hi hi hi and welcome to the official jwc 2025 mega-thread!

⟹ information:
♬ this forum is where all jwc-ers can post our writings for proof so that we all don't have to make our own threads
♬ however, posting your writing here is optional
♬ please read all of this post to understand how everything works
♬ thank you and happy jwc! <3

⟹ what you can post here:
♬ jwc writings (dailies, weeklies, word wars, etc)
♬ any other creative things you write during jwc can be posted here
♬ notes, texting, etc do not count!
♬ please ask a host if you're confused about what does or doesn't count!

please do not start conversations in this forum! if you would like to chat with someone, please go directly to their profile as they are more likely to see it :)

⟹ how to use this forum:
♬ you can either make multiple posts for each piece of writing or you can make one long post that you keep editing to add writings to it :)
♬ for the editing type, please add your newest writing at the top so that the leaders can find it easily when adding points.

⟹ other ways to post your writing:
♬ again, you do not have to use the mega-thread ^^ it is completely optional and there are other ways that are ok to use as well <3
♬ you can make your own personal writing forum and use that forum to post all of your writings. please do not make multiple forums for each piece of writing you post. it's easier to have one forum, and that way it doesn't clog up the forums with a bunch of new threads
♬ you can also post your writing in a project, either in a sprite or in the description.

⟹ closing:
♬ and that's it! if you have any questions, please ask piper, em, chloe or myself on one of our profiles. thanks for reading! <3

⟹ credits:
♬ @school4girlhd for writing this post
♬ @iinspirqtion and @Eeveedonut for editing a tiny bit of it
♬ swc for inspiration

FIRST AND CLAIMED!!

౨ৎ┊aaliyah's writing ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

350/10,000

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ dailies

♥ jan 7: lyric analysis - goddess by laufey (350 words exactly!)

“Were you surprised by me? When you took me home. When the glamour wore off, reduced to skin and bone,”

This lyric is from the song Goddess by Laufey. Goddess is a mournful ballad about her ex-lover and about him falling only for her flawless performing façade. Her partner had projected a perfect image that ultimately set her unrealistic expectations. It is one of her most personal songs; she describes how the image of her as an artist overshadows her real personality. Goddess crosses themes of disillusionment and heartbreak. It depicts Laufey's journey as she faces idolization of her as a “goddess” rather than herself off-stage. The contrast of public persona and private vulnerability. The string of lyrics, “Were you surprised by me? When you took me home. When the glamour wore off, reduced to skin and bone,” is filled with raw emotion that she has hidden far too long and shows that she is human too. As a whole, this ethereal song includes many other intimate lyrics and soul-stirring melodies.

“Goddess’ is my most honest song yet,” Laufey insights in a press release. “I wrote it alone at my piano after feeling like someone had fallen in love with the version of me they’d seen on stage, just to find that I wasn’t what they projected once I was off stage. They deemed me to no longer be a shiny thing when the glamor wore off, reduced to skin and bone.”

I relate to this song not on a romantic note, rather, me setting a likeable deception and masking my real identity; so much so I don't even know what my “real” identity is. I feel as if I change myself based on the person I'm speaking to, I morph myself into a good friend for others and take on their personality. There are many ways around how you could perceive this song, however; the pressuring academic expectations also fit into my life. I struggle to maintain my parents' requests for “straight A's,” and “outstanding extracurriculars”. It feels as if they're projecting their dreams onto me because they are incapable of doing so. I need everyone to realize that I'm human too and selflessness only goes so far.

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⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ weeklies

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⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ word wars/dares

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Uh fourth and claimed?

Hellow

claiming <3

This is just a piece for a chance to be featured!
I looked up at the night sky, a cool calming breeze flew by, throwing your hair through mine.
“I never felt so calm.” Clover exclaimed, “It’s perfect.” she continued. I rolled my eyes at her with affection, my cheeks were getting tired, I smiled too much. She doesn’t know that it’s fake, she always says that pristine is perfect. I turned the other way, seeing fireflies and grass swaying. I picked up a clover and handed it to her, she flushed red and a tear rolled down her cheek.
“Are we going to die?” she asked. I couldn’t answer that. Joyriding in my new Jeep was fun, until it ran out of gas. We stopped and realized we were too far into the plain. All we could see was grass. No sign of cars of anything.
“I don’t know.” I managed to squeak. I was holding back my tears as hard as I could. Life is so hard to control, especially when you make the wrong choices, especially when you bring someone into trouble with you. Right there, I broke down, right there with Clover. Mistakes would never be left unpunished.
“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to do it.” I cried. Clover turned the other way, I never got a reply. I lied there all night, staring at the stars.
“Follow the North Star home.” My mom always said, but we were too far, to walk at least.
I couldn’t live without my family, a thought flashed through my mind. I remember every morning I would have pancakes for breakfast, sandwiches for lunch, pasta for dinner. I hated those foods, I would have them every day, but now, I don’t know what to do, I’m craving those foods. I close my eyes and let the tears dribble down my cheek. One sentence haunted my mind. It whispered
“Are we going to die?”

Prompt: Ten Word Stories, from Claya “Tiny shoes on the shelf, bought years ago, never worn.”
Word Count: 791/250
Points: 250
Completed: 11/7/24 at 9:27PM UTC

(warning: Uhh… sad implications? I tried to keep things vague, but *shrug* use discretion <3 Oh yeah, and I also have no idea what time period the videos are supposed to be in. Don’t think about it too hard and all the problems magically go away )

You look at the old video camera and scrunch up your face. Hm, how curious. You didn’t expect to find anything of interest while cleaning out the attic of your family home. It was 2044, not much from those eras lasted too long. According to the label on the box, this was recovered from… the ink was so faded that you couldn’t read the last word. You shrug. Oh well. You decide to click a play button and smile as a grainy video appears on a tiny screen, muffled audio coming out of a small speaker. A woman began to speak as she checked out a few photos in a catalog.

…

“Oh what about these ones?”
“I don’t know… they look weird.”
“But the little bear faces are cute!”
“Can we look for something else?”
“Okay, but if we can’t find anything else that’s better, we’re buying these.”
“Sure.”

…

You click to a different video. Huh, that one was short. The next one looked slightly longer, thankfully. You press play and squint at the video. A few balloons were in the corner of the video, so you assumed it was a party of some sort. The video cuts into the middle of a song being sung by a few people out of view.

…

“-to you! Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday, dear Jenna, happy birthday to you!”
The woman sitting behind a pink cake gives a small smile.
“Blow out the candle! Blow out the candle!”
Jenna hesitates for a moment before blowing out the candles. Her smile widens, and she looks straight at the camera.
“Oh thank you honey. I couldn’t have imagined such a wonderful birthday.”
The man behind the camera readjusts it, shaking the image a bit.
“Oh of course! I was happy to put it together.”
Jenna stands, though she takes a bit of time. She comes over and hugs the cameraman, her voluminous blond hair obstructing the video a bit. After she leaves the hug, the video ends.

…

You skip a few other videos, ones that look boring to you. You stop on one that looks like it is in the midst of yet another party, so you click play.

…

“Aw, thank you Marge! This onesie will be perfect!”
Jenna sets the package to the side. She is visibly expecting, wearing a flowy blue dress to match the blue decor around her. Marge replies.
“Oh of course dear! Just be warned, you won’t be able to use it for very long. Kiddos are notorious for growing out of clothes faster than the blink of an eye!”
Jenna giggles.
“I will keep that in mind, thank you.”
“Oh of course!”
Jenna turns to the table holding the gifts. She selects a small little box, wrapped in blue wrapping paper. She reads the label and smiles, looking directly at the camera.
“Daw, Benjamin, you got me something else?”
The camera shakes as he nods.
“Well, I can’t wait to see what it is!”
Jenna gently tears off the wrapping paper and lets it drop to the floor. She opens the small shoe box and smiles.
“Oh! Benjamin! These were the shoes I wanted! Thank you!”
Benjamin replies, getting up from his seat and coming over.
“I knew that I said I didn’t like ‘em, but they grew on me, so I got ‘em.”
The camera tilts down a bit to show the shoes. They were made out of canvas, and the front was dyed to have the cute face of a teddy bear. There are no laces, and they appear to be soft. The camera moves back up to capture Jenna’s face. She grins.
“These’ll be perfect for him! Thanks a million!”

