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- Natt519
-
Scratcher
76 posts
swc megathread: march '25
daily for myth!
367 words, +350 points
hehe epic the musical daily ✨✨
367 words, +350 points
hehe epic the musical daily ✨✨
Is it you? Have my prayers been answered?
Is it really you, my love, or am I dreaming once more?
* * *
The sky darkened quickly, quicker than she had ever seen before, as if the storm had been trapped and had gotten free. Clouds, the dark and foreboding kind, filled the sky and the waves churned. All of it, in just a moment. A divine storm.
Poseidon help us.
Then came the rain; it pounded at the stone of the palace, slashing, coming in waves, unrelenting. She knew she should get away from the balcony, but still she stood there, watching the ocean. Hoping that she would see his boat there, sailing towards Ithica. Twenty years. She told herself to squash that false hope, but it was persistent, like a candle flame that wouldn't blow out.
But this storm was from the gods. Maybe today was the day she had waited for for twenty years. Just maybe, he would be there.
And so she waited.
* * *
But I don't know how much longer I'll last
Since we saw that storm
And though it was so close to our kingdom
It was far from the norm
Unless
Oh, could it be some kind of sign
That my world is all about to change?
* * *
The storm had passed, finally, and the sky turned blue once again. The waves calmed. The clouds retreated. Peace.
She still stood there, on the balcony, still watching the waves. A gust of wind blew past, and she felt something brush her face before falling onto the ground. She turned, and lying there, was three…
…flowers?
A pansy, forget-me-not, and bay. All pristine and beautiful. How had they survived the storm?
She picked them up, tucking the forget-me-not into her hair. As she looked back at the water, hoping, she saw a speck of brown.
It grew larger steadily. There was someone aboard the boat.
Odysseus.
* * *
I will fall in love with you over and over again
I don't care how, where, or when
No matter how long it's been, you're mine
Don't tell me you're not the same person
You're always my husband and I've been waiting,
waiting,
waiting,
waiting,
waiting,
waiting,
waiting,
waiting,
for
you.
Last edited by Natt519 (March 13, 2025 23:53:21)
- -WildClan-
-
Scratcher
100+ posts
swc megathread: march '25
(Holly = honeysuckle, Moss = periwinkle, Shade = ice plant)
Sometimes I wonder about you, brother. You watched with longing when Wander and Ruby left on their journey so long ago. I could tell you loved them. I can always tell. It's as though I can smell the sweet scent of honeysuckle blooming around someone when they see the one they love. Or, the two, in your case.
Why didn't you go with them? Why didn't you follow your love? I remember how you stood there, the soft morning light outlining your feathers in periwinkle blue. You were saying goodbye, and—what was it you said? Everything goes away? After everything that's happened, I've finally learned just how right you were. My Thorn left me behind, back when the colony split, and that's when I learned the pain of being separated from someone you had given your heart to. I never saw it coming, though in retrospect, maybe I should have. He was always so dissatisfied; always hesitating before he spoke, as if there was something he didn't want to say, not even to me. And now he's back, and so are you, and… I don't know how to feel anymore.
When you left with Moon and Silence, you promised you would be back one day. You remembered that promise, and though I haven't seen you in seasons, it's like nothing's changed at all. We're older now, the silver around both our muzzles beginning to show, but we're still the same on the inside. Like the flowers that blossom spring after spring, we are timeless. With Thorn, it's harder to tell. He's always been more difficult for me to figure out. All I know is that I can still scent the faint trace of honeysuckle when he's near, and that gives me hope. He's not the same as he was, but that doesn't mean everything's changed. He still loves me. I still love him.
But should I, even after everything that happened? I am patient, and I am strong, but it's still hard to bear when the ties of love are pulled taut, stretched across vast distances by someone who won't stop running. How did you do it, Moss? How could you spend your life so far from those who held your heart?
I don't want to become like Shade, cold and harsh like the winter wind. Our sister got everything she wanted, and I suppose she's happy now, but it's a lonely life up there in the leader's den. I could never do what she did. The ice plant may grow in the most frigid of weather, but I need the warmth of the sun to thrive.
Oh, brother, please give me some words of comfort, some wisdom you've gained in your travels. I have faith that everything will be okay, if only you could remind me what all this was for.
