daily 22 (?)
444 words
The hobbit hole sits, calm and content, in the setting sun. Its leaf-green door is ajar, the paint starting to peel, hanging on its rusty hinges. There are two round windows on either side, light drifting into the hole. Animals scurry away as I stroll towards the hole, fruit and firewood in a basket. I push open the door and walk in as it swings behind me.
Inside the hole, there’s a room with a round dining table, two fabric stools, a small bench and a fireplace. The ceiling is barely taller than I am. I place the basket on the table, taking out the limes and putting them in the cupboard in the right corner. Gathering the firewood in my hands, I set it next to the fireplace.
A rocking chair rocks gently in the corner, wind blowing the door open and into the room. Closing the door, I sit on the rocking chair, listening to its light creaks. The walls are straight up until they hit the rounded roof. The green fabric of my rocking chair is soft under me, this gentle feeling of comfort, of home.
To my left, between the table and the bench, is a doorway as round as the front. It’s lined with beige-painted wood, a stark contrast from the dark mahogany of the walls and ceiling, and the black walnut of the floor. I get up from the rocking chair and enter the room.
The room has a higher ceiling than the main room – not by much, but enough to feel more spacious. In the corner is a single bed with a frame that looks to be made of branches and logs, covered by a sheet with a leafy pattern on it. A silky oak desk is pushed against the back wall, covered in pens, pencils, and books of varying sizes. One is splayed in the centre, a page half-written, a pencil in the dip between halves. An old chair is tucked in the corner closest to me, only there for moments like this, moments when all I want to do is relax.
So I sit in the chair, lean back, and study the room: the specks of dust, glinting from the light wafting through the window, the empty space where this chair normally fits in front of the desk, the wall behind the bed, packed with books, the clothes chest under the window, against the left wall. As I sit, the light from the frosted window slowly fades, fading into pink, then purple, then nothing. I walk into the main room, light the fireplace, and grab the limes from the cupboard. Dinner is on its way.

Daily 24th March
421 words

Nestled in the side of a grassy hummock, a hobbit hole, wreathed in ivy. Through the creaking wooden door on rusty flaking hinges lay a sight of warmth and love.

The walls were a rich battered timber, as were the floors. Ancient nails stuck out from the floorboards and a coarse armchair sat on a vibrantly coloured rug, intricate patterns dancing across its shimmering surface. Stars hung from the ceiling, crumbling and fragmented, a spider web of cracks covering their wooden surfaces.

But the most impressive, awe-inspiring sight to see was the gnarled tree that was rooted to the floor in the middle of the room. Its twisted roots spread across the floor and sturdy branches reached out across the ceiling. Fairy lights were strung amongst the emerald leaves casting a soft glow across the room. A large hole in the wood was filled with cushions and pillows, and a hammock swayed from beneath the branches.

A dog barked roughly from inside the hole, its golden fur shining in the muted light. A roaring fire flickered across its angular face, illuminating a furry young face. Carved into the tree was a bookshelf, the worn-out books with frayed covers and dog-eared pages. A staircase wound around the trunk up into the attic where a small bed lay in the midst of the rafters. Woolly rugs and blankets were strewn across the floor and a small opening led to a bathroom. It was the only part of the hobbit hole that wasn't in wood. Instead there were hand-crafted tiles on the walls.

In a corner of the room was a tired wobbly desk, piles of thick parchment rolled up on top of it. Another fireplace adorned the room, this time a gaping black hole. A pale face peeked out from it. Inside was a winding tunnel leading to a cellar. Stashes of food on metal tabletops labelled carefully and precisely.

Back in the branches of a tree was a platform, stacks of sheet music assembled in precarious piles. A flute stood proudly on its stand, glittering harshly, a beacon of light. A ladder led down to a kitchen below, the tables splashed with ink and paint. Chipped plates, painted delicately with flowers and vines, clattered onto the floor as Silvi set to work on her latest artwork. Jasper (her dog) padded up to, his tail wagging back and forth wildly. She grinned and stroked his furry head. Misty light flooded into the room as Silvi wandered out of the room.

The Stars Align
by CHUROS000 (Churro)

The fighting turns intense. They’re yelling now, like arrows of hurt flying out of their throats and piercing the other one’s heart. They’re blaming each other for hurting me. The only thing I can do is escape.

“What do you mean, it’s my fault?”

“You were the one driving the car!”

“You were the one who didn’t want to use GPS!”

“That has nothing to do with the fact that you crashed the car. Own up to your mistakes, will you?”

“Now look. Ezra’s in a wheelchair.”

The accident was all they could fight about. I know they care about me, both of them, but that’s why they’re fighting, right? Because they care about me so much they don’t want to admit that they’ve both hurt me.

I wheel my wheelchair around to the backyard, the trees looming over me as twilight seeps in. I can faintly see the stars, already recognizing Sirius and Polaris, two of the brightest. When life gets tough, the stars are always there for me.

I watch the sunset for a bit, watching it melt into a bunch of different shades of orange, and pink, and purple, dying the sky from dark blue to gold.

“He’s failing school, what the heck.”

“You’re a terrible teacher.”

“Yeah, why don’t we just hire a tutor?”

“Haven’t you forgotten? We’ve got the water bill to pay back… we can’t afford anything else.”

“No, Ezra’s smart, he’s just not mentally well.”

“Yeah, after your mom passed. It’s all your fault.”

The sterile smell of the hospital looms back into my memory. All I remembered was a bright light and then darkness. The next thing I knew I woke up in a bed wearing eerily clean clothes and the doctor saying that I wouldn’t be able to walk again. Ever.

I can’t decide who to blame for the crash, but all I know is that both of them owe me. Maybe because it wasn’t anybody’s fault. It was bound to happen, in my dad’s mental state. I didn’t think he could survive four hours driving around in the darkness, coming back from our short excursion. He’d been acting a bit depressed lately, since my grandma left. His mother.

Now he’s got no mom, his wife hates him, and his son can’t walk.

I can’t imagine how hard things must be for him.

What am I doing, anyway? Just sitting out here, running away from my problems. Why didn’t I realize what my dad was going through until now? I’m a terrible son.

Even the stars can’t help me now.

At last, the sun drops below the horizon and the moon comes out, the sky darkening. It’s not astronomical yet, although it’s got the potential to be. It’s borderline nautical (I’m measuring the light pollution and how dark the sky is. Astronomical means that it’s full-on dark, nautical is slightly lighter.) The two dogs play around the sky, and the unicorn prances gracefully. Orion nocks another arrow onto his bow. Leo roars happily.

This is my only escape, a portal to tranquility when my house is turned into a battlefield. When I had nowhere else to go.

“Ezra?” The door opens and I almost jump out of my wheelchair. Not that that’s possible, my legs are like spaghetti.

“Yeah?”

My mom steps out, along with my dad, wearing matching expressions of weariness, guilt, and shame.

“What is it, mom? Dad?”

Next thing I knew I was enveloped into a warm embrace.

“We’re sorry.”

I wasn’t expecting that.

“No, I screwed up, I should’ve been a better son, I should’ve just worn my seatbelt, I should’ve–”

“No, Ezra, none of this is your fault. Our family may be broken, but we’re still a family.” My dad puts in. “Both of your parents care about you so, so much. You’re the glue that pulls us back together.”

“We shouldn’t fight anymore, look what we’re doing to you, Ezra,” My mom says. “We love you, and that’s why we fight. But we should stop fighting, also because we love you. I can tell you’re crumbling.”

“I can tell you guys are too,” I say. “All this quarreling is really tiring… we should stop blaming each other for things that we can’t control.”

“May Grandma rest in peace.” My dad smiles. “And may we start mending this relationship.”

And we just sat there, stargazing, like we used to before everything happened all at once. We pointed out the planets, and watched the comets rain down on us, winking at us, until the sun began to rise again and the stars faded away. But I know they’ll be back, because they’re always there.

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 to a flash of white. I peered around. Everything was white. The floor was white, the walls were white, the door, the bed I'm lying on, the clothes I'm wearing- wait what, the bed I'm lying on? The clothes I'm wearing? Questions overflowed in my head. Where am I? Why am I here? What happened to me? And, most importantly, What TRASH am I wearing?!

Furious at the audacity of whoever dressed me in these AWFUL clothes, I swung my legs to the side of the bed. I felt dizzy. Suddenly, a searing pain pierced through my head.

*drip*

That was the sound of my sweat dripping to the floor.

*paddom*

That was the sound of my heart thundering in my chest.

*Drop*

That was the sound of a steady tear falling from my eye.

What. Have. They. Done. To.



Me.

*Drop*

Another tear.

*Drop*

And another.

