Piece for Critique | 604 words

When Iris stepped into the coffee shop, she was instantly assaulted by the silence. The door fell shut, cutting off the roar of car engines and clatter of footsteps on the pavement. The world outside had disappeared.

In one corner of the too-large room, Aleksander Aphelion sat at a two-person table. Or, well, Iris assumed it was Aphelion. She had never seen the man before, but he rose at her approach, hand extended for her to shake.

“Dr. Zaman,” she introduced herself.

“Aleksander Aphelion,” he dipped his head and they sat.

Their voices didn’t echo at all in this corner, a trick of acoustic engineering to provide them with privacy for the meeting. The noiselessness made it feel as though they were in a very small room, rather than the large open space.

Alexsander didn’t speak more immediately, instead opening a leather bag that he’d set on the unnaturally white floor. That bag must have been expensive, the leather certainly looked real. Iris didn’t know if she’d ever owned anything that expensive. From inside, he retrieved a dossier. It was rare to see paper at all these days, much less paper this high quality. Though leather was still rarer.

The door behind the counter—leading into the kitchen, Iris guessed—swung open, the buzz of machinery filled the room for a moment before being abruptly cut off as the barista shut the door behind him. He carried a coffee cup, steaming to the counter. He set it there with the clatter of porcelain against the too-smooth countertop.

Iris hadn’t realized how sterile the room smelled until the coffee was brought out. The room transformed by its rich, sharp scent. It still felt strangely empty, though, like the smell wasn’t quite enough to fill the space.

Aleksander made no move to rise, and the man stood there awkwardly. Arms stiff at his sides as he stared at Aleksander, as if willing him to come get his drink.

In contrast to the obvious expressiveness of the barista, Iris’ potential business partner lacked expression, his skin too smooth, without so much as a wrinkle to betray his emotion. In those dark eyes, Iris could glimpse nothing. Their deep brown was like an endless tunnel. Like you could stare into them and get lost down there forever.

Finally, the barista, with a jilted twist of the lips, walked around the counter with the coffee cup gripped too tightly in one hand. He set it down on their table in front of Aleksander, who finally broke and nodded appreciatively.

The barista’s name tag read Orion in big, block letters. Orion turned to Iris.

Between almost gritted teeth, he’d plastered on a customer service smile. “Would you like anything?”

Iris, after this whole debacle, no longer thought the smell of Aleksander’s coffee was all that appealing, but she nodded anyways. She stood up, her chair sliding noiselessly back across the floor. As she left the corner, Orion trailing behind, the sound of her footsteps cut in jarringly, as if someone pressed unmute on the television. Clap, clap, clap all the way to the register. She glanced at the menu, in the same clean font as Orion’s name tag.

“I’ll have a London Fog,” she said. He nodded, punching it into the register. She paid, granting him a 20% tip to hopefully smooth things over from before. He smiled at her, this time seeming a bit less customer-service-y, blue eyes crinkling at the edges.

She returned to the silence of the corner, resolved to continue this meeting, to grab her drink from the counter, and to—most importantly—avoid getting lost in Aleksander’s dark eyes.

11.11.'24
letter omitted: ‘s’

WHOOPS I LEFT SO MANY IN

“What letter do I want to omit for the daily activity?” the author wondered aloud. “I know! I’ll generate a random number!”
Number generated: 19
“Well then,” they hummed, “I won’t include the nineteenth letter of the alphabet in my piece. And… oh. That would be a little bit of a challenge.”
But the author had begun, and would not back down. Other people had completed a lengthy lipogram with much harder exclusions, like the letter e. Their creative juices flowed quickly in the beginning, yet they found their pace of writing slowing, forlornly exploring the internet for an equivalent word without their banned letter. It proved to be a challenge. A plural word was out of the que- oh dear, query. They quickly noticed how often their banned letter appeared in the Anglican language. Oh dear. I can’t even mention the language owing to the fact that their banned letter was a part of that word. They would watch the word counter tick up little by little, waiting for the moment in which they could be free of the burden of writing without the nineteeth letter. They recalled the ten-multiplied-by-one-hundred-word introduction, and thought the procedure of that additional challenge was akin to the current daily – writing redundant information in the hope of achieving that goal of the word count.

It’s strange being human. You look out on the ocean waves and only see a blue wall with no indicator that something lies below. You walk on legs that seem like wooden blocks compared to an agile tail. I don’t quite know what to think about it. It’s strange looking up and seeing a sky above, not quite the same deep blue that the sea holds, but almost a mirror.
Then there’s gravity. I keep trying to swim up, then remembering gravity is stronger here where the air is thin. It’s weird how everything they have is so horizontal, but I guess it’s just gravity. It does bring restrictions I never thought about. When I learned to like it, though, I realised just how advanced the place really is.
Computers, phines… something like that, giant buildings that could’ve been built in the ocean. The humans all walk around on their legs like I would a tail. I have a hard time keeping up with them. I guess they’ve been doing it all this time. You’d think they’re just like us in looks and personality, but they get a lot taller, and they’re always nice. Almost suspiciously nice, like they’re trying to get something with it. Strange. Why would they protect people getting attacked? They’ll die anyway. Trying to prolong that is a waste. And they have special houses to protect old people. They’re on the edge. Just let them die… well, I guess it’s something good.
And then there’s me, sitting awkwardly to the side, almost wishing I could be a mermaid again. Home again, not in this convoluted place. But I don’t think that’s possible now. I simply have to watch the world spin wrong until I’m buried in it.
What luck.

my mother dearest used to recount to me tales bursting with derring do and close calls, all true, she would promise, all taken straight out her own childhood. the stories were all so unbelievable, that naturally i believed her every word. plots heavily relied on less than ideal interpretations with regards to our shared history— now that i think about it, my mother was certainly a conspiracy theorist— and her own parents’ culture was placed at a grand pyramid’s peak, metaphorically speaking, above all other cultures and practices. no, no, this makes my mother sound like a terrible person. she was kind, i promise you that certainty. she just had some unorthodox interpretations with concerns to things most people see as natural. her thoughts on the alphabet, as an example, leaves an obvious gap in a position very near to the beginning. i speak now using her language, or version or dialect or whatever you wish to call it. her adventures contained, nearly always, mentions with regards to outsiders’ thoughts on her speech.
well i suppose i should tell you, my mother’s most beloved story was merely: “the quick brown ox jumps over a lazy dog,” obviously omitting the “eph.”

“But if you use it, you will never-”
“Yeah, yeah, old man.” Melchior snatched the gleaming sword out of the man's wizened hands.
“Wait!” he feebly cried. “There are consequences!”
“Aren't there always?” Melchior rolled his eyes. “I ain't even sure I believe you in the first place, what with all the ‘most powerful sword in the world’ *. Look, lemme just try it out, alright? I'll tell you how it goes.”
“No, you won't,” the old man sighed to the door that swung shut behind Melchior.

As he walked through the hall, Melchior switched the sword from one hand to the other. No matter how little he knew about weapons, it was plain to see that this was a very good sword - too good for Melchior. Janshai did a double take as he passed him in the hallway. “Hey! Hey Melchior! Where'd you get that?” Melchior shrugged, grinning. “I'd never tell.” In truth, Melchior was itching to tell someone about his sword, but he'd much sooner try it out first. As he walked into the field with the training dummies, Melchior felt his knees buckle as a hand ponderously hit his shoulder. “Heyyyyy, Melchior.” Melchior looked up into the grinning face of Wymarch. “Where'd ya get that one?”
“None of your business,” Melchior said easily.
Wymarch's grin widened. “Keep your secrets. If you ever wanna try it out, though…” Melchior nodded to him, and he continued his loping pace back into the hallway.

In. Out. Melchior was not about to damage his shiny new sword. For once in his life, he followed the drills his swordsmanship instructor had hammered into his head. Cut. Slash. Cut. Back. He marveled at the speed the blade sliced through the air. After an hour punctuated only by quiet thuds on the dummy and grunts, Melchior stepped back. Sweat dripping from his brow, he sheathed his sword. No matter how tired he was, he was more than eager to show Janshai just how good the sword was. As he walked into the hallway, he caught Janshai rounding a corner away from him. “Hey! Hey Janshai!” Oddly, Janshai showed no reaction, almost as if he hadn't even heard Melchior. As Melchior caught up to him, he clapped Janshai on the shoulder. “Hey, what's up? You didn't even hear me!” Janshai had turned at the sound of running feet and grinned at Melchior, but now held a strange expression on his face. “Melchior? Is this a joke?”
“What are you talking about?”
Janshai's face turned gray. Melchior was never a good actor, and inevitably at this point of a prank he would've burst out laughing,
“You're… not talking,” he said uncertainly. Melchior's confusion must've showed on his face, because Janshai rushed to explain. “Like, your mouth is moving, but I can't hear anything. I don't think it's me, because I heard you walking up and I hear myself talking now.”
Melchior's face was frozen in the confused expression he had assumed a few moments prior. Why can I hear myself too then?
“Here. Let's get you some paper so you can tell me what's going on.”

