Daily 27

Head on over to google translate and switch up the lyrics of a song of your choice. Once they are completely different, and probably silly, write a 300 word story inspired by your new words!

Translated lyrics:
6 The first row has arrived.
I bought 5 of them.
I have a lot of work to do.
possible
Me and my other classmates
We have a team and we are working on it.
Jimmy and Judah.
He couldn't catch it.
But look
sometimes always
But I can do my job.
Well, I want to talk about it
Today is the happiest day of my life.

Notes: Original song name stuck at the very end for funsies! I feel like line 7 is a dead giveaway, but enjoy guessing anyway XD
I have no idea what's going on here, by the way.

Word count: 311 words

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“The first row is in!” she yells. “Get ‘em before they’re gone!”

I rush across the ground, my skinny elbows finally put to good use. Today, I am on a mission. I may not always do my job, but there are always exceptions. I am going to get those if it’s the last thing I do.

With a war cry, I leap the last few feet. I manage to snag five. The last one is unfortunately conquered by another, but I laugh hysterically all the same. Five. I hug them to myself, cackling madly. I have accomplished what Jimmy couldn’t. I haven’t missed a single one.

“Alright, that’s enough,” I hear someone say. Someone tugs me up and heralds me over to the cash counter.

I hand over the credit card Jimmy gave me. His instructions were “spare no expense” and I intend to follow every word. There’s still a lot of work for me to do, but at least now I know it’s possible.

“So, did you get them?” my dad asks as I’m escorted to the car. Evidently, I’m far too important to be left unsupervised anymore. It totally wasn’t my unhinged behavior from feeling too happy. No sirree.

The store employee side-eyes me as I nod rapidly in lieu of a response to my father.

“Alright, then,” he says. “Remind me why we’ve woken up at the crack of dawn to get here.”

“It’s just something me and my classmates are working on,” I say airily. “Group project.”

“I see,” he says, clearly not seeing. I let it slide. “Is it with that friend of yours—what was their name? Jody?”

“Judah,” I correct. “Plus Jimmy from 405. You know us, we’re a team.”

“Whatever you say,” he replies warily, clearly concerned for my sanity. I don’t mind too much. This is the happiest day of my life.

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Original song's name is Summer of ‘69 by Bryan Adams! Very iconic, go check it out if by some miracle you haven’t heard of it.

Daily 28

If you've ever wondered what happened to Cinderella's mice after the ball, or what happened to Oz after Dorothy left, now's your chance to continue the story and find out! Write 500 words playing off a familiar fairytale or children's classic for 400 points

Notes: I realized WAY too late I was supposed to do an after-the-story piece instead of a retelling. I think I was halfway through this by the time I re-read the prompt sobbing.

Word count: 516 words

WARNINGS: Lots of discussions of sentient, anthropomorphic animals eating other sentient, anthropomorphic animals which could potentially get a little uncomfortable? Apart from that, the main character's absolutely famished and there are mentions of him not having eaten in days and I think that could trigger some people so…?
Good heavens I'm terrible at this. Proceed with caution if you're easily triggered?

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The Big Bad Wolf was having a terrible, horrible, very bad, no-good day. The stores are all out of steaks. There’s not a single meal in sight. He’s starving. He’s ravenous. He’s going to go on a rampage, by this point. What to do, what to do? He needs food. He needs it NOW. A Big Bad Wolf of his size needs some nourishment, especially at his age! He prowls along, muttering angrily. There might’ve been a snarl. There might’ve been a few growls. There was most definitely a murderous look in his eyes. With his fur sticking up and his temper at an all-time high, he looks absolutely terrifying. It wasn’t even the imminent danger so much as the suggestion of it. Oh, sure, the wolf could kill you if he tried. The question is: will he?

You need to understand the kind of dread he radiated. Imagine standing on the edge of a cliff. There’s someone behind you. You know there’s someone behind you, you can hear their footsteps speeding up and the thing is there’s a crossroads to the cliff so you know full well this person could take the other road, but what if they take yours? The path isn’t nearly wide enough for you to run back, and you know they’re going to make a turn by the time they’ve turned around. The suspense is enough to stop you cold.

You can understand, then, why the first little Piggie fainted dead away at the very sight of the Big Bad Wolf.

The Wolf, of course, was delighted at the sight. A whole pig to eat, and he didn’t even have to slaughter it since it was already dead! He could hardly be put on trial for eating it, could he? Now while we know the pig was only unconscious and not actually dead, the wolf was really too hungry to check. You can’t really blame him. How unhinged do you get when you haven’t had one square meal, hmm?

So, he gobbled up the poor little pig. Had the Wolf been in his right mind, he would’ve regretted the action. Disgusted by it, even. Alas!

Now, fortunately, (or unfortunately, depending on how you look at it), the second little Piggie saw this horrifying sight and immediately fainted dead away. The three Piggie brothers weren’t really of the bold-hearted sort.

By the time the wolf reached the third Piggie’s house and was rocketed out of the chimney (yeah, he went along with the third Piggie’s whole song and dance. In his defense, he was hungry), his terrible, horrible, no-good, very bad day had cooled of somewhat. ‘At least,’ he thought, ‘I have some food in my stomach. It’s much better than going hungry another week. Besides, eating too much might make me sick, considering the fact I haven’t eaten much at all for a while.”

So, with his appetite subsided for the time being, the Big Bad Wolf picked himself up and dusted himself off and headed towards the forest.

My, was that a little girl wearing a red hood he saw?

Daily 29

Hello, writers! Today, we’re writing prologues! Find a story with the beginning written, then write the prologue for it.(…) Write 350 words to earn 400 points for your cabin

Notes: Help I think I'm getting too attached to a story that I've already written and works well enough as it is. Next thing I know I'm going to have so many terrible unwanted spin-offs :sob:

Word count: 352 words

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“What’s a new year’s resholushun?” she asks, stumbling across the unfamiliar word and accidentally blurring the syllables together.

“It’s a list of things you want to do next year!” says mom. “You write it down on a piece of paper with checkboxes in the front. Then, if you complete the goal, then it crosses itself our!”

“Really?” she gasps.

“Yes, really!” mama laughs. “We do it every year. Even Jamie has a list,” she says.

“Jamie! Can I see your list?”

“No, Jenna. Now shove off,” he grumbles.

“Jamie, be nice to your sister,” mama says sternly.

“Okay. Shove off!” he says cheerfully with a wide smile across his face.

“Oh, pretty please? With ice cream and sprinkles on top?”

“I said no, Jenna!”

“I’ll do your chores!”

“Nice try. I can do my own chores.”

“…I won’t go in your room anymore?”

“Forever?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.

“…two weeks.”

“Deal,” he says, handing over his list. It only has three items on it.

“Woah,” says Jenna, awed despite how short it is. “Are you really going to become baseball captain?”

“I mean, I’m going to try, but yeah!” he says.

“I wanna be baseball captain too! Can I put that on my list?”

“Maybe a few years later when you actually have a shot. You should write something that you really want to do, but also something that you think you actually can do.”

Jenna mulls this over. What’s something she really wants to do, but still something that she can actually do?

The idea comes to her in a burst of inspiration. “I know what my resholushun’s going to be! Quick, gimme some paper!” she yells excitedly.

“Woah, slow down there, trooper,” mom laughs, handing her a sheet of paper with a pencil. Jenna snatches it and scribbles something, showing it proudly to Jamie. He laughs. “That’s a great goal, Jenna!”

She preens under his approval. “But…there’s only one thing on it. Is that okay?” she asks, worried.

“Of course it is! You can do whatever you want, Jen,” Jamie says, and she believes it. Because he said so.

Weekly #4

Notes: Posting this as I go to minimize the amount of time I take lol. NO JUDGEMENT I've been speedrunning this weekly REALLY hard and my writing comp entry is nowhere near finished plus I'm also very short so you can imagine the kind of stress I'm under :>
HUGE shoutout to Snowy (@SnowdropSugar), who offered to critique this piece last-minute. My number one cheerleader mwah <3

DISCLAIMER: Like part 1 will tell you, since I accidentally NBC Hannibal'd my story (I was having a phase don't judge), this entire weekly will contain offhand mentions of serial killings, blood and murder. There's no actual gore because I'm squeamish but also terrible at plot-based stories, but still, read at your own risk.

Total word count: 1602 words

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Part 1: Outlining

Word count: 217 words

—

• The story is essentially a rip-off of my knowledge of NBC Hannibal, all gleaned from fandom chatter, because I’m creative like that.
  
  
• The story is also a retelling of the myth of Psyche and Eros because again, I’m creative like that.
  
  
• No cannibalism, though. Sorry. I know it’s literally the whole point of Hannibal, but I’m too squeamish for that. Plus, I need some originality.
  
  
• Story starts with Psyche being yeeted into the Killer Cupid Case. (No, that’s not its actual name, because nobody knows it’s a ploy to woo her yet.) This is done by her (now ex) boss, who essentially plays the role of the oracle here. Say wacky stuff and watch the drama unfold. #Goals.
  
  
• I have no idea what Psyche actually does, by the way. I’m too lazy to properly research. Just assume that she’s a detective of sorts.
  
  
• Eros is a chill, goofy dude. Yeah, he’s a murderer, but so blorbo!!!
  
  
• Psyche’s quest order is jumbled up here for convenience. She first goes to Demeter and Hera for guidance, then there’s Persephone, then Boreas. After that, there’s the fiasco with her sister. Venus is last on the list, who leads her to Eros.
  
  
• Also, I’m hoping to switch up everyone’s names for funsies. I mean, who calls their kid Boreas anymore anyway?
  
  

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Part 2

Notes: This is right about the part where I went “screw it, they're lesbians.” This is because while Enid very conveniently means “soul” (like Psyche), I couldn't find anything that fit Eros except scrambling up the letters to make Rose. Bask in my big-brained glory.

Word count: 139 words

—

Enid stares out the window at the bloodied mess on the field.

“I’m sorry,” she says, because she really is, “I wasn’t aware I was going to be dealing with a psychopath.”

“Not a psychopath, miss,” says the girl next to her cheerfully. “A serial killer.”

“Ah, of course. What an important difference. My apologies. Not, a psychopath, a straight-up serial killer! How could I ever mix them up like that?”

She might be sounding a little hysterical. She doesn’t care. This is way above her pay grade. It's too close to home.

“Hey, take a breath now,” the girl says. Rose. Her name’s Rose. She gives her a grin. “I’ll help you out, yeah?”

Doubtful, but Enid could do with all the help she can get. She nods. “That’d be nice,” she says, and that seals her fate.


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Part 3

Notes: Great Scott, what is this 1k+ monstrosity I've created?

Now, heads up: this is obviously very different from my original outline. There are references to it here and there but speedrunning means all sorts of things are thrown out the window. There is now referenced cannibalism, mostly played off for slapstick comedy points. Demeter is now Cress because Demeter = Ceres = Cress. Similarly, Hera is now June Marie (Juno, marriage but French). Boreas is North because if Kanye West can name his kid North West then I can name my Boreas reference North. Aphrodite is Venus because that's where I started losing steam. Persephone's her sister because plot convenience. Also if someone's naming their daughter Venus then it's not unreasonable for their other kid to be Persephone. I'm never writing plot again. You're only getting fluff out of me now.

Story stew points included (I tried): An open ending, cliffhanger, genre swap, (bad) foreshadowing, (unwarranted) POV switch, (poorly written) plot twist.

Word count: 1246 words

—

“Right,” says Enid. “Where were you on the evening of Saturday, the 25th of October?”

“I was home gardening, getting the pumpkins ready for Halloween.”

“Rose?”

“She’s telling the truth,” she says from the doorway.

Cress shoots her a glare. “And why are you here?”

“I’m helping her out,” says Rose, jerking a thumb at Enid.

Cress smiles viciously at that. “Won’t your mother be expecting you?” she says sweetly.

“You two know each other?” asks Enid, surprised.

“That’s unimportant,” says Rose. “I think we’ve got all our information here, Enid, let’s go.” And with that, she’s dragging Enid towards the door.

“I’d keep an eye out for her if I were you,” calls Cress behind them. “Wouldn’t want your beloved to be next, would we now?”