*Drop* *drop* *drop* *drop* *drop* *drop*

They’re falling at a rapid pace now.



My hands were heavy. My feet were heavy. My head was heavy.

I collapsed onto the floor. I carried my head in my hands, overwhelmed with… With what? WITH WHAT?!!! WHAT. HAVE. THEY. DONE. TO.

ME?!?!?!?!?!?!?!



All at once, I heard the sound of footsteps. footsteps drawing near. Drawing near until I heard a creek. The creek of a door opening. The door to this room opening…

I held my breath, as a shadow loomed over me.

“Ah, Echo!” A smooth, cruel, masculine voice from above me started, “I have you at last.”

Slowly, I raised my head, true fear enveloping through my body.

He wore black leather men's Gibson shoes and charcoal black tuxedo trousers. On the torso there was a dark grey dress shirt and a black blazer hanging from his shoulders. His skin was a marble white so pale, SO pale, I refused to believe that his body was possessed by any human. His hair was a dark navy blue and his eyes, HIS EYES! they were a matching colour. but HIS EYES! I couldn't take mine away. BUT HIS EYES! I’m trapped in a trance. BUT HIS EYES! A thick layer of ice covered my heart. I sat there. Frozen.

‘This is how I’m going to die’ I thought, ‘A slow, painful death’ I let out a screech of terror that bounced on the walls, right back to my own ears.

Out of the blue, the man got body slammed onto the floor, standing in his place was a boy around my age, a golden aura emitting from him. My saviour.

Her Warmth
Original Writing Comp Entry
Word Count: 1880

!!!TW!! Please be aware of the themes of loss and grief present in this passage, as well as undertones of emotional abvse. If you aren’t in the right headspace to read about this, please click away! <3
‎“Hey!”
I looked up, tears sliding down my cheeks as I hid in the cold shadow behind the school. Standing above me, I saw the giant glass pitcher smirk.
“Come on, show me what you can do!”
I hissed a small reply at them, “Go away.”
They clearly didn't like being told that, but before they could act on that anger, one of my classmates shooed them away, yelling various silly threats at them till they ended up running off.
“Run faster or I’ll glue you to a wall!” She shouted after them, grinning in satisfaction as they left.
She turned around to look at me. She was dressed in overalls with paint splattered all over her. Her hair was brown, curly, and up in two little buns that bounced whenever she moved. She held out her hand in compassion, “Hey, I’m sorry that they were being so mean to you.”
I cleared my throat, “It’s- um, fine. Thank you? I think? Also, what did you mean by ‘gluing them to a wall’?”
She gave me a warm smile, revealing pink braces, “I was just saying some weird stuff. My name’s Gali, what’s yours?”
“John,” I muttered, “I don’t really like my name though…”
She tilted her head, “Why?”
I shrugged, “I dunno. It just doesn't feel right.”
She copied my movement, letting her hand fall, “Okay, works for me. Sorry that you don't like it.”
I shrugged yet again, “Thanks.”
She turned to walk away before stopping, “Hmm- do you want to come with me to the garden?”
I wanted to decline. She was just some random girl. But… her smile seemed genuine, and the warmth she radiated was oh-so-very inviting.
I sighed, getting up against my better judgment, “Sure.”
Gali squealed and dragged me over to the school’s garden. She excitedly showed me her patch, filled with buttercups. She picked one and split its stalk down the middle, before putting it around my neck and tying it in place.
She put her hands on her hips, “There we go! You look pretty nice with it!”
I looked down at the makeshift necklace, “Huh. This feels weird. Thanks…?”
She beamed.
She glanced around, “Which one’s yours?”
I searched for it for a second before spotting it. I walked her over to the patch.
“I think Ms. Kathy called these… Periwinkles?”
She oohed and aahed over the puny flowers. After a second, I grabbed one of them and made her a necklace similar to my own. After the third attempt to tie it around her neck, I finally got it.
Gali grinned, “Look! We’re matching!” She paused for a second to gaze at our necklaces. Her head snapped toward a sound.
“John! Gali! Inside!” Shouted our teacher, Ms. Kathy. We both followed her direction, running in together.

The bell rang and I sluggishly got out of my seat, reluctantly grabbing my backpack that was WAY too heavy for me at eight years old.
Gali spotted me and waved from across the room, giving me the biggest grin in the world. I smiled back at her.
We converged by the door and walked out together by coincidence.
I spotted my parents’ car out by the front and slogged over to them.
My mother spotted me and came to meet me.
“John, put your backpack into the trunk.” She instructed gruffly. I nodded sheepishly and toddled over to the trunk, tossing the backpack inside and closing it.
I went inside the car, watching my mother go into the driver's seat. She started the car and we drove off in silence. I glanced at her eyes in the mirror and discreetly took off the buttercup necklace when she wasn't looking. I tucked it into my pocket and hoped she wouldn't take it away.

We arrived home, and as soon as we stepped out of the car, my mother stuck out her hand, “Give me the flower.”
I dejectedly handed it to her.
She took it and stuck the flower into her purse. It was crumpled up at this point, looking sad and dejected.
I related to the poor flower.
We walked inside and I hung my backpack up by the door.
“You didn't break character did you?” She questioned.
I shook my head.
“Good. Nobody needs to know about your… interesting ability. Okay?”
I nodded, walking into my room. I slid the door shut. I flopped onto my bed and lost the shape of the random boy I had chosen as my ‘character’. I rotated my head to stare at the mirror right next to me. Now I could see my shape constantly changing. Exploding, contracting, and molding into different people in the world. Whenever I held character, I was constricting myself to be just one person, and that both annoyed and drained me. I threw a blanket over my body, not wanting to look at myself anymore.
I needed a nap.

I arrived at school the next day, and as soon as my mother drove off, Gali rushed up to me. “Do you still have your necklace?? Do you still have your necklace?”
I made a face, shaking my head.
“Aww, why not??” She pouted.
“My mom took it.” I replied.
“Weirddd. That’s okay! We’ll just get you another one!”
I grinned. “Ooh, okay! Thanks!”

We were pretty much best friends from that day on.

Time passed.

Gali and I strolled down the street.
“Can you BELIEVE that my professor talked about mangoes for a solid thirty minutes?”
I shook my head.
Gali licked her ice cream which was dripping all over her hands, mumbling something or other about her college campus. I listened intently.
“Professoor- uh, Daniels, I think his name was, led a tour of the campus so that we could see everything. There were a lot of buildings that were, like, HUGE.”
I raised an eyebrow, “Your professor led a tour?”
She stopped for a second to think, “Uhhh- wait, yeah, that’s not right.” She licked her ice cream, “Oh, right! It was his SONNN that was leading the tour. He was a junior, I think-”
“Nice.” I tossed my popsicle stick into a trash can by a skyscraper. I took a moment to glance at myself. I loved how I looked that day. My power was in full use, my body a slideshow of other people. Every person in existence flashed for a second before changing. My name was Quinn, not ‘John’, and I was so happy about it. This was who I was. A shape-shifter, an identity adopter. Not just one person, but many. I could be restricted no longer.
Gali kept walking and I caught up to her after a second. She continued to ramble on about college, complaining about how small her dorm was, gushing about her roommate, and singing the praises of the food in the cafeteria.
We walked past a stand selling flowers, and after a second, Gali stopped right in her tracks. She pulled out her wallet and bought two small flowers, both little periwinkles. She split the stalk and tied it around my neck, grinning.
I held still for her. “Thank you.”
She beamed, “No problem! Can you do mine?”
I nodded, repeating the process. “There we go.”
Gali grabbed my hand and started to drag me away. She spotted a coffee shop and demanded that we go over there.
I voiced my approval, and we moved over to the crosswalk.
We crossed the street once we were able. After a second of silence, I heard the frantic screeching of tires and I snapped my head toward the sound. There was no time to move, so that horrible sound was the last thing I remembered from that point.

I had no thoughts during that time, other than the same reverberating screeches from that car. Everything else was input from the outside. I always felt so… cold. Sometimes, I was gifted with sounds from the people around me.

“She’s being unresponsive to the treatments they’ve been giving her.”

“Don’t let their mother in, she doesn’t deserve to see them right now.”

“Her heart is struggling.”

“They’re recovering, but I’m not so sure about the girl.”

“A funeral will cost… so much.”

