⋆ daily march 12th: titles! chose “the west toast” from @.snuggles0426
in a land far away lived a very peculiar slice of bread: the west toast. he came as other slices of bread did, from a common grocery store off in the most irrelevant town ever. except his pack was different: he was a store brand. feeling salty about this, the (then normal) toast decided to flee from his siblings and head out… well, west. not that far though. think western west, like texas or something.
so anyways, this piece of white soft baked bread headed out and became western! as in, a cowboy. he got cooked under the sun and got a crispy golden tan, officiating his role as toast but without the toaster. that was a good thing, because most toasters were painful for the bread involved and had a high risk of burning them. the west toast’s golden shoulders made all the female toasts swoon.
feeling very free in this new land and far away from the grocery store that had imprisoned him, the west toast bought himself a fine gray horse that was one and a half hands tall, and began his journey as a real cowboy. he communicated with the people around him, most of which thinking they were in some kind of bagged bread commercial. he felt very offended every time that someone screamed when he talked, so the west toast painted himself green and started a villain arc as the wicked toast of the west. he immediately became further disliked and faced several lawsuits from a film studio he had never heard of before.
it is also worthwhile to mention that this slice of bread’s name was kev*n.

Daily 13: Flower Daily
word count - 415 words

The old cottage stood on the hill, surrounded by wilted roses, black as ebony. Danger. That's what many would typically call this. But in truth, it was so much more than that. The skies, dark as ever, clouds clashing with sounds of lightening erupting near by. Most would say that this was all a sign, and perhaps it was. It really depends who you ask, that is.

Here, upon this gloomy cottage is where our tale of love began. That being the past if I may emphasize as things were no longer the way they were supposed to be if you were to recall. Many moons ago, oh how I do sound like this ancient storyteller. I assure you, I'm very much like the others. I just love adding my own touch- or theatrics if you may. Anyways, as I was saying, I'm going to need you to picture this.

There once was a day when the skies were clear and blue, the clouds drifted in a seamless pattern that almost made everything feel like a dream. The plains of grass stretched on for miles with daffodils lining the walls of this very cottage. Fresh paint, ah- how I did love the smell of that. Like I said, it wasn't all to bad in the beginning. Although the cottage stood lone in the middle of nowhere, the fields made it a pleasant place tot live. Peace and quiet, a chance at last. Unfortunately, all good things come to and end.

The daffodils - known for their prosperity and “new beginnings” were dying off - but that was just a sign. A sign, that I myself, took too long to notice. It was hard not to notice that the daffodils were going away, but silly old me thought that they were just going out of season. In their place, a new flower, similar in color as well, began to blossom. The rhododendron. I didn't know that they actually symbolized danger, that they were there were a much dire purpose. I was naive and enjoyed my days, thinking that nothing was wrong.

And now, look at me know. Alone and isolated. These black flowers, the dying love I never got, everything is gone like the wind. Those grassy plains forgotten, the once red roses wilted. Nothing is as it initially was. So once again, I remind you… all good things come to and end, so cherish life as you see fit.

♫ 05 word war - kat - 197 words - win/loss ♫

i asked santa to give me a peaceful life for a change for christmas. it seemed all of my employees were on my tail for not getting enough work done, but honestly, it was their work too! i had to keep waiting on them to fix minor details because apparently bobby doesnt know proper grammar and susie doesn't know how to judge a job application better. seriously, she's thrown away several good workers now, and it's getting on my nerves. work is one thing right now, but i also have my goofy ah family to deal with also, and they are even worse. they always rope me into all their drama and i hate it. i dont care that your third cousin removed great aunt's care insurance is non renewable now!! it's none of my business! and no, i'm not going to help her because i've never even seen her in my life and i can't even pronounce her name. My friend's new boyfriend is also driving me off the walls. its insane how a human can be so obnoxious i don't know what she sees in him. she says im just jealous because im still single

daily 013: the language of flowers ˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚
word count: 584 / 350

Every Thursday, when the mail came, Iris would receive a bouquet of flowers. She didn’t know who they were from for certain, but she most definitely had a guess. The boy she had met at the ball, who had to be just the same age as her, was particularly fascinated by her name. She herself didn’t fancy it the most unique thing, but of course, he had hardly ever met a woman named after a flower. Iris wasn’t complaining, though, for he was filthy rich from what she could make out, which her parents were pleased about, and on the other hand, he was very sought after– and for good reason. The boy was handsome, a gentleman, and most importantly, mysterious. Everyone at the ball knew he was of noble descent, that was the only way to get into the ball– but no one knew where he truly came from. He did boast the best carriage and suit, so naturally, the gossip magazines had just deemed him the newest bachelor.
The bouquet of flowers every week usually came with a note, the envelope stamped with a wax seal of an iris. It wasn’t an ordinary bouquet of flowers, with other florals that complemented the main focus, but rather, it was a simple bouquet of multiple types of the same flower. Iris was certain he was trying to send a message through code, as all these rich folk have nothing better to do than mess with the people with less money. So she brought it upon herself to talk to her gardeners each week, attempting to decipher it. The first bunch of flowers he had sent her were, of course, irises. She didn’t want to look much further than that, since they were just her namesake, but she did ask the gardeners, who informed her that it meant ‘my complements.’ He had been consistently eyeing her dress and gloves, and her eyes, during the ball, which made Iris blush in the magical way she had only seen in plays. But she couldn’t quite decipher his notes, for they were always just fragments of poems that she couldn’t piece together or find the origin of.
The second bunch of flowers were forget-me-nots with ferns. Iris had thought the ferns meant nothing, she had thought they were just to add on to the bouquet, but as she learned that each bouquet had distinct messages, she looked further into it. Her meetings with the gardeners had become so constant that her parents had found out, and had insisted that instead of conversing with the ‘lowly’ gardener, she should hire a private tutor that specialized in florals. Iris thought it to be too much of a hassle, and reassured her parents that her conversations with the gardeners were hardly an inconvenience. After, she learned the forget-me-nots had meant love in absence– quite accurate, she had decided, and the ferns meant concealed love.
The boy had still only told her his name, not where he was from, not who his parents were– just his mere name, and the notes certainly didn’t help. But the meanings of the flowers slowly changed, moving from concealed love to fame, from complements to adoration. And finally, he revealed himself in one of his notes, writing her the address of the garden he had presumably been getting the flowers from, and instructing her to meet him there.
So she did, and they lived happily ever after, having one of the largest gardens in the land.

