Daily 3: Autumn symbolism

The autumn air is crisp and sweet, the cool breeze rifling through my pockets and running its fingers through my hair. Reminding me of the day two years ago… Only two years ago? I glance at Luca, who’s examining a fallen leaf he picked up. His bright red hair and freckles match it, and his pale skin is like the cloud of his breath in the air, promising of a snowy winter to come. He’s grown and changed so much, like the new apples ready for the harvest. From that timid and shy to the cheerful and confident friend I know today. I guess I’ve changed a lot, too. Xan, on my other side, steps closer to me, twining his fingers in mine. His hair has grown out too, and he’s taken on the habit of braiding a few strands of his messy black hair. We’re all different, aren’t we? Inside and outside. Just like the trees. Wearing the coats of each season, and inside growing new rings all the time.
“Look! we’re almost there!” Luca says, snapping my attention back to him, and suddenly he’s grinning and he's grabbed my hand and he’s pulling me through the trees, and I’m pulling Xan along, and I’m laughing and we’re kicking up leaves in our wake. They fall softly back down behind us, a memory of our passing.

We skid to a stop on an outcropping of rock overlooking the valley, the leaves transitioning between the pine greens and the sages and the golds and the crimsons and the auburns of the changing season. We can just see the village, and some of the fields, and there in the centre is the lake, reflecting back the blue, blue sky and the white clouds and the mountains and the colours of the leaves. I love it here. It’s home. But more than just the scenery. It’s home with these two.
“Wow,” Luca breathes.
“Wow is right,” I agree. Xan nods, sitting down on the ground to finish catching his breath in the cold, thin air. I sit beside him and Luca flops down on my other side.
“This is perfect,” he whispers, snuggling against me. I can’t help but smile. I love these two. So much.
“Ami was right,” Xan replies. “The view is beautiful this time of year.” He shifts closer to me, wrapping his hand around my waist and I lean into him, wrapping my arms around Luca’s neck. Sure, we’re growing and changing, and even if things are similar, they’re never quite the same. But it’s alright. We can be like the trees – adapting with the seasons life throws at us, growing new rings. I put my head on Xan’s shoulder and I smile. This season is a good one.

Daily 4: Origins of a Constellation

Cassiopeia stood, silent, still, stone. She was a statue. Fading into the background. Unimportant. Unremarkable. Unnoticeable. Her limbs were stone. Her breath was silent. She was as immovable as marble.

She flinched when the wine glass shattered on the wall.

Shouldn’t she be used to it by now? Shouldn’t she know what to do? But she didn’t. Each time her father became angry, and he yelled at her sisters, or her mother, or the servants, she froze. Each time someone tried to talk to him, or didn’t respond in the right way, and the situation only escalated she stayed. Each time she wished to do something, she didn’t. She was trapped in indecision.

She became a statue.

Maybe a statue he wouldn’t notice her. None of them would notice her. Maybe as a statue, they would all forget she was there.

At least as a statue, she couldn’t make it any worse.

She tried to ignore the voice that told her that as a statue, she also couldn’t make it any better. She tried to quiet the rebellious part inside her. She knew as a statue, that things would stay the same. If she stopped being a statue, who knows what might happen. It could make things so much worse. And then she would have to live with that. Knowing that this time, it was her fault. And she couldn’t. She couldn’t do anything. She’d tried. She’d made up her mind. This time, she would speak up. This time, she would help. But her lips stayed closed and her feet stayed planted and her hands stayed folded and her spine stayed straight and perfect and statuesque.

She was a statue.

Her father stormed out of the room, and the statue melted. Cass walked back to her room, and even though her legs moved and her lips smiled and she nodded to the servants and the guards that passed, she was still a statue inside. Still the perfect princess. She flung open her window and let out the breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding, and as she stepped out onto the balcony and stared at the starry sky the statue was finally gone. She stared at the moon. The moon who didn’t have to be perfect. Cratered with imperfections, and yet beautiful nonetheless. Each night she watched that moon, and found herself wanting to be up there in the sky beside it, clothed in stars and galaxies. Hoping that someday, she would find herself dancing with the Moon, each silver and glowing and perfectly imperfect.

A comet shot across the sky. And the princess made a wish.

Daily 6: Exposition

I find Kay sitting on a rocky ledge overlooking the party. Luca’s red hair is easy to pick out as he bobs through the crowd of black hair and blue clothes. He, Ami, and some of the other kids are running around with sparklers. He looks happy.
“Is this seat taken?” I ask as I come up behind Kay.
“What?” she asks, looking up at me. The firelight glints in her purple eyes. I’d never really noticed them before.
“I asked if I could sit here,” I say. She nods and moves over, staring down at the party. We sit in silence for a few moments. What do I say? She sighs and pushes her hair back from her face.
“Are you okay?” I ask, not looking at her.
“Yeah… I’m fine.” She says. Should I ask again? Should I say something? Maybe I should just leave her alo-
“This party… it just reminds me of my old village,” she says, and I pause.
“Oh?” I say.
“We used to have celebrations, all the time. The blue moon celebration was the best one. We had sparklers just like that, and fireworks. It was amazing.”
“Yeah? I-” I stop myself. I’m not supposed to remember anything. What would someone who really lost their memories say?
“I wish I remembered something as amazing as that.” She glances at me.
“Oh, right, I forgot. Do you want me to stop?”
“What? Oh- no, it’s okay. I like hearing about it.”
“Okay,” she says. “We would always sit on the roof to watch the fireworks - the adults didn’t like it, of course, but that never stopped us.”
“Us?” I ask. She blinks.
“Nevermind,” she says, turning away so that her hair hides her face. I look away, too. Maybe I should just go. I shift backwards, ready to get up and walk away, when she continues.
“I… I had a friend. He was kind of my only friend, to be honest. I wasn’t exactly popular.” I shift back into place, but I can’t tell if she’s even paying attention to me anymore.
“But I was fine with that. One friend was enough. We were practically inseparable.”
“What happened?” I ask, and she falls silent. I don’t want her to stop. I probably shouldn’t have interrupted her. I’m doing this all wrong, aren’t I?
“I told him.” she says simply. “I told him about my amulet. When my caregiver gave it to me. He was the only one, other than her, that knew about it. She told me not to tell.”
I can’t decipher the emotions in her voice. I wish I had more experience with this. Anna and I never talked about personal stuff, and I never really talked to anyone else… it was just easier that way.
“But I told him. Anyways, some men came to the village, asking about a girl with strange powers. Someone around our age. Someone like me.” Her shoulders tense as she speaks.
“Anyone in the village could have pointed them my way. The girl with no family, taken in by the wise woman as a baby. The one who never quite fit in. The one who was always getting into trouble. The one who always had a rumor following her around.” She’s clenching her fists at her sides, but her shoulders are shaking a little.
“But it was him. He told them. He pointed them right at me. And I trusted him.” She looks at me, and there are tears in her eyes.
“Nevermind. I don’t know why I’m even telling you this,” she says, wiping them away with her fingers. “I- I mean, not because of you. Just, I’ve never told anyone. Not even Luca.” She says. She shared a secret with me. She trusts me. And I’m lying to her. I’ve lied about everything. I don’t deserve this secret. I don’t deserve this trust.
“I- I should go,” I say. “I need to, um…”
“It’s okay, go ahead,” she says, her eyebrows drawing together. I stand and hurry away. When I glance back, she’s watching me go.