My eyes fluttered open and I glanced around the room. I struggled to sit up. What had happened?! I spotted Gali’s mother sitting in a chair beside me, shoulders covered in a huge blanket. I blinked, trying my best to move around toward this woman who had acted more like a mother to me than my own.
She smiled at me. Gosh, she looked so cold, so tired. “Hello Quinn.”
“Hi.”
“Did I wake you up? Sorry, I was on the phone.”
“No, I didn’t hear very much.”
“Oh, alright.”
I looked around the room, expecting to see something indicative of Gali’s condition, “Where’s Gali? Is she in another room?”
Her face darkened, “I… guess you could say that.”
I immediately became more alert, “What do you mean?”
“Well…” She sighed, “Dear, I’m not sure how to break this to you.”
That’s when I knew it was bad.
She fought back tears, looking so small and shriveled up in that chair. “Well, um, when you two were out, you crossed the street, I’m assuming. And… somebody wasn't paying attention, so they didn't stop. You were just rammed down and passed over, but Gali…” she stopped for a moment to collect herself, “…got caught in the wheel.”
I swallowed, mind spinning with images of what might’ve occurred. It was horrible.
I took a minute to register, curling up till my arms could hug my knees despite the pain. I shivered, trying to grasp any sort of warmth I could in that sterile, cold room, but I found none.
Gali was my only friend. Ever. And she was gone. Gone for good.

Years passed after that. There were a lot of scars I collected from that event, some that no surgery could fix. But, despite all that, I lived. Gali wasn’t so fortunate, passing on August 22nd. Ever since that crucial moment, life has been so different.

Healing came, though it was slow.
Today was August 22nd, and so I stopped by a flower shop and bought a bouquet of periwinkles, which I was honestly a bit surprised that they had in such quantity. They didn't have any buttercups, so they offered me Zinnias instead. I thanked the shopkeeper, strolling out afterward. Kybi, my boss, expected me back in two hours or so, so that was all the time I had.
I visited where she was laid to rest. It was sunny out, the wind making it a pleasant experience overall. The sun beat down on my skin, filling me from top to bottom with warmth. I found her plot and sat by the headstone. It seemed like her parents had already visited. Everything was clean, one of the vases to the side of the stone was filled with some flowers. I set my flowers in the other vase, taking one of each and splitting the stems. After tying the two pieces together for both, I set them on the stone.
I smiled, laying back and letting the sun heat me as I sat with my friend, whose warmth I’ll remember forever.

hobbit hole



My hobbit hole would mostly be a library, full of comfy pillows and alcoves. There would be a desk with little fidget toys and trinkets around it, but still plenty of space to write and comfortable but sturdy chair so i could sit at my desk for a long time. The shelves are lined with all sorts of genres. I have many modern favorites, about also classics, spanning back as far as the epic of gilgamesh, every wall is covered in maps and family trees, and the lighting is soft and warm. Some of it comes from a remodeled old-fashioned street lamp i keep by the entryway to this room. It reminds me of narnia and makes me laugh when i think about the hijinks lewis and tolkien got into and how much tolkien hated narnia but still loved his friend. It helps me out when i need to remember that my friends can still love me and not love everything i make. In another part of my hobbit hole there is an art room, the shelves are lined with my projects and very few ever go unfinished because i don’t lose motivation the way i do now. There’s clay, paints, materials for sewing, the table is covered in many marks left by my woodcarving. My kitchen always has some delicious smell in it, and i keep my food in glass jars, there’s a very cute spice rack and a gorgeous teapot. I have comfort foods i like to cook often, but i have many cookbooks and i’m not so stressed about time, so I try new recipes a few times a week. I have a beehive just outside that I get honey from–there’s also wildflowers growing all around because I want the bees to have stuff they would naturally have– and I’m working on a vegetable garden, which i carefully tend every day. In my kitchen is a radio with all of my favorite music, because it’s always better to cook when you have music. At night I go into my bedroom which is quiet and soft. I have artwork from my friends on the walls, and copies of my own books on a small shelf. Most of these books have been published but these are my original manuscripts. My cat is on the bed and she meows when she sees me, demanding chin scratches, which i give her as I sit on my bed, content with the day and finishing up just a few more chapters of my book before a turn off the light and everything becomes that deep gray where you can see enough to navigate if your eyes adjust, but it’s still dark enough to sleep, and I close my eyes. In my hobbit hole, time moves much more slowly.

Daily 024: 420 words, Hobbit Hole

The hobbit hole was neither dark and wet and nasty, nor dry and sandy and dirty, but wide and spacious and comfortable, with many looping halls it was impossible to get lost in, because they all led to the same place–the kitchen. The rooms were just the right size–not so small as to be cramped, not so big you couldn’t get to know them. No, like the rest of the neat little hole, they seemed as though they must always have been that way, perfect and complete. Quaint and dainty furniture was scattered throughout the hole, most of it matching (and the pieces that didn't fit in anyway), and all of it was as comfortable as hundreds of embroidered pillows could make it. The library was the biggest room, and full of books from the ceiling to the floor. Wooden ladders lay against the wall to be used in fetching the books from the higher shelves, although it was clear from the condition of the spines that the more beloved ones were on the lower shelves, and the dust on the ladders seemed to indicate they weren’t used often. One of the shelves, although it looked like all the others, was secretly a door to a hidden room, and the dust condition on this one seemed to indicate that unlike the ladders, this was used very often. In fact, the owner of the house would often sneak back there with a book, a snack, and a cup of tea and curl up in a nest of pillows and read for hours, safe, snug and warm in the little corner behind the library. In fact, there were little secret rooms all over the house, some in the kitchen, one in the guest room, one or two in the owner’s bedroom, and one in the entry hall. Not that the owner had so many enemies or visitors–but privacy was dear, and the rooms were about as private as could be, being very cleverly concealed behind shelves and closets and wardrobes and nothing at all, as the case may be. Sometimes the best hiding places were in plain sight.
At least one of the hidden rooms was a pantry, and in it were stashed all sorts of delectable goodies which were replenished continually whenever the owner felt like dabbling in the kitchen, and there were multiple kettles hanging from multiple fires, suggesting an abundance of hot drinks. All in all, it was a very cozy place, and the owner was a lucky one.

writing comp entry – 193 words

The Poetry of Humanity

Poetry is the worn cobblestone road,
the shaded path in the wood.
It is the crossroads sign,
a river winding into the horizon.
It is the light streaming through stained glass,
the flipping of pages in the dictionary.

But, poetry, it seems, is not the deep reaches of ocean waters,
the sighing winds in distant lands,
the atomic movement of life itself.
Not yet, I suppose.

Poetry may be the shine of window glass,
the deep sigh of an armchair,
and possibly the full bus traveling down the street.
But, it is not yet the birds of the ice,
Unless, of course, one is at the zoo.

And even though it goes unseen,
it is still the shift of Earth’s plates,
and the shifts of the earth.

“And what am I?” I wonder.

I am the patter of feet on cobblestone,
the one that treaded through the path in the wood.
I am the guide at the crossroads,
the burble of the waters rushing by.
I am the creaking ship that forges forward,
the tiller of the earth,
the searching spotlight,
the poet who whispers words, even in the silence of the night.

Date UTC: March 24th
Time Comp. UTC: 11:57pm
Point Value: 2500
Part 1: 267/250
Part 2: 226/200
Part 3: 236/200
Part 4: 594/550
Word Count: 1323/1200

Part 1:
A: 51/50
Penelope and her girlfriend Minerva are both detectives working on a case together. As they get further and further into the case, they each draw very different conclusions. They end up fighting about the case. After this fight, they decide to split off and solve the case separately in a friendly rivalry.

B: 59/50
In a flashback, we’re able to see what happened during the crime. The criminal, a woman named Izara, used her supernatural abilities to raid a secret government facility, breaking into an underground prison to break out her boyfriend Judah. She brings down the entire facility with her, stealing several other objects from it and near completely erases her tracks.

C: 55/50
Penelope decides to check out the facility itself, going deeper and deeper into the prison that housed so many magically gifted criminals. Most of them ended up escaping, and thus couldn’t give her any leads. However, she finds one that was left behind, and after a bit of a struggle, she’s able to get answers.

D: 52/50
Minerva takes a different approach, deciding to follow a small lead, a single direction. A guard saw the perpetrator leave toward the north, so Minerva decided to follow that direction. She eventually finds a small house in the middle of nowhere, and when she decides to investigate, she finds Izara and Judah.

E: 50/50
Penelope went to investigate something in a small office building that would supposedly help her figure out what was happening with this government entity. Minerva, meanwhile, had decided to team up with Izara and Judah to take the place down. They meet at the entrance and the two groups clash.