Thriller || march 12 daily !! || 379 words :D
this is actually heartbreaking OMDS.

My Farewell to You

In the quiet town of Elderbloom, where fog lingered like a whispering secret, the Spider Lily bloomed each autumn. To the untrained eye, it was just another flower—a striking red blossom with delicate petals that danced on long, slender stems. But to those who knew its meaning, it was far more than a simple bloom.

Serene, a young woman with a heart full of dreams and a soul bruised by loss, wandered the flower-laden paths of the old cemetery one crisp evening. She had come here not to mourn, but to seek comfort. The grave of her late fiancé, Mateo, stood at the corner, where the Spider Lilies grew wild, their blood-red petals curling with the promise of forgotten memories.

However, in the midst of all the red ones, there was one in pure white. White spider lilies symbolize love, an everlasting love. Its white petals contrasted itself from the bunch of red.

“Mateo, is that really you?” she gasped, her voice laced with sorrow. The white spider-lily brought her comfort.

Evelyn knelt before his stone, fingers trembling as they traced the engraved name. A gentle breeze carried the scent of the lilies, and she closed her eyes, letting the fragrance wrap around her like a comforting embrace. The Spider Lily, she knew, meant “departure.” It was the flower that whispered of parting.

But there was more. Nearby, a patch of violets swayed gently in the wind. Violets symbolize humility, and Mateo had always made Serene laugh, the gentle flowers reminding her of their happy past together.

She noticed an ambrosia, its individual contrasting petals making it stand out in the patch of red spider-lilies. Ambrosias meant “a returning love.” The ambrosia brought Serene hope, hope that her love will come back. Hope that they will encounter each other, maybe in another life. With one last glance at the grave, she whispered, “Goodbye, my love. I hope we may meet again. I will see you soon.”

And as the night descended, the Spider Lilies swayed, as if in agreement. The white one, left to slowly wither, Serene laying down beside it, still and unmoving as well, as if she was one of them, her red dress blending in with the other spider lilies, and her hair flowy, but still.

Hi Mildred (so sorry I took so long). here's your critique

I pushed the white door open, listening to the loud creaking sound it made. When I opened my eyes, I took in the holding cell.

He can see the door is white with his eyes closed? Impressive- maybe take either the white door detail or his eyes being closed out. I feel that his eyes just being open the whole time would flow better, though. Great introduction though!

The walls of my room were a dark green color, while the person on the other side of the glass had beige walls, the fluorescent lights were an eyesore, hurting my eyes far more than I would’ve liked. But I shook it off, I wasn’t to leave, not yet at least.

A couple of grammar errors here: between ‘beige walls’ and ‘the fluorescent lights’, it would be best to put either a semi-colon or a full-stop (period) instead of a comma to make it flow better; especially with this sentence, it makes it feel… chunky, I guess? But it doesn't quite flow right. Same for the last sentence, between ‘shook it off’ and ‘I wasn’t to'. The description is otherwise great, but the fluorescent lights are a bit unclear - is it on her side, or his, or both?

I stared at the woman sitting on the other side of the clear glass, the years having aged her and made her just hardly recognizable. Her black hair sat on her shoulders, clearly having not been brushed in a while. It hadn’t been cut either, as her bangs drooped over her eyes.

Love this description. I would take out the ‘just’ before ‘hardly recognizable’; it makes it more concise and keeps the flow, and I'd change the last part to something like ‘It hadn’t been cut either; her bangs drooped over her eyes'. Again, using that semicolon to keep the flow. The word ‘as’ in it, to me, doesn't sit right, and it makes the sentence feel more like an essay.

She was a murderer.

“Hello.”

Her eyes snapped up, detail-oriented and alert. She had always been this way, I just never imagined she would use it in this way. When her eyes honed on me, her eyes narrowed, like a predator ready to pounce on their prey.

I love this part - the one-sentence paragraph and her predator-like description are really great. One thing I would change: you use ‘this way’ twice quite close to each other, and perhaps you could change one of them; something like ‘I just never imagined she would use it how she did’. Overall, though, this paragraph is amazing.

“You…Who do you think you are- waltzing in here like this?” The woman seethed at me, gritting her teeth together, I attempted to remain composed.

This is also really good. Just put a lowercase t in ‘the woman’ and maybe put a period between ‘teeth together’ and ‘I attempted’ to keep the flow. But I love her dialogue.

“Oh? I’m sorry, am I not allowed to visit?”
“You haven’t shown up for the past- what? 5 years I’ve been here? And you just now decided to come!?”
“Of course, we both know what’s tomorrow after all.”

The woman paled at this, before quickly regaining the color in her skin. She stood up from her chair, staring me down. It was like those staring contests we’d have all too much as kids.

“You- of course it’s because of that! Of course you only care when I’m about to be-”
“You know why I didn’t show up! I was planning my wedding!”
“Oh yeah, because whoever you’re head over heels for is much more important than your family! You should know this! We all agree that family is more important than your romantic life!”
“You stopped being family after you decided to become a serial killer!”
“You- you’re my big brother- I- you-!”
“You don’t get to call me that. Not anymore. Not- not after what you’ve done.”

We both sat in silence for a long time after that. The woman before me was a serial killer, someone not to be trusted. She killed plenty of people, but she wasn’t only a serial killer. She was also my sister.

This whole dialogue bit is so great - really shows their connection while also showing hostility between each other. In the last paragraph, though, I would do more showing and less telling.

“So? How long will we both be sitting here? I’m sorry, but I came to talk.” I put my hand on my chest in mock hurt, watching the woman before me not grow any less tense. She simply sat there, giving me as mean of a glare as she could. She did scare me, but my face remained stoic. After all, she was still just my little sister.

The dialogue here, and his actions, don't quite sit right with me. Maybe you could say something about him trying to lighten the mood with a joke? I can't decide his intent here. Also, ‘as mean of a glare as she could’ sounds more like the actions of a seven-year-old than a serial killer. Maybe he sees her as younger, but he surely doesn't see her as a kid. Apart from that, though, this paragraph is really good, and describes her actions really well.

“What is there to talk about? I was in jail for the past 5 years, I haven’t exactly done anything new.”

“Well, there’s tomorrow. You know, your-”
“Quit rubbing salt into the wound would you!? Yes, we both get it.”

The silence grew thick, thick and suffocating. I opened my mouth to break it, to relieve some of the tension. Though, to my surprise, she was the one to break the tension first.

Love this dialogue - you do it really well throughout the piece! I also love the description of the silence. There's nothing I would change here.

