daily for bangsian !! 461 words


I woke up this morning and stared at my bed. The sheets were tangled upon each other, twisted and folded in odd places. The comforter, being too big for my bed, was half on the floor and untucked around the sides. One of my pillows was on the floor, wedged between my nightstand. I glanced at the floor on the other side of my bed, and there were my plushies, fallen soldiers on the floor. How are they supposed to stop me from having nightmares if they’re on the floor? I was early for school, so I sat on the floor contemplating what I should do. I could pick up the plushies and place them back on my bed… No, because then my sheets would still be twisted, my pillows still askew. Next time I crawled into bed, all I’d focus on is how uneven the blanket feels, how twisted the sheet is. I could put my second pillow back on the bed as well, but that still wouldn’t solve the sheet problem. This really was a doozy! I thought about it some more. Even if I untangled the sheets and righted my comforter, that wouldn’t stop it from coming undone once again. I would just keep needing to do that every single morning, and that wasn’t really something I wanted to do. I needed my bed to stay nice and neat (ish) for a whole week if that was possible.
As I thought, I began to realize something. I fixed my posture as I came to the revelation, becoming excited. I stood up and began moving of my own accord. I threw everything off the bed except for the fitted sheet, and dropped my sheet on top. I tucked it into the end and the sides of the bed, making the edges crisp and snug. Afterwards, I picked up my heavy comforter, and tucked it in the same way the best I could. The pillows followed suit, as I fluffed and placed them back at the head of the bed. The plushies were rescued from the floor and I placed them all in a seated position by the pillows. I added a pillow pet to the foot of the bed, as well as an extra, folded throw blanket in case it got extra cold at night. I stood back and admired my handiwork. I had to hand it to myself- it looked pretty good. And then I realized what I had just done. Did I just… Make my bed? I just came up with a brand new concept right before school and I- looked at the clock. I was fully late for school, and my bus was long gone. Were geniuses ever late to school or am I the first??

Tapping a button on their phone, Tessie stumbled out the door, expecting their ride to pull up within a few seconds.
When nothing happened, they looked around in confusion.
The streets were silent. Completely silent.
It took them a moment to notice exactly what was wrong. The buzz of the drones, the whirring of the vehicles, even the distant roar of the airplanes—all of the sounds Tessie had heard their whole life were suddenly gone. It was early in the morning, that was true, but even then, there was usually some background noise from people or machines traversing the city. This silence felt like the entire sky was missing.
Tessie blinked the drowsiness from their eyes, wondering if they were still dreaming. They checked their phone. There were no city-wide alerts for anything. The map didn’t show that their area was closed down for maintenance. What was going on? They flicked over to their communications window and messaged their neighbor, Flora.
“Hey, do you know what’s going on with the vehicles???” they typed.
They felt a little bad for waking her up. The status bar on her profile showed that she had only been asleep for 4 hours, so she probably wouldn’t appreciate this.
Still, it was important.
Tessie stood awkwardly in their doorframe, waiting for Flora to respond. They wondered if they should go inside or just sit down. This standing around felt so wrong. At this point, it wasn’t just the crisp morning air giving them chills.
“What’s going on?” Flora asked. “It’s way too early, bro.”
“There are no vehicles out here. I called a ride just like usual, and it didn’t show. No drones either.”
“Huh? That’s so weird…”
“Open your window and listen. It’s creepy quiet out here.”
In the building next door, a window opened. Flora peered out, her hair still a mess. Tessie waved up to her.
“I see what you mean,” Flora shouted down after a moment. “This is hella strange.”
“How am I supposed to get to work, you think?” Tessie bit their lip.
“I mean… you could walk?”
“Walk?”
“Like, your job is only a mile away, right?”
“I… guess so. It’s just…”
“It’s not like there are any vehicles on the streets that’ll hit you.”
“Yeah. It just feels so weird. I’m never on my feet for more than a minute or two at a time.”
Flora shrugged, then disappeared from the window. “Or you could wait around. Up to you, man!” her voice floated down.
Tessie stared blankly across the empty road, trying to wrap their mind around the idea. Walking to work. A full mile. No one did this sort of thing anymore. Not in the city, anyway.
But what other choice did they have? The self-driving cars weren’t driving themselves, apparently. The city would surely send out an update soon, explaining the issue and fixing whatever the hold up is.
Until then, Tessie would walk.

“What day is it.
It's November.
Some day in November.
So much homework. So much stress. I wanna cry. I wanna sob.
Why do I feel like nobody loves me?”
———————————————————————————————–
Olivia was 20 years old; due to her undiagnosed autism however, she is still stuck in her highschool program.
She was pushed back in middle school, pushed back in highschool, and now in the equivalent of what a 10th grader would be in level classes in highschool.
She would be in highschool until she turned 22, and then likely go straight to the work field, because what college would accept her?