Unfortunately for him, Melchior was never great shakes at writing.
“I… d… what does that say?”
Melchior answered him with a flat stare.
“Right. You know, I think it has something to do with that sword of yours.”
Melchior, although he would never admit it if he could, thought the same. He had had a conversation with Wymarch right before he started using it, and Wymarch had shown none of the paleness that was evident on Janshai's features.
Janshai sighed. “Stay here.”
Melchior nodded as he jogged off.

Janshai returned a few minutes later, where Melchior had been fruitlessly trying to write more neatly. Janshai shook his head and grinned for the first time in the past hour and then gestured to the wizard, Ogarim, next to him. “Take it away.”
“Considering this isn't an elaborate prank, these are telltale signs of a curse. May I see that sword of yours? Your friend Janshai mentioned something about it.” Melchior sullenly passed the sword over, although he was somewhat relieved. He couldn't stop thinking about what the old man who gave him the sword was going to say. ‘You will never… probably speak again if I’d just let him finish.'
Ogarim was staring at the pommel of the sword. “I can't believe you just used this without looking at it. I know you're not a wizard, but even a rudimentary curse-checking spell… I'll let you see for yourself.”
Fortunately, Melchior had dabbled in nonverbal spells the year prior. With a little effort, he cast the spell.
He blinked. And blinked again. The blue tendrils of magic were so large Melchior couldn't see Ogarim or Janshai behind them.
He shook his head and blinked several times until the color had faded from in front of him and the back of his eyelids. Janshai had evidently seen it already, as his mouth was set in a grim line.
“Well.” Ogarim clapped his hands together. “Nothing to it. Let's go see where you got this accursed sword.”

A half hour later, the three of them stood outside the tavern. “What kind of person was it? Nod your head for young and shake your head for old.” Melchior shook his head vigorously. “I'm assuming it was an old man?” He nodded his head several times. Janshai sighed and shouldered his way inside. He made his way over to the innkeeper. “Hi. We're looking for an old man who had a sword that he gave to our friend over here.” The innkeeper looked around and lowered his voice. “You'll have to pay for that.”
“Oh, please.” Ogarim snapped. The innkeeper wobbled and fell behind the bar on one knee. “What did you do?!”
“If you try to swindle us again, you'll be missing 2 more toes. Spit it out.”
“Old Man Cunningham! Three houses down!”
Ogarim shook his head at the pathetic voice, and the innkeeper stood back up again slowly with a foul expression on his face. Ogarim looked at him in contempt and strode out of the bar, Melchior following passively. Janshai lingered and, seemingly making up his mind, placed a couple coins on the bar and clapped the innkeeper on his shoulder. “Thank you.” The hard lines of the innkeeper's face seemed to soften slightly as he watched the tall fellow slip between the tables on his way to the door. The curious gazes of the patrons followed him as he went.

Ogarim stomped along the road. “What a pain in the-”
“I didn't think he was too ba-d…” Janshai trailed off at a glower from the old wizard.
“You think it's funny, don't you? He didn't even know who we were, and he tried to strip our pockets bare for information that was unimportant to anyone but us.”
Wisely, Janshai held his tongue, though he thought that the townsfolk around this area were barely able to eke out a living. He probably would've charged for information too.
He cast his gaze towards Melchior. Melchior saw him looking and flashed him a smirk. Only he could manage to be cocky without a voice. Janshai rolled his eyes.
“Here.” Ogarim rapped smartly on the door.
“Hello?” An old man stood, hunchbacked, in the doorway.
“Hi. We're here to ask-” Ogarim was cut off by a hacking cough. Janshai winced. It sounded painful.
Ogarim closed his eyes briefly and started again. “We're here to ask about a sword you gave to this young man here.” He none too gently shoved Melchior to the front. Melchior glared at Ogarim and grinned sheepishly.
“Ah.” The man clearly recognized Melchior. “I came by that sword on the road and thought it was beautiful. Quickly, however, I discovered the dark magic on it. I found out before I used it, thankfully. I see that was not the case for your friend here. I was at the tavern to see if any cursebreakers had any use for it.”
Ogarim's smile didn't reach his eyes. “Do you know any cursebreakers around here?”
Cunningham thought about it. “If I did, I most likely would've gone straight to their houses to avoid the hassle. You may have to wait at the tavern like I did. I believe the tavernkeeper has some rooms you can stay in until you find who you're looking for. Here.” He tossed them a sack of coins. Janshai hadn't even heard him take it out. “Since this is partially my fault, use this to pay for the rooms.” Janshai interjected. “No, we can't take this-” Melchior elbowed him hard. “Thanks very much, sir.” Ogarim grinned apologetically. Cunningham laughed and clapped his hands together. "Good luck. You'll need it with the two of them quarreling the whole way. Ogarim's smile seemed fixed on his face as he waved in farewell and walked back down the stairs of the house.

Critique for Ris
11/11/2024
419 words (363 words)

Hey Ris!! This was a fun piece and I enjoyed reading it. I’ll do some line by line critiques and general thoughts as I go through the piece, and end my overall thoughts at the end.

Run, the voice in my head says.

The only thing I have to say about this is to maybe change what the voice in the head is saying? I would italicize it. Well, you are using the project comments, which does make it harder to indicate that, but that’s what I would do. I think it just differentiates that voice from that narration, you know? Make it stand apart from it, to emphasize it more.

Tears flow out of my sight sockets

This paragraph was great, but this phrase took me out of it- Something about saying sight sockets just changed the entire mood for me from a sad melancholy to a confused amusement. It also feels a bit clunky. ‘Tears flow out of my eyes’ would keep the flow better and lead to less shock, I guess?

The ground beneath my feet molds itself to my feet

Since you mention the feet twice here, I would try to cut one out. ‘The ground beneath me molds itself to my feet,’ perhaps?

The pounding in my chest pushes me further, yet tells me to stop. Stop running. Stop this madness. Stop. Stop. Stop.

Because of the repetition of stop, I think formatting some kind of change to convey the desperateness of the character would give more of an oomph? Either with bolding, exclamation, caps, or italics, depending on what you’re exactly going for. It is also a kind of personal preference that I have to build up repetition to ‘reveal’ a more powerful emotion.

Through the darkened forest I go, leaving only my tears behind.

I like this sentence!

~~

I enjoyed reading through this piece and you captured the desperation of the whole scenario really well. The only main issue I think I had was the lack of motivation behind it? You mention the voice is keeping the character going and moving, and you hint at running away from something. I think that adding an emotional tie to the character for not only the constant need to run, but also running to be free, would add an extra level of dimension and empathy from the reader. But great job! This was fun to critique <3 Hope this was helpful and let me know if there is anything you would like me to clarify!

Eventually, the officers left. Left me alone in the dark, the sound of waves breaking over the sand. Left me wondering what had happened to Syn.
Was she still living? Had she successfully died?
At the very minimum, my worries were put at ease in at least one area. They were not tracking us. At least not be any means that allowed them to see my current location. They had been satisfied with Syn’s show of desperation and left me be. If she had been caught, it would only be so long before they tortured the information from her in regards to my whereabouts.
I had to leave. But what if they had positioned guards around the building, ensuring our stolen possessions never made it out? What if they speculated I was here?
It was a whole lot of what-ifs. But I didn’t have time to overthink things. I waited a couple hours, and without hearing anything I poked my head above the wood. I wasn’t in a position to see the window, so I pulled myself over to it as silently as possible.
Blood stained the sand. Eerie little patches every few feet.
I swallowed hard. This didn’t confirm anything.

201 words, no j, no q, no x, no z

daily 11 206 words no letter e i am tired goodbye

It is hard not to cry out in pain and agony, facing a difficult option. And so I am, loudly.
Baby cats, in plural, form sounds that a child can catch in small drums adjoining brains. Adults can catch baby cat sounds too. Both can hurt baby cats if in pain.
It is not good to hurt baby cats, though. Cats hunt bad things and stop indisposition from
growing.
I look at my hands and think about how much I must do. I am not running away, but I can only talk about baby cats for so long.
I turn to my thoughts for insight, but my brain is full of music from my albums. I still must go on.
If I go, why did I start? What is my point, my final goal? Is it to finish? This sounds right.
But it is a long way until I stop.
I want to cry, to halt and admit that my words will not hit an abundant quantity, but I will not.
Can I go back to baby cats?
Baby cat fur and adult cat fur is soft and warm. Hands can sink into it and rub back and forth, making cats purr.
I am stopping now.

daily nov. 11th - took out x! teehee
she wakes in the middle of the night with the most peculiar feeling - something is watching her. only, she’s so tired that the only thing she wants to do is go and lie back down in bed… when she does, something screams in her mind wrong, wrong, wrong.
that leaves no choice but to grudgingly get up. she figured it wouldn’t be so hard to occupy herself for a little, just so she could calm down a bit and clear her mind. maybe make a quick sketch in her notebook? yes, that would do.
she flicks on the lamp, the tidal wave of warm light flooding through empty space. the girl blinks the blindness out of her dreary eyes, and…
well, there was the problem. a cat, fur as dark as the sky outside, its gaze stuck to her like glue. she pauses - what is one supposed to do in situations like this? if she were to move first, the cat would surely pounce. she holds her breath and waits. and waits, and waits…
finally, the wretched thing stands and stretches itself out, looking like when a towel is wrung dry. it takes a couple steps, and disappears — just like that.
well, huh. the girl rubs her eyes, before shaking her head and turning that lamp back off. everything would make sense at a more holy hour.