“So…who’s the girl you’re marrying?”
“Well…remember that girl from 6th grade? The cute brown-haired one with the pink highlights?”
“Wha- her!? I- I knew it! Oh my god- You owe me 5 dollars!”

It's cute, but I don't think she would talk like this - suddenly click into little sister mode. Maybe she would give a curt ‘who are you marrying?’ and then slowly come to the realisation that he owes her five dollars, and then go into little sister mode. But it just doesn't seem realistic - especially since their wedding was the reason he couldn't visit her for so long. Maybe talk about a member of their family instead?

For a brief moment, I sounded like we were back in our bedroom, talking about our crushes and middle school drama.
For a brief moment, it felt like I was talking to the starry-eyed girl my sister once was.
For a brief moment, it felt like I wasn’t talking to a serial killer.


For a brief moment, it felt like everything was back to normal.

I love this part. Just the ‘I sounded like’ doesn't make sense, since she was the last one speaking. But this part is so cool.

“Where’d you propose to her? Some fast food place?”
“Pft- who do you take me as? I am a gentleman.”

Love this kind of dialogue - but again, doesn't make sense for her to suddenly be over her grudges about their marriage. This kind of thing is really great, though, and you do it well.

“I wish I could get married…” The woman muttered, staring down at her own hands. I could watch a shiny tear fall down onto the table. She looked up at me, eyes red and puffy.

“I- I don’t wanna die.”

When I stared into her eyes, I no longer saw someone so soulless. I no longer saw someone so cold-hearted. I no longer saw someone who I had thought to be a monster.

I no longer saw the eyes of a killer.
I only saw the eyes of my younger sister.

“A…Akari…?”

“I-I don’t want to disappear! I still want to do so many things! I’ve never been to Tokyo! I’ve never been in a relationship! P-Please! A-Akito! I don’t wanna go! I’m going to be executed tomorrow and there’s absolutely nothing I can do about it!”

I really, really love this part. Maybe describe her like a smaller animal to contrast her more predatory description in the first part? That would really add some contrast. And the ‘I could watch’ doesn't sound right; maybe change it to ‘I watched’ or just ‘A shiny tear fell’. But I love the way everything changes, I love her dialogue, I love all of this.

I don’t want you to die either.

A tear rolled down my sister’s cheek, “Y-You know, I told myself I wouldn’t cry. Even as I was about to be killed, even though I know I’m gonna die tomorrow. But- But then you- you showed up. Please, big brother, I can’t- I can’t die here!”

I really love the first sentence. The dialogue is also great, but ‘big brother’ feels unnatural to me – would you say that? It would make more sense to say his name instead. Also, she was about to be killed at some other point? It doesn’t really make sense here, and maybe you could reference another event that doesn’t raise more questions, like her being put in jail.

“A-Akari…”

I sat there, no idea what to say. She was my sister, I didn’t want her to die either. But…she was a killer. Did the people she killed want to die?

“I haven’t realized it- how many things I still want to do! There’s still- so many…So many things I want to do!”

I stared at her, shock plaguing my whole body. My bottom lip tremored, I backed away slightly. I stared at my sister, wide-eyed. I tried to convince myself she deserved to die. But no matter how long I looked at her, no matter how much I tried to make myself see a killer.

I only saw my sister.

Again, I love the dialogue. I also really like his complete change of perspective towards her – however, it doesn’t make sense to have it here, at the very end. It feels like this reaction is random and sudden, and it would make more sense to have him do this at ‘absolutely nothing I can do about it’ or somewhere else much earlier. But you could still talk about his continued shock in more detail here.

“I-…”

The door opened. I turned around to see a police officer at the door.

The ‘at the door’ here is unnecessary – there was nobody else in the room before, the door opens; the person is going to be at the door. You could replace it with ‘there’ or just leave it with ‘a police officer’.

“W-Well…you heard him, I gotta go now!”

It’s not clear who said this on the first read. Also, this dialogue is only justified if his sister has a strong reaction to visiting hours being over, and I assume she’s just sitting there. At the moment it just seems a bit awkward.

I walked to the door, not letting the fear prevent me from moving forward. I will never get what I heard out of my head, it’ll stay with me until the day I die.

The comma between ‘head’ and ‘it’ll stay’ isn’t the right punctuation – use a semi-colon instead – but I like the reference to his present self. Having an italicised thing she said would make a greater impact, too.

I only heard my sister crying, pleading for her big brother to come back. Begging for her brother to be there with her. I heard her sob, a moment of weakness. Something I never expected to see on a serial killer.

I love the first bit; it’s beautifully descriptive. The last sentence, though, makes his sister seem more distant and could be worded better, in my opinion. It doesn't sit right for me, but I'm not completely sure why.

She was my sister and I left the room. I left the holding cell. I left and went home. I left my sister there, sobbing and crying for her brother.

I love this part, really shows his feelings toward her. I would mention something about her being a killer in ‘I left my sister there’ because it would really drive home the impression of a serial killer crying and make it more striking.

No one heard the cries from my sister the day of her execution, the day she died.
And no one heard my guttural cries when her ashes appeared on my doorstep.

I really love this ending - it perfectly shows her emotions and his. The one thing I would change is your use of ‘cries’ in the second sentence; it feels repetitive (in a bad way) using it the second time. Or you could change the first one, but either way, having two makes it fall flat.

Overall, this is an amazing piece, and it shows Akito's change in perspective really well. Just make sure you're careful of when not to use commas. One thing I didn't mention is that I forgot their names pretty quickly, so you might want to add their names in more when describing them, not just when they say it to each other. Thanks Mildred!

↻ ◁ II ▷ ↺

◪ Critique 2
Wordcount: 309
Person critiqued: pixzunami
Their work: Daily from November 2023
Cabin: Bi-Fi

aloha, kanaloa;

I love how this immediately gives the reader a sense of what is coming in the read up next- something related to Hawaii, maybe someone writing to a friend who lives there or someone who lives there themselves.

as i write to you, kanaloa, the scarlet canvas slowly splatters over the twilight, and the haze of night gives way to the sun.

This sentence is absolutely beautiful. I had to reread it a few times to re-experience it. Did I ever mention I like personification? (Yes, I have, multiple times, in other critiques where I droned on and on and on about why I love it so much). Personification brings something which could be plain to life in just a few extra words. Instead of writing sunrise, as you did, you can write something much more emotional and serene. It's almost like a filler episode in one of your favourite TV shows- it doesn't make much difference to the story as a whole, but it adds a warm spark, something interesting and eye-catching. Personifications are nothing like Metaphors, yet all the same- I prefer Personification as you can turn a simple action or thing into an emotion that connects with the reader.

