,” Alaric speaks, a note of longing in his voice, “They were known by many in the castle for their wild adventures. A great duo.”

“They never got into trouble for what they did?” Zachary questions. The branches of trees shake in the wind, creating a whistling noise.

“On the contrary, they got into quite a bit of it. But the queen had a soft spot for them. She wanted to see her son happy, and Edward had never had any other friends. Besides, they never did anything that put them into serious danger.” Alaric pauses to add more branches to the fire, keeping it alive. The cold winter air raises the hair on his arms.

“However, as they got older, their differences in class began to drive them apart. My great grandfather was the son of Edward’s personal tutor, while Edward was next in line to inherit the throne. There was a very big difference in their status. One day, after a big fight between them, Edward was murdered. Naturally, they blamed my great grandfather. He was exiled from the kingdom, and that’s how my family ended up out here.” He scuffs the ground with his boot.

(219 words)

Part 5:

Folklore - Moral


Caleb’s left leg trembles as he grips the hilt of his sword tightly. From the stands, the crowds cheer raucously, their noise deafening as it echoes throughout the stadium. They wave banners and signs, a wave of color.

He observes his opponent.

Jacob Neal, the champion.

He stands tall, hands wrapped comfortably around his sword’s hilt. Smiling wide, Jacob waves to the crowd, responding to their encouraging cheers.

Caleb closes his eyes, blocking out all noise until it fades into a dull buzz. His entire life begins to flash before him, glass fragments piecing themself together in his mind, reflecting his entire life. The struggles, the triumphs. All of his training, enduring the pain, has led up to this moment.

This fight will define his entire life.

Letting out a long breath, he steadies himself.

“I’m ready,” he speaks, uttering the words before he can take it back. The official nods, turning to Jacob, who also nods in acknowledgement.

They take their places.

“One.”

His heart thrums in his chest.

“Two.”

His breathing is heavy.

“Three.”

His muscles tense.

“Go.”

Caleb makes the first move, slashing his sword across Jacob’s chest. Jacob stumbles backwards, caught by surprise, losing his balance on the mat. Driving forward, Caleb lands another blow, and another. A relentless flurry, he gives Jacob no time to react. His sword is a glinting blur, slicing through the air like butter.

Pinning him down to the ground with one knee, Caleb points the tip of his sword to Jacob’s neck.

“I surrender.”

(254 words)


Part 6:

Folklore - Magic Realism

The sun rises into the sky as if pulled by invisible strings. An orange wash spreads across the horizon, streaked with darker reds and purples, blending with each other seamlessly like watercolor paints.

Ariel’s legs hang over the edge of the cliff as she watches the sunrise. Waves pull against the shore, coating it in soft layers of foam. The sand glistens, dotted with fragments of seashells and stray strands of seaweed.

She takes off her coat and ties it around her waist, unveiling a pair of wings. They are covered in dark feathers, glinting with silver threads. Ariel flaps them slowly, warming them up.

“I suppose it's time to say goodbye,” Ariel says, voice wistful. Plucking a feather from her back, she tucks it into the hollow of a tree. Removing a small scroll of paper from her pocket, she examines it closely.

Snap

The scroll disintegrates into the air like a fading firework.

Then, Ariel launches herself into the sky, gliding towards the shore. She lands softly, disturbing only a few grains of sand. Tucking away her wings, she steps into the waves, the water up to her knees. It fights to pull her in, beckoning to her with the sounds of the sea.

(206 words)


total is 1497 words

daily 11

i wrote about how sometimes i feel like people judge me negatively based off of my appearance, even before they get to know me

“Why do you have such low expectations for me?” Alec whispers, forcing the words from their lips. Their eyes shift from person to person, nobody willing to meet their gaze. Each one becomes conveniently intrigued by the pilling of the carpet, and the lopsided leg of the table.

“We don’t,” Laurel offers, her left eye twitching.

Liar.

“It’s because of the way I dress, isn’t it.”

The words echo throughout the room. Silence creeps into the room like a lake that is slowly freezing over. Words stuck beneath a thick layer of ice. The hairs on the back of Alec’s neck rise.

Nobody denies the statement.

They feel utterly alone.

A lone pine tree, boughs weighed down by thick layers of snow. Beneath the pressure, it begins to crumble. At first, it braves it all, hoping that soon, the warmth of spring will greet it, melting away the weights that hold it down.

Nothing happens.

Branches begin to snap, as it loses pieces of itself. Loses itself.

It is a hollowed out shell.

Weak and frail, the wind claims it as its own.

Hitting the lake with a thunderous crack, it breaks open the ice, creating a chasm as the water breathes freely. It spills out onto the ice, flush in its victory. It is free once more.

But at what cost?


222 words

critique

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

Will not.

Can not.

The cost of failure will be his life.

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

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

A dull buzz fills his ears.

It is do or die.

A calmness comes over him.

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

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

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

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

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

A slit across their left eyebrow, freshly cut.

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

A faceless warrior once more.