Part 2:
A: 62/50
As Penelope and Minerva start investigating the case, a small file is their biggest lead. It was somewhat destroyed during the break-in, but certain information hadn’t been fully disposed of. Thus, the two of them draw from it during various parts of the story. It mainly focuses on who Izara is, as well as the government division that dealt with her.
B: 52/50
When one of the magical inmates is interviewed, he drops a comment about ‘darn potions’ which leads Penelope to believe that the prisoners were being experimented on. This ends up getting her to discover a file cabinet in the prison that helps answer her questions that she had about the government agency.
C: 53/50
The whole reason that Minerva is able to find Izara in the first place is because of an eyewitness account from a guard that was at the prison during the break-in. The guard had watched her escape to the north, specifically away from the city that was the closest to the prison.
D: 59/50
Penelope is slowed down by slowly combing through the files in the file cabinet, most of which were utterly useless to her, which wasted her precious time. While the information could serve important in capturing other criminals, in this particular case everything in the files was utterly unhelpful. She doesn’t realize this for a while, which isn’t very good.

Part 3:
Interviewed by @Lark06

Lark’s Part: 305 words
My Part: 236

Lark: “You were in the building when the crime was committed, right? Can you remember anything about an individual with a top hat and glitter?”

Bookie: “Oh goodness- Honestly, hun, I can recall every little BIT of our interaction. It ain’t all that pretty, I’ll tell you that.”

Lark: ”Well. Obviously the aftermath was less than pretty. Ecological warfare would tend to muck things up a tad. Let's start from the start, then. Were you frequently in the habit of visiting the Granite River shoals or the nearby roller rink?“

Bookie: “My grandbabies love roller skating, so I take ‘em on the weekends so they can get some energy out. I also go out on the rink from time to time. So to answer your question, yes, hun, quite often.”

Lark: ”Wonderful. Now. Were these… grandbabies, as you say, present at the time of the crime? Do they have any known ties to poachers, professional bass fishers, or lifeguards?! Being a toddler does NOT! except them from the laws of the land.“

Bookie: “*gasp* ExCUSE me, my grandbabies would NEVER commit a crime! The most criminal thing they’ve ever done is being too gosh darn adorable!”

Lark: ”Hm. I can see you're not much of a critical opinion on this topic. I'll have my guys run a background check, but let's move on. At any point during your visit to the roller rink did you notice anything unusual? Absurd, or more so than usual?“

Bookie: “Just that there were some of my old high school buds there. Most of ‘em moved to other countries so it was certainly unusual. Oh yes, and that person you were describin’ earlier. Hun, they had an /atrocious/ sense of fashion, goodness-”

Lark: ”I'll note that. You're absolutely right though. If I ever wore leopard print with a plaid jacket, I would not be out committing crimes. Now, your high school pals… was there a reunion planned? Do you know why they were meeting? Did it have anything to do with Casimir Pulaski day?“

Bookie: “Nope, there wasn't a single message I received. They all didn't really keep in touch with me, which is alright I suppose, but oh well- They were all dispersed around the room, not all together. And with the whole ‘day’ thing, I don't believe so.”

Lark: ”Interesting. Did your school have any clubs, societies, organizations that ever struck you as out-of-place? Secret? We have reason to suspect this was not a one-person crime.“

Bookie: “Weeeeellllll- the drama club was always mighty tight, always goin’ over to someone’s house to have weird parties. Oh yeah, and the ‘secret society of fashion’ club, but that one isn't too relevant.”

Lark: ”I fear that's typical theater kid behavior. But, let's expound on that last bit, shall we. Were those classmates, to your knowledge, present members of the secret society? Would you describe them as snazzy? Sharp-dressed?“

Bookie: “Nah, not in the slightest.”

Lark: ”Perhaps the opposite, then? Atrocious fashion sense?“

Bookie: “Oh yes, it's utterly horrendous!”

Lark: ”Terrible indeed. Well, I appreiciate your cooperation in this interview. We'll be in touch with any further questions. Now, are there any last details you think might be relevant to our investigation?"

Bookie: “Weeeeeellllll- I should probably state that I do have a list of all the people that I went to high school with, sooo-”

Part 4:
Penelope lounged on the couch in her small apartment in Las Vegas. It was so, so quiet, the only noise being a news interview about… a man with atrocious fashion sense? Lovely.
She heard a knock at the door and perked up, springing over to open the door.
“Hi Sweet Pea,” Minerva greeted, stepping into her girlfriend’s apartment, “I have all the files you requested.”
Penelope pumped her fist, “Woo! Thank you!”
Minerva smiled, waltzing over to the table and sitting down. She spread the files over the table. “So, here’s what we’ve got so far. Make sure you look over everything.”
Penelope nodded, sitting next to her. Her eyes started skimming the pages. Prison break-in. The middle of nowhere. Plant magic.
Penelope looked up at Minerva, who was just watching her do what she did best. Minerva tilted her head as she caught her eye, waiting for some sort of question.
“Are you sure that this is everything?”
Minerva nodded. “Yep, this is everything. We’re going to have to search the actual place tomorrow for more clues though.”
“Why not today?”
“We won’t be allowed clearance until tomorrow.” She shrugged. “It’s weird, but we’ll have to deal with it to get answers.”
Penelope took her hand, “Well, at least we’ll be there together.”
Minerva cringed, “Well… yes. But the thing is, I already found a lead without even needing to go there.”
Penelope raised an eyebrow, “And what’s that?”
“We know where the perp went as well as the other person they brought with them. Or, at least what direction they went in.”
“But don’t you think we should study the scene of the crime first?”
Minerva shook her head, “This is too good of a lead to not investigate.”
Penelope pouted, “But I wanted to see the place!”
Minerva tapped her chin, “What if we do both? I follow the criminal, you check out the place?”
Penelope nodded, “And whoever finds something reports to the other?”
Minerva nodded as well, “Works for me.”
Penelope pursed her lips, “Howww about we make this a competition? First person to find something gets… I dunno, to pick the movie next movie night?”
Minerva giggled, holding out her hand to shake, “Sounds like a deal.”
Penelope shook her hand, grinning, “I can’t wait to watch Mean Girls.”
Her girlfriend looked horrified, “No! We’re watching How to Train Your Dragon. Andddd all of the sequels.”
Penelope laughed, “I thought it was just one movie!”
“Well, if I win, it’ll be the entire saga.”
She rolled her eyes, “Okay, fine. Then if I win we also have to watch the Princess Diaries.”
Minerva groaned, “Really? Those movies?”
Penelope grinned, “Yep. Those movies.”
“Well… okay. But I’m going to win anyway so it’s not going to matter in the end.” Minerva said, giggling.
“Nooo, I’m going to get to watch my chick flicks! And you’re going to like it!”
A figure flashed by the window, but neither of the girls noticed.
Minerva huffed, “Okay… fineee. But I still think I’m going to find the perp first.”
Penelope tussled her hair, “We’ll see tomorrow.”
Minerva nodded, grinning. She grabbed a file folder and opened it, “I’d better start preparing by looking at some pictures from the security tapes.”
Penelope grabbed another folder, “And I’d better start preparing by… uh, I dunno, but I’ll figure it out.”
Minerva laughed, laying her head on Penelope’s shoulder, “You’d better be quick. You don’t have a lot of time.”
Penelope smiled, patting her head, “No, but I work best under pressure. You know that.”

Genuinely, I think I would love being a small underground-dwelling humanoid creature. I would have a den system kind of like a rabbit warren, with a bunch of tunnels leading from one “room” to the next. Assuming I’m slightly larger than a rabbit myself, the entire network might be 400 square meters. However, most of this would be outer storage areas and long passageways leading to a wide range of different exits. The core rooms where I would spend most of my time would be close together, towards the center.
The place would seem like a maze to anyone else, but it’d be familiar to me. It’d be a patchwork of different bits and pieces that I’d scavenged from elsewhere, as well as repurposed objects and various unmatching decorations. I’m a bit of a hoarder, so items relating to my hobbies and interests, as well as just random stuff in general, would be everywhere.
My main living areas would likely have a floor made of smooth stones sunk into the dirt, with soft rugs here and there. Since these rooms would be larger, the walls and ceiling would need supports to prevent them from caving in, and also some sort of insulation to keep the dampness out.
I’d have different sleeping areas for cold and hot weather because I’m assuming air conditioning and heating will have to be done without modern technology. One area can have a fireplace, with a tunnel leading to the surface for a chimney. It would be full of soft blankets and squishy pillows. The other area might be deeper underground, where it’s cooler. If possible, I’d try to make the room sloped, so that half could be filled with a pool of water and the other half would be dry for me to sleep in. I’d probably just sleep directly on the smooth stones of the floor, or, if that was too uncomfortable, a few blankets spread out over the ground.
I would have a room for preparing and eating food, linked by tunnels to different rooms where the food was stored. I’m not a huge fan of cleaning stuff, but of all my rooms, this one would be kept the neatest. My kitchen utensils would be fairly organized and I’d make sure there was a place for everything. This room would also need a chimney, because I’d be cooking things over a fire.
I’m not sure whether hobbits had modern plumbing systems, but if not, there can’t really be a bathroom… I’d probably just have to go outside.
The outer rooms would be less polished. with just dirt floors and walls. Most of them would be used for storage, both for food and my collections of stuff. In real life, I collect plastic eggs, bouncy balls, toy dinosaurs, and plush turtles. In this world, I would collect whatever the equivalents of those things are. My collections would be partially organized, partially cluttered, depending on how motivated I got to sort them.
I also like doing art and crafting, so I’d have rooms where I could make a mess with my art supplies and not have to worry about cleaning it up. There would be shelves of art supplies along the edges of these rooms so that everything was easy to access when I wanted it.
My bookshelves would need to be in a room proofed against moisture, but there are too many of them to just fit in one of the living spaces. Therefore, I’d have a specialized book room.