WEEKLY 1: CHARACTER BUILDING

Part 1: 216 words

Song: Long Story Short (Taylor Swift)
I tried to pick my battles ‘til the battle picked me
Like the war of words I shouted in my sleep
And you passed right by
If the shoe fits, walk in it ’til your high heels break
And I fell from the pedestal
Right down the rabbit hole
Long story short, it was a bad time
Pushed from the precipice
Long story short, it was the wrong guy

Annika leaned back against the tree, stretching her arms over her head and watching the light through the leaves dapple her pale skin in sunlight and shadow. Her green eyes sparkled, matching the grass beside her. A strand of her black hair fell into her face as she looked down at the book sitting in her lap, and she tucked it back behind her ear.
“Hey,” Rose said as she slid down the trunk of the tree to sit beside Annika, her blonde hair glowing gold in the sunlight. “Are you alright?” She asked.
“As ‘alright’ as I can be, after that fight,” Annika said with a sigh, closing her notebook.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Rose asked carefully. Annika sighed again.
“Not really. I just wish- I didn’t want to have that fight.” Annika said, looking down at her hands in her lap.
“I understand,” Rose replied. “I don’t think he wanted to fight with you either.”
“No,” Annika said, before pausing again. “I don’t know- I just- I don’t want to burden you guys. I can deal with it by myself.”
“Annika, you don’t have to hold everything in. You don’t have to keep going until you break.” Rose said, putting a tentative hand on Annika’s shoulder. She sighed but didn’t reply.

Part 2: words

Name: Annika
Age: 17
Pronouns: She/Her
Sexuality: Straight, not currently interested in a relationship.
Role in the Story: Main Character

Physical Appearance: Average height, about 5'5; long wavy black hair, fair skin, green eyes, a few freckles. Hourglass body type.
Fashion: Leggings, capes, long tunics, belt. Hair is usually loose, or tied up messily. Leather shoulder bag, leather boots.

Personality: Ambivert, enjoys people but eventually needs time to recharge. Determined, and once she has a goal she will reach it. Independent, to the point of not letting others care for her as they should, instead trying to carry everything herself. A planner, but in certain situations lets things go with the flow - as long as there is still some essence of a plan in it.
Interests: People, Writing, Reading, History.
Quirks: Remembers almost everything she reads, so ocasionally spouts random facts.

Fighting style and weapon of choice: Magic pen, she's also okay with a sword I think.
Magic/Powers: Magic pen or some sort of writing powers.

Other: Has an older brother, used to have a boyfriend named Josh (which I'll probably change), part of an adventuring party.

Part 3: 838 words

Breakup (344 words)
Motivation – wants to travel and finish her novel

“Annika? Where are you?” I hear Josh ask from the other room
“I’m in here getting ready to go- my brother just surprised me with the trip! He said you were getting ready,” I say to him. When he doesn’t answer, I turn around, leaning on my suitcase.
“I was just coming to tell you that we aren’t going,” he says.
“Why not? It’s the trip of a lifetime!”
“Well, yeah, but he sprung it on you. Don’t you want to write? Stay here with all your books and papers?”
“Of course I want to finish my book. But I want to learn more about the world so that I can write it even better. I want to travel.”
He’s staring at me. This isn’t going well.
“What do you mean you want to travel?” He says ‘travel’ like it’s a bad word. I hesitate. He’s one of few that can make me hesitate.
“Just that. I want to go everywhere. The forests, mountains, deserts. Float down the rivers, swim in the oceans, see the creatures, meet the people!”
“I thought you and I were going to be together. Date for a few more years. Write your book. Get married someday.”
“No, that’s what you’ve been planning! I thought that you would want to come with me! I didn’t think that you wanted to sit around for your whole life, never seeing anywhere but this town!”
“I thought you wanted to- whatever. It doesn’t matter now, does it? Considering we have such different views.”
“W-what are you saying?”
“I’m saying that obviously we just can’t work out. You want to travel. I don’t. So leave then. I can find plenty other nice girls,” He says, and I can feel the tears threatening to fill my eyes.
“You’re breaking up with me? Over a trip? Come on! It’ll be fun, you’ll see! Then we can come back and stay and- and-”
“As usual, you're not listening to me. I don’t want to travel. Have fun on your trip.” And then he turns and walks away.

Meeting the merry crew (324 words)
Motivation – wants to travel and finish her novel

I walk into the Inn and look around. There’s so many travelers here - I couldn’t guess which group my brother found for me. I wish- no. Not thinking about him. Think about my novel. I try to make sense of the chaos. In one corner, a man is telling a story animatedly. In another, a group of men is laughing, looking like they’ve had far too many mugs, and in another there’s a mage doing a trick on a small stage. I’m about to ask the innkeep at the counter if she knows where I can find them, when someone jumps onto a stage holding a lyre.
“Hello, good people! Might my brother and I interest you in a song?” She asks, met with cheers from various patrons. Someone calls out something I don’t catch - the name of a dance or a song, and she raises her hands dramatically for silence, before starting to strum a tune. It gets progressively faster as she sings, and soon she’s flying around the table. On the verse a boy jumps up beside her, and they break into a song and dance, before going back to their instruments. These are definitely the ones my brother would choose for me. Young, energetic. Once the song is over, I walk up to them.
“Excuse me-” I say, and they turn, each leaning on something.
“How can I help you?” The girl asks.
“Are you part of the destiny dancers?”
“Did you tell him that was our name?” A voice asks from behind them.
“Don’t start fighting over the name!” The boy snaps at the two of them, but they’re already squabbling. He turns back to me,
“So you’re annika?”
“Yes. I want to join your party.”
“And what makes you think you’re worthy?”
“I have special talents. That I won’t be displaying here.” I say, with a meaningful look around the Inn.
“Hmm.” He says. “Well, come with us then.”

Saving Melody (170 words)
Change in motivation from wanting to travel and finish her novel, to wanting to protect and help her friends.

“Annika!” Rose calls, and I slip out from behind the statue.
“I’m okay!” I call. But they aren’t looking at me. They’re looking at Melody. Melody! I dart down the stairs to her. Rose is frantically emptying her pockets, but it’s too late. I can see it. I can see the life leaving her, her spirit barely holding on. Suddenly, Lyric has grabbed my shoulders. He has a wild look in his eyes. “The pen!” he yells.
“W-what?” I ask.
“Use the pen! That’s what happened to the guardian, isn’t it?”
“I-I-” that was an emergency. This is an emergency. I need all the ink. Melody needs the ink. My book. My friend. I drop to my knees and write on my other arm in a shaky scrawl. It’s got to be quick enough. It’s got to be in time. Melody was healed. I write. The blood sinks into the ground around her. She’s not moving. Oh, stars, it has to work. It has to. She gasps and sits up.

Part 4: 524 (new) words

I have the pen. I can be the greatest author of all time. I can finish my book. I can finally be loved and respected. I can have and I can do whatever I want.
“Melody!” Lyric screams, and I turn around, remembering the chaos around me. My friends, Melody, elf, Lyric, the Guardian. Elf is crouched behind a boulder, her last arrow notched. The guardian, riddled with her other arrows but seemingly unaffected by them, is advancing towards Lyric, who’s kneeling beside an unmoving Mel, red blood pooling on the floor. Rose leaps in front of them, blonde hair flying, and vines sprout from the floor, wrapping around it, trying to restrain it, trying to stop it. But she’s exhausted. It’s not going to stop it. I can see how the scene plays out. But I’m holding the pen.
“Stop!” I yell to the guardian, and it looks up at me, eyes glowing. It’s coming for me. It’s not listening. I have to write. I have no paper. I push up my sleeve and put the pen to my arm, desperately scrawling. The guardian became stone again. I feel the rush of wind and its claw slices off a piece of my long black hair. But nothing else. I open my eyes, and almost scream to see the stone face of the guardian inches from mine. I did it. I stopped it. I changed it. I wrote it.

“Annika!” Rose calls, and I slip out from behind the statue.
“I’m okay!” I call. But they aren’t looking at me. They’re looking at Melody. Melody! I dart down the stairs to her. Rose is frantically emptying her pockets, but it’s too late. I can see it. I can see the life leaving her, her spirit barely holding on. Suddenly, Lyric has grabbed my shoulders. He has a wild look in his eyes. “The pen!” he yells in my face, shaking me back and forth.
“W-what?” I ask.
“Use the pen! That’s what happened to the guardian, isn’t it?”
“I-I-” that was an emergency. This is an emergency. I need all the ink. Melody needs the ink. My book. My friend. Lyric releases me, and I drop to my knees and write on my other arm in a shaky scrawl. It’s got to be quick enough. It’s got to be in time. Melody was completely healed, I write. The blood sinks into the ground around her. She’s not moving. Oh, stars, it has to work. It has to. She gasps and sits up.