It was not a globe. Not like any he had seen in the past, anyway. The continents it depicted seemed odd and confusing, definitely not what the visage of his planet was supposed to look like.
It was still globe-shaped, though. It spun on an axis. It showed landmasses of some kind. Oceans, too. Lines and symbols pointed out locations of significance.
He squinted at the text, hoping to make some sense of it. The language was not one he could identify, but then again, he wasn’t that skilled at linguistics. Maybe someone back at camp would know what it was all about.
He debated lifting it out of its alcove and taking it with him. It was heavy, though, and when he gave it a small shove, it didn’t budge. He concluded he ought to just note its location and have someone come out to analyze it. Jotting down a message on his map to flag the spot, then snapping a few photos of the unusual device, he continued on his way.
It wasn’t until he got back to camp that evening that he inspected his photos, zooming in on the base of the object, the side opposite of the place he was in when he found it initially. Etched into the metal was a multitude of text, each line in what seemed to be a distinct language. And one of them was in English.
The title said simply: Planet Eath.

-Weekly #1
(I know this is late, I'm not trying to gain points)

Weekly #1, Part 1 (Consistent Character Voices)- Completed 11/08:

Character notes (not part of the word count):
Melody: young (4 yo), can’t talk quite right, babyish, sentence fragments (Ex. Go to park?). Talks mostly in the 3rd person. Thinks her bear is real.
Gloria: Older, 8th grade. Not typical teenager. Good choices, good decisions. Responsible.
Abby: Eldest, 16. Uses common Gen Alpha words (basically opposite of Gloria). LOVES her phone, talking to friends, etc. etc.

“Go to park, Glori? Go to park?” Melody’s high pitched voice fills my ears.
Sighing, I put my book, Salt, down. I look down at her from my bed.
“Not now, Mel. I’m reading for school.”
“Pleeeeeeeeaaaaaaase? Pretty pwease?” Melody looks up at me with her bright blue eyes. When she grows up, she’ll be a charmer, what with her unusually thick, blond hair and beautiful eyes.
“Go ask Abby.” I say in return. “Please? I really need to catch up on this homework.” I had thought that 7th grade was tricky, but 8th grade was homework on a whole new level.
“Mr. Bear asked Abby.” Melody looks forlorn, “She told Melody to go ‘way”
“Alright then,” I say, “I’ll check with her, and if she says no, I’ll take you.”
“Fiiiiine.” Mel looks disappointed, her little face turned down towards the ground.
I hop off my bed and head down the stairs, listening for the tell-tale sound of giggles. Yep, there they were. Following the sound, I reach the living room. Sitting on the couch was none other than my older sister Abby- and surprise, surprise, she was talking on the phone. Again.
“Abby!” I call. She usually has a hard time hearing me if she’s in the middle of a conversation. Or maybe she just ignores me. No response.
“Abby! Please!” I call.
“One minute, Sam. My annoying little sister is yelling at me. Gimme a sec, kay?”
“What?!?” she yells back.
“I’m right here.” I respond.
She turns around. “Oh, there you are,” she says, “What do you want?”
“Can you take Mel to the park? She really wants to go, but I’m in the middle of some homework.”
“Um, no?” Abby looks at me like I’m crazy. “Can you not see I’m busy here? I’m talking to my friend.”
I sigh for the second time this afternoon.
“Fine then. I’ll take her to the park.”
“Good!” Abby exclaims cheerfully, “See ya!”
She hops back onto her phone.
“Hi again Sam! So, what’s the scoop? Did ya talk to him?”
“Mel!” I walk back up the stairs, looking for Melody. “Mel!”
I hear a giggle, coming from somewhere… inside the wall?
Wait, no. It’s the closet. I open the door.
“Mel? Are you in there?” I ask, peering around the dusty space. There! A shadow! Reaching out, I feel Mel.
“There you are, you little munchkin!” I exclaim, tickling Mel. “Did you think you could hide?”
Mel screeches in happiness as I tickle her. “Glori!” she yells.
“Get your shoes on. We’re going to the park!” I tell her.
She looks up at me. “No, Mr. Bear not want go to park.” she says.
“Really? Well, I’m sure Mr. Bear can live without us.” I reply.
“Nooooo!” Mel pouts. “Mr. Bear wants Glori to read to him.”
Hmmm… I could use this to get caught up on my Witch of Blackbird Pond reading. And, Mel needs her nap around now anyways. Maybe…
“Glori! Glori! Glori!” I realize that Mel’s been chanting my name for quite a bit. Whoops.
“Yes?” I query, wondering what might come next.
“Mr. Bear change mind. Mel wants go on swings!”
“Ok then!” I exclaim. “To the park!”
I help Mel get her shoes on (and she helps Mr. Bear) and we walk down the street towards our neighborhood park. When she spots the swing set, she exclaims in delight and runs toward them.
“Push Mel! Push Mel!” she yelps.
I push her on the swing, but before long she tires of the game.
“Out!” she commands.
She runs to the playground and up the stairs, sliding down to the ground and then doing it all again. She even pushes Mr. Bear down the slide and takes him on the swing set. How precious is that? After about an hour at the park, the sun starts to set.
“Mel! Time to go home!” I call.
“Okay.” Mel replies. All the play has obviously taken a toll on her. I can hear her stomach growl. Then mine does.
“Mr. Bear sure sounds hungry!” I tell her.
Mel nods, already drooping. I scoop her up and walk home. What an afternoon. And, although I didn’t get to finish my book, oh well. This bonding time really made my day.
Total words: 721/450

Weekly 1, Part 2 (Using Dialogue Effectively)- Completed 11/9:
Dialogue=96/100 words
Total words: 211
Izzy looked around the small room, frightened. “You’re sure he can’t find me here?” she asked.
The shadow responded in his deep voice, “Yes. You’re safe.”
Izzy sighed in relief. Her k!dnapper wouldn’t stop at anything to find her. She just wanted to go home.
“Now come.” the shadow commanded. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”
Izzy looked down at her grubby clothes. She blushed. She certainly didn’t look presentable. Not in the slightest. Her scuffle with the k!dnapper had left her worse for the wear.
“Okay, I’m coming.”
The shadow led her through a series of rooms. Although each was brightly lit, she still couldn’t make out the features of his face.
“Can you help me get home?” she asked. She couldn’t help imagining her parents freaking out over her disappearance. “Do you know how long I’ve been gone?”
“About an hour. No one’s worried yet. That’s why we need to get you cleaned up. So no one suspects anything.”
“What?” Izzy’s brow creased in confusion. “Don’t we want my parents to know? So the police can arrest the culprit?”
“No,” the shadowy figure’s voice hardened. “Izzy, you’ve been mixed up in a bad situation. A group of spies. You can’t tell anyone. And they won’t rest until they find you.”

Weekly 1, Part 3 (Foreshadowing)- Completed 11/11:
Word count: 762/300
Notes: Once again, kind of all over the place. Just kind of wrote for a while…
“Where were you last night?” the detective asked. His words sounded strangely warped.

“Er…”

“WHERE WERE YOU LAST NIGHT?” the detective repeated, this time much, much louder.

“I’m sorry sir! I don’t know!”

“Sure you don’t. Chief! Take her away!”

“No, please, you don’t under-”

“Silence. Those words may have been your last.”

Antoinette woke up, covered in a cold sweat. She took in her surroundings. Where was she? Then she remembered, and breathed a sigh of relief. She was in her soon-to-be husband’s castle. She shakily rose from her bed and lit a candle. Deep breaths, deep breaths. Her nightmares were common occurrences, but she still felt uneasy after waking from one.

Antoinette decided that a little stretch of the legs could calm her nerves. She tiptoed to the door, only to find it locked. That infernal Queen Mother! Antoinette wouldn’t trust her as far as she could throw her- and she was sure that the Queen Mother felt the same way.

Really, though, the reason her door was locked was simple: she was prone to sleepwalking. When Antoinette was only a young child, her parents found out that she would sleepwalk- and not close, but quite far. Once she was found by the pond, feeding the ducks and humming a little tune. A tune unrecognizable to everyone in the castle.

Antoinette remembered the tune and began to hum it. That was another way she could calm her nerves… maybe. The lilting melody swayed through the room, almost becoming alive. Alive, alive, Antoinette thought. She swayed with the music, the notes pungent and juicy, as if they were physical objects rather than a sound.

Antoinette slowly, very slowly, lowered herself back onto the bed, still humming the song. Her eyes, half closed, seemed glazed over. Tucking herself back under the luxurious sheets, Antoinette was asleep.