3/24/2024
if the fandom girlies ever find this im sorry for the amount of sdf spoilers

part 1
wc: 463

wc: 87
inciting event: a delegate from the dark forest comes to starclan, wanting their escapee back and rumors spread FAST. starcatcher knows immediately who they're talking about and tells ghost. panic, panic, panic. who is the delegate, how long do they have before the delegate comes to investigate starclan, and most of all— when will they be brave enough to face their problems? this dilemma forces them to start their own personal quests prematurely: ghost's to atone for his sins and starcatcher's to finally make a difference in the world.

wc: 94
rising action: fallingchime tells starcatcher a couple of clues she heard from the grapevine. starcatcher appreciates the help, but she notices fallingchime's been acting off lately. starcatcher hangs out with her friends and overhears some fresh hot gossip served steaming. starcatcher pieces the clues together and realizes what's going to happen. she rushes to the border with fallingchime and they see another cat who escaped the place of no stars. there's already a commotion with even more cats crowding around to see this fragile, tiny she-cat begging for her life, saying she wants to start anew.

wc: 67
the climax: the starclan cats, because they're good natured, accept her in. there's a little bit of suspicion, but they can't just ignore her- bleeding and spilling blood everywhere. fallingchime takes her in. she reveals herself as monarchflame, and she tells starclan about what's been happening in the dark forest. the delegate comes, an investigation takes place, ghost spills his past, and starcatcher stands up. also more flower symbolism

wc: 154
falling action: a group of skilled fighters cross the border to the place of no stars to confront them about what's been happening in the forest. starcatcher and ghost go with them, because, you know, they're the ones who started it all. ghost leads them to the heart of the forest (lots of fighting along the way) and there they find a bleeding heart. no, not literally. it's a cat, curled within himself– he just wants the best for everyone. everyone recognizes him.

there's gonna be a boat load of flower symbolism here. he's like the monarchy in quest of deltora, tricked into believing that their kingdom was well when in fact it was in ruin. something, something, they convince him, and fight their way out. starcatcher says to the cats of the dark forest that they can either atone for their sins or stay in the forest, rotting for the rest of their immortal lives.

wc: 61
resolution: after the chaos, all starcatcher wants is a break. she goes back to her den and gets her beauty sleep. she encourages ghost to move into the community, and eventually he does. he likes it there. a couple more refugees come and nobody objects. fallingchime and monarchflame become a couple :3

and then they all live happily ever after. the end.

part 2
wc:

1 red herring: the gossip from fallingchime and the rest of starcatcher's friends. starcatcher overhears someone say that the delegate is this mean, big bad wolf planning to overthrow starclan. it's dramatized to the max– like tigerstar the first reborn. he's huge, hulking, burly, strong– someone that could rip starclan to shreds if he really wanted.

2 clue: monarchflame herself. she asks starcatcher if she's seen a cat about her own size stumble in a few moons prior to her own escape. she says he has dark blue fur and the most awe inspiring orange eyes. she says that if you see him once you'll never forget, because his eyes could seer themselves into somebody's mind forever. of course, she's talking about ghost. monarchflame tells a couple stories about him too, about his past, about his family.

3 red herring: fallingchime keeps acting oddly around starcatcher after monarchflame is brought into her medicine den to heal. there's something she won't tell her, even though they're best friends. but starcatcher can't blame her, because isn't that what she had been doing for the past moons? they don't communicate, and it slowly wears on their friendship.

4 clue: the flowers ghost keeps leaving everywhere. starcatcher jokes about how she's infected him too, but she recognizes how he keeps choosing flowers that symbolize betrayal, hurt, pain. this is after monarchflame comes in. it's a stark difference to when starcatcher first brought him flowers. during those times, he requested flowers that symbolized peace, friendship, and rebirth.

part 3 with @poppywriter
wc: 226
*nobody sees this right

on the night of 3/23/2024? it was, if not, one of the most spectacular things i've ever seen. the majesty of balrog stunned me to my very core– it is the one being to rule them all. “to war?”, no, it should be “all hail!”. *coughs* i got a bit sidetracked there.

what's the next question? hmm, my initial reaction? a cold, hard fury. but because i am a well mannered young lady, i did not immediately go after balrogurtle. i read their defenses against the balrog, but they were weak and foolhardy.

well, um. i literally can't do anything but be a cheerleader to all those fighting because i'm not officially a scratcher. it's so frustrating but i'm rooting for everyone fighting!!

balrog's majestic!! humongous, black scaled with firey scales intertwined with the black. it has two wings unfurling from its back, with matching curled horns branching from its head. truly a fine creature. i find their design awesome and the fire it breathes an otherworldly beauty. erm, just a secret between you and me: i haven't read lord of the rings.*

the arson can be excused, i do that everyday. wait don't call the police on me i swear i'm innocent!! other criminal activity, no way. balrog's just living their life, and even if they have committed war crimes… then. um. *flees*

part 4

“you know what's going on?” she shouted to fallingchime over the noise of the crowd.

“no idea! but i know there's gonna be some good gossip floating around after this!” she grinned.

starcatcher rolled her eyes at fallingchime. didn't she see this was more important than something new to gossip about for the week?

she didn't get any time to think about that more as they finally reached the front of the crowd. starcatcher drew in her breath.

they were at the border to the place of no stars, where the green of starclan seeped into a harsh black. yonder, starcatcher could see towering pine trees- almost as tall as the mountains in starclan. what drew everyone's attention, though, was the young cat crying her eyes out at the border.

she was bruised and broken, blood running down her brown pelt. her green eyes were wide– confused and lost. dear starclan, had she… had she been through the same things as him? she had already died, and now she was bleeding again. dead cats don't bleed.

the entire crowd could tell that this she-cat obviously came from the place of no stars.

a single thought crossed starcatcher's mind in that moment. ghost.

"please i'll do anything! please, please, please—i'll, i'll do anything! anything, anything i just don't want to go back please i'm begging, i'm begging please please i just don't want to…“ the cat broke down in sobs and collapsed in a heap in front of the nearest cat's paws– which just so happened to be fallingchime's. the crowd quieted as the cat lay there, shivering.

the stranger lifted her head for a moment, and stared wearily into fallingchime's eyes. her eyes shone, almost exactly like ghost's. they glowed like a dying ember, almost extinguished. her spirit was in there, somewhere, even if her body was broken. she was nothing but a corpse, yet her eyes smoldered, they burned and raged and flared like a wildfire, an everlasting inferno. something in those eyes held hope that one day she would live again.

fallingchime flinched back in shock or disgust, starcatcher couldn't tell. just a minute before fallingchime had been laughing, but now her amber eyes were wide open, her pupils dilated. she lifted one paw in the air as if she was going to step back, but stayed frozen.

”fallingchime!“ starcatcher snapped, and almost immediately bit her tongue. that came out more aggressive than she intended, but in this situation… ”fallingchime, you're scaring her.“

the grey she-cat broke out of her trance and backed up like she was afraid of the broken cat in front of her. as fallingchime stepped back, starcatcher noticed red sticking onto her claws.

”there's something on your claws.“

”huh?“ fallingchime looked down. ”oh, thanks.“

casting a concerned look at her friend, starcatcher glanced back at the dark forest cat. a couple of cats were helping her to stands, murmuring sweet nothings to the blubbering cat. drops of blood dripped from her wounds as she stumbled her way across the grass, mixing in with her tears.

something glinted from her pelt. it was a curl of golden fur. starcatcher shook her head. when she looked again, it was gone. must've been a trick of the light.

”hey, wait for me," starcatcher called after fallingchime. her friend was already at the back of the crowd, her head lowered.

