Daily SLEEPY
561 words <3

6.5 x 100 = 650
1200 - 650 = 550
550 words <3


The lights flashed in my eyes, blinding me with each step I took. Yet I kept walking. I always kept walking.
Every single time I did this, I had to keep walking.
Step after step after step on the red laid out beneath me. Again, again, again. Every time.
Step after step.

Every step leads me further and further into this life. Further into these lies. Yet I know I cannot turn back. I can never turn back.
If I turn back. They will whisper, they will talk.
They will lie.

And those I love will hear those lies.
I don’t want them to hear those lies. And so I walk. I take step after step, but not for what I love. For what they make me do.

Their voices are thrown at me, flashes of a sentence fighting to reign over the others that they are speaking.
I wonder if it is worth stopping to answer their questions. If it’s worth stopping and risking the fall.
But I know I can’t stop walking.
And so I continue, past their words and their shouts.

I continue till I have to stop. I talk, I hug, and I chat with everyone that approaches me. Continuing to take tiny steps each second, dancing on my toes.

That is my true passion, dancing. I want to make each step I take part of a beautiful dance, not this life I’ve been submitted to.
I want to step onto a stage.
The lights blinding me not because of cameras, but because of illumination for my dreams.
I want people to clap, not for a conference or speech, but for my skill and love and passion.

I want to follow my dreams, but alas, I cannot. I am not allowed to follow those dreams.
I must submit myself to this life of pain and prejudice.

But in secret, I dance. I dance in my room, spinning and jumping to the music.
I dance on the streets, taught by groups of children and people following traditions.
I dance because I love to.

I do not love the life I am in at the moment. I am stuck in here because of their opinions.
And I will get out, by taking one step after another.

The day was almost over.
The lights were becoming brighter as the night descended upon the open air venue.
The crowds were becoming thicker.
The voices were becoming louder.
Everything was becoming more.

I had almost had enough. They all approached me, asking, prodding, poking. It was all so much. Too much.
My feet tapped as they stopped me from stepping. Always in the way. Getting in my face to ask me meaningless questions I did not know the answer to. Every time one of these happened they stopped me. I wanted to keep walking. I wanted to dance.
Dance in the rain.
Dance in the sun.
Dance in the night.
Dance through it all.

Then the music started.
And my bones are filled with longing, necessity.
I needed to do it.
I needed to dance.
I pushed past them, they couldn’t stop me from walking. Why should they have the right to stop the rhythm of my steps?

I stood underneath the lights.
Not on the carpet, but on a stage.
My heart is whole. Happy.
I stepped. And I never stopped.

- Livy <3

March 10th Daily || 641/600 words || 6 hours of sleep || Ignore how random this is. I decided to do this based off of the silliest picture in my album, titled “Questionlife.jpg”

Paul was a rather strange man. He had been maneuvering throughout the world for as long as I could remember. Everywhere I went, Paul was somehow there before me. And travelling was pretty much my job at this point. Not only did he appear to be in every place at every time, he also had… odd requests.

Paul was a rather philosophical man, every sentence, every question, bringing existential crises to anyone in his vicinity who heard even one word. Sometimes, these sentences would seem abstract and rely heavily on analogies. Such as, “The world is a canvas, and whether or not you have control over the paint brush is up to you.” Other times, he’s more straightforward and upfront, asking things such as “Question life?” as if he were personally inviting me to lie down and question the very fabric of reality and why either of us existed.

Paul was a rather entertaining fellow, however. His appearance was intriguing. Not quite man, not quite worm, or something along those lines. Bright, goofy colours that you’d only see at a circus, or a Crazy Cap shop, with the purple and yellow motif. A silly top hat, a lovely little bowtie, and the most unique though unnoticeable hairstyles possible. His words, though philosophical, felt like they had a silly spin to it, speaking in such odd ways as if he were speaking a foreign language translated back into English. Although barely comprehensible at times, I personally liked his unique way of speech.

Paul and I, though never really acknowledging the knowledge of each other’s existence, I believe that we have some sort of connection. He’s willing to speak to me at any opportunity, and I’m willing to do my best to listen, even with my short time constraints of having to move myself from place to place. If I bring friends, he does his best to include them into the conversation, although it always does feel like he primarily speaks to me, as if he considers me a friend despite not having the slightest clue of who I am, not even addressing me by name.

Paul was an underappreciated man as well, it appeared that no one in the world but me truly acknowledged his existence directly when he wasn’t sharing his words of wisdom. One phrase he always said at the most random of times is “Paul is the favourite of all.” Although this is not true in the slightest based on my observations, I believe that he should be recognized as such. Most of us try to avoid the questions about what makes up our reality and stay in the box, and for obvious reasons. Who desires to feel worthless and too tiny to make an impact in a world where we make everything about ourselves? Though, I do believe that sometimes it is good to challenge what we know of reality, so we advance. So we learn more about ourselves in the process. I wanted to inform the world of the existence of Paul, to allow everyone to start questioning the smaller things, to one day come up with a bigger solution.

Through my journeys, Paul had now become a more appreciated man. People began listening to what he had to offer when I pointed him out, his audience began to grow. It no longer felt as if I was his only audience member. Now, he appeared to have a bit of an audience from around the globe.