To Enid’s surprise, this causes Rose to blush fiercely. “That’s none of your business,” she snaps.

“What,” growls Enid, losing her patience, “exactly is going on over here?”

“Nothing!” say Rose and Cress together.

“Now come on, Miriam’s missing liver isn’t going to find itself! Let’s go,” says Rose more insistently, tugging at Enid’s arm.

There really isn’t much else she can say in the face of Rose’s manhandling, so Enid shrugs apologetically at Cress before they make their way back to the car.

⚘ —

“What was that about?”

“I’m telling you; it was nothing. Who’s our next suspect?”

“It says June Marie, Miriam’s neighbour.”

“Oh, for the love of—”

“What, you know her too?”

“Let’s just say she’s a family acquaintance. She’s horrible. Can we skip her?”

“Rose, she was literally five minutes away from the scene of the crime.”

“UGHHH, fine.”

⚘ —

“Hi! I’m Enid, we’re investigating your neighbour’s murder. Could we come in and ask a few questions?” says Enid far too cheerfully for someone who’s talking about a serial killer.

June Marie is the I-could-kill-you-with-my-eyebrow, drop-dead gorgeous sort of woman that looks like she was born to rule the world. She looks Enid and Rose over once. And then she says “No,” and slams the door in their face.

Rose bangs her fist on the door. “June, you’d better answer these questions or I’m siccing North on you.”

June opens the door with a huff. Enid gapes at Rose, who smiles smugly. “Enid, would you do the honors?”

Enid snaps her mouth shut. “Right. Sorry. Where were you on the evening of Saturday, the 25th of October?”

“None of your concern,” says June airily.

Enid tries a different tactic. “Were you particularly close with Miriam?”

“That’s neither here nor there,” she replies infuriatingly. If she weren’t so beautiful, Enid would’ve been drawing blood.

“Look, I just need your statement so I can verify that you weren’t involved in the murder. Otherwise, we’re going to have to bring you into custody,” Enid says through gritted teeth.

June gives her a long look at that. “I like her,” she declares. “You’ve got good taste,” she tells Rose, who blushes angrily again. She really does look pretty like that, muses Enid.

“You should start looking a little closer to home,” June advises Enid. “Good luck on your case!”

And with that, she slams the door in their face again. Another dead end.

⚘ —

“Well, I suppose that’s it for today.”

“I guess. What did she mean by looking closer to home?”

“June’s just like that. Vague and holier-than-thou. She thinks she’s better than everybody.”

“And how do you know that?”

“Like I said, family friend. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“…see you tomorrow. And Rose?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks for all your help. You didn’t have to run around chasing bad leads with me all these months.”

“Hey, none of that now, okay? I like spending time with you. I know it seems impossible, but we’ll solve this case, okay?”

“Okay.”

⚘ —

Two days later, there’s another murder. The body’s presented just like the last few victims. Decorated with roses and pink ribbons, with a missing organ. It’s the kidney this time.

It’s Enid’s ex-boss. The one who assigned her to the case. The one who’s dead now.

She leans against Rose, who wraps an arm around her waist.

“Don’t worry,” says Rose. “We’ll find them.”

Enid hums noncommittally. She was never fond of the man anyway. A shame he had to go, though.

“How many do we have so far?”

“Seven, including him.”

“Any suspects?”

“Just one,” says Rose slowly. “Calls herself Persephone.”

Enid shudders. “Like the goddess of death? Fitting.”

And then the world goes black.

⚘ —

Despite what the underworld thinks, Venus isn’t completely heartless. Just look at how well she treats Rose even after she disobeyed direct orders.

She calls North. “Go tell my sister I’m sending Rose’s pet to visit. I’m expecting all the usual results.”

He nods once and sets off to do his job.

“Oh, and North?” she calls, stopping him in his tracks. “That girl, what was her name? Enid? Did you notify her of our meeting?”

He nods again. “Scheduled at one tomorrow,” he rasps.

“Drive me there, will you?”

She’s curious to see who her daughter’s thrown her lot in with.

⚘ —

“Enid? Are you alright?”

“Fine, I’m fine. What happened?”

“North knocked you out. You were going to be kidnapped before I stopped him.”

“What?”

“It’s my mother’s fault! I told her to leave you alone but— but—”

“Hey, it’s okay! Calm down, Rose.”

“You don’t know what she’s like, Enid.”

“Then tell me.”

“It’s not that easy, I—”

“Shh. One step at a time. Maybe we should get rid of grumpyface here.”

“That’s North.”

“Weird name.”

“It’s not his real one. Mother sent him to arrange a meeting.”

“Weird family.”

“Quit joking around, this is serious. I need to tell you something.”

“…yeah. I think I need to tell you something too.”

“I have a crush on you—”

“I know you’re behind the murders—”

“Wait.”

“What.”

“You know about the murders?”

“You have a crush on me?”

“That’s not important!”

“You literally, explicitly said it was important. You said it like it was life-or-death.”

“That’s not my fault! My mom sent a hit out on you, and I refused because well. I liked you.”

“Awww. Is that why you killed my boss?”

“You told me you didn’t like him. I thought you’d appreciate it. I’m sorry—”

“Don’t be, it’s good riddance.”

“Either way, now my mom wants to meet you—”

“That’s okay. I can handle myself.”

“Enid—”

“Rose. I can handle myself.”

“…I don’t like this.”

“It’s the only way she’ll leave us alone.”

“…okay.”

“Okay.”

⚘ —

Enid fidgets nervously while Venus takes a bite of her meal, chewing slowly. It’s always nerve-wracking when you’re trying to get your girlfriend’s mom’s approval.

“You wanted to meet me?” she asks.

“I did,” says Venus simply. “Now, I think I’ll make myself very clear. Rose has a very important job. You’re the first she refused. In our line of work, it’s weak. And I simply cannot have any weaknesses. So, you need to prove to me that you’re worth keeping alive.”

Enid grins at that, dropping all pretenses. “Where do you think Miriam’s liver went?” she says with a pointed glance at Venus’ plate.

Venus’ fork falls with a clatter. “You didn’t,” she says, horrified.

“I did,” shrugs Enid, taking a bite of her own dish. Kidney pie is surprisingly good when it's made of your ex-boss.

“You’re sick.”

“And your daughter’s a serial killer. Your point?”

The silence stretches out.

So much for first impressions.

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Critique for @SnowdropSugar

You can find her brilliant piece here

Snowy I'm so sorry it took me this long anyway I love your work so much I'm like your biggest fan etc. etc. etc.

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LOVED your opening line it's very impactful, descriptive and sets the scene right from the get go.

With every breath that passes, in and out, so shallow they hardly draw air through her lips, she exhales a little bit more hope, draining herself of it until there is almost nothing left.

This sentence here feels a little long winded. I think there's too many commas with tangential commentary in between which breaks up the flow a little, so I'd recommend splitting this into two sentences or mult iple short ones. The bit about exhaling hope until there's none left makes me go absolutely feral, though, so you'd better keep that in >:0

I feel like the same thing pops up in a few other places places throughout your piece—some of your sentences feel like they don't have enough breaks, which ultimately disrupts the reading flow. Off the top of my head, this includes the sentence immediately after the one quoted above, the description of the marble fireplace and the first paragraph of the part where she breaks down.

But instead, the picture of her hometown, rubble dusted in black and gray, and the west sun and giant clouds are captioned with something entirely different.

Probably just me being nit-picky here, but I think “westward sun” is a better phrase here. Again, lots of commas, but I think they work fine here ^^'

She’s not hoping for the place she loved and knew to remain the way she has tried to preserve it in her memory. Not anymore. She’s only hoping that she’ll be able to recognize the ashes.

Absolutely unhinged of you to write this I love it oh my gosh that hits hard >:0

As she runs a careful finger over the once-pretty gilded edges of the notebook, she remembers the chorus that she’s kept close to her for ages.
You’re a ghost now. If they can’t find you, you’ll survive.

I think this line would've had more impact if it was referenced throughout the piece, but here it just seems to fall a little flat?
Either way, I still think it's pretty neat. I'd recommend italicizing the chorus, though XD

Ahhhh I'm not really sure what else to say!! I think your story was absolutely amazing, and the way you use your language is just *chefs kiss*. There's so much emotion that really shines through and the tone is very *clenches fist in vague hopes that it conveys all my feels*. I don't think there's much else you could do to make it better, really. It's pretty close to perfect just the way it is ^^

Thank You Notes!

Good heavens this took me AGES to write. I'm just absolutely terrible at expressing my gratitude in words. To all of SWC: thank you so much for being a beautiful, beautiful community. I'm so glad I know all you wonderful people. I can't wait to see everyone next session.

The Poetry leader team
Dearly beloved forever and always, etc. etc. etc.

Summer: Where do I even start. Thank you so much for taking a chance for me and extending that offer to join Poetry. This session has been nothing short of amazing. Thank you so much for being patient with me and just cheering me on in general. I love your chaos and I’m so grateful that you put up with all of mine. Pietry and the court jester would be nothing without you. Your enthusiasm is a wonder to behold. Working with you has been a blast—you make everything so gosh darn fun and I mean this in the best way possible, but you are such a menace <3 I really hope I’ll see you around. Maybe I’ll pop up on your profile with ominous-sounding messages for the heck of it. I am forever grateful that I got to meet you.

Sophia: I don’t know how I’m going to condense everything into words. I’ve had so much fun creating something as beautiful as Poetry with you this session. I don’t know if I’ve ever mentioned this before, but you just have such excellent, impeccable taste (and I’m not just talking about Taylor Swift here! I would kill to learn your graphic design skills >:0) I think the saddest part of the session ending is that I don’t really have much of an excuse to pop up unwarranted on your profile anymore XD (not that I’m giving that up entirely, you can fully expect to be jumpscared). Thanks for all your hard work on the grove, and for being such an amazing coleader in general <3

My darling campers
All in alphabetical order!!

Alex: Alex!!! I think you were pretty busy this session, but I’m so glad you were able to participate anyway. I applaud you for having quite possibly the healthiest sleep schedule out of all the poets—I vividly remember adding flowers for sleep under your name the most XD And I’ve never said this before, but I absolutely LOVE your username. I really hope you enjoyed your time in Poetry with us!

Arrow: Arrow! Again, I don’t think I actually had a proper conversation with you at all this session, which is really a downright shame. I remember your Sophia the First/Duolingo pfp from the early days, and it made such an impression on me that I still associate you with that XD Thank you for being a part of Poetry, and I hope to see you around more!!

Hail: Hail!! You and your army of 19 cats that you can summon at will are certainly a force to be reckoned with XD It's been such a pleasure having you around in Poetry this session. I wish we'd interacted more. Maybe we will, in future sessions. I sure hope to see you around ;D

Misty: MISTY!! We haven’t talked much, but I feel like you and I would get along very well. I mean, we do share a good chunk of fandoms and I’m a firm believer of the fact that anyone who likes Inception has excellent taste. I’m not sure why it never fully occurred to me you were Sandy’s sister until very recently, but there you have it all the same. I look forward to seeing you around in future sessions and maybe getting to know you better sometime. Thank you for being a part of Poetry! ^^

Ris: Ris!! Having you around has been amazing. I feel obliged to say this (and I really am very sorry about it) but I think I spent the first few days of this session confusing you with Eevee. Still, I’m so glad you were sorted into Poetry. Your enthusiasm during cabin wars was certainly infectious XD Still can’t believe you kicked a sibling into a wall hard enough to give them stitches, though. Can’t wait to get to know you better in SRC! ;D

Ruby: Ruby!! It's been such a joy, seeing you around in Poetry. Congratulations on reaching your word goal!! I do wish we'd gotten around to talking more, but I hope you were able to enjoy your time in our cabin all the same. I look forward to seeing you around in future sessions too

Sandy: MOTHER SANDY!!! To say I shrieked when I saw your user in my camper list would be an understatement. We’ve shared a few memorable moments this session—most prominent being the one where I got your birthday wrong and embarrassed myself to no end XD I feel obliged to comment on your word count, so here it is: you are absolutely insane for raising your goal to 65k two-ish days before camp ended and then proceeding to actually hit that goal. Always slaying, never swaying (Summer's suggestion). Either way, thank you so much for being a part of Poetry!!!