…

The video ends and you make a face as you try to click through more videos, but that was the more recent one. You reexamine the footage. Huh, that shoebox looked familiar. You get up from your seat on the attic floor and move to look at the pile of boxes you had piled in the corner. You dig through them a bit before finding an identical shoebox. It’s dusty, so you blow at the dust a bit till it doesn’t cling to the slightly deformed box, bits of black crusting off of the corners. You slowly open the box, glancing inside. There the shoes sit. They are small, unassuming. You gently reach in and hold the shoes. You feel the tags that still hang to the sides and a sigh escapes your mouth, blowing away a bit of the dust and ash that had settled on the shoes. The bears stare up at you, and you meet their eyes, mourning the fact that these shoes never served their purpose.

claiminggg honestly pretty excited for this weekly bc I need this for my drama gcse

Kat's Writing Stack
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Dailies

Daily #1:
452 words

Hi everyone! This is my first session in JWC, and I'm sure that this is going to be great to start off the year, meet awesome new people, and brush up on my writing skills. You can call me Kat, your regular bibliophile (mostly found with a nose in a book), eccentric STEM lover, and cat cuddler. I play chess, badminton (occasionally), and attempt all brain puzzles imaginable. I have a love for sudoku, logic puzzles, zebra puzzles, and rebus puzzles!

To start off with, I use she/her pronouns, and live in the Incredible Smiley Terrain (my beloved IST)! My zodiac sign is Libra, but to be honest, I don't have too much trust in astrology- you would see me having my jaw on the floor staring through a telescope than poring over my horoscope. I'm an INTJ, or a 4w3! Also, I'm a big Potterhead, and I would be a Ravenclaw! I write, read (a lot ), and I'm a sort of theatre kid! My current task (obsession *cough cough*) at hand is learning Mandarin!

For this session, I'm in cabin Joker, which is surely going to be a blast with the wonderful cabin members and leadership team inside it! I'm not very athletic, but I will take a chance at running when I have one! Some of my favourite books are the Harry Potter series, Wings of Fire by Tui T. Sutherland, and many more!

Right now, I'm listening to Epic: the Musical. The vocals are just beautiful, the lyrics are breathtaking, and the music in general is just spectacular! I know quite a lot of random but true facts that can either warp the world in your perspective and realize that chimpanzees and crows are probably smarter than a lot of humans (I mean, some smart crows know the importance of a red light!) or just make you laugh out loud. Did you know that crows throw nuts on the road so the cars go over them and crack them, and the crows actually wait for the traffic light to go red and the cars to stop before heading onto the street to enjoy their nuts!

Another big thing- I love Taylor Swift, her cats (Meredith Grey, Olivia, and Benjamin), and everything about her. I love listening to her songs quietly, melting like a cat when petted perfectly! Among Taylor Swift, I also admire geniuses like Leonardo Da Vinci, Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, Albert Einstein, and Nannerl Mozart (even though she didn't get much recognition in the shadow of Wolfie, I hope her talented legacy lives on forever in the fame she deserves).

All in all, I'm very science-obsessed, ambiverted leaning to introverted, bibliophilic girl who cannot wait to write!

Daily #2
279 words

“No!”
“It's your fault!”
“Useless!”
“Can't do anything straight…”

Cries rang out all around Hazel, hollers of anger, yells of indignation, shouts of contempt. She wanted to leave. She didn't really know how to leave. This was a family reunion. Some family reunion. More like a major shouting fight…

An oasis was a safe place- a place in the midst of an unpleasant situation. Hazel wanted her oasis. The ‘children’ were over up in the play room, and she was the youngest person here.

She made an excuse and she darted off. Where to go? There was nowhere. Her room was hardly noise insulated, she could hear it clearly from there. She wandered down the corridor like a wraith, waiting. And there it was. The sight to an oasis.

But how would you know if it was a mirage? Stumbling in pleasure to have a refuge, only to fall on the dry hot sand. It was a trapdoor, and it led to an attic that she had hardly ever been in. It was cobwebbed, and dusty, because no one wanted to be in it, but she clambered in anyway.

The sound was muffled- that was clear. She cleared the dust and stared up out of the skylight at the big white moon. She reached up and pulled open the skylight, basking in the cool air. With the breeze, the commotion below was hardly a buzz. The moon looked so enticing, so calling… Hazel grasped up and pulled herself onto the roof. This was so high, so windy, so pretty with the moon staring down. Was this her oasis? She checked for noise.
Not a word.

This was her oasis.

Daily #15
362 words
changing the ending of charlotte's web, because the circle of life exists and charlotte will pass away and tears will be shed, but it can be less sad <3

“You've won, Wilbur!” said Charlotte, a big spider, and one could hear the pride in her voice had they understood her.
“All thanks to you,” said the pig fondly. “You will be coming back home to the farm, won't you?”

Charlotte pondered on this. She had been feeling weak after making the egg sac, but she would push through.
“Of course!” she said gently. “I would for sure live to see my children!” Wilbur laughs.

“I am some pig, Charlotte, humble and radiant, all because of you! Without you, I would be slaughtered for Christmas,” he said.
“I would never let that happen,” replied Charlotte.
“I'll ask Templeton to get the sac over, and then we'll wait!”

Soon, Wilbur was pushed through a crate going back to the farm. He had the egg sac in his mouth, with all the precious five hundred and fourteen eggs safe. Earlier that day, Charlotte and crawled over inside the crate, and they were snug inside. Charlotte kept looking at the eggs in Wilbur's mouth lovingly.

They were back at the farm in no time, and it was all the same, except the Zuckerman's nearly revered him. Mr. Zuckerman couldn't stop fingering the bronze medal and $25 dollars he had won with awe. No, Wilbur wasn't going to be roasted anytime soon! That pig had made a miracle, and quite an uprising. He had made Mr. Zuckerman nearly famous. To think, all those words in a web. And the pig had won him a prize too!

Charlotte and Wilbur were back in his pen, chattering away like old times. As promised, Templeton was having a nice feed from the trough, but Wilbur didn't care. All his eyes were set on Charlotte's masterpiece. He would guard it and make sure that they were safe until they hatched!

That winter, a miracle arose. The eggs hatched, they did! And tiny little orb-weavers blew away on the wind, paving their own lives. Wilbur cried to himself, with Charlotte at his side, comforting him. Except, there were three little daughters of Charlotte, who would stay with him! Charlotte talked and talked with them. The next day, she passed away, satisfied.

Daily #17
502 words in total; 262 words for Ally, and 240 for Enemy <3

Ally;
Kat stepped into Phantom Mansion. Gosh, it was grand! She ran around in the foyer for a bit, aimlessly, before stopping. There were supposed to be ghosties here, apparently, but they seemed to be out doing ghost stuff. Phantom was a very achieving cabin. They had many ghostly things to do.

Even though a lot of people (everyone) in PhantomTown were all for warning visitors away from this old place, Kat still couldn't resist looking where her favorite cabin lived.

Suddenly, she had an idea! She would let them know she was here earlier. She took out a paper and a pen (essentials) and scribbled a note onto it.

'HI. THIS IS KAT. FROM JOKER CARNIVAL.' Then, to complete everything with a flourish, she added a smiley face in the corner. This place had no smiley faces in sight, and thus it was incomplete.

She decided to explore for a bit, since she wasn't scared of ghosts. She darted towards the grand staircase and started to tiptoe across it, when she heard a noise. Without thinking, she raced down the steps like a frightened squirrel (uncanny resemblance) and ran across the foyer.

She pulled open the creaky door, and scrambled outside. She dared enough to open the door a bit and peek through. Lo and behold. Nothing. Well, there was a bug. So she had just imagined it. Heaving a relieved sigh, she stepped inside the cool mansion again. Then the bug hightailing it towards her.

“Maybe it's time to leave,” murmured Kat. (A cat only in the sense of being ‘startled’.)

Enemy;
Kat tiptoed into the factory, sniffing. The air was quite acrid out there. It was better inside, but she had mischief to do. With a grin, she brought out a clown's wig. She had found it lying around in the Joker Carnival, so she had decided to do something with it, something that might make the Engineers roll their eyes. Supremely.

She hid behind any opaque objects she could see, which in this gigantic place, were quite plentiful. She snuck to a machine, and brandished the red wig. Gently, she put the wig on top of the machine. She searched in her pockets for anything. Oh! She had forgotten about those sticky notes she always carried around.

Kat took up one, two, three, four sticky notes! On two, she drew crude eyes. One, a very bouncy-looking nose. On the last, a curve that would turn out to be a smile. In order, below the wig. She stuck the sticky notes neatly on the machine where they should be (they really shouldn't be there, but…) and giggled. The result was splendid, really! It was a very amiable joker face.

She patted the wig and decided then to depart. She crept the way she had until she was really close to those humongous doors, and then darted like a mouse toward the doors, shoving them open the tiniest bit. She thought that she might have heard an exclamation, but she exited gleefully.