Lyric immediately wraps her in a hug, sobbing, and Rose breathes a sigh of relief and tears well in her eyes, but she quickly wipes them away.
“Move,” she says to Lyric. When he doesn’t, she gently pushes him away so that she can inspect Melody for any injuries. When someone is hurt, the confidence she gains is incredible. Melody still looks disoriented, watching in confusion as Melody rips off the shredded bottom half of her shirt to find – perfectly healed skin, without even a scar. Melody touches the spot just below her rib cage where her scar used to be.
“My scars gone?” she says, still discombobulated.
“Sh- She’s completely healed!” Rose exclaims as she gently touches each of Mel’s ribs to check for fractures, before pulling up a healing circle to look closer. Melody stares at us.
“What happened? Where’s the guardian?” her eyes lock on me. “You got the pen!”
“Yeah,” I tell her.
“The guardian slashed you and I thought- I thought-” Lyric sobs, and his eyeliner is running.
“Stop crying, ya big baby,” she replies with a grin. “You’re makeup is running.” He wipes his face, smudging everything around even more.
“We thought you were dead.” Elf says. Lyric nods vigorously.
“Annika saved you.” He adds. She grins at me, the mischievous light back in her eyes.
“I guess we’re even now,” she says.
“What! You’re totally indebted to me now!” I say, and we’re laughing and we’re crying, and then we’re all hugging Mel again and then we’re laughing some more. I’m not sure what to do with all this emotion. But I don’t hate it.

(included things: Name, black hair, personality details)

Cee slipped out of the water and pulled her wet hair over her shoulder. She headed down the sand towards the waterfront market - the biggest merfolk to human trading center this side of the reef - and slid into her stall.
“Hii sushi!” She said, grinning at the seacat sitting on the countertop as she started to spread her shells in the display case. She grabbed a treat from the jar over the window and fed it to the blue and turquoise tabby as she scratched its ear.
“Busy day today!” She added as she pulled on her coverup. The sounds of patrons opening their stalls for the day were starting to come in. She reached down to pour some water into a bowl for Sushi, before pouring herself a glass of lemonade. Suddenly, there was a knock on her cover. She reached over to pull the cord, and the panels pulled up into the roof, opening up the window.
“Oh! Hi Gale!” She said, tucking a lock of her long green hair behind her ear.
“Hey Cee. How’re you?” He asked. Just then, his dog jumped up on her counter, barking at Sushi.
“Ag! Sorry! Down boy! Down!” He said, pulling on Ino’s leash. Sushi hissed and swiped at him, then turned around and stuck her nose in the air. Cee started laughing. Gale finally got Ino under control.
“Sorry about that,” he told her.
“Don’t worry about it,” she told him, “Sushi’s a drama queen, but she doesn’t really mind him.” Sushi gave them both a sour look and meowed. Gale laughed.
“She definitely is a drama queen,” he told her. Sushi rolled her eyes and hopped down onto the road, padding away down the road.
“Yup. Drama Queen.” Gale affirmed.
“Okay, that’s enough. I have to get ready for the customers-”
“Right, right, big day!” He said with a grin. “I’ll leave you to it!”
Cee waved at him as he and Ino headed down the street. Then she focused all of her efforts on her stall, making it the best shell stall on the aisle. Customers started to head through the market, making purchases in shells or coins, or trading. Cee smiled at all of them, waving and chatting with the customers. There weren’t a lot of purchases by the time she took her lunch break, and by the time the sun was setting and Sushi had arrived for his evening snack, she only had half of what she’d hoped for. Gale and Ino came sauntering down the street as the lamplighters came by.
“Hey Cee,” he said. “How’s business?” She sighed and his grin fell.
“That bad, huh?” He asked, hopping up on her counter as she cleared her wares for the night.
“I was just- just really hoping today would be a good day. That maybe I’d have enough to- nevermind. It’s stupid anyways.”
“To go to the Abalone concert?”
“Yeah! How’d you know?”
“It’s only all you’ve been talking about for the past few weeks,” he said.
“Is not!” She retorted. He raised an eyebrow.
“Okay, maybe it is.”
“Annnnndddd you have an abalone poster on your stall.”
“Right. that.”

Daily 13: Prompted Piece

And before I know it, I’m being pulled away towards the broken clock tower.
“Kaes, wait!” I say, trying to dig the heels of my boots into the cobblestones. He finally halts in the alleyway, glancing worriedly at his pocketwatch.
“What is it? We have to go!” He says, distracted, always so distracted.
“Let. go. of. my. Arm!” I say, yanking it from him. I bend to retie my boot laces. I need time to think. This is all happening so fast. Kaes, the clocktower, the watches, Logan- oh Gears, Logan. Was he lying the whole time? A spark of anger flares, but then I realize how terrifying it must have been for him. He must’ve been so scared. Kaes is getting impatient.
“Come on! We have to get to the tower!” He says, tugging on my sleeve.
“Okay!” I snap, straightening and brushing off my skirt. I wish I’d worn my trousers today. I hold out my hand, which he grabs, and then we’re running again, darting through the streets, around carriages and newspaper stands and men yelling and newsboys shouting and dogs barking.
“Nobody else is running!” I yell to Kaes.
“That’s because they don’t know yet!” He yells back.
“They have to had made an announcement!”
“They’re stupid! They think that their precious airships will save us!” He says as we skid to a stop in the alley behind the clock. He yanks open the secret door and we duck inside, crawling between the gears and under the pipes and through the steam to the stairs. Then up and up and up and up we go, until we see Porter, one of the clock workers, getting ready to push a box onto the pulley.
“Wait!” Kaes yells, and we jump onto the other side, the box’s weight pulling us up and up and up to the top of the tower and then we’re running again, across the room and behind the gears and through a panel to a hidden ladder and then up and up and again. Finally, finally, we’re at the top.
“Do you really think it’ll work?” I ask Kaes.
“It has to.” He tells me, pulling on his goggles before going to work on his machine, pulling levers and pushing buttons and tugging toggles and doing everything else imaginable.
“Now open the roof!” He says, and I run to the side to pull the lever, and he pushes it up, and then we stand for a moment and stare at it. This contraption of his that could save us or destroy us or do nothing at all.
“Moment of truth,” I say.
“Moment of truth,” he agrees.

And then we pull the lever.

You asked me to write you a persuasive essay about why you should keep the dailies? Or bring them back? I suppose. I suppose I could make an outline, and come up with an introduction and three points and a conclusion, and mangoes help us, a theme statement. But that wouldn’t really capture the essence of SWC, would it? It would feel like school. What we need, what we want, is the chaos, the wonder, and the excitement. That’s one of the best things about dailies. They help us to embrace our spontaneity as SWCers, help us, for a moment, cast aside our procrastination and our plans and to write in the moment. With a prompt and a dream (and a deadline) we create beautiful pieces of writing to share and enjoy. Which brings me to the next point, fun!

What would SWC be without that element of joy? A reprieve from our daily lives? When escaping our DAILY lives, each DAY we need a new escape, a new reprieve, a new DAILY. Something exciting, whimsical, and fun. Something new to look forward to each morning (or afternoon. Or midnight. Or whatever time dailies change in your life). They bring such an air of wonder to our lives, letting us be excited about something new each and every day. What would we be, without having something to look forward too? Dailies give us hope, because they let us know that each new day, there is something new and wonderful coming.

And that leads me to the next part of this “essay” – creativity. I mean, without dailies, you’ve resorted to having us write “essays” as if this was school. Something amazing about dailies is their creativity and versatility. The way that they can be interpreted in so many ways by so many SWCers. The way that one may write a poem, another an essay (if for some reason they deem that to be the best way), a creative piece, a song, a lament. The way that they can be shared to bring joy, or kept close to the heart to inspire us. And that leads us, evermore, unto the next point-

The way that dailies connect us. The joy of sharing them! The laughs, lols, and rofls that they can bring to our dull daily lives! The way that they inspire us to inspire others, to share about ourselves, to become more open. Dailies are truly a beautiful thing, and it would be a horror to all SWCer’s to loose them. I haven’t even mentioned traditional values brought by dailies, and I would include more points, but I’m afraid I have to go join the mango strike and prepare to commit some serious arson if the situation doesn’t change soon.

