Herm's Critique

I love the idea of this piece, and especially the message that it carries. There are a few things I’d like to point out!

Firstly, establishing reasoning is a good idea. Reading through this piece, I have a few questions. Why would the government burn down the town? If it’s for fun, then try to establish that more, but I don’t personally think that’s a good enough excuse. Maybe there were materials like oil or gold (gulp) around the island and they wanted to kick out the people living there? Or perhaps the people living there protested against the government often and didn’t listen when they tried to warn them, so this is the government’s way of legally getting revenge? Another thing was… well, why did they stay just to leave? Something should’ve changed. Perhaps they were like “oh the government’s bad, but they won’t attack us if we’re still here” but then they started burning parts of the edges of the island anyway, and the people realised that the government was being serious.

Secondly, you have a lot of telling in this piece. Show-not-tell is a good rule to go by. For example, you say “the government should not be allowed to burn down small towns”. In light of what I said in the previous paragraph, you could instead maybe recall freedom of speech or something, stories of the old about democracy and being able to say whatever you like about the government.

Finally, I LOVE the open ending. However I think you can make the climax a little more dramatic. Maybe the fire is slowly approaching them and they’re hoping their plan works, whatever it is, leaving it up to the reader to understand, and decide whether the trio survive. Extra points if you don’t give too many details about the ‘plan’ so that can also be open, too.

Overall, amazing piece, just keep an eye out for the things I’ve mentioned!

edit: spoilers for stuff that happens towards the end of my series

edit 2: yes, this is the same Eclipse as the Half-Canon one, but the Canon version is significantly different, so keep that in mind

The sun went dark.
This was normal, of course. The turtles knew the patterns of the sun and the moon would align at times, casting darkness over the land.
But they had been watching for eons. There were other eyes, newer eyes, that lacked the experience of the ancients, that witnessed each event as if it were the first time ever.
Some looked to the skies with fear.
Some with confusion.
Some with indifference.
And a rare few, with wonder.
The planet kept turning as it always had, and the light of the sun soon returned to the world. But those brief moments were enough to capture the imagination of one shazarxa for a long time to come.
One day, not too long after, a pair of eggs hatched upon the sandy shores of the continent. The hatchlings broke out from their dark shells and let the sunlight bathe their bedraggled feathers.
The shazarxa looked down upon them with affection as deep as the skies. He couldn’t know what the future held for his two sons. He could only commit himself to teaching them the patterns of the heavens, so that they need never be afraid of the darkness.
One would blaze through the night, a comet carving its brilliance across the minds of all he met. The other, a quiet gift to the universe, bringing change that would reverberate throughout the history that was yet to be written.
And when the eclipse came again, the sky would be matched by the earth below, by the creature that bore its name.
“My dear Comet, and little Eclipse,” the father said, blinking his love to the hatchlings who were too young yet to understand it. “I have so much to show you…”
He wrapped his tail around them as the stars shone above.
Reality was coming to meet them before too long. Destinies were meant to be fulfilled.
Even the turtles could feel the patterns shifting to accomodate the young starborn shazarxi.
The time was almost upon them. The skies were about to darken again, and this time… well.
Would they be ready?

Critique for @violent-measures and @criminal-intent, 374 words

Hey everyone! Today I'm critiquing a piece by Crim and Vi, so let's get started!
As always, all words in quotes are theirs, and all words outside quotes are mine.

This is where it started: Bellefleur, Oregon. Between pine trees and two-lane highways. A spot where nine minutes had disappeared, marked with an X. A little town where scared kids grew up and the air sometimes smelled of the sea. Where those kids were taken someplace they didn’t know and then abandoned, broken under the evergreens.

I absolutely love the way this starts off! The sentence fragments give the words a dramatic impact that gives the story a vivid, intense flavor, and the scene is set really nicely.

This is how it started. Sunflower seeds cracking in the night. Rain falling in dark sheets. The radio acting up, five stations playing all at once. A bright light shining outside their car, and suddenly a moment, nine minutes, gone.

“Time can’t just disappear, it’s a universal invariant!” she shouted at him over the rain, an incredulous smile crossing her rain-streaked face.

But they’d both seen it. Time didn’t work quite right here. He grinned crookedly in return. Nine minutes were a promise that the lost little girl could be found. This victory he commemorated in a bright orange X.

It started with scared girls and secrets in a dark motel room, with revelations shared next to ruined graves and rain soaking them through. They hadn’t remembered an umbrella.

His new partner had wide blue eyes and a laugh he thought he could listen to forever. She laughed at the insanity of nine minutes gone, of crippled girls walking. He laughed with her, but they both believed the truth could be hidden in a stopped watch and a patch of dirt from somewhere else. Science could prove the impossible real.

A quick thing here, I'm not part of the fandom so I don't know if the mention of the crippled girl is something that I would know about if I was, but coming from my perspective it feels a bit abrupt because there's no mention of it earlier and I don't have a reference for it. It's up to you whether you want to clarify or not; it really depends on whether you're aiming more towards others in the fandom or a more general audience.
Moving on!

“Where are we going?” she asked, in the beginning.

First they’d lost nine minutes, then seven years. Evidence never amounted to much more than an X on the concrete. But the seven years amounted to so much more.

Moments passed as quickly as the trees outside the window, a whole lifetime held inside yet gone in the blink of an eye. They wandered many more forests in search of time and girls that had gone missing. After Bellefleur, they usually remembered an umbrella.

Nice reference back to the umbrella here, the only edit I'd suggest is adding the word “them” after “inside” and before “yet”, just to make it clear what's holding the lifetime. I had to go back and reread the sentence before the meaning clicked, and adding the word “them” would help the reader follow along with your train of thought by making it clear what the subject is (the moments).

They never stopped asking each other questions, and he never stopped wondering if they were alone in this universe. It was never easy to believe, but it was easy to look up.

They watched the sky for lights, or at least he did. He got better at remembering to look down.

Another note here, watching the sky for lights and then looking down appear to contradict each other, maybe add some more clarification as to what the connection between the two sentences is.

They drove down many dark roads and, in motel rooms much like the first, shared secrets and revelations they could not prove. What they might not hold in their hands was contained in their memories.

Sometimes remembering was the hardest part, when there were too many lost girls and not enough found.

Seven years of lost time later, they were back in the car with no need for the radio because they knew each other’s silence. On a two-lane highway to Bellefleur, Oregon, once more, pines rolling by in the window.

This is how it ended. Warm and dry in this bright motel room, he asked her, “Where are we going?”

Not because he didn’t know, because he did. What he didn’t know was whether the place they were headed was worth it.

Something about this sentence is bothering me but I can't quite put my finger on how to change it and not make it a confusing mess; if you can find a way to eliminate one of the “becauses” that might help, but if you don't think you can do that without damaging the meaning too much I'd just leave it the way it is. It's not that much of a problem.

Seven years ago, he might have said it was. He’d have burned the world if the answers could have been found in its ashes. Holding her in his arms, today, he knew no truth could be more meaningful than this. His hands didn’t seem suited to holding it, anyways.

“I won’t let you go alone,” she said, and it was answer enough.

This was a really spectacular piece, y'all should feel proud of yourselves! The only thing I found any issues with was the clarification in some spots, but other than that, this looks amazing! As always, your writing is gorgeous, and I'm so glad I got to read and critique this piece <3

March 2024 writing competition
0 O’clock
Fall is so pretty. The leaves all different colors and falling gracefully to the ground. I was walking to school alone in my olive green hoodie. The sidewalk was crowded with other kids some older, some younger. Some walking with friends and some alone like me. I entered the building to the same crowded pushing and shoving as every day before that day and probably every day afterwards as well. I looked behind me as more kids filled the entrance to see the fall beauty disappear as the school building came into view.

“Everyone please sit down” announced Mr. Lewis, “We have a lot of work to do.”
Oh no! I’ll never get it all done! You see my brain often digresses when it comes to school work. (Digress was our ‘Word Of The Day’ meaning to get off topic according to my packet.) I shook my head, stood up and walked over to the pencil sharpener to sharpen two pencils. Once I sat down I began on my homework.
1,536+1,645 =
I paused, tapping my pencil tip on the paper which created light marks. I quickly erased them and got back to work.
1,536+1,645 =
I wrote ‘?’ And moved on. I knew how to solve it, I just didn’t want to. All I wanted to do was sit down and do absolutely nothing.

Later that day I sat down to lunch. The only other person who sat at the table was Yohaan who was my friend and because he packed lunch he got to come in first therefore he always got to choose the table we sat at. I looked at him and said nothing. As more people sat down, a conversation began.
“So, what’s goin’ on?” Asked Kay
“I dunno…” I paused, “A lot I guess, a lot.”
Kay laughed. After this a few smaller conversations started inside of these. Mack, David W and Yohaan started talking about Pokémon while me and Max were talking about memes. I didn’t want to seem awkward about it but this was hard since, I couldn’t really hear him. After lunch there was indoor recess (since it was raining) then English again and school was over. I walked home alone. It was a short walk but the rain made it just a bit more dramatic so let me edit my previous statement. I walked home, alone in the rain.