Weeklies

Writing Dares

Word wars

Cocoa's writing thread <3

Dailies
things are empty here right now. check back later <3

Weeklies
things are empty here right now. check back later <3

Writing Dares
things are empty here right now. check back later <3

Word Wars
things are empty here right now. check back later <3

Hey everyone! I'm Annie, and I’m super excited to be starting my first session in JWC! It feels like a great chance for me to dive into writing dailies and share my thoughts and experiences with all of you. I have a bunch of passions that I can’t wait to dig into throughout this session.

To kick things off, I’ve got to mention that I totally love music. It’s such a huge part of my life, and I’m lucky enough to play the violin. There’s just something so magical about creating music and expressing emotions through an instrument. I did play the piano for a while, but I decided to quit a few months back because it just didn’t resonate with me like the violin does. I really believe it's key to find an instrument that speaks to you, and for me, that’s definitely the violin.

When it comes to my music taste, I have a few favorite artists that I'm totally obsessed with. Taylor Swift is at the top of my list. Her songwriting is just incredible, and I really admire her knack for telling heartfelt stories through her lyrics. Another artist I’m really into lately is JVKE. His sound is fresh and unique, and I love how he blends so many different genres together. Lyn Lapid and Chappel Roan also have a special spot on my playlist. Each of these artists brings something unique, and their music often inspires me to write and create.

Right now, I’m reading a book called *Legacy* from the Koltc series. It’s completely captivated me with its imaginative world and engaging characters. I find myself getting lost in the pages and can’t wait to find out what happens next. Reading is such an amazing escape for me, and I love how books can transport you to different realms, allowing you to experience adventures through the characters' eyes.

Now, here’s a little funny tidbit about me: I’m currently living in America, not Antarctica! Just a little joke I like to throw around sometimes. Life needs its moments of humor, right?

Oh! I should mention that I’m on track bear in the JWC experience. For those of you who haven’t joined yet, trust me, you should! I just KNOW you want to kick off my spot on the leader board, but I’m sorry, I’m writing 1k words today and hopefully you didn’t. Also, why can’t we add words for the same project twice? Watever next paragraph.

Before jumping into JWC, I was part of SWC for two sessions. In my second session, I kind of turned into a ghost—just observing rather than truly participating. That just made me realize how important it is to engage and really make the most out of these experiences. This time around, I’m super eager to see how JWC is different from my SWC experience, and I’m especially excited to be in the Phantom (Gothic) group. I think Gothic themes can be incredibly rich and layered, so I can’t wait to see how they feed into my writing.

Now, I'm not much of a movie person, but I recently enjoyed the latest *Despicable Me* movie. It’s always fun to kick back and enjoy a lighthearted animated story. The characters in that franchise never fail to put a smile on my face, and I always find the humor and cleverness in those films refreshing.

Crocheting is another hobby of mine that I’ve really gotten into. It’s such a relaxing activity and a beautiful way to express my creativity. For Christmas, I got a Woobles kit, which has been an awesome introduction to amigurumi (that’s the art of crocheting tiny stuffed animals). I’ve been working on different projects, and I feel so proud every time I complete something. Crocheting is like creating little pieces of art, and I just love how you can make practical items or cute figures that bring joy.

Speaking of crafts, I’m also a huge fan of LEGO! There’s something so mesmerizing about building with those tiny bricks and using your imagination to create something from scratch. For Christmas, I received a fantastic LEGO set that I can’t wait to put together. I also got my hands on a rip-off LEGO set, which turned out to be surprisingly interesting. Sometimes, those alternative brands can really surprise you in a good way! Building with LEGO helps me unwind and lets my creativity flow freely.

Family is super important to me, and I have a sister who’s also involved in JWC. Her username is @iinspirqion, and I believe she’s one of the hosts this session. It's really inspiring to have a sibling who shares my passion for creativity and writing. She takes on leadership roles, like being one of the leaders for the Adventurer group, and I love seeing her grow in her endeavors. We often share thoughts and ideas, which helps us both improve as writers.

I’m really looking forward to sharing my thoughts, experiences, and creative projects with all of you throughout this session. Writing can be such a personal and introspective journey, but it becomes a joyful adventure when you’re a part of a community like this one. I hope to learn from all of you and contribute to this awesome space where creativity thrives.

As we embark on this journey together in JWC, I encourage everyone to take advantage of the resources available and to communicate openly. Let's support each other, share feedback, and most importantly, have fun! I believe that the more we engage with one another, the richer our experiences will be.

Once again, I’m super-duper excited for this session y’all! Also I am high on the leaderboard for track bear > let’s make the most of this session together! Here’s to an amazing journey filled with creativity, writing, and lots of laughter. Can't wait to hear from all of you and see where this session takes us! Ok I think this is 1k words? Checks word count. SEVEN WORDS LEFT? Oh neverminde Bye guys!

Daily 2:
The twin suns of Gerath-7 hung low in the sky, casting a surreal orange glow across the sprawling crystalline landscapes. Elyra stood atop a jagged ridge, her silhouette framed against the vast horizon of shimmering crystals that sparkled like gems under the fading light. This world, once desolate and barren, had transformed into a thriving ecosystem of bioluminescent flora and resilient fauna, a testament to the terraforming initiatives led by the United Coalition of Planets. But Elyra was not just a spectator; she was a custodian, a determined scientist tasked with maintaining the balance of life on this vibrant world.

As she adjusted the visor of her environmental suit, Elyra’s communicator crackled to life. “Elyra, come in. We’ve got a situation at the southern outpost,” the voice of Commander Trask resonated through the static.

“Copy that, Commander. What’s the problem?” Elyra replied, her heart racing as she activated her grappling boots and started her descent down the ridge.

“There’s been an unusual spike in seismic activity. We suspect it’s related to the recent awakening of ancient tectonic plates. We need you to analyze the mineral composition of the samples we collected,” Trask urged, urgency lacing his words.

Within moments, Elyra reached the southern outpost, a complex of transparent domes connected by tubular walkways. The atmosphere buzzed with tension as scientists and engineers scurried about, eyes glued to their screens while holographic maps flickered above them. She joined them, her mind racing through the possible implications of the seismic shifts. The last thing they needed was another catastrophe like the one that had nearly obliterated Gerath-7 a decade ago.

“Elyra, over here!” a colleague called, gesturing to a crystalline fragment housed in a containment field. “This was found at the epicenter of the tremors. Look at the patterns. They’re unlike anything we’ve seen before.”

Elyra leaned closer, her breath hitching as she examined the crystalline structure. Intricate spirals and fractal designs wove through the stone, resembling the ancient scripts of an alien civilization long thought to be extinct. “What if this is a remnant of the Lyrian culture? They had technology that resonated with the planet’s core,” she whispered, feeling a chill run down her spine.

“Exactly,” Trask interjected, stepping up beside her. “If these crystals are indeed tied to their technology, it could either stabilize the shifts or amplify them. We need to be cautious.”

Elyra nodded, her mind racing with possibilities. The Lyrians were known to have mastered the art of resonance, a form of energy manipulation that allowed them to draw power from the planet itself. If they could unlock that technology, it could change everything. But at what cost?

Suddenly, the ground trembled beneath them, a deep rumble that reverberated through the transparent walls of the dome. Alarms blared as the team scrambled to grab hold of something stable. “We need to secure the outpost!” Trask shouted over the chaos.

Elyra’s eyes darted back to the crystalline fragment. “We have to move it! If the tremors continue, it could shatter and release whatever energy is trapped inside!”

With a determined nod, they carefully extracted the fragment, its surface humming with latent power. As Elyra cradled it in her arms, she felt a strange connection—a pulse that seemed to resonate with her heartbeat.

The tremors intensified, and with one final surge, the ground shifted dramatically. “Hold on!” Trask yelled as the dome quaked violently. Just as the structure began to crack, a brilliant light emanated from the crystalline fragment, enveloping them in a shimmering aura.

In that moment, Elyra realized that the answer wasn’t just in the stone itself, but in the bond between the past and the future they could now forge
together.

Daily 4
Faith Jorn is a 15-year-old girl with a vibrant personality that captures the attention of those around her. She has striking blond hair and captivating eyes that mix shades of green and blue, all complemented by her medium height and porcelain-like skin. Faith lives in Los Angeles with her parents, Lily and Felix Jorn, and her older brother, Ben, who often serves as her confidant and protector.

Currently in grade 10, Faith is a dedicated student who enjoys learning, although her occasional bossiness can sometimes lead to playful conflicts with her classmates. She has formed close friendships with all the girls in her grade, known for her kindness and sense of humor. Her sarcastic wit can be double-edged, often bringing laughter but sometimes crossing into teasing territory.