I'm sorry I've been droning on about Personification again

I don't have anything else left to highlight in your story to particularly comment on because the entire thing was very serene and almost soul touching, only if I could understand it. That was one of the key points that I was really upset about- If I uhad nderstood what the words meant and who the constellations were, I could have enjoyed this peace much more. Maybe you could create a very small index in the beginning or at the end, just highlighting what the important words in different languages were for indicated astrologists like me :sigh: Even without knowing the meaning, it was still quite beautiful to read. I loved it so much; thank you for letting me critique your piece!

379 words

aconite - toxicity
lotus - tranquility
apple blossom - renewal

— — — —

you grew a patch of aconite in a pot on your windowsill. that should have been the first sign. you fed your flowers with water, sweetening their poison, enhancing their toxicity; and by extension, your own.

“get out of the house,” you had screamed at me. “get out of here, and never come back.” that had been the morning after we had planted the seeds. you told me that they were seeds of roses. then again, it wasn’t as if that was the only lie that you had ever told.

today, i am back in the fields again. it is now summer, with the spring flowers not being able to withstand the heat. i wonder if you would survive it, too.

the silhouette of a girl passes me by. she is not you. she smiles, approaching me in the center of the field. “and what would someone like you be doing here?” she asks, a mischievous glint in her eye.

“i’ve come here to get over someone,” i mutter, staring at the grass.

she sees right through me. “well, you’re not doing a very good job of that, are you?”

i freeze, deciding to change the subject. “what are those?” i ask, pointing at the flowers in her hands.

the girl smiles. “they’re lotuses. they keep me calm, even in the moments when i feel that i can no longer be fully tranquil. here.” she hands me a lotus. “i feel like you could use one.”

months pass, and i continue to visit the field with the same girl by my side. little by little, i begin to forget you and forgive myself for the pain that i had put myself through. one day, you visit the same field. at first, my breathing becomes less than rhythmic, being in close proximity to you. soon, though, the girl takes my hand and places a lotus bloom in my hair, and i forget all about you. i don’t even notice the elaborate bouquet that you’ve laid on the grass for me.

i hand the girl a different kind of flower, separate from her lotuses. “it’s an apple blossom,” i tell her. “for renewal, personal growth-“

“and happiness,” she finishes, smiling.

“yes,” i agree, stepping around a patch of your aconite. “happiness.”

once again, Skylar is too lazy to format this, so she’s just going to posy it and will probably never format this again
357 words

Sora landed softly down on the pavement, folding in her mechanical wings that allowed her to soar through the Slums during her nightly patrols. She walked quietly towards the small, bunker-like building that served as the home for many of the superheroes who lived in the Slums, Sora being one of them.

Opening the door, Sora navigated her way down to the small underground complex that served as homes. She found her way to Apartment 12, which had been her home for the past few years. She’d been taken in by Emerie and her adopted daughter Nova shortly after she found herself on the streets. It wasn’t much, but it was home.

“Sora?” Sora heard a voice call as she opened the door. Emerie’s senses were stronger than most, and so she could hear when Sora came through the door.

“It’s me,” Sora said, shutting the door behind her and taking off her mechanical wings and ripping her helmet off from her face. “Oh, stars, is it nice to strip all this off me,” she said, straightening out her rather short hair that was now frizzled.

“Sora, Nova-” Emerie began, but Sora pushed past her to grab some food from the kitchen. As she did so, Sora noticed something on the dining table that meant everything wasn’t right. Something had gone wrong.

On the table, there was a small bouquet of flowers, laid out in a manner that reminded Sora of the Victorian language of flowers - something they had learnt from other people in their group. In it, there stood white snowdrops, sweet pea, and osmunda. The flowers for hope, departure, and dreams.

Looking closer, Sora noticed a note sticking out of the bouquet, and she took it. Nova’s neat handwriting covered the sheet.

Sora, Emerie -

I’m sorry I’m leaving you.

Thank you for taking me in.

But I need to chase a big dream of mine. One that I always wanted. I have the opportunity to do that now.

So I’m leaving.

Sora, don’t come and find me. Please.

- Nova

Nova had definitely gotten herself into some sort of mess that was way over her head.

↻ ◁ II ▷ ↺

◪ Noͦ 13
Wordcount: 656/350
Topic: Flower Language
Points earned: 250+100 for proof
Cabin: Bi-Fi

Flowers used-
Ulex (Humility)
Hydrangea (show-off)
Buttercup (childishness)

I was not the favourite child.

It was not obvious to anybody taking a peer into my glasshouse family. To them, we were happy- we were perfect, and we were beautiful. We were caring, the desired outcome, the best reward of all. A lenient father, who worked all day to come back to his home with new stylish belts in his arms for his wife to pick from. A patient mother, who took her children wherever she went to keep an eye on them, not out of controlling but out of protectiveness. A younger sister, who was slim and gorgeous, who was bold and outgoing, who always dared to challenge the rules. And an older sibling- thin and quiet, taking care of her unruly sibling lovingly.
That's me.

My father did not come home with stylish belts for my mother to pick from. They were for me. I did not get a pick and could only pray that the one I received did not have a harsh metal buckle. My mother did not take us around everywhere out of protectiveness. She took us around to show off my sibling and then dumped her in my responsibility. And I, for one, do not take care of her lovingly or love her at all. I am not ashamed- it is simply how I feel. I do not love my father, and I do not love my mother. I love them as much as when you walk by a special shaped stone on the beach. You smile, your gaze lingers, and then it takes its place in the millions of memories in the back of your head. You can remember how much you loved it if you try very hard, but it is often lost. A fleeting moment.
Something once there, but not quite anymore.
I love them just as much as the party I am made to sit through every year. My birthday is supposed to be a happy occasion, but I am not sure if the guests arriving at my family's pristine glasshouse know that the person with sunken eyes is supposed to be the main attraction for the day. They are automatically drawn towards the younger, happier, boistrous girl, dancing on the table and chairs she was instructed not to arrange instead, laughing and smiling and taking pictures. Saying, “What a sweet child.” Saying, “She's so adorable.” Saying, “I can't believe how you deal with her every day.”
I don't believe it either.