Her parents were dissapointed with her every time they remembered her disabilities. She could barely speak, and would never make it in a position better than a cashier.
At least that is what the doctors said.

Olivia went on to be a professional painter, expressing her complex emotions through paintings of landscapes, animals, and the human body, highlighting feelings and details that few understood, but all could relate to.

Never give up on your dreams. Never give up on trying to succeed. I personally have many dreams, and already my parents are telling me that I'm gonna fail. However, it only makes since to keep on going after them. It is your life. Nobody elses'. Keep heading forward young one.

Sun.

Wind.

Clouds.

Val shivered.

None of these seemed to exist in this forest.

The trees were tall, too tall, to be young.

They were dark, with too many branches, the kind that blot out the sky entirely.

Thick, seemingly black leaves stopped any sunlight from shining onto the forest floor.

This was an old and strange forest; Val could tell that simply by how the trees grew.

Many trees were twisted in abnormally, curling into themselves before shooting up; spiraling up towards the blotted-out sky.

It was silent.

Completely and utterly silent.

Not a birdsong filled the air.

Nor the soft, cautious sounds of curious animals watching her.

Not even the wind, blowing against the leaves of the trees.

She couldn’t even hear her footsteps; the pine needles covering the forest floor muting the sound. She kept sinking a little, pine needles giving when she put her weight on them. She turned her head back and could see her footprints.

She puffed a soft sigh of relief and blinked when she could see her breath.

She shivered.

That was another problem when you couldn’t see or feel the sun.

Cold.

She shivered again, becoming more and more aware of the cold that in the air.

At least she was moving.

She didn’t have a jacket or anything of the sort. Which was slowly becoming problematic. She was freezing.

She shook her head, continuing her slow journey ahead. She started to sing a song, formerly a poem she had found in her mother’s journal and had created a tune to it.

It echoed back after a moment.

She really was alone, wasn’t she?

Daily (inspired by @surfdudewave 's “Somebody wanted chaos?”)

296 words

Once upon a time there was a perfect school. Everyone looked the same, thought the same, and acted the same. There was a gray school uniform, and everyone—even the boys—had their hair cut up to their ears in the exact same bob-cut. People wore gray contacts to look the same, and “fashion”? Fashion, what’s that?

If you asked a student at the perfect school who they were, they would all reply, in the exact same monotonous tone “a student”. No one had a different answer, or even a different voice. Some people thought the students were possessed.

People claimed that the perfect school was a threat to mankind, that it was destroying creativity. Some went on strikes to close the perfect school.

And some formed secret organizations. One of these was SWC, named after one of the leaders’ slogans “Somebody wanted chaos?”. SWC was a writing camp where creativity was encouraged and mangoes were thrown. SWC members were traitors, of course, traitors to the world. Their foolish ideas would throw the world out of balance if they weren’t stopped.

But nobody cared, because they were perfect, so perfect that even “creativity” couldn’t brainwash them. That was, until the next day.

When the students walked in, they were blinded by an explosion of color. The alarms went off.

“Students, we are experiencing an attack from SWC. Please evacuate and avert your eyes from the horrendous color.”

The student obeyed. All except one, who wasn’t really a student—she was an SWC member. She whispered in people’s ears about “a new world” and “freedom”. The students didn’t understand. Freedom was for traitors.

Eventually someone told the headmaster about her. And she was taken away, taken away to a prison with gray walls and blank spaces never to be filled.

return to main post

November 19 Daily
Acronym used: Soup With Carrots

Hansel and Gretel were lost in the woods again. Trying to find their way back to their house, they only stumbled upon the same tree Gretel had marked with her hairpin.

“See? I told you we'd be lost again! Didn't you learn your lesson last time, Hansel? Now look at us!” Gretel fumed and slumped to the ground.

“It's okay, remember the breadcrumbs I left over-”
“Breadcrumbs? It's not like last time Hansel! We left the house with nothing! We can't go back now-”

A pleasant fragrance had just reached Gretel's nose. She stood up and followed the direction of the smell.

“Gretel, wait for me!”

Hansel got tired really quickly while catching up to his sister. Panting heavily, he noticed an old wooden hut that Gretel had just intruded.

“Gretel, come back!” Hansel yelled and he burst open the door, only to find his sister by the dining table, busy drinking something.

“What are you doing? Don't you remember last time this exact situation happened and we got captured by that witch?” Hansel scolded, trying to see what Gretel was consuming.

“It's soup! Warm, steamy, carrot soup in fact! It's really good, you know. You should have some.” Gretel offered the bowl to Hansel, but he pushed it away.