Sometimes I wonder about you, brother. You watched with longing when Wander and Ruby left on their journey so long ago. I could tell you loved them. I can always tell. It's as though I can smell the sweet scent of honeysuckle blooming around someone when they see the one they love. Or, the two, in your case.
Why didn't you go with them? Why didn't you follow your love? I remember how you stood there, the soft morning light outlining your feathers in periwinkle blue. You were saying goodbye, and—what was it you said? Everything goes away? After everything that's happened, I've finally learned just how right you were. My Thorn left me behind, back when the colony split, and that's when I learned the pain of being separated from someone you had given your heart to. I never saw it coming, though in retrospect, maybe I should have. He was always so dissatisfied; always hesitating before he spoke, as if there was something he didn't want to say, not even to me. And now he's back, and so are you, and… I don't know how to feel anymore.
When you left with Moon and Silence, you promised you would be back one day. You remembered that promise, and though I haven't seen you in seasons, it's like nothing's changed at all. We're older now, the silver around both our muzzles beginning to show, but we're still the same on the inside. Like the flowers that blossom spring after spring, we are timeless. With Thorn, it's harder to tell. He's always been more difficult for me to figure out. All I know is that I can still scent the faint trace of honeysuckle when he's near, and that gives me hope. He's not the same as he was, but that doesn't mean everything's changed. He still loves me. I still love him.
But should I, even after everything that happened? I am patient, and I am strong, but it's still hard to bear when the ties of love are pulled taut, stretched across vast distances by someone who won't stop running. How did you do it, Moss? How could you spend your life so far from those who held your heart?
I don't want to become like Shade, cold and harsh like the winter wind. Our sister got everything she wanted, and I suppose she's happy now, but it's a lonely life up there in the leader's den. I could never do what she did. The ice plant may grow in the most frigid of weather, but I need the warmth of the sun to thrive.
Oh, brother, please give me some words of comfort, some wisdom you've gained in your travels. I have faith that everything will be okay, if only you could remind me what all this was for.
- Dawnflower29
-
Scratcher
30 posts
swc megathread: march '25
kicks proof y’all’s way /silly
culture
The people of Willow Bay believe in a very organized government—there’s a strong favor towards democracy there, but their ‘god’ also plays a large role in their decisions, a messenger appointed by It to be the leader of a council—that most of the members are elected to be on by the people. Many speak English as their first language, and it’s the primary one learned in schools, but a handful of people have moved from across the globe and do know others. The whole island is quite small, and most people, without the internet to keep them busy—‘god’ ordered restrictions on electronics many, many years ago—know others on the grounds fairly well, and take the initiative to keep those relationships with them, people are generally pretty carefree and friendly, used to the casual island life they have, where nothing really matters outside of the tiny place. Fighting? Politics? Who cares, life’s wonderful on the beach! What matters to them most is their ‘god’ and Its will, the citizens going to a ‘church’ extremely often, being taught about It in school curriculum—when a whole lot of other important items are excluded—and having several events to worship It, from candle-lightings to yearly sacrifices. During these sacrifices two children are selected to be a feeding for the ‘God’, and are hung in the sunrise, as Its eye opens to watch Its prey. The bodies disappear soon after…maybe. This isn’t really a problem for most citizens, unless, of course, their child, friend…or they themself are the one chosen to die for the ‘God’. Friendship is highly valued on the island…and people do their best to conserve them, since people who live in Willow Bay usually stay there their entire lives, and typically have the same friends and companions until their eventual demise…each person isn’t as special as the government leads them to believe, though…people aren’t the most honest here. The beautiful scenery of the beach and the salty tang of the ocean shadows lies and secrets that could tear a universe apart…
aesthetic boards
tech
Eloise swallowed as she took small, almost anxious steps towards the tan house, topped with a perky red top. She glanced down at the crumpled note in her hand, with the poor drawing and handwriting almost akin to a doctor’s in legibility. Right house, she noted, her pale finger hesitating for a moment before gently pressing the brown doorbell, and taking a stride back. The sound of thumping footsteps ensued, and a tall, frazzled individual answered the door and ushered her in, grabbing onto Eloise’s arm and pulling her into a dimly lit room.