Seven: Seven! Having you as a camper was an absolute honor. I think no one can match you for your sheer enthusiasm. I loved how you were always cheering everyone on and just being a bright spot in our little cabin bunch. Cabin wars wouldn't have been half as fun without you. I really, really hope to see you around in future sessions!! Until then, feel free to drop me a message, maybe. From the bottom of my heart, thank you so much for being a part of Poetry.

Squidy: SQUIDY YOU LITTLE GREMLIN gosh I’m so happy you were sorted into my cabin!! I absolutely LOVE your haikus—I feel like they just keep on getting better and better. And of course, we must acknowledge your ultimate contribution to our beloved cabin: MAGICAL SEQUOIA GROWTH. And congratulations on reaching your word goal!! I know you worked really hard on that towards the end of the session. Thank you so much for being a part of Poetry—and I look forward to seeing you around in the future ;D

Veni: Veniiiii I know I've said it before but your art is so!!! pretty!!!!! Thank you for all your contribution towards cabin wars—they wouldn't have been half as fun or nearly the same without you. And I still remember your answer for the no ‘e’ QOTD—every day it continues to be awe-inspiring. I hope you enjoyed being a part of Poetry this session. You're an absolutely amazing person, and I look forward to seeing you around! ;D

Vi: VI!!! FELLOW PRIDE AND PREJUDICE LOVER!!!! Excellently boiled potatoes indeed. Also, I haven't ever mentioned this before but I absolutely LOVE how neat your writing thread is. And your writing in general, actually. I really enjoyed seeing you around! I hope you were able to enjoy being a part of our cabin. I hope we'll get around to talking more sometime. Feel free to pop onto my profile and talk about Jane Austen's brilliance anytime ;D

Vie: Vie!!! I think you were one of the first few campers to arrive when we sent out invites?? Either way, having you around has been an absolute blast. I don't know if I've mentioned it before, but I absolutely LOVED your poems in the garden. I hope you enjoyed being a part of our cabin, and I hope to see you around in future sessions too!!

Aiyana, El, Eva, Scarlette, Star, Feather: I haven’t talked to most of you much this session but thank you for being a part of Poetry nonetheless! I hope you were able to enjoy your time with us. I’ve always enjoyed seeing you around every time you popped in to add words or drop a random comment in the main cabin. Poetry wouldn’t be nearly the same without you lot.

Others
No less important than the rest

Elfie: My bro, my main man, my rock. What would I ever do without you? Thank you so much for always being there for me and always cheering me on. Especially during the boards—they wouldn't have been half as easy as they ended up being if you weren't there to support me. Thank you for always popping in to check up on me and nagging me to get some sleep. Thank you for a million little other things. Never stop being the absolutely delightful soul that you are. I love ya <3

May: May!!!! I am SO glad we've finally broken our unspoken tradition of always orbiting each other but never actually talking during SWC XD You're such a sweet, delightful soul. And your writing is nothing short of glorious. I always feel so honored to read it. Best of luck on your writing competition entry, and perhaps just about everything else you do in life as well! Ahhh I'm running out of words now. NO MOURNERS NO FUNERALS.

Snowy: Looks like I've ended up saving the best for the last!! Snowy you are such a kind, brilliant friend. If I haven't told you that before then I'm telling you now. I can't believe I got so lucky that the stars aligned for us to reach across to each other through computer pixels. I love our little Antarctica colony. I love every single conversation we have, whether it's about books or music or just life in general. Ahhhh I had so many other things I planned to say, but I can't remember any of them now!! To wrap this up, I'll just say this: always remember your auntie Recca loves you. Mwah <3

SWC (Co)Leader App Excerpt

Notes: Taken from an old daily from last session. Link to go back to my app here

Word count: 311 words

- - -

Let’s play a little game, you and I.

When we fight on Tuesday, we won’t talk to each other. Then, on a post-it note, I’ll scribble it out: Raindrops splashing. Crackling fire. A warm mug in my hand. All it’s missing is you. I’ll stick it on your bedroom door, and you’ll find it and fold it up and neither of us will say anything, but you’ll get your own mug and snuggle up next to me.

Maybe a week later, I’ll come home after a bad day and I won’t say anything but you’ll notice anyway. So you’ll get me a mug of coffee and on a carefully stuck post-it note you’ll write: If someone invented a time machine, I’d always go back to the moment we met. I’ll scribble on the back: No you won’t. You’d go to Hawking’s party. But I’ll smile and you’ll snort, and I’ll fold it up to keep it safe.

Five days later, you’ll lose a gig and you won’t say it bothers you but I’ll notice anyway. The next day you’ll find it folded up with your lunch: Forget Mona Lisa, you’re the real masterpiece. You’ll laugh and your day gets a little brighter.

After a breakup: All the stars in the night sky couldn’t hold a candle to your brilliance.

When I snag a win: I don’t know which I fancy better: your bravado or your brains.

Stuck onto your mirror: Lightning never strikes twice, but your smile never fails to electrify me.

What we really mean: I’m sorry. It’ll be better soon. You were right. And always, between the lines: I love you. On and on and on—all our love on yellow squares of paper. Sometimes we won’t have any for months. Sometimes we’ll do it every day. It’ll go on forever—and forever won’t be so bad after all.

SWC July 2024

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Dailies:

• 02.07.2024 (Dear Future Me)
  
• 03.07.2024 (Kingdoms)
  
• 04.07.2024 (Something based on an instrumental piece)
  

Weeklies:

• Weekly 1
  
• Weekly 2
  
• Weekly 4
  

Others:

• The Road(trip) to Hell is Paved With Good Intentions (Writing competition entry)
  
• i'd crawl home to her (Writing competition fanfic entry)
  

Daily 2

Do you have any pressing questions for your future self? Now's your chance to find out - write a letter to your end-of-the-month self! Try to include some goals you have for this month, SWC or personal, and any questions you have for yourself in 200 words for 200 points.

Word count: 203 words

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Dear me (latest edition),

By the end of this month I hope you’ll have finally watched Inside Out 2, re-read A Good Girl’s Guide to Murder, started on your obligatory Stormlight Archive re-read, watch the Persuasion movie and roasted it for its book-to-movie inaccuracies and most importantly: watched The Boy and the Heron so you can figure out why it got the Oscar when Nimona was RIGHT THERE and whether or not it was genuinely deserved or it was just homophobia at play.

(Let’s be honest here though: it’s Studio Ghibli. It most likely more than deserves that golden shiny mini-man statue. BUT COME ON. ACROSS THE SPIDER-VERSE. AND NIMONA. WITH THEIR REVOLUTIONARY ANIMATION TECHNIQUES. I HOPE YOU’RE STILL LOWKEY MAD ABOUT IT BECAUSE YOU SHOULD BE. Unless The Boy and the Heron made you cry. Because we know what that means.)

Apart from that I hope you’re surviving school. I VERY much hope you didn’t succumb to your Greek mythology era again, it’s almost embarrassing how easily we do that. The upcoming launch of EPIC’s Thunder Saga does not make me optimistic, but the hope persists. Oh, and I hope you’re enjoying your Gwidfee retirement!

Love or whatever,
Me (OG cooler edition)

Daily 3

Close your eyes and picture a kingdom- it can look like anything you'd like! Write a paragraph about it… now stop! Fast-forward ten years. What changed in the kingdom? What new developments are there? Continue to fast forward ten years after each paragraph until you have 500 words

Notes: Shouout to Serrie, Alana and Elfie for providing me with the random words blue, frog and cramps respectively. They have fueled my crack writing beautifully.

This story is set in the same world as one of my other pieces here. I find it immensely fitting that they were both written in the same state of mind (half-asleep and desperately speedrunning). Also, yes, the Witches on Grimwatch Street were the ones who adopted Periwinkle. And no, frogs don't get period cramps, but I'm running really low on material here.

I don't know what even is the narration style in this XD

Word count: 504 words

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The pond is a kingdom that stands at the very edge of the Waxy Water District in the kingdom of the Watchful Wheatfield. Technically, it can’t exist, since kingdoms inside kingdoms open up too many diplomatic situations no one wants to deal with. Then again, this kingdom’s literally just a tiny pond and maybe the five square metres of land around it. Plus, the Watchful Wheatfield is already a place out of time and it’s not unreasonable for a place out of time to have wacky laws. It’s ruled by one (1) blue frog. She’s only queen because she decided that the life of a simple blue frog was not enough for her. Also yeah, it’s actually a queendom. Sike.

Oh no! The queen’s dead! Luckily her great-great-great-great-great-great granddaughter’s just ascended the throne. (If you were wondering, these blue frogs’ lifespans were much smaller than the average 10 years of our blue poison dart frogs.) The queen frog, whose name is Azulea, is currently the ruler of a flourishing country. In fact, in frog scale, the queendom of Neeltala is practically the size of a continent. (Much like their lifespan, these blue frogs were extraordinarily tiny). There are five bustling cities. The Warthog scientists call them Lilypad #1, Lilypad #2, Lilypad #3, Lilypad #4 and Lilypad #5. In the official language of the queendom of Neeltala, they’re called Croak, Ribbit, OpOp, KeroKero and KWAAAK. Everyone is happy and the world, however small it may be, is at peace under the reign of Azulea.

Hm? Neeltala? Oh yeah, we got rid of it. Remember how we established that technically the queendom couldn’t exist because of the whole host of diplomatic situations no one wanted to deal with? It turns out this dude called Wilhelm the Wary Warlock got bored enough to want to deal with it. Dried up the whole pond, what a jerk. I think someone took in Azulea’s great-great-great-great-great-great grandson, though—they called him Periwinkle.

The queendom at the edge of the Waxy Water district has been doing pretty great in the ten years since Wilhelm’s dried it up! Turns out Periwinkle managed to lawyer up real good and they presented a case so solid that Wilhelm the Wary Warlock had to concede. The whole thing was in the media for days, that jerk of a Warlock was lucky he wasn’t trampled in a mob. Anyway, it’s ruled by Periwinkle’s many-times-great granddaughter. They call the queendom Periwinkle, after the only male ruler they ever had. The Warthogs have been baffled by the long line of female rulers, but the blue frog historians, who are equally baffled but hide it better, merely suggest ignoring it. All is peaceful again under the reign of queen Sea, whose administrative system is so wonderful that the worst she has to deal with is meeting diplomats while having to deal with cramps. At least she can afford to pay people to dump her work on AND to import enough chocolate to keep both her and her citizens happy.

Daily 4

For today's daily, search up and listen to an instrumental song Think about the mood and atmosphere the song is trying to portray. After you listen to a portion of or the entire song, write a story of 300 words inspired by the mood of the song for 200 points

Word count: 302 words

Piece picked: Je Te Veux by Erik Satie

Notes: Honestly I'm a little sick of writing shmoop like this because while it's cute and all, something about the way I end up structuring my sentences ticks me off. Maybe it's the tense? The super-long sentences followed by the super-short ones? I have NO idea and it drives me crazy because I can't fix it until I know what the problem is ARGHHHHHH.

Anyway Je Te Veux by Erik Satie is a beautiful piece and one of his less melancholic ones and I think it's like Paris in the rain. Je Te Veux means “I want you” in French, which is kinda adorable, actually. It's very nostalgic-sounding and there are these parts where you play a bunch of overlapping notes that sound like they're rushing over each other to be heard and the tempo sort of changes because of that? I'm horrible at describing music and even worse at the technical aspects of it, don't judge. Basically I feel like its very reminiscent of this wonderful moment with all the foundations of a strong friendship and all the shyness of a newfound love. If that makes any sense. Go listen to it, you'll get what I'm trying to say. And maybe don't read my work immediately after, I really didn't do the piece justice.

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Do you remember our walk on my last day in town? It was autumn, but the sharp sting of winter was already in the air. There bakeries were putting out the second batch of bread; it smelled heavenly. We were walking in an odd sort of stumble-strut: two normal steps followed by a faltering one. My leg still hadn’t healed. Your hair had the first streaks of grey in it.