JWC daily January 5:

Ivan pushed open the trapdoor leading into the attic, pushing past boxes and through the door at the back.
“Where are you?” he asked, reaching for the string to turn on the lights. The attic hadn’t yet been renovated to include motion sensored lights and automated voices. He supposed that his father didn’t think it necessary, as no one came up here anyways. No one that he knew about, that is. He found the string in the dim light and pulled, letting the bulb bring the room to life. Boxes and metal parts and tools were spread messily across the floor, and sprawled in the center of it was a girl.
“Zoe!” He cried, carefully stepping over to her. He grabbed the cord lying on the ground and plugged it into her wrist. A few seconds passed before a fan turned on and he could hear her system booting up. After a few seconds she blinked twice, focusing on him.
“Ivan,” she said, sitting up and looking around. “It’s 1200 already?”
“You forgot to charge again,” He told her. “What are you working on anyways?”
“I don’t forget. I can’t forget. I just run out of power before I actually do it.”
“Right, you don’t forget, you just procrastinate,”
“Exactly, but look what I made!” she exclaimed, lifting something shiny out of the mess of tools and metal. She tugged the cord out of her wrist and plugged it into the object. Two blue lights lit up, and she unplugged it and placed it on the floor.
“A mouse!” Ivan exclaimed.
“The cat will need entertainment when I finish it,” she said as they watched the little rodent skitter around, gears and belts whirring and wires sparking. She pushed her long black hair behind her ears, then picked up a screwdriver and a control panel, adjusting some wires.
“I brought you the news,” Ivan said, and she turned her attention to him. He handed over the newspaper. “Apparently there was a robbery down at the bank on Tenth.” Her eyes skimmed quickly over the pages. She stopped at the top of an article.
“There was a cyborg strike at one of the factories,” she stated. “A lot of them were fired.”
“Really? I hadn’t gotten to that article, let me see-” he replied, taking the paper. “Fifty cyborg workers left jobless after a failed work strike in sector 3a - that’s our factory!”
“Keep reading,” she told him, absently picking up the control panel again and fiddling with the wires.
“Company officials claim that the reasons for the strike were unfounded and they’re hiring any unemployed cyborgs in the section - They’re speculating that they might even hire some transfers from 3b! Imagine that,” he flipped the page and continued, “If strikes continue, companies may have to take more desperate action - what’s that supposed to mean? And I thought cyborg work was mandatory, how can they be fired?”
“Rhetorical or not?” Zoe asked.
“Well, I don’t expect you to know the answer. Do you?”
“No.”
“Alright then. Interesting news. Oh, and look - they’re lowering the commercial cyborg working age to fourteen years. Bastian could be a factory worker now, couldn’t he?”
“He’s not fourteen for another month.”
“Oh, right. I wonder who’ll cover his paper route.”

JWC daily January 8:


mentions of v!olence/de@th/bombs

I stare around our little group. We’re all ready for the reaping - as ready as we can be. My name’s going to be called - children of the capitol officials, that’s who they said the names will be reaped from. I’m the granddaughter of Snow. Of course it’ll be me. It’ll be fine. Milo, Brick, and River can handle the gang. Everyone will be fine. They know what to do. And I can win. I try to convince myself. I don’t. We all head to the city center, past the boarded up windows and broken storefronts, in some places having to climb over rubble. Parts of the side streets are gone, leaving gaping holes, or so full of rubble that you can’t get through. We finally get to the plaza that was bombed only weeks ago, where the capitol children kept there died. They did a census when it was all over. We could’ve avoided it. Could’ve hidden. But we didn’t know about the 76th hunger games then. Capitol women are crying for the children, children wearing ridiculous outfits fill the square, intermingled with those in pajamas and street clothes. So many people lost their homes in the battle. The Battle of the Capitol, they’re calling it. Refugees forced to flee, some getting killed by the pods Snow put out. Some say he turned the Capitol into an arena. I agree with them. It’s crazy. Weeks ago, these people were laughing and betting and calling for more blood in the 75th games. Now that it’s their children, grandchildren, friends, neighbors that might be in the games, now they’re scared. At least now they know how the people in the districts felt. In a way, I’m glad Snow won’t be here. I wouldn’t want to see him pretend to be sad for me. But I wouldn’t want to see that he doesn’t care either. It’s better that he’s gone. Finally, a ridiculous looking lady steps up onto the stage. She reminds me of Effie Trinket, the district 12 reaper, but it’s not. She’s younger, more sober. There’s a speech from the new president, and finally the not-Effie steps forward to one of the bowls. Time for the reaping.

JWC daily January 24:

TW: mentions of death, war, etc.

I push out of the trees and into the field, where I can just see the sun starting to rise over the mountains, bringing a new day, new light, but it doesn’t matter as darkness feels like it’s taking over. I’m trying to catch my breath but I can’t and my head is pounding. Not him, not Jude. Not any of us. This is stupid. This is stupid. I know it. They know it. The districts know it. So why are we even here? I know that it’s probably futile, that they’ll just cut me out, that they’re probably focused on- well, whatever. I can try. I have to try. I have to try something. So I do.
“How is this accomplishing anything? What’s the point? What are you trying to do?” I ask, knowing there are cameras, hoping that they are listening to me. “The first war, the games, the rebellion, everything- what’s it even for if we just keep hurting each other? The games were a punishment for those who fought for peace, for the districts, and you know how it feels - you know how it feels to watch your friends and your family leave and know that they might never come back, or to come back and be called a victor when maybe you wish you’d died instead of someone else. And you want to punish someone. You want others to share your pain. So you blame us. And this is what happens. But Snow is dead. The creators of the games are dead. We’re not the ones you should be blaming.” I stare around.
“The survivors of district 12 and 13 know what it’s like to have their homes destroyed, all of you have seen soldiers march through and destruction and violence reign. But so have we. The capitol became the warzone. Buildings reduced to rubble, thousands of people misplaced, more dead, the weapons our own president planted among us hurt us just as much as they hurt your soldiers. And what did we do to deserve that? Nothing.” I’m starting to cry, and a part of me hates it, but a part of me is okay with it.
“I’m here because Snow is my Grandfather. We all knew my name would be drawn. But why am I punished for what he did? I ran away from him when I was 11 years old - the sole witness of Cassius Snow’s murder. And who do you think killed my father? And the others - they weren’t even in the bowl. They never would have been reaped. They shouldn’t be here, but they took someone else’s place, knowing what would happen. Ember and Amber want to be fashion designers. ____________. And Jude is just a kid. Who knows what he could be? He doesn’t deserve anything that’s happened to him. And we all know that you can save him. We’ve seen the victors taken from the arena on the brink of death, only to be perfect - on the outside at least - just a few days later. We know you can do it. So just do it! Everyone else is dead. We aren’t killing each other to get out of here. You’ll have to kill us all off yourself. And then that’s on you. Or, you could just end this pointless game once and for all. You could end this.” I’m done. I tried. And I wait. There’s a snap, and I spin around to see Milo standing at the edge of the trees.
“Cass, you should– Jude- Jude wants to see you,” He says, and I just nod mutely and follow him. It doesn’t matter what he heard. Especially since it seems like maybe he’s the only one.