It is now eight o’clock. My sister told me to be asleep before now but I ignored her. Staring out the window of my room I noticed the rain. I was bored so I went back to my bed. Hours passed. 9:00 now 10:00. 11:00 and now 12:00. I was tired but couldn’t sleep. Suddenly a bang rang out through my room. It seemed to be coming from the closet.
I walked over to the door and pulled it open. A huge hole appeared in the wall and a small creature ran into my room. It seemed scared. It ran around my room looking for something. It finally settled on my hairbrush and scurried away, through the hole. I ran after it. I don’t know why, but I did.
The passage was dark and I could see glowing orbs along the walls and ceilings. Purples, greens, blues and pinks. The creature I noticed was a small yellow ‘fluffball’ with a long white tail. The tail was sort of like yarn. I grabbed it by the tail well, I tried to but it quickly dodged my attempt and jumped to the ceiling.
It grabbed onto the orbs of colors climbing faster than I could run. Suddenly I felt a pull from my arms and it felt like I was floating. I flipped so that I was now on the ceiling with the creature. I ran for a while with the creature still around seven feet ahead of me. It seemed like an eternity until I saw a bright light. The creature jumped through it and I sprinted after. As I started to see through the light I noticed that there were more of the creatures. More than fifty of them in all colors. Green, purple, yellow, pink, blue, orange, and colors that didn’t even exist.

Churro's Dailies No. 30- 3/30
Churro's always wanted to be a goddess. The goddess of churros, to be exact. What did you think, the goddess of psychopathicness?
Well, I guess she could pass as that too.
The strangest things can happen when you're just walking on a sidewalk. One moment, you could be taking a nice stroll at the park and the next, get knocked out by a brick.
“What?…Where am I?”
Churro sat up in a room of just white. The walls were impeccably sheened, if you could call them walls; it was just a space. A space of white.
Then suddenly a giant churro strolls into the room, sprinkling sugar everywhere it walked. And it opens its mouth.
And it says, “You're not the goddess of churros, Churro.”
The first thing Churro noticed wasn't the sinking feeling in her stomach. It was that the giant churro had a Jamaican accent.
“What do you mean, I'm not the goddess of churros?”
“You've been granted a different power.”
“What?”
“Yeah.”
“Then… what is it?”
“You're now the goddess of toothpicks.”
“…”
That wasn't what she expected.
“What? Why?” Churro asked.
“I don't run the system. Have a good day.” The giant churro said as it walked out of the white wall. Like it was a portal or something.
Toothpicks?!

Kyg woke up and yawned. Wait, what? Her yawn had been very, unnecisarily loud, and she cringed at the fact that if might have threatened to wake up her downstairs neighbors. They were very strict about Kyg and her amount of noise, and loved to send noise complaints.She tried making another sound, a quiet little ‘la’ or something, but it was also louder than a megaphone. After a few more attempts she was able to control her voice, but she had still become quite paranoid that she would suddenly make a earbursting noise again. She hurried along doing her average morning routine, though a bit quickersince she hc spent a bit trying to… be quiet? She washed her face, brushed her teeth, packed a protein shake and some mushy fruit and set off to work. It was close enough to walk so she always walked, unfortunately she also had a habit of saying hi to other people who were walking while she was walking to work, so of course she made the loudest hi ever when someone said hi to her on the street. He had given her a dirty look and turned around, while she had covered her face with her hands.

Daily 30th March

Grace brandished her penknife and set to work on her latest puppet for Oliver and Lucy. Flakes of wood spiralled gracefully to the floor as she whittled a delicate mouth and big watery eyes. Her hair fell in curls around her pale skin, brushing the wood gently.

Grace always hated it when the puppet shows were over, and they were left hanging from the stage, their heads drooping, their clothes sagging. She had felt a connection with them since she started working with wood, and her heart was shattered every time one of them broke or splintered. It was like part of her had been ripped away. But when she created new ones, it was as if they gave her new life, and she would begin again, another chance, a new life. And life would radiate inside Grace as she watched the show unfold. Pride would tingle inside her and she would be whole once more.

The sun set over the rugged cliffs, sending streaks of red and pink over the sea of dusky grasses. The end of another show. Oliver and Lucy filed out, beaming. Grace ambled to the stage and fondled one of the puppets. The moment she stroked its smooth head, a whirl of pale brown swirled inside her and a heart-wrenching pain filled her mind.

This puppet was a broken one, and Grace realised her superpower. She could feel the puppet’s emotions, their pain, their happiness. And she realised what they went through. Spots clouded her vision.
Why?

Daily for Dystopian


Tristen rolled out of bed. Sun streamed in through the windows. His brother had just come in and told him to get up, or they’d be late for soccer practice. No matter how many times his brother tried, he was never better at the game, and Tristen took pride in being the sporty one. He got dressed and went to go see if his brother was ready to head out. He found him in his room.
“Hey, are you ready to go?” His brother ran his hands through his platinum blond hair. He turned to face Tristen and yelped.
“Um, Tristen…”
“What?”
“Why is there fire on your shoulder?” Tristen turned to look, and sure enough, there was a small flame sitting on his shoulder. The weird thing was, it didn’t hurt. He poked it, and it moved to his hand.
“This is weird…” His brother's eyes widened.
“You think? It's like you have super powers or something!” Tristen groaned.
“But why fire?”
“I don’t know, but you should tell someone.”
“No way! People will think I’m crazy!” The flame grew bigger. He closed his fist around it, and it moved back to his shoulder. He sighed.
“Tell the coach I won’t be there today.” He wandered back to his room, glaring at the flame. It danced around his shoulders, taunting him. He pulled a photo album off his shelf and opened to a page that was full of pictures. The pictures were of a little girl, his sister. Fire was the reason she was dead, and now he was stuck with it.


263 words

when green flag clicked

forever
say [Dystopian Ruins FTW!]
end

Weekly 004: 2091 words, Sidekick

Sidekick has always been just that, a sidekick. At school, at work…he was always only second-best. No matter how hard he worked, there was always someone better. That was okay. He did the best he could, and he was satisfied with his life. Mostly.
However, the world flipped upside down for him one day, quite literally, when a supervillain attacked the building where he works and broke gravity. Horrified and confused, Sidekick watched as the stuff of legends–superheroes–battled back the monster and sent him home to his own dimension. The reason for the unexpected visit soon becomes clear: Sidekick has a few wisps of potential clinging to him, and the villains, foiled so many times by the heroes, are desperate for anyone they can lay their hands on.
The superheroes confront Sidekick about this potential and invite him to join their side, but he can’t imagine doing so. The ordinary world is his home, after all. He’s just an ordinary guy with an ordinary job; how could he ever be a superhero? He says no. However, when more strange things start to happen, he’s finally forced to accept.
He begins training under Golden, a famous super who’s saved the world more than once. She’s practically celebrity status among supers, but she’s never taken on a sidekick before, saying that she doesn’t need one. However, the council of supers is running out of mentors, so they force Golden to take him.
Along the way, he meets a super named May, who’s pretty and nice and talented, and also a new recruit. She helps him get through his worst days in training. NEW CHARACTER.
Golden is a tricky one. She gives Sidekick pointless tasks that lead nowhere and won’t tell him anything that would actually be of use for developing his potential. He’s falling behind his peers and hasn’t manifested a superpower yet, while his mentor is shining more brilliantly than ever. Dejected, he tried to resign, which of course is exactly what Golden wants.
Sidekick thinks about his previous life. FLASHBACK. No matter how old he was, whether in school, at work, or with his family, he was always second best. Why should this be any different? He tries to leave.
However, before he can, he catches Golden talking to a supervillain. PLOT TWIST. There’s a mole in the super council, and he’s just discovered it, but if he reveals it, Golden is more than capable of exacting revenge before the supers are able to process the information. He can’t run away now, though–he’s the only one who knows, and if he leaves, he’s putting everyone in danger.
Sidekick has to make a choice. Will he help the supers and risk Golden’s wrath? Or betray his friends and save his skin? The question hangs in the air, unanswered…OPEN ENDING AND CLIFFHANGER.

It was an ordinary house, in an ordinary neighborhood, in an ordinary town. Ordinary birds flew through the ordinary sky, and ordinary trees spread ordinary roots in the ordinary ground.
The town was not so large as to be crowded, nor so small as to be confined to one or two neighborhoods. It was not overly dirty nor overly clean, and the people living in it were neither overly poor nor overly rich. It was a very ordinary place to live, all things considered.
Or it was.
That was before the monster came, and reality bent, and one man in particular was left very, very confused as his ordinary life turned upside down.
Literally.