There was a child on our way to the park. He had a red balloon—it’s odd, the details the mind chooses to remember. And there was a dog, the fluffiest creature alive. There was a man coming out of the café with two cups of coffee in hand, and someone held the door open for him to walk through. The trees were orange and red and there were acorns scattered everywhere. I don’t think I’d ever been as grateful for my bad leg. It gave me an excuse to linger. Being with you made the world more alive in a way, I kept wanting to stop and drink in the sights.

I don’t even remember what we were talking about. Do you? It feels like we talked about the most useless things in the world. You’d say there’s a beauty in that. I say you’re too much of a dreamer to even consider looking past those rose-tinted glasses of yours.

When we got to the park, we picked out a shady little area under a copse of trees. And we sat there for a while, and then I got bored, and then you got bored, so you pulled me to my feet and we started spinning around in circles. We danced the way we walked, stumbling every five steps. We didn’t even need to talk about useless things. It was bliss.

Weekly 1

Total word count:

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Part 1

Word count: 359 words

Scene 1: Original Scene
(203 words)

Notes: This is entirely a product of Tom Lehrer's song “Poisoning Pigeons in the Park”

“Spring is here!” exclaims captain Trace Leftver. His overenthusiasm is a sharp contrast to his militaristic appearance. “The sun shining brightly, it’s a lovely day today, is it not? The most perfect time of the year to go birdkilling. Did I mean birdwatching? NOPE! Bird. Killing. We’re killing birds today, cadets. More specifically: pigeons.”

Me and some dozen other poor folks stare at him, flabbergasted.

“Most people ask why,” he says, correctly interpreting our silence. “Those are the ones I tell to walk out the door.”

He pauses.

“Well, the park gate.”

More silence.

“You know what I mean. Anyway, you are all gathered here today as a part of an elite squad. We’re known as the Pigeon Killing Operative Lsomething Organisation. PIKOLO, for short. Like the instrument. Any questions so far?”

Someone raises their hand.

“NO QUESTIONS, WONDERFUL!” he exclaims, ignoring them completely. “Now, in your packs, you have half a dozen pills of pigeon poison. Anywhere from the park gates to the edge of the woods is free game. BUT NO GOING NEAR THE RIVER. Whoever gets the most birdies wins three hundred million dollars. NOW SCATTER!”

So the PIKOLO scatters. For the three hundred million dollars and nothing else, obviously.

○ ϟ —

Scene 2: Timeskip of someone else's scene
(156 words)

Notes: This is a continuation of a piece written by Snowy, who I swapped with! Her writing is italicized and enclosed in the quotation box, mine is right below it hehe.

The garden is filled with secrets all hidden beneath layers and layers of green. The low light of evening is awash over the clearing in the forest, and the girl searches for some place of solace amongst the chaos outside. Here, there is an escape, a place where none of it can get to her. Here, there is quiet, silence, peace. And it is blissful.

Outside, it’s loud, nowhere to get away from the darkness, nowhere to turn to. This is the only place for her. Where brightly colored wildflowers are strewn about the emerald green grass, and where the days are endless. A refuge from the outside.

The girl’s long brown hair whips in the wind, billowing behind her in the cool breeze. She stands at the edge, between the quiet and the loud, hoping to find answers for the unspoken questions, waiting for the lands to call back and give her them.

The silence is deafening. It’s odd how you never notice the difference between quiet and silence until you lose something. Ten years is a long time; it changes everything.

The girl last came here in the evening. This time, it’s on the cusp of morning, a twilight moment between yesterday and today. Her brown hair was long, whipping through the wind. It barely reaches her shoulders now. This place was a refuge for her once, bursting with color and the quiet hum of life. It’s all gone. Only silence remains.

She stands once again at the edge, between noise and a silence that’s louder than it. She hoped to find answers, she knows there are none left. This garden was once everything.

The sun rises on a desolate landscape. There are no more wildflowers, no emerald-green grass. Time stakes its claim on the timeless place at last. She turns, she leaves; she does not look back.

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Part 2

Word count: 426 words (222 words for the first timeline, 204 words for the second)

○ ϟ —

He’s an obnoxiously inquisitive brat like most boys his age are. He was also prone to bouts of escapades, chaos and general mischief that so very cruelly plagues little boys like him. Don’t ask where his parents were. They were far too busy to give him a sense of decorum and far too poor to afford for someone else to do it for them. He ran wild and went where he pleased, and that is not something that most other boys can boast about.

Today he’s bored and he’s got nothing better to do. The baker’s son is still busy and the old biddy who lives in the house across from his is still too asleep for him to bother. He’s always liked trains, so to the train station he goes.

—

Approximately a few hundred years in the future, an old man is walking to the same train station—only, he’s going from the opposite direction. You might think it’s the young boy from the first part of the story. It’s really not. It’s not his son either. Sorry to burst your bubble.

He’s ancient, and he definitely looks the part. He seems like his grandchildren have great-grandchildren by now. His bones most certainly do not work as well as the little boy’s, so he creaks his way going one step at a time and eventually, after much effort, reaches the train station. He sits on a bench. He leans back. He catches whatever little breath he has left.

—

The little boy makes his way to a bench and watches the trains pass by. Very few of them actually stop at the station, much to his delight. Childhood adds a layer of magic to the speed they whiz past at. He sits back on a bench to enjoy the show.

Yeah, it’s the same bench.

He turns and lo and behold, there’s an old man sitting there.

“Hello,” says the man. “Does that terrible old biddy still live in the house out front, or has she died off by now?”

—

The old man grins as the boy stares at him, shocked.

It’s no longer a hundred years in the future, by the way. The old man has time travelled back to the past, on the day he was too busy helping out at home to accompany his friend to the station.

“Never mind that,” he says, generously sparing the boy from having to answer. “Do me a favour and bring the baker’s son along next time, will you? I still haven't forgiven you for ditching me.”

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Part 3

Word count: 309 words

Prompts:

• Walking home — slow paced
  
• Running home — fast paced
  

○ ϟ —

We race through the bushes. A stick breaks. A bird screeches. The world is nothing but blurs of color. There is the rush of wind in our ears. Up the hill. Down the hill. Crashing through the undergrowth. This, this is what life is. Beating my brother home so I can get the first shot at claiming the laptop lest he hogs it to play his video games.

We finally reach the end of our shortcut through the woods. We can see our house up ahead now. I can hear him panting behind me. He’s on my heels. I only need to push myself. Just a little farther. Come on now, I tell myself. It’s only a few more feet. I can make it. I can make it.

I cannot make it. I collapse on the sidewalk. To my surprise, my brother just flops facedown onto the pavement right beside me. I’d nag at him about germs and dirty clothes but I’m far too winded for that right now. I look at him and nudge his arm with my shoe. He flops his head around so he can look at me.

“Truce?” I wheeze.

“Truce,” he wheezes back.

After a few more minutes of catching my breath, I slowly get to my feet. Then, I drag my brother up by his arm. “Noooooo,” he whines weakly in protest. Then, bizarrely, “Pavement.” And his arm flops back down to meet it.

“Come on,” I sigh, picking him up again. He leans on me. “Carry me,” he says. “Pleeeeeeeease.”

“Not unless you promise I can use the laptop first,” I pant, dragging him towards our house.

He jumps away as if he didn’t look like he was on the verge of needing life support. “No. Nuh-uh.”

“Then suffer,” I say, and I speedwalk back home faster than my brother ever could.

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Part 4

Word count:

Notes: I unironically love how stupid this is.

○ ϟ —

The city is surrounded by a forest. Nothing goes into the forest, and nothing comes out. This rule has persisted amongst the people of the city for generations, and it most certainly will not be broken. In fact, it’s much easier to say that it can’t be broken. The forcefield prevents it, see. The People of the Trees activated it during their strategic retreat in the Battle of Lsomething. Of course, this suggests that the forcefield can be deactivated as well, but that is not our concern here.

—

“Man, this place is a dump,” I say under my breath.

Page chuckles at that. “Your endless optimism and valuable input are as charming as always, Box. Now let’s get those fairy lights up or you’re fired.”

“You can’t fire me. It’s against the law.”

“Yeah, well, this is my dump so the only law that applies here is mine. Now scram.”

“SCRAM,” agrees the demonic voice.

“Page? Was that you?”

“NO,” says the demonic voice. “IT WAS ME.”

“Box,” whispers Page, grabbing my arm. Then, frantically: “Box, run!”

Page whirls around, dragging me along. She breaks into a run. I trip on the fairy lights. We both scream.

“YUMMY DESSERT!” says the demonic voice.

—

As it turns out, the forest has been rotting from the inside out. Maybe that’s a harsh word for it, but we can all agree that wherever environmentalism is concerned, humanity is a plague. The People of the Trees have steadily been turning the forest into something that looks an awful lot like our own city at the edge of the forcefield.

As a result, scientists predict that by the next ten years or so, the forcefield will soon prove to be completely ineffective.

—

There’s no body to match to the demonic voice. It’s terrifying. It’s everywhere; we can’t see it at all. My breaths come in short, staccato gasps. Page trembles beside me, holding my hand.

“Box,” she says. “I’m so sorry I brought you into this.”

“It’s okay,” I say. It’s definitely not okay. I’m going to become YUMMY DESSERT for a demonic voice.

“I’VE BEEN CRAVING DESSERT FOR SO LONG,” says the demonic voice in a cruel mockery of my thoughts. “SHINY DESSERT.”

Wait.

Shiny dessert?

I’m not shiny.

Page is not shiny.

We're not getting eaten?

—

The rule states that nothing goes out of the forest. It also states that nothing comes out of the forest.

As the People of the Trees seem intent on no longer leaving their home a forest, soon enough the forcefield will cease to exist. A forcefield created to shelter a forest has no purpose if the forest itself doesn’t exist anymore, after all.

—

“Um. Hi. Demonic voice?” I ask cautiously.

“MY NAME IS FLUFFY.”

“Fluffy! Right. When you were talking about dessert, you weren’t talking about us, were you?”

“NO! I WANT THE SHINY CIRCLES.”

“I think Fluffy’s talking about the fairy lights,” whispers Page.

“Yeah, you’re a real Sherlock there, Page. Of course you can have the fairy lights for dessert, Fluffy!”

“THANK YOU,” says the tiny gremlin creature.

“I think we’ll have to tell our history professor that the People of the Trees aren’t really humans,” remarks Page faintly.

“I CAN EAT HIM FOR YOU,” offers Fluffy.

“Fluffy, I love you.”

Weekly 2

Total word count: 1201 words

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Part 1

Prompt: Tears dropped from / your stained hands / and painted the / heavens in stars
(Taken from this thread before it was complete. Honestly surprised how well it fits with the second half, though XD)

Word count: 311 words

○ ϟ —

No one knows what it cost to create the stars.

You enjoyed bringing the universe to life. It was entertaining. Releasing everything slowly, letting everything come together in its own time. Maybe a little nudge here, a little push there. All of creation shaped by your careful hands.

Ordered chaos. Neatly contained. Not a single toe out of line. Nothing disobeyed. You were too powerful for that. Destruction was not your domain, but destruction can come through creation too. No one seems to realize that. They underestimate you for it.

The details of this story have been lost to time. The details of the argument, the people involved, the things leading up to it—none of that is known anymore. What we know for certain is this: someone (something? Somewhere?) disagreed with you. You pushed too hard. And something broke. But you refused to tell us what. You refuse to tell us anything.

By the time anyone got there, you were crying into your hands. They were stained—with dye? With ink? A binding substance? You were an artist. It could’ve been anything.

(Not blood. You hadn’t made any, back then. Had you?)

Your tears slipped through your fingers, ran down the sides of your hands. The stains on your palms didn’t budge.

Even your tears were creation.

Little pinpricks of light, mixing with your universe. Alone, they were enormous. But what is that size in the grand scheme of your creation?

Drop by drop, each drop a star. Each star a mark of your suffering. How many tears you must have shed. None of them could wash away the stains on your hands. What a strange thing, to be the embodiment of creation. You couldn’t destroy anything; only create something to do it for you.

You painted the heavens with stars. To this day, no one knows what it cost.