A click was heard throughout the room. The door slowly creaked open.

The sun shone through the window. Antoinette woke up feeling rested and refreshed. She vaguely remembered having a nightmare, but it didn’t matter now. The birds were chirping, the sun was shining, and today was yet another day of preparations for the wedding.

She emerged from her bedroom, feeling fresh as a daisy. Meandering down a long hallway, she reached the kitchen. However, instead of the usually cheerful chatter, clattering of pots and pans, and delicious smells emanating from it, today it was silent, and no fumes were emerging.

Strange, Antoinette thought, Very strange.

Antoinette looked around the kitchen, then headed into the dining hall. Empty. This day was getting stranger and stranger, wasn’t it? She heard a wail.

Rushing towards the sound, Antoinette almost tripped over her shoes. But she didn’t. She ran and ran until she found the source of the sound. There! Her soon to be husband, King Leonce de Fontaine, was on the ground in his bedroom. His face was pale, his eyes closed. Surrounding him were the Queen Mother and half the servants of the household (the others were still asleep).

“What happened?” Antoinette asked. But the din of the room was too loud. Her voice was drowned out by the loud talking and arguing.

“I said, WHAT HAPPENED?” Antoinette raised her voice, something she had been taught never to do by her parents. Every face in the room turned towards her.

“Her! It was her!” the Queen Mother screamed, lunging for Antoinette.

“What was me?” Antoinette asked, dread filling her heart. Something told her that whatever had happened wasn’t good.

A man in a black coat stepped forward. “Ma’am, your soon to be husband is… well… to put it gently… dead. He is dead, mademoiselle.”

Another wail filled the room. The Queen Mother was on her knees sobbing.

“I’m telling you, Monseigneur, it was her!” the Queen Mother spoke to another man, this one in a dark blue cloak.

“I didn’t do anything, I swear!” Antoinette begged with the man in the blue coat, who had stepped toward her.

“Mademoiselle, you are under arrest, by the order of the Queen Mother of France.”

“No, please!”

“If you’re so sure it wasn’t you last night, I will ask you a simple question. Where were you last night?”

“In my bed?”

“I repeat, WHERE WERE YOU LAST NIGHT?”

“I said, in my bed, I was asleep all night!”

“I don’t think so, mademoiselle, for we have a witness willing to vouch for the fact that you were out of bed last night, holding a knife.”

The Queen Mother stood up, and smiled.

Weekly #1 Part 4 (Script)- Completed 11/12:
Word count: 434 /200
Notes: And, yet again, I had no idea what I was doing here. And I know that many people already know what SWC is… this is the writing thread, after all
.Enjoy! (Also why does bad stuff always happen to me?!?)

*Amazing Podcast theme song plays*

SIR DUCKS-A-LOT: Hello everyone, and welcome to this AMAZING podcast! And yes, that is the name of it! I’m Sir Ducks-a-Lot, your host, and today we’re going to be talking about some AMAZING topics! Our first one is SWC, also known as Scratch Writing Camp. Today I’m welcoming Em to talk about it!

EM: Hi, Sir Ducks-a-Lot!

SIR DUCKS-A-LOT: Hiya, Em! Why don’t you tell us a little bit about yourself- and maybe introduce SWC as well?

EM: Sure! I’m Em, and I’m in the Hi-Fi cabin for SWC! Hi-Fi is The Cabin That Will Not Win this year, and I’m really excited. Also- this is my first time in SWC! So I may not be the most qualified person to talk about it- but oh well!

SIR DUCKS-A-LOT: Wow! Can you tell us more about SWC?

EM: Sure! SWC is a writing camp based on Scratch, a coding website where you can make games, art, and animations- and also host camps! When you sign up, you get sorted into a cabin. Some cabins include Paranormal, Sci-Fi, Hi-Fi (my cabin), Bi-Fi, and Bangsian.

SIR DUCKS-A-LOT: What else is there to know about SWC?

EM: Well, usually you earn points by completing dailies and weeklies. This is actually part of a weekl-

SIR DUCKS-A-LOT: Oh yes, very cool! Can you tell us more about your experience in SWC?

EM: Well, yes, but I didn’t get to finish. Hey, what’s that blinking red light over the-

SIR DUCKS-A-LOT: What blinking red light? What’re you talking about? You must be going crazy.

EM: No, I don’t think so-

SIR DUCKS-A-LOT (into walkie talkie): CODE RED! SHE’S FOUND THE LIGHT!

EM: Wait, what?

SIR DUCKS-A-LOT: HURRY!!!

EM: Um, what’s happening? WHAT’S HAPPENING?!?!?

*A projection appears on the wall. It looks like a video of something…*

EM: Wait, is that me? In this room? RIGHT NOW?

SIR DUCKS-A-LOT (into walkie talkie): HURRY FASTER!

EM: Sir Ducks-a-Lot? WHAT ARE YOU DOING?

SIR DUCKS-A-LOT: Sorry, Em. Though I guess if you’re not going to remember this anyways, I might as well tell you.

EM: WAIT WHAT?

SIR DUCKS-A-LOT: We’re doing an experiment on… well… on altering human genes…

EM: Altering human genes? To do what? And on who?

SIR DUCKS-A-LOT: Our goal is to make a human-rubber duck mutation that would be stronger than anything else. Oh- and… you’re our guinea pig.

EM: WHAT?

*two men in official uniforms barge into the room*

EM: What are you doing?

MAN 1: You are getting very sleepy…

*Em drops to the floor, asleep*

SIR DUCKS-A-LOT: Begin the experiment.


YAY I FINISHED!!!!! Yeah I had absolutely no idea what I was doing here, but it's fine. This was actually so fun, I just kind of wrote until my brain stopped working properly

Daily 11 || 241 words
Liporam without the letter ‘g’

Four companions travel into a swamp. Each was a brother or sister of another, and their task was to find food for all of them. Their leader, the first hatched, was Peltandra, and she was the best when it came to her to sniff out even the most hidden of animals, one of which she had found now.
She made a quick strike, and turned around to her sibs, rabbit in her jaws. Her sister, Adobe, clapped with a smile, while their brothers unleashed an attack on a crocodile. Peltandra turned and joined them. Adobe watched from a distance, not skilled at that sort of action. She was also the smallest of her sibs, and her albino colors made her more visible compared to basically everyone else. She had her own job to do anyways.
While the battle continued with the very persistent crocodile, Adobe went to find berries and other various fruits hidden between the trees and in the bushes. This was what she was best at, familiar with all the ins and outs of herbs, berries, and the like. She was both the collector and medic of her troop, and took her job seriously. By the time her sibs came back with the crocodile, she had found tons of food to satisfy all of their fruit and health needs for a few days.
Satisfied with their quest, the four companions went back to their den to share their rewards.

Daily #11
11/11/2024
211 words

A/N: I keyboard smashed and the first letter was ‘e’. (Actually i only just like. lightly jabbed at my keyboard and it read ‘ew’ xD) So I removed ‘e’. It was tricky- And then I ran out of time because my dad called a family meeting, so I changed the letter to ‘c’ which was still difficult, but easier to speedrun with. Enjoy, I have no idea what this is.

As I look around the room, it’s interesting to think of all the things that I own. Tall piles of books, from floor to roof, mountains of shirts and pants, waiting until laundry day, and various quills lying in jars of ink. I have to organize this mess someday, but it is not the day. I have many endeavors I would like to pursue; a tidy room is not on the top of my to-do list. Even so, it would be great to put everything into its home. Lines of books on the shelves, organized by author’s last names, and folded laundry in my dresser, with my quills washed and inks sorted. It is kind of a dream, but it is not impossible. I just don’t have any motivation to give, don’t have any wants to improve this life right now. Not that I don’t want to make things better on myself, but if that first means to use up energy that I am hoping to find, then I will have to pass this offer up. There are many other things I will use my time for first. A neat room is a goal to be had later. For now, I go off on side quests, earning energy for future levels.

Part One: 245/300
Part Two: https://scratch.mit.edu/projects/1094923839/
Part Three: 293/200
Part Four: 1301/400
Total Word Count: 1839
Completed: 11/11/24 at 12:35 AM UTC

Part One: 245/300 word limit

Genre: Isekai (Subgenre of Speculative Fantasy)
You have no idea what to do today. You’re cooped up in your room, sitting in front of your laptop, the screen blank and waiting for you to do something. Eventually, you sigh, reaching to close the laptop. You have resolved to touch the grass, so you walk outside your small home to travel to the park. You’re tired, however, so you trudge along slowly, not really looking where you’re going. As you cross the street, you hear a horn. Before you can register anything else, a pothole underneath your feet swallows you whole before a car is able to barrel into you. Your vision goes dark…

You sit up and groan, wondering where you are. You’re sitting in a field of flowers, all a variety of shapes and colors. You blink, standing up. This field stretches out for as far as you can see, but, in the distance, you see a tower. It’s tall and made of stone, and you see it blink every few seconds. You start making your way toward it, like a moth to a flame.