March 1st: 1k word intros

Hi wonderful SWC people! It’s the first day so guess what it’s time for - 1000 word intros (aka the part where SWCers ramble or rant about themselves, or not, for 1000 words or more BECAUSE WE WANT TO). Hmm I suppose I should actually do the introduction part of this. You can call me Lily, I’m 13 years old, and I use she/her pronouns. I’m a Catholic and a Canadian and my time zone is PST. This is my seventh session of SWC - I’ve been a camper in July 2021, July 2022, November 2022 (DISCOPAIN LIVES ON), March 2023, July 2023, November 2023, and finally now, March 2024 - yes it’s 2024 already, I don’t want to believe it either - I really like SWC. I’m was equally excited for this session and kinda dreading it because it means march is starting and march starting means show week - I’m in my school musical, Shrek the Musical, as ensemble and Little Pig #2 (So I’m the normal pig, pig #1 is the dumb pig with good memory and pig #3 is the smart pig with bad memory, and they’re both great) which has been super fun but also stressful because we like just learned choreography yesterday that we’re performing wednesday but anyways. Musical has been a wild and crazy ride and I’m super excited - and also happy that now I’m a SWC theatre kid D. I’m also in 4 choirs and drama. Outside the fine arts I like to read, write, draw, watch movies, listen to music, hang out outside and with animals and friends and family (not necessarily in that order xD), and rant about fiction! Like actually I spend so much time talking about books and movies and characters and plots and places and words and yes I just love fiction okay. Only like 700 more words to go lets gooo. Hmm what else yeah I live in Canada always have probably always will, I really love it here I love the BC forests and mountains. Canada’s an awesome country, there should be more books set here it makes me sad most of the books I read are set in the US - I mean the US is great but I want books set here not in New York okay. Anyways, moving on from that tangent- I have four siblings, 1 older sister, 2 younger, and then there’s my brother the youngest (yep four girls and then a boy, yes he is insane. We all are). OH yeah, I’m insane you should know that xDD. Hmmm what else what else we have a cat, his name is Jude and he’s kinda a grey tabby with a white neck and belly and bottom half of face and cute little white mittens on his paws (and mittens makes me think of Amity from the owl house because MITTENS) and oh yeah I live in a world of book/movie/song/musical/etc references I swear everything makes me think of something else. It’s fun except when I leave people behind and then they don’t understand xD. I like Rick Riordan’s books (PJO, HOO, TOA, Kane) and lots of other books so many books, the hunger games and artemis fowl and wings of fire and the wingfeather saga and divergent and lots of authors like Kasie West and Wendy Mass and Rick Riordan of course and so many other books and my favourite TV shows are probably the Owl House, Dragons: Race to the Edge, and Once Upon a Time (basically the only two tv shows - that aren’t like, paw patrol or little kid shows when I was younger or because my siblings were watching them - I’ve seen but anyways) And ooo movies, I like MCU (my favourites right now being the spiderman movies, Guardians of the Galaxy volume 3 - yes specifically volume 3 - infinity war, and endgame), most disney movies but not all, lots of different dreamworks movies like How to Train Your Dragon, and then a whole pile of other movies. For music I’ll listen to almost anything if I’m being honest, some of my favourite songs at the moment are Carried Away (Shawn Mendes), Ship in a Bottle, Fix you, and oh ofc there’s musicals - I like Epic: the Musical (favourite songs being… a lot some are Open Arms, My Goodbye, Ruthlessness) wow now only 725 words total… time for 275 more! Oh right more musicals, lets see, Hamilton, Dear Evan Hansen, etc, And I like Wait for me and Defying Gravity and should probably see or listen to the rest of those musicals but um I haven’t yet so– arg come on I can’t run out of steam now what’s more stuff about me. Let’s do some more favourites because that’s been a theme - my favourite colour is blue, favourite weather is sunny but cool and kinda dotted with clouds, favourite season is summer, favourite animals are felines and canines and whichever of those foxes fall in xD, and my favourite sport is track and field. I compete in track and field, this is going to be my fourth year, and depending on the year I do different things - usually some combination of sprints, high jump, shot put, discus throw, basically by whatever practices I can get to and then at meets I compete in what I can. Do not try to do three events at the same time, do not even try to do two events at the same time at a meet. Just pick one. Because it sucks. I know from experience. Anyways, 75 more words! I really like to write and I’ll write in almost any genre just like how I read in any genre, but mainly some sort of real fi or fantasy, and I have wayy way way too many stories and characters and worlds in my head and one day they will break out and take over the world but it is NOT THIS DAY *and now I want to qoute the lord of the rings but I feel like it wouldn’t count* anyways, I’ve finished my 1000 words but “ONE DOES NOT SIMPLY” write a 1000 word intro (Boromir xDD)

1027 words

Daily March 14, 580 words

I pulled her close and wrapped my arms around her like I would never let go, like she was the most precious thing in the world. Because to me she was. She was beautiful and perfect and wonderful and I never wanted anything bad to happen to her. I wanted to hold her close to my chest and protect her from this imperfect world and all its dangers and tragedies. I knew I couldn’t, but that just means I’d have to teach her and raise her so that she would be ready for the world. But not yet. Right now, she was just my little star.

I pulled her close and wrapped my arms around her like I would never let go, like she was the most precious thing in the world. The tears streamed down her face as I brushed the dirt off her knee, gently kissing it better. I wished all injuries were that easily mended. I wished all problems were that easily solved. I wished that my kisses would always be magic that mended every ouch and that a few words would always soothe so easily, but of course wishes don’t really come true.

I pulled her close and wrapped my arms around her like I would never let go, like she was the most precious thing in the world. New things are hard and it would be so much easier if things would just stay the same - if she were always my precious little baby that I could protect from the world - though I know that that’s impossible, and that she deserves to grow up and learn, even if it’s hard at first - sometimes - a lot of the time. She can do this, my little star. She is strong.

I pulled her close and wrapped my arms around her like I would never let go, like she was the most precious thing in the world. I let her cry like I know she needed, and I tried to think back to what I wanted when I was feeling like her, what I would’ve needed to hear, and I try to say the right thing, because I can’t stand for her to feel this way - I can’t stand for her to cry. She is beautiful and precious and so, so, so loved. I hope she can see that, my star.

I pulled her close and wrapped my arms around her like I would never let go, like she was the most precious thing in the world. She needed me, but she pushed me away, because she wasn’t my little baby star anymore, she was older and harder and I wished I could have protected her better from this. I wish she didn’t have to feel any pain. I wish I could take her heart and hide it away where it could never be given or stolen or broken ever again. But that wouldn’t really be helping. And wishes don’t really come true.

I pulled her close and wrapped my arms around her like I would never let go, like she was the most precious thing in the world. And I cried because I had failed. I hadn’t protected her well enough. I hadn’t done anything right. She was beautiful and perfect and so so so loved, and she hadn’t known it and she hadn't believed it and now it was too late. Now I could never again hope to protect her. My precious little star was gone.

Daily march 15: 450 words

I stared at the cloaked figure.
“I’m… I’m going to-”
“No.”
“W-what?” I turn to Zayd as he shoves the figure so he has to take a step back.
“No.” He repeats. “Prince isn’t dying. Not tonight. Not for a very long time.”
“You can’t change destiny,” is the figure’s vague reply.
“Well you can take. your. destiny. back.” Zayd says, poking the caped figure in the chest with each word. It dawns on me that I’ve never seen him acting this angry. “It’s not his.”
“You can’t change it,” the figure repeats, and then he’s gone, faster than I would’ve thought possible. We’ve seen a lot of the impossible. Zayd spins to me, fire in his eyes.
“You’re not dying. Not if I can help it.”
“It’s- it’s okay. I mean, I knew- we knew- this was always a last chance, right? I’ve had months to prepare for this, I just didn’t think or expect or-”
“No. We’re here because we’re fixing you- it- we’re stopping it, alright?” And then I see it. Hiding underneath the fire. He’s not angry. He’s pleading. With me. With himself. With the world, even.
“Zayd-” I say, placing a hands on his shoulders so I can stare right into those eyes, and he doesn’t flinch or look away. “You’re going to be okay.”
“What- that’s not- I-” and then the tears fall, and I pull him in, and he sobs into my shoulder for a moment. Then there’s a deep breath and he settles himself, ready now. Or at least ready to pretend to be ready. That’s all we can really ask for, most of the time.
“Come on. We have a destiny to thwart,” he says, turning towards the sunrise and the mountain, the light painting shadows across the determination on his face. And I don’t argue with him, even if this hope might come back to bite him. I don’t want him to be hopeful and then crushed. I wonder for a moment how soon it’s coming. Do I have minutes, or hours? The sun’s barely risen… will I be here to see another sunset? Or was last night’s my last? I try to push the thoughts away- I’ll just cherish every hour, every minute I have. And maybe Zayd’s right. Maybe we will thwart destiny. Maybe we’ll both live another day, another year, maybe we have a whole lifetime. I hope we never say goodbye to each other, and I know it’s not fair, but I hope I go first… I don’t think I could say goodbye to him. I wipe a tear off my cheek. It’ll be fine. I’ll convince myself that it’ll be fine. We’ll both be fine.