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Part 2
Total word count: 339 words

○ ϟ —

My blurb
(61 words)

A well-meaning but overly imaginative retail worker tries to set up two of their regular customers together through a series of increasingly elaborate and ridiculous plots. The poor customers in question are only befuddled, and they seem to resist all the protagonist’s efforts to bring them together. Our retail worker friend isn’t concerned, though. True love always prevails in the end!

○ ϟ —

Word count: 278 words

Prompt:

A lighthouse in the middle of a city served as their sun. It brought hope to the townfolk, and invited people to gaze at the spectacular light. But Maria didn’t like it. She knew that it was not what it seemed. And on that fateful night, she took an oath to destory it. For everyone.
From this comment

Most children grow up missing something essential; Maria was no different. She grew up in a city with no sun. Instead, she had something her townsfolk claimed was better: a lone lighthouse, standing tall in the center of the city. It shone with a steady, spectacular light. Everyone said it made them feel safe.

Maria knew better. The lighthouse was a scam. The problem was that no one believed her.

She was astonishingly curious as a child, but she didn’t quite dare to act on her hunch back then. She’s been watching for a few years now, though. The door to the lighthouse opens once every day, and someone (something?) sneaks out and the sky turns a tad brighter for it, like an illusion faltering without anything to keep it up. There’s something undoubtedly sinister about it. So Maria makes an oath: she is going to destroy it.

It takes many months until she’s finally ready. When the door opens, she runs in the second the creature sneaks out. She has half an hour to destroy the lighthouse. She has no idea how to do it.

She runs up the stairs, looking for something—anything that can help her bring the tower down. She reaches the top; she finds nothing.

The door creaks. Her breath catches. She has nothing to defend herself with but a spare wrench, no doubt meant to help repair the lighthouse.

When the creature reappears, she swings out wildly. Once, twice, thrice—and it turns out that’s all it takes.

The illusion shatters, and the city is no longer bathed in the warmth of a false sun.

But no one ever sees Maria again.

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Part 3

Word count: 150 words

○ ϟ —

Nothing comes from nothing,
nothing ever does. It’s a paradigm;
one we’re taught to follow.

I think that’s a lie. Here, doing nothing,
the world is at my command. Such joy
is undeserved, but I have it nonetheless.

The swing is somewhere desolate,
it stands apart from the trees.
It sways gently with my weight.

The birds fly overhead, twittering madly.
They’re going home, they fill the air
with a comforting cacophony.

The sun sinks down slowly,
so slowly it seems to crawl, streaking
the sky with a million colors.

A cool breeze blows,
and it’s like I know all the answers
to the questions I never dared to ask.

The children slowly trickle home,
all tired out from play. Like the birds,
they are going home.

In the final moments before night,
with the faintest bits of light left in the sky.
Here, now, I am finally at peace.

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Part 4

Original writing: You enjoyed bringing the universe to life. It was entertaining. Releasing everything slowly, letting everything come together in its own time. Maybe a little nudge here, a little push there. All of creation shaped by your careful hands.

Translated text: I'm glad everything worked out. I need time for everything. Don't waste your time. Here you can pay a small fee. Everything is OK.

Word count: 401 words

○ ϟ —

“How have you been doing?” he asks, placing my coffee in front of me.

“Pretty good, actually,” I reply. “All things considered. It could’ve been worse.”

“Mmm, whatever you say,” he says, like he’s completely unconvinced. He waves away the money I hold out to pay for the coffee. “Discount for regulars. Listen, I’ve got a few more minutes left until my shift’s over. Can you stick around until then?”

“Of course,” I say warmly. He nods and makes his way back to the counter. He’s back in less than ten seconds.

“I thought you said your shifts over in a few minutes?”

“Yeah, there’s this neat little thing I did called lying. It’s pretty fun, you should try it out sometime.”

“Hilarious,” I say, rolling my eyes. “Come on, then.”

“But what about your coffee?” he asks.

“Oh! Right. Can you put this in a to-go cup for me?” I ask.

“I literally just got off shift,” he whines. “You can’t do this to me.”

“Do I look like I care?” I ask, raising an eyebrow. “Go do your job.”

He grumbles the entire five minutes he takes to do it. Ah well. All’s fair in the art of annoyance and war. Sometimes a little damage gets done, but it can’t be helped.

We walk out of the shop, arm in arm, chattering all the while. I feel better than I have in a long time. There’s just something about being walking cheek to cheek with a friend after a series of very bad days. It took a lot of time to get here, to finally feel something close to normal again. I’m glad he’s been around to help. Him and all my other friends. I’ve never felt so lucky as I have with them.

He drops me at my doorstep. We say our goodbyes. Before I can close the door behind me, though, he calls my name. I look at him expectantly.

“I—” he starts, trailing off. “I’m just glad to hear everything’s been working out better for you,” he says with a grin.

I smile back. “Me too.”

I take a sip of the coffee only when I’m inside. It’s too sweet for me, but I think I’ll survive, now that things are looking up and all. I kick off my shoes and throw myself onto my couch, sipping coffee out of the cup.

Everything is okay.

Weekly 4

Total word count: 1800 words exact (no really. I'm impressed too).

Notes: Had to drag myself out of my slump for such a beautiful weekly created with so much effort! I have no idea what this is but I basically kept on inserting new scenes in random locations every time I got a new prompt and thus here we are :P

Prompts used (in order of appearance of scenes they supposedly correspond with):

• 100 words of anything you like
  
• Non-fi prompt: Incorporate multimedia
  
• Fantasy prompt: Magical realism
  
• Horror prompt: Sudden hallucinatory vision
  
• Solarpunk prompt: Incorporate the environment
  
• Script prompt: Scene of dialogue
  
• Sci-fi prompt: Incorporate a flash forward
  
• Dystopian prompt: Realize narrator's motives are less pure
  
• Gothic prompt: Change the setting
  
• 100 words conclusion
  

Certificate for the weekly can be found here

ꕀ ϟ ꕀ

You walk through the streets. Everything is chaos. Surprisingly, it’s not because of the wind, the dark clouds and the three bajillion gallons of water pouring from the sky.

You make your way to the bus stop, struggling against the wind. You don’t bother with an umbrella. Trying to keep yourself dry is a lost cause now. People are caught in a desperate battle to reach the small silver of salvation through the literal gloom. The city may be drowning, but the buses are always on time.

Not everyone can fit on it, though.

It’s survival of the fittest now.

—



—

As far as you know, there has always been rain, and there has always been the twoS. And you have clues for how only one of those came to be.

You are a scientist working at the DRS. It’s a small, elite group who work to make life survivable despite the rain. There are hundreds of others who carry out the actual work, of course, but they’re more like spin-offs of the DRS. You’re part of the real deal. Not everyone can get in, and it’s quite fortunate that not everyone wants to do so.

The pseudosuns are one of the greatest creations of the DRS. Some genius came up with them half a century ago, and they spread across the country like wildfire. None of them ever worked as well as the ones in Varash city, though. That’s part of what the DRS was actually studying, because there’s NO way something manmade could work THAT well. Especially since it’s an anomaly.

The research in that sector has faded out. No one really wants to tamper with something that’s working so well. There are a few people at work who go so far as to claim they’re magic.

Close enough.

—

You’re in a world of light. Sunlight. Actual sunlight. Light coming from the real sun in the real sky. Not a cloud in sight. At all. For miles.

“Sorcery,” whispers a voice in your mind. “Wicked sorcery. Some force of evil. WE MUST VANQUISH IT.”

You try to ignore the voice. It doesn’t really work.

“Where are the clouds?” it wails plaintively. “Why is it so bright? We don’t deserve this. We were born to the gloom, we must die in the gloom. How long has it been? The rain never stops for longer than five—”

The voice is really getting on your nerves and it would be really nice if it stopped talking right now.

“This is a trick, isn’t it? One designed to make us lose our minds to despair,” the voice hisses in an increasingly Gollum-esque tone. “We will not succumb to it. We will not weaken to the lure of the dream, FOR WE KNOW IT IS FALSE AND—”

The voice is REALLY GETTING ON YOUR NERVES now and it would be very much appreciated if IT WOULD JUST CEASE TO EXIST because it is COMPLETELY RUINING THE VIBE.

Anyway.

This is quite a lovely dream.

—

You wake up aching, like you’re missing something that you should’ve had all along.

You stare out the window. It’s water-streaked as always, But does it have to be like that?

(The remnant voice from your dream whispers “WELL DUH.” You ignore it once again)

When you trudge through the overflowing streets (maybe the DRS should come up with a more effective sewer system? You’ll have to pitch it to Doug sometime), the rain beating down against your head, you wonder—does it have to be like this?

When you finally catch the bus (on the first chance, no less!), completely soaked, you think—it hasn’t always been like this. Even the gremlin voice from your dream agrees grudgingly.

When you step out of the bus, drenched again within seconds; when you walk in through your office doors, made dry by the machine; when you ride up the elevator to your floor, absentmindedly nodding at everyone else, you start to think of something else: what if, instead of surviving the rains, we found a way to get rid of it?

You can’t be the first person who’s had this idea, after all. You set off for the library to check the records.

—

“Hey Doug?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you remember that article about the twoS? The one that said they might go out if they weren’t repaired?”

“Well, what about ‘em?”

“I was just thinking—what if we didn’t need them?”

“You sure you got ‘nough sleep last night? I didn’t hire ya just so you could talk nonsense.”

“Come on, hear me out. What if it just…stopped raining?”

“Next clearing’s gonna be around three today, you could catch some sun then. You sure sound like ya could do with some.”

“No, I mean like—what if it just stopped raining, period? What if we could find a way to—I don’t know, divert it? Space it out so it doesn’t happen so often? I mean, it wasn’t always raining. Just look at the history books.”

“Kid, if I had the time to look at history books, I wouldn’t be wading my way out here every day just to hear you yapping.”

“Doug. I’m serious.”

“Well shoot, kid, so am I! We’ve got work to do, you can tell me all about your twoS conspiracies later on when we’re not working, during lunch.”

“But you never stick around for lunch!”

“Precisely. Now start workin’ or you’re fired.”

—

You stare at the sky in wonder. Not a single cloud in the sky to be seen for miles, not even a hint of an imminent drop of rain. It’s like that wonderful dream again, the one with the horrid voice in the back of your head.

“Wow, rude,” says the voice in question. “I’m literally right here, you know?”

You will the voice into nonexistence. It worked well enough last time, did it not?

“I’LL BE BACK! YOU’LL SEE! JUST YOU WAIT—” it wails before fading into nonexistence just like you willed it to.

You take the chance to look around you, speechless. It’s heavenly. It’s everything you’ve ever dreamed of (literally and metaphorically) and more. The buildings around you aren’t actually gray—who knew! If you look closely enough, you can almost catch a faint patch of what might’ve been a shade of dark blue before it was washed away by the rain.

The lights have finally turned off for once, going into power-saving mode now that they finally have light for more than five minutes. It’s odd to be walking around without their comforting, ghostly, yellow glow. But the sunlight makes up for it, and there’s always night.

—

As you stand staring at the control panels, you wonder what you’re really doing this for.

It’s for the dreams. It’s for the future. But you’re still dismantling years of work and effort for it.

Is this really worth it?

“Well I say no,” says the Voice grumpily. “Like, get a grip bud. Everyone’s used to this. Why do you want to mess up something that’s been working perfectly well for so long? ESPECIALLY when it bothers literally no one except for you?”

It’s because they don’t know, you tell the voice in your head. They don’t know what they’re missing, and you can never miss what you truly had.

“Yeah, good luck convincing me with that,” snarks the Voice. “Can’t believe you’re losing an argument with your own brain.”

The world deserves to have a rain-free day! It deserves the sun for more than five minutes every three weeks!

“Mhmm, sure,” says the Gremlin Voice.

Fine. FINE. You’re just really tired of going to work, especially since there’s nothing to actually do.

“Ding ding ding! We have a winner!”

You slam the button. You turn around and look out the window. The skies begin to clear.

“WOOHOO, ETERNAL HOLIDAY!!”

—

When you look up at the sky, clear for once, there is no rain at all. Isn’t that a wonder?