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

Focus.

He has to focus.

daily 13

i used starr's quote! -
you asked me why i wasn't saying a word
i'm naming the stars in the sky after you

“I love you,” Jayden whispers, his breath suspended in the cool winter air. The sky is a dark canvas, covered in waves of deep blue, with streaks of white like seafoam. Countless stars dot the night sky, pinpricks of light.

“Always a hopeless romantic, huh?” Aelfric laughs softly, snuggling closer to Jayden. Slowly, he slips his hand into Jayden’s, squeezing it gently.

“You say as if you aren’t,” teases Jayden, elbowing his boyfriend.

“Oh be quiet, let me have my fun for once.” Rolling his eyes in amusement, Aelfric playfully twirls a strand of Jayden’s hair around his finger.

“Never.”

After that, they sit in silence for a long time, the cool winter breeze sweeping over them. The only sound that can be heard is the steady thrumming of their hearts, beating in rhythm.


“It makes me feel so alive.” Jayden stares up at the stars, his tone suddenly solemn. His eyes are open, yet Aelfric can tell he isn’t really here. There’s a fading light to them, like the receding of a sunrise, an ember that is slowly burning out. A glimmer of a dream hidden in their depths.

“The stars?”

“The stars,” Jayden echoes, “They remind me that I’m not alone.” He pauses, as if reconsidering. “That we aren’t alone,” Jayden concludes.

“Of course not, we have each other.” Aelfric intertwines his fingers with Jayden.

“Each other,” Jayden thumbs a piece of grass, shredding it between his fingers, “Sometimes it doesn’t feel like enough.”

Aelfric sits up immediately, turning to face his boyfriend. Jayden’s face is unreadable, shrouded by shadows.

“Why not?”

“I don’t know. I love you, and I love every moment that I spend with you. Yet, there’s always some part of me that longs for more,” His gaze slips away from Aelfric’s, trailing across the open skyline. “Don’t you want to explore the world?”

(309 words)

daily 15


Liam’s finger hovers over the send button.

Last message: Tue, Mar 2 at 8:59 pm

“Are you coming to Arlo’s funeral?”

In the text box, “Hey, I know we haven’t talked in a while, but I was wondering if you wanted to go get coffee sometime this afternoon. Maybe at our old spot? I know it’s not the same without Arlo.”

“He’ll probably think that I’m odd, messaging him after all these years,” Liam muses out loud, biting his lip. “But,” he says, his voice firm, almost as if he’s trying to convince himself, “I don’t want to have any regrets. You only get so many chances in life," he trails off, glancing at the photograph on the back of his phone case.

The colors are blurred and faded, warping the image. Deep grooves trace their way across the paper, where it has been folded and creased numerous times. Still, the faces are still recognizable. A trio of smiling boys, arms wrapped tightly around one another. They stand on a wooden pier, each holding up a large fish.

Liam thumbs the paper absentmindedly.

Then, letting out a long breath, he steels himself.

Tap.

Message delivered.

Quickly, he shuts his phone off, shoving it back into his pocket.

Grabbing his keys off of the counter, Liam exits his apartment. He stands on the balcony, arms hanging off of the railings.

The sun rises as if pulled by invisible strings. Warm golden light bathes the city, reflecting off of windows. A wash of pale orange seeps into the blue sky, creeping upwards from the horizon. Slowly, the city begins to wake from its slumber. Lights flicker on, and cars trickle onto roads, first a steady flow and then a rush as streets fill.

“It’s odd that this will be the last sunrise I’ll ever see,” whispers Liam, wistful notes to his voice. It’s all so routine.

Getting up.

Driving.

Working.

He’s never stopped to think about any of it.

Days turned to weeks.

Weeks to months.

Years.

Life rushed by, days blurring into nothingness.

So many precious moments, he had wasted away.

Afraid.

To step out of line.

To be different.

To love.

He was scared.

Scared of getting hurt.

Always scared.

Liam’s phone vibrates.

His heart beats faster.

With careful hands, he pulls it out of his pocket.

New message: Toya April

“I’d love that. How does three sound?”

One last chance to make things right.

(406 words)

critique for @-forevermore

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

To me, the sentence structure here seems a bit odd, somewhat cluttered where it says “heard my story told for centuries.” You could rephrase by putting “for centuries,” at the beginning of the sentence, and then a comma after “my story.”

you have heard my story told for centuries by a bard's tongue or a poet's pen. it is my turn to tell you the truth. zeus cast me from him, treated me as a pawn. i was molded from clay, by hephaestus's deft fingers. a beautiful woman, blessed by aprodhite. with the breath of a god, i was brought to life. nothing is my own, even my existence was a curse upon humanity, a “blessing” to a traitor's brother. you must forgive me for what i did. i only wanted something to be mine.