“Thank goodness you actually came, darling!” They chirped, “I had to have the main character here, didn’t I?”
“The what.” They grinned devilishly, and took her chin in their hands, inspecting her face.
“Mmm, mmm, mm…main character energy, for real. You literally have pink hair, lmao. Alright. So, you know why I called you here, right?” She shook her head—or did the best she could with his hands cupping her cheeks.
“No. I mean, it’s not like I don't know who you are, Raymond.”
“Eh…yeah. I am kinda popular, aren’t I?”
“Uh-huh.” She dully nodded. “Can you get to the point?” Raymond dramatically sighed, and looked around each and every way, before spinning a bulletin board around and displaying it to her. “…well. That’s…” Eloise grimaced. “I don’t know what this is.”
“It’s not obvious? It’s our world! Or our lack of one, to be precise! We—“ Eloise couldn’t keep up with whatever they were saying, and asking them once was enough.
“Uh-huh.” She repeated.
“Well, that’s great then! You won’t regret this!” …wait.
“Regret what?” Raymond giggled, and forced a small clip on her pink hair, as they cheerfully chirped,
“Joining my club! To fight back against God!” Oh, there wasn’t anything wrong with that! How perfect, it wasn't like their entire society was based around God or anything, that’d be so silly!!! Eloise just stared at them in a shocked silence. “Oh, come on! Don’t look at me like that!” They dragged her to a window, and opened it, letting the salty ocean breeze waft into the small house. She grimaced at the smell—the younger girl still hadn’t gotten too used to it. Something felt different, though. Almost surreal, maybe. She turned her head towards Raymond to ask them about it, but they forced her neck back into the position is was earlier,
“…something’s wrong.” She breathed. Ray’s lips curled into a grin.
“You’re seeing it now, baby,” They laughed, gesturing at the large, familiar stake that Penelope once was hung on. They’d use to whisper to her about the crush they had on Penny, how the innocent way she acted and talked, almost as if she were a little kid, instead of a 15-year-old girl. Now… “Everything we know is a lie. God hates us all…God lied! God lied, why should we follow a liar? We’re pathetic! I’m showing you this…this because it’s important! Our so-called ‘lives’ are important to me! That’s the way this game works!” A strangled, bitter, cold laugh left them, a hysterical smile spreading across their face.
“…I think that’s enough, let’s get you home…maybe a good night’s sleep can fix this.” Eloise shook her head, and took her clip off, handing it to Raymond, whose grin faded slightly at the sight of it,
“…I…I’m sorry, did I come off in the wrong way…?” They tilted their head slightly to the right, like a sad, pathetic puppy.
“No. I just think you should get some rest so you can actually think clearly about this…all angels break down eventually, you know.” A small flicker of reluctance went through their gaze, but they shrugged and agreed with a mumble. “Thank you.” She said pointedly, gaze softening a little.
final
Raymond groaned as their eyes flickered open. They were still alive. Oh boy. On top of that, they had a headache worse than normal, and there was only one way they knew to solve that. Their hand almost immediately went to the innocent little orange bottle of painkillers they kept on their bedside table, and they grasped it, struggling with the lock for a few moments before popping it open and downing four pills dry. A few more minutes passed before they eventually got up, grabbing their necklace from its stand and putting it on as they walked to the mirror in their room, shrugging and taking their trench coat to wear over their pajamas. Who really cared? It wasn’t like anyone would point that—or their lack of wig—out or anything. They strode out of their room and the house without as much as a goodbye to their family. They wouldn’t mind either.
Their route was familiar to them, they’d done it for so many of their 16 years.
Oceanside first. They needed to pray.
They waved at others they passed on their way down, who responded with cheerful grins and bright greetings of, “Hi, Ray!” Raymond merely nodded back, more engrossed in the sand that they somehow still hadn’t gotten used to. Funny texture. They felt it between their toes. Their hands clasped together in prayer as they got to the water, it lapping at the sand. The notice for who was Feed would be coming out any minute…they prayed that it wasn’t them, prayed to God that their sister and brother were safe—well, maybe It could have their brother, he was a real pain—and that their f-!