Paul was a strange man, for sure. There was no doubting that. With how much he tries to challenge our existence with very little reason, and in such odd ways, I could see why he was such an outcast for so long. Though, personally, I’d love to question life with you, Mr Paul. Because you are truly the favourite of all.

we blinked almost in unison, flaring in joy when a boy looked up and pointed to us. we were haphazard, owned by different vendors and used for different things, but we were the landmarks, the things you saw first when you looked into the mouth of the alley and decided whether to venture in.

how did we know so much about humans? observation. if they raised their voices, sometimes that ended up in violence - which we knew meant bad relations - and sometimes ended up with the group splitting. which also probably meant bad relations. we knew, however, that small acts of violence were okay. things like a light punch on the shoulder or one palm smacking another. and there was always an upward curl of the lips, possibly called a ‘smile’, to accompany it. but… there weren’t many of them around here.

we watched this group with intent, then, to see what we could glean. their arms were around them - this usually meant they smiled less. and they were wearing black, which seemed to be a symbol of criminal or nefarious activity. this made sense, since black was the absence of light. they hid from us, again what we expected. at a place furthest from any of us, they leaned in towards each other-

without uncurling their arms?

what did this mean for their interpersonal relations? they were a close group, but… they didn’t trust each other? trust seemed to be a key part of relationships, though. why wouldn’t they…

“…literally take one left, and they’re…” one with long hair said.

a tall person shifted. “…get out our guns?”

“…probably, it’s for the…”

“wait!” a short person squeaked. or was that just their high voice? “we checked for security cameras?”

they all frantically glanced around, and we blinked in mirth. the tall person looked at us, and we waited for the crinkled eyebrow and the smile. the crinkled eyebrow came.

the smile never did.

“…lights are tracking…” they hissed.

their eyes all widened, a phenomenon we’d rarely seen before. was this realisation? perhaps another version of a smile- no, it couldn’t be. their arms were even tighter around their chests. they were pulling out sharp objects.

they began to destroy us.

the human with long hair took one of us from next to the noodle shop, and we flashed in panic, reliving moments from ages past. they smiled, but these were half-smiles, and surely no human could smile while destroying bringers of light. our vision slowly deteriorated.

one on the corner.

one at apartment number thirty-four.

one at apartment number forty.

one outside the ramen shop.

there were only a few of us now, and we felt so blinded not being able to see the whole street like a little deity, and we could do nothing. nothing at all.

just stay and watch like we always did.

it was interesting how humans never really questioned their decisions, just acted on them without much second thought, never going to friends or authorities for help because what if i was right. we thought that was the reason, at least. did we do a good job impersonating you?

one at the other end.

one next to the cart that would have been there in daylight.

one-

⭒ Daily 10/03 picture paints a thousand words.. (307 words)

9 hours slept <3
1200 - 900 = 300
picture being the hit me hard and soft album cover bc i just pulled out my vinyl of that ahah

her back hit the water, sending small ripples out like echoes, but it didn't hurt. not at all. it was nothing compared to the weight of her insecurities and fears, nothing compared to the constant criticism. as she slowly sank, she let the water engulf her- listening to the muffled sounds of the moving water around her.
it was cold. but not too cold, the blue comforted her, calmed her. she open her eyes the salty water sent a stinging sensation to them, but it was fine. she admired the way the light danced at the water's surface, something about it seemed so free- so naiive. it wasn't locked away, like a bird in a cage- like she was. it had freedom. something she was only just beginning to give herself.
her fingers reached out to the fading light, lacking any trace of panic or desperation. instead, the action full of wonder and curiosity. bubbles escaped her slightly parter lips, effortlessly flying to the surface as her body floated as if suspended in time. she closed her eyes for a small amount of time, letting the cool blue gently push her around.
a light appeared through her eyelids, she opened them. she could make out a door- surely out of place in the blue abyss surrounding her. she found herself changing her position- she reached out to the door, as if she was attempting to pull herself up to it. she came to an upright position, gently kicking herself up towards it.
tentatively, she reached out the the doorknob pulling it open. and it pulled her out. out of the blue abyss she was sinking down into- no matter how scary it seemed to others, it allowed her to release her worries, and pour her heart and soul out to something that would never judge her. never.

(307 words)

back to complete list of dailies and weeklies

Daily 10: Picture Paints 1000 Words
word count - 213 words

A cool breeze rushed past my face as I trudged up the limestone stairs. It was a long way to the top, but the journey to get there was definitely worth it. The foliage, pastels shades of budding flowers, it was like walking through a fairy tale - accept, this really was real. The bees were humming in the distance, and I could see flocks of geese flying towards the summit. Everything was perfect and just as it had to be.

Although I decided to travel alone, I was kind fo starting to regret not bringing anyone else along. The view was absolutely stunning and it felt like a shame to let it all go to waste. At least I got to see it though! As I slowly continued up what seemed like a thousand steps, I reached a middle-ground region where a bridge lay ahead. It was connected to a waterfall passage (at least that's what the legends said) that ultimately led to the undegroun grotto. However, let's not get into all of that.

The bridge diverged into two paths and stood strong, carefully lining the mountain walls. It was a steep path, but the view made it all worth it. I closed my eyes, focusing on my breath. I was at peace.

{Daily #10}
Write words describing a picture!
Words written= 1200-1000=200 (201/200 words)
Picture: “Cafe Terrace at Night” by Vincent Van Gogh

As I sipped my chocolate that starry night, I glimpsed how a town slowly became sleepier. My hot chocolate was paired with a delicious croissant, and I nibbled on it, taking in my surroundings. My notebook sat on the table beside me, along with a pen. This cafe would be perfect for the setting of my new literary work. The cafe lights shone behind me, smiling workers making the next day’s pastries. A small group of people were all who were left sitting at the cafe. Passerby slowly came closer and then faded away, each in their own world. Suddenly, I noticed a man there, sitting with a large easel and a set of paints across the courtyard from me. Perhaps he was a hopeless creative like me. I stared at him and he glanced up. He smiled at me. I picked up my croissant, hot chocolate, notebook, and pencil and relocated myself to a table closer to him. Although we didn’t talk that night, we sat there and listened to the night, him working on his painting and I on my writing. The stars shone down on us two creatives, and I smiled, content in the silence of the night.

‧꒰ა Vicky's New Writing Folder ૮ • ﻌ - ა ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

This is new one with my goals and a more realistic view!