I think you could emphasize the last two sentences by splitting them off from the rest. This could also slow down the story, making your words more impactful.

light flooded across the room, nymphs musical chatter filled my ears and i lay there, half-awake, half-asleep. i almost felt content, until i remembered everything i had lost by becoming epimethus's wife. everything i was forced to sacrifice. what could've been mine, had it not been for zeus. i should've had silver cutlery and a gold palace, riotous parties that my siblings threw. epimetheus had left early this morning after our fight last night.

Same thing here ahah, I think you could split up your sentences a bit more to maximize the impact of your words. Especially the last sentence, which is a very sudden topic change from the rest of the paragraph.

“you know why, pandora,” his voice is so soothing. like soft summer rain, a sweet rose in full bloom. his calm infuriates me further.

I love the imagery here, it paints such a vivid picture.

epimethus was a pillar of strength. he was fortitude. sweet tranquility in the face of a storm.
“i know.”
silence had never been more deafening.
“it's like waiting to be mortal, waiting for you to love me.”
his eyes filled with tears. my epimethus, whom i had never seen cry.

Ahhh this is so good, I can feel the emotion pouring through the screen. The way you chose to arrange your sentences is a perfect fit for what’s happening in this scene. “Silence had never been more deafening,” conveys Pandora’s feelings towards Epimetheus in a clever way.

the key is in my hand. epimethus's voice echoed in my ears - i only want to protect you. yet my father's booming voice fills my skull instead and bounces off each wall - you must not open it. i turned the key in the lock. with a sharp twist it gave away and the padlock clattered to the ground. i opened the lid.
then the world ended.

This is such a powerful moment! I really like the beginning, with “the key is in my hand,” which I think kind of shows Pandora’s conflicting emotions? The only thing that I might change is disconnecting what Epithemus said and what Pandora’s father said. I think that if you gave them each their own line, they could be used more effectively.

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

The descriptive language here works really well. One thing I think might add to it is varying the sentence structure, all of your sentences are a bit long.

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

I love the way you ended the story, this line ahhhh. Overall, I really enjoyed reading this piece, you conveyed the emotions of your characters and dynamics between them very well. The only thing I think could be changed is how you arranged your sentences, and a bit of sentence structure.


306 words excluding quotes!

Alana yawns, waking up after a full 8 hours of sleep. It’s a very rare occurrence for her, but it’s nice to pretend to have a good sleep schedule sometimes. She knows many of her family members would approve of this change.

Opening up her computer, she prepares to start on the weekly. A blank white document back at her. She definitely isn’t starting the weekly less than two days before it’s due. No, she would never do that. Alana’s fingers speed across the keyboard, words slowly filling the page.

Looking up from her work, she sees a message from CJ (her favorite grandparent obviously). It reads: “hi bananannan alanan,” in typical CJ fashion. She rolls her eyes in amusement, responding with, “i am not a banana ceejay “ Alana has no doubts that they will ignore this claim, but it’s always worth a try.

With a minute, they respond back, “wdym you are my favorite bananaaaaa (“ Alana laughs, it’s nice to be someone’s favorite, even if it's something she isn’t. Obviously, she isn’t a banana (or so she says).

Soon, she polishes off the second part weekly.

“I need a break.” Alana decides, switching over to another tab. She begins to design an infographic about bananas, and how wonderful they were. Alana is a staunch banana rights advocate.

An hour goes by.

Once she’s finished with her infographic, Alana looks at her watch in shock, wondering where all of her time had gone. She supposes that time passes quickly when you’re having fun.

Only three hours left until the weekly is due. Alana’s fingers pound on the keys, and her wrists ache. Words flow onto the page like the rapids of a raging river, relentless and unstopping. She groans as she reads the description of the last weekly part. Five hundred words.

(302 words)

weekly 2:

this is very very rushed and so lets pretend that part two makes sense

Pale, porcelain skin. Clear as glass, glossy as ceramic.

She is a work of art.

Carefully applied blush on the apples of her cheeks, a dusting of rose. Thin lips, coated in a layer of crimson. They curve into a delicate smile, her eyes alight with joy. A twinkle of mischief in their depths.

The lady’s slender fingers clasp the stem of a lotus flower. A circular ring of vibrant yellow, encapsulated by soft pink petals, tipped with dark fuschia. She holds it to her lips, brushing it against her chin. The contrast brings out the underlying streaks of red in her hair.

She raises a cup of tea to her lips, sipping the steaming liquid with care. A pleasant summer breeze passes through the air. It captures a small napkin, sending it spiraling. Taking the wind as its dance partner, it lets it guide its steps, before finally coming to rest at your feet.

An invitation.

Instinctively, you bend down to pick it up, fingertips brushing the silky fabric. A carnation is embroidered upon the center. It is carefully stitched, a masterful recreation.

As you peek out at the lady from behind a bush, eyes obscured by thick foliage, she catches your eye. Her lips twitch with amusement. Using her free hand, she beckons for you to come closer. Frozen in fear, you stand still, feet rooted to the ground.

She smiles encouragingly, plucking a small periwinkle flower from its vine, and placing it in the palm of her hand. Cautiously, you rise upwards, making each step with care. As you inch towards her, she gestures for you to take a seat, pulling out a small wooden stool.