Rain trickled down like the sky’s plumbing had gone awry, smearing the windshield of his car with fat drops of water that crawled slowly down the glass. It hadn’t been raining hard enough when he left to worry him, but now he adjusted the windshield wipers and focused intently on the road, glad that he was almost at his destination. It’d been a long time since he’d seen a storm like this. He wasn’t too worried–there was no ominous boom of thunder, no feral strike of lightning, but the rain was still slicking the roads with moisture, and people, at least in his experience, tended to forget how to drive when faced with unusual weather conditions. With a sigh of relief, he pulled into the parking lot, turned the car off and stepped outside onto wet concrete. The rain streamed down the back of his coat, rippling with icy fingers down his spine. He ignored it as best he could, opening the door of the building where he worked and doing his best not to drip all over the carpet.
Aside from the sloppy rain lashing the window panes, the day was just like any other day. He sat down at his desk, arranged his papers, and got to work. The seconds ticked by, then the minutes, then the hours. There were no meetings today, thankfully. He wasn’t sure he could have sat through a meeting of people trying to make two hundred dollars plus three hundred dollars equal seven hundred dollars. A strange restlessness had awoken in him, along with the storm.
He was about to stand and leave to eat lunch when the building trembled and shook, his pens and papers jittering on this desk. Did it have something to do with the storm? Maybe the building was just settling or something. That did happen, right?
The shaking got worse, though, and he blinked. His eyes were playing tricks on him now, making him think the bouncing office supplies were floating. Except it really did look like they were floating, and his feet weren’t really touching the ground anymore, and then there was a spinning moment of chaos and screaming as reality flipped and everything changed. There was a dizzying moment of neither-here-nor-there, and then the building settled, exactly as it had been…except it was now upside down.
And then, just when things couldn’t get any weirder, the monster arrived.
Looking back on it afterwards, he wasn’t quite sure how to describe it. It was a twisted tangle of flesh and bones and deep-set eyes, glowing malevolently as enormous teeth gaped in a snarl.
Coworkers yelped and scrambled and ran, but he stood stock-still, right where he was. Frozen by fear, perhaps, or maybe something deeper. Maybe there was the tiniest hint of curiosity.
And beneath that, tinier still, a spark of something else.
Something very, very fast and very, very golden whizzed through the air and hurtled into the beast, provoking a ground-rattling roar. His brain struggled to catch up with his eyes, but finally, he managed to make sense of what he was witnessing.
That was a monster.
And that was a superhero.
In movies and books, moments like this stretched on forever, leaving the character with plenty of time to wonder, marvel, think.
In real life, it was a matter of seconds before the creature disappeared with a tiny blip and another furious roar, and the super stopped in midair and floated gracefully back to the ground. She didn’t wear a ridiculous swim-suit like outfit, but a normal sweatshirt and leggings, although both were in an almost blinding shade of gold. Her curly hair was pulled back from her face in a simple ponytail, and her smile was just as bright as her clothing.
“Hello there,” the super said. “I’ve come to save you.”
Without giving him any time to react, she grabbed his hand and pulled him forward, out of reality and into someplace else and back again. Too disoriented to resist, he did nothing but blink at the sprawling metropolis that was suddenly right underneath his nose. Quite literally–they were flying, or rather hovering, above the sky-high buildings.
“Welcome to your new home,” she said.
He didn’t know how to process everything that had just happened. So he didn’t.
Everything went dark as his brain shut down.
++++
There had been a lot of things to learn, words like potential and superhero and supervillain and the super council. Words like Golden and sidekick and mentor and student. Words like I don’t want this.
In the end, the words finally swirled together into something mostly comprehensive.
He had a power, or at the very least, potential for a power. Others could sense it, which was what had led the monster to him. The beast had been sniffing out candidates in hopes of turning him over to the villains. But before it had taken him, Golden had arrived–Golden, whose powers were so legendary she was practically a celebrity super–Golden, one of the most famous heroes of all time–Golden, the youngest hero on the council.
Golden, who hadn’t wanted a student but had been forced to take one because the council said so.
And that lucky student was, of course, him.
Golden had made it perfectly clear how things between them stood. She’d teach him, reluctantly. And in between classes she was going to pretend he didn’t exist and he was going to stay out of her way. She hadn’t even bothered to learn his real name; whenever she needed to use a name, she called him Sidekick.
He didn’t care. He might have left in the beginning, of course, but that was before May. That was before perfection brushed his life and marked his heart forever.
++++
He leaned out over the balcony, watching the stars. They glittered like shards of ice trapped in the heavens, a sparkling expanse lit by millions of tiny lights. Golden lived in a huge mansion, and she loved going outside while still being in the house, apparently, because the home had balconies galore.
Light footsteps sounded behind him, and a warm hand closed over his.
“Hey, May,” he said, without looking up.
May settled beside him. “You all right? Rough day?”
“Yeah,” he agreed. “Rough day.”
She squeezed his hand once before letting go. “I can’t stay long; I just dropped by to see how you were doing. I’ll see you later, okay?”
He nodded, and she left. Probably to go out on yet another date with the stunningly perfect super that Sidekick was trying really, really hard not to be jealous of.
Oh, what was the use of trying? He’d go home tonight. He was tired of this. Tired of being second-best. He’d let Golden know that she was relieved from her duties of being a mentor. She’d be thrilled.
And things would go back to being the way they always were, an ordinary life in an ordinary town.
++++
He’d been ten and his sister had been nine when their grades started differing. He got Bs and As for the most part, respectable grades, but she shot past him with her A++ on nearly every assignment and test.
He’d been an okay player on the soccer team, but his friend Zach was way better, a menace on the field. Now he was a soccer superstar, while Sidekick hadn’t touched a ball in years.
He’d been saving up to get his mom a nice birthday present, but his brother had saved for twice as long, and his gift easily surpassed Sidekick’s.
He’d hoped for the promotion, but a coworker got it. He’d hoped the girl he met in college would go out with him at least a few times, but her heart already belonged to someone else.
He’d hoped to get first place. But inevitably, someone else won it instead.
++++
He went in search of his mentor, pausing when he spotted her on another of the balconies. He opened his mouth to speak to her, but then he heard her voice, although there was no one else out there, and she hadn’t seen him.
“Thanks, Roger. Yes, it’s a bit more complicated with him around, but I’m sure I’ll find a way. My guests are safely hidden where the council will never find them.”
Sidekick stilled, lips parting. It didn’t matter what she was talking about. If she was hiding from the council, it could only be something bad.
She whirled around at the almost imperceptible sound, eyes widening. A moment of silence fell.
“Are you going to turn me in?” she finally asked. She didn’t need to ask whether he’d heard. She knew. And lightning crackled at the tips of her fingers as she added, “I wouldn’t suggest it. I can make you suffer in ways you’ve never dared to dream of.”
The choice loomed before him, impossible.
Betray the council and save his life? Or make a run for it and risk what little he had?
His hands clenched and his lips parted again to reply…

tysm to the lovely amazing Poppy for critiquing <33

Daily 030: 205 words, Wasps

Everything had been fine until the wasps arrived.
They crawled over every square inch of her, covering her in a living, buzzing, prickling blanket. She couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak. She wanted to scream, but she was afraid that they’d strike if she did. So she stayed silent.
Tears splashed over wings and stingers. Hundreds of legs scuttled over her skin. A whimper tore out of her chest, but she still didn’t move, terrified that the balance would tip and the insects would swarm. Each shallow breath felt like both a victory and an agony, a line between horror and pain.
She wanted to make them go away, but she didn’t know how. She didn’t even know how she’d called them to her. She’d simply been humming a happy little tune in her flower garden, and then they’d started arriving, a mass of black and red bodies swooping in to land on her skin. She’d wanted to flail and cry, but her common sense restrained her, just barely. If she did that, who knew what would happen.
Now she was kneeling in the dirt, one hand still wrapped around a wasp-coated trowel, hair unbound and crawling with insects.
It was the first day of a nightmare.

Daily #30
3/30/2024
210 words

Something strange happened.

It was like any other day, except something was wrong. Very wrong.

The wind blew at me rather than with me, pushing against me. And the ground now molded with each step I took. I couldn’t manipulate the wind, a part of me like breathing taken away.

It took me a moment to realize what had happened, I could control the earth now, not the wind.

The solid dirt beneath my feet, rather than the soft breezes in my hair.

I’d learned to control the untamable, the free spirited stubborn gusts. I didn’t know how to control something so malleable, but sturdy.

But I felt the ground. I felt each vibration and the subtle shifts as I walked across it.

I tried manipulating it, but the ground beneath me shifted with the chunk of dirt I tried shifting.
With wind, fire, and most abilities, you have the earth to ground you. The most damage I could do to my stance with wind was knocking myself over. But without a sturdy base, I can’t manipulate as easily as I could.


I laid down in my bed that night, staring at the ceiling. Hoping that this was all a dream. That I could go back to bending the air.

critique for poppy who literally saved me, 317 words

Aight y'all know the drill by now words in the gray box are mine words not in the gray box are the opposite
This is for Poppy the amazing who saved my 3500 points thanks Poppy <33
Let's do this *cracks knuckles*

Mama, mama
The wolves are out tonight

The thorns in my skin don't bother me as I run home.
I have grown far too used to them.
I frantically push my way through the wall of vicious shrubs that had been growing by my house since the day I was born. They never brought forth fruit or flowers, but I insisted they stay up. Even as I’d pull the barbs from of my hands every night when I came home, I swore to myself I’d never tear the thickets out.

Love the way this starts out, the only suggestion I'd make is to delete the word “I'd,” since it doesn't really fit with the tense of the rest of the sentence.

They block the things that want me gone.
I pull open the door to my family’s cabin, trying to calm my heart enough to suck in air. The door shuts loudly behind me, and the noise rings in my ears.
My mother walks into the room, drying her hands on a threadbare rag.
She looks at me and my distress. She sighs, the sound like water bubbling from a spring.

Here, I'd combine the sentence above by getting rid of the period and replacing the second “she” with the word “and.”

“Again? Truly?”
The pain in her voice is colder than a river on a rainy morning.

Excellent comparison here! I love this.

“I heard them.”
“They won’t come for you,” she whispers sternly, intently. “They’re dogs. We control them.”
I nod, only to please her, and turn to the window. Behind me, in the distance, the wolves howl.
Some of the people on the other side of the thorns and woods call me diseased.
They call me mad.
They call me skittish, like a rat in a trap.
A child that never learned bravery.
I say I’m braver than all of them, because I have defied the wolves thus far.