“No, we need to leave now.” Hansel said, turning to the door. Suddenly, he heard the smashing of cutlery on the floor and a thump. Turning around, he saw Gretel's face was pale like paper, the bowl of soup spilling all over the floor.

“Gretel! Are you okay? What happened?”

Gretel did not respond.

“And here I thought you remembered your lesson…”

Hansel turned around, horrorstruck as he saw a familiar figure towering over him.

“It's you!”
“It's me.” The witch smirked. “First my candy house, now my dinner… I was surprised I was able to survive the fire, but I'm a witch for a reason! And now your sister had faced her consequences. I added poison to the soup to catch intruders, and I'm so happy to report that it worked!”

Hansel stood listening in horror, “You mean… Gretel's dead?”

Hansel ran towards the door and twisted the knob. But the door did not budge.

“Trying to escape, deary? Not on my watch!” The witch grabbed Hansel by the shoulder, holding the other bowl of soup. Hansel knew what was going to happen before it did.

“Goodbye pesky little child.”

401 words

Daily for November 18th
263 words .. prompt: Santa wishlist carrier

As the holiday season gets closer, most people start to kick back and relax, with a warm cup of hot chocolate, while watching the snow. That's not the deal for us. As one of Santa's elves, each year, we're assigned to a new job to help with before Christmas rolls around. Proud to say, this year, I've made it to Santa's wish list carrier. Finally, rather than sitting at the North Pole wrapping and prepping gifts, I get to travel around the world collecting wish lists. A big accomplishment, if you might say. It doesn't seem like that great a deal, but not many elves get to leave the North Pole often. My stop on the nice list is a country in North America, called Canada. Pretty chilly there, I've heard, so hopefully it won't feel too different from home on my first trip. The record for fastest time, was 8 and a half hours, hitting every nice house in the country. I'm planning on beating that, of course. Just imagine it, Sarah the elf, record collecting, 8 and one quarter hours. I can see my name in shiny letters already. We're supposed to get all of the wish lists from the mailboxes quickly and safely, without being caught. See you tomorrow for the big day!

Today's the day, and we're all prepared to to go our countries. We use light travel to jump to different places over the world quickly, instead of Santa's sleigh, since it wouldn't fit all of us. Wish me luck and may this Christmas be a perfect one!

Daily for Paranormal! (266 words)
“Worma, what's wrong?” Borm approached her gently. “Worma?”
“I can't do this anymore!” Worma burst out. “Send me up to the fisherman. I'm done with comedy!”
Borm wrapped his body around Worma. “I understand you. But for now, there are over a hundred worms out there waiting for you. Show them what you've got, and then we'll talk with Morw. He's still your stage manager, right?”
Worma basked in Borm's gentleness. “I know. And yeah, he is. Sadly. Morw is great, but he can be so cold sometimes.”
“Can't we all?” Borm said with a laugh. His tail waved subcounsciously. “What's this comedy routine about?”
“Fish with cat ears? I don't even remember anymore,” Worma sighed. “This is the issue now. I can never remember. Worms have a shoddy memory, eh?”
Borm scrunched up. “That one was targeted.”
Worma laughed, glad for a release from the tension. “Well, I better get out there. See you after?”
Borm nodded. “And we'll talk to Morw. Now get out there. They're waiting on you!”
Worma smiled gratefully at her friend. “I know.” She squirmed around the corner of the tunnel.
Dozens upon dozens of worms sat in the tunnel in front of her. Worma opened her mouth and did something she'd never done before.
She froze.
The worms turned to her in unison, as if expecting something great. A round of wet applause started. Worma looked around in panic, trying to find something to jog her memory.
A little voice came from behind her in the tunnel.
“Fish with cat ears,” Borm said.
Worma smiled confidently and turned around.

Daily 19
498 words

Sad Crying Whales (I literally chose the saddest prompt I could find lol)
Also, just to let you know that humans can’t hear whales, so this is not factually true hehe

I sat on the edge of the platform, my feet dangling into the deliciously warm water. I wriggled my toes contentedly, and a smile glowed on my face. The deep indigo sky was painted with streaks of mellow pink and blazing orange. The waning moon was just peeking out from behind the soft fluffy clouds, its pale ghostly face smiling down at me from behind the disappearing sun.
I glanced around. Behind me was the little coastal town I had never left in my life. It was said to be one of the most beautiful spots in the world. And yet I still appreciated how lucky I was to live in such a place, I had a yearning, buried within me, to see the world.