You take your place at the table, drumming your fingers on the smooth wooden finish. The lady passes you another napkin. On the edges, periwinkle vines adorn the cream fabric, winding their way around a small monarch butterfly.

(317 words)

Seven stars glint in the night sky.

Together, they form a fruit.

But not just any fruit….

Once upon a time, there was a girl named Alana. Soon after birth, she was abandoned beneath a banana tree. When she awoke, two bananas stood over her, observing this human baby with curiosity. They had never seen such a creature before.

“A human child,” Margaret whispered, awed. Tentatively, she reached out to touch the baby’s small fingers, feeling her soft hands. Alana gently squeezed her hand back, smiling up at her with a chubby baby smile.

“I think we should stay away from it, who knows what that thing could do,” Paul growled, wary of this new creature. He backed away slowly, scowling.

“Come on now, don’t be like that. She’s adorable, can’t you see,” Margaret cooed. “Besides, we can’t just leave her here, she needs our help.”

“She doesn’t need our help, she needs someone else’s help,” retorted Paul. He crossed his arms over his chest.

“Well, I’m taking her home with me.” Margaret scooped up Alana into her arms, glaring at her husband. Paul sighed, relenting.

“I guess I don’t have much of a say in this matter.”

“You don’t.”

As the years passed, Alana grew to be a kind and patient child, always willing to help out her parents. However, the fact that she was not like them never failed to escape her mind. She felt like a sore thumb, out of place within the family. This was especially made worse by the fact that Paul and Margaret were unable to have any children of their own, something they so desperately desired.

One day, as Alana was working in the garden, a traveling wizard was passing by. Sensing Alana’s unhappiness, he drew closer to her.

“What is it that is making you so sad, my dear child?”

“I just wish that I could make my parents happy. I… I want to be a banana,” Alana trails off.

“Are you sure that’s what you want? Things may not turn out as you wish,” the wizard inquired, drawing his cloaks around him.

“Yes,” stated Alana, her voice unwavering.

“Then so it shall be,” the wizard whispered. With a flick of his wand, he transformed Alana into a banana. She admired her banana form, grinning with delight. “I hope you are happy with your decision.” The wizard’s eyes betrayed nothing as he bowed his head low, and dissipated into the air.

Alana ran to her parents, excited to tell them the good news. However, their reactions were not what she was expecting.

They gaped at her in shock. A look of concern came over Margaret’s face.

“Oh my dear child, what has happened to you?” She cradled Alana’s face in her hands.

“I’m a banana now, just like you wanted,” Alana responded confidently, but uncertainty began to creep into her voice. This was not how she thought things would go.

“I…we only ever wanted you to be happy, my dear.” Margaret’s brow furrowed. “It touches me that you were willing to do such a thing for us, but you should know that whether you are human or a banana doesn’t matter to us. We love you for you.”

Tears began to well in Alana’s eyes, and she embraced her parents tightly. From that day on, she lived happily as a banana. And when she passed, she ascended to the stars, as a reward for her loving sacrifice.

(575 words)

Part 3:

https://scratch.mit.edu/projects/984156246/


Part 4:

“First place!” Clev exclaims as they run into the Thriller cabin, holding a copy of the main cabin standings. Everyone looks up from their computers, where they are busily typing away. Their eyes are wide open in shock. “We are first! We’ve beaten poetry!” Clev pants between breaths, still winded. They place a copy of the standings on an open desk.

Everyone begins to crowd around it, the air thrumming with anticipation. In their eagerness, they knock over chairs, and even a computer.

“Calm down everyone ! You will all get to see the paper,” yells CJ, trying to keep some semblance of order. “Let’s form a single-file line.” Begrudgingly, people begin to shuffle into a line.

As the paper is passed around, there are shrieks of excitement. Someone even brings out a box of celebratory mangoes, and begins to pass them around. Violet decides to starts a chant.

“First, first, first,” she says, getting up onto a table. Everyone echoes her, stamping their feet on the floor in rhythm.


A few minutes later, the noise finally dies down, and everyone sits on the edges of tables, munching on mangoes to replenish their energy. They squeeze out the juice into cups, sipping the refreshment happily.

“Congratulations everyone! We’ve all worked incredibly hard, and I’m so proud of each and every one of you,” Rockie announces, grinning widely. There is loud applause and cheering in response to this

“And, remember that the weekly is due in less than eight hours!” Poppy voices, “Let’s get that finished so that we can keep our lead.” This garners many sighs. Around half of Thriller shuffles back over to their desks, taking out their computers reluctantly.

“Procrastinator squad!” Cecilia raises her fist up in the air, trying to encourage her fellow cabinmates. They whoop and cheer, before beginning their work again. Their fingers fly across the keyboard, words spilling out onto the page.

Those who have already finished the weekly begin to work on the daily. The distinct sound of keys being pressed begins to fill the air.

A few script campers stop by, trying to encourage their siblings.