As a Christian, Faith embraces her faith, which influences her values and actions. Her birthday falls on April 15, 2009, a date she looks forward to each year, celebrating with friends and family. While she isn’t in a relationship at the moment, her engaging personality suggests that it may not be long before someone catches her attention. Overall, Faith is a multifaceted individual, balancing her strengths and weaknesses as she navigates her teenage years.


Daily 5

In the early light, when shadows wane,
Birds awaken, breaking silence with their refrain.
A melody woven through the morning mist,
Each note a whisper, a song that can't be missed.

Why do they sing, these creatures of the air?
Perhaps it’s joy, a response to the fair.
Celebrate the dawn, the warmth of the sun,
In each little chirp, a new day begun.

To mark their territory, a claim to the space,
A symphony of verses, a dance in the grace.
Their voices rise, like waves of the sea,
In harmony they gather, wild and free.

In the rustle of leaves, in the gentle breeze,
They craft their ballads with effortless ease.
For love, for life, for the thrill of the chase,
Each note an invitation, a delicate embrace.

So listen closely, when the morning is bright,
In the chorus around, there’s beauty in flight.
A language of nature, profound and divine,
In the song of a bird, the heart learns to shine.
164 words

Daily 7

“Just give me a reason” by P!nk

Mia, an artist, struggled with her art and her relationship with Jake. Feeling distant, she confronted him one evening: “Just give me a reason to believe we can find our way back.”

Jake admitted he had been overwhelmed but still loved her. “I’ve been scared of failing.”

Mia wiped her tears and suggested they work on it together. They spent the night talking, and “just give me a reason” became their mantra for open communication.

As they explored the city and shared laughter in the weeks that followed, Mia found new inspiration in her art, reflecting their renewed bond. They learned that love requires effort, proving that sometimes a heartfelt plea can rekindle what matters most.In a bustling city, Mia, an artist, found herself struggling to create. Inspiration had slipped through her fingers, and her relationship with Jake, her partner of several years, felt equally strained. They once shared laughter and late-night conversations, but lately, silence had replaced their joyful exchanges.

One evening, after a dinner filled with awkward pauses, Mia mustered the courage to confront the growing distance between them. “Can we talk?” she asked, her voice trembling slightly.

“Sure, what’s on your mind?” Jake replied, noticing the seriousness in her tone.

“I feel like we’re losing each other. Just give me a reason to believe we can find our way back,” she said, her heart racing.

Jake paused, taken aback. “I didn’t realize you felt this way. I’ve been so consumed by work that I didn’t notice how distant we’ve become. I love you, Mia,” he admitted. “But I’ve been scared—scared of not being enough for you.”

Mia felt a glimmer of hope. “I don’t want to lose what we have. Let’s start fresh and put in the effort together.”

They stayed up late talking, unraveling their fears and insecurities. “Just give me a reason” evolved into a mantra, reminding them of the importance of open communication and support in their relationship.

In the following weeks, Mia and Jake dedicated time to each other. They explored the city’s hidden gems, went on spontaneous adventures, and filled their home with laughter once more. Mia’s creative spark reignited as she channeled her emotions into her art, crafting vibrant pieces that reflected their journey together.

As their bond deepened, they learned that love requires commitment, patience, and vulnerability. They discovered that sometimes, all it takes is one heartfelt plea to remind each other of their shared dreams and unwavering devotion. Ultimately, Mia and Jake proved that their love was worth fighting for, rekindling the connection that had once felt lost.

Daily 8

In the town of Chronos, time flowed like a meandering river, twisting and turning at its whim. Days and nights could last hours, or stretch to months. The townspeople had adapted to this peculiar rhythm, measuring time by the events of their lives rather than the ticking of a clock.

Elena, a baker, woke every morning to the awakening sun, which could linger in the sky for In the town of Chronos, time flowed like a meandering river, twisting at its whim. Days and nights could stretch from hours to what felt like months. The townsfolk adapted to this peculiar rhythm, measuring time by life events rather than clocks.

Elena, a baker, greeted the awakening sun each morning, which could linger in the sky for weeks before sinking below the horizon. This peculiar fluctuation meant her bread could rise with the soft warmth of dawn or be over-proofed through a languid season. Her pastries became reflections of this unpredictability, delighting customers while leaving them curious about every bite.

Market days oscillated; one week, the market buzzed with chatter and life for days, while the next could feel eerily silent for what seemed like ages. People learned to savor each moment, engaging deeply with each other, free from the relentless tick of seconds. Lovers spent entire afternoons in cafes, with time stretching infinitely to hold their laughter and stories.

Seasons seamlessly blended, creating landscapes painted with ever-changing palettes. Winter could melt into summer in the blink of an eye, while autumn could linger to turn leaves into a fiery tapestry. The townspeople celebrated these shifts with vibrant festivals, sharing tales of time lost and found, binding their community through shared experiences.

Yet, amidst this enchanting rhythm, a sense of longing lingered. Occasionally, dreams of a world where time followed a steady pace surfaced, evoking desires for predictability amid the beautiful chaos of their existence. While they embraced the unique ebb and flow of Chronos, they couldn’t help but wonder what a uniform passage of time might offer. The tension between chaos and order danced within their hearts, shaping their lives in ways profound yet bittersweet.weeks at a time before sinking into the horizon for what felt like eternity. This unusual behavior of day and night meant her bread could rise either with the soft warmth of a single dawn or be over-proofed throughout a languid season. Her pastries became known for their unpredictability, just like the time that birthed them.

Market days varied widely; one week, the market buzzed with chatter and activity for days on end, while the next, it could be eerily silent for what felt like an age. People learned to engage deeply with one another, savoring conversations and relationships, free from the rush of seconds ticking away. Lovers would spend entire afternoons in cafes, with time stretching to accommodate their laughter and stories.

Seasons blended together, painting the landscape with an ever-changing palette. Winter could melt into summer in a blink, or autumn could linger just long enough to turn the leaves into a fiery tapestry. The townspeople came to celebrate these shifts with festivals, where they shared tales of time lost and found, binding their community with shared experiences.

However, as enchanting as life in Chronos was, a sense of longing persisted. People occasionally dreamed of a world where time followed its steadfast course, a longing for predictability amidst the beautiful chaos of living. They embraced their unique world but pondered what a uniform passage of time might hold.


Daily 12

910 words

In the quaint village of Willowbrook, nestled between rolling hills and serene streams, lived a man named Simon. In every sense of the word, Simon was ordinary. He went to work each day at the local library, sorted through books, and returned home to a simple apartment filled with the scent of old pages. However, beneath that unremarkable facade, Simon harbored a peculiar awareness: he knew he was a character in a story.

It began one evening while he was reorganizing a particularly chaotic shelf of novels. As he reached for a dusty tome, he felt a strange tingle at the back of his mind, as if a curtain had been pulled back. The realization hit him like a thunderclap — he was just a figment of someone’s imagination, a pawn on a writer’s chessboard, destined to play out predetermined plotlines. The weight of this knowledge clenched his heart with dread. He didn’t want to be part of this story.

Days turned into weeks, and with each passing moment, Simon felt increasingly trapped in the predictable rhythms of a life dictated by narrative conventions. Every morning was the same: the chirping of birds, the barista's cheerful greeting at the café, even the friendly banter with fellow villagers. These interactions should’ve brought him joy, but instead, they fueled a growing sense of confinement.

One fateful afternoon, as he walked through Willowbrook’s vibrant market square, an idea sparked within him. If he was in a story, then perhaps he could manipulate the plot. With determination, Simon decided to defy the script. He started to take unexpected routes home, avoiding his usual haunts and steering clear of familiar faces.

At first, it was exhilarating. He discovered quaint side streets and hidden alleyways, and the world felt larger and more alive. But as the days passed, things began to shift in unsettling ways. The townspeople noticed his absence; they whispered amongst themselves, eyes grazing over him with confusion as if they were characters searching for a missing cue.

It soon became apparent that his defiance had consequences. The narrative began to crack, as if the story’s spine was fraying. The once-bustling marketplace grew quiet, the colors of the village dulled, and a heavy fog settled over Willowbrook, casting a pall over its inhabitants. They moved in a trance, as though they were actors in a play waiting for the next scene to unfold, confused by Simon's refusal to follow the script.

It became clear that Simon’s attempts to escape had not granted him freedom. Rather, he had thrown the entire story into disarray. He struggled with the idea that his very presence was entwined with the lives of others, that his choice to rebel was affecting not just him, but all those around him.

Desperation began to seep into his heart. He didn’t want to be this character, embodied by the mundane but trapped by the extraordinary knowledge of his existence within a narrative. One night, under a star-studded sky, he made a decision — he would seek out the author of his tale.