✧── ･ ｡ﾟ★: *.✦ .* :★. ──✧

Goals:
By the end of this March I want to have completed…

- at least 2 weeklies
- at least 7 dailies
- leader app (text ver.)
- leader app (some of the visuals)
- wuc fantasy cygnus cabin
- co-lead the studio sxc
- progress on my main novel
- umbc a lot of progress

✧── ･ ｡ﾟ★: *.✦ .* :★. ──✧

Word Goal: 3659/10k

☀ Muxa :: Daily #10 ☀
★ A Thousand Words Paint a Picture: The Guardian of the Woods ★

Deep in the monochrome woods, flowers of starlight bathed the grass in a white spectral light. The trees were tall, standing sentinels throughout the foggy woods, though they had no leaves. These woodlands were overlooked by the watcher, a figure of many forms that lurked through the woods with his gleaming white eyes. Usually, this watcher maintained the form of a carp that swam through the air as if it were water. His gaze oversaw all that existed in the woods until one day he had his third eye stolen from him by a thief in the night. This left him severely weakened, casting the region in monochrome black and white hues that it became known for. He was not a vengeful guardian, only wishing to keep the sacred lands that he roamed through safe from the encroaching dangers that lurked beyond the borders.
The loss of his third eye was peculiar and foreboding. Had he become so complacent and safe within his serene haven that he had been watching since the dawn of time? Was this an attack by the dangers beyond what his eyes could see? He had become nearly blind due to the loss of an eye because each eye gave him an ability. His first eye was the ability to hear, his second the ability to speak, and the third sight. The vision he was given was unlike any other, he was capable of seeing far and beyond, but without it his vision became lackluster and only capable of seeing what was immediately in front of him.
So, when a being from the outside, a human, entered his land he was uncertain. He had already been weakened once, and the presence of an unknown creature from beyond was enough to stir him and draw his attention over.
The young human gazed up at him, standing amongst the flowers of starlight and the fallen branches of the sentinels that touched the sky. The guardian of the woods peered down at the human searching for his true intentions.
“Guardian of the woods and sky, I have taken back your eye from the evil humans to return it,” the young human said, presenting the orb.

Word Count: 366

End notes

ye

Idk why I crafted an entire goofy story with this one

Based on this image: Image by Dawid Planeta. I took my own spin on the image than what the creative intent likely was with it because I like making literal horrors less of horrors but mysterious entities because idk I like making cosmic horrors just funny guys (even if this is just… gigantic carp floating in the woods. it reminds me of this meme image of a shark staring at the camera with the text “deep in the missouri woods” which I feel like you might realise that I kinda… “Deep in the monochrome woods” yeah not subtle)

↻ ◁ II ▷ ↺

◪ Noͦ 10
Wordcount: 417/400
Topic: Sleep challenge
Points earned: 400+100 points for proof
Cabin: Bi-Fi

There is a picture of my grandmother that I adore. It is a very old picture, so the colors are faded. Sometimes I wonder if it is just my eyes playing tricks on me and it's black and white after all, and I am just imagining it with colors because of the modern world. Even without the colors, her smile shines brighter than any of the colors the world could contain, any splashes and streaks of paint on a canvas, any stars in the sky. Imagine your favorite tune, favorite musical instrument, and favorite singer. Imagine them all in one song, in the most perfect, melodious tune accustomed to you. Multiply that by ten, a hundred, a thousand. It is still not comparable to the beauty of my grandmother's smile.

It is said that a picture is worth a thousand words, but even a million sentences could not explain the bursts of joy one would feel after glancing at the stored away photo. Her eyes are tired, yet hold an infinite wisdom and somehow at the same time, an infinite amount of joy. I could never imagine how somebody could be so worn out yet so happy in life at the same time. It was her personal superpower- something I could never even dream to master. It makes me wonder if she is truly the only person in this world who I know who was actually happy with how they lived their life. It is very hard for people our age to be happy. Something about a seventy year old woman being satisfied with how she turned out warms my heart more than you could imagine. The fact that I was part of her happy outcome is something that makes me hope, even dare, that one day something even a sliver similar to this could be my happy story. My happy ending. My happy conclusion to a hopefully well lived life.

Her hair used to be very long. When I was a child and she used to come over to my house, she would untie her braid on the bed and brush through it with a comb for minutes and minutes and minutes. I used to love playing with it, until one day she cut it short. I was devastated- but in this picture, there was no other hair that could suit her better. The pearly white hair compliment her pearly white teeth, which make up the heavenly smile that beams brighter than the sun.

Skylar’s daily!

The picture I landed on was a photo taken when I was in New Zealand over my Christmas break. We were out stargazing in Christchurch before we went back to the North Island (we were literally so jetlagged we couldn’t go stargazing before then) the next day. I love New Zealand <3 I zoomed in on my photo library and found this so that’s why hehe

Hours slept: 7
1200 - 700 = 500 words
721 words

Alaina smiled as she stood with Alfie, Adelaide, Lauren, Makayla, Mira, Elyta, and Skylar in the local park by the beach. They stood together, looking up at the sky, taking in its wonders while the lapping sound of waves could be heard in the background.

For Alaina, it had been a long day at work. She’d dealt with multiple major trauma incidents, and needless to say, she was exhausted. So was her brother and his fiancée, Alfie and Adelaide. As for the rest of the group, Makayla was tired from working on a case with Rachel Torres, Elyta had just returned from an international figure skating comp, Skylar had just finished her Bachelor’s of Engineering course, and Lauren and Mira had just been let out of work early after an exhausting day. Needless to say, they were all tired, and spending time out with one another in this way just felt perfect.

“You know, it’s times like these when I really miss the night shift,” Skylar remarked. Alaina followed Skylar’s gaze up into the sky, seeing the stars shine brightly above them.