Though the walk is long, you eventually make it to the tower, which is a lot more loud and lively than you think. You knock on the door, and a short teenage girl answers it immediately. She grins, “Oh! Great! You’re lost, aren’t you?” You nod. She turns back and shouts into the tower, “Guys! We have another one!”

Part Three: 293/200

Evergreen Tree By Halfy and Winks has been turned into Tower, Free Me by… Me! Well, it’s a parody, but you get the point!


Where the sun beats down there's an enchanted field
Where the flowers and the fields extend eternally
Down some ways are the daffodils and the daisies
That’s where you'll find the old magic observatory


Where it stands by the clouds, oh so high and mighty
You enter in and it feels as if a dream
You are told quit your worrying and try
To make your way back home in the tower


La-de-di-da
La-da-de-da
La-dе-di-da
La-da-de-da
(epic violin)


Well therе came a day you became weary
You said, “Why must we work with these florals, they tire me.”
You complained to the leader, the mysterious lady
“We are all trapped here, and I’m the first,” said she


“I amassed a crew as my own army
We’d all work toward the same goal, the old same thing
But none of us have succeeded, we have no reprieve
We’re all trapped here” she grieved


La-de-di-da
La-da-de-da
La-de-di-da
La-da-de-da


You resolved that the project will be complete
You worked and worked alongside others to see
If you could truly be back where ye
Belong. Your mantra is this: “May this tower free me”


You soon realized this thing
Asked around, "Will I ever see my family?”
Eventually you succeeded, “I know what this means”
Your teammates look back at you and smile, “We’re free!”


Let this be a lesson to all of ye
Don't waste all your precious time worrying
About things that are small in the big grand scheme
Instead, work until you’re free


La-de-di-da
La-da-de-da
La-de-di-da
La-da-de-da
La-de-di-da
La-da-de-da
(Hey!)

Part Four: 1301/400
People included: Lily Aurora Mango Nom Mouse

Smells like rain, like perfume.

Mom, where did you go?

How did I not get hit…?

I never wanted to go to the park anyway.

…

How did I end up here?

“UGH! I never wanted to be a florist! Plants hate me, and I hate them too!”
Julian’s eyes blinked open at the sound. He sat up in his bed, nearly hitting his head on the bed above him. He hissed, narrowly avoiding the frame before he sustained a head injury. He got out of bed and was slapped by the cold air. He shivered, reaching for his blanket and wrapping it around him.
“I swear, Lily, is it that hard to mash up a Sunbloom? They aren’t THAT explosive!”
“Why don’t YOU do it for me then?”
“Nooooo thank you! It’s your job!”
Julian descended the stairs, realizing that he had slept in. The Observatory was full of lively activity, everyone congregating around various workstations, examining flowers of all shapes, sizes, and colors.
Julian walked past one station, where he saw two girls arguing. Ah, they were the sources of the noises that woke him.
One was Lily, a short girl who had to strain her neck in order to talk to anyone above six foot, and who was very fond of using stools to reach things. She would always put her stools down in the most inconvenient places, which became tripping hazards. She was very passionate and competitive and was prone to staring down her competition with her piercing green eyes. Her brown hair was in a loose, low ponytail.
The other was Nom, who had been nicknamed that because of her affinity for food. At least, that was how Julian thought of it since he had never actually been told the story of how Nom had received her nickname. Her dirty blonde hair was up in a bun, which rattled back and forth as she shook her head vigorously. She was not getting CLOSE to the volatile flower! Her face, normally pale, was red from the sheer heat that flowed out from the flower that sat in a heat-resistant mortar.
Lily’s face was red too, but more from frustration. “Fine! I guess I’ll do the dumb flower mashing-” She picked up a heavy-duty apron and found a metal face mask, which she slipped over her head. She lifted up the pestle and slammed it down into the flower. Julian and Nom cringed, stepping back a bit as Lily mashed the Sunbloom into oblivion.
After the mashing subsided, Julian heard some clapping at the top of the stairs. He looked up, seeing Bookie, their unofficial leader, smiling down. “Attention guys, attention! I have some news!”
Julian gave her his full attention.
Bookie grinned, “I have three announcements! First of all, we have some new additions to our team!” She gestured to the two people next to her, who looked a bit homesick. Julian recognized the expression instantly, because he had had a similar one on his face the day he found the tower.
Bookie gestured to the first person, who was slightly shorter than the already short leader. They had brown pigtails that reigned in curly hair, as well as glasses that were delicately perched on their nose. They looked around the room anxiously, blue eyes bouncing around like ping-pong balls. Bookie grinned, “This is Aurora, everybody! I was out collecting Butterfly Bells when I noticed them just… lying there? I dunno, but the point is that they’re here now, and they’re willing to help us get back home! Do you have anything to say to everyone, Aurora?”
They made a face, eyes widening, “Um, well, hi everyone?” They waved anxiously, clearly done with their short message.
Bookie smiled, “Make sure you guys give them a warm welcome!”
The group below nodded in unison.
Bookie moved on to the next person next to her, who was grinning widely. Their hazel eyes were brimming with excitement, and they were nearly bouncing up and down as they introduced themselves before Bookie could get to it, “Hi everyone! I’m… uh, wait, I forgot my name- Andddd I didn’t think of anything beforehand-”
They stopped for a moment and thought. They then beamed, “I’m Mouse! Yeah, Mouse, that sounds about right!” They readjusted their glasses, “Bookie found me petting a field mouse, hence why I think Mouse is a great nickname! I can’t wait to get to meet you all! Please teach me all you know, I want to catch up quickly!”
The group nodded.
Bookie giggled, “Yes, please do exactly that! Thank you, y’all can go ahead and get down now.”
Mouse skipped down the steps as Aurora followed a bit more cautiously.
Bookie looked around the room and grinned, “Okay, now with them out of the way, I have a bit of a bigger announcement to make.”
She cleared her throat, drawing out the suspense. The group leaned in, Julian included.
She sighed, taking her time. Eventually, she said, “Um, we still haven’t been able to find a solution. None of us have been able to get home, and I’m not sure that we’ll ever be able to.”
Murmurs started to rise through the air.
Bookie grimaced, “I know, that seems like a really bold statement. Thing is…” She glanced at Mango, who looked back at her knowingly.
Bookie coughed, “Mango was out collecting some Glass Poppies, which you all know are really far out from the tower. He saw something… rather disturbing. Do you want to tell everyone?”
Mango jolted up, shaking their head which made his blond hair get in his face.
Bookie grimaced, taking attention back from them, “Oh, uh, okay, that’s fine- Anywayssss-” She collected herself. “They saw something that’s hard to describe, but I’ll try my best. He said that the fields were… disappearing. Just, leaving existence. They had stumbled upon, essentially, the end of the fields. And he saw the nothingness /grow/. It crept toward him, and made it so they had to run back immediately and tell me. He thinks that entire section of Glass Poppies is completely gone at this point.”
Mango nodded sadly.
Bookie did the same, picking at her nails anxiously, “Sooo, we’re under a time crunch. We have… about a month. Mango and I did some more research, and that seems to be the rate at which the nothingness is spreading.”
She perked up, “Don’t fret too much though! There’s a /bit/ of hope.” She held up a flower, one Julian hadn’t seen before.
She beamed, “I had a breakthrough a few days ago! This flower has teleportation properties! I’m thinking of naming it, but I’m a bit undecided- The point is that this guy might be the solution! You all have /extensive/ knowledge of all the flowers around us, and I’m sure that you’ll be able to figure something out. I think that we just need four components of a concoction. I think that if we make that, we’ll be able to get back home!”
She held up a paper, “If you guys need to reference what we need to do, it’ll be posted on the corkboard! You guys are dismissed until then!”
Julian made his way over to the corkboard, watching Bookie pin up her plan to escape. He read through it closely.
Component One: Teleportation
Need:
Unnamed Teleportation Flower x3
Sunbloom x5
Butterfly Bell clumps x10

Component Two: Stabilizer
Need:
Moss clumps x5
Moth Lily x5
Night Rose x10
Iridescent Iris x20

Component Three: Range Enhancer
Need:
Sunbloom x10
Spine Succulent x3
Pining Peony Pulp x5 cups

Component Four: Personalization
Favorite flower of specific person x5
A hair from them x1

Julian cringed a bit as he saw the hair thing, but the other stuff looked pretty doable. Here’s hoping that everyone could escape in time…

Critique for @/babyoda1546
223 words excluding quotes

(My condolences for losing your grandfather. <3)

I??? Am Sad now?? Which, I'm sure it's the point but ow my heart????

This hit me in the feels! I'm not the person who gets upset easily but dude, your writing really portrayed the sadness and hit me upside the head with it.

The transitions between all of the flowers and their meanings is great. It was pulling me along as I read. The writing is simplistic, and it makes it feel more powerful in my opinion? It's not overly descriptive, it's just direct, straight to the heart.

The ending was incredibly bittersweet.