Character Reference Sheet:

Full name: Jorge Arellano-Smith (yep Smith, deal with it)
Nickname: Jay (which you'd probably think IS his name bc he's not gonna tell you it's Jorge)
Age: 18
Gender: Male
Romantic orientation: Straight
Height: 5'2" (but claims he's taller ofc)
Build: Wiry
Hair: Wavy, Brown, longer in the front and sides and always messy
Eyes: Brown, big, a little mischevious
Markings/scars: light brown freckles on face/body (but not a lot), small scar on left eyebrow and chin (yup matching eyebrow scars).
Clothing: Mostly cargo pants and tees, also has a favorite jacket and likes sunglasses
Family: Big brother (23), twin little sisters (16) and younger brother (14), but large age gaps so still kinda lonely. Parents split up when he was 12 so that's fun/sarc. Big family on his mom's side, some family that he kinda never sees on his dad's side.
Nationality: A little everything, but mainly hispanic (mexican-mom) european (german/irish/british/etc-dad) american.
Birthday: May 5, 1995
Health conditions: Severe nut allergy, mild animal allergies (but loves and pets them anyways)
Job: Unemployed
Hopes/Dreams: Always joked he'd be a comedian, but still hasn't really settled on a career (currently in a gap year, needs to figure out college but of course he's procrastinating that)
Interests/hobbies: Drawing, Animals, Daredevil stunts (cliff jumping, crazy amuzement park rides, etc), Watching/Re-watching/Binge Watching TV shows (even if ppl would say he's too old for them now), watching musicals.
Flaws: He's a reckless chaotic human! Tho in seriousness too reckless and sometimes doesn't care as much as he should about his well being. Doesn't recognize his limits enough and it's kinda a problem. Stuffs his emotions away in a box, also not healthy. Wayy too funny and handsome for his own good/j Also way too good at procrastinating, and kinda disorganized and forgets where he puts his stuff.
Coping mechanisms: Making light of his situation, humor in general, fidgeting.
Talents: Drawing, musical theatre and comedy (or at least he thinks so…)
Habits: Getting lost in thought, cracking jokes at bad times, humming musical songs.
Fears: Thassalaphobia ('the ocean' or more specifically, scary things you can't see swimming in dark water around you), also Autophobia (but more on the everyone-hating-or-ignoring-me side), Arachnophobia (spiders, but hides it as best he can bc teasing siblings)
Prized possession: His jacket, given to him by his dad back when they had a working relationship (if they ever did…)
Sociability level: probably like an 8/10 because he's so humourous, but he feels like he's like a 3/10 because insecurity.
Powers/abilities: None, just a lil human bean, unless you count his incredible humor and good looks/j
Best experience: Grade 12 school musical
Worst experience: Parents breaking up (wow they both have parent issues that's fun)
Personality: Really funny dude who's just trying to cheer everyone up, and make sure that they're okay, but is usually feeling terrible about himself inside and maybe that's why he's so reckless (ok that got depressing)
Distinguishing trait: freckles? jacket?

… Now he's basically just the Keefe Sencen/Leo Valdez character type – humourous trauma boy.

Daily March 23: 535 words

From the road, through the gap in the low, mossy stone wall, you travel up a dirt path between two great oak trees, arriving at the round oak door. It has a round gold door knob and a round window with a cross in it at just the right height to peek through. It opens into a round room, with hooks of varying heights along the wall to hang cloaks and coats, and shoes and boots lined up below them, and three archways branching off to the right, left, and centre.
Turning right will lead you to a quaint kitchen. A cool stone tiled floor. Matching oak cabinets. A fire blazing cheerfully under a bubbling pot. The window above the sink is open to let in the breeze, and a kettle is boiling for tea. Through a doorway you arrive in a dining room, with a long oval table that has plenty of room for guests, though off to the side is a sliding door to the breakfast room, with a little table for just a few and big windows looking out to the garden.
Inside the stone wall covered in moss, creeping ivy, and flowering honeysuckle, tomato and onion and bean plants sit in neat rows, the fruits of their harvest destined for the pantry, while other beds, separated from the kitchen gardens by a stream with a quaint bridge, hold daffy-down-dillies, peonies, delphiniums, lavender, and other garden flowers, and roses climb a trellis along the wall of the house. Bees buzz merrily among flitting butterflies. Over it all, a weeping willow hangs her boughs, little primroses blooming around her roots.
Back inside and past the dining room is the pantry, and quite a pantry it is, filled with bread and cheese and fruit, cookies and cocoa and flour, baking powder and biscuits, potatoes and onions, and boxes of teas and jars of honey. Coming out of the pantry and through the dining room to the right, you’ll find yourself in the library that the centre door of the entryway was leading you too, with a cozy fire, pictures on the mantel, large windows with window seats and soft, gauzy curtains, and a large couch, soft rug, and comfy armchairs. Bookshelves line all available wallspace, filled with tomes of all subjects and sizes, from classics to romances, adventures to mysteries, to thick serious dictionaries and encyclopedias. Finally, past all the rest of the house, you’ll reach the cozy bedrooms, each personalised to their inhabitants, the washrooms, and the storage room.
Though if you cared to look in one subtle closet, you’d find the stairs to the attic, filled with boxes and secrets and little cubbyholes, and a trapdoor to lead you to a cozy little nook behind a shelf in the library, the best for secret reading at night, or listening into whispered conversations… In truth, the entirety of the little house is filled with passages and riddles, a little door behind the rosebush, the perfect passageway to pinch a pie from the pantry, the best peepholes for spying on an unsuspecting caller. At first glance, cozy, at second glance, quaint, at third glance, perhaps just a little mysterious, and overall, very very curious.

Here is my rather messy speedrun weekly:

Part 1: 281/250 words

Exposition / Inciting Incident:
On monday, March the 3rd, the Cake was stolen. It was a birthday cake for the two very mischievous twins. At first, they were the main suspects, but they seemed too distraught over the loss to be guilty. A few others were already in the house at the time - the parents, the siblings, and the two best friends of the twins.
Rising Action
As a way to cheer up the distraught twins, they turned this little problem into a full fledged mystery. The twins became the main detectives, suspecting everyone and searching the entire house for clues. Several red herrings and clues turn up, pointing to everyone and the cat. Things seem to be more complicated then they seemed.
Climax
As everything falls apart in a huge mess, it’s finally revealed that the twins were the culprits all along, and simply wanted a mystery for their birthday. They didn’t know that things would so quickly get out of hand! Everyone has mixed emotions on this turn of events, but focus on the task at hand.
Falling Action
With the help of all the houseguests, items are returned to their rightful owners, apologies are made, the cat is found, a new cake is baked, and a wonderful cake it is too, and in general everything is back in its rightful place and things are returning to normal. Everything is fine. …Or is it?
Conclusion
As the guests settle in to enjoy the party, barking is heard from the back of the house, followed by lots of shouting. The partygoers rush to see what might have caused all of the ruckus. Perhaps it was just a stray dog…. Or perhaps this time, there’s a true mystery to be solved.