You walk through the streets, and almost astonishingly, all is quiet. No torrents of rain falling from the sky, no oppressive clouds hanging overhead, not even a gust of wind that’ll mess up your hair on a good day and knock you over on a bad one. Even the people are quiet for once—and it’s not the dreadful sort of silence that follows a tragedy either. No, this one is a silence of peace.

It’s been ten years since the rains have been vanquished. You don’t work for Doug anymore, he’s well and truly retired. To be fair, you hardly do any work anymore either. The DRS has become largely obsolete by now. None of you really mind. The government pays you well enough to keep your silence on the ah—distasteful details. Not that they need to. Half of it’s been dismantled already, and the only reason the other half are buying your silence is because they don’t want to cause mass panic. Surprisingly enough, everyone in the DRS agrees.

We’ve all been far too drenched for long enough anyway.

—

The Gremlin Voice from your dreams doesn’t really bother you anymore. You mimic it sometimes just to feel something, but if you’re being honest, lunches with Doug more than make up for it these days. You’re still not sure what exactly caused those dreams, but you have a feeling it was a greater, incomprehensible force that for some reason involves a Word document and a polar bear called Masaza. And lots of lasagna.

Anyway, that’s how the residents of Varash city finally got rid of their unnatural torrents of eternal rain. The twoS still work as well as ever, though!

Once the summer holidays started, my family decided to go on a road trip.

(Read: my dad suggested it, and we all agreed to get him to please stop talking about it.)

This is a decision I have come to regret immensely and will continue to regret for the rest of my life. You’ll see why.

—

“Hey, look at the reviews for this place!” my brother pipes up.

I do not look at the reviews for the place. I am sick and tired of looking at reviews for places. If I look at more reviews, I will lose my mind.

“Apparently, it’s pretty decent! And the manager seems really cool!”

“Sure,” I snort. Still, I have to contribute somehow so I can be at peace if I’m to chew him out when the hotel turns out to be a dump. “Check the bad reviews,” I advise. “See what they’re complaining about.”

“Mostly the staff being rude. But a lot of them mention Benjamin being really nice!”

“Benjamin?”

“Yeah, Benjamin Sparkle. The manager. They’re saying he’s polite and professional and everything. Sounds neat, actually. Hey, do you think he’ll give us a free room if we know his name?” he asks jokingly.

(Jokingly is how my brother always talks, though. I really should be saying ‘he asks normally in his normal voice’.)

By this point, I’m sleepy. So I say: “Benjamin Sparkle wouldn’t give you a free room if his life depended on it.”

And then I turn around and drift to sleep as if the very course of our already-disastrous road trip hasn’t been changed on a fundamental level.

—

“Keep an eye out for restaurants,” my dad says.

“You’re the driver, you keep an eye out for them,” I shoot back.

“What do you think I’m doing?” he says angrily.

“Whatever it is, it’s definitely not looking at restaurants. You whizzed past five of them!” snaps my brother.

“There’s one on the right,” says my mom, voice rising. “There’s one on the right, slOW DOWN YOU—”

We whiz past the sixth restaurant in a row.

My mom and dad devolve into an argument while my brother and I yell unintelligibly every five seconds. There is nothing but chaos.

I don’t think we’re very good at being hangry.

—

“Only two hours until we finally meet Benjamin Sparkle!” my brother says normally in his normal voice. (This means that he said it jokingly, in case you’ve forgotten.)

My mom snorts, my dad scoffs, and I lose it. “Dude,” I say. “What even is your deal with Benjamin Sparkle?”

­“He has such a cool name! I mean, have you ever met anyone whose surname is Sparkle?”

In the first scene of the 2011 production of Much Ado About Nothing starring David Tennant and Catherine Tate, Claudio (played by Tom Bateman) says: “Can the world buy such a jewel?” To this, Benedick (played by David Tennant) lets out a noise that somehow expresses confirmation, exasperation, as well as complete and utter astonishment at how anyone can be so brainless. It’s not quite a “yeah” and definitely not a “yes”, falling solidly into the “yea?” category.

That is the exact sound I make here.

My brother does not buy this for one second. “Oh yeah? Name five.”

I immediately say: “Twilight Sparkle.”

And then I bluescreen.

(In my defense, ‘Sparkle’ really is a common surname. I just don’t personally know very many people who have it.)

Luckily, the conversation shuffles off less-than-awkwardly (almost gracefully, even) in a different direction before my brother can sink his bloodthirsty claws into my bluff. In the face of this unexpected pardon, I perform penance by not commenting on his Benjamin Sparkle obsession until well after our next stop.

—

“Turn left,” says Google.

“LEFT, LEFT, LEFT, LEFT, LEFT, LEFT,” I chant.

“TAKE THIS LEFT, THE FIRST LEFT YOU SEE, GO LEFT,” says my mom, gesturing wildly.

“LEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEFT,” my brother yells in a single breath that’d make an opera singer jealous.

My dad misses the left.

The car is filled with the grief that accompanies an unspeakable tragedy. Google makes its infernal rerouting noise.

—

We finally reach the hotel that has the legendary Benjamin Sparkle for a manager. It’s well past noon and we’re exhausted.

My mom’s at the reception doing Boring Paperwork Things. I stick around in case she needs help. My dad’s probably fumbling with the luggage. My brother is who-knows-where.

The guy at the reception—a tall, dark, hulking man who could knock me over with his little finger—must hit a snag in the Paperwork, because he calls another guy to help him. This one is fair, wearing a red checkered shirt and glasses, with neatly parted hair that’s so black it’s definitely dyed.

By this point, my brother has finally joined us. “You should ask who’s Benjamin,” he remarks as the Reception Guys hand us the keys.

My mom heads off to call my dad, so we’re left alone with the guys at the reception. Dyed Hair Guy asks me where we’re from. I answer defensively, as if this is precious, top-secret information he won’t be able to find out from the Boring Paperwork anyway. It winds up to be a very pleasant conversation, though. He’s brilliant at navigating small talk, and he’s very smiley in a non-stalker kind of way.

My parents reappear, and Dyed Hair calls someone to lead us to our rooms. We’re starting to move when my brother elbows me.

“C’mon,” he whispers furtively. “Ask him what his name is. Pretty please?”

“Why don’t you do it yourself?” I whisper back, equally furtive.

He gives me his best attempt at puppy dog eyes. I huff. Fine.

“Oh!” I say in my best, most polite voice, like I’ve forgotten something. “Your name, sir?”

My own subtlety amazes me. I have never been prouder of myself.

For a millisecond, Dyed Hair Guy looks confused, still processing the question. And then his face clears.

A tangent: sometimes, there’s a split-second moment right after you ask a question where you realize you simply know the answer, deep in your bones, before the other person can even begin to reply. It feels like you’re floating, suspended, all of time stretching out. It’s like ascension.

That’s what I feel in the second before he answers.

“It’s Benjamin,” he says with a smile. “Benjamin Sparkle.”

My dad ruins the moment by saying, “Oh, he’s a big fan,” gesturing towards my brother.

My brother has the gall to look betrayed. Serves him right.

—

We have dinner at a tiny restaurant that plays music so loud it feels like the thrumming bassline is trying to rearrange the rhythm of your heartbeat. There are two women sitting at a table across from us, probably the owners. One of them is cuddling a cat with a drink in front of her. The other is fiddling with a projector and pirating videos off of YouTube.

They barely even talk to each other. They just look comfortable, like they fit together. And thus, much to my horror, my monkey brain decides to ship them.

“This is kinda weird and creepy, and you’re lucky they don’t know, and it’s not that bad now, but you should probably stop encouraging this line of thought,” I tell my brain.

My brain does not listen.

“This is just a fanfic away from becoming RPF,” I tell my brain.

It mercifully shuts up.

Later, when we’re walking away from the restaurant, my mom wrinkles her nose and confides to me in a whisper: “I think those two ladies were partners. Figures they’d let that sort of thing slide here.”

To quote Hozier: 'If there was homophobia, it washed out in the mind of me.' If my mom can see it, it MUST be real. My ship is CANON.

“What happened to thinking it was RPF?” my brain mutters sulkily. I tell it to shut up. Truly, my hypocrisy knows no bounds.

—

“Oh my gosh, would you please stop already?” I say, exasperated. If I were any more exasperated, I’d be extrasperated.

“He’s just so nice and charming and he has really great hair,” my brother says normally in his normal voice.

Not for the first time, I question his heterosexuality.

(If you’re doing the same, I advise you to please not. He’s MY baby brother, not yours. And I regretted the experience immediately. A sibling’s love life is always horrific to contemplate.)

“Hey. You know you can talk to me, right?” I ask cautiously, blatantly lying to my brother’s face. Neither of us are very good at the feelings thing. We’d rather step on Legos.

“Ewwwww,” he says. “Why would I want to do that?”

(See what I’m saying?)

“Ugh, forget it. I’ll always support you or whatever.”

“Oh, really? Will you support me if I borrow your phone for the rest of the day?”

“Jump off a cliff and die.”

“Nooo, please spare me and my wife and my life!”

We stare at each other.

“Don’t look at me like that, someone possessed me, okay?” he says defensively. “Probably Samantha Samosa.”

This does not help my bafflement at all.

—

Eventually, we go to the beach.

My brother beelines for the water. My mother follows him so he doesn’t cause accidents. My father hovers awkwardly, no doubt ready to flit away and extract every bit of information he can possibly glean from the locals.

I stand grumpily in the shade from the treeline. Call me a vampire for the way I avoid sunlight like the plague and spend all my time indoors and generally look like death personified, but I really do not like the beach.

“Come on!” says my brother when he wanders back up to try and goad me into joining him. “Don’t you want to make sandcastles?”

“I hate sand,” I say. “It’s coarse, and gritty, and gets everywhere.”

“Okay boomer,” he says, clearly missing my brilliant reference. I huff. Clearly, I have not trained my Padawan well at all.

—

“…so basically that’s how I’m scamming my classmates.”

I can’t help it. It’s so ridiculous that I laugh.

“You’re laughing at me? That’s so racist of you!” says my brother faux-indignantly.

(In case you haven’t guessed: we’re the same race. I laugh even harder.)

“Mo-o-om! She’s laughing at me because my skin’s brown, she’s so racist!”

My very brown-skinned mother takes one look at us very brown-skinned siblings and snorts.

“Dad!”

My (also very brown-skinned) father starts. “Sorry, what were we talking about?”

“I hate everyone in this family,” my brother grumbles (normally in his normal voice).

—

We step into the last hotel room of our trip and stop dead in the doorway.

The walls are peeling. The AC looks like it has dead rats in it. The bedsheets have holes in them. There are stains. The whole place stinks.

“What. Even. Is. This. Place.” I say, disgusted.

“Don’t blame me!” says my brother, indignant. “You said it looked okay!”

“I was talking about the other hotel! It’s not my fault mom didn’t check which one we were talking about,” I retort.

“Hey, this was all your father,” says my mom defensively. “You said you talked to him about it.”

“I don’t see what’s so bad,” says my dad cluelessly.

We swivel around to gape at him like we’re in The Office.

“Why?” says my brother, looking up at the peeling ceiling. “God, do I not worship you enough? Why would you do this to me?”

My dad wisely chooses to not offer any opinions that allude to his pathetically low standards again.

—

When we’re finally home and my mom and I have carried out our usual aggressive cleaning campaign, we sprawl around the sofa.

“So!” says my dad. “How was the trip?”

“Okay,” says my mother noncommittally.

“It was pretty fun!” my brother says.

I snort. What a bunch of liars.

“Who’s ready for round two next week?”

It’s a miracle our resounding “NO!” doesn’t get a noise complaint.

AUTHOR'S NOTE

No, Benjamin Sparkle’s name isn’t really Benjamin Sparkle. I just wanted to use the Twilight Sparkle joke.

A lot of this is exaggerated for comic effect. My mother’s views on gays have far more nuance to them (her live-and-let-live policy is unparalleled), my father isn’t really a bumbling idiot like this piece might suggest (he knew exactly what he was doing when he suggested round two), and none of us speak in that much English with each other.

I believe credit is due to my brother for at least three, maybe four lines used here, which are direct quotes from him. I have eight pages and counting of the things he’s said on my notes app, and I would’ve included more were I not sticking to a word count and a general theme.