They straightened up again as a bell tolling interrupted their praying, eyes practically widening. The list. It was out. They cursed under their breath, before whispering, “sorry, God,” and disregarded the shells poking into their feet—disgusting—as they ran to the small board in the middle of the island, where a pretty decently-sized crowd had already gathered. They shoved people aside, breathing, “please, please, please, please…!” That's when their heart practically stopped.
There…right there…their hand came to cover their mouth.
That…was…they could feel tears prickling in their eyes.
Raymond didn't cry. They were Raymond heckin’ Durphy…but this…seeing her name written in innocent calligraphy…was too much.
—————
culture
The people of Willow Bay believe in a very organized government—there’s a strong favor towards democracy there, but their ‘god’ also plays a large role in their decisions, a messenger appointed by It to be the leader of a council—that most of the members are elected to be on by the people. Many speak English as their first language, and it’s the primary one learned in schools, but a handful of people have moved from across the globe and do know others. The whole island is quite small, and most people, without the internet to keep them busy—‘god’ ordered restrictions on electronics many, many years ago—know others on the grounds fairly well, and take the initiative to keep those relationships with them, people are generally pretty carefree and friendly, used to the casual island life they have, where nothing really matters outside of the tiny place. Fighting? Politics? Who cares, life’s wonderful on the beach! What matters to them most is their ‘god’ and Its will, the citizens going to a ‘church’ extremely often, being taught about It in school curriculum—when a whole lot of other important items are excluded—and having several events to worship It, from candle-lightings to yearly sacrifices. During these sacrifices two children are selected to be a feeding for the ‘God’, and are hung in the sunrise, as Its eye opens to watch Its prey. The bodies disappear soon after…maybe. This isn’t really a problem for most citizens, unless, of course, their child, friend…or they themself are the one chosen to die for the ‘God’. Friendship is highly valued on the island…and people do their best to conserve them, since people who live in Willow Bay usually stay there their entire lives, and typically have the same friends and companions until their eventual demise…each person isn’t as special as the government leads them to believe, though…people aren’t the most honest here. The beautiful scenery of the beach and the salty tang of the ocean shadows lies and secrets that could tear a universe apart…
aesthetic boards
tech
Eloise swallowed as she took small, almost anxious steps towards the tan house, topped with a perky red top. She glanced down at the crumpled note in her hand, with the poor drawing and handwriting almost akin to a doctor’s in legibility. Right house, she noted, her pale finger hesitating for a moment before gently pressing the brown doorbell, and taking a stride back. The sound of thumping footsteps ensued, and a tall, frazzled individual answered the door and ushered her in, grabbing onto Eloise’s arm and pulling her into a dimly lit room.
“Thank goodness you actually came, darling!” They chirped, “I had to have the main character here, didn’t I?”
“The what.” They grinned devilishly, and took her chin in their hands, inspecting her face.
“Mmm, mmm, mm…main character energy, for real. You literally have pink hair, lmao. Alright. So, you know why I called you here, right?” She shook her head—or did the best she could with his hands cupping her cheeks.
“No. I mean, it’s not like I don't know who you are, Raymond.”
“Eh…yeah. I am kinda popular, aren’t I?”
“Uh-huh.” She dully nodded. “Can you get to the point?” Raymond dramatically sighed, and looked around each and every way, before spinning a bulletin board around and displaying it to her. “…well. That’s…” Eloise grimaced. “I don’t know what this is.”
“It’s not obvious? It’s our world! Or our lack of one, to be precise! We—“ Eloise couldn’t keep up with whatever they were saying, and asking them once was enough.
“Uh-huh.” She repeated.
“Well, that’s great then! You won’t regret this!” …wait.
“Regret what?” Raymond giggled, and forced a small clip on her pink hair, as they cheerfully chirped,
“Joining my club! To fight back against God!” Oh, there wasn’t anything wrong with that! How perfect, it wasn't like their entire society was based around God or anything, that’d be so silly!!! Eloise just stared at them in a shocked silence. “Oh, come on! Don’t look at me like that!” They dragged her to a window, and opened it, letting the salty ocean breeze waft into the small house. She grimaced at the smell—the younger girl still hadn’t gotten too used to it. Something felt different, though. Almost surreal, maybe. She turned her head towards Raymond to ask them about it, but they forced her neck back into the position is was earlier,
“…something’s wrong.” She breathed. Ray’s lips curled into a grin.