My only critique is this,:

I walk up to the casket. Tears falling down my face like miniature waterfalls. Everyone is looking at me with sympathy. Regrets fill my head. I wish I had spent more time with him. I wish I could have another grandpa hug. As I approach I see his lifeless body lying in the casket. I walked up to him. In one hand I have a small collection of flowers and with my other hand I hold his cold hand.

It feels a little rushed almost? While I love the simple and short style, it almost feels like you're trying to shove a lot of information into only one paragraph? I feel like the pacing could be slowed down a fraction, and that it could possibly be split into at least two paragraphs.

"I wish we had more time,” I say. I release his hand and redirect my attention to the small bouquet.

This. I just-

aughhhhhh

my heart



But overall, your writing is emotional, and it really hit me in the feels. The flower meanings really set in stone how it hurts.

I have Thoughts and Feels that I don't know how to express, and I apologize for that. The only way I can explain it is that I would like to hug it close to my chest for a while and contemplate.

Again, condolences for your grandfather.

Critique for Eevee:

eevee wrote:

Tony glances over at Clint. “You want me to do what?!”

Totally not necessary, but it might be fun to include something Tony was in the middle of doing beforehand? Like you say he glances over at Clint, but what is he glancing up from? It would be funny to emphasize how much Clint is just straight-up bothering Tony if he were in the middle of eating lunch or reading his email or something.

eevee wrote:

“Make me an arrow that can electrocute the water. It'll be super handy when like the criminals try to swim after me! Easier than trying to knock them out one by one after I’ve swam.”

I feel like maybe having Clint not just explaining himself again (since I get the impression that Tony does know what Clint said, he just thinks that it is a dumb idea) and instead turn to be more begging/wheedling could make the jump into their conversation feel more natural. He could start off with something like “Come on, electrocuting the water would be so handy!” instead.

eevee wrote:

He sighs, pinching his forehead. “Back up, Legolas. Arrow, electrocute, water. What about this sounds good to you?”

I love this, their dynamic is so fun here! And the little gestures you include are perfect for emphasizing it.

eevee wrote:

Clint shrugs. “Just thought it was a good idea- What! It'll effectively get them off me!”

Okay this is super nit-picky, but I think here a better word would be “efficiently” rather than “effectively”? Because he said he *could* fight the criminals off, it would just be hard. Not sure, just a thought.

eevee wrote:

“And you're going to offer me…?” Tony raises an eyebrow.
“3 blackmail worthy things about Steve. But don't mention me, I never told you,” Clint says with a grin.
Tony waves his hand. “Fine, I'm in. Let's get to designing this thing.”

~~

“…So this does what again?” Clint asks, pointing skeptically at the silver stick Tony brought out.

I feel like a better thing for him to say here might be “I’m supposed to shoot this?” or something. I don’t know, I guess I just feel as though he was too excited earlier to have forgotten what he wanted Tony to make for him. Plus, it seems as though he’s mostly just confused due to the strange design of the arrow. It works as is, but I feel like a line closer to the one I suggested fits the scene better (although you might want to change Tony’s following line if you do change this one).

eevee wrote:

Tony rolls his eyes. “It's the arrow, you idiot.”
Clint tilts his head, staring at the arrow. He jerks back up and turns to Tony. “Yeah, no, I don't see how this would work? When we were in here two days ago, I thought we had a cylinder with a sensitive end that would spark electricity when coming in contact with wet substances. And this-” he flails his arms at the arrow “-does not look like an arrow! How do you think this is going to fly? The fletching looks all messed up! It's not exactly light either!”
“Relax, Everdeen. I'm the engineer here, not you.” Tony hands him the arrow. “Just try it out…”

I love all of Tony’s nicknames for Clint, and they feel very in line with his voice to me!

eevee wrote:

“I'm the engineer here, not youuouuu,” Clint mumbles, grabbing his bow off the table and fiddling with nocking the arrow. “So just into that tub of water, right?”

Somewhat of a side-note but I love the word “fiddling”!

eevee wrote:

“Yep,” Tony confirms, putting on a pair of safety glasses. “My calculations should be correct and I'll be able to track the electricity voltage on that thing. I did make it higher, just to test what it'll do.”
“Okay.” Clint pulls back, aims, and releases.
The arrow spirals, flying over the tub and crackling with sparks before it hits the wall with a thud.

WHAT no way he just misses ToT. Maybe you could mention that he wasn’t really trying or paying that much attention, thinking the shot would be really easy?

Or wait, I’m rereading it, and does the arrow just pull off course? In that case, maybe you could just have Clint complain about Tony’s garbage arrow a bit more later?

eevee wrote:

“So, that wasn't me, that was-” Clint starts, before the lights flicker and shut off.
Tony curses under his breath. “I just replaced some of the new electrical equipment! Uh, Barton, you stay here. Do NOT touch that arrow and just- Don't do anything stupid.”

Haha I love their dynamic so much. Maybe you could have Tony say “Actually, in that case, don’t do anything at all” just to throw some extra shade at Clint.

eevee wrote:

Clint waves his arms in the air. “Yeah, I won't make more of a problem, because the whole electricity lights-out thing was totally my fault!” he shouts as Tony leaves the room.

I love Clint just shouting stuff after him as Tony is freaking out.

This was super fun! Thanks for letting me critique it, Eevee

+427 words of critique

critique for chuey!
500 words

chuey wrote:

Dying was easy.
It was being Death that was hard.
Especially now, when his latest (and best) assistant had just quit.

Ahaha, fun and intriguing way to open! Love that he is in a regular office situation, it’s a really great contrast to the inherent mystical nature of having Death as your main character.

chuey wrote:

Death rifled through job applications while keeping an eye on his assignments for the day. The man who was going to jump off the building’s 44th floor (or 45th? Death wasn’t sure) could wait until later, he decided. He didn’t have time to deal with him right now.
“Hello?”
Death turned, expecting to see - well, not what he saw. The relief sent phantom shivers down his spine. Not that he could really shiver anymore.

Maybe allude a bit more to what he expected to see? It feels unnecessary to mention what he sees isn’t expected if we don’t really learn anything about his expectations.

chuey wrote:

It was a woman, her extremely red hair pulled neatly back into a businesslike bun. She stuck out a hand. “I’m Diane.”
Death blinked at her.
Her smile didn’t waver, and there was a long moment where neither of them moved or changed expression. He started to count the freckles on her nose and cheeks. (Seventeen.)
“I’m…Diane,” she repeated, as though that was supposed to mean something to him. (It didn’t.) “Your new assistant.”
Death stared at the pile of paperwork and wondered if he was going mad.
“I already hired you?” he asked. “I just started looking at job applications.”
“I’m here to save you the trouble,” Diane said promptly. “Where should I start?”
Death didn’t have enough time or willpower to deal with this. Fine. Whatever. This lady showing up meant that much less time he had to spend on paperwork.

Bahaha I love that he just accepts it. Really shows his character XD And her unexplained appearance adds to the intrigue of the world!

chuey wrote:

“Over there,” he said, gesturing vaguely towards more heaps of paper. “Busy day today. Assign the less important deaths to whoever has less than the others.”
His phrasing had confused many assistants in the past and caused him to spend precious time explaining, but Diane appeared more than capable of diving right in without further words and did so.

Maybe ironic, but I think you could smooth out this last sentence. Maybe try, “Many of his past assistants had complained Death’s instructions were confusing, forcing him to waste precious time explaining himself, but Diane appeared more than capable of diving right in without further communication.”

chuey wrote:

Death sat for a few seconds without doing anything (a luxury he rarely indulged in.)
“That fixes it? I guess?” he said to himself, before snapping out of it and getting back to work.

Lol, love his uncertainty, and seeing more explicitly that he’s overworked.

chuey wrote:

He wondered if she always wore flowers in her hair.

She did, and everytime he saw her they were different.
He thought about asking where they came from, but it was such a strange detail to notice, and anyways, it was none of his business. She was good at her job, and that was all that mattered.
In fact, she was scarily good at her job. A week after hiring her (had it really been hiring? He wasn’t sure), he found himself, for the first time, with nothing to do for at least an hour.
“Where are all the assignments?” he asked, bewildered.
“Taken care of! And now you,” Diane said, steering him firmly over to a chair (how, exactly, she got hold of his hand he wasn’t sure), “are going to drink a cup of tea and do nothing for a few minutes.”
“What?” Death asked, but she was already gone.
She returned a few minutes later with two steaming mugs. Strange, because Death didn’t remember keeping mugs around. Or tea. Or anything to boil hot water in.
He decided not to ask and took a mug from her.

Not much to say—love this!

chuey wrote:

Diane plopped herself into a chair as well (had those chairs always been here?) with a mug of her own and looked out at the night, steam wafting up from her tea like breath on an icy day. Her lashes were thick and dark, and they made her green eyes look deep, like…like he was spending too much time looking at her face instead of focusing on how, exactly, he was going to get up from this chair and back to work. It was very comfy, and the mug in his hand was pleasantly warm.

I love the comment about him spending too much time looking at her face XD

chuey wrote:

“Aren’t you going to drink it?” Diane asked.