My dress is the eye-catching color of a ulex. Sometimes, I wonder why I don't catch anybody's eye either way. Perhaps it is not the dress, but the person adorned in it. I must say it is a very pretty color. It would deserve a prettier wearer.
My sister's dress is puffy with ruffles at the sleeves and hems. It is sparkly and changes shades of purples at the different angles one stands away from her. It has small engravings of hydrangeas on it, and she plucks the yellow buttercups from my bouquet to put them in her hair. They were bought to match my dress, and I will not regret saying they looked horrible on her head. It did not suit her dress and did not suit her smug smile as my neighbours took more pictures of her.
A few petals fell into my cake, and I blew them off, blowing out the candles as well. I do not blame anybody for not noticing- I almost didn't notice myself. But when they did glance in my direction and find the candles smoking lightly, they awkwardly looked away. As if they hadn't even realised. I do not resent them. At most, I resent myself for not having the courage to create a ruckus like my sibling.

I will wear this dress next year. Maybe then, I will be just as eye-catching as the petals of a ulex.

↻ ◁ II ▷ ↺

◪ Word War 5
Wordcount: 424
Person warred: pixzunami
Win/Loss: Win
Prompt used: Yes, “if you're a mango, what am I?”
Time: 5 minutes
Cabin: Bi-Fi

“If you're the mango, what am I?”

At this point, Sarah wasn't even sure what she was doing. She was so lonely that she was talking to a lone mango that had almost toppled over her desk. The days she had spent isolating herself had clearly worked because look at her now. All alone in a three-story apartment, with no family, no friends, and certainly no pets either. She was too forgetful to take a dog for a walk regularly and clean a cat's litter in intervals. Her mainacal screaming would scare away birds, and she would give too much food to a fish. In fact, she would give absolutely nothing to a turtle. She couldn't bear to keep a snake. At this point, she couldn't even keep a plant. She would either water it too much or water it none at all. Wow, she didn't even drink water herself sometimes. How was she supposed to care for a whole other organism? For now, the mango would have to do.
“You know, Mr. Mango,” She said, pulling out a sharpie from her pen stand and starting to draw on the mango, giving him a small smiley face. Then she drew a small V on the top, making him look like he was smiling evilly. Then she frowned and rubbed off his smile, giving him a frown. Now he looked more fierce. When she wiped off the V and gave him a half A, he looked sad. It was funny how many emotions one could express with just the shape of one line. Sarah looked at her desk mirror and frowned, realising the way her forehead scrunched up when she did. Then she smiled like how she often did in front of the neighbourhood children, flinching. She hadn't looked at her reflection in a long time, and the sight of her smile scared her. Now she realised why the kids always ran in the other direction when she tried to make small talk. Her hair was all frizzy, and her eyes looked like someone had forcefully pushed them back. They were sunken and dull, with huge black circles under them. You couldn't even just call them dark circles anymore- they were like shadows. Her ears looked red from the heat. She had refused to open the window- scared someone would try and throw rocks in. Hah, paranoid was more of the word. Ever since one small child had done it one night, she had woken up with immense nightmares and had almost gone down to

3/13/25
Haiku by Livaline

Darkness:

Darkness takes over
But a small space filled with light
Can bring much comfort

The first time I saw her, she lay alone in the meadow. Head back against the ground, watching the clouds pass by with a wide-eyed sort of wonder. When I stepped closer I could make out the buttercups and daisies arranged messily in her hair, their vibrant yellow and white entwined against the backdrop of her light golden-brown locks. I paused, finding myself transfixed by the sight and strangely unwilling to rupture the bubble of serenity that spread around her and the flowers she wore. She seemed at that moment like someone straight out of a fairytale. Even though she was just a girl. Just a child, like me.

Eventually I worked up the nerve to approach - once again, as if she were some nature fae sprang out of a fable - and she slowly lifted herself from the grass to turn her head my way as she heard my cautious steps. “Oh…hi, I thought there was someone else over there! Do you wanna cloudwatch with me?” She beckoned me over with a carefree wave of her hand, her sparkling blue eyes and sunkissed skin drawing me forward to sit down beside her just as much as the gesture. Once I settled myself cross legged against the grass, she collapsed back to her original position, arms spread out over her head, hair teasing the sides of her freckled cheeks. A gust of wind swooped playfully against my chest, sending my own braided strands astray. It was……nice. We gazed up at the clear blue sky for what felt like an eternity. But occasionally I stole a few glances back at her. I couldn’t resist. The way her chest rose and fell slowly, serenely. The flowers and windblown petals still clinging to every part of her. Littering her locks, brushing her bare shoulders like a nudge from old friends. She was so much more ethereal up close. Enchanting. Enthralling. No burden darkened those sapphire eyes, no pain ate away at her cheeks. No bitter but slow-striking poison slithered down her collarbone and made its home in her heart. She was no fae or goddess of Spring. But I knew keenly then, In that moment, a snapshot of time I would cherish for an eternity, she was a being of pure, unfettered bliss.

If only blissful creatures like her were made to last.

A single marigold wilts in a vase on my desk as I slam my computer down onto it and fumble for the charger. The dark screen of my dying device stares blankly back at me, a ceaseless void. The only reprieve is the border of Forget-me-not stickers I pasted there years ago, gleaming a brilliant sapphire. Not as bright as hers. Never as bright as hers.

Finally the charger clicks properly into its port and I heave a sigh of satisfaction, pushing away from the desk to finally force my mind away from dying computers and dying flowers to happier thoughts like dying…..

Like……

Flower Daily
753 words
Amaranth - Immortality
Hydrangea - Show off
Quamoclit - Busybody

I sat astride my magnificent throne in Olympus, the gold glinting in the harsh sunlight. Kretos, Zelos and Bia, a few of my many servants, stood in different areas of the rooms, their faces gazing straight ahead, expressionless. They each held a platter, one with all kinds of snacks - little ambrosia cubes, ambrosia cocktails and (my favourite) nectar croissant. Another had all the offerings that the demigods were currently sending up to me: lots of cheeseburgers and chips, along with the extremely common beef brisket. The other one was filled with drinks, specifically wine which had been created from Dionysus’ vines themselves.
“Drink!” I ordered, beckoning Bia. She strode up to me and stuck out her hand, the ruby red wine sloshing around inside the intricately carved goblet. I grinned and snatched it from her.
“Yum.” I told her.
She nodded. “Good, Lord Zeus.”
She skittered off and took up her position again. This really was the life of a god.