Only critique here would be changing the “only” to a “just” to help the sentence flow better.

My dearest child, the wolves are blessed
Held in the arms of their crystal goddess

I absolutely adore the lyrics you scattered among your story–I'm a big fan of using lyrics and italicized asides to enhance the writing and set the mood for the piece.

“We control them,” I whisper to myself. I'm making a conscious effort to stay calm, but I know it’s not true.
Wolves serve the moon. They cry to her, they pray to her, they wake when she does.
I am startled from my thoughts by a sudden trembling in my hands.
The windowsill grows warm beneath my fingers.
Not again.
I pull my hands off and stride away. The ground had become hot as well, burning my feet like coals. The hardwood floor had blackened, but I knew it wouldn’t last long enough for anyone to see.

The tense-switching here is a bit jarring in my opinion; I'd change the “hads” to a “has” and adjust the rest of the sentence accordingly.

For another moment, I wonder if I’m mad.
I can feel the heat crawling in my hands. Agitated, I walk to the kitchen tap and run cool water over my fingers. After only a moment, the water stops, leaving only a few drops to fall from the silver spout.
I grimace and mutter a rather nasty oath under my breath. The waters are out.
I walk outside, towards the well.
The wolves have not stopped crying.

I feel like I use the words “just a tiny thing here” and similar such sentences a lot when critiquing BUT WHATEVER LOL I don't have any better words to use so just a tiny thing here, “water” normally isn't used as a plural and it feels a bit out of place among the other words, so I'd change the sentence to something like “The water is out.”

Mama, mama, my soul is aflame
Mama, mama, will I be to blame?

My hands are only growing warmer.
The well is still half an hour’s walk off.
Panic sets in.
I begin to run.

The midnight bell begins to toll
Mama, I can hear the weep of the wolves

My heart is pulsing like a fire, crackling and growing. Every time I take a step, a spark of pain runs through my feet, to my ankle, all the way up until I can feel each stride in the pounding of my heart.
My hands, normally the pale color of the moon, are red with heat.
It is going to happen.
Blurred memories emerge in my aching head and spread through my body until I can feel them in my bones.
It started when I was eight. I’d seen the wolves for the first time. They’d stopped being a sound heard in the night- they became something to be seen, something to fear.
I’d grown warm. I thought it was just my imagination, my reaction to my fear, until my bedsheets lit up and I was almost scorched in my sleep. I blamed it on the fireplace, saying I’d moved the bed too close to the hearth.
It hadn’t been like this since that day.
It hadn't hurt like this since that day.
The well is still ten minutes off.
The wolves are weeping.
The moonlight gleams through the thorn bushes.
A song my father once sang to me, buried in memory, surfaces.
Birds love the trees, the trees love water.
Children love music, music loves the lyre
Wolves love the moon, the moon loves silver.
Men love their sun, the sun loves its fire.
If I burn, the wolves will find me.
They follow the moon. Pray to her.
I am of the sun.
My hands are hot. I can feel the heat trickling through my veins.
I tear through a wall of branches, feeling the little spikes snatching at me. Little drops of ruby-red appear on my arm- not large enough to truly cause damage, but certainly large enough to feel.
“Please,” I whisper. The plea emerges from my throat again and again, until I am screaming it to the heavens as I run.
I push my way into a clearing, where the old well stands waiting for me.
I can see golden eyes through the thorns.
Panic climbs into my throat, and a ragged, wild yell of pain bursts out of me.

This is just a stylistic choice, but changing the word “pain” to “agony” might help the scene become even more vivid and intense. Other than that, this is looking gorgeous!

A single, scorching spark drops from my littlest finger and falls to the thickly carpeted forest floor.
I cannot draw water.
I cannot draw breath.
The walls of thorn erupt.
The golden eyes emerge, and the wolves join me in the clearing. They are not afraid of me or of the fire.
They are angry. I can see it in their eyes, in the way that their jaws seem to tremble with anticipation.
I feel a battle within myself. My heart is beating fast, telling me to run. My instincts say to fight the wolves- to hurt them, so that I’d never have to fear them again.

Papa, papa, do the wolves cry tears like mine?
Cold, slick, and sweet, like Mama’s finest wine?

The one in the front snaps at me. His fur is a deeper silver than the others. He is an alpha.
He cannot be controlled.
The air fills with smoke as the wolves advance.
I am surrounded. My breaths become short and choppy.
The thorns behind me are fire. I can’t rely on them for protection anymore.
I panic again.
I raise my hands.
The wolf in the front cries out.
And the fire disappears.
All is at rest.
I can feel my eyes widen in surprise, see my hands go down, but my motions are slow, like I’m trying to move in water. I feel like I'm watching myself, not knowing what I'll do next.
The moon glints silver above me.
Slowly, as not to startle the wolves, I walk to the well and draw water. I refuse to take my eyes off them. I pull water, cleanse my hands, and soothe my throat.
My hands cool.
My heart and thoughts slow.
They do not attack me.
I look at the wolf in front. It lowers its head, bending its front paw, giving me a cool look of respect.
I nod at him. The motion is slow, small, almost invisible.
He lets out a short bark and leads the pack into the woods.
I tremble for a moment longer before turning and running through the brambles again.
I have made peace with the wolves today.
But they have not stopped their howls.
They still weep.
They weep for fear and fire, for daylight and hurt.
They weep that I am.

Mama, do you fear the wolves and moon
When they say they shall come soon?

Rahhh this was such an incredible piece Poppy and you did an absolutely amazing job :00 Your writing never fails to impress me and I'm so excited that I got to critique something of yours thanks for saving me from both boredom and losing points haha <3

Daily #30

It just didn’t seem right. After all those years of hard work and preparation at the Academy, why would her hidden power be- “Mind reading!?!?” Zeta shrieked again, “Out of all the things you could have given me, no, I could have been given- Ugh, I don’t even know anymore, but,” she slammed her head against the wall. “WHY?!?”

She lifted her head. Millions of thoughts swirled around her head- not just hers, but others’ as well. Most people would think mind reading would be a cool power to have, being able to see what others are thinking at that instant- but in their world, or maybe even ours, it’s a little more complicated than that. Those million thoughts, possibly even more than that, were of people all around her. Just being around someone allowed you to know exactly what they were thinking, which, in usual standards, is a lot of thoughts occurring at the same time, giving Zeta the headache she now has.

“You might have rightfully earned your powers, but further extensive training is needed to master them and unlock your full potential,” the Headmistress’ words played on repeat in her head, “As of now, all of your powers are only raw, needing to be tamed and taken control of.” School wasn’t over yet, Zeta sighed, and it most likely never would be, taken in consideration how she could barely think for herself at a certain moment in time.

“This is what I’m destined for,” she said to herself out loud, “It’s horrible- Oh, what am I saying, this is like the end of the world!” Moving away from the wall, she resumed her walk to her new dorm. “I wish this could be over. I should never have been born a Sparkling anyways.” For her, this new power seems to be more of a burden rather than an advantage…

312 words

Daily 30
word count - 345 words

The chance to know, a feeling of being powerful for those who are suffering daily. It was my dream in life, from the very moment I saw the blue horizon across the ocean. I knew that there were those out there, less fortunate than me, that would practically trade anything for this type of life. I mean, don’t get me wrong.. There are a ton of flaws in my life as well, but I’ve learned to be thankful for all the amazing things I have. A superhero - yes, that’s exactly what I wanted to be. I wanted to freely and confidently answer the calls of my name, letting people know that I’ll be there for them no matter what the case.

That night, I fell asleep with all of these thoughts circulating in my head. It was as if I was getting a call from the universe - it wanted me to get up and ready to fight against the injustices. As I lay in bed, I couldn’t help but think about all of those fantasies. Night based like day, and before I knew it, the sun was shining right through the closed california shutters lined on the walls of my bedroom.

Things felt different all at once. I felt like I could fly, maybe even change the world with my two hands. It felt like the day had finally come, a purpose that I can now see fulfilled. At that moment, I didn’t know just how wrong I was. As I excitedly scrambled out of bed, I felt much lighter than normal. It was as if some drastic change had happened to me while I slept; nothing physically, but more or so something internally. Suddenly, a loud thumping came from around the corner. The weight of the world began to fall on me, as I fell to the ground after hearing such a thunderous noise. Just as I fell, I noticed a crumpled piece of paper on the ground. It read, “Congratulations on getting a new superpower! You can now hear other people’s hearts beating”.

Daily 3/30 || 369 words

Bagliora looked up at Walnut as he offered her the pretty red and yellow flower, two adorable eyes staring at her. “I figured you would like this,” her wolf friend said with a warm smile. “I know you like plants, so…”
Bagliora took the flower, glancing over at Paulina as she absorbed a golden bell, which turned her into a pink…cat. Walnut used his brown leaf on himself, which made him into some sort of brown…raccoon thing?
Bagliora tried to think of what the flower would turn her into as she pulled it to her chest, closing her eyes. She felt…warm, and she liked that. She opened her eyes, looking at herself. Aside from a full color palette change, she didn’t look as drastically different as her friends did. She tried to channel her energy into…whatever she could do, and in a few seconds, a fireball formed in her paw.
The little fox-glowbug screamed, throwing the fireball, traumatic memories flashing through her mind. As the flames touched the grass, it caught aflame, Bagliora covering her ears as the whispers in her head peaked, feeling a shock of pain through her body.
“MAKE IT GO AWAYYY,” she panicked, flailing around as Walnut and Paulina rushed to put out the fire. Sadly for Bagliora, as she panicked, she basically spewed fire, setting more grass aflame. This led to more screaming mind whispers, which led to more internal pain for Bagliora. She curled up on the ground, trembling as her friends dealt with her mess, sobbing. “Make the screams s-stop…”
She felt Walnut’s soft paw on her shoulder, jumping, another burst of flame hitting her friend. She jolted upward to see her friend in his normal wolf form, unharmed. She trembled a bit, tears running down her face.
She jumped again as she felt a painless scratch on her back, turning and looking over her shoulder at a worried Paulina, her hedgehog friend’s cat claws extended. The warmth was extinguished from her body, Bagliora trembling a bit at the sudden temperature drop. She noticed that her colors were back, and sighed, crying into Paulina’s shoulder gently as the grass and flowers around them wilted slightly.
Apparently not all magic flowers are flower-friendly.