OK now I’m getting the feeling he shouldn’t drink it…lol.

chuey wrote:

Death stared into his cup. That was what you did with tea, right? Drink it? That was what Diane was doing. He shrugged and sipped it, mimicking his assistant and looking out the window at the night. He felt, somehow, that it was safer than looking at her.

That last sentence is *chef’s kiss*

chuey wrote:

She was twirling a flower (most likely pulled from her hair) in her fingers, pale pink and ruffly.

Maybe instead of mentioning it was likely from her hair you could say it matched those ones? So the reader assumes, but without the slightly clunky phrasing. It’s fine how it is though!

chuey wrote:

It should have clashed with her ruddy curls, which were plaited in a braid today, but it didn’t. Somehow, everything she wore seemed to have been a part of her forever.

Ooh :0

chuey wrote:

She noticed him looking and smiled, offering him the flower. “Carnation. Aren’t they pretty? I have an entire corner of them in my garden at home.”
He twirled the stem between his fingers like she had, watching the petals dance and spin.
“It’s very nice,” he told her, and offered it back.
She laughed and pushed his hand away. “Keep it. I have lots more.” Then she glanced at the clock, sighed, and threw the rest of her tea back. “Got to get back to paperwork. How much of it do you have, anyway?” she asked wryly, stretching a bit as she unwound herself from the chair.

I’m not really sure this is the right use of wryly :thinking: Are you trying to convey a mocking tone? I feel like it’s not exactly “humorous” in the way I’d use this word. (And even if it were, based on Death’s confusion, maybe he wouldn’t even pick up on it?)

chuey wrote:

“I don’t think it ever ends,” he said seriously, and wasn’t sure why she laughed again.
But, while confused and slightly offended, he had the strange thought that it was rather nice to hear. None of his old assistants had laughed like that. Or ever, really.
He shook the thought off and went back to work.

I love this!

chuey wrote:

It was a month before he had any free time again. Lu- his boss had had more work than usual for him lately, and while he, of course, was Death, it didn’t mean that he was completely immune to feeling slightly…stretched sometimes. If he were a human, he would describe it as being tired.
But he was Death. He wasn’t tired.
So he wasn’t sure why he collapsed so totally and shakily when Diane next showed up to push him into a chair with a mug of something hot, this time coffee. “You’re working yourself too hard,” she scolded. “I see how much you do every day.”
“It’s my job,” Death said. “It’s fine.”

Dude if you wanted to make me sympathize with Death, mission accomplished!

chuey wrote:

Diane cocked her head curiously. “Really? How do you get this job, anyway? Were you- Is there-” she gestured helplessly. “I mean, were you ever not Death?”
“No,” he said immediately.

Immediately? :raised_eyebrow:
(Sorry for the non-critique relevant comments, I’m getting invested. XD)

chuey wrote:

Then, “I don’t know. It’s hard to…I can’t really explain. Yes. But the answer may as well be no.”
She waited patiently.
He gave in. “It’s like…I made a deal. For some reason. And as part of the deal, I got this job. It was…a bargain. I get something, I give something. This. The work I do.”
“Why? I mean, was it worth it?”
Death didn’t know how to answer. “I don’t remember,” he said finally. “It comes with the job. Memories, emotions - they just get in the way.”
He stared into his mug for a long moment.
“I don’t know. I don’t know if this was worth it.”

Ouch.

chuey wrote:

He didn’t see her get up from the chair, or the expression in her eyes.
But he heard the click of her heels as she walked away. And he’d felt the brush of her hand against his arm as she passed.
Somewhere within him, the heart that had stilled when he donned his new role twitched rebelliously, almost like it wanted to start beating again. Almost like the immortality surrounding him had thinned like an elastic band stretched too far, revealing the mortal still underneath.

OOh!!

chuey wrote:

He stood and walked away without finishing his coffee.
Maybe if he gave it enough time, his blood, like the mug, would cool again.

Don’t do it soldier (Good metaphor tho :thumbs_up

chuey wrote:

In the meantime, there was always work to do.

He tossed the withered carnation out a window.
It didn’t stop him from thinking of the laughter that had accompanied it.

“I’ve been thinking,” Diane said.
Death didn’t answer. He deliberately turned over another sheet of paper and clicked his pen.
A lock of red hair tumbled in his eyes, and he blinked, looking up in surprise.
Diane had her hands firmly planted on his desk, eyebrows raised. She looked as serious as he had ever seen her.
His fingers twitched to replace the lock of hair, but he squelched the very un-Death-like urge and raised his own brows.
She didn’t say anything further. She didn’t even stay for longer than a few seconds.
She left behind a rose that had tumbled out of her hair, and the phantom sensation of her lips against his.
He tried to ignore it, as he had ignored and shoved aside everything else.
His treacherous heart beat once, twice, three times before stilling again.
Death cradled his head in his hands, letting himself wonder for the first time if it really had been worth it.

The next few days were silent. He didn’t talk. Neither did Diane.
He didn’t ever see her go near his desk, but every day, there was a new flower. Today she’d left a fragile bell of a flower, crisp and white. A snowdrop.
(How, he wondered, had anything so perfect as a flower ever come into being?)

I know you said you weren’t planning to keep the flower imagery, but I rather like it!

chuey wrote:

He didn’t hear the bell until it was too late.
Death sprang up, face paling. “Diane!”
It was the first time he had ever spoken her name, and she jumped, turning around. In her hand was a tiny silver bell.
“What are you-” His words tumbled and tangled together, choking him with fear and anxiety (emotions, he noted dully. How odd. He wasn’t supposed to have those anymore).
“What have you done?” finally slipped loose and escaped from his lips.
Her lips were set, just as serious as they’d been before she kissed him.
“What I need to do,” she said. Tears wobbled in her eyes. “I have - I have a sister. She’s not well. I was scared. There was a woman who came…and told me what to do…”
Death roared in fury, but it wasn’t directed at her.
Must he never be free from the threads of Fate? Always, she was there, torturing him, playing with him like a cat that caught a critter.
Diane continued, gazing into the distance. “I didn’t…I didn’t know what it’d be like. I thought it was- she said- it doesn’t matter. But I’ve got to do this.”
Mist was coalescing at the corners of his vision, wrapping around his limbs like ethereal spider webs, woven by a master weaver. Mocking laughter rang in his ears (so unlike the lovely sound of Diane’s).
“A deal’s a deal, you of all people should know that,” Luck purred.
The last thing he saw were Diane’s eyes, wide and pleading, unbelievably beautiful. Snowdrops lay crushed and broken around her feet.
But not the one in his hand.

I’m a little confused but mostly
(Coming back from the end, does she become Death in return for her sister’s life? And he becomes a mortal, forgetting? That could be totally wrong but that was my guess based on the end.)

chuey wrote:

The man was walking down a street. It was rather gray, and so was the sky, and so was the man, although he wasn’t more than middle-aged. It was more his demeanor that suggested the grayness.

Maybe describe a bit more about what his demeanor gives that impression? Stooped, morose? Vague?

chuey wrote:

He turned and looked up at a sign, painted with fanciful swirls and swoops, advertising the cozy atmosphere within.
THE TREE AND BEAN CAFE, it read.
He turned and went in, and the bell jingled, causing him to flinch.

Oof.

chuey wrote:

“What can I get you, sir?” the barista inquired cheerily. Her apron was green. He liked the color green.

I low key thought this would be Diane’s sister

chuey wrote:

“I’ll take a coffee. A latte.”
He paid for it with a wallet he dug out of one of his pockets

Maybe nitpicky, but it kind of sounds like he gives her the wallet in return for the coffee~ I’d say “out of a wallet he dug from one of his pockets”

chuey wrote:

and then sat down with the steaming cup in his hands, watching people come and go. He felt strangely blank, as though he was missing something, but he couldn’t think what.
He’d felt something else in his pocket when he pulled out the wallet. Idly, he rifled around until he found it, holding it up curiously.
A flower. A white, fragile bell, bruised but still breathtakingly perfect.
A snowdrop.
He laid it on the table beside him and thought as he drank his coffee.
How strange.

Daaang
I don’t know if you could tell from all of my comments but I really enjoyed this a LOT!!! Great job

Only other critique would be that the “Lu-“ made me think “Lucifer” and that he literally worked for the devil. Not sure if that was intentional or not, but I thought I’d let you know in case it wasn’t!

I’d love to read more if you ever write other things in this world or with this character!

Critique for Chris!

Your prompt is: Write about a character who is disregarded throughout your story, until the group discovers they are vital in order for the group to overcome a challenge.

The main thing that stuck out for me was your formatting. This obviously isn't a big thing, because i'm here to critique your writing, not your formatting, but it's very useful to put breaks in your text and it helps make dialoged more readable and seem less blocky. I've changed how the text below is formatted a bit to help with my reading <3 As a general rule you always move to a new line when a different person speaks, It helps differentiate different characters and make your story less overwhelming for the reader.

“All you had to do was ask.” Illusion shuffled the deck in her paws, the group around her giving her looks at her sudden interruption.