“Says you, who didn’t have to do night shift for a while,” Alaina teased. “You decided to uproot your entire career to build trains.”

Skylar laughed at that comment. “Yeah, I know,” she replied.

“Hey! That’s going to be the soundtrack to my next routine!” Elyta jumped in. “It’ll be called ‘Bickering After Dark.’ Sad thing is we don't have a songwriter here.”

“You’d never be able to enter that routine,” Makayla laughed. “Isn’t it against the rules?”

“Zhengci!” Elyta mock-whined. “I was only joking. Of course I’ll follow the rules.”

“Hey, it would be pretty funny if you did,” Alaina heard another voice - clearly Adelaide, with that Australian accent.

“Adelaide! Stop being such a bad influence!” Alaina heard her brother, Alfie, tease.

Adelaide laughed back. “I wasn’t the bad influence first,”

“Shut up!” Alaina teased. “You two need to go and get married right this instant.”

“I’d be happy to officiate,” Makayla added. “You have enough witnesses.”

“Awww, that’s literally the most romantic thing that could happen ever,” Mira said, and Alaina watched her smile.

“You know what, Makayla?” Lauren said. “That might not be a bad idea. Let’s hold a mock wedding for them. I’m bored.” Alaina agreed, it sounded quite fun. And plus, any chance she got to tease her brother was not passed up.

“Zhiqing!” Mira called. “Yima won’t approve. At all.”

“Whatever,” Lauren replied. “Besides, I’m basically an adult. Mama’s opinion doesn’t matter anymore.”

“Hey, you have been dragging this wedding out for, like, ever,” Alaina remarked. “Come on, Alfie.”

“Fine,” Alfie groaned, subjecting himself to Alaina’s teasing. “I guess I have to submit.”

Alaina laughed. “Alright, Operation: Romance is a go!”

Alaina was smiling as she and her friends started preparing Alfie and Adelaide for their mock wedding. They tried their best to fashion a wedding arch out of what they could find - Skylar and Elyta did their best. Lauren and Mira were doing Adelaide’s hair up as best they could, while Makayla was preparing to officiate. Alaina was preparing her brother, and straightening out his hair at the same time.

“Okay, I think we have an arch?” Skylar said, stepping back to view the makeshift arch she and Elyta had made out of sticks and flowers.

“It’s amazing,” Alaina smiled, stepping back to view it.

Makayla stepped up. “We’re all ready? Okay.” Alaina watched as Makayla cleared her throat. “Do you, Alfie Zhan, wish to take Adelaide Waters as your lawfully wedded wife?” Makayla asked.

“I do.”

“And do you promise to love and cherish her for the rest of your days?”

“I do.”

Makayla turned to Adelaide. “Do you, Adelaide Waters, wish to take Alfie Zhan as your lawfully wedded husband?”

“I do.”

“And do you promise to love and cherish him for the test of your days?”

“I do.”

“Then, I now pronnounce you husband and wife.” Makayla declared, stepping back from the arch. “You may now kiss the bride.”

“Hey! Look at that!” Adelaide said, pointing up at the sky in amazement. “A shooting star!”

Alaina followed Adelaide’s finger, seeing the Southern Cross high in the sky. Alaina saw a bright point of light streak across it.

“It’s beautiful.” Alaina remarked, continuing to stare at the sky in wonder.

Daily 10
500/400 words

I flung myself into one of the squishy ancient armchairs in my granny’s living room. My ears were still ringing from the argument, the words fresh in my mind.
“I don’t want you telling me children what they should or shouldn’t do!” Mum screamed at Granny, her voice cracking.
Granny folded her arms and gave Mum a seething look. “They should be disciplined, not spend their time wrecking my house.”
Mum’s fists clenched and her lip wobbled. “That doesn’t mean you lock them up in a room! With nothing! For hours! They’re children, for goodness sake… I mean, you shouldn’t do that to anyone! How would you…”

I tried my best to push the thoughts to the back of my mind and instead focused on the wall in front of me. On the fading peachy wallpaper hung lots of pictures, most from Granny’s childhood. Many were filled with smiling and laughing faces, lots on holiday. But one caught my eye in particular.

Instead of being a photo, this one was a painting. There were 5 people in it, but I only recognised one - Granny. Her lips were stretched into a brilliant smile, a slight dimple at the corner of her mouth. Her eyes were surrounded by crinkly lines as she was smiling so hard, and, perched on top of her nose, were a pair of round black-framed lenses. Nestled in her arms was a cat, with wavy grey fur and piercing amber eyes gazing forwards unsteadily.
To her right was a young boy, about 5 or 6, choppy brown hair framing his pale oval face. Next to him was a girl, the same age, her mouth turned downwards in a frown. Her eyes were missing the twinkle I saw in so many people’s. Instead they were dull, the ocean blue turned stormy with her emotions. There were two other adults in the picture - an old, rickety man, leaning heavily on his walking stick and a middle-aged woman, stick-straight brown hair falling past her shoulders, a forced smile tugging at her lips.
They were all standing in a grassy clearing, delicate brushstrokes forming the glade, sunlight filtering through the branches of sturdy gnarled oak trees. And, most prominently, a rushing waterfall behind them, cascading onto sodden rocks.

“I wish our family could be like that now.”
I jumped, startled. Mum stood in the doorway, tears glistening in her eyes. She stepped towards the painting, her eyes lighting up.
“That was my brother, Daniel. He died when he was 5. Then my sister. She died shortly after him. That older man was my granddad, grouchy at times, but lovely at heart. And then my aunt. She practically brought me up after Mum had her… problem.”
I smiled gently at her, but really, I was pretty confused. How come she had never told me all this?
Mum moved aside quickly, catching my attention, revealing a short stubby man, wobbling as he hovered forwards. He stuck out his hand.
“Hey, I’m Daniel.”