“…Gonna be honest here, I still haven’t decided what any of y’all’s least favorite superpower is,” Wild shrugs sheepishly, scanning their characters. “And I REALLY don’t feel like doing the squirt-blood-out-of-your-eyes thing.”
“You don’t know what you’re going to write about for today’s daily?” River shrieks. “It’s due in 30 MINUTES, Wild.”
Wild shies away, laughing nervously. “Yeah, yeah, I know… I never get better at this, do I?”
River groans but steps forward decisively, taking control of the situation. “Let me try to think of what my least favorite would be,” she sighs, concentrating.
“I think my least favorite superpower is the ability to constantly witness my author being utterly incompetent,” Rain grumbles from the background.
River pauses her intense thinking. “Wait- that’s it! Rain, you’re a genius! Wild, you can use that!”
Wild blinks in surprise, trying to understand. “So… you want me to be incompetent and force Rain to be subject to it, then write about their experience?”
“Yeah! Or, you know, just write this scene directly. 24 minutes remaining, after all.”
Wild grins. Yes, that would definitely work for them. “Being incompetent but somehow managing to speedrun low-quality work anyway is MY least favorite superpower!”
However, a concern immediately reveals itself to them. “Hold up. I don’t know what to do to look incompetent in Rain’s perspective! How can I get this daily done if I fail at being incompetent?” They lash their tail from side to side in agitation.
“Sounds like you’re fairly incompetent at being incompetent!” River compliments helpfully.
Rain casts a dead-eyed stare at Wild. “It… Really isn’t that hard to make me see you that way. You’re overthinking.”
“But I’m so GOOD at overthinking!” Wild stresses. “I. I guess that’s another ill-favored superpower of mine, huh?”
They reconsider. “Actually, I kind of like my overthinking. It’s sorta funny.”
River nods encouragingly. “Good job! You’re failing to make up your mind! Definitely incompetence!”
Wild perks up. “Wait, so I did it?” The daily’s written?”
“I mean, it didn’t really feature Rain much at all, and she’s the character you were supposed to be writing about. But also, you have 5 minutes left.”
“Oh. Well…,” Wild hesitates. What could they possibly do to fix that? “Rain, just say the last sentence, okay? How do you feel about your least favorite superpower?”
Rain rolls their eyes affectionately. “Y’all are the worst.”

Weekly for Tragedy: 5656 words

Outline, 800 words
- Julia gets a strong feeling (from her surroundings) that she is going to be in danger, but this has never happened before, so she tries to ignore it. It gets so strong that it almost seems like fact. But she doesn’t know what to do about it, so she just stays cautious. Then she feels like she should leave the city. She really doesn’t want to do that.
- A huge riot starts, organised by rural unions, that decimates other towns. It spreads from the north. She lives in the south. She realises that what she felt was real, and that she should escape. Julia tries to convince her family that they should go, but they live in a posh place and are too proud to leave. So, Julia leaves alone. She then hears that the riot didn’t cross the river.
- Julia wanders alone in the forest, not sure what to do – until she meets a man called Nick. Nick knows they are similar: both forgotten, both in touch with their surroundings. Nick teaches her things about being in touch with stuff. But something seems off about him – even though he’s like her, he sometimes forgets her like everyone else does. He told her people like them don’t forget each other – so why would he?
-
- As Julia grows in her power , she finds a note with a flower that looks like a night speckled with stars, which says, ‘help us, tell no-one’. She shows Nick the flower and asks about it. He tells her it only grows in a specific region. On the back, Julia writes ‘help who?’
- They find a town, which Nick had been looking for. Julia does a small magic thing in the village, testing out stuff she learned. As they’re staying the night, Julia gets another note and another flower. The note says, ‘Magicians’ Union. Don’t ask Nick.’ She asks about the Magicians’ Union, and they tell her they’re people who want magic in public to be legal. Then she remembers she did some magic in public.
- The people catch on to that, and Julia and Nick have to leave. As they camp out in the forest again, a note reaches her. ‘You must go alone,’ it says. But she doesn’t want to leave Nick.
- Some angry people who saw Julia come, and Nick and Julia fight back.
- One night, while Julia is doing magic alone, someone comes out of the forest. She tells Julia she is from the Union and explains that the Union cares for the people when the government don’t. She also says they protect magicians from ‘worse threats’, then leaves. Julia is left knowing she should join the Union.
- Julia and Nick continue further from the village. Julia decides to leave soon, so she packs her stuff and leaves at night. But she knows Nick will be following her in the morning. And he’ll know exactly where to go, since he has her magic. So, she goes as fast as she can.
- Nick wakes up to Julia not there, and he knows she probably went somewhere better. He doesn’t know where exactly, though. He gets a horde of about ten people to help him search.
- The girl finds her, and they go through the forest together. Her name is Adella. They both know Nick is chasing them, but they don’t know how close he is. They camp one night in a pretty cave with stalactites etc.
- That night, Nick and his troupe find them, and they attack – Nick with his magic, the rest with weapons. But Julia and Adella fend off these uncoordinated attacks by working together. The men are quickly thrown out of the cave.
- That leaves only one man: Nick. He has two bracelets, each made of stone and each glowing different colours. As Nick does a magical thing, one of the bracelets glows, depending on its type. Julia realises Nick never had magic – it was stolen – and she must get the bracelets.
- She gets them, but Adella is unconscious. Julia drags her the rest of the way to where the flowers grow – it’s not that far. She finds the Union via more notes, then gives them Adella. They take her in, and she finds more friends and lives happily ever after.

Exposition, 347 words
I spend hours listening to the walls tell their stories. With my back against the white, wooden wall, I release my thoughts, letting the words of the wall trickle into me. It tells me something new every time I do it, something interesting. It's got a million memories in there.
“Twelve years ago, there was a man living here. His eyes were a dull brown, and he always seemed bored, but he had the most magnificent beard. Always trimming it, grooming it, perfectly shaping it. It was amazing.”
My mind focuses more. It’s never told me about the old tenants before.
“Anyway, he used this room as a sort of tinkering workshop. He used to spend days here sometimes, days straight without sleeping-”
“Julia!” Mum shouts from the kitchen. “Come and empty the dishwasher!”
“But I did that this morning, Mum.”
“Huh? Oh, yeah, you did. Never mind.”
I groan, leaning my head back onto the wall. Everyone forgets me - just a tiny, blank moment, but frequent enough to annoy me. Even my mum.
“His name was John. He was a good man - always repaired his damage - but did he have things to repair!” Sometimes-"
Standing up, I walk groggily to the window to see how long I've listened to stories. The tip of the sun peeks out from the front balcony's roof, floating slowly down.
Ping.
I glance at my phone. Then my sketchbook, then the map of Dajarra laid out on the back wall.
Ping.
Sighing, I ignore it and trace the suburbs on the map, our house on the south, the river cutting through the center.
Ping!
I submit.
“CHRISTINA SENT A MESSAGE!!” my phone shouts. "IT SAYS ‘hru’. AND ANOTHER ONE!!! THIS ONE SAYS ‘u there?’ AND… A THIRD ONE! SHE SAID ‘wanna come out for dinner 2nite?’
'can't sorry mums at home', I text back.
'ok.'
Dropping my phone on my bed, I return to the wall, too tired to do anything else.
Its concern rushes into me.
“What is it?” I ask.
It shows the fear of hundreds.