“Congratulations on first place! You guys got this,” voices Kit.

Suddenly, everyone’s work is interrupted as a flaming mango flies through the door. It lies on the floor, smoking, until Faith puts it out, pouring a bucket of water to extinguish the flames.

“Who could have done this?” CJ questions, examining the mango carefully, “And what were their intentions?” He doubts that this was given to them out of goodwill.

“It might have been Poetry,” Cae suggests, “After all, we did just take their lead.” There is a chorus of agreement.

“Let’s go investigate!” Faith exclaims, running out the door without warning. The rest of Thriller follows, packing themselves into a tiny elevator. Soon, they reach Poetry’s floor. Artemis knocks on the door loudly.

Recca, one of Poetry’s co-leaders, answers.

“Hi loves, come in,” she greets them. “What brings you all here?” she questions, after they have all entered.

“Someone threw a flaming mango through our door. We were wondering if you knew anything about that,” CJ responds, clasping his hands together.

“I have no idea. I was just visiting Fairy Tales, so I wouldn’t have seen anything. You could ask Summer though,” Recca gestures to where Summer is sitting, typing away on her computer. Poppy approaches Summer, tapping her on her shoulder. Summer spins around in her chair.

“Hello Poppy!” she greets her, “What brings you here today?”

“Someone threw a flamingo mango into our room. Do you know anything about that? I know we have a bit of a rivalry going on.” Poppy raises an eyebrow in questioning.

(613 words)

My lover's the sunlight (lyric from take me to church)

this is incohorent as i am rushing but UH

Her hair reminds me of sweet summer sunshine, gilded strands cascading down her back in a waterfall. Rosy cheeked, a dusting of freckles atop her nose. Warm, compassionate brown eyes aglow with elation. Golden highlights glinting in the dawn’s fading light.

She sways to the breeze, like long grass in the wind. Back and forth, eyes closed, she loses herself in its motion. Her body is not her own, limbs pulled by invisible strings as they glide through the air.

She is not here.

I can see it in her eyes.

That faraway look, as her gaze passes through me. A distant star, one that I can only see from afar. If I come too near, she will burn me, my passion and dreams crumbling as they ignite in the face of her fire.

She cradles the air, holding onto something that I cannot see. Her tender touch. The soft smile that overtakes her lips, when she thinks nobody is watching.

A nurturer at heart. Yet, she never lets anyone get too close.

Her delicate fingers hold power unfathomable to many. She can play our fates, as if we were merely her puppets. String us along how she pleases, making us bend to her will, serving her as a servant does their master.

Still, she gives us her everything, and asks for nothing in return. For what do we have to give her? How could we ever repay her?

Her eyes burn into mine, and I can feel her heat on my skin, just warm enough to be noticeable, but not enough to hurt me.

I get the feeling she doesn’t want to hurt me.

She looks at me, and I feel as if she knows me. Has known me. As if she has shaped my life, carved out my fate with the precise movement of her fingers, tracing each facet of my life like rivers across her sandbox. Her playground.

(321 words)

terribly rushed daily

Character:

Reckless

Dark

Spiral



Setting:

Secluded

Loud

Waves



List:

Broken

Fragmented

Burst

Severed

Crushed

Crumbled



The waves roar against the shores, coating them in a layer of white, sea foam glistening against the sand.

“You said that you loved me.”

“I do, I swear that I do.”

“I was a fool. A fool to believe you. I see the way that you look at her.”

“My eyes have never strayed far from you.”

“Why do lies flow so smoothly from your lips?”

“I don’t lie. Please my love, give me another chance.”

“I gave you so many chances.”

“One more. Please.”

“I can’t believe I let you steal my heart. You, you cruel and callous being.”

“You wound me.”

“I wish that I could wound you. I wish I could make you feel even a fraction of the pain you’ve made me feel. You don’t understand, do you?”

“I understand.”

“You don’t understand how it hurts to look at you. Because despite everything, I’m still hopelessly in love with you. I hate you, yet I love you at the same time. You are my breaking point. My everything.”

“You are my everything.”

“I wished that I was your everything. I wished upon the countless stars in the night sky. It’s the only thing I’ve ever wanted.”

“I can make those wishes come true.”

“For a price. The price of my dignity. My heart. “

“Maybe. Is that worth it to you?”

“No.”

“No? Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.”

“There are so many things I could offer you. I could show you the world.”

“I don’t need the world. I don’t want you in my world.”

“You need me.”

“I don’t need you. Not anymore. Not ever. I refuse to let you play with my emotions any longer.”

“Why? We could be so much together. Isn’t this everything you have ever wanted? I’m offering it all to you, yet you decline.”

“The divide between us is too deep. Your words cannot erase the scars on my body. The ones that refuse to heal. The remarks you said carelessly.”

“It was a mistake. I’m different now. I’m better now. I’ve changed.”

“You haven’t changed. Actions speak louder than words.”

“So let me prove it to you. Give me another chance. Don’t you think I deserve one?”