“You’re seeing it now, baby,” They laughed, gesturing at the large, familiar stake that Penelope once was hung on. They’d use to whisper to her about the crush they had on Penny, how the innocent way she acted and talked, almost as if she were a little kid, instead of a 15-year-old girl. Now… “Everything we know is a lie. God hates us all…God lied! God lied, why should we follow a liar? We’re pathetic! I’m showing you this…this because it’s important! Our so-called ‘lives’ are important to me! That’s the way this game works!” A strangled, bitter, cold laugh left them, a hysterical smile spreading across their face.
“…I think that’s enough, let’s get you home…maybe a good night’s sleep can fix this.” Eloise shook her head, and took her clip off, handing it to Raymond, whose grin faded slightly at the sight of it,
“…I…I’m sorry, did I come off in the wrong way…?” They tilted their head slightly to the right, like a sad, pathetic puppy.
“No. I just think you should get some rest so you can actually think clearly about this…all angels break down eventually, you know.” A small flicker of reluctance went through their gaze, but they shrugged and agreed with a mumble. “Thank you.” She said pointedly, gaze softening a little.
final
Raymond groaned as their eyes flickered open. They were still alive. Oh boy. On top of that, they had a headache worse than normal, and there was only one way they knew to solve that. Their hand almost immediately went to the innocent little orange bottle of painkillers they kept on their bedside table, and they grasped it, struggling with the lock for a few moments before popping it open and downing four pills dry. A few more minutes passed before they eventually got up, grabbing their necklace from its stand and putting it on as they walked to the mirror in their room, shrugging and taking their trench coat to wear over their pajamas. Who really cared? It wasn’t like anyone would point that—or their lack of wig—out or anything. They strode out of their room and the house without as much as a goodbye to their family. They wouldn’t mind either.
Their route was familiar to them, they’d done it for so many of their 16 years.
Oceanside first. They needed to pray.
They waved at others they passed on their way down, who responded with cheerful grins and bright greetings of, “Hi, Ray!” Raymond merely nodded back, more engrossed in the sand that they somehow still hadn’t gotten used to. Funny texture. They felt it between their toes. Their hands clasped together in prayer as they got to the water, it lapping at the sand. The notice for who was Feed would be coming out any minute…they prayed that it wasn’t them, prayed to God that their sister and brother were safe—well, maybe It could have their brother, he was a real pain—and that their f-!
They straightened up again as a bell tolling interrupted their praying, eyes practically widening. The list. It was out. They cursed under their breath, before whispering, “sorry, God,” and disregarded the shells poking into their feet—disgusting—as they ran to the small board in the middle of the island, where a pretty decently-sized crowd had already gathered. They shoved people aside, breathing, “please, please, please, please…!” That's when their heart practically stopped.
There…right there…their hand came to cover their mouth.
That…was…they could feel tears prickling in their eyes.
Raymond didn't cry. They were Raymond heckin’ Durphy…but this…seeing her name written in innocent calligraphy…was too much.
—————
- -NightGlow-
-
Scratcher
1000+ posts
swc megathread: march '25
Word War
word count - 178 words
Dear diary,
I'm not even sure why I'm tell you this right now. Nobody was supposed to know, not even you. But here we are, once again. It's this all to familiar sensation of feeling trapped. I can't escape these shackles no matter how hard I try. It was all so normal.. nobody would have thought. I'm writing to you as a ghost right now. Wow- that sounds very weird to say out loud to be honest. Today is September 12. That was the day I died.
Let's start from the beginning now, shall we. It's pretty simple if I do say so myself. Honestly, it was bound to happen sometime, especially since we're involved with that kind of stuff. I can't believe that people remembered me though. After everything that happened, everything that I did to harm the people closest to me, they were still there for me, for some weird reason. I could never quite put my finger on it up until this point.
Everything that I had ever believed in was seemingly a well-thoughout li
word count - 178 words
Dear diary,
I'm not even sure why I'm tell you this right now. Nobody was supposed to know, not even you. But here we are, once again. It's this all to familiar sensation of feeling trapped. I can't escape these shackles no matter how hard I try. It was all so normal.. nobody would have thought. I'm writing to you as a ghost right now. Wow- that sounds very weird to say out loud to be honest. Today is September 12. That was the day I died.