Part 2: 221 /200 words

Red Herring number 1: Chocolate on mother’s hands and face. Jumped to the conclusion that this meant she had eaten the cake, however, it is soon revealed that she baked the cake, and simply was in too much of a hurry and rush to wash up afterwards, leaving chocolate stains on her hands and face.
Clue number 1: The twins are overly eager to begin the investigation. They provoke the suggestion of it, and then speedily jump on the chance, getting into it very quickly and go rather over the top. This is also a red herring in a way, making it seem like it isn’t them.
Red Herring 2: The missing Cat. There are pawprints in the kitchen, where the cake was, and it is suspected that she may be hiding because she’s guilty, after all, why else would she run from the scene of the crime? It’s later revealed that she had kittens, another distraction from the case at hand.
Clue number 2: Grandpa’s diet. It is suspected that he may have stolen the cake, since he wouldn’t have gotten any if he asked, due to his diet. This creates a huge conflict, everyone becoming very defensive and angry at the twins for even suggesting such a thing of their grandfather. In the end the twins apologize to him.

Part 3: 327/200 words

MY PART:

“Please state your name and where you were this morning, monday, March the 3rd.” The interviewer asks seriously.

“Tilly, you look so nervous. Do you want some donuts?” The interviewer asks, pushing a plate of donuts across the table. Which is definitely normal and happens all the time.

“If you were at the mango mart, wouldn't you have had mangoes already, and thus not be hungry? I'm starting to wonder about you're alibi, Tilly.” The interviewer says with a slight smile. Who's side is she on anyways?

“Interesting, very interesting.” The interviewer replies, steepling her fingers. “And the reason that you haven't eaten your mangoes certainly isn't because you were the one who ate the cake, for said party? and were subsequently too full to eat any mangoes?”

“Well that's the real reason we're here, isn't it? You're alibi is flimsy, more of a clue pointing to you than anything else, and you're literally the sole suspect of this case. Any more obvious, and you'd have a trail of cake crubs, along with the chocolate icing on your face!” The interviewer points condemningly.

“So you admit that you were at the scene of the crime!“ The interviewer says, grinning.

”Very convienient… almost too convienient…“ The interviewer says, then continues ”But I ask you this: How would you know how long after you left the cake was brought out? How did you know it was strawberry- yes, yes I heard that, and finally, how did you know about the pinata?“
”And if I texted Maya right now, she'd be able to confirm that fact?“ The interviewer asks, pulling out a cellphone.

”Is that so?“ The interviewer says. ”Alright then, we'll leave her out of this - although that's another strike against you, very suspicious behaviour. Tilly.“

”Is that so…“ the interviewer says, suspicious. ”You seem a little too-“ suddenly, she bursts into a fit of giggles. ”Aww, I can't keep this up- it's me!“ Maya takes off her sunglasses.

—-
@sweetcakefamily’s Part:
”My name is Tilly,“ the interviewee replied, hoping she didn't look suspicious. ”I was grocery shopping at Mango Mart this morning.“
”Uhm- sure,“ Tilly replied, cautiously reaching over to take one.
”I haven't eaten the mangoes yet,“ Tilly replied firmly. ”I bought them to save for later- for a party my neighbour is hosting.“ Tilly frowned. ”Of course not. Why would I do that?“
”I thought it was strawberry..?“ Tilly mumbled, before her eyes widened. ”Actually, I don't know what you're talking about…I haven't been to my neighbour's backyard where they're setting up the party, not since yesterday.“”No, no, not when it happened! Before,“ Tilly retorted. ”I came over yesterday to help them set up. They brought out the cake a few minutes before I left, so I wouldn't have had time to eat it!“
”Maya, the neighbour, sent me a picture of it and said so in her text. Um, I meant I THOUGHT it would be strawberry, because Maya said she wanted a strawberry cake- and what pinata?“”Oh, the pink pinata?“ Tilly perked up. ”Because I bought it for them. I'm no cake thief.“
”Um, maybe, but she won't answer, she's busy!“ Tilly replied hastily. ”I don't think there's any need to bother her!“
”No suspicious behaviour going on here, I can assure you," Tilly said, breathing a sigh.


Part 4: 690/550 words

“Maya! Jayden! Come in here!” Their mother called from the other room. They ran in, flopping onto the couch, grinning.
“What is it?” Maya asked.
“You wouldn’t happen to know anything about this?” Their mother asked, holding up the cake platter, licked clean. They stared at it with expressions of shock and surprise. Maya burst into tears and ran out of the room.
“What happened to our cake?” Jayden cried. “It was so beautiful!”
“Well…” their mother said, looking surprised, “I thought the two of you ate it, but I suppose not…”
“Who’d do something like this, on our birthday!” He complained. “They should be brought to justice!”
“I don’t know… maybe you two should find out,” she suggested.
“Yeah!” He said, brightening. “I’ll go get Maya!”

Minutes later they had everyone gathered in the living room. Jayden paced back and forth, hands clasped behind his back, while Maya offered the occupants party snacks.
“We’ve called you all here for a very serious matter,” Jayden said. “Our cake has been stolen, and we will find the culprit!” The room’s occupants look around, wondering if this is something to be taken seriously. Sophia giggles. Jayden stomps up to her.
“You think that’s funny, do you?” He demands, looking at her over his dark sunglasses.
“She’s just a toddler, Jayden,” Their mom says.
“Show us your hands!” He announces, and they carefully examine everyone.
“No incriminating chocolate to be found…” Maya says.
“Time for questioning!” Jayden declares.

People are getting impatient as this mystery drags on, so when Katie runs in, everyone welcomes the distraction.
“I can’t find pickles!” She sobs.
“A new suspect!” Jayden declares.
“Me?” She asks.
“No, Pickles! He’s been acting strange for weeks, and I saw him at the scene of the crime… now he’s gone! Only someone guilty would run!”
“Jayden,” their mom says. “I don’t think that the cat ate your birthday cake.” Still, the search is on, all through the house they look. Finally they discover him in a sock drawer… with a litter of kittens? Their father looks annoyed, but mom just laughs.
“I guess Pickles is a she, not a he!” She cries.
“And I guess that provides her with the perfect alibi… we need a new suspect!” Jayden declares.
“Wait, I know!” Maya cries, then whispers something in his ear. He nods, and they race back down the stairs and onto the porch, slamming the door behind them.

Jayden and Maya are sitting on the couch, scribbling notes and tacking things with red string, when their mother comes down to meet them.
“Your grandfather is very upset,” she says. They don’t answer. “Why would you accuse him of stealing your cake? This is getting really out of hand!”
Maya reaches over to grab a cookie off a plate.
“You two need to apologise to your Grandpa,” their mom says.
“But mom, we can’t cross anyone off the list of suspects!” Jayden finally complains.
“Your grandpa is not a suspect… and I think you two know who’s really guilty,” She says, raising an eyebrow at them. “Enough of this charade. It’s time to come clean.”

Everyone gathers back in the living room, although it was hard to drag some of them away from the new kittens upstairs. Jayden and Maya stand together in the centre of the room. Their mom waves her hand, and Maya sighs.
“Here’s the cake,” she says, pulling it out from under the table. “No one really ate it.”
“We’re sorry we accused people,” Jayden says. “Especially you, Grandpa.”
He just huffs in reply, but the corner of his mouth quirks in a smile.
“We wanted to have a mystery for our birthday,” Maya explains.
“Yeah, and be like real detectives!” Jayden adds.
“But things did get out of hand…” Maya says.
“So we’re sorry,” Jayden finishes. Everyone sighs with relief that all the mystery business is over.
“Mom’s the real detective anyways,” Maya adds. “She’s the one that figured out it was us the whole time!” This is followed by a chorus of “I knew too” and “No, it was pretty obvious,” leaving the twins glaring and blushing.

The Princess Who Would Not Be Given Away
A Daily for March 28, 2024
502 words

When I was a child, I read all the fairytales, telling of the perfect princesses who did the perfect things and found their perfect match. They sat and they waited and then along came someone to marry them - perhaps a prince, perhaps a pure-hearted boy, or perhaps someone who lies and tricks, but is apparently fine anyways. And then there was me. Sitting on the top of a glass hill with three golden apples in my lap, day in and day out, watching as all those oafs attempted the impossible task of riding a horse up the hill. Stupid.