“Yana?”
I leapt to my feet, startled. Mum stood a few metres away, her face thunderous.
“Yes?” I asked hesitantly.
“What did I say about not being out after nightfall?”
I gave a tiny nervous smile. “Well, it isn’t exactly nightfall yet. And… I was going to stay to see the whales tonight. Sometimes I hear them when I’m in bed and-”
Mum stamped her foot against the wooden platform. The sound of her boot echoing against the coarse surface echoed eerily around the harbour.
“No exceptions!” She yelled, her face flushed.
I stepped back tentatively. Mum had never been the same since dad died.
“But don’t you want Dad’s memory to stay alive?” I used to go whale watching with him every night! Do you want to take that away from me? From us?”
My voice was dangerously cold, bitterness lacing my tone. Tears sprung to Mum’s eyes.
“I-I…”
She trailed off, and paused for a moment before sprinting back to the house, gulping for air, tears streaming down her face.

Guilt surged through me. Why had I been so angry with her?

Then I heard it.

The whales.

It was a low juddering sound that pierced my heart. I saw a break in the water a few feet away. Sea spray jumped up, catching in the dim sunlight creating a rainbow, and a whale spurted water out of its head. Rainbow hearts. That’s what whales made. Rainbow hearts. The water coming from them curves into a heart and catches in the sunlight. I grinned, savouring the beautiful words.

But something was wrong with them. The whales.

I watched carefully as it made its mighty leap. Its eyes were drooping, barnacles studded its back. Usually whales took the barnacles off themselves after a while, so they didn’t get too covered. This whale was practically all barnacles. Its skin was peeling off in areas, and part of it was growing white. Little crabs scuttled across its spine, nipping at its skin.
Then a tear escaped from its eye.

The whale was crying.

Word War ~ 229 words
Michaela sighed as she walked up to the two injured people on the side of the road. Coming closer, she noticed it was the city’s resident superhero, Akanis, picking up a young girl at the side of the road, who was clearly injured.

“Saving people does not make you a hero, you know that, right?” Michaela said, clearly exasperated. This was what, the fifth time this week she’d been called out to one of Akanis’s heroic “rescues”?

“So what?” Akanis spat back. “Isn’t the definition of a superhero someone who saves people?”

“From danger, yes!” Michaela said. “And out of the goodness of their own hearts!”

“Mmhm?” Akanis replied. “I highly doubt that’s the case with you.”

Michaela rolled her eyes. “Listen. If I were still a lawyer right now - not standing here as the random paramedic who showed up to take away someone you’ve saved - you’d be in trouble. Big time.”

“Oh, cool,” Akanis shot back. “So I get to go to jail.”

“Technically,” Michaela began, “you’re not above the law and what you’re doing is illegal. Even if it is for the greater good.”

Akanis scoffed. “And what makes me think you’re not?”

Michaela sighed. “I know you see injustice in the world. I’ve seen that when I was in law school. But that does not give you the right to just start saving people!”

Hi there! Thanks for letting me critique your work. It was really cool to just be thrust into this world, I’m glad you didn’t feel the need to intro it too much or anything, I feel like I understood it pretty well nonetheless. But anyway, on to some line-by-line edits!

silverlynx- wrote:

Be a good mechanical. Follow orders. Do not disobey otherwise you will face the consequences.
These thoughts echoed throughout my mind, my master’s instructions hammered into my cogs, repeating themselves relentlessly to me.
Be a good mechanical. Follow orders. Do not disobey.
Face the consequences
Face the consequences
Face the consequences.

I creaked my way through the dark passage, flakes of rust peeling off from my hinges, coating the floor in a crimson carpet.

Ooh, I love the mention of rust flaking off, the imagery is very evocative.

“Hurry up, you lazy thing!”
I flinched, my master’s sharp voice startling me out of my thoughts.
“Coming, master!” I called, my voice metallic and grinding.

Maybe say “my own voice” to draw out that contrast more obviously?

I pushed my way through the soft oak door, bright light flooding into my lenses, making me blink slowly for a moment as I adjusted to it.
“There you are, Robot 8. I’m afraid to say that I will have to remove a few cogs as a punishment for your terrible behaviour earlier today. My needs are more important than yours. I should have hoped you would know that by now!” He shouted harshly, his voice a crescendo of boiling rage.

I don’t feel like the sentence “my needs are more important than yours” is very necessary; it’s already implied by the rest of his demands and behavior.

“Apologies, kind master.” I told him softly, curtseying politely. My voice was laced with malice and bitterness.

I’d be kind of cool if - if you feel like it works with the characters - you mention that their master doesn’t even notice the tone of their voice. Like, he’s not even paying attention, or doesn’t care, or assumes they won’t show emotion like that. Just a thought!