Daily 10:
I chose a picture of a puffin with fish in it's beak from an old magazine. I wasn't total sure how much sleep I got, I thought it somewhere between 10-9 hours, so I went for 250 words.

A puffin stands with their beak full of small silver fish, with a gray and yellow and reddish pink beak, and reddish eyes, and a black body with a white chest and parts of head. The puffin probably worked hard to catch all those fish, and probably will eat them, or give them to their mate or chicks. The puffin probably flew out to sea and dived into the water to catch them, diving several times to catch the fish. After having their picture taken, the puffin probably went off to bring the fish to their mate, and maybe fed their chicks some fish too, if they have chicks. The puffin probably caught at least ten tiny fish, perhaps more. The puffin probably ate some of those tiny fish before catching some more to eat later or to share. Perhaps the puffin lives in a place with lots of other puffins, and maybe it is bringing some of the tiny silver fish back for the other puffins. Maybe the puffin flew a very long way to get all those fish. Or maybe the puffin didn’t. Maybe the puffin worked very very hard to find all the those fish. Maybe the puffin spend hours catching those fish. Well, if they did, good job. Maybe the puffin decided to take a nice nap afterwards. It probably did. Naps are nice. Maybe the puffin decided to catch more fish, because the puffin was still hungry. Or maybe it’s mate or chicks were still hungry, so the puffin went to catch more fish. Or maybe the puffin doesn’t have a mate or chicks, and was just catching fish for themself. Well, either way, the puffin caught a good lot of fish. Good job puffin.

290 words

A multitude of pale hands extend out from dark nothingness, fingers curling and gently cradling a woman at their center, two of the hands clasping directly over her chest. Two more cover her eyes. A dress of vines wrap around her still form, their thorns still digging deep into her skin, drawing bright scarlet beads of blood. More lacerations run down her arms and stain her own limp hands with red. Marks that will never truly fade away. They are signs of violence inflicted not so long ago, but also of hope for a new beginning. Soft words drift out from her mouth in a voice that both is and is not her own.

“She asks that I tell you to remember her.”

“You won't.”

-
Description of a screenshot from Slay The Princess

127 words

daily :: day 10
topic :: a picture is worth a thousand words
cabin :: thriller
image :: swan and lake

the swan, feathers of silken whites and the darkest midnight blacks, glides gently across the waters. vibrant green foliage is mirrored on the surface of the water, shifting the crystalline blue shade to the milkiest of greens. ripples in the water are soothing vows of a constant in life, never quite fading away, but never so overwhelming that they might become the hurricane. no, they will remain the butterfly's wings and the gentle strokes of air murmuring overhead.

she blinks at the pops of pink resting blissfully atop sage-green fronds, taking in the serenity of the lake. leaves poke up from mud eagerly, taking breaths of life from the environment around them.

she swims alone, curious to discover more of the world around her, but is not lonely with the sun to grant her warmth during the day, the moon to smile at her during the darkest of nights, and the stars there to guide her and show her that there is more. she knows that millions of miles away, there may be another swan blinking up at the same stars that she sees, and that they are content in the silent peace of water.

today, golden rays of light stream down from the sky, promising light and warmth. the lake turns a light turquoise, courtesy of the sky herself and the undergrowth of emerald. such joy breaks the unforgiving cycle of monotonous events, holding some significance for the swan. small moments that are unlike others will always be a piece of life that she will cherish.

she, the swan, is a force of nature that, without doing so much as to living, may be holding up the ecosystem around her. she is dainty and beautiful, pristine and lovely, but there is more to her than simply being a wondrous beacon to stare at. she is one small soul in a universe of plenty, but she, like all others, will never be expendable. she, like all others, has a reason to live. she, like all others, makes others glow with her beauty.

the leaves are green, but may have one day prior have been the color of spilled cocoa, stained and forever in mind.

the flowers have blossomed and are the most blushing shades of pink, but may have one day prior been buds the same shade as the lime.

she is a swan, but may have one day prior been the ugly duckling. she is forever, she is eternity, and someday, she will have her own infinity to look after, her own life force that will fill the emptiness and look up at the stars beside her.

↳ daily: march 10th - 425 words ༉‧₊

see the picture here

this is a drawing of a group of dogs drawn in black pen. the dogs are all huddled next to each other in the centre of the page and they look like they’re all smiling for a group photo. they’re all here because it’s christmas and a working holiday and all most of their owners are busy looking at their presents. Their owners don’t know that the dogs celebrate christmas, too. well, one does now, but that will be explained later. they’ve tried to dress up for the occasion but it was a little hard because they don’t really have any money to go buy accessories. a dog here and there have nicked their owner’s wig or sunglasses or something. they all meet in the local park and slip under the fence where they can socialise with all the other neighbourhood dogs.

at the park, they bark at each other like crazy and then exchange gifts (sticks.) usually, they don’t take selfies. this time though, they get a drawing of themselves.

—

it was early in the morning on christmas day when ros woke up. she doesn’t celebrate, so she was looking forward to a quiet day spent at home. she trundled downstairs to go play with her dog. “rufus!” she called.

she was greeted with silence. she looked up and saw a swish and the tip of a tail running out of the garden, burrowing under the fence.

interesting.

ros threw on a coat and grabbed her quick bag- a bag she places next to the door equipped with food, water, keys, an airtag, stationery, a hairbrush, et cetera.

she locked the garden gate behind her and peered over the other side of the fence. she could see rufus’ small body running towards the park at full speed. ros chased after.

upon arriving at the park, ros looked around. it was empty.

but wait- what was that sound?

ros followed the padding sounds behind a bush and found .. wow
at least twenty dogs waggling sticks and barking at eachother. upon noticing ros, they froze. rufus came up to ros, barking. ros didn’t fully understand what was going on, but then the dogs assembled in some sort of huddle and smiled weirdly.

ohh- ros whipped out her notepad and drew the dogs (ros was an artist). after she was finished, she held it up for them to see. “do you like it?” ros asked.

ros was greeted with lots of barks this time, and a lot of happy licks. it was a memorable christmas.