Daily 3/24 || 400 words || No proof points :(

I imagine that my hobbit hole would be in a secluded area of a forest, by a beautiful waterfall and stream, surrounded by colorful flowers and the opportunity to look out the window and see animals not usually seen in cities just going about their days. The hobbit hole would have a magenta door right between its two circular windows, and the inside would be full of natural light, a big window in the roof that would allow the house to be lit by both sun and moonlight, and would offer a wonderful view of the stars, without any issues relating to weather and temperature. The inside would mostly be one big room, and that’s where me and visitors would spend our time. It’d have a lot of scattered cushions and beanbags, so there’s always comfy seating, and there’d be a whole wall of bookshelves! There wouldn’t just be books in the shelves though, there would also be tons of board games, enough for each game night hosted in this hobbit hole to be unique. There would be various circular tables around the room that are low to the floor in order to work with the beanbags, and there’d be chests with spare blankets and stuffed animals for emergencies. Hanging on the walls and sitting around tables, resting on shelves and vibing on the floor, there are all sorts of beautiful plants and succulents to ease the eyes and make the room feel even more cozy!
The top floor may be pretty, but there’s even more hidden underneath. This might be the expected, but in order to get to what lies beneath, there’s a specific book that needs to pull that will open a secret bookshelf door. Underground lies a lot of the normal house rooms, like a bedroom and kitchen, but it also contains an entire cave, filled with all sorts of magical crystals and a garden with just about everything a hobbit would need to make all sorts of food! There is also room to harness the abilities of the crystals and create potions to aid myself, my friends, and even the forest this hobbit hole resides in.
Finally, there’s even a secret little room for movie nights and video game parties! And a room for writing because I am a member of SWC and a SWC camper hobbit hole would not be complete without a writing room!

Weekly 3
word count -

Part 1: Major Plot Points (412 words)

1. The session begins and everyone seems to be happy (exposition)
At the start of the story, the session is just starting. SWC-ers are meeting their leaders and they are learning about their cabin's storyline plot. Everything seems to be going well as tend start getting set up. The Main Cabin is lively and bright with a lot of new additions from previous sessions. Campers also meet Gurtle (the session mascot) and start interacting with him - a lot of games and fun are had as weeklies and dailies start to come in.

2. Campers start noticing that links are being eaten (the blame is put on Gurtle)
As the session continues on, it is noticed that links to certain things are not being “available” on time - in all the descriptions/projects, it states that Gurtle is the one responsible for this disappearance. Campers get somewhat enraged, but have fun with Gurtle, joking around about it. As the session continues, it starts to happen more frequently - something doesn't seem right.

3. Gurtle goes missing, and a new set of events take place during cabin wars.
In the middle of the session, it seems to that Gurtle disappeared. Everyone is unsure as to why or where Gurtle went away. Meanwhile, cabin wars begin and chaos is beginning to go down as Barlog enters the main cabin. New lore regarding Gurtle is released, and everyone is left feeling confused. The hosties secretly consult Detective Alana and ask her to find Gurtle.

4. Detective Alana questions some witnesses to find out who is behind the mystery.
Determined to solve the mystery, Detective Alana begins to investigate the case by searching the tents surrounding the main cabin. As she turns the corner of Thriller's main tent, Alana notices Luna scurrying away. Calling after her frantically, Alana brings her into questioning - Detective Alana believes that Luna is a witness an knows that she is the key to finding where Gurtle went.

5. Smarlls was impersonating Gurtle and eating the links to shift the blame.
As Detective Alana follows leads based off of Luna's account, she ends up at Smarlls' base. There she finds that Smarlls has been impersonating Gurtle this whole session by stealing links. Smarlls felt upset that no one remembered them after a few sessions, and decided that revenge was the way to go. Now aware that there was no escape, Smarlls admitted their crimes and promised to change their ways.

Part 2: Red Herrings + Clues (xxx words)

1. The scenic beginning is a hint to the destruction that is just waiting to follow

2. Links are still disappearing after Gurtle has “disappeared” – In the middle of the story, the reader will notice that links are still being eaten even after the tyrants approach Detective Alana regarding Gurtle’s alleged disappearance. This brings up the question of who is actually eating the links, thus hinting at an imposter possibly impersonating Gurtle.

3. In the witness interview with Detective Alana, Luna states, “I think I'd choose Gurtle. I'm not even sure who Smarlls is!”. This is somewhat foreshadowing Smarlls' motives - it is letting the reader know that most people have forgotten about Smarlls. Because of this, Smarlls wanted to kidnap Gurtle and make him look bad in front of the SWC community (which Smarlls did succeed in doing initially).

4.

Part 3: Interviews (446 words)

Alana: Hi Luna! I'm Alana, a detective who's currently trying to solve a case. It has come to my attention that you were present at the scene where it happened.. do you know why I've called you here today? Apart from that I mean. One might say that every witness holds at least a bit of truth..

Luna: Kind of-

Alana: Ohh.. trying to avoid the question here I see. Don't worry, I have my ways of dealing with these scenarios! Just letting you know that I'm much more nicer when you're on my good side, so if you have any idea of why you're here, then you better tell me!

Luna: Well- you're questioning me, aren't you?

Alana: Ahaha I suppose I'll stop beating around the same bush. I'm probably going to get nothing out of you if we continue like this. Hmm.. time to change up my method. Well that being said, let's start off with a fairly easy question! Who would you rather have as a pet, Gurtle or Smarlls?

Luna: Ah! I would have to say Gurtle. Plus, I'm not sure who Smarlls is!

Alana: AHA! See.. the thing is, I have my suspicions that you're more than just a witness, you know? Although on your file it says that your “innocent” I'd like to believe that there's more to this story… I mean I'm investigating Gurtle's kidnapping - don't you think it's fishy that you'd want him as a pet?

Luna: U-uh I'm not sure what you're talking about! I'm just an innocent witness! I saw where Gurtle was last- I promise you I'm innocent!

Alana: Hmm I'll let that bit go for now- But do spill! Where did you see Gurtle last? Perhaps that could help me figure out who stole him…

Luna: I think I've seen him near The Mill- (your word count) which makes me question your innocence. Maybe you are the one who /really/ stole Gurtle. What do you say to that?

Alana: Oh! Accusing me, the very trustworthy detective now, are you? Well I don't appreciate it when my witnesses begin to lie.. otherwise, what's the point of summoning you here?! I do supposed that there's a chance that Gurtle may have wandered off with either Fern or Flounder, but I find that highly unlikely considering the current circumstances.

Luna: I'm not lying, am I? But anyways, maybe you're right, he did wander off with one of them. I think I saw someone near the mill, though.

Alana: I mean, I can't tell you if you're lying or not. Your job is to remain honest when being questioned - that is your sworn duty as a witness.. Innocent? Guilty? Well, that's for me to decide when I see the rest of this case unfold. I do appreciate your intel, though I can't help but question the sources due to our current situation. With that let me ask you one more thing. Did you have a prior relationship with Gurtle? By this, I mean.. have you ever talked with each other perhaps?

Luna: I promise you; I am honest! Honesty is a valued principle in my life, and I try to go by it at almost all times. But let us talk about Gurtle the turtle now. Yes, I have talked to Gurtle before. We were talking about swc and the campers, and eventually I began to lecture him about eating links and how it may be upsetting to some campers. I think he should go to turtle jail for such a crime. Don't you?

Alana: Hmm.. changing the topic now I see- I mean, it's nice to know that you guys have talked, but it doesn't seem like you have the best relationship with Gurtle. All the more reason to kidnap him, you know…Aside from this, have you ever interacted with Gurtle? I honestly have my doubts at this point.

Luna: You may think what you want! I'm just a witness. But no, not really, it was just that one time. It's not like we're enemies, you know?