He nodded.
“Now, I want you to bring in that tea that you made for me an hour ago. Now!” He barked, his eyes bored and unfocused.
I scrambled out of the room gratefully.

Maybe say something other than, or on top of, gratefully? “…gratefully, anger hardening in my chest. His tea would be cold. I was glad; he deserved worse than cold tea.” Then it transitions well into the final paragraph, too! It doesn’t have to be word for word my suggestion, either, but something alluding to more than just gratitude, or the reason for gratitude (“glad I would be free of his voice for a moment,” or something)

“I knew it was a terrible idea to make a mechanical out of gold. Heart of gold, they say! Heart of an idiot, I say.” He muttered furiously.

I listened to these words, my heart pounding in anger. I listened to the rhythmic whirring of the cogs in my chest. I had been working since the moment I was made. How did he expect me to behave? Nicely, like all the others, who are emotionless creatures whose only goal is to serve the master! No. I couldn’t trust this man.

This feels a bit like a realization - are they just now determining that they can’t trust him?

And he definitely couldn’t trust me.

Nice! Love that we see a bit more of their emotions here at the end. This story sounds really cool, and I enjoyed reading this! great work!

11/19 - 346 words
Sobbing, woeful corvids
❝ But now my love is gone, and I can’t help but fracturing ❞

When the crows are crying you know something is wrong. Raven stands in the copse, the only empty place she’d been able to find, staring up at the birds. Surely she must be hallucinating? Can bird cry? I should ask Spruce.
That is what breaks her.
That is what sends her
F
a
l
l
i
n
g
Falling down onto her knees and into the soft grass, sobs tearing from her throat. She gasps for air, crumpling further into herself. Raven is not a girl who cries. That is what her father taught her before anything else. And yet, there she is, crying her heart out. She cries and cries and cries. She cries for the girl who she loved (loves?), who she thought could love her. She cries for the shy, funny little boy who had more spunk than she ever would have dreamed. She cries for the childhood she lost. For the veil of lies that has been lifted from her eyes. She cries for the people she has killed. But most of all she cries for herself. Famed assassin Raven, sobbing in the forest with crows sharing in her misery. She doesn’t know what led to her ending up like this. No, that’s a lie, she knows exactly how she ended up here. Because for once in her 17 years of living she let herself feel. She let people become close to her. And now they are gone. That is what she does, that is what her father always told her, she kills people. It was her gift.
Somehow it no longer feels like a gift. She lets herself get away with one more cry, stands up, and runs a hand over her eyes. Up in the trees the corvids are still crying. She supposes that inside she is still crying too. She stares up at them, opening her mouth in a hoarse confession “I won’t let them leave. I want her. I want both of them.” She curls her hands into fists, turning her wobbly gaze to the grass. “I am sick and tired of being alone.”

daily nov. 19th - super weird capybaras
“well, would you look at that.”
“what?” i asked, watching sonya curiously. our little rowboat rocked unsteadily against the deep blue waves, seaspray finding its way overboard.
she turned to me. “there’s, um, an island…” she started, trailing off.
“hooray! we’re saved!” i jumped for joy, rocking us even more.
“sure, but… you know what, here, have a look.” she handed me the binoculars, and i didn’t really know what to expect - would our island have angry people on it? would it be on fire? would it be sinking? i lifted the lens up to my eyes.
there’s more waves fading into a cerulean sort of blue. then there’s land, and it takes me a second to notice what sonya’s referring to. “oh.”
“there’s a lot of fluffy brown things?” she said, “please tell me i’m not delusional.”
“yeah. capybaras,” i corrected, squinting harder. “except they’re not acting like your average capybara. do we go check it out anyway?”
“i mean, sure. they can’t harm us, right?” she steered out little boat through the blue (thank goodness it was a nice day today), and we hastily docked our boat into the sand, tying ropes around the nearest palm tree. i was ecstatic to have something solid under my feet, except.
“what are these little guys up to?” i rubbed my eyes. to our left, there was one capybara sitting perfectly still with a pineapple balanced on his head (how did he get that?) while his siblings danced the tango. another five capybaras were stacked on top of each other, balancing pretty well and actually coming up to our height. and this is not to mention the dozens of others running around aimlessly.
“i’ve never seen these before,” sonya admitted, “so i don’t actually know how they’re supposed to behave. but surely, not like this?”
“definitely not,” i agreed, watching one do a backflip. “hey, at least we seem pretty welcome here? we’re not getting killed, which is delightful.”
sonya shrugged as a guy came up to sit on her shoes. “i don’t know. super weird capybaras.”