438 words (I slept for eight hours)

There is a large stump at the park, big enough that at our smaller sizes, it looks as if we could’ve curled up on it. For we are small here, I and my sister, maybe seven and eleven. On the stump we placed an array of pinecones, dried leaves, and pieces of bark, which we collected from around the park. Below these offerings, many more sticks and pieces of bark have been carefully arranged to spell the words, “FOR FAIRIES.”
The stump was new, I think, all that remained of a tree that had recently been cut down. Many trees in the park were cut down—mostly victims of emerald ash borers, I think, that wouldn’t live anyway. Perhaps we adorned it with sticks and pinecones to make up for that, to find a bright side to the tree’s demise. Or perhaps we just saw a cool stump and thought it would be fun to arrange things on.
We’ve always loved the fairies. This is not the first thing we built them at the park; sometimes we’d make fairy houses, little bark lean-to’s propped up against trees. Sometimes we’d place stones and acorn caps in the space between tree roots, set up little tables for them to eat at.
There are no houses or acorn cap dishes here. Just bark and pinecones. Was this a tribute to them? Did we imagine the fae would like this? Was it an offering, an attempt to make amends with them for the loss of this tree?
We look very happy with our work, smiling up at the camera. I don’t know how long we spent on it, but it certainly took some time. We are laying on the ground next to the decorated stump, me with my head resting on it, my little sister leaning against me. I wear a black dress with pink flowers and a pair of sparkly black leggings (I always loved those leggings), and she wears a red Christmas dress even though it must be spring or fall, some stripey purple pants, and some stripey rainbow shoes. Yes, we are smiling, though she is squinting and scrunching her eyebrows—maybe the sun is in her eyes. We are so small, and our faces are so very us.
We are happy with our work, but are the fairies? What do they think, when they find it? A collection of useful items? A silly thing made by people who don’t know what the fae want? A cute creation of some human children? A work of art?
Whether or not they appreciate it, we made it, and that was enough for us.

I Slept for Nine Hours Last Night (646 words)

The picture is of me, about twelve, standing in front of a white fence. It's summertime, so I'm wearing a blue short-sleeved North Face T-shirt and a pair of black shorts. You can't see much lower than that, but I'm wearing a pair of blue socks and cheapish gray sneakers. My longish hair was pulled up into a jaunty ponytail by my sister that morning, and I'm smiling a stiff smile with one eye shut as my ponytail blows into my face. I hadn't yet figured out how to tuck my ponytail onto the back of my neck so that it would stay there.

A hoodie is tied around my waist, and it's blowing in the wind just like my hair. My hands are both on the fence behind me. I'm holding onto a railing on that fence with my fingertips and leaning forward, trusting it to catch me like it always does when I lean like that. It feels good to stretch to the ends of your arms and onto your tiptoes, when you can feel your whole body stretch. It feels good to stay like that, until you're all limber and your muscles have their usual zip back in them.

If memory serves me correctly, that photo was one of my last times holding onto that fence. The fence is on my family's old property in California, and in the two years since, we've moved our animals and ourselves to the other side of the country. The picture was taken on the day we left. I have similar pictures in almost every room of my old house, but this one's my favorite, because it makes me remember that fence.

Sometimes I miss that fence. On one side is our practically-deserted gravel driveway with a scrappy forest beyond it, and on the other is a horse paddock. I'm standing on the road, so behind me you can see the horse paddock, which is green and full of light.

There aren't horses in it anymore, and I don't think there have been since ours went East. In the few weeks since that happened, my siblings, their friends, my friends, and I had fun playing in the paddock instead of the forest or someone's yard for a change. We'd lean against the fence the way I'm doing in the picture and run across the paddock to see who could make it first, and on the opposite end of the paddock we'd plop down by the fence and talk until we felt like running back. Other times, we'd let my family's dogs have playdates with our friend's dogs, or play whatever roleplaying game my little brother and his friends wanted.

And then sometimes, we'd sit against that fence in contented silence until one of us announced that we wanted lunch, when we'd all go and eat whatever food we could find in our kitchen: pepperoni and crackers, pretzels and peanut butter, cold chicken soup. On one of the last days of this, when we were almost out of food and didn't want to buy more, I remember eating a cucumber and cream cheese sandwich with my best friend. Then, it felt very scrapped-together, but it was still good. Now, cucumber and cream cheese on white bread makes me feel a way nothing else really can. I wish there was a word for it, where you're cheered up by your own sadness.

Sometimes I wish I could go back to that picture. Just to be a little closer to good, plain summer fun in an empty horse paddock, running and yelling and feeling so joyful, but knowing that the joy is only a product of something sad.

Stretching on a fence and trusting something to hold everything. When the only consequence to leaning out is stumbling onto the ground, then getting right back up and forgetting all about it.