Part 4: Mystery Story (xxx words)

(deleted)

had to play around with this to see what scratch's filterbot decided was ‘unsuitable language’

Weekly #3
1945 words total

Part 1
742 words total

Exposition:
After seeing a mysterious yet interesting poster advertising a circus “for one night only”, Rosalinn and her younger sister Vickie decide to see the show. However, the location was more out of town then they’d originally thought, and they get somewhat lost on their way. They realise they’re going to be late to the show, but they keep going anyway. Finally the circus tent’s “Big Top” comes into view — but it’s on fire.
73 words

Rising Action:
After asking around and no one seems to know exactly what happened, Rosalinn decides to investigate it herself. She meets a friendly circus clown, called Mara, who helps her begin to figure out what’s going on. It’s clear that the fire wasn’t an accident, but the ringmaster refuses to notify police, in case of damage to the circus’ reputation. The rest of the circus seem to think the culprit was a fire-juggler named Asher, who is now missing. They believe she was helped by an accomplice, and pin the blame on her brother and duet partner, the archery master and knife-thrower Archer. However, Rosalinn doesn’t believe that this is the case. She questions the surviving circus performers, and those who watched the show, with the help of Mara and Archer — who wants to prove his innocence. Other characters offer helpful clues — such as Ada, the circus’ aerial performer and girlfriend of the missing Asher; and Lily, the circus’ puppeteer, costume designer and best friend of Mara. Clues are also found by searching through the belongings of those who died in the fire — such as the magician and fortune teller, who left notes predicting the event; an escape artist who other performers seemed to dislike and possibly even want dead; and a journalist who may have been investigating the circus a little too deeply. Rosalinn’s main suspect to begin with is Shade, the creepy contortionist — but when Mara and Rosalinn are on their way to confront him, Shade is found dead and Ada is standing over the body. It’s revealed that although Shade was doing suspicious things the night of the fire, he wasn’t the one who set it. New evidence comes to light and it now seems like Ada is the one who committed the crime. The characters remember that after several failed escape attempts, Shade was trying to destroy the whole circus — and this throws suspicion onto the ringmaster, Shade’s arch-rival.
322 words

Climax:
But one more clue is found — an encoded note with a drawing of a lily flower that says that the culprit is someone else entirely: Lily. Mara finds this note, and is on her way to show Rosalinn — when she’s ambushed by a hooded figure and almost killed! She gets away, but the crucial evidence is stolen. They now know who the killer is, but not how to get her convicted for the crime. So Rosalinn lays a trap — she goes to the lake where the note has told them that Lily has killed Asher and disposed of the evidence, making sure Lily sees her. Lily follows, but little does she know that Rosalinn’s friends are all waiting for her at the lake, and they’ve secretly caught her confession on camera. But Lily has set a trap for them, too — she reveals that she is holding Rosalinn’s sister hostage. There’s a showdown, and in the fight, Mara attempts to save Vickie — however, she gets killed. Thanks to Mara’s sacrifice, all of the friends manage to escape with the video evidence.
180 words

Falling Action:
The friends show the video to the ringmaster — who still won’t alert the police. Frustrated, Rosalinn decides to do it herself, because after all, Lily is still on the loose. But her phone runs out of battery before she can call them. So she goes back into town, to tell the police at the police station itself. However, the police have no idea what she’s talking about. No one seems to remember a circus being in town.
75 words

Resolution:
Angry that the police don’t believe her and are refusing to “waste their time” on what they believe is a childish prank, Rosalinn goes back to the location of the circus to find her friends. Her phone won’t turn on and seems to be broken, but she knows they had the video on their phones, too, and she thinks the footage will surely persuade the police to do something. However, when she reaches the field where the circus used to be — there’s nothing left. Only slightly charred grass, waving in the wind…
92 words

Part 2
378 words total

Clue 1:
After Rosalinn and Mara search the magician and fortune teller’s tent, they find a series of notes predicting the event of the fire. These notes seem to point the blame towards Shade, however this is misinterpreted and it's realised later that the notes were actually talking about Ada. But on further inspection, a red hair is found on the desk the notes were found on — the hair of Lily, who forged the notes in an attempt to frame others.
79 words

Clue 2:
The phone — which includes a diary and notes — of a journalist who was in the crowd on the night of the circus tent fire. She was investigating the circus and its acts, and was about to make a short broadcast on live TV reviewing it a few hours after the show — but was killed in the fire. These notes reveal dark secrets about the circus’ past, and the backstories of various performers. This also foreshadows the circus’ mysterious disappearance at the end.
82 words

Clue 3:
Footsteps, leading away from the circus tent and into the neighbouring forest. It’s found that the shoes worn by whoever made these footsteps belonged to Asher, the fire-juggler originally believed to be the culprit. However, these same shoes are found in Asher’s sleeping quarters — which doesn’t make sense with the original story where it’s said she ran away and didn’t come back. Either she came back and returned the shoes for some reason, or the footprints were made by someone other than her…
83 words

Clue 4:
An encoded note the characters can’t figure out until the very end. It had been slipped into Rosalinn’s pocket by someone unknown, and was initially believed to be written by the magician / fortune teller, despite the different handwriting. In candlelight, drawings appear — a map to a lake in the forest, a lily flower, a strange scene of what looks like a graveyard covered by a circus tent, and a key to decode the written message. It’s later revealed that the note was written by Shade, although this isn’t realised until after his death. When decoded, the note explains that Lily is the culprit and she killed Asher at the lake. It continues, and begins to talk about “what the circus really is” but not all of this is decoded before the note is stolen.
134 words

Part 3
252 words for my part
My partner was @SongBirdCat_

(Me: ) Hey there!” Rosalinn calls. Behind her back, she switches on her phone’s voice recorder. “I heard that you were at the scene of the crime when it happened. There was a fire during the crime, right? Did you see what happened?”

“I am not completely sure, but in the corner of my eye I saw somebody light it on fire…”

Rosalinn nods. “Do you remember what this person looked like?”

“No, not really. They were wearing a dark coat and hoody. They kinda looked like they were related to somebody in the show…”

“Well, there are multiple sets of twins performing at the show…” Rosalinn mused. “Did you happen to see what shoes they were wearing?”

“No, the coat was so long I couldn't see it.” Lina replied. “But I got a bit of a glimpse of the hair color…”

“Do you mind telling me which hair colour? And…” Rosalinn trailed off. “This might sound like a bit of a weird question, heh, but did anything at all about this relate to a past murder — I think you know the one I’m talking about — that happened around these parts? Do you think it's possible that the person who lit the fire was involved in that crime, too?”

“The hair color was a dark blueish color,” Lina replied. “I remember one time my parents house was lit on fire a few months ago… when I entered their house to investigate I saw a piece of dark blueish hair. But 4 people in the show wore pretend blue hair… except…”

“Alright, alright, interesting…” There was a pause, as Rosalinn racked her brain, trying to remember which performers had blue hair. “Didn’t the acrobat on the trapeze have blue hair? No, that could’ve been a wig…” She gasped. “The contortionist, right? The one with blue-black hair. The stage lights would’ve made it seem even more blue.” She scribbled something down in a notebook. “And I’m sorry for your parents. Are they okay now? What happened to them, and their house?”

“Well the contortionist was my auntie… she would never do such a thing.” Lina said, “But here is something more weird… my auntie and I were visiting my parents house that time when their house was destroyed due to the fire. And my parents were fine, but my mother had some issues breathing. My auntie never visited her while she was recovering.”

Rosalinn’s eyes widened. “Do you think there’s a connection there? And did your auntie have any rivals or… or enemies, at the circus? Is there anyone she’d want to… get rid of?”

“Well… she didn't like my mother at all. She also wanted to run the circus for herself… wait I noticed a few dollars in everyone's wallet or purse was stolen. Everybody had also had at least one thing stolen.” Lina then realizes another thing, “Ahead of time before she went onto the stage she told me to leave near the very end of the circus. And that coat that the person who lit the show on fire was my auntie's… she must've done it! She also never spoken about her performance to me!”

Part 4
573 words

I wrote the first scene from my plan from part one!

Rosalinn tugged her hood up, dragging her sister along behind her as the crowd spilled from the bus and into the pouring rain. Her feet pounded the pavement, splashes of murky water drenching her legs as she plunged into the puddles sloshing onto the path.
“Come on,” she shouted to Vickie behind her, eyes fixated on their house not far ahead. A jagged flash of light split the sky, followed a few seconds later by an ominous rumble of thunder.
“I am coming!” Vickie called, tearing off her glasses that had filled with raindrops.
“Well, hurry up!” Rosalinn began to wade through the water that had collected in their driveway. It almost lapped the front door of the house — any more rain and it could flood their lower floors, just like it had last year.
“What’s this?”
Rosalinn whirled around, leaning against the wall of the house. Vickie was still struggling up the path, reaching out to grab something — something hanging from the letterbox.
“What the heck, Vickie? Just leave it there!”
“It’ll get wet if we leave it here!”
Typical, stubborn Vickie. Rosalinn rolled her eyes, rummaging in her bag for the house key.
It wasn’t there.
“Oh my god,” Rosalinn groaned, slumping against the front door. She plunged her hand into the bag again, feeling around at the bottom—
“I have it!” Vickie waved the key ring at Rosalinn as she ran up the last few steps of the path. Rosalinn grabbed the key from her sister and fit it into the lock. The door swung open and they rushed inside, gasping for breath, dripping onto the hallway carpet.
It was only when they had finally caught their breath that Rosalinn noticed the sodden, colourful advertising poster clutched in Vickie’s hand.
“What is that, anyway?” She pried it from her sister's grasp, squinting at the words made blurry from the rain.
The soaking paper felt strangely warm in her hands. The colours and patterns, although smudged, seemed to almost hypnotise her, spinning as if they were moving. She felt, for a moment, as if she was getting lost in the illusion—
She shook her head and snapped out of it, left feeling slightly dizzy.
“Travelling circus,” Rosalinn read aloud. “One night only.”
Vickie looked up at her sister, eyes wide. “Can we go?”
Rosalinn gazed at the poster for a moment longer. Bold, intricate lettering swept across the page, declaring marvels such as dancing trapeze artists and jugglers throwing flaming knives. Suddenly, the words seemed crystal clear despite the waterlogged paper. Come one, come all. Witness something you’ve never seen before and you’ll never see again!
“No,” Rosalinn scoffed, looking up from the poster and breaking her trance. “There’s a storm outside, Vickie.”
“It might clear up by tonight!” Vickie protested.
“I doubt it,” Rosalinn bundled the paper into a ball and dropped it into a bin. She strode away, trying to push the thought of the strange poster out of her head. She didn’t know why, but it unsettled her. It unsettled her more than she was willing to admit.
Meanwhile, Vickie reached into the bin and pulled out the rain-soaked paper. She unfolded it and stared at it for a moment, mesmerised with the grand titles, the bright colours, the optical illusions. She’d never been to a circus before. A pit grew in her stomach at the thought she might miss out.
Meanwhile, outside, the rain began to ease.