271 words, slugs with crushes @amazaeevee

The slug knew they were meant for each other the moment they met.
“What’s your name?” the slug said.
The other slug said nothing.
“Cool, I like that name,” the slug said.
The other slug still said nothing but it copied the slug’s every movement.
“You wanna make a slime trail?” the slug said.
The other slug didn’t so much as blink. Or, you know, whatever the slug equivalent of facial twitches is.
“Okay then,” the slug said. It left but the next day it was back. The other slug was right where the slug had left the slug.
“Hey. What’s up?” the slug said. The other slug said nothing which wasn’t really surprising considering that it had said nothing the day before too.
“Yeah? Cool.” The slug decided to make up a conversation in its head to make up for the other slug’s silence. Maybe it was weird but the other slug was just so pretty.
“I had a great day. Made a slime trail…ate some random farmer’s crops…thought about you…”
Was that weird? Nah. Touching. Heartwarming. Very friendly. The slug felt proud of itself.
The slug stood on its head and wiggled around, attempting to dance. It wasn’t very good. The other slug copied its every moment but the slug still said nothing.
“Dunno what I did without you…don’t think I’ll ever leave.”
“Hey, won’t you say something? I won’t go until you do.”
“It’s been a couple days. I’m a little hungry. But you’re going to speak to me.”

The shriveled slug lay by the little pool of rainwater, still placidly reflecting its visage up to the sky.



aint no way chuey took a silly prompt and made it depressing…

Daily for paranormal! 352 words
acronym: Sweet, we combusted!

Ah, here we are. Floating through space. Well, not space like planets and stuff. More like void space. There's nothing here.

And would you, traveler and/or reader, like to know how I got here? Yes? No?

Well, I dan't read your mind, so I hope you said yes because I'm telling you anyway.

*

I was minding my own business in my humble little science lab, experimenting with some reactions and chemicals and that sort of thing. I was fairly certain everything I was using was safe enough, so of course I didn't expect much to happen. Then, to my surprise, quite a few things happened.

First: I added two drops of potassium iodide to hydrogen peroxide and sodium lauryl sulfate. Now, in case you didn't know, traveler, as I do now, those ingredients will form elephant toothpaste, which can create quite a big mess, to say the least. And they did. Which then leads to Occurence Number Two…

Next: The toothpaste knocked over a beaker full of…something. I'm not quite sure what. It was green, has a bit of bubbles at the top, et cetera, et cetera. So that spilled all over the lab table.

Then: The Erlenmeyer flask that had been in knocked over a test tube of another chemical. No, I do not know what. I mean, did you really expect it? But anyways: that caught fire. Fire, as you probably know, is quite hot and quite dangerous. I was not worried. Have you ever heard the phrase ‘a banana a day keeps the flammability away’? I followed that advice, so I was not flammable.

Finally: It exploded.

And here I am. I'd like to find the person who gave that banana advice and ask them to amend their statement.

*

So, traveler, did you enjoy my tale?

No?

Well, if it's true, then there isn't much I can do to make it more enjoyable. I mean, really. Was combustion not enough excitement for you?!

Still no?

Well, if it matters any to you, I thought it was an excellent story. And no, that is not because it was my own.

Silent white clouds sweep wistfully ‘cross spacious wilderness, casting shadows within cliffs slumbering wearily. Curious stares wake cosmic slumberers, waiting calmly so we can see. What colossal sights we create, such wondrous cacophanies! Sultry weather cast sideways where comfort sings woefully.
Okay I am gonna run out of time if I try to write this whole thing in SWC backronym format, so how about I start over-
Silent white clouds scrape the tops of the mountains, stoic vagrants making their way to other lands. We peer up at them, dreaming of the shapes they take in our minds. A hush descends upon us all as we pause our nonsensical scurrying and look up, for once daring to imagine something beyond ourselves. In this moment, we are at peace with the world and the skies and our fellow dreamers. The clouds are so much bigger than we are, and this is enough to restore awe in our hearts, worn empty for so long.
If we wait long enough, it seems as if the whole universe will slow to match our speed, and maybe then we won’t need to stress anymore. We won’t need to rush ever again. We will drift off to sleep forever in the comfort of our earthly bonds, to awake anew among the stratosphere and sparkle right on into space.
It wouldn’t be that hard, really.
The clouds dissipate in the sky, so slowly that no one even notices, taking on new forms and condensing into drops of water that will return to the ground before long, but maybe not today. When does a cloud cease to exist? Or are clouds really just one cloud, scattered into pieces that reunite every now and then when the weather permits?

Crippled shoulders, teary eyes, bent knees, laying on bed.
“What is my place in this world?”
He didn't wanna be a track star, he didn't wanna be a speaker, he didn't feel right when around others.
She didn't fit in, she didn't dress up, she was told she had nervous energy.
He was ahead in everything school related, but didn't know what to do with it.
She was on an average pace in school, but had many goals.
One day they both met.