Story, 4576 words
The Magicians’ Union are going to kill us.
I’ve been listening to my bedroom wall for fourteen years, and it had never been this urgent. So I let it speak.
“The Magicians’ Union is rioting in the north. They’re particularly aggressive this time. And it’s spreading, I think. They’re already close to the river, and there’s figments of a plan going around that they’re going to close Bevrin Bridge. Plenty have been seriously injured. The moment a citizen leaves home – bam, they strike.”
What do they even do? What are they fighting for? I’m not really asking anyone, but the wall responds anyway. Any chance it gets to talk, I guess.
“They think the queen doesn’t have magic and they want her to own up to it. Oh, and they want magic in public to be legal.”
How could magic in public be legal? Dajarra would be burnt to a crisp, run over by a tornado and replaced by hovering houses within days. Magic was never something I found interesting, even when I was a child, even when I found out citizens used to have it. My great-grandmother was an oracle, I think. She could tell people their future, their past, what job they should do, what they had for breakfast last week. Queen Adriana is a weaver, but I don’t know what that means.
“The riots are actually dangerous, Julia. Listen to me. They’re covering streets, they’re killing people with their magic. It’s really bad. And they’re probably going to cross the river.”
Everything the wall told me adds up in my mind. Riots. Magic. Death. They’re going to cross the river. They’ll kill us if we try to escape. Us. We need to leave.
I get up from my trance and run to the kitchen. “Mum! Have you heard about the riot from the Magicians’ Union?”
“No.” Mum glances at me. “What riot?”
“It's probably on the radio.”
She reaches across to the window, turning on the radio nestled against it. “…continuing across the northern suburbs. This riot is not just bad. It’s feral. The Union are-”
Mum turns off the radio, shaking her head. “Always on the ball, you are.”
“Thanks, Mum.” I pause. “I think… well, I think they might come to the south, so… we should probably… leave.”
“Julia. It’s okay. They never come to the southern suburbs. We’ll be just fine here.”
“But-”
"We'll be fine. Just stay at home." She gives me the don't argue with Mum stare. Fine.
As I leave the kitchen, my mind floods with thoughts, swirling like a storm. Fine? In the nicest apartment in the south? We’ll be the perfect target for them – not just a few people, but at least a hundred, sitting and waiting for them to come to our door. The pit in my stomach digs deeper every step I take, every time I brush something. I have to leave. It lodges itself in my brain, almost as certain as the bright blue of the sky or the perfectly rectangular painting on the hallway wall. I have to leave, even if Mum will kill me.
Rushing to my room, I scan my cupboard. Clothes, shoes, and chocolate fly into a tote bag. I scan the kitchen for things as well: fruit, muesli bars, anything that won’t spoil quickly. Near panting, I scan my things. Everything I need is in the bag, ready to go… where?
I grab the handle of my wardrobe and let its thoughts in. Where do I go now? I can feel fresh air on my hand, hear birds chirping in the distance. An image is painted in my mind of blurred trees on soft dirt. A mountain peak rises in the distance – must be Ashdown Forest. I let go of the handle.
“Julia!” Mum says. “I'm going to work.”
“But they're going to come to the south! Mum, it's not safe!”
Mum reaches my room. “It is perfectly safe. You know I work far from the city; they won't go that far.”
“Just be careful!” I call as the door closes. I'll call her if I hear more.
Glancing around for my phone, I find it on the desk. I shove it in my tote bag, ignoring its chirpy excitement, and find the pile of post-it notes on the table in the hallway. I pick up the pencil. “Come on, write something. You can do it.”
I hesitate, the pencil hovering above the note.
I put the pencil down.
Leaning on the table, I listen to the Union's activities. One moment the plan to close the bridge is going ahead, the next it’s stopped, then a window is smashed by a bullet. Images race through my head, the constant smell of fire almost tangible. Then it relays the Union’s shouts of triumph as they control the bridge.
I have to leave.
Towing my tote bag behind me, I burst out the door.
Even the carpet knows the riot is coming. Whispers run along the walls like text messages, faster than I can track, all collective shouts of triumph and chants of so-called freedom, hundreds marching to a beat and people crying in panic. Everything is talking about one event, drilling every sensation deeper into my brain. I can barely stop it.
The peaceful lift gives me time to process the information. Fourteen dead, streets covered in mobs, the bridge taken over. The Union are crossing the bridge. I have to get out of Dajarra as soon as possible, and into Ashdown Forest.
Streets blur past me as I ride, my feet digging into the pedals, the black handles giving an unbroken stream of information. The Magicians’ Union are in the south. They’re tired from their magic and running around, but their voices still ring across the streets. They’re destroying things again. The police are- Please stop, handles. It’s getting annoying.
Trees stick up between the houses wherever they can fit, their spindly branches dangling over my head. Green leaves drift from some of them. There are no apartments in these streets, only two-storey houses that look plucked from Victorian times. Trees crowd into the area more and more, denser as I ride further from the city. A sign I barely notice reads itself out to me: “Ashdown Forest. 5 miles.”
A grin spreads across my face.

The bike trails behind me as I wander deeper into the forest. I ask every tree the way to the next town, and no tree knows. They only know where the highway is. I find a birch tree, its convoluted branches reaching for the sky, and ask it the same.
There is a road near here, to your left. It is dirt, but many people like to travel along it. It may take you to a village, it may take you to a city. I do not know.
Thanks, birch, I think.
Breaking into a jog, I soon hear rowdy chatter and the squeaking of old bikes, bright colours breaking through the green and brown. People are scattered like paint along the path, all with others, most in large groups. Except one.
A man with dark brown hair and green eyes walks alone, seeming to wander on and off the path. He wears a crisp white shirt, khaki-green pants, and a bracelet on each arm.
“Hi,” I say to him.
He looks up, his eyes widening as he takes me in. “Hello! How are you?”
“I’m good, thanks-”
He grins. “I’ve been waiting for someone like you my whole life!”
“What?”
“You’re a befriender, aren’t you? Well, I am too!”
My eyes narrow. “I’m really bad at making friends. They all forget me.”
“Everyone forgets me, too. No, a befriender befriends the world, all the things around them. We’re really rare – well, our gifts are.”
Anyone could listen to the trees if they tried, right? The reason nobody remembers me is… well, I don’t know, but surely it’s not a gift? What an awful gift, to be forgotten. Who would want to be forgotten by everyone they meet?
“What do you mean, gifts?”
“We all have talents. Some of those talents are named. You and I have magic. We have the power to know everything that happens on the other side of the world if we wanted to. We can do other things too. We can get things to befriend us back – if people are chasing you, the trees will close in behind you if you can get them to. It’s amazing.”
He stares at me as if I’m not there.
“What’re you looking at?” someone drawls.
The man blinks. “Oh, nothing.” He looks at me again, and I know he sees me.
The man pulls me away from the path, grinning. “Oh, yeah. I’m Nick. Nice to meet you.” He holds out his hand like he wants me to shake it. I don’t want to touch him, but I shake his hand anyway. It’s soft and cold, almost slippery like melting ice.
“You want to join me? I know all there is to know about magic, really, so I can teach you a lot about your gift.”
My heart thrums at the thought of it. “Okay.”
He grabs my hand, and we continue along the path.

I expected to reach a town by night, but Nick hasn’t got a bike. We settle in far from the path, Nick making a tree stretch its roots for him while I put up a small tent, his green bracelet starting to glow. As I put down my tote bag, I try to call Mum, but there’s no reception.
“Julia, come here!” Nick says.
I leave the tent and go to his, the forest getting darker by the second. He pulls me into his root-tent, lighting a small lantern.
“First lesson. You have power, more than you can feel right now.” Nick smiles. “At the moment, what can you do?”
“Uh… well, I can’t really do anything. Things just talk to me.”
“That’s still something you can do. Not many people can do that, you know.”
“I don’t believe you. If only people tried-”
“They have. Have you ever tried to hover in mid-air?”
I raise an eyebrow. “No.”
“That’s often a manipulator’s first gift – the first thing they can do, often without realising it’s magic rather than common ability.”
Nick leads me outside, pushing a root away to reveal a dark forest. He brings the lantern out, giving the space a pinprick of light to be guided by.
“One of the easiest befriender’s gifts is camouflage.”
I chuckle. “Camouflage? Now? We’re already perfectly hidden in the dark!”
But Nick tells me how to find the power and blend my hand into its surroundings whenever I touch them. I watch in awe as my finger turns into a root with its shape, my nails becoming leaves, my thumb a rotten fruit. I make my hands look like the tent and stare at them long into the night.

Sun is filtering through the canopy when I wake up, and Nick is already outside. The root-tent is gone, and so are his belongings, packed into a black backpack. We head for the path and walk towards Holtye. As we walk, Nick teaches me more skills, which entertain me for the four hours it takes to arrive.
My neck strains trying to read the ‘Welcome to Holtye’ sign, and as I brush its pole I momentarily feel its pride and weariness. We’re here. Finally.
Nick looks at me. “I came here to get a few supplies. Why did you want to come here?”
“To get away from the riot.”
“Fair.” His eyes darken for a second. “I don’t have anywhere I really need to go after here, so I can keep teaching you things.”
“Okay, thanks. I’d love that.”
The forest opens up into perfect green farmland, leafless trees dotted along the side of the road. The few houses are made of brick and shingles, framed with hedges and pines. There’s a golf club in the centre, proud white walls and sandstone bricks standing against the monotony, as well as an old hotel next to it.
Nick pulls me over to it. “Looks crusty, but it’s actually great.”
Dull red paint is peeling off a ‘Motel’ sign, moss is lodging itself in the bricks, vines are creeping up the walls. I’m not convinced. But he takes me there anyway, and it’s probably the only hotel in town. As soon as I’m inside, I almost stumble back out in awe.
The windows that seemed dated from the outside are perfectly polished, and the clean reception bench is made of white marble. The floor is stained wood, a staircase winding up two floors in the corner. Inviting white doors are lined up against the back and side walls. Handrails of glinting brass wind up with the stairs, beckoning us in. I barely move for a minute.
The receptionist's hearty chuckle echoes across the room. “Looks like we have a new guest, Nick?”
“Yep.” He nudges me out of my trance. “Cool, isn’t it?”
I don’t have to reply. The man takes opens a white cupboard behind him, his badges glinting in the sunlight as he turns. His hair sits in a line from his ears to the back of his head. His vest is dark grey over a white shirt, and it stretches as he moves. Keys jingle as he finally turns back around, grinning.
The bronze keys hover over Nick’s hands. “Just one room?”
Nick’s head dips slightly, then he aggressively shakes his head. “Two.”
The man crinkles his eyebrows, but he gets a different key anyway. “Room 12, far-right at the top. Have a good stay.”