“Illusion-! You weren't supposed to-”

“What is she doing here? She's not authorized for this meeting!” One of the executives grabbed her shoulder.

I think it could be cool here to describe the executive(s) a little bit more! Right now all we know is their job title, but that leaves a lot of questions. What do they do? who do they work for? what is their motivation? Something as simple as mentioning what they are wearing can change how the story feels. I'm assuming this is part of a larger story, but incase it's not i'll mention one more thing: You start with ‘one of the executives,’ but you've never previously mentioned who was in the room. It would make more sense if you said ‘An executive’ or take the opportunity to describe them at the end of your first line. For example, "…The group around her fiving her looks at her sudden interruption. The group was made up of . I think this would just help set the scene and give the reader a really good vision of the scene.

“You're coming with- me-?” He suddenly found himself handcuffed to the corner of the table, and Illusion was behind him before he could react. “You said it isn't possible.”

“It isn't.” Another suited individual stood angrily. “Without the right person, no one can get past the biometric scanner to use the security card.”

“Who said we need someone to go past?”

The executives quieted, before outrage ensued.

“What do you mean someone has to go past!!”

"Are you out of your mind!“

”How else are we supposed to get into their security network!“

Each of those higher ups received a playing card into their mouths. Illusion rolled her eyes, feeling like she was the smartest one in the room. Everyone else was in fancy suits, she was in a magician's outfit, top hat and all. ”You said once the security card is scanned the scanner turns off right? I've been throwing cards since I was seven. My aim is impeckable, unlike your problem solving skills.“ More yelling voices, and more cards in mouths. The rabbit put the rest of her cards into her hat. ”Trust me. I'm the one for the job."

I love her so much!! Illusion's such a girlboss I really love the contrast between her and the others in the room, it adds a lot to the story. Her character is obviously something you've spent quite a bit of time thinking about, I love her use of cards as weapons, it's very cinematic.

FINALLY the board members decided to stop and think about this proposition. “You understand this mission will be very dangerous.”

“So is show business. I've got this.” Reluctantly the members relented, and Illusion started to leave the room.

“Oh by the way, I'll need like five bucks for a new deck of cards, thanks.”

Fully aware that a deck of cards were cheaper than five dollars, Illusion left with a smile on her face.

The only other thing I can really think to say is that your writing is very speech heavy. This is great, and it gets across your characters really well, but it does feel a little bit like most of your non-speech is all very much restricted to that one section at the end, which can make the piece feel a little bit unbalanced. Maybe try to write more about your characters body language and physical reactions to the events. Adding responses of the suit guys could be pretty cool, and emphasize the power illusion has over them at the start vs the end. The story does leave me asking a lot of questions (Why is she there? What is she trying to do? What are their motives?) and that's a really great thing for a work!! It keeps your readers engaged

Overall, this is a really impressive part of writing, especially for one done in only an hour. Bangsian is lucky to have you! I really really love Illusion's character already, and I have to say my favorite part of this writing probably is her. You've managed to showcase her character really well in just 300 words! Thanks for letting me read it

I'd almost forgotten about last night when the Colten girl came.
She had the loathing for commons I saw in most rich people - the way her eyes scanned the crowd with disinterest, skipping over the parts that the government of a paradise country avoided talking about. Her clothes were vivid enough, and her arrogance big enough, that most people shuffled away, making a narrow path for her. She must have been sixteen or seventeen. Her eyes kept scanning the crowd. It was as if she was looking for something. Or someone.
Her eyes locked on mine. I couldn't look down fast enough.
I don't know how someone gets eyes like hers. Someone must have taken the ocean's essence and dumped it into them. They were all I saw. Everything else drowned out, but those eyes. She was- she was right in front of me. When did that happen?
“You have been chosen for interrogation.”
She talked so fast; I could barely catch anything. “For what?”
“In-terr-o-ga-tion.”
“What? What have I ever done to yo-”
She was giving me one of those noble looks. Remember who you're speaking to.
I lowered my head. “I'm so sorry. I won't offend you or your House again.”
“Better.”
She gripped my hand, and we were gone faster than I could scream.
–
“Hunter Raparn-” I couldn't quite keep the hatred out of my voice- “was on the street, showing- doing power stuff.”
“How so?” Her voice had the cold, clipped tone of a noble.
“He had a big mound of dirt and was waving it around with his earth power, making a bunch of stupi- ah, a bunch of shapes.”
Her eyes narrowed. “And then? How do you play into this situation?”
I could pretend nothing happened. I had to. Because if they knew… “I- I walked into his little circle thing. I had no idea - I swear I had no idea he was a noble. He stopped making shapes and stuff. I thought he was- I thought he was a magician. I looked at him and said, can I shake your hand- I swear I didn't know who he was. He said no, and he- I-”
“You're lying.”
I shook my head. “I'm telling the truth, I swear.”
“A witness saw him shake your hand.”
Breathe in. Breathe out. “You- I must have remembered wrong. I'm sorry.”
“You don't remember whether he shook your hand or not.”
“Look, I've been trying to forget it. It's really embarrassing. Yeah, he must have shook my hand. And then I… I walked away.”
“That is not what the witnesses have said.”
Stupid nobles. “What do you want me to say?”
It was coming back. Don't- My red face dangling upside down from a dirt hand. Dirt grating in my throat, dirt through my clothes. I did still have his ring, but I'd barely even got that.
“I want an accurate description of the event.”
“Gave you that.”
“I have multiple witnesses that would disagree.”
I hated her. Couldn't she give me a straight answer? She was too perfect, too. Unblemished skin, eyebrows that looked painted. They probably were. Who the heck could afford paint for your eyebrows?
I'll give her an answer. “He shook my hand thinking I was rich or something, took another look at me, and pulled back like I was a pot of fire. Rammed dirt into my mouth for my impertimence or something, so I shouted right back at him, and then he dangled me from a dirt hand. You'd think it'd break. I was thinking that was part of it, that it'd break and I'd break my head or something. Surprised he didn't go that far. He was fuming.”
I swear they taught deadly looks in military training. “I'm sorry-”
“It's helpful, not having to tell someone to shut up. Thank you for your description.”
“That's it?”
“It probably is. I will follow it up, and I may contact you later. But do not expect more word from me.”
She bumped my leg, and I was back on the street. No sign of her.
Strange.
–
she was back.
that stupid noble girl i'd thrown from my mind. i'd almost done normal stuff that week - asked countless schools if they'd have me, bracing myself for either ‘you don’t have a guardian, i'm sorry' or ‘you have a record. get out’. or both. at night, i let out my anger on this house.
i'd thought nobody could find me here. the place had been empty for years, but i remembered the way the last owners had paled when the councilman had told them of the lead. in the roof, in the walls, scattered around the yard. i hadn't cared. i came here most nights after that. the fence and the yard looked slightly worse each time. nobody caught me, though. you had to walk forty minutes to find the place, almost entirely uphill. it was hard, but it was worth it. because nobody went here.
that wasn't the case tonight.
i recognized her immediately.
it was a shade of blue you didn't see on anyone but a colten, straight from the lake on a sunny day. must have been tailored to her, the way it fit so well. must have been woven by a sorpet, the way it shone a little in the perfect darkness. i hated her so much.
“good evening, courtney auclair.”
“go away.”
“do you remember how i said i'd come if your questioning needed following up? this is it.”
“i said go away.”
she stepped closer. “you shouldn't have survived hunter raparn.”
i try to hide the torrent in my mind. “…what?”
“he was fuming because you didn't die when he stuffed soil in your mouth. by my witnesses, you had soil churning around you for well over five minutes.” she glanced around. “permanent brain damage may happen after four minutes. four to six minutes without oxygen leads to death.”
“it was two.”
“according to six witnesses, you were there for at least five minutes.” six witnesses? heck, they were serious. "one said seven, one said eight. something is going on with you.“
”there's nothing strange about me.“ but she was almost finding that hard to believe.
she smiled. ”there's a lot of things strange about us nobles, and look at us. you could be one of us.“
”i am never being a noble," i hissed.
she gave me the remember my position look. i bowed my head in apology, but was i really less powerful? stop thinking like that. nobles are twisted by their riches. you will not be twisted like that. but i was remembering when nanny lucida hated me so much she threw me out of the unit, onto the cobblestones three stories below. it hurt. it hurt like all fire was pouring on me. but i didn't die. i was remembering year six, when peter punched me in the head, when i heard that awful crack on the concrete and thought i'd never hear anything again. the nearest hospital was on the other side of town. but i didn't die, did i?
“so… why is this important?”
“if you really are less vulnerable than the rest of us… there couldn't be another noble family. nothing like this has ever happened. but you could live like one. at the very least, we want you on our side.”
“what are you actually asking me to do?”
she took a deep breath. “we'd like you to consider becoming a soldier.”
i didn't know why, but lightning coursed through my veins at the word.
to this day, i still don't know why i said yes.
(1287 words)

note: I know the second story has different grammar than the first. Ignore that. It was written in cabin wars.