With nothing but sheer will to guide him, Simon ventured into the forgotten corners of Willowbrook, following threads of intuition. He stumbled upon an aged oak tree, its roots sprawling like a labyrinth. Beneath it lay a small wooden door, adorned with intricate carvings of scenes he recognized from his own life. Taking a deep breath, he pushed it open, stepping into a realm of shadows and whispers — the writer’s chamber.

Inside, he found stacks of pages, ink-stained quills, and the scent of old parchment mingling with the air. It was both beautiful and haunting. And there, sitting at an ancient desk, was the author — a figure draped in cloaks, face obscured by a curtain of hair.

“Why do you wish to escape?” the author asked, a voice like rustling leaves.

“Because I don’t want to be a character in this story!” Simon exclaimed, frustration bubbling over. “I want to live freely, without being bound by your words. I want opinions, desires, true choices!”

The author leaned back, contemplative. “But character development often comes from struggle. Without a story, what would you be? Just an idea, fading away.”

“Being written is not living,” Simon countered. “I want to breathe and grow on my own terms.”

With a sigh that sounded like an echo of centuries, the author considered Simon’s plea. After a long silence, they set down the quill and regarded him with a new intensity. “What if I give you the power to write your own narrative, even if it takes you away from the confines of this world?”

A surge of hope filled Simon’s heart as he nodded vigorously.

With a flick of the author’s wrist, a golden light surrounded Simon, engulfing him in warmth. The boundaries of Willowbrook blurred and trembled, shifting like sand beneath a tide. He felt himself dissolve, spilling the ink of his existence across the expanse of imagination.

When the light dimmed, Simon found himself standing on a blank page, the vastness of a blank slate before him. Instead of running from the cage of the story, he was now wielding a pen — free to inscribe his life in sprawling letters, boundless and his alone.

And as he began to write, he realized that while he might have escaped one story, he had simply opened the door to another — one where he was no longer just a character, but the author of his own life.


Weekly Part 4:


Elena stood in her sunlit studio, her heart racing with a mixture of excitement and anxiety as she gazed at the blank canvas stretching wide before her. The afternoon light streamed in, illuminating the various art supplies scattered around the room: tubes of paint, brushes in jars, and sketches pinned to the walls. Just moments before, she had been animatedly sharing her vision for the mural with Marcus, their ideas flowing freely as they built upon one another’s creativity. But now, the atmosphere had shifted drastically, the warmth of their collaboration giving way to tension that hung heavy in the air.

“Marcus, I really think we need to focus on the visual impact first—capturing the essence of the characters,” Elena insisted, her voice a passionate mix of fervor and frustration. She took a step closer to the canvas, her hands gesturing as she envisioned the vibrant colors that would soon inhabit the space.

Marcus leaned back on his stool, his arms crossed tightly over his chest as he regarded her with a furrowed brow. “But music is what brings it all to life! Why can’t we integrate the sound elements from the start? It’s about the experience, Elena! Without that, the mural is just…paint on a wall!” His tone was earnest, layered with a conviction that spoke of his deep connection to his craft.

Elena felt a flush of irritation creeping up her neck. “It’s not just about the sound! Art is visual first! If we don’t get the characters right, the music won’t even matter. It has to tell their stories!” She struggled to keep her voice steady, aware of the frustration simmering just below the surface.

Marcus’s green eyes, usually filled with warmth and enthusiasm, narrowed slightly as he leaned forward, the tension in his posture reflecting the strain of their disagreement. “And you think prioritizing your vision over the music is going to connect people? You’re shutting out an essential part of the experience!” His disappointment was palpable, hanging in the air like an unspoken accusation.

Elena stepped back, the distance between them feeling like a chasm. The air crackled with unspoken feelings, and she wondered how their conversation had spiraled out of control so quickly. “I’m not shutting anything out! I’m trying to establish a foundation here. If you would just listen instead of insisting on your ideas, maybe we could actually come to an understanding,” she urged, her voice tinged with a mix of longing and frustration.

“Listen? You mean to your one-sided vision?” Marcus shot back, his voice rising as emotions flared. “I’m just trying to share my perspective here, but it feels like you’re dismissing everything I suggest!” The words themselves felt like daggers, cutting deeper than she expected.

Elena clenched her fists at her sides, a wave of hurt washing over her as his words pierced through her. “So you think I’m not valuing your ideas? What about all the times I’ve encouraged your music to intermingle with my paintings? This isn’t just an art project; it’s a collaboration!” The incredulity in her voice revealed how much their partnership meant to her.

“A collaboration? It feels more like I’m just here to support your agenda, Elena!” Marcus exclaimed, frustration radiating from him like heat from a flame. “It’s like you don’t even want to acknowledge what I bring to the table!” The rawness of his emotions hung between them, heavy with the weight of unfulfilled expectations.

Silence enveloped the studio for a moment, the air thick with tension and disappointment. Elena’s heart sank as she realized how far they had drifted in this interaction. The vibrant colors she had initially envisioned felt muted in the shadow of their conflict. “That’s not true, Marcus. I value your creativity more than you know. But we’re not going to create magic if we can’t find some common ground,” she said softly, hoping to bridge the gap that had formed.

He let out a heavy sigh, the fire in his eyes dimming slightly as vulnerability crept in. “Maybe I just feel out of place sometimes, like I’m not as important in this process as you are. I wish you’d trust me to help shape this vision,” he admitted, his voice quieter now, revealing the hurt beneath his frustration.

Elena’s expression softened at that admission, her heart aching at the truth of his words. “I do trust you, Marcus. I want you to be part of this. It’s about our stories—let’s find a way to merge our ideas instead of arguing,” she urged, her sincerity shining through as she reached out to reconnect with him.

As she spoke, the intensity in the room began to dissipate like morning fog under the sun. Marcus nodded slowly, his expression shifting from frustration to contemplation, as if he was slowly processing her words. “Okay, maybe I overreacted. I just get caught up in wanting to make something extraordinary together,” he confessed, the hint of a smile breaking through the earlier tension.

Elena stepped closer, placing a soothing hand on his shoulder, a gesture of understanding and solidarity. “Me too. Let’s aim for something that represents both of us. A true collaboration,” she responded, a spark of hope igniting in her chest.

With a tentative smile, they began to brainstorm again, their earlier conflict transforming into a deepened understanding that not only enriched their creative partnership but also strengthened the bond of their friendship. Together, they dove back into the flow of ideas, eager to weave their talents into a mural that would resonate with the essence of both music and visual art, creating something genuinely extraordinary.


Daily 13

Once upon a time in the bustling town of Maplewood, there lived a young man named Marcus Lee. Ever since he was a child, Marcus had dreamed of becoming an artist. He would spend hours sketching scenes from his imagination, bringing to life vibrant worlds filled with color and emotion. His bedroom walls were adorned with his artwork, each piece a reflection of his dreams and aspirations.

As he grew older, however, the weight of reality began to settle on his shoulders. Financial struggles at home and the pressures of society pushed Marcus to pursue a more conventional career. He enrolled in a business program and graduated with a degree, but his heart always longed for the canvas.

One chilly autumn afternoon, while walking through Maplewood's annual arts festival, Marcus spotted a local gallery hosting a competition for emerging artists. The winner would receive a scholarship to a prestigious art school in the city—the very opportunity Marcus had dreamed about all his life. His heart raced, and he felt a spark of hope igniting within him.

Determined to seize the chance, Marcus spent the next few weeks pouring his soul into his submission. He created a piece titled “Dreaming in Color,” a vibrant portrayal of a world where imagination reigned supreme. The artwork featured fantastical creatures soaring through the sky, flowers that bloomed in shades of blue and purple, and a sun that radiated warmth in the shape of a smiling face.

The day of the competition arrived, and the gallery buzzed with excitement. As Marcus walked through the exhibition, he felt both anxious and exhilarated. His painting hung proudly on the wall, a bright beacon among hundreds of submissions. As the judges examined the pieces, he watched their faces, hoping to see the same spark of joy he felt when creating his work.

When the time came for the announcement, Marcus held his breath. The gallery filled with applause as the winner was revealed—his heart soared when he heard his name. Overwhelmed with emotion, he stepped forward to accept the award. As he stood before the crowd, he realized that this moment was just the beginning of his journey.

With the scholarship in hand, Marcus moved to the city to attend the art school of his dreams. Surrounded by fellow artists, he thrived, exploring different styles, techniques, and mediums. His confidence grew day by day, and he began to create pieces that resonated with others, touching hearts and evoking emotions.

Years passed, and Marcus held his first solo exhibition back in Maplewood. The gallery was filled with familiar faces, friends and family who had supported him along the way. As he stepped into the room, he felt a wave of gratitude wash over him. Each artwork on display told the story of his journey, embodying every dream, every struggle, and every triumph.