Let's start from the beginning now, shall we. It's pretty simple if I do say so myself. Honestly, it was bound to happen sometime, especially since we're involved with that kind of stuff. I can't believe that people remembered me though. After everything that happened, everything that I did to harm the people closest to me, they were still there for me, for some weird reason. I could never quite put my finger on it up until this point.
Everything that I had ever believed in was seemingly a well-thoughout li
- icebunny11
-
Scratcher
100+ posts
swc megathread: march '25
↻ ◁ II ▷ ↺
That was the day I died.
And no, I wasn't being overdramatic, okay? Sometimes, tripping over your shoelaces is the worst thing possible in a situation. Even worse, this was the first day of my new school, and now everybody was staring. My dreams of becoming invisible at the back of the class were very quickly washed away, unfortunately, as the people from the class I was about to enter stared at me curiously. Not only had I tripped in front of them, but I had tripped right at the doorway, giving me a spectacular entry. How cool is that? I would very much like to slip into the cracks of the concrete and turn into the manure that farmers use for their plants, just so I could help a potato grow and actually do something useful in my life. This was the fourth time I had slipped today. Once when I had gotten out of bed, once when I was in the shower, once before entering the bus (which was even worse, because now the bus driver has started calling me “clumsy” as this cute little nickname that is just so amazing, huh!), and just now. To make matters worse, the TEACHER was inside too, sitting at her desk. She had paused halfway from drinking her coffee, her lips pressed to the rim while she eyed me from above her beaded glasses. I immediately stood up, brushing off my clothes nervously and stumbling to one of the far away desks. This was not a comfort because everybody's heads inadvertently followed me anyhow. Did nobody teach them it was rude to stare? I was on the verge of bursting into tears when someone burst into the classroom instead, tripping just as I had. Everybody's eyes snapped to him instead, and he stood up awkwardly, scratching the back of his head. His ID card looked worn out, and there wasn't a hint of curiosity in the air anymore. It seemed to me he wasn't a new student
◪ Word War 6
Wordcount: 336
Person warred: surfdudewave
Win/Loss: Win
Prompt used: Yes, “That was the day I died?”
Time: 5 minutes
Cabin: Bi-Fi
That was the day I died.
And no, I wasn't being overdramatic, okay? Sometimes, tripping over your shoelaces is the worst thing possible in a situation. Even worse, this was the first day of my new school, and now everybody was staring. My dreams of becoming invisible at the back of the class were very quickly washed away, unfortunately, as the people from the class I was about to enter stared at me curiously. Not only had I tripped in front of them, but I had tripped right at the doorway, giving me a spectacular entry. How cool is that? I would very much like to slip into the cracks of the concrete and turn into the manure that farmers use for their plants, just so I could help a potato grow and actually do something useful in my life. This was the fourth time I had slipped today. Once when I had gotten out of bed, once when I was in the shower, once before entering the bus (which was even worse, because now the bus driver has started calling me “clumsy” as this cute little nickname that is just so amazing, huh!), and just now. To make matters worse, the TEACHER was inside too, sitting at her desk. She had paused halfway from drinking her coffee, her lips pressed to the rim while she eyed me from above her beaded glasses. I immediately stood up, brushing off my clothes nervously and stumbling to one of the far away desks. This was not a comfort because everybody's heads inadvertently followed me anyhow. Did nobody teach them it was rude to stare? I was on the verge of bursting into tears when someone burst into the classroom instead, tripping just as I had. Everybody's eyes snapped to him instead, and he stood up awkwardly, scratching the back of his head. His ID card looked worn out, and there wasn't a hint of curiosity in the air anymore. It seemed to me he wasn't a new student
- icebunny11
-
Scratcher
100+ posts
swc megathread: march '25
↻ ◁ II ▷ ↺
I'd like to start by saying that I feel this is a very fresh concept you've written down here. Yes, many other people think of death as a new way or a new journey, but the way you write it makes it sound like the narrator is not only slightly alarmed or afraid, but also believes that death is a euphoric experience- one where all light connects to open us up into not only a different world but a different perspective as well. Also, did I ever mention how much I love personification? (Yes, I have; I do this every critique, and you are not an exception to my rambling <3) Personification is a way to turn an object or thing, as in this story, you have used death, into something that we can relate to more, understand better, or even just connect with. You can turn an inanimate thing like a flower or the sky into something more beautiful. Personification is a way to connect with your readers on a different level, and I feel you have just the right amount in this piece.