‎‧₊˚✧ 03/10 ✧˚₊‧ Within this image, we can see a striking scene. A blue haired girl, who goes by the name of Powder, seems to be enthralled by the device she is holding. Powder is a young, fair skinned girl who looks to be around the age of eleven, and has two layers of clothing on. The first is a T-shirt that reaches down to about mid biceps, and is cheshire cat purple and magenta, and has vertical stripes running up and down it. On top of this T-shirt, a dirtied blue shirt that matches her hair has sleeves that are about two inches higher than her first shirt. On the blue T-shirt there are two ‘x’s holding the fabric together in a seam, and the seam runs along the right side of the shirt. The blue shirt ends about mid torso, and the form fitting magenta shirt continues with stripes all the way until her pants. In this image, the girl's hair is messily thrown up, with hair clips shaped as ‘x’s accessorising her hair. If her hair were down, it would look to be about shoulder length, maybe a bit longer. The girl is also wearing a black sleeve on her arm that starts at her elbow and continues all the way to her wrist. The girl’s nails are not painted, and are neither clean nor dirty. The girl has brown eyes, and brown neatly combed eyebrows. A shelf is where the camera is sitting on, and on the shelf we can see an assortment of items, ranging from what seems to be a hammer, to an unfolded piece of paper. The girl has one hand holding the object. The object has a gold circle base, and arches upward to create a dome with dark blue glass, and faint gold spiderweb detailings on the glass. The object almost looks like it could be the top of some building, however Powder’s other hand moves to press it, as if the panes of glass frames in gold are like a rose, and when clicked it seems as though it will unfurl to reveal something in its center. Although the rest of the room behind her is blurred, we can see many details in it. A window is the light source in the picture, and the window pattern is very interesting. It is a hexagonal shape, with a very dark blue frame on the outside of the window, and gold plates to frame the individual panes on the inside of the window. There are two different parts to the window, each a mirror image. On the bottom is the largest pane of the window, a rectangle with a sort of V on top. Along with this, gold panelling separates it from 4 different other panes, each one a different shape. On the very left is an almost circular shape, next to it is a ‘U’ shaped pane, the second to last pane is a rectangle with a triangle on the bottom, and the final pane is the same as the last, except a bit smaller. On the wall next to the windows, we can see two shelves hung from the wall. Each shelf contains haphazardly organized books, stacked vertically rather than horizontally. In front of the window, there is what looks to be a globe. The globe is gold on the top and bottom, and only the middle intersection is visible, a light baby blue color. On the left side of the globe seems to be a glass case with a large light blue or teal diamond or gem within. On the very edge of the window, there is a silver and gold telescope, except for a mini. The telescope device seems to be pointed toward the sun, and mounted on another gold sphere. Around the telescope is more clutter, boxes and the frame of a globe. However, most of this is blocked from view by another character, Mylo. Mylo has leather shoulder pads covering his shoulders, and overlapping with his white but stained tank top. His head is turned near the window, so we are able to clearly see a mess of hair on his head that seems to stick straight back, and is long enough to make a short ponytail. On each elbow is a leather and gold elbow protector, and his pants are the same leather material as the rest of his leather detailings. We can’t see clearly exactly what he is looking at, but we can assume there is some kind of commotion taking place outside of the window to draw his attention to it.

daily - 700 words

In this image, there are mountains and valleys surrounding the bridge that is in the center. The Sun is rising, and it is lighting up the entirety of the sky, causing birds to waken and sunflowers to burst open, following the light across the expanse. Animals and sea creatures awaken and follow the light until it darkens again, causing them to re-enter their slumber. The most important part of the image is the one that is in your focal point, the wooden slats and tree branches that somehow formed to create a bridge that leads to nowhere. Suddenly you find yourself inside the picture, strolling across the bridge as you watch the sun rise over your head. All is silent and peaceful, except for the quiet chirping of songbirds and your own footsteps as you walk on the wooden slats, knowing you won’t fall. The ground steadies you, and you begin to run, knowing that if you trip, the bridge will catch you. The wind rushes past you, messing up your hair, but you know you don’t care and that no one’s watching you anyway. You spot a lake up ahead, and you start to race towards it, wanting to see what the water feels like. As you run, you stray from the path slightly, but you don’t feel the pain of running. It is a rush of adrenaline and wind and you love every second of it. As you try to stop yourself before you hit the water, your shoe gets caught in the water, and you have to take it off, but you don’t mind. You even take off the other, since the feeling of being barefoot in a lake is so freeing in your head. Once you’re tired of wading through the lake, you step out of the water and shake it out of your clothes. It was a little warm anyway, so the lake water felt very refreshing to your legs. As you step out, you notice the tiny dandelions that were spread out near the lake shore, and you run to pick one up, dying to make your wish. Taking in a deep breath, you try and blow out every last little puffball, but one is still left. Frustrated, you have to pluck out the remaining part of the flower before tossing it back where you found it. The sun is higher over your head now, and you decide to explore the path for a little longer, saying a silent goodbye to each of the dandelions you couldn’t make a wish on. You look around for the path again, and finally find it, skipping along. It was only later that you realized you left your shoes by the lakeside. Nothing around the hills interests you much, until you notice a giant crack in the earth by the wayside. It’s way bigger than you, and something huge must have caused such a divide in the ground. You want to explore, but you’re scared you’ll get stuck down there. Perhaps there’s footing in the walls of the cavern, you think hopefully. You look down, shining your flashlight, but you can’t see the bottom–which only makes you more curious. Finally, you find a few jagged edges of rock that could pass for some decent footing, so you hold on to the edge of the cliff and place your foot on the rock that you found before. It holds your weight, so you try the one below it, grabbing onto the first rock. It feels a little wobbly, but it should be fine. You’ve rock-climbed before, and you could do this! Granted…that was with a cord to make sure you didn’t hurt yourself, but it would practically be the same. You step on below, below, until you slip off one unexpectedly and fall. Blackness crowds your vision, but it only takes a moment for you to hit the ground. It knocks the wind out of you, but soon you regain your breath and stand up, your back aching you. Slowly, carefully, you click your flashlight on, but it only flickers slightly and then makes a weak groaning noise as it powers off. What in the world was down there?

three hours and 1227 words later…………
?!