I settle into my bed, which is bigger than the one I have at home. It’s covered in green sheets and white pillows that smell like soap and try to help me sleep. One pillow plays soft music for me. I lay the others on the far side of the bed. Leaning on a wall, I practice some of the things I’ve learned – I make my feet look like the grey carpet, find my magical strength, draw comfort from the bed and steadiness from the floor. I almost feel like an object myself, constant and calm.
Then something flies past my face, and I open my eyes, a shape flying out of the window. A note lies on the bed with a flower on top. I scan the note, heart still pounding from the shock.
Join us. Alone. Tell no-one.

I twirl the flower in my hand. It still has some green stem, and the fraying end looks torn off. The flower itself is black, white speckled around like stars. Although I don’t know who sent it, the flower makes me feel comforted and holds the promise of a friend. I find a pen, writing "join who?" on the back of the note, hoping they’ll reply.
I show Nick the flower. Eyes wide, he takes it, studying it intently. “Where did you get this?” he whispers.
“I… found it on the ground. What is it?”
“It’s an isendra. It only grows near Hammer Stream, west of here.”
That must be where they are. But who are they? Why should I trust someone who came into my room at night and left me a note instead of talking to me?
I ask Nick if he could teach me new things, but he tells me to keep going with old skills – to master them, it takes a lot of practice, and I haven’t got that practice yet. So, hoping bricks will be harder to cooperate with than beds, I wander outside.
My first stop is the tired walls outside of the hotel. Its bricks are tough and poorly maintained. In Dajarra, the tougher the object, the harder it was to hear it. Maybe it’s the same here. I lean onto the wall, waiting for the often-immediate feeling of something in my mind. Nothing. I try to push my mind onto the wall, into the wall. I’m met with something like a shield. I place my hand on the coarse bricks, trying to blend in like I have with other things. It stays stubbornly pale, stubbornly looking like a hand.
Next I try a wooden bench, which responds to me much better. The bench is full of sorrow, moping lament after lament as I try to focus on the magic. My hand blends smoothly into the bench. I almost rest there with my eyes closed, able to focus entirely on my hand and the bench, until it gives a cry of surprise. “Hey! That was hard. The power, the force! He didn’t have to do that to me. Oh, why must they torture me so?”
I open my eyes, pulling my hand away from the bench. A man stares at me from between bushy eyebrows and a lovingly cultivated red beard. He stares at my hand, his eyes narrow.
“Yer doin’ magic?” he growls.
“Escape, before you share my lament! He is a foul man.”
I take the bench’s advice and walk away as fast as I can, wishing I could run.

When I get to my room, there’s another note and another flower. Magicians’ Union.
The union that laid waste to the northern streets? The union that killed people? And they want me to join them. The notes leave me with more questions than answers. They want me to destroy Dajarra with them. They want me to… to kill people with them.
“How did you go today?” Nick calls. I stuff the note and flower under the sheets.
“Alright. The wall wouldn’t let me camouflage. And someone saw me camouflaging with the bench and got suspicious.”
“The bricks?” I nod. “You’ve got to let them in. You have to be gentle.”
“Okay.”
As the night lumbers in, I try to lose myself in the sheets’ embrace and be calmed by the pillow’s music. But my mind refuses to give in, thoughts flinging back and forth. The Union want me. No. It must be a mistake. But they sent notes on my bed. Why would they want me? Surely they know I’m from the city they want to destroy?
I brush the isendras next to the bed, and their warm feelings of friendship overwhelm me into sleep.

“Julia.”
I refuse to open my eyes.
“Julia, this is urgent.”
I open them a crack to take in Nick’s figure looming over mine, desperately shaking me.
“What?”
“That guy told his friends about you, and they told their friends, and… basically we need to get out of here.”
“What guy?”
“The one who saw you on the bench?”
I sit up, surprising Nick. “Oh.”
“I got a bike, and I got yours too. They’re outside. We need to go now.”
We sprint out of the room.

Nick and I speed across the road on our bikes, cars moving for us. We’re going towards Hammer Stream – if I decide I want to join the Magicians’ Union, I can. The bike’s news keeps coming, but I can’t be bothered to tell it to stop.
“The riot’s over. Police stopped it pretty fast once it got to the south, so everything’s normal again. Wait, there’s a football game on. It’s Arsenal vs. Sapperton City. Arsenal’s got the ball, Rice passes it to-” Stop.
The road winds and curls like spaghetti. Hours pass, but eventually we reach a sign. Marden, 2 miles. Sinkhurst Green, 10 miles. Wick Hill, 35 miles.
“Where do we stop?” I shout.
Nick stares blankly at me, like I’m not there.
“Oh, sorry. Sinkhurst Green. It’s closer to the stream,” Nick shouts from behind me.
“Okay!”
As the sun burns down on my head, we turn a corner and reach the town.
I decide to explore on my bike, my tote bag slung over my shoulder. Sinkhurst Green seems more populous than Holtye, but it has the same feel: brick and shingles, little farms, tree-lined roads and hedge-lined houses. Forest lies behind the highway. Leaving my bike nestled against a tree, I check it out.
The oaks in this forest are different. They barely whisper, but their words are advice and warnings. A few show me flickering images of two bracelets – one yellow, one green, both glowing brightly in the dark. I’ve seen them before. Someone always wears them. I try to get a better look, but the image flickers out before I let go.
A sudden wind alerts me back to reality before it dies. I glance around in confusion before someone approaches. Her blonde hair is tied back in braids, her blue eyes soft and smiling. I stare at her. What do I do?
“Just wait. She might be good,” the ground whispers.
“Hi, Julia,” she says.
“How do you know my name?”
“I’ve been following you. I’m the one who writes the notes.”
An isendra petal is caught in her hair.
“So you’re from the Magicians’ Union?”
She smiles. “Yep!”
I stare deeper into her sweet face, trying to find the murderer behind the mask. But all I see is kindness, the promise of a friend.
“Why do you- why do they want me?”
She glances around, confused, before seeing me again. “Oh. Your gift is very rare, and you’d be a great asset.”
“What do you do besides destroying Dajarra?”
“The riots? We don’t kill people. They do. They destroy a lot to stop us.”
The ground is rooted in truth, Nick said once. Ask it if you don’t know what’s what.
I reach out to the soil, deep within the roots and leaves. Certainty rushes into me when I tell the ground about her, and it keeps flowing when I share her opinion about the riots. When I tell it my opinion, I feel unsteady.
“We give magicians a place. We are friends, family, and we’ll protect you from people who hate magic… and worse threats.” The girl smiles. “You want to help us?”
Certainty rushes through me.
“Yes.”

She told me she was just going to explore.
She's never done that before.
It's been two hours.
Agitated, I tap my foot on the cafe's wooden floor, my fingers rubbing the table's rim. Sinkhurst Green isn't that big - one pub, one cafe, one post office, and one church, all on the same road. She shouldn't need her bike. She shouldn't need two hours. She must have found something interesting - she must have found the Dering Woods, full of wise flowers and fortune-telling trees. She must have got lost in- no, she would have come back for lunch. She's… gone. I can't accept that. I can't lose such a perfect… I can't miss the opportunity.
A steaming sandwich is brought onto the table, complete with a skewer to hold it together. Its salty smell wafts around me as I take a bite. Heavenly. Julia's missing out- Julia. I have to find her. But I have no idea where-
The isendra.
I leave the sandwich behind me.
Our bikes speed across the highway almost as fast as the cars. The girl’s gift is controlling air, so the wind pulls us on. Her name is Adella. She’s fourteen – about my age – and she likes reading and cats. All of this I learnt from brushing her bike.
Soon we reach a spot near Hammer Stream that is teeming with isendras. We pull our bikes behind us. The flowers remind me of friendship. Not friendship that shatters the moment it’s poked, but a steel pole that never breaks. Adella leads me to a small cave full of small stalactites, like teeth.
She leans her bike against a tree. “This isn’t the spot – far from it – but it has to be dark for us to get in, so we’ll camp out here for the day.”
I lean my bike on hers. “Okay.”
A tree next to the road screams in pain. I hold one close by and ask it what’s happening. “It got hit by a car. The people are okay. Four are getting out. One has two bracelets - the yellow one’s flickering. Two have almost-white hair, and one has bushy eyebrows and a thick red beard. Foul man, that last one.”
The man with the beard… that’s the one who saw my magic on the bench. And the one with the bracelets… I’ve seen him. I’ve- Nick.
“People are coming,” I whisper to Adella.
“Hide.”