Critique for @Code_kid5619

Hey Ember! First of all, I’d like to say that I really love the idea and subject matter of your poem! It has such a great flow and is really sweet. I don’t have too many things to critique, mostly just word choice like you asked. (as I have discovered, poems are kinda hard to critique ahhahaha)

My first thing is that your rhyme scheme appears to be ABAB, as shown in stanza 2.

A bond that laid on the ocean floor,
Weaved together through many years
Of kindness, trust, secrets, and more
That connected us through happy cheer

However, by the 4th stanza, the rhyme scheme seems to break apart a little as the last words stop rhyming as much. I feel like this kinda breaks the rhythm you’ve built. By restructuring some of the lines I think you can make the rhyme stronger.

For specific lines:

Bobbing on the waves of our verses

Random note: you never mention what these “verses” are, so it's a little confusing. The motif of the sea is very important to the poem, but I think what the sea is, or rather what it represents, is a little underdeveloped.

And so, came a storm

I think you could make the cause/effect relationship between the pearl’s appearance and the storm a little stronger, like (a blatant) “because of this came a storm” or (more subtly) “and after came a storm” or something like that. The correlation between the pearl and storm doesn’t feel very strong at the moment.

And so we grew distantly apart

Instead of “grew”, I think you could use a word to make this more powerful, like “were thrown apart” or something that displays the strength and destructive power of the storm.

Gradually, our bond held on,
Bit by bit until it broke apart

These two lines are contradictory. Are you trying to say that their bond tried to hold on but was still broken?

Eventually the storm went away,

Since the storm is a metaphor for an actual fight between friends, perhaps you could be more specific than just “went away”. Usually, time causes fights to, in a sense, fade away, so maybe be more specific to indicate how the storm left.

Also, at this point in the poem, the tense changes. I don’t know if this is intentional or not, but if so, the last line should probably be changed to “returns” to fit.

My final question:

Two islands, now lost

The only thing I think this poem is missing is a little more impact, but this line captures it perfectly. This line leads me to ask. Why is their friendship important? How are they lost without each other? What makes them believe that a recovery from the storm is worth fighting for?
If you can explore the value and meaning of their friendship beyond what is simply happening and what that says about friendship, your poem will be so much stronger.

Daily 2nd March

Compliment: You make me explode with happiness.

I sighed. The cold air battered my face and the insistent rain blurred my vision. The muddy track was scattered with amber leaves and discarded shoelaces. I could feel anger bubbling up in my throat, powerful as the stormy sea. Piercing shouts filled the air as I remembered that one moment.

“NO!”
Fire raged through the house, licking the trees, blindingly bright. It reached towards the sky and clouds of thick smoke spiralled into the air, a warning to any passers-by. A tear silently slid down my face. I couldn’t do anything. This place was so important to me, it held many treasured memories, so much endless love, all I had left of my grandfather. And here I was, staring in horror as it was destroyed mercilessly before my anguished eyes. I clenched my fists by my side. I bit my wobbling lip and blinked back the hot tears. I thought about my grandfather’s notebook, charred, unreadable, dead.

The harsh wind carried glorious moments with him, just a second away.
“You make me explode with happiness.” he whispered in my ear. The last words he ever spoke. I felt his warm rough hand gripping mine, his arms wrapped around me in an endless embrace. I saw his gentle eyes staring into mine. My cracked lips curled into a smile and my swollen eyes lit up, cherishing those last memories.

My eyes snapped open. Sirens wailed in the distance, glowing specks on the horizon. Sunshine filtered through the remaining leaves of the trees as the fire engine arrived. Gallons of rushing water, bursting out of mammoth canons were poured onto the burnt shell, reflecting the light, glimmering and shining as if honouring the place where my grandfather took his final breath, a breath full of hope, a breath full of life, a breath full of love.

The track in front of me widened and I stumbled over a gnarled tree root. It took me a while to realise I was crying, sobs that split the air. It took me even longer to realise they were happy tears, happy because I had seen my grandfather once more. I touched my heart. It thumped rhythmically.
“I’ll always be in here.” Grandfather once said.
Heat warmed my frozen hands, reaching the tips of my toes like a golden sun ray. I glanced up at the sky. It was a dazzling blue, fluffy clouds floating gracefully inside it and the sun… it shone like my love for Grandfather.
“You make me explode with happiness, Grandfather.”

Daily 25th March
646 words

I laid back in the twisted branches of my tree, staring out distantly over my hobbit hole. The fairy lights twinkled at me and the fire cast a dim hazy light across my face. Jasper bounded up the little staircase, his tongue lolling out of his mouth, pink and slobbery, his eyes alight with mischief. I picked a wet ball and threw it in front of me enthusiastically. Jasper looked at me knowingly before leaping down from the gnarled trunk.

I grinned, the smile lighting up my circular wooden home. Glistening emeralds hung from the sturdy branches, glittering mysteriously. I reached out a calloused hand and clasped one of them, gently pulling it off the rough tree. I spun it around in my hand, awed by its wondrous beauty, lost in its lush iridescent world.

“Woof!”
Jasper nudged my hand, his eyes trained on the shimmering jewel. I sighed and held out my hand. He barked again, his tail wagging and disappeared into a sea of green. I gazed after him, thinking back to what would be happening in the Home Forest.

Mama swung through the moist jungle, gripping the coarse bark with smooth hands. Her face was hard and focused. She was looking for one thing in particular. Passion fruit. For over a week now she had been searching, searching for the signs of new life. But she couldn’t find it, not even a bud. The whole forest was drooping and blackened, brimming with sorrow from the raging fires.

Green. It had symbolised new life and hope. And it still did for me. That was why I planted this tree in the first place. A memory of home. Mama said that because my grandfather died the day I was born, I was that bud of life and hope, that renewal. I treasured those words as the last ones I ever heard from her. Then came the orphanage. Then came the Hobbits. Then came the new me. Mama was still out there, searching for me like she had promised.

“I’ll come for you, come back for you, darling. But you have to go. They’re coming.”
Her voice dropped to a whisper.
“They are advancing. They want to take over. So I have to keep you safe.”
Tears cascaded to the ground.
“Can’t I stay with you? I’d rather stay with you.” My voice cracked with emotion.
Mama’s face creased with lines.
“I promised your grandfather I’d do whatever it takes to protect you from… the Yan.”
“Mama! Don’t say their names!”
Mama shook her head, her lower lip wobbling. She took hold of my hand and cradled it.
“Some of them are just as scared as we are,” she explained, “They are scared of what we’ll do to them, and just want to live in peace. You have to appreciate that they’re like us.”

Even after that, after I had left, new life still grew, a beacon of love and buried pasts, longing yearning. Next to my bed by the window in the orphanage, beyond the biting vicious breeze, was a mango tree with beautiful leaves that shone a thousand colours in the harsh sunlight.

“Every midnight look up at a tree, and know that I’ll be doing the same, Silvi.”
I nodded and gulped, swallowing back tears.
“Your grandfather died when you were born, in the same hour. When you arrived, you held us all together. You were that bud of new life and renewal that kept us from falling apart. Keep that in your heart, Silvi.”
And with that she turned away, her raven-black hair flowing behind her. She looked back once and waved as I was driven away in a rattling cart.
“Goodbye, Mama.”

And then I realised green didn’t just mean new life and hope to me. It meant home and comfort, forgotten memories reborn. And I kept that in my heart.