“You’ve crossed the line too many times. I don’t want you in my life anymore. This conversation was a waste of time. Why have I even humored you?”

“Please. Don’t go. Please. We can figure this out.”

“You can figure it out. Alone.”

“Why are you so cruel?”

“Because you’ve forced me to be. Your actions have shaped me. Every word that comes out of my mouth.”

“I was never like this to you.”

“Only in the way that you like to tell the story.”

He steps into the waves, dissolving into the rushing of water, the sweeping of sand.

(469 words)

“I hope it hurts,” Jane whispers, clutching her handkerchief tightly.

“Maybe it does, maybe it doesn’t.” The edges of Vincent’s waxen face stretch into a crazed smile. His nose skews slightly toward the left, as if it’s been broken before. A willow tree, slight frame, pale skin, and arms like thin sticks that could break in the slightest breeze. A ghost of a man.

“You deserve every bit of it. After what you did to my Thomas.” Her eyes are rimmed with red, pale, sunken cheeks coated in dampness. “Why did you do it? Did he really deserve it?”

“Oh darling,” Vincent coos, his voice lathered with sympathy, a cloying sweetness. “You really think I did that to your son, don’t you?”

“It sickens me to look at you,” Jane snaps, “You cruel, callous being.” Leaning close to the bars, she spits at Vincent’s feet.

“How you wound me, my dear.” Placing a hand to his forehead, Vincent leans back in mock disbelief. His fingers twitch in the air, as if they have a mind of their own.

“How does it feel to be despised by everyone, even your own family?” Jane glares at Vincent, contempt pervading her gaze.

“I don’t really mind it. It’s not as if they cared about me anyway.” Vincent twirls a small piece of wire between his fingers. “They turned on me the first chance they got. Didn’t even attempt to believe my side of the story.”

“Who would believe a criminal? It’s just common sense.” Jane crosses her arms over her chest firmly.

“I always thought that one was innocent until proven guilty. I was never given that chance.” Vincent leans against the bars, arms threaded through the gaps. His skin looks as if it’s been stretched across his bones, a pallid color. “Society deemed me a villain. They’ve branded me. It’s a label I can never get rid of.”

“You are a villain.”

“That’s what you want to believe. You want to blame someone. Blame,” Vincent spits, “It’s all a blame game. This whole system.” His watery blue eyes burn into Jane’s, long lashes framing his irises.

“You are a villain.”

“Am I?” Vincent grips the bars, his knuckles turning white.

“Yes.”

“Am I?” Vincent’s voice grows louder, like thunder, storming the world with his truth. Echoing throughout the hallways. Reverberating off of the walls. Each word is a glass fragment. Edges reflecting stories, if only you’d let them out into the sun. Is the picture clearer?

(414 words)

The words flow from your lips
Black stream of ink
Across my delicate paper heart

Unfold
Refold

Deep grooves and creases
Anger hardened at the edges
Slips between the folds
Of my existence

Unfold
Refold

Countless lines
Bend but don’t break
Start anew

Unfold
Refold

These scars make me who I am

Unfold
Refold

You take my heart in your hands
A delicate butterfly
You snap its wings
A broken hope

Unfold
Refold

Drag your pen along the paper
Dark marks and scatters
Claw at my insides

Unfold
Refold

I wish you loved me
The way that I love you

Unfold
Refold

I wish I didn’t care about the way you looked at me
Blue ink drowns me out
Lost in the sea
You take ahold of me

Unfold
Refold


—–

I’m a sailor
Riding the waves of life
Who knows where they’ll take me
But I hope I end up on your island

The currents bring us together
Carry us to our destinations
Strings tied to our wrists
Our ankles
Fated to be

If I could
I’d sail a thousand seas
Just to be close to you

You are the whisper of the wind on my skin
The spraying of the sea
Salt filling my nose

(206 words)

Content warning - mentions of death/murd3r su**i**

Exposition -
Introduce the two main characters, twin detectives named Benedict and Linus. They get a call about a case. A ball took place at the Wrilyn Mansion last night, where a supposed murd3r occurred. Lady Wrilyn, wife of Lord Wrilyn, was found dead in a bathtub. Linus and Benedict go to talk to Lord Wrilyn, the owner of the mansion. He seems a bit suspicious. They visit the scene of the crime and explore the rest of the house, which is in wreckage after the ball.

Rising Action -
There’s something odd about the mansion. They find a secret room, unsure of who it may belong to. They see a pair of men’s shoes. Taped up photographs of the couple. Suspect that it may be a jealous ex-lover (the Lord’s brother). At the scene of the crime, there are no signs of what caused Lady Wrilyn’s death.

Climax -
They find a blue bottle of flowers tucked underneath the sink. Benedict recognizes them as mornog flowers, which can cause instant death. There are no signs, except for the powder trail it leaves behind. Lady Wriyn’s lips are dusted a pale blue, with blue underneath her fingernails. They realize that she had taken the flowers intentionally.