Shoutout to Reese and Elfie for convincing me that yes, my comment about RPF is actually funny and not at all insensitive and very much comes off as a joke. No, they did not say that in those exact terms but that’s how I chose to interpret it. Thank you Alia and Ave for offering to read through the piece!

Vi and Ave—you two are amazing and I’m glad I got to lead Dystopian with you ^^

Hope you enjoyed!


Edited to add a slight change in formatting.

#JumpscareTheJudgesWithCrack2k24

Orphiñata wakes up on her wedding day.

She does her hair. Puts on mascara. Takes a deep breath to calm herself down.

Then she spends half an hour sobbing into her pillow thinking about how much she loves Eurydice. There are also five frantic rewrites of the wedding song and so many prayers for guidance that eventually even Apollo gets fed up and arrives in his shiny-god dramatic entrance.

“Oh my gosh, girlypop, chill. We know she’ll love you even if you show up with…whatever drippy mascara vibe you’re going for here,” he says, gesturing towards her tearstained face. “It’s literally NBD. And I told you your song’s acceptable. Now stop summoning me.”

He disappears with a poof and a shower of gold, leaving her to face her mother’s lecture on the state of her mascara.

“Well,” she thinks. “It could’ve been worse.”

—

They don’t get married in the woods where Eurydice grew up—they choose somewhere quieter, more peaceful. Somewhere she can listen to Orphiñata’s song in all its glory. A forest where the trees accept her as their own.

They only manage to kill the snake once.

Orphiñata wakes up on her wedding day.

—

“Oh, COME ON!” yells Eurydice, exasperated. She rattles the bars of the gate. They don’t budge. “SERIOUSLY?!? ON THE DAY I GET MARRIED?!?”

Cerberus merely stares at her, clearly baffled by her lack of fear.

“No. There is NO way I’m accepting this. Where the hell is your manager?”

She pauses.

“Pun not intended.”

Cerberus blinks.

“Whatever. Take me to Hades, dog. I’m getting back to my wife.”

—

Eurydice does usually notice the snake, but neither of them can kill it fast enough.

Orphiñata goes to the Underworld, only to wake up on her wedding day.

—

By the time her wife arrives in all her Apollo-blessed glory, Eurydice’s pleaded her case multiple times.

(Hades tried to have her dragged out, once. She turned into a tree, and Persephone wouldn’t let him do anything to her, so now they both suffer in silence.)

“You’re here!” she shouts joyfully. “Orphy!”

Orphiñata doesn’t hear her.

Oh, right. Death and whatnot.

“Release her,” Orphiñata says simply.

“Tempting,” says Persephone. “But nah.”

“She doesn’t belong here—not yet. It’s too soon. Let her return with me,” she pleads.

Hades snorts. “Oh yeah? Or what? You gonna sing at me, lovergirl? Oh no, I’m so scared!”

(He says the last bit in a falsetto. It’s exactly as uncomfortable as you think it is.)

“Then you leave me no choice,” says Orphiñata gravely. “I, Orphiñata, daughter of the muse Calliope, favored of Apollo—I hereby curse you. With the earworms.”

And then she starts singing that infernal jingle from the gum commercial.

“NO!” shrieks Persephone.

“PLEASE, SPARE US! JUST TAKE HER!” yells Hades.

“SERIOUSLY?!?” yells Eurydice, outraged. “That’s what gets you to cave? Stupid male privilege.”

“Eurydice!” says Orphiñata, delighted, and Eurydice abandons all her rage in favor of wrapping her wife in the biggest hug her ghostly self can manage.

—

They usually falter on the journey back.

Sometimes Orphiñata hears her; sometimes she’s silent. The worst ones, though, are the loops where she’s screaming.

They haunt Orphiñata as she wakes up on her wedding day.

—

“There’s just one condition,” says Hades, because gods just love making life miserable for everyone.

“Oh, don’t look so wretched,” Persephone scoffs, rolling her eyes. “It’s really not that hard. All you have to do is not look back.”

“You mean, like, forever?” says Orphiñata, horrified.

“What? No!” says Hades. “Nah, you’ve just got to keep your eyes off until you’re both out safely.”

“That sounds suspiciously easy,” Orphy’s brilliant wife remarks. “What’s the catch?”

“No catch!” says Persephone, exchanging a Disney villain grin with Hades.

“No catch at all,” Hades agrees.

A crustacean-looking ghost says, “It’s a trap!”

Orphiñata can’t help but agree.

—

They never wake up remembering what happens. It only comes to them in bits and pieces, if it comes back to them at all.

Sometimes Eurydice remembers first, and Orphiñata only catches on until it’s too late. Sometimes Orphiñata starts the trek knowing how it ends, and she spares Eurydice the knowledge of her doom. There are lucky runs where they both remember, but despite everything, they never make it out together.

Orphiñata always wakes up on her wedding day, blissfully unaware.

—

“Marco,” Orphiñata calls out.

“Polo,” replies Eurydice, flatly. “I still don’t know why we have to do this.”

“Just trust me, okay?” says Orphiñata. She thinks she sounds wonderfully reasonable.

“Hey,” says Eurydice, softly. “You alright?” she asks in a tone that makes it clear that Orphiñata actually sounds like she’s on the verge of a breakdown.

A pause.

“I love you,” says Orphiñata out of nowhere. She’s holding her breath.

“I love you too?” says Eurydice, confused.

Orphiñata crumbles. “You said it’d help us remember,” she whispers.

There’s a sharp inhale behind her.

“How long have we been doing this?” Eurydice asks. “No, don’t answer that. Gods. Gods.”

Orphiñata feels Eurydice wrapping her in another hug. She leans into it, eyes squeezed shut.

“Just keep talking, okay?” Orphiñata says shakily. “Yuri?”

There’s no reply.

“Eurydice?” she asks again, terrified.

Nothing. It’s like her wife’s simply vanished from existence.

She turns around, and she does not regret it. At least I’ll see her again.

Orphiñata wakes up on her wedding day.

—

There are, of course, anomalies.

There were two perfect loops. One where they killed the snake. The other where Eurydice was out by the time Orphiñata turned around.

They’d simply stared at each other for a while. Spend too long in a dream and reality feels like a myth.

Later, curled up together, Orphiñata confesses she doesn’t know how she’ll go on if she wakes up again with her mind wiped clean of this moment.

“Tell me you love me,” says Eurydice, “and I’ll remember. At least you won’t be alone.”

Orphiñata sings her to sleep, clinging on so tight it seems impossible she could ever let go. She wakes up again on her wedding day, left with nothing but a fading memory.

—

It takes Orphiñata a moment to realise what Eurydice’s humming under her breath.

“TripleDent Gum will make you smile…”

“Yuri. Please. No.”

“I’m sorry! It’s not my fault it’s so catchy. You shouldn’t have threatened them with earworms,” she huffs. Orphiñata can hear the pout in her voice. This ridiculous woman, she thinks fondly.

A few minutes later, she’s humming it again.

“Eurydice,” groans Orphiñata. “You’d better stop or I’m turning around.”

There’s a scream.

Her blood freezes. She whirls around in a panic. “Eurydice?”

She’s already started to fade away.

“Oh no,” Orphiñata whispers. “No, no, no—what have I done?”

But Eurydice only smiles. “It’s alright. We’ve done this before anyway.”

Tears run down Orphiñata’s face. Eurydice wipes them away, gives her a quick peck. Then, in her final moments, she says it again in a singsong: “TripleDent Gum will make you smile!”

Orphiñata is caught between a sob and a laugh. She wakes up on her wedding day.

—

Orphiñata pauses on her way out of the Underworld.

(She doesn’t remember any of the previous loops this time around.)

Eurydice’s dead. This is a fact.

Orphiñata will move heaven and earth to try and bring her back. This is also a fact.

Eurydice wants to return to life. This is debatable. And she can’t ask, because Eurydice hasn’t said a word.

Is she happy? Is she even there?

Orphiñata turns around because she loves Eurydice, because she never wants her to do anything she doesn’t want to if it can be helped.

She makes it through a week without Yuri before she wakes up on her wedding day.

—

“Babe? Is it just me or do you see that weird dude near the Styx too?”

Eurydice squeezes her hand: yes. She has no voice this time around, so she communicates in the only way she can. She taps her wife twice on the shoulder.

“Yeah, you’re right. Must be Nobody.”

Eurydice plucks a note on Orphiñata’s lyre: funny.

“How so?”

She taps her shoulder twice: never mind.

—

They’ve yet to figure out why everything keeps repeating.

But no, that’s not it. They both know the answer. Neither of them wants to admit it, though, because it feels like giving up on each other. That’s not something they’re quite willing to do.

Every time, Eurydice faces death with defiance. Every time, Orphiñata moves the very Underworld with the weight of her love.

Every time, they fail to make it out, but they still wake up and do it all over again.

—

They’re only a few steps away from the end when Eurydice calls out to Orphiñata, asking her to stop.

“I think we have to let go,” she says, and Orphiñata sighs. She holds her hand out behind her, waving blindly until Eurydice grabs it.

“I don’t want to,” says Orphiñata.

“Me neither,” says Eurydice. “But I think that’s the point of this. I have to stop pulling you back. You have to move on.”

Orphiñata says nothing. She turns around, eyes squeezed shut. Eurydice throws her arms around her, gives her one last kiss. They hold on so tight it’s impossible to think they’d ever let go.

Orphiñata opens her eyes and steps back. Eurydice descends to the Underworld gracefully.

The loop breaks. Neither of them wakes up on their wedding day again.

—

The details change, but no matter how many times you tell the story, Orpheus always looks back.

Sometimes he can’t hear her, so he turns because he can’t survive the possibility of her not being there. Sometimes she asks him, sometimes he offers it. Sometimes he gets out first and when he turns to look at her, he forgets that she needs to be out too.

To be Eurydice is to be loved, and so it follows that to be Orpheus is to look back—because there is never a version where he does not love her.

—

“Right,” says Dionysus. “What’s all this, then?”

“She says she won’t love us,” whines one of the Maenads, “but she won’t stop singing all those beautiful songs!”

“Wow. Maybe y’all should, I don’t know, leave her alone?”

“Her depressing aura and pathetic looks have captivated us. But if we can’t have her, then no one should,” says another.

“If you’ve already come to a conclusion, why tell me?” says Dionysus, raising an eyebrow.

“We want your permission to kill her!” pipes up a third.

“Hold up.” You can practically hear the record scratch. “Ain’t her mother all blessed by Apollo and whatnot? No way I’m letting you kill her; it’d be a PR nightmare.”

Apollo appears in his shiny-god dramatic entrance. “Dionysus. Please. I’m begging you. It’s been raining nonstop. She hasn’t stopped singing heartbreak remixes of terrible songs in days. She’s a disgrace. Let the Maenads at her or I’ll have to get Zeus to smite her, and I don’t want to deal with that. It’s terrible for my image.”

Dionysus pauses to listen, and sure enough, there it is: “What is love? Baby don’t hurt me, don’t hurt me—”

Well. It’s almost enough to make him cry, because Orphiñata’s voice is beautiful.

It’s also a disgusting choice. Of all the songs she could’ve gone for? He’s starting to see why Apollo wants her dead.

“Oh, alright then. Off you lot go,” he says, waving his girls away to enjoy their murder spree.

—

“I thought you were actually fond of her.”

“I was,” Apollo replies curtly.

“I’m honestly surprised you’d let her get ripped to shreds like that,” Dionysus says, probing further.

Apollo is silent for a moment. Then: “It’s the only way Hades would let her back. And I couldn’t bear to do it myself.”

“You’re a sap,” says Dionysus, wonderstruck.

“Yes, well, no one will believe you,” snaps Apollo before disappearing with a poof.

—

Rest assured, Orphiñata and Eurydice are happy. Dead, yes, but happy nonetheless.

AUTHOR'S NOTE

I swear I meant for this to be pure crack, the angst wasn’t meant to be there :((

Title is a Hozier lyric because the previous statement is the epitome of fanfic culture. Thought I might as well go the whole hog.

Did Orpheus and Eurydice have to both be girls for this? Not at all. I’d have saved myself some trouble, especially with the pronouns. I just wanted to write lesbians, sue me.