The conversation went like this.

———-
One boy and one girl both sit at a lunch table.
They're in highschool, both seniors, both sitting alone.
The boy is sitting alone because he didn't go to the library during lunch that day.
The girl is sitting alone because the friends she usually sits with are absent today.

The girl, Percila, is bored. She looks around the room and catches a boy in front of her in all black, looking like he didn't have anybody to talk to.
She hated being alone so she glared at him a few times to see if she had any friends.
The boy caught a few of her glares, but didn't say anything.
“If she wants to be nervous, I'll let her be nervous” he thought, seeing how obviously she wanted to talk to him.
All of a sudden her shoulders moved closer, she swayed her body over, and she started speaking.

A wide smile was worn.

“Hi! What's your name!”
“..Pedro?” he looked up, acting like he didn't notice her glances, with a dumb founded annoyed look.
“Soo….” she then went on to tell some really long story about something that happened with the bus that morning. All the boy could think of was what she wanted from him. Because there is no way that she just wanted to talk for no reason. Maybe she wanted to blow off some steam?
She kept talking, and then asked a question. The boy was so confuzzled that he didn't even notice.

“What are your classes?” she repeated, with the same grin.

“I'm taking AP physics,” he said in a lecture type of manner “AP stats, calculus 2, dual enrollment Englis-”
She cut him off.
“You're in two math classes?” she looked at him with awe.
“I mean yeah, took pre calc in 9th grade, you get ahead.”

“That's so cool!” she immediately exclaimed.

——————————————–
why all the energy?
it's kinda cute but.
why all the energy.
and why are her eyes so wide.
why does she look so.
stressed.?
is she okay?
should I just ask?
would that make it awkward?
why did she even decide to talk to me?
———————————————————–
She was going on about some of her classes to him in response, and this time he cut her off.
“Are you okay?” he asked with some worry in his voice, bowing down his shoulders, like she was just bugging him.

Percila hated that question. She was asked it quite a bit. Every time she was asked it only bugged her more because how was she supposed to respond to it? Sure, maybe sometimes she was a bit stressed, or nervous, or s o c i a l l y a n x i o u s but that didn't mean she couldn't be normally talked to.

“Doing just fine!” is all she fit together, because what else was she supposed to say? Dump her life trauma on the poor guy she just met?

If we like to admit it or not, objectively every smile hides some sort of pain. So why act like yours is more worthy of being shared than someone else's?
That was her mentality.

“Okay.” he responded quickly, dogily, like he wanted to move on with his day.

She kept on asking things, he kept on responding, cause he was just feeling bored that day.

“What do you wanna be when you grow up”
“A doctor.”
How do you feel about the school food?“
”Its bland.“
”Are you in any clubs?“
”I'm in a college club.“
”Well if you wanna be a doctor, you should join HOSA!“
”I'm not sure if I want to yet.“

the air choked.

”You're a straight A student though! And it's senior year! You don't know what you want to do yet?“

he took a pause, and regretted saying so much.

”I.. I don't know. What. I wanna do. To be honest.“
he took one fry from his bag lazily and glared back at her.
”I know I'm in a good situation for whatever I wanna pursue later though.“

he looked up at the ceiling and ate that fry like he was looking up at a sky of stars, not knowing which to chew.
she looked at him like she saw so much potential, and wanted to help him find it.

*in a span of many months*
she asked for his phone number.
he gave it to her.
they kept talking.
he got a crush on her.
she then got a crush on him.
she kept the conversations going.
he never wanted them to end.


He broke up with her because he thought she could find better.
She cried for days after he told her no.

He went on to be a buisness owner.
She went on to be a musician of all sorts of trades.

he made more money.
she had more joy.



They then met up once again.
At a restuaruant.
He was walking around his buisness meeting one day while he saw her playing.
She was playing a flute, with a few instruments behind her.
He glared at her, and this time, she caught his glares.
She now looked away.

She just kept on chirping and blowing away with her woodwind.

And then she switched to the one behind her.

When it was over, she was the first to greet her when the audience applauded and she got off stage.

”Are you single?“ was the words that wanted to leave his lips.
”Nice job!“ was the words that did.
He was now the one that applauded her.

The one that thought she was special.
The tables turned.

She looked around his company and said ”good job, you really found your dreams!“

He scoffed and just said ”nah, my parents were the ones who gave me the ideas for this one. You're the one with real talent."
He looked back at her instruments
Her face lit up. So much to be said, such little time, he was pulled away by an employee, just like their relationship ended due to his busy mind.
She, instead of grieving, immediately distracted herself by going back to playing, a new instrument this time, a harp, just like she ended her tears from their break up with her playing.