Falling Action -
They still cannot explain the room. They return to it and look at the photos. Peeking behind them, they see another photo, and a note. It is a photo of Lord Wrilynr’s older sister and Lady Wrilynholding hands. To my love, Madeline, a messy scrawl writes. The note describes their relationship, and how Lady Wrilyn could not bear to go on without her, after her passing a few weeks earlier.

Resolution-
Benedict and Linus realize that no good will come from revealing the truth. They don’t want to ruin Lord Wrilyn’s memories of his wife and his late sister, especially so soon after their deaths. They return to him, saying that they were unable to find anything, but they suspect her drink may have been poisoned.

(325 words)

Part 2:

Red Herring - The pair of men’s shoes in the secret room. This leads the readers to think that the culprit was a man, who was jealous of Lady Wrilyn’s marriage. Linus and Benedict discuss rumors surrounding Lord Wrilyn’s older brother, and how he had eyes for Lady Wrilyn, but she chose the Lord over him.

Clue - The blue dust underneath Lady Wrilyn’s fingernails and upon her lips. The blue flowers left a distinct powder on Linus’ hands when he touched them. Lady Wrilyn would only have such dust underneath her fingernails and lips if she had taken the flowers herself. Her face was also tinged blue, another sign of using the flowers.

Clue - The photographs in Lady Wrilyn’s secret room have red marker streaked across them. However, Lord Wrilyn is the only one scribbled out of the photographs, signaling that he is the target of the culprit’s anger, not Lady Wrilyn. This hints that motivation for this crime may be related to Lord Wrilyn, not Lady Wrilyn.

Red Herring - When Linus and Benedict visit Lord Wrilyn to discuss their involvement in the case, he seems unbothered by his wife’s death. His behavior is nonchalant, and he seems unfocused on the case. Without much fuss, he gives Linus and Benedict full permission to go through his mansion. This leads the reader into thinking that Lord Wrilyn may have had some involvement in his wife’s death.

(228 words)


Part 3:

CJ prepares their clipboard, a pen ready in their hand. “Sandy, what were you doing at the time of the crime?”

Sandy thought for a moment, trying to collect her thoughts and remember what had happened. “So!! I was going about my business happily when a weird person with a breadstick bonked this other person on the head with it, and then ran off with some mangoes!!”

CJ nods, noting this down. “What about their identity? Did you see their face? Any identifiable features that we could use to track them down?”

“I think he was, like, a turtle? But he was possessing a dude in a suit with a top hat who looked super British.”

“Interesting,” muses CJ, “What kind of breadstick was he using?”

“It had a bunch of stuff on it,” Sandy said. Then she realized that was something of a ridiculously vague statement. “Sort of like the Italian herb and cheese bread at Subway!”

“Hmm ok,” says CJ, “Who else was there with you?”

“Actually, I saw this cowboy who had a cowboy hat on and was saying yeehaw and hey pardner the whole time?? She didn't do anything helpful though.”

“Oh yes, a classic texan. It's odd to see one out of their natural habitat.” CJ smirks. “Do you know how many mangoes were taken?”

“Erm, I don't know actually.” Sandy paused for a full minute and replayed the situation in her mind. “I thiiiink it might have been five? The thief just carried them all in one basket. It was a very pretty basket!!!!”

“Do you know where he might have gotten the basket?” CJ raises an eyebrow, a bit confused about the relevance of the basket's appearance.

“I don't know, actually, I'm not a basket expert,” Sandy said pensively. She did wish that she was a basket expert, because baskets were cool. “It was a normal-looking basket though.”

“What about accomplices? Did he have anyone helping him?” CJ questions.

“I don't think I saw anyone!” Sandy explained. “But you never know if he had some secret person helping him….”

“It seems like you haven't seen a whole lot, Sandy, for being a witness.” CJ leans closer, suspicious, “Can you tell me what you did see?”

“I already told you!!” she insisted. “A thief with a basket hits someone on the head with a breadstick and steals their mangoes, that's basically it.”

“Who exactly was hit on the head?” He inquires.

Sandy surveyed CJ carefully for the first time and gasped. “IT WAS YOU!!!!! Do you not remember any of it?”

“What???” CJ exclaims, their mouth dropping open in surprise. “Are you sure that happened to me? Not one of my twins? Or lookalikes?”

“You have twins??” Sandy gasped.

“I do indeed.” CJ nods solemnly, “You may have actually met them before and mistaken them for me.”

(201 words for my part)

Part 4:

The telephone rings.

Extinguishing his cigar on the ashtray, Linus picks up the phone. His foot taps impatiently on the wooden floor.

“Hello,” he drawls, examining his fingernails absentmindedly, “Barnes Detective Agency, Linus speaking.”

“We’ve got a new case,” a deep voice sounds, “There’s been a murder at Lord Wrilyn’s mansion. Lady Wrilyn is dead.”