Yes, the Nobody line is a reference to Odysseus. They encounter him in 100% of the loops but they only talk with him once, wherein he spends so long talking about his wife Penelope that their subconsciouses compel them to avoid him in any future loops.

The name Orphiñata comes from a discussion I had with Alia. I wanted a neat, properly genderbent name for Orpheus and I was drawing blanks. She said “Orphinata”. I said, “What if Orphiñata as in piñata?” The rest is, as they say, history.

Eurydice’s nickname being spelt as Yuri is very deliberate. This is also a product of aforementioned discussion with Alia.

A huge shoutout to Alia herself, for being my #1 enabler and for indulging me every time I popped up in her inbox with some or the other random tidbit.

I think the multiple tumblr posts and memes I saw that helped shape the final product deserve a mention.

This is starting to feel uncomfortably like an author’s acknowledgements section, so I’m wrapping it up as quickly as possible. Shoutout to all my crangst supporters for being ridiculously excited about this. Futher thanks to Elfie for hyping it up way more than it deserved. As for my darling Antarcticans: it’s not really mentioned, but Hades and Persephone were shoved through the QPR blender in this version.

I mentioned this in my other entry, but I’m saying it again: Vi and Ave, you two are amazing and I’m really glad I got to co-lead Dystopian with you.

Edited to add a slight change in formatting.

#JumpscareTheJudgesWithCrack2k24

SWC Leader App Excerpt

Excerpt for my November '24 application! You can click here for my app, and here to view the text-only version.

This bit was taken from an old weekly (you can find it here—just scroll down to scene 2 under part 1!), based on a piece Snowy wrote. She is so iconic, you guys.

Word count: 156 words

—

The silence is deafening. It’s odd how you never notice the difference between quiet and silence until you lose something. Ten years is a long time; it changes everything.

The girl last came here in the evening. This time, it’s on the cusp of morning, a twilight moment between yesterday and today. Her brown hair was long, whipping through the wind. It barely reaches her shoulders now. This place was a refuge for her once, bursting with color and the quiet hum of life. It’s all gone. Only silence remains.

She stands once again at the edge, between noise and a silence that’s louder than it. She hoped to find answers, she knows there are none left. This garden was once everything.

The sun rises on a desolate landscape. There are no more wildflowers, no emerald-green grass. Time stakes its claim on the timeless place at last. She turns, she leaves; she does not look back.

SWC Nov'24 Leader Application

Link to project

Word count: 1355 words (+156 from excerpt)

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1. About Me

Hi! My name’s Recca, I use she/her pronouns, and I live in IST. I like books and I like music, and therefore I am Exactly Like Most Other Girls. I also like to use silly words like mayhaps and perchance, and I’ve recently learned that I like a lot more funky creatures than I thought I did (amoebae are amoeBAE). I believe this keeps me Not Like Most Other Girls enough to still be interesting!

What else can be said about myself? Well, I absolutely detest zucchini, but I like asparagus. I spend too much time online, but I presume that goes without saying in this day and age. I love most sorts of stories—I find that almost anything can be one if I’m willing to squint. But most importantly, I love making pop culture references. Because we are living in a material world, and I am a material girl. Sparkle emoji.

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2. Experience

I’ve participated in seven for SWC sessions before this one—the first four as a camper, and the last three as a co-leader. The list honestly bamboozles me with how long it’s gotten these days. My three sessions as co—first in Script with Alana and Indigo, then with Summer and Sophia for Poetry and most recently, Dystopian with Ave and Vi—they’ve all taught me so much about what it means to be part of a leading team.

Outside of SWC, I’ve helped managed fairly large studios on Scratch for years now, and I led Myth for SRC alongside Nat this last session. Offline, I’ve been tasked with leading group projects and wrangling obnoxious younger siblings for as long as I can remember.

As for my experience with writing—I’ve been working on various kinds of short stories for as long as I could spell. I can confidently say that I have stared at empty pages for hours before ultimately giving up and speedrunning the story in a burst of inspiration moments before going to bed. I’ve started novels I’ll never finish and gotten overly attached to what was meant to be a 100-word story. So yes, I would say that I am plenty experienced at writing!

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3. Cabin Preference

My first preference for this session would be to lead Script! I’ve been thinking about a storyline that mostly revolves around a movie set where the campers are dragged into the production on the whims of the directors. I’ve also had ideas for a Hi-fi cabin largely based on Pride and Prejudice, where everyone is a part of the household staff while the story plays out, so that’s second on my list of preferences. Other cabins I wouldn’t mind leading include Tragedy and Mythology—to quote a certain former president, I do have concepts of a plan for them.

As a co-leader, I have no particular preference. While I would like to avoid the cabins Thriller, Poetry and Dystopian simply because I’d like to try something new this session, it’s not a deal-breaker! To reiterate: I’m not very picky about cabins when it comes to co-leading.

I would prefer not to (co)lead TCTWNW—I enjoy the competition far too much for that.

-

4. Excerpt

(Linked in the description!)

The silence is deafening. It’s odd how you never notice the difference between quiet and silence until you lose something. Ten years is a long time; it changes everything.

The girl last came here in the evening. This time, it’s on the cusp of morning, a twilight moment between yesterday and today. Her brown hair was long, whipping through the wind. It barely reaches her shoulders now. This place was a refuge for her once, bursting with color and the quiet hum of life. It’s all gone. Only silence remains.

She stands once again at the edge, between noise and a silence that’s louder than it. She hoped to find answers, she knows there are none left. This garden was once everything.

The sun rises on a desolate landscape. There are no more wildflowers, no emerald-green grass. Time stakes its claim on the timeless place at last. She turns, she leaves; she does not look back.

-

5. Time Dedication

Currently, I don’t have any plans for November that’ll significantly impact the amount of time I’ll be able to contribute towards SWC. School will take up a good chunk of my day like most institutions of a similar parasitic nature are wont to do, and my availability on weekends is as dicey as ever, but apart from that I should be able to check in and participate regularly, as well as dedicate at least an hour or so every day.

-

6. Time Management

Hello procrastination my old friend. I see we’ve come to address you again.

My biggest issue with time management has always been the urge to leave things for later when they stress me out too much. But making to-do lists, giving myself deadlines, even scheduling breaks—all sorts of little things like this have helped immensely in taking the pressure off of tasks and making them easier to approach and get done.

All in all, while I’m definitely not perfect at managing my time, I’d say I’m still better than most. I can accomplish my goals in time. I’ve stopped spiralling over the idea of not completing simple tasks. And I can happily say that I no longer wait for the last-second adrenaline rush to kick in just to get something done.

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7. Collaboration

One of the best things I can bring to the leading team is my (usually) wonderful sleep schedule. No, seriously—I’ve been working really hard on it! All this lovely humour and creativity comes from knowing when to go to sleep, and when to step back and let the midnight crack fairies at it.

Okay, okay, I’m just pushing it now.

I’d say one of my greatest strengths would be my flexibility—I find it easy to adjust to new situations quickly. I get along with new people well, I’m good at compromising on ideas, and I can keep a level head in a stressful situation if need be. I tend to goof around a lot, but I do know when and where to do so. As I mentioned in my previous answer, I’ve also gotten much more proficient at scheduling and judging how much time to assign to each task. If I choose to get something done, you can be rest assured that I will do it.

That flexibility I mentioned earlier does have its downsides—while it’s easy for me to compromise on something, that’s mostly because it’s frustrating to get a proper opinion out of me in the first place. I try avoiding confrontations like the plague, even when it’s about something as simple as telling someone that I don’t particularly agree with their colour choice.

-

8. One Quality

What’s one quality I admire in a leader? Silliness. At least a little. The teensiest tiniest bit will do. As someone who makes too many jokes, I simply cannot stand a person who can’t appreciate one every now and then. Silliness keeps a person relatable, human and approachable—traits without which it’s very easy for a leader to become some sort of figurehead on a pedestal that you can never really talk to as an equal.

Of course, there are certain limits to maintain, but understanding those limits are a part of the kind of silliness I’m talking about. Someone who knows how to balance the right amount of silly and serious is, in my opinion, one of the best kinds of leaders. That’s how you know they can carry responsibility but are also human.

I think the best way I’d implement this as a (co)leader is by simply talking to my campers and the rest of my team. By getting to know them and in turn, letting them get to know me. I suppose that’d make approachability a better term for the kind of quality I’m describing, but there’s a sort of silliness in that too, so perhaps it works out after all!

-

9. Cabin Atmosphere

A little silly, with a collaborative storyline that both encourages a sense of community between campers and helps them reach their writing goals.

-

10. Checkboxes

A]
(✓) I will be available to help add points in the main cabin consistently throughout camp
( ) I am willing to share a promotional project for SWC

B] None!

C] If I were to go inactive (which, unless I’m in a situation wherein I’m forced to avoid an unusually large member of the phylum Arthropoda out of fear for my life, I do not think I’ll be doing), I’d do my best to notify the hosts and my co-leaders as soon as possible. I’d also ensure that the cabin is equipped to run smoothly without me in case of emergencies before the session starts. If any other leader goes inactive, I’d reach out and give them a few days to respond before notifying the hosts so we can discuss what to do next.

SWC November 2024

─ ⋆ ෴ ⋆ ─

Dailies:

• 05.11.24 (Flower daily)
  
• 07.11.24 (Stories based on 10 words)
  
• 08.11.24 (Terrible scientific theory)
  
• 12.11.24 (Podcast script)
  
• 13.11.24 (Story based on song)
  
• 15.11.24 (Recycled idea)
  
• 17.11.24 (Story with red herrings + clues)
  
• 18.11.24 (Turn a habitual activity bizzare)
  
• 19.11.24 (SWC acronym story)
  

Weeklies:

• Weekly 1
  
• Weekly 2
  
• Weekly 3
  
• Weekly 4
  

Others:

• PINK PONY CLUB (fanfic entry with Ris!)
  

Daily 5

In 300 words, write a piece that includes at least 3 different flowers, incorporating their unique meanings into your work.

Flowers: Bluebells (constancy), snowdrops (hope) and hellebores (madness)

Notes: I swear, it's like I basically used this as an excuse to revise structural organization in flowers. I even brought out my notes for the chapter. I have never felt more like a bio student, descent into madness included.
(Also I really need to write a better spiral-into-madness piece some time. Embracing the Shakesperean woes and whatnot.)

Word count: 366 words

─ ⋆ ෴ ⋆ ─

Snip.

There’s a knock at the door.

Snip.

I wonder who’s there.

Snip.

Shame that no one’s answering it.

Three flowers in my hand, so perfectly arranged. A rich blue that’s almost violet. I hold them by the freshly cut pedicels, follow the line of it swelling into the thalamus.

Is someone calling me? Irrelevant. No one worth my while.

Its petals are so thin. So delicate, curling at the end. A noble blue perianth. Yes, that is the right word for it.

Words, words, words. So difficult to get hold of. Not unlike these flowers. I tilt them upwards, peering into the carefully arranged mess inside. It’s no wonder they’re always drooped downwards—the outside is all anyone wants to see. But bluebells are just like anyone else. They hide their true purpose in pretty robes trimmed with lace.

I’m so dreadfully glad to see the knocking at the door has gone away. It’s so much easier for things to disappear than it is for them to come back.

Oh where, where, wherewherewhere has my darling love gone? When, when, whenwhenwhen will she return?

I toss away the bluebells. I cannot wait forever.

There’s such a dreadful racket outside. Ignore it.

There’s a wilted snowdrop in my lap. If I look closely, I can still see the outlines of what it once was. Six petals. Three large ones outside shielding the three smaller ones inside. Trimerous, then. I can make out the anthers if I try, though they’re no longer the bright yellow they should be. It’s all brown now. Dull, dead, ditchwater brown.

Poor snowdrop. How cruelly life has treated it. To live, to bloom, to rot. Everything’s the same in the end.

Where did all these people come from? Ah, they’ve broken the door down. No matter, no matter. My hellebores will grow over it, make whole what was lost. No one will even notice what was missing before. They will grow over the door and grow through the room and at the very end they will grow through me, and soon there will be nothing left but those five conjoined petals, glaring out at the world while I laugh at its ruin.