Everything I touch whispers danger. Footsteps echo outside the cave, made louder by the cave’s echoes of fear. What do we do if they find us? What do I do?
The footsteps get louder, the clunk of boots bouncing across the cave. They hear our every breath, our every movement, coming closer and closer. I can see their silhouettes and the glow of a phone torch, almost feel their warmth-
“There!” the man with the beard says, pointing at us.
A man with bracelets turns around. His chocolate-brown hair and green eyes are clear. Nick. My stomach churns.
“Hi, Julia,” he says, smiling.
His green bracelet flashes as the first stalactite falls.
The blonde-haired men swing swords at us, but Adella pushes them away with air. One brushes my arm, flooding my mind with anger and revenge. I press myself against the wall. My body presses into the rock, blending into it, fusing with every bend and angle. Trying to find where I went, the men scan the cave desperately. “I’ll help,” the rock whispers.
Stalactites fall around a blonde man, trapping him as stalagmites grow around him. He almost breaks his sword trying to escape. I find Nick. Both his bracelets glow brightly in the dark. Nick moves stalactites in the air, driving them towards Adella. She can barely hold.
I ask a stalactite to fall on Nick’s arm. His yellow bracelet lights up the cave before the stalactite shatters and it winks out. I get a desperate stream of thought from the rock.
“This is from Adella. Nick stole his magic, and he keeps it in the bracelets. We need to get them off. Now.”
I race forward and shove Nick to the ground.
The consequences flood in. The red-bearded man rushes to his side. Nick’s green bracelet emits a faint glow as the rock in front of me moulds into a finger. As I rip it off his hand, I shove the rock-finger down, adrenalin coursing through me. Why does it feel so good?
The yellow bracelet is fractured. Without thinking, I let the ground’s energy rush into me – steadiness, wisdom, indifference. Nick is greedy enough to steal two gifts and put them in bracelets. The red-bearded man’s sword is raised over me. I move away as he thrusts it down, steady on the rocky ground. Nothing can hurt me. The sword bends on rock. I stand on the yellow bracelet, letting its cool safety leak into me for a moment before it shatters to pieces. I throw the green bracelet on the ground.
The warm brown of Nick’s hair starts to fade, twirling into fine dirt-brown strands. The muscle shrinks slightly from his arms. He should stay there. I turn to face the red-bearded man, whose mouth is still open in shock, and let the spiders come out and bite.
Adella is panting on the ground.
“Are you okay?”
“I can’t stand,” she whispers.
“I’ll carry you.”

The isendras light the way as I carry Adella to safety.

Main Writing comp entry || 429 words ||

{Syst3m_C0rrvpt10n} (System Corruption)

There are no mirrors.
Yet here you are, staring right into your own reflection.
Well, not completely.
The person in front of you may look similar, but it’s clear it’s not the same.
Something’s off about this all.

Well, I’ll tell you what makes this reflection so different…
…if you can destroy it.

Tossing rocks, explosions.
This spitting image of you has it all.
Everything you can do… and perhaps a bit more. (Yes, I added a Beam Attack. I couldn’t resist.)
Can you really defeat yourself? I doubt it. Why do you think I made THIS your final challenge?

Impressive, honestly. The fact you’ve been able to avoid being perished for so long.
Through all of this strange reflection’s attacks, you’re still able to stand on your own 2 legs.
That won’t last long though. It’s only a matter of time until you’ve had enough.
Trust me, you can never defeat yourself.

Still going!? Well, this is getting rather tedious.
How has my epic replica with a bonus beam attack not obliterated you yet?
Well, no matter. I have all of eternity. I’ll just be here, waiting for your demise. It’ll happen.
Eventually.
It’s inevitable, really. Don’t think otherwise, or you’re going to get your hopes up.
No one wants to set up false hope for themselves, do they?

Are you nearly done-
Wait. No…
You couldn’t have defeated it. That’s… impossible!
You can’t destroy yourself.
You can’t destroy something that’s already destroyed!
That’s right, that was you.
WAS.
A version of you that FAILED. But I brought it back to succeed.
How does that even work? You didn’t give yourself a second chance, by not even needing a second chance?
Oh dear, now I’m confused. How do alternate timelines work?
What does this mean!?

{System overload. Shutting down…}

What? Confused that you’re now in a void of pure darkness?
That’s weird, you’re not even in one. You’ve never been here at all.
That’s right, I’m talking to you. Stand up, take a moment to look at your reflection. Your REAL reflection, on the black screen in front of you. You know what I’m talking about.
All of this was a game. Something I created to toy with you.
Did you forget that all of this wasn’t real? Did you get too invested in this digital trap?

The thing is, even if you’re not even looking at the screen, you’re still trapped.
Just, in the real world.
It’s time for this fake reality to come to an end. For this so-called adventure to end.
Goodbye.

{System deletion completed}

Daily 031: 1139 words, One Last Farewell
author's note: sobbing crying this isn't happening why does it have to end </333 this session was so fun though rahhh

You stare at the screen, frowning. This feels vaguely familiar, somehow, as though you've done this before.
But not quite. Last time was a greeting, this time is a goodbye.
Words begin to appear, and a sad smile curled up the corners of your lips as you read the title.
One Last Farewell
Guess what, it's time for thank you notes! I had so much fun writing these haha
(as a quick note, these are in no particular order! there's no “ranking” or anything lol I just wrote them down as they popped into my head)
First off I must begin with all the wonderful, wonderful people of SWC. Every single camper is awesome and amazing, and your writing skills are unrivaled. I read so many stunning pieces this session, stories that alternately broke my heart and put it back together again. Campers from all different cabins, from all over the world, cheered me on as I struggled towards my goals, goals that I never would have reached without y'all. Motivation mangoes were showered on me from all directions when my fingers refused to cooperate, goat-apple-toad wars gave me something to comment stalk for, and perhaps funniest of all is the mystery that I successfully pulled off for over two weeks (maybe I'll tell you at the end–but no cheating and scrolling there before you've finished reading!)
Next comes the one and only MOUSE <33 Mouse you're literally so cool and such a funny friend; I've really enjoyed getting to know you better over this session and thank you so much for being so patient with my art procrastinating :') Your writing skills are to die for and your cabin aesthetic and theme was super awesome :00 I'm really bad at expressing myself lol but thanks for stopping by to say hi and rant about Bella singing You're Welcome /j /lh
Third is the lovely BELLA Bella I know this month was kind of rough for you but you were super amazing and I loved the way you randomly came and spammed me with Moana lyrics LIKE FOR REAL it put a smile on my face and made me feel like part of the gang rahh <33 You and Mouse do such a good job with Mangoes and Mayhem and I can't wait to see what you guys cook up for the next episode after the hiatus is over.
Oh, and now that SWC is over and I can actually focus on other things without telling myself “NO GO DO THE DAILY,” guess what it's time for! That's right, the much-anticipated You're Welcome animation is coming soon to your local theaters!!! (not literally of course lol)
Fourth is the hardworking VI !! Vi your matching FVA pfps were so cool and I'm keeping mine forever <33 (well…until next session, of course XD) You were a really awesome coleader and I loved being able to work with you. Additionally, it was SUPER cool to be able to roleplay with a fellow SWCer–I love when my interests and people I know cross over hehe. As always, your writing was a whole other level of gorgeous, and you worked so hard for the cabin rahh <33 Thanks for doing whatever it took, even if it meant adding infinite word-updating comments.
Sixth is BRIAR Briar thanks for being brave and trying something new, even if it meant stepping out of your comfort zone a little. I absolutely adored reading what you wrote, and you did a really good job. Cheers, and here's to trying something new!
(Plus, now we have so many more inside jokes to share!)
Seventh is CHLOEEE thank you for starting the apple-goat-toad war and starting something amazing and hilarious. I have a little surprise for you at the end, but you have to wait and read all of your thank you note first
Anyways Chloe you were so funny and I loved following along with your detective work and Sienna-goat essays. You're still on trial in the basketball court…at least until your lawyer finally shows up and finishes the case (granted, I don't even remember what you were accused of but you're not off the hook yet bahahaha).
Eighth is MY SAVIOR POPPY you literally saved me from total despair as I waited and waited for a reply to come in concerning my weekly critique and also from absolute boredom. Your writing left me speechless and your critique comments made my day–one of the things that makes me happiest is people appreciating my little stories! Thriller's really cool and y'all totally deserved first place (don't worry, you still have today to claim your rightful place on the leaderboard! I believe in you guys hehe)
Ninth is uh uh I forgot :')) I'm probably missing a TON of people so if you made it this far here's a mango for you! That counts as including you, right?
Oh and tenth is of course the wonderful daily team members and hosts!! You guys are what makes camp possible and we forgive you (mostly) for torturing us with Gurtle and later Balrog-gurtle.
Okay phew got all those done
What
You're still here?
Ohhh yeah
I remember now
I was gonna tell you all about my adventures playing piano with two fingers and three toes!1!!
nah just kidding
you're here for the secret, aren't you?
well-
the troll climbs out from under the bridge, back turned to the eager campers gathered on the shore. slowly, Grumpy turns around to reveal himself.
Or should I say herself.
Or should I say CHUEY!!!
That's right, folks! The mastermind behind Grumpy the bridge troll was none other than myself! Surprised?
I gotta say, it was really fun to watch you guys, especially Chloe, try to puzzle out who I was. Once I even accidentally revealed myself by replying to a comment while I was on my main account–luckily, I was able to delete it before anyone saw. Being Grumpy was wildly funny and y'all's theories were even funnier. I hope I entertained you as much as you entertained me–and with that, I'll bid y'all farewell! Here's to another successful session of SWC, and all the spectacular campers!
Bye <3

oh wait
you're still here?
huh. guess you get a bonus scene then!

the figure in the mask hid behind a cabin, fiddling with something that most definitely shouldn't be fiddled with. Something sparked and hissed as the Herald of Doom prepared the portal, a feral smile stretching behind the faceless mask.
Balrog-gurtle and the hobbit hole were only the start. The Herald had bigger plans.
Now, to wait until next session, for then the fun could begin in earnest…

ok I'm done for real this time adios



but what happened to number five?
guess you'll never know…