The telephone slips from Linus’ grasp, clattering to the ground. For a second, he stands frozen, fingers suspended in midair as his mouth struggles to form words, opening and closing like a beached fish. Then, he manages to gather himself, bending down to pick the phone up, raising it back up to his ear. He clears his throat forcefully.

“I’m on my way,” he says into the receiver. With a click, he places the telephone down. A murder. That would be sure to stir up this happy town.

—–

Linus pulls into the mansion’s drive, drawing his car to a halt. The mansion looks as it always does. Perfectly trimmed hedges, shaped into long rectangles that surround the front porch. Holding up sloped roofs, tall white columns frame the entryway; a pair of oak doors are set in the middle, a circular window of stained glass carved out at the top. Normal.

Perched on the stoop, waiting for him, is Benedict. In one hand, he holds a briefcase, a fitted blazer enveloping his frame. He greets Linus with a nod of acknowledgment.

“Are you ready?” he asks.

“Of course,” Linus responds.

Together, they enter the mansion.

—–

A cool breeze sweeps across the floor, as they open the door, scattering shards of glass and uplifting scraps of paper. They dance in the air, swooping back and forth as if swinging on a pendulum. A crystal chandelier sways unsteadily in the air, champagne colored crystals dangling freely as they click against one another.

“It’s certainly a mess in here.” Linus nudges remnants of a broken plate aside with his shoe.

“She always liked to host parties,” Benedict remarks, “They said that she went wild with alcohol around. I suppose it's fitting that the same thing she loved took her life.” Tiptoeing around the debris like a mouse around a trap, he makes his way towards the stairs, which spiral upwards, wooden banisters gleaming. Linus follows suit, wincing when puts his foot down in something sticky.

——

Soon, they reach an ornate door, with detailed carvings along its frame, depicting the leaves of vines and blossoming of flowers. Benedict knocks on the door, knuckles sounding loudly against the hard wood.

“Come in.”

Linus opens the door with a click, holding it for Benedict. A tall man sits in a leather armchair, hands folded neatly in front of him. His face is marked by age, deep grooves settling in their folds. An assortment of books line the shelfs, tucked away neatly.

“Welcome to my office. I’m Lord Wrilyn, the owner of this mansion,” he starts, leaning in closer, “Please, take a seat.” Lord Wrilyn gestures towards two chairs in front of his desk.

“Thank you,” Linus responds, sitting down as Benedict follows suit.

“I understand that you’ve invited us here to investigate the circumstances of Lady Wrilyn’s death,” Benedict pulls out his notebook.

“Yes, that’s correct,” Lord Wrilyn responds, his eyes beginning to wander, unfocused.

“Could you tell us when you first discovered her?” Benedict clicks his pen.

“It was after the party. She told me she was going to the bathroom. I saw her enter, and then I returned to my office. A few hours later, I still hadn’t heard back from her. That’s when I decided to go investigate and discovered her in the bathtub.” An unreadable emotion passes across Lord Wrilyn’s face. He looks…almost bored.


(617words)

1370 words total

extremely rushed daily

You’re walking along the hillside when you see a peculiar sight. A small home, carved into its side. The door is a deep blue, rimmed by a circle of oak. An assortment of pots lay discarded outside, caked with dirt. On either side, two circular windows are carved out. Long grass obscures them from view, a cluster of vines creeping upwards. Leading up to the house, a small walkway, with silvers of stone, obscured by layers of moss and weeds. It is lined by sets of colorful flowers, overgrown and wild.

Inside, dressers line the walls, clothes spilling out from them like water leaking from a broken pipe. Piles lie unfolded, a sea of color stretching across the floor. To the far side, a kitchen, plates stacked neatly next to the sink. A small cabinet to hold spices, organized by color. Next to it, a circular table, decorated with a light blue tablecloth, embroidered with lilacs. At the center, a small glass vase holds a bundle of irises.

A long hall branches off from this main room, dimly lit by a few lanterns. You begin to walk down it, until you reach a smaller room. It looks to be a bedroom. In the center, sits the bed, covered in light green sheets. The walls are painted a dark purple, accented with gold around the edges. Posters hang from nails.

By the night stand, a small collection of mushrooms sits atop a wooden box. Curious, you open it. Inside, there are many different types of jewelry, from necklaces, to bracelets and rings. Many seem to be handmade, gold wire wrapped carefully around various crystals. You open a few of the drawers, but they are all empty.

You move onto the desk, which is overcrowded with different kinds of pens and pencils, and stacks of papers scattered everywhere. Off to the side, a candle burns, thin wick alight. It has a pleasant aroma, one that reminds you of sweet summer rain.

A small notebook sits open, displaying a half-finished drawing. A tall figure, holding a map in their hand, a traveler's backpack on their shoulders. Motivated by some peculiar urge, you reach for a pencil, grasping it carefully in your hand. Hesitantly, you press it against the paper, beginning to draw. As you allow your instinct to take control, your fingers sweep across the page in long, delicate strokes. You make yourself comfortable in the plush velvet armchair, leaning over your work.

(410 words)