“Sir, deliveries,” announced a tired voice.
I rolled my eyes. “What is it this time, Hermes?”
He put his head in his hand. “Appreciation, please. I come here every night and you just scoff and don’t even care about it. If you want me to quit or give me a pay rise-”
“No!” I interrupted, desperate not to get caught out by his flawless persuasion and lying. “It’s actually very useful… once every century or so. Anyway, here’s your pay.”
I threw him a bag of special edition nectar and some Waitrose ambrosia and a few cans of baked beans. He really loved his baked beans. He gave me a thumbs up.
“Pay rise?” He begged.
I shook my head firmly. “Shut up.”

He knew I had reached my limit. “OK, there’s a few letters from Boreas about the weather channels or something, some Cadbury’s chocolate from some random human, your crochet kit-
“What crochet kit?”
“Oh, hang on, that’s for Hera!” He corrected himself.
I frowned. Hera crocheted? I shrugged. Each to their own.
“And there’s some letters from the demigods, mainly about the feud between the centaurs and the nymphs and a few about Kronos rising, which are pretty much irrelevant and then there’s some flowers from those strange humans.”
I nodded. “Hand me the flowers, so I can see if there are any Hera would like - she’s a bit angry at me right now, and chuck the rest!”
“‘K.”
He dove off the edge of the plateau above the rest of Olympus and fluttered away.

I let out a deep sigh of relief. He was finally gone. I could finally try and make Hera just a little bit happier.
I sifted through the packages. THe demigods had adopted a new obsession with deliveries to me. They loved to send ‘meaningful’ flowers to me, which originated from some random flower language thing. Most of them read similar messages - ‘To Olympus, Love Demigods of Camp Mangoriffic, To Zeus, God of the Frying Pan and so on. I got bored after about 2 seconds and selected 3 random packages and chucked the rest.

The first one was wrapped in crinkled brown paper, covered in stains. I gingerly unwrapped it, one hand pinching my nose - demigods stunk - and lifted out the flowers. The petals were wilted and dry, the stems drained of all colour and moisture and overall pretty… dead. A label attached to it read ‘Amaranth - Immortality!’ I slapped my head. Amaranth again? I already knew I was immortal for goodness sake! However, I was used to seeing vibrantly coloured crimson or fuchsia petals, not dead ones. Normal amaranth would really help Hera. It would look very pretty and go to her head! Win-win.

I moved onto the next package. This time it came in a perfectly sealed box with ‘Hermes Class’ stamped on it in a cursive print. They had really spent some money on keeping that package safe. And so they should.
I tore it open and immediately saw bunches of stunning flowers, their petals like sparkling gems. Some were sapphire, some lilac and some a deep pink. Hera would love these. I glanced at the label. ‘Hydrangea - Show-off.’ I frowned. I would have to remove the label. The demigods always thought they were so funny. They were just a nuisance.
I picked up the last one. Dead bored, I ripped it open and looked at the star-shaped blood-red flowers. Great. The label read ‘Quamoclit - Busybody.’

This demigod was going down.

‧₊ ˚ ⊹ ࣭୨ ASSIGNMENT 13 ୧ ⊹ ˚₊‧

I will never forget her, no matter how much time passes. I will never forget it, how she smelled of pansies. How her voice was as sweet as a lullaby, how soft her laugh was. I will never forget who she was, I will never forget how perfect she was.

Her hair was filled with daisies, she wore them as if they were medals of honor. She had the sweetest smile and the brightest eyes. Her eyes were a watercolor mixed perfectly with shades of blue, purple, and green. They were like the most beautiful rainbow, and those were the eyes she deserved.

She was perfection, and I was not. Yet, she still gave me a chance. I tried my best to accommodate her. I showered her in roses like she deserved, we were both joyous, we were both happy and laughing.

However, all roses have thorns.

Foolishly, I let her fall. I watched as darkness swallowed her whole. I watched as her daisies fell from her hair, as they all wilted and died. I watched as her daisies died and faltered. I was left with the petals, though they didn’t mean anything to me. They only meant anything when they were with her.

All I had left was a snowdrop, though even when time passed that seemed useless too. It wilted like everything else I had. It wilted alongside the daisies and roses. The only thing that remained was the lingering scent of pansies.

Every flower was replaced with marigold, it being the only signal of my distress. I languished and anguished for days on end, the scent of pansies driving me insane. It was all I could think about, it was all I could smell. It was terrible, a fate worse than death. I wondered why it kept haunting me, perhaps it was meant to be a cruel reminder of everything I had failed at.

Days passed, and the snowdrop only lost its white, pristine petals. It was as pure as she had once been.

But eventually, someday, somehow. The scent of pansies subsided. And when I looked at the snowdrop, it still had a petal.

| ♞ | ୨ 358 words

flower daily - 354 words :3

im not formatting this , ive got a show to get to >:]

aster writes cute stuff ??? wow

meadowsweet - uselessness
Indian pink - I die if neglected
daisy - innocence
peach blossoms - I forgot


raymond’s pen scratched at their journal, an almost-dreamy smile on their face as they wrote. her. her, her, her…God, everything about her.

her face when they appeared in the classroom.

her grin as she called out their name—how she said it. so brightly, like there was nothing holding her down. a balloon without a string.

how childish she was…she’d picked daisies for them at school, during recess, and tied them together with a blade of grass, holding them out with a teasing look in her eyes.

a little giggle left them at the thought, and they mouthed her name, just to feel it on their lips one more time. because, God, how could they not?

penelope.

a beautiful name.

as beautiful as the peach blossoms that their brother used to grow, raymond watching out the window with their sister as he did.

as darling as the meadowsweet on her windowsill that she watered every day with that little green watering can of hers.

ah, they weren’t a stalker or anything, no…they just couldn’t take their eyes off of her, and if she didn’t love them back…oh, they would just die…

how useless they were, they thought, without someone to guide and order them around, as their gaze traveled to the small vase of Indian pink flowers on their desk, right next to the innocent bottle of their medication with the small sticky note in their mother’s familiar, neat handwriting.

take them once a day.

once. no more, no more. last time more happened, their sister had to call an ambulance, and god knows how much that cost…

a sigh left their lips, and their focus traveled back to the page, now filled with their loopy cursive. their finger traced her name, over and over again.

penelope.

penelope, penelope, penelope.

what a beautiful girl.

what a beautiful girl. that they didn’t deserve.

that they couldn’t have.

because she was God’s feast.

and nobody interfered with God’s will.

not even Its messenger.







sometimes they wished they were just a normal character, unaware of the narrative dooming them all.


childhood love is tragically beautiful in the end.