I feel like this is the only sentence in your work that may stand out in a slightly odd way. Every other sentence written down here is gentle, more graceful, more of a feeling than an action to display. Here, our sentence is more physical, or if it's a better way to describe it, less spiritual than the other paragraphs. Yes, it does convey what you need to say, as the action in my head was very easy to imagine. However, you could make this sentence a bit more, flowy? I'm not really sure how to convey this without using my hands, and sadly, Scratch doesn't include a video option :sob:
Overall, this piece is beautiful and interesting to read! If you need it to be deeper like you wanted it to be, then you could expand more on the paragraphs about death, adding more sentences and questions that make the reader also think and question it. Not only will it help them be more connected to the read, but it will also connect with their minds deeper, as they will also wonder the same questions as the narrator. I love this piece, and I think you did a great job!
◪ Critique 3
Wordcount: 386
Person critiqued: -NightGlow-
Their work: About death
Cabin: Bi-Fi
All of it works in unison, coming together bit by bit. Eventually, the illusion of darkness turns into light, creating a journey of hope.
I'd like to start by saying that I feel this is a very fresh concept you've written down here. Yes, many other people think of death as a new way or a new journey, but the way you write it makes it sound like the narrator is not only slightly alarmed or afraid, but also believes that death is a euphoric experience- one where all light connects to open us up into not only a different world but a different perspective as well. Also, did I ever mention how much I love personification? (Yes, I have; I do this every critique, and you are not an exception to my rambling <3) Personification is a way to turn an object or thing, as in this story, you have used death, into something that we can relate to more, understand better, or even just connect with. You can turn an inanimate thing like a flower or the sky into something more beautiful. Personification is a way to connect with your readers on a different level, and I feel you have just the right amount in this piece.
“Ok, you don’t seem pretty convinced.” Looking me directly in the eyes, it was as if he was waiting for my response. The deep “fatherly” stare with a big smile plastered across his face made it even harder to ignore it.
I feel like this is the only sentence in your work that may stand out in a slightly odd way. Every other sentence written down here is gentle, more graceful, more of a feeling than an action to display. Here, our sentence is more physical, or if it's a better way to describe it, less spiritual than the other paragraphs. Yes, it does convey what you need to say, as the action in my head was very easy to imagine. However, you could make this sentence a bit more, flowy? I'm not really sure how to convey this without using my hands, and sadly, Scratch doesn't include a video option :sob:
Overall, this piece is beautiful and interesting to read! If you need it to be deeper like you wanted it to be, then you could expand more on the paragraphs about death, adding more sentences and questions that make the reader also think and question it. Not only will it help them be more connected to the read, but it will also connect with their minds deeper, as they will also wonder the same questions as the narrator. I love this piece, and I think you did a great job!
Last edited by icebunny11 (March 14, 2025 12:14:06)
- ziqing11
-
Scratcher
100+ posts
swc megathread: march '25
return to table of contents
Daily 14
I feel hot, glimmering tears fill my eyes as the familiar landscapes of my childhood were displayed before my eyes once again. Twenty one years, I thought, a sad and nostlagic smile on my lips. So much has happened since I last saw these beloved mountains and lakes, but they had been there since the creation of the world and a matter of decades was meaningless in the long, long era of their existence. They still remain as they always had been, grand and beautiful as I had described in the earliest pages of my childhood diaries.
Though the altitude was high, spring was approaching in big steps and the gentle breeze swirling around my hair was cool and gentle, like a soft feather caressing my skin. A few loose strands of clouds were the only things that partly covered the bright blue sky. The afternoon sun was still high, its golden rays illuminating the newly green mountain slopes where grass was sprouting. Leaves had started growing on the bare tree branches, slowly covering them once again with a rich, deep green colour. Nature was reviving from the harsh winter, and it seemed like everything was happy to find