The Great Wave off Kanagawa is an artwork made by Katsushika Hokusai. It was painted during the Edo Period in Japan, ca. 1830–32. Titled “Kanagawa oki nami ura,” it translates directly to Under the Wave off Kanagawa, but it is generally referred to as The Great Wave in English. It is a woodblock print created with ink and color on paper. The artwork features layered waves, clouds, and three boats filled with rowers. It is 25 by 37 centimeters, which is a standard woodblock print size called ōban. The print is part of the Thirty-six Views of Mount Fuji series, with the mountain visible in the background. The Great Wave deftly utilizes perspective, with the mountain appearing small in the background in contrast to the largest wave. Mount Fuji can be mistaken for another wave, and the cresting wave provides juxtaposition to it. It would have been one of the most prominent features of the capital, Edo (modern day Tokyo), at the time. Mount Fuji is symbolic of Japanese identity, representing peace, and it holds sacred relevance to both Shinto and Buddhism beliefs. Kanagawa is a prefecture on the island of Honshu, Japan’s largest island. It’s located close to Edo, and its coastal significance (and location relative to the huge mountain) during the Edo period likely prompted Hokusai to use these waters in his print.
The Great Wave is a type of ukiyo-e print, which is the name for Edo Period woodblock prints. While these prints began as monochrome, colors were later incorporated into their designs, ranging from reds, greens, blues, and purples. The name ukiyo-e originates from the Buddhist phrase “floating world,” which refers to life being ephemeral and transient. Most ukiyo-e prints during the early Edo period represented courtesans and the Kabuki actors in an appeal to the public’s preferences. Contrary to this, Hokusai represented the daily life of Japanese people regardless of social class. In the case of The Great Wave, he featured fishermen being battered around by waves, deviating from the contemporary ukiyo-e prints whose subjects were actors.
To make woodblock prints, the artist first creates the design on paper, then tracing it onto a translucent paper. Ukiyo-e prints were made using a hard type of wood, usually cherry, because of its durability, fine grain, and longevity. Using the translucent guide, the artist transfers the design, chiseling and paring the block along the lines to form a negative version. Once the design is complete, ink is added, and then the ink is transferred over to the paper by rubbing it into the block.
Different blocks were used for each color, allowing a variety of hues to be added to the print in a polychrome fashion. Early printings used seven or more sides of a woodblock, with carvings on both sides. Many polychrome ukiyo-e prints had twenty to thirty different woodblocks, so Hokusai’s design was minimalist in that it used fewer colors while still conveying depth in his artwork. There would be blocks for dark blue, light blue, medium blue, dark gray, light gray, yellow/beige, and pink/beige. In order to keep the prints aligned, printers would make two cuts into the edge of each woodblock. In general, printers used washi, paper composed of the inner bark of mulberry trees that would withstand the reliefs from printing. Woodblocks could generally be used for at least a thousand reproductions of the same print before degraded sections needed to be re-carved.
This piece of art utilizes the color Prussian blue, also known as Berlin blue, combined with indigo. Prussian blue was a very exotic and in-demand dye at the time, because it had such a vibrant shade. It was one of the first synthetic pigments, and was lightfast and versatile, appealing to Japanese artists because of its superior quality of color compared to available pigments. The Great Wave was part of Hokusai’s “blue revolution,” and the public was enthralled by this usage. Aizuri-e is a specific printing style that refers to prints made exclusively or almost entirely in blue, with The Great Wave being one of the earlier aizuri-e prints, and Hokusai continued to use Prussian blue in many of his landscape prints. One of the other appeals of Prussian blue was its ability to form different shades. Spectroscopy reveals that the Great Wave that both colors were layered over to achieve different darker shades that still had were vibrant in color. This technique of double printing adds three-dimensional depth to this artwork through the use of layers. Each time the block deposits ink onto the paper, it leaves different colors at different heights in the print. The laborious printing process would be undertaken by a team, with printers and carvers replicating the design for mass production.
The yellows in the print, likely derived from turmeric and orpiment, are notably light-sensitive. This could account for the fading present in the sky (many of the prints today have faded clouds).
Hokusai did draw inspiration from other contemporary artists. Dutch influence, for instance, is present in this print. Prussian blue, a key component of the Great Wave, was introduced to Japan through trade with the Dutch as a commodity. Foreign style is also evident in both the linear perspective and low horizon line. The Japanese had contact almost exclusively with Dutch traders, and despite the isolationist policies of the Edo Period, artists were exposed to outside artwork and pigments.
Thousands of impressions of the Great Wave have been made, some with different color schemes. Art historians can determine when a particular print was made by analyzing woodblock wear, noticing specific breaks in lines and imperfections in prints caused by time.
The rectangular cartouche contains both the title and the signature of the artist. The signature reads, “Hokusai aratame Iitsu hitsu,” which means “from the brush of Hokusai, who changed his name to Iitsu.” Hokusai himself was itinerant, moving several times and changing his name many different times, which is why he included the name Iitsu in the cartouche.
The wave does not represent a tsunami as this wave crests out at sea. Tsunami waves do not have white capes until they reach the shore, meaning this wave is more likely to be a rogue wave in a storm. Some historians consider mythical and folklore influences on the wave’s origin, yet regardless of its provenance, the wave is a commentary on the formidable power of nature. Because Japan is an archipelago, the sea is a crucial part of trade, communication, and the livelihoods of many. As equally as the ocean provided for the Japanese people, it was also destructive and capricious, prone to volatile storms that would toss fishermen’s boats violently in the sea.
During the beginning of the Tokugawa Period in Japan where Japan’s trade was forced open to the outside world, Hokusai’s work became highly popularized in the West. Japonisme was the European art movement following the end of Japanese isolation focused on Japanese art, mainly in France, the Netherlands, and England. It has inspired countless contemporary impressionist artists, and still has a significant impact on the artistic sphere today; with its viewers, the themes of natural power and grandeur still resonate with a modern audience. The Great Wave was not only revolutionary for its use of pigment and its unique subject matters, but it supersedes cultural boundaries and has retained its importance in today’s world.