That night, as Marcus stood in front of a large canvas titled “The Dream Come True,” he reflected on how far he had come. It wasn’t just the recognition or the success that mattered most; it was the realization that he had chosen to follow his heart despite the odds. His dream had taken root, and from that day on, he vowed to inspire others to pursue their own dreams, no matter how impossible they may seem.

And so, the story of Marcus Lee became a testament to the power of resilience and the beauty of following one’s passion, reminding everyone that dreams, indeed, can come true.

Daily 14 Based on the book “Holes” by Louis Sachar

As the sun began to set over the vast expanse of Camp Green Lake, Stanley Yelnats stood at the edge of the dried-up lakebed, the weight of the past lifted from his shoulders. With his friends by his side—Zero, Armpit, and the rest of the crew—he felt a sense of freedom he had never known before.

After uncovering the truth behind the treasure buried beneath the surface of the lake, they had reclaimed not just the riches that belonged to Stanley’s family but also their own sense of identity and purpose. The curse that had haunted the Yelnats family for generations had finally been broken, and hope blossomed like the wildflowers that would soon return to the barren land.

Stanley turned to Zero, his closest companion, gratitude flooding his heart. “Can you believe it? We actually did it,” he said, a smile stretching across his face.

Zero nodded, his own expression a mixture of disbelief and joy. “Yeah, and we’re gonna be okay now. We’ll figure it out together.”

With newfound determination, they set off on the path back to civilization, leaving behind the harshness of the camp. The promise of a brighter future stretched before them, filled with potential and adventure. Stanley imagined returning to his family in Texas, sharing stories of resilience and friendship, while Zero dreamt of finally finding a place where he truly belonged.

As they approached the highway, the setting sun painted the sky in brilliant shades of orange and pink. The surrounding trees swayed gently in the evening breeze, whispering secrets of old—but instead of tales of despair, they spoke of hope and renewal.

In the distance, headlights of a truck appeared, and Stanley raised his hand, signaling for a ride. As they climbed into the back, he glanced back at Camp Green Lake one last time. It was no longer just a place of hardship; it had transformed into a chapter of growth and discovery.

With the open road ahead, Stanley and Zero embraced the freedom of a new beginning. They knew challenges would come, but they also understood the strength of their friendship. As the truck roared to life and the horizon faded into dusk, they felt ready to face whatever the world had in store.

Together, they were not just survivors of Camp Green Lake; they were explorers, ready to dig deeper into the mysteries of life, turning every challenge into a stepping stone toward their dreams. The past was behind them, but their story was only just beginning.

Daily 15

Tubular dreams rise,
Waves of light in endless skies,
Life’s vibrant disguise.

There once was a surfer so tubular,
Riding waves, he felt quite peculiar.
With each thrilling ride,
He’d laugh, swirl, and glide,
In a sea where the fun was spectacular!

**T**umbling waves beneath the sun,
**U**nderneath, where all is fun.
**B**oundless joy in every ride,
**U**nforgettable moments collide.
**L**ight dances on the ocean's crest,
**A**dventure calls, a thrilling quest.
**R**iding high, we chase the dreams,

**Ode to the Tubular Waves**

Oh, tubular waves of the ocean's embrace,
You rise like dreams in a sun-kissed space.
With a shimmer that dances, reflecting the light,
You call out the thrill-seekers, ready to fight.

In your rolling form, I find my release,
Each crest a reminder of pure, blissful peace.
As I plunge into depths, where freedom takes flight,
Your powerful pull pulls me closer, ignites.

A symphony playing as I carve through your might,
With laughter and joy in the warmth of the light.
In the rhythm of nature, I find my own tune,
Riding high on your surface, beneath a bright moon.

Oh, tubular whispers, you beckon, you play,
In the heart of the ocean, forever I'll stay.
With each wave that crashes, my spirit takes root,
In the magic you offer, oh, endless pursuit.

So here’s to the surfers, the dreamers who glide,
On your glorious trails, where adventures reside.
Oh, tubular waves, fierce and wide,
You are the essence of life’s joyful ride!

Daily 16

In the quaint little town of Maplewood, I found myself officially in my chocolate era. It all started on a rainy afternoon when I stumbled upon an artisan chocolate shop tucked away on a cobblestone street. The rich aroma wafted through the air, causing a magnetic pull towards the door. Inside, rows of handcrafted chocolates glistened like jewels under soft, warm lights.

Each truffle was a tiny work of art, encased in delicate dark chocolate and bursting with flavors from raspberry to chili. I couldn’t resist and bought a selection, promising myself just a taste. But one bite turned into a delightful frenzy of flavors, each more enchanting than the last. I began to explore every chocolate event and festival in town, sharing stories with fellow enthusiasts.

Soon, I was hosting chocolate tasting nights with friends, each gathering filled with laughter and indulgence. We experimented with pairings: spicy Mexican hot chocolate with aged rum or creamy white chocolate with a hint of basil. As my love for chocolate deepened, so did my connections with the people around me.

My chocolate era became a celebration of joy, creativity, and friendship, reminding me that sometimes the simplest pleasures bring the most happiness.

Daily 19

In the bustling city of Metrovale, two college roommates led lives that couldn’t be more different. By day, Jake Sullivan was a laid-back marketing major known for his charming smile and affable personality. He shared a cramped apartment near campus with Sam Rivers, a computer science whiz notorious for his brooding demeanor and uncanny ability to disappear into the depths of the internet. Unbeknownst to each other, both were leading double lives that their college peers could only dream of.

Jake was actually known as “The Sentinel,” a local superhero who patrolled the streets at night, fighting crime and protecting the innocent. With his enhanced agility and sharp instincts, he thwarted heists and saved victims from peril. Sam, on the other hand, was the infamous “Shadow,” a cunning supervillain orchestrating elaborate cybercrimes that left law enforcement baffled. He wielded his technical prowess to manipulate everything from bank accounts to government databases, all while remaining an elusive phantom.

On the surface, their friendship was built on the camaraderie of young adults navigating college life and exams. Lazy weekends were spent playing video games, and late-night study sessions turned into deep discussions about their future aspirations—none of which hinted at their true identities. Yet, in their secret lives, a cat-and-mouse game unfolded. Every time Jake tackled a heist by Shadow’s crew, Sam would watch in amusement, savoring the thrill of outsmarting the very person he called his roommate.

Their relationship grew increasingly fraught when they unwittingly crossed paths in both worlds. During a moonlit encounter, Jake cornered the Shadow, convinced he was on the verge of catching the notorious villain. Sam, recognizing his friend in the flesh, played it cool, pretending to be just another onlooker caught in the chaos. “What are you doing here?” Jake had asked, masking his shock under the distraction of chaotic sirens. “Are you okay?”

Their parallel lives became a tangled web of honesty and deception. Convincing themselves that each was fighting for justice, they lived a delicate balance of denial. Late-night conversations turned poignant, laden with unspoken secrets. Every time they laughed over takeout, the weight of their hidden truths loomed larger.

As their college days wound down, both grappled with their identities. Would they ever unveil their true selves? Would their friendship survive if they revealed their secrets? The lines between hero and villain began to blur, leading them to question whether it was the power, the quest for justice, or the bond they shared that truly defined them. In the end, fate would test their friendship in a way neither anticipated—forcing them to confront the reality of their choices and the bonds that tethered them, no matter how tangled they appeared.In the quaint little town of Maplewood, I found myself officially in my chocolate era. It all started on a rainy afternoon when I stumbled upon an artisan chocolate shop tucked away on a cobblestone street. The rich aroma wafted through the air, causing a magnetic pull towards the door. Inside, rows of handcrafted chocolates glistened like jewels under soft, warm lights.

Each truffle was a tiny work of art, encased in delicate dark chocolate and bursting with flavors from raspberry to chili. I couldn’t resist and bought a selection, promising myself just a taste. But one bite turned into a delightful frenzy of flavors, each more enchanting than the last. I began to explore every chocolate event and festival in town, sharing stories with fellow enthusiasts.

Soon, I was hosting chocolate tasting nights with friends, each gathering filled with laughter and indulgence. We experimented with pairings: spicy Mexican hot chocolate with aged rum or creamy white chocolate with a hint of basil. As my love for chocolate deepened, so did my connections with the people around me.

My chocolate era became a celebration of joy, creativity, and friendship, reminding me that sometimes the simplest pleasures bring the most happiness.

Daily 21

The sun dipped low over the horizon, casting a warm golden glow across the quiet village. As I walked along the cobblestone path, a chill breeze whispered through the trees, carrying with it the faint scent of blooming jasmine. The air felt alive, like the brushstrokes of a painter's palette—the vibrant colors merging in a dance of warmth and coolness.