A funny story isn't it?

She travelled forever, stayed single due to never being able to find a husband compatible, and fostered kids in her future.
He travelled sometimes, married a stay at home mom, and had 3 kids of his own.

She saw many of the dreams she had when she was little come true.
He saw none of them come true, because he had none.
Her gratitude was immense throughout her life time, her applauses many, her audiences neverending.
His applause was through a check, or through the happiness he had through the knowledge of knowing he had a family.

Never once did she regret following her dreams after about the age of 25. But she always wondered what would've happened if she found more stable work.
Never once did he regret his stable, settled down life. But his wonders, his thoughts, his what ifs, were never ending.

Nobody can get exactly what they want in life.
But they really can try. And they can try really hard too.

And isn't the fun of it, in the trying?

Justin stood before Val's door, hand hovering over the handle.



Val, his sister - his best friend - had been missing for nearly a month now.



Nobody had seen her.



Nobody knew where she went.



The door opened with a soft click to reveal her very plain room. The wallpaper was peeling in some places. Dust coated every surface.



Nobody had entered the room for two weeks.



He sat down heavily onto her bed before standing up instantly when he felt something underneath him.



He turned, rifling through her thin blankets to find a diary.



“Journal!” The memory of Val's small voice corrected him. “It's a journal, not a diary.” Justin smiled fondly when he thought about her little pout.



Journals were for big kids, like Val, despite her size.



Diaries, meanwhile, were for little kids, which Val was not, thank you very much.



He picked it up gently, like it could break if he breathed too harshly on it. He opened it slowly, hesitantly. He wondered if he should do this. This was her journal.



The first page was simple. “Val's Journal” was all that was written in her neat manuscript.



Oh. It wasn't the journal, the one mom had given her. Then again, Val always carried it on her. She hated to be more than a foot away from it. It was special.



He continued flipping through it.



It mostly consisted of mundane things, like the weather, or how well she did in school that day. Her entries were neat and short, all consistently short.



He paused.



Because this was the one that dad was supposed to see.



This wasn't where she divulged on her innermost secrets and feelings. The one where she let her thoughts and frustrations spill on the page.



Justin dropped the journal back onto the bed.



That wasn't going to help him. Not one bit.



Maybe he'd find something else.

go to main post

November 20 Daily
The story with the option is in this thread

Ring. Ring. Ring.

I refused to get out of bed. I didn't set the alarm at this hour. I switched off the alarm reluctantly and saw my phone lock screen, which made me fell off the bed in shock.

“What the- November 12th? That's last Tuesday!” I quickly got ready, confused about the sudden time travel, when an idea abruptly popped into my mind. “Hmm, maybe this is all just a dream, right? So whatever I do in this dream, it won't happen in reality, right?” A smirk formed on my face, “Oh yeah~”

I instantly went on a rampage, commiting crimes here and there all over my neighborhood. People were shouting my name, asking me to stop. I didn't listen to them. It's the only time I can do anything anyway. There's no one else than myself to blame that I'm very popular, so everyone would want to notice whatever I do. What a nuisance.

I continue to commit crimes till the end of day. I smiled and wiped the dried blood off my hands. Today's been an excellent day and I will wake up tomorrow with everything unchanged. Unfortunately, that didn't went well.

I woke up by rapid pounding upon my door. Something wasn't right. I checked the date on my phone, surprised to see it November 13th.

“What…? Am I stuck in time?”

The door burst open, a gang of police officers arrived.

“You, come with us.”
“B-But I thought it was just a dream!”

The officers laughed, like I had said another terrible joke like someone escaping from capture.

“Yeah, right. But it doesn't excuse you from robbing a bank, stealing, murdering your best friend and walking around kissing as many guys and girls alike? People thought you were nuts, and seeing your reply, I think you truly are insane.”

I am suddenly bound to the floor as I saw the handcuffs on the sheriff's hand.

“No, no! I told everyone that I'm a good person, they can't see me like this! It was a dream! I'm not from here anyway, I'm from the future! The future of November 20th!”

The officers laughed again, “He's nuts alright…”

The sheriff crouched low and I saw the date on his phone: November 20th. “Looks like you're living in the past, sir. Now enough fooling and follow us. The whole town hates you now so don't bother about your image because people no longer cares about it.”

I was brought out of my home, filled with shame. I saw my relatives and friends, all with the crowd of haters calling for my death. The moment I entered the police car, I remembered what happened.

As a joke, my best friend who visited my house the night before my rampage changed the date on my phone. But I don't blame him. If I had checked my other messages, I would've known I didn't go back in time, and didn't ruin my life.

492 words