Finally, one of them made his way to the top. So now I am to marry him. Of course. After all, he did the ridiculous task, so obviously he must be worthy of my hand and half of my kingdom. Well, too bad. Now that I’m not stuck on that hill, I can finally do something with my life. Because, you see, I don’t care that he did it. Good effort and all. Nice horses and armor. But that doesn’t make him the right man for me. Honestly, I don’t want to marry yet. Maybe not ever. So that’s why I’m going to do this. Today.

I close my diary and stretch my arms above my head. My wedding is tomorrow. They planned it and prepped it and rushed around fussing. They made my dress. They prepared the orchestra. Did they ask me any of my opinions about my wedding? No. But it doesn’t matter anyways. I get out of my cozy bed and pick up the box that was dropped off last night. Early wedding present they thought. In a way, I suppose that it is.

I open it, carefully lining everything up on my bed. Then I get started. Dressing in the simple, comfortable commoner’s clothing. Packing the things I need from my room in the bag. Plaiting my hair into a messy braid down my back, leaving strands to hang around my face. Finally, I pull on my boots and look around the room. I’ve barely spent any time here - just the nights, sleeping between the rides to and from the glass hill. It was never home, and now it’s time to go. I slip into the servants stairway, scurrying quickly down and out of the palace, until I reach the glass hill.

She’s waiting for me there. I smile when I see her. All of those oafs trying to climb it on their horses, while she and I signed to each other - her sitting in her tree, me on my hill. I haven’t had a lot of time for learning in my life - by the time I was 12 years old, I was stuck on that hill - but that was plenty of time to learn how to sign. It proved to be a useful skill. She hops out of her tree when she sees me, grinning. Time for some new adventures.

Daily March 29:

Mia reaches over and squeezes my hand. I squeeze it back, but my hands are still shaking.
“The tension is killing me!” She whispers, which prompts a laugh from me… or maybe it’s just the nerves.
“I’m the one finding out my power, not you,” I whisper back. We didn’t even know I was a power before today. It’s terrible that she’s not too, but she was never sad or angry at all.
“I know, but still!”
“…why are we whispering anyways?”
“It seemed like the right thing to do.”
I just nod. She opens her mouth to say something, but the door opens. There it is. The amulet that’s going to give me my power.
“Do I just… take it?” I ask. She laughs.
“Of course, you doofus! Put it on!”
Even in the limited time since we found out, we’ve talked so much about what it might be. Time to find out I guess. I can feel the anticipation everywhere, my hands shaking as I lift it up and put it over my head and– nothing. I feel normal - better than a moment ago, actually. I turn to Mia.
“Nothing hap-” I stop. Her face has gone pale and she’s slumped against the wall. “What’s wrong?” I ask. She breathes shakily.
“I don’t… know….” she says. I turn to ask Liann- she’s the adult here. But she’s wobbling on her feet, and I just catch her as she falls. As soon as she touches me, she slumps completely, eyes closed.
“Help!” I yell. I don’t understand- what’s happening- why- Two more people run in.
“What happened?” The first asks, while the other runs over to check on me. As soon as she touches my arm, she slumps against me, and I can barely hold her up. The man stares at me. Takes a step forward. Puts a hand to his chest. Backs up, out of the room.
“How… what are you doing?” He asks.
“What?”
“I’d think there’s something in the air… but you’re fine… so it must be you…” then his eyes land on my chest. My amulet. Is it- no- it can’t be-
I take it off with shaky hands. Immediately, I feel exhausted. Both the unconscious women groan and sit up. I turn to see Mia blink groggily.
“W-whatishap-” she asks, but I cut her off with a tight hug. The man’s words chill me.
“Back up.” I do, confused. But I think I know why.
“It’s… it’s the amulet isn’t it?” I say. I feel sick. “I did that.”
“What happened?” Mia demands, shooting to her feet. She wobbles and I catch her.
“That-” I say miserably. “My amulet- it- I- I don’t know why but you, and them- and-” I’m crying now and I don’t know why. Because I can’t use my amulet? Because they got hurt? Because I hurt them? Or because I felt so good while it was happening?

Just Give Me a Chance

Please
Please
Please

I know you’re there
Somebody listening
I know that you are
Please come and help me
if you’re not too far
I know that you care

I hope that you care

Please
Please
Please

Give me a reason to
Keep on trying
I’m crying and screaming
I know I wasn’t dreaming
I know that you’re there
Listening

So just give me a chance
A moment to prove
I don’t want to lose
I’m fighting and trying
To stay
Alive and sane

I know that you hear me

So please just give me a reason
to keep on trying
Giving and living
And just not dying
Dying
Dying

I’m at the end of my rope
So please just give me something to grasp
One last chance
One last hope

I need someone to rely on
A shoulder to cry on
A hand to hold
Someone who knows
My pain

Please
Please
Please
Give me a reason to stay, to,
To just keep breathing
Endless
Trying
Giving
Living not dying
And asking why

Cause I’ve been crying screaming
I know I wasn’t dreaming
You’re there
Somewhere out there
Somewhere out there
You’re there
And I know that you care
So please
Please
Please

Please just give me a chance
One last chance
I’m at the end of my rope
Give me something to grasp
Something to hold
A glimmer of hope

I know that I don’t deserve it
At all
I know that I deserve to fall
But please
Just
give me a moment
a chance
a reason
Something to grasp

Why should I keep trying
Why should I keep living
Why shouldn’t I die
Why should I keep giving

I’m at the end of my rope
Just give me some hope
And please

Please

Please

Give me a hand
Something to grasp
I’m at the end of my rope
I just need a chance

I know someone must be there
I still believe you that care
After all that I’ve faced

All I need is a chance
A moment
At the end of my rope
Just give me something to grasp
A reason to just keep trying
Living not dying
Giving all that I have

Please

Please

Please

Just give me a chance.

Thankyou notes (may be added to in the future, we'll see)

First of all, I know that if you read them all I’ll probably sound repetitive and I’m sorry for that, but it’s kinda true that everyone here is kind and amazing. I’m also sorry if you look and you’re not here, everyone in SWC is amazing and I hope someday I’ll get to know all of you well enough to write thousand-word thank you letters to at the end of the session <33

My wonderful leaders! (@iinspirqtion, @Xx_Hermione_xX, @starr-light)

Thank you so much for an amazing session! You created such a fun and memorable cabin, and even if we didn’t escape the woods, we got close. The storyline and activities were very cool and the overall aesthetic was great. Apart from the cabin, you were all such wonderful, kind, and engaged leaders and great people, and I’m excited to see what sort of cabins you might be leading in the future and to get to know you better .

All my many cabin mates!

You guys were great! Thanks for holding down the fort during cabinwars (why am I never online for them :sobs and helping try to escape the woods… we will someday, I’m sure. Until then, honestly, you guys are pretty great people to be stuck with.

Nova (@Novanuhea123):

Thanks a lot for eating our cabin T-T. You’re a very creative and funny penguin- I mean person- um anyways, I’ve loved talking to you this session (and it's been fun messing with you). Don’t worry though, I’m not actually going to take over Mythsy. Probably.

Tilly (@sweetcakefamily):

Hello my fellow Discopain member -yes yes I know that’s not this session, but still- You’re super fun, and SWC wouldn’t be the same without you. Thank you so much for your wonderful interview, you were super fun to work with, and just in general you’re a wonderful person . I hope to see you in many future sessions.

Bella (@-Wraiith)

I know you’ve been dealing with a lot this session, and I just want to say that you’re amazing and cool and kind and SWC wouldn’t be the same if you weren’t here with us <33

Poppy (@PoppyWriter)

You’re very funny and kind and a great leader (even if you weren’t mine)! I hope someday you get over your fear of cows, they can be really adorable, and I thank you for all the words you’ve added for me and your dedication to camp!

Chloe (@smartypantschlo )

You’re apples sure stirred up a lot of trouble… I’m still not sure if I have any sideeffects from the one I ate, but I guess I’ll take your word that it was a normal apple. You started something cool which I think is amazing, and you’re very funny and kind! I hope to see more of you (and maybe also your apples) in future sessions .