I paused at the edge of a small garden, captivated by a weathered wooden bench under an archway of climbing roses. The vivid reds and soft pinks ebbed and flowed together, telling the stories of whispers and laughter that had been exchanged here—echoes of love, longing, and reminiscence. It was a place that held memories, not only of the past but of dreams yet to be realized.

Sitting on the bench, I closed my eyes and envisioned a couple from a painting I once admired—a woman with flowing auburn hair and a man with dark, smoldering eyes. Their hands intertwined, they appeared lost in their own world, surrounded by an explosion of flowers and sunlight. I could almost hear their laughter, the way it melded with the soft rustle of leaves. They seemed to embody a profound connection, a sanctuary away from the chaos of life.

As I opened my eyes, I realized that this garden, with its blooming roses and dappled light, was my canvas. The emotions it stirred within me—the nostalgia of the past, the hope for the future—spoke of resilience, of growth through adversity. Each petal carried a story, and as I reached out to touch the silken petals, I felt a thread of inspiration weaving through my heart.

I picked up a fallen rose petal, its colors fading yet still beautiful, and tucked it into my journal. This moment would be painted in words, transforming the emotions strong enough to make my heart ache into something tangible, something that could be shared with the world. Life, like art, is a collection of moments—fleeting yet unforgettable—and here, in this tranquil setting, I was reminded of the beauty found in impermanence.

Daily 22

In the heart of Orchard Valley, the Honeycrisp apple flourished beneath bright blue skies. With its vibrant skin, a delightful mix of honey-gold and crimson hues, it stood out in the orchard, drawing in all who passed. Loved for its perfect balance of sweetness and tartness, the Honeycrisp was more than just a fruit; it symbolized a refreshing spirit embracing the beauty of nature.

Originating in Minnesota from a cross between the Keepsake and an unknown variety, the Honeycrisp quickly charmed farmers and apple enthusiasts alike. Its remarkable crispness and unique flavor encapsulated the essence of autumn in every bite. During the lively harvest season, orchards buzzed with activity as families gathered to pick the apples, ensuring each was ripe and ready for enjoyment. Sweet aromas wafted through the air, filling the atmosphere with delight and laughter.

From this enchanting fruit, I envisioned a character named Honey Crisp. With a radiant smile that brightened even the gloomiest of days, she had a remarkable ability to make everyone feel valued. Much like her namesake, Honey possessed a hint of tartness when faced with challenges, often surprising her friends with her resilience. When conflicts arose, her quick wit and spirited nature revealed depths to her character that truly shone.

As the annual harvest festival drew near, the residents of Orchard Valley adored Honey, recognizing that her blend of sweetness and zest made life richer. She was determined to showcase the importance of embracing all aspects of her personality. The Honeycrisp apples adorning their tables served as a reminder of the harmony between joy and resilience, echoing the beauty of their intertwined experiences.In the heart of Orchard Valley, the Honeycrisp apple thrived under bright blue skies, captivating all who ventured near. With its striking skin displaying a delightful blend of honey-gold and crimson hues, it was impossible to overlook. The Honeycrisp was celebrated not only for its irresistible flavor—a perfect harmony of sweetness and tartness—but also as a symbol of a refreshing spirit that embraced the beauty of the natural world.

This beloved apple originated in Minnesota, born from a cross between the Keepsake and an unknown variety. It quickly won the hearts of farmers and apple aficionados alike. The remarkable crispness of the Honeycrisp captured the very essence of autumn with each bite, filling mouths with joy. As the bustling harvest season approached, orchards came alive with the laughter of families picking ripe apples, the air sweetened with the alluring aroma of their labor.

In my mind, the Honeycrisp inspired the creation of a character named Honey Crisp. She embodied the spirit of her namesake, with a radiant smile brightening even the gloomiest of days. Honey had an extraordinary talent for making others feel valued, standing out not just for her sweetness but also for her resilience when faced with challenges. Conflicts revealed her quick wit, showcasing her multifaceted personality.

As the annual harvest festival neared, the community of Orchard Valley adored Honey, appreciating how her blend of sweetness and zest enriched their lives. She was determined to celebrate the importance of embracing all aspects of herself. With Honeycrisp apples adorning their festival tables, a powerful reminder emerged: the harmony between joy and resilience echoed through their intertwined experiences, making each moment more vibrant and fulfilling.

Every day, I wake up to the soft, rhythmic sound of water lapping against the hull of the boat. As a blue whale, the world beneath the ocean waves is my realm. My body, measuring nearly 80 feet, glides gracefully through the depths, a silent giant of the sea. The cool, saline currents tug gently at my skin, drawing me into a dance with the underwater currents that feel both familiar and invigorating.

I often float effortlessly through the serene waters, my enormous heart beating slowly yet powerfully, pumping blood that travels for miles through my vast body. The ocean around me is a vibrant tapestry of life, filled with shimmering schools of fish and mysterious creatures darting in and out of the shadows. Sometimes, I’ll spy a curious seal peeking out from behind a rock, or a pod of dolphins cavorting in the distance, their joyful clicks echoing in the water.

As I venture deeper, the sunlight filters through the surface, painting the world around me in shades of blue and green. Here, the pressure thickens and the colors dull; it is in these depths that I find solace. I glide through trenches and past towering underwater mountains, exploring the vastness of my home, an unending playground of mystery and wonder.

My days are marked by the search for food. I feast on krill, tiny crustaceans that swarm like clouds in the water. With a swoop of my powerful mouth, I engulf thousands of them in a single gulp, the sensation of them sliding past my baleen both gratifying and fulfilling. This ritual is vital, as my immense size demands a significant amount of nourishment to sustain my journey through life’s ever-flowing currents.

Yet, I am not alone in my travels. Species of all shapes and sizes inhabit this expansive world with me. Some fish dart alongside me, while others find refuge in the massive shadow I cast. There is a harmony in our existence, a silent agreement that we each have our roles in this intricate web of life. I often find myself surrounded by a chorus of whales, singing our haunting songs that resonate across miles of sea. Our voices connect us, passing through the water’s depths, echoing through vast spaces, a timeless communication that transcends distance.

But my existence is not without challenge. I must be vigilant against the threats that loom above—the swift boats that cut through our waters, the nets that entangle the unwary, and the encroaching darkness of pollution that seeps into even the most remote corners of the ocean. Each day, I swim not just for myself but for the future of my kind, aiming to keep our songs alive as we navigate through a world that grows increasingly perilous.

My life may seem tranquil, but it is rooted in resilience. As I roam the deep blue expanses, I carry the stories of my ancestors, echoing through the currents and connecting with the very heart of the ocean itself.

Daily 26

**Recipe for True Love**

**Ingredients:**
- 2 cups of Trust
- 1 cup of Communication
- 1 ½ cups of Respect
- ½ cup of Laughter
- 1 tablespoon of Patience
- A pinch of Adventure

**Instructions:**

1. **Preparation**: Start by preheating your heart to a warm temperature. Set aside a quiet space where love can blossom without distractions.

2. **Mixing**: In a large bowl, combine the 2 cups of Trust with 1 cup of Communication. Stir gently until well blended.

3. **Incorporating Respect**: Gradually fold in 1 ½ cups of Respect, ensuring it’s evenly distributed throughout the mixture.

4. **Add the Fun**: Sprinkle in ½ cup of Laughter and 1 tablespoon of Patience, mixing until the batter is smooth and inviting.

5. **Adventure Touch**: Add a pinch of Adventure to spice things up and fold it in lightly.

6. **Baking**: Pour the mixture into a shared space, preferably filled with mutual interests, and let it simmer over time.

7. **Serving**: Slice into moments of togetherness and serve warm, garnished with spontaneous little surprises. Enjoy!

Daily 28

**Title: Shattered Reflections**

Keefe Sencen sat on the edge of a rooftop in Everglen, the sprawling tree canopy beneath him whispering secrets—a familiar sound that usually brought comfort. But tonight was different. The moon hung high, casting a silver glow over everything, and an unsettling feeling gnawed at his insides. He had always masked his insecurities with humor and bravado, but deep down, the shadows of his past were creeping in.

“Hey, Keefe! Are you up there?” Sophie’s voice broke through his thoughts like a ray of sunshine. He turned to see her climbing the last few rungs of a makeshift ladder, determination etched on her face. She was always so determined, and it stirred something within him.

“Of course, I’m up here. Where else would the great Keefe Sencen be?” He flashed her a grin, but it didn’t reach his eyes. The burden of expectations weighed heavily on him, and he felt like a jester in the king’s court, desperately trying to keep everyone entertained while hiding his own pain.