⋆ daily march 13th: flower daily
rhododendron (danger), oleander (beware), orange blossom (purity)
there is a soft knock on my door, and my head perks up. since moving into a cottage in the middle of nowhere, i haven’t received many visitors, and i hadn’t expected one now - curious, i head to open it.
no one’s there. there aren’t even any footprints in the dirt, a gentle sign of life. the only noise today is the woosh of the trees and ringing windchimes. i glance around for a minute, humming softly and hoping to find something like a small fox. perhaps it was him that had accidentally thumped against my door. he doesn’t show and i almost head inside again, before catching a glimpse of something colorful laying against washed out cobblestone steps.
it’s a flower. a golden rhododendron, lonesome and wilting in the summer sun. i bend to pick it up, frowning - how had this gotten here? and didn’t flowers like these usually grow on a bush? eventually i shrug and accept it as a gift from nature. it looks lovely in a glass vase on my kitchen counter.

the next day, a soft tap interrupts me from my afternoon again. i set down my tea, warm with the smell of orange blossoms and sugar. i’d just finished brewing it, and hoped it wouldn’t cool too much in the time of my absence.
unsurprisingly, there is still no one there, and it’s even more silent than it had been before. i look down first and this time there is a different doomed flower baking in the heat - i don’t recognize it, it’s bright pink bloom and leaves more on the tropical side. there is no wind present today that could have carried the flower, i think later, when the it has already joined the rhododendron in the vase. i sip my tea and decide to not dwell upon it any longer.
there were more important things to be done in life.

more of the flowers come. i wait for them every day then, but the fourteenth never comes. i’m left having an arrangement of thirteen withering heads on my kitchen top.
that fourteenth day, a wall of fire comes to visit me in my sleep, turning everything it touches to ash. rain had not fallen in well over a month. i swing my feet from the heavens now, wishing i’d listened to fate’s warnings.

critique for @Eeveedonut with 548 words of critique
#Hi, Iris! I went line by line and added some suggestions, feel free to take them with a grain of salt though ^^
Sitting down is a task. Let me rephrase that- sitting down means you intend to stay there for a while. But I, however, never intend to do anything. Everything just, somehow, sort of, happens to me. I do not know how, but I never meant to write this. I never meant to do anything. Intend, mean. It is all the same, honestly. But anyways, let us start this story.

#This intro feels a bit rambly! The first two lines don’t really catch my attention and sort of don’t make sense (sometimes I sit down just for a second)
#I know that you’re referring back to “intend” in the sentence “Intend, mean” but I might rephrase this since it can be a little unclear to the reader. I like how you use shorter sentences and commas to express the narrator’s boredom, but I would also probably combine the “intend, mean” and the following sentence to make it flow more smoothly.

I sat down in my kitchen and I shut my eyes for just a quick moment. It had been a long day and all I wanted was a nice cup of coffee. So I had made one for myself and had sat down at the table in my kitchen. My kitchen is yellow and tiled and absolutely gorgeous! It reminds me of sunshine and happiness and fun and candy and sugar. It makes my days a whole lot better- or, should I say, brighter! I know you are laughing. I can not see you, but I am sure you are laughing your minds out of your heads because of that outstanding, wonderful joke I wrote. Ha ha ha! This person is so funny, you say, while taking a sip of your tea. You seem like a tea drinker, dear reader. You really do. Anywho!

#Breaking the third wall here might not give the reader the desired effect—the narration here feels a little forced. It might be helpful to make the reader feel more connected to the story. The line where the narrator describes making the coffee and sitting down also feels a little clumsy to read.

When I opened my eyes, you will not believe what I saw! I saw- get this- a capybara drinking tea. I blinked. And I blinked again. And yep! There was still a capybara sitting in front of my drinking tea. Yes. A capybara. Drinking tea. In front of me. This had never happened to me before and I was rather unsure of what to do. I wonder, has this ever happened to you, my dear reader? I sure doubt it, but I wanted to check, just in case.

#”There was still a capybara sitting in front of my drinking tea.” Did you happen to mean me here, or that the capybara is sitting in front of the drinking tea?
#I found one inconsistency; early on you write that the narrator makes themselves a cup of coffee, and then there are a lot of references to tea drinking (is the capybara drinking the narrator’s drinking tea?). This probably changes the tone a bit, with the later references to tea drinkers.
#You use breaking the third wall here a lot better than in the previous paragraph!

“Um. Hello? Who are you?” I ask. I was very confused. Why, oh why, was there a capybara drinking tea across from me in my kitchen? How did he get into my house? What kind of tea was that? Was I dreaming? Does he like my kitchen? Does it bring him joy?
“First off, I am Copper the Capybara! Next, why can not I be drinking tea across from you in your kitchen? And I walked in, duh. This is chai. No, you are not dreaming. Yes, your kitchen is lovely. And it brings me joy. Are those all of your questions? Do you have any more?”
#Ask should be asked to keep the tense parallel.

“Can… can you read my-”

“Yes. I can.”

My jaw hit the ground. WOAH. This was CRAZY! I had never met a capybara before, let alone one that walked into my kitchen. Let alone one that talked. Let alone one that drinks chai!

“I love chai too! Where did you get yours?”

“My pocket.”

Oh. Okay then.

“I, um, have never had pocket chai. How different is it from, like, regular chai?”

“Well. It is from a pocket.”

#By a pocket of tea, does that just mean a tea bag?

“Oh. Yeah. That checks out.”

I looked at the capybara- wait, I do not know his name!

“What is your name, Mr. Capybara, sir?

”Girl, I just told you! My name is Copper! Are all humans idiots or just you?“

”Probably just me. Sorry, Copper. I forget a lot of things. I am not exactly in control of my own life. Things just… they just… happen, I guess. I do not really know. Sorry.“
#You use dialogue really well in this section above; it sounds like a regular conversation and flows! One thing I did notice was your use of the phrases “do not” (it’s said seven times) and “can not.” It might sound more normal if you use a contradiction instead.

”I is fine,“ Copper, my new best friend, said, taking a sip of his tea. It did smell good, even if it was from a pocket. I am not exactly sure how that is possible, but oh well! Whatever makes him happy, right? What I want to know is how I got so lucky to have a capybara waltz into my kitchen! This is so crazy cool. I looked at him with so much admiration. He was so insanely cool. ”Thanks,“ he said. ”I think you forgot that I can hear your thoughts.“
#By “I is fine,” do you mean it is fine?
#I’m a bit confused with the narrator’s relationship to the capybara. Their relationship to best friends progresses really quickly, even for someone who’s rather lonely!