Sophie settled beside him, glancing out over the forest. She was so bright, always radiant even in the darkest of moments. “I wanted to talk about our next steps,” she said, her voice steady but concerned. “I know things have been tense since the news about the Neverseen.”

“Yeah, well, it’s not like they’re going to just roll over and let us win, are they?” Keefe replied, trying to keep his tone light. But his mind was racing. What if he failed them? What if his past mistakes with his family and the chaos that followed simply repeated themselves?

“Keefe,” Sophie said softly, breaking through his spiraling thoughts. “You don’t have to pretend with me. I can see it in your eyes.”

He looked away, unable to meet her gaze. “I just… I don’t want to let anyone down. I feel like I’m always one step away from ruining everything.”

“Keefe, you’re not alone in this. I’ve made mistakes too—plenty of them. But we’re a team. Whatever happens, we’ll face it together.” Her words were like a lifeline, pulling him back from the edge of his fears.

He let out a shaky breath. “I know you believe in me, but it’s hard to see past the mirrors of my past. It feels like they’ll always hold me back.”

“Then let’s shatter them together,” she replied, her eyes fierce with conviction. “Every time you feel like you’re going to fall, remember that I’ve got your back. We’ll break those mirrors, Keefe.”

Those words hung in the air like a promise. Her unwavering faith ignited something inside him, a flicker of hope that maybe, just maybe, he could be more than the sum of his failures. With Sophie by his side, he wasn't just the comic relief—he was a vital part of the fight, and he wouldn’t let her down.

“Alright,” he said with newfound determination, a genuine smile breaking across his face. “Let’s shatter some mirrors—and maybe take down a few Neverseen while we’re at it.”

As they both climbed to their feet, ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead, Keefe felt a renewed strength. With each step, he realized that he was not just fighting for himself, but for those he loved. And with that, the shadows of his past seemed a little less daunting. Together, they could overcome anything.


**Survival Plan for the Zombie Apocalypse**

1. **Gather Supplies**:
- Water: Secure a portable water filtration system and stockpile bottled water.
- Food: Gather non-perishable food items like canned goods, dried fruits, and nuts. Also, consider edible plants in the area.
- First Aid: Assemble a comprehensive first aid kit, including medicines, bandages, antiseptics, and tools.
- Defense: Acquire tools for defense such as baseball bats, heavy-duty knives, and if possible, a firearm.

2. **Establish a Safe Zone**:
- Identify a defensible location like a remote cabin or a sturdy building with minimal entry points.
- Barricade doors and windows with heavy furniture and barricades. Ensure there are escape routes.

3. **Stay Informed**:
- Use a battery-powered radio or walkie-talkie for updates on zombie movements and potential safe zones.

4. **Create a Group**:
- Assemble trusted individuals with varying skills (first aid, combat, resourcefulness) to foster teamwork and camaraderie.

5. **Travel Prepared**:
- Plan an escape route to reach a safer location if necessary, identifying the safest paths away from heavily populated areas.

6. **Practice Stealth**:
- Move silently and avoid unnecessary confrontations. Use distractions to divert zombies if they are encountered.

7. **Stay Healthy**:
- Maintain physical fitness for endurance and agility, and practice basic survival skills like making fire, foraging, and self-defense.

—

**Following the Plan**

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows through the window, I gathered my supplies. I had managed to stockpile gallons of water and an assortment of canned goods in the corner of my safe zone — an abandoned cabin deep in the woods. It had thick wooden walls and was surrounded by trees that offered some natural camouflage.

“Okay, Annie, focus,” I muttered under my breath as I double-checked my first aid kit. The adhesive bandages and antiseptics were neatly arranged inside a waterproof bag. Outside, the eerie quietness felt unnerving, interrupted only by the distant moans of the undead. I needed to stick to my plan.

With my baseball bat in hand, I peeked outside. The thought of encountering a zombie still sent a shiver down my spine. I had decided to scout the nearby area for any additional supplies. I tiptoed cautiously, utilizing the overgrown underbrush as cover, molding my footsteps to the uneven forest floor.

Every rustle of leaves made my heart race, reminding me to remain vigilant. In the back of my mind, the image of my friends flashed. The group we had assembled would need to stick together; we couldn’t abandon each other in such dire times. As I reached a small grocery store that had been ransacked, I spotted a few untouched items outside. A glimmer of hope ignited within me.

With sweat beading on my brow, I scavenged quickly, remaining hyper-aware of my surroundings. The flashlight in my pocket served as a reminder that it was only a matter of time before night fell completely.

Suddenly, I heard it — a growl, low and threatening. My heart pounded as I turned slowly to see a figure stumbling into view, eyes glazed and hunger evident. I gripped my bat tightly, ready to defend myself. This was it. Time to put the plan into action. I held my breath and prepared to strike.

In the heart of a bustling city, where skyscrapers reached for the clouds and the streets buzzed with life, lived a young artist named Elara. Celebrated for her vibrant murals, she transformed the drab, grey walls of neglected buildings into breathtaking works of art, breathing life into places long forgotten. With a paintbrush perpetually tucked into her pocket, Elara defied a world that often overlooked the beauty hidden within decay.

One crisp autumn morning, as leaves danced whimsically in the cool breeze, Elara set out on her routine of wandering in search of the perfect walls to turn into canvases. This day led her to a secluded alleyway, a hidden gem tucked away from the hurried footsteps of the bustling street.

The walls of the alley were bare, adorned only by layers of peeling paint and haphazard graffiti, each mark whispering stories from a time gone by. As Elara examined the potential canvas before her, she spotted a peculiar symbol etched into one wall—a crescent moon intertwined with vines, ancient-looking and seemingly timeless. It exuded a sense of mystery, as if it had quietly watched over the alley for generations, safeguarding its secrets. Intrigued, Elara retrieved her sketchbook and began to draw.

Lost in her artistic reverie, she was interrupted by the shuffle of an elderly man approaching from the opposite end of the alley. Leaning heavily on a cane, his face was lined like the bark of a gnarled tree, yet his eyes sparkled with youthful curiosity. “That symbol,” he called out, his raspy voice warm despite its age. “Not many take notice of it. Do you know what it means?”

Elara paused, glancing up with a smile. “I was just about to ask you. What’s the story behind it?”

The man walked closer, leaning against the weathered wall. “They say it’s a relic from a time long gone—a symbol of protection. It’s believed that as long as it remains visible, the alley will be safe from harm.”

His words ignited a spark of inspiration in Elara’s heart. “What if I bring it to life with my colors?” she suggested, excitement bubbling. “Could I paint over it?”

He nodded, a glimmer of approval in his eye. “Just remember, Elara—the past is important. Honor it, but make it your own.”

With his encouragement echoing in her mind, Elara set to work. For days, she painted fervently, pouring her soul into the mural that blossomed around the symbol. Vines twisted and spiraled, enveloping vibrant flowers that burst into life. The crescent moon transformed into a radiant sun, embodying hope and rebirth. Bold shades of gold and green blended into a tapestry that thrummed with energy.

As her mural progressed, the alley began to attract attention. Passersby paused, smiles lighting up their faces as they witnessed the transformation. Children laughed and pointed at the colors while elderly locals exchanged fond memories of days when the alley teemed with life.

One afternoon, as Elara applied the finishing touches, she noticed the old man watching her from a distance, his smile radiant with pride. She paused and turned to him. “What do you think?” she asked, a mix of anxiety and hope bubbling within her.

“It’s beautiful,” he replied softly. “You’ve given this place new life. But remember, it’s not just the colors that bring joy; it’s the stories behind them.”

Elara stepped back, allowing herself to bask in the beauty of her creation. The wall had transformed from a canvas of neglect to one that sang with love and resurgence. Through her art, she wove a connection between the past and the present, stitching together a community that had flourished in solitude.

As the sun set, casting a warm golden glow over her mural, a sense of fulfillment washed over her. She hadn’t merely painted a wall; she had revived a spirit. The crescent moon and vines remained

Contents

dailies:

• daily #4 // 1/3/25
  

weeklies:

• link, name // date
  

word wars:

• word war #1 // 1/3/25
  

• word war #2 // 1/7/25
  

writing dares:

• writing dare #1 // 1/11/25
  

monthly challenge goals (try to complete 5):

• Go to bed before 12:00 a.m. 3 days in a row ✔️
  

• Complete 15 dailies
  

• RP with someone from your cabin (If you roleplayed for a daily and earned points for it, you can't count it for the monthly challenge)
  

• Complete 2 weeklies
  

• Win 4 word wars
  

• Write a 200 word minimum JWC fanfiction (If you wrote a JWC fan fiction for a daily/weekly and got points for it, it can't count for the monthly challenge.)
  

• Enter the writing competition
  

• Enter the MB Cover contest