”Oh yeah, I totally did. Oops! Sorry about that. I am rather forgetful, if you could not already tell. Wait, did I tell you that? Sorry, I'm rather forgetful, if you could not already tell.“

”It is okay, young one. Anyways, do not worry, I will be heading out soon. I only stopped in for a little bit of tea and a little bit of happiness, you know?“
#Young one? This feels a bit patronizing.

”No no no! Please don't go, I want you here! I need you here. You are the first person- er, thing, I guess- no wait, animal- that I have seen in weeks. I was trapped in this horrid house with nothing but a room, a kitchen, a bathroom and another room. I am so lonely. I can't go anywhere because I am in the middle of nowhere. Please, will you not stay a little while? I will even make you dinner if you do! I can make your favorite dish! I can tap dance! I do not care what I have to do to get you to stay, please please please do not leave me!“
#I like how you relate this back to the boredom in the intro!
#What does the middle of nowhere refer to? Is this a place outside of space and time? It would be cool to see some elaboration on this (especially later, when Copper says how he is a traveler)

Copper huffed. ”Fine. I guess I could stay for a little while. Do you have a guest room where I can put my bags in?“

”Uh, yes! But why do you have bags? And where do you have bags?“

”Well, I am a traveler who travels far and wide across this great place you and I call home. It is an incredible time but I do wish to rest every now and then. My bags, however, are outside with my pocket of tea. I can grab those if you would like to prep the guest room.“
#This feels a bit awkward—as a guest, I personally wouldn’t make assumptions (and the capybara can read minds anyway? Why does he even wait for the narrator to ask questions?)

”That would be great! And what would you like for dinner? Like, what is your favorite dish, I mean? Because I can and will make it for you!“

”Hmm,“ Copper thought for a moment, tilting his head thoughtfully. He was silent, and then: ”I sure do love some beef stew and tortillas and cheesy broccoli. It is absolutely delicious. The way the flavors blend together and compliment each other is so perfect. Have you ever had it?“

”I have not! But it sounds like a dish that would be pretty good. Well, I will prep your room while you get your bags and then I will make your food! I can not wait to try it!“

”I'm sure you will make it spectacularly. Do not you worry, my dear, even if it turns out bad, I will still stay. Sometimes, lonely people need each other.“
#This part is sweet

”Yeah.“ I paused for a moment. ”Okay, I'll be back! See you in a minute!" I rushed upstairs to make the bed and fix the curtains and the sheets and everything. It was always clean, there were just a few simple touch ups that needed to be done in order for it to be the perfect place for my guest.

I don't know what will happen next with Copper the capybara and his pocket tea and the beef stew and tortillas and cheesey broccoli, but I sure can not wait to find out!
#Earlier you referred to him as Copper the Capybara, so I would keep the capitalization consistent.
#Overall, this was a pretty interesting piece! The characters felt fun to read and had very casual and lifelike dialogue. My main suggestion is to revise the flow and the progression of the story. Even though you had a unique and whimsical style, some of the random things thrown into the story felt a bit too jarring and haphazard to follow. Still, nice job overall with dialogue and style, and only minimal suggestions for grammar and mechanics!

idk about this one I had no ideas and just wrote it in ten minutes. 350 words exactly

Every year, on the very first day of spring, everyone exchange flowers with each other. But instead of handing them to each other, we leave them at each others doors. We take flowers seriously in our society. Every year, my boyfriend and I have exchanged roses to show our undying love for each other. It's a huge deal, and often the schoolchildren get the day off to go deliver flowers every spring. I sprung out of bed, fixed my hair, and immediately went downstairs. I grabbed the bouquet of roses I'd been saving for this day, and rushed off to leave them at his doorstep. He didn't answer the door when I put them down - he must've been off giving flowers to his family and I, I thought. I went back to my house, and noticed there were new flowers on my doorstep! No roses yet, but someone had given me some flowers. I walked to my door, and stopped dead in my tracks. The lucerne my mother leaves for me each year were cast to the side. Instead, they were replaced by a single nightshade, an ice plant, trefoil, and pansy. What? Nobody ever gave those out on flower day. Who in the world would send me those? And why hadn't my boyfriend dropped off his usual flowers? I ran back to my bedroom, shocked and confused. But on my bed, a bouquet had appeared. A note was written on it - “I'll love you forever, stay strong.” It was from my boyfriend. In the bouquet, there was an oleander, peach blossom, rhododendron, veronica, dahlia, forget me nots, and finally, a dying rose. What the h3|| did that mean?! I knew it had to be from my boyfriend, but what was going on? Why wasn't he here? I didn't know what to do. There were flowers of love, but other flowers warning of danger?? And… a forget me not. Where had he gone? It didn't seem to be willingly. And who had left those other flowers on my doorstep? It's either a prank, or my boyfriend is in grave danger.

13th March Daily: 376/350 words

There’s a little noise at my left and I look up, peering at the door. A crumpled envelope slide through cautiously and drops onto the doormat. I wonder what it is. Getting up, I examine the envelope, opening it up carefully.

Inside, there are three flowers: a dahlia, a pansy and a zinnia. The note attached says: ‘I’m still sorry.’

Immediately, I know who this is from, the very person that’s been occupying my mind since we first met. My fingers part from the shock and the letter flutters to the ground. I clutch the mini bouquet of flowers tightly. As an apprentice florist, I know these flower’s meanings;
the Dahlia - yours till the end
the Pansy - you occupy my thoughts
and the Zinnia - thoughts of absent friends.

I place them gently on the table, stroking their vivid petals. Some of these flowers must’ve been hard to get- so does that mean he actually cares?

Is it time to forget and forgive, maybe?

Picking up the note again, I trace the lines that the pen has etched into the paper. I don’t think I’m ready just yet, but I know exactly what to do.

Getting up, I walk out of my apartment and into the florist’s I work at, picking through the different flowers. Yes, there it is! An ox eye - it means patience. Just because the wound is still hurting everyday, doesn’t mean it won’t ever patch up.

Slipping the oxeye into a paper bag, I walk mindlessly along the road to his road, turning right at the exact time out of old habit. I gasp.

It’a been a while since I’ve come here, and I can still feel the summer air, I can still feel the hurt I felt in my chest as I ran out of this very door, slamming it as hard as I could. It’s almost like I’ve been transported back- back before I found out it was all a game, back to last month when it was all right.

My fingers shake a little, but I leave the bag with the flower there, and duck away quickly, pacing furiously back up the road. That wasn’t that bad, was it?

When I arrive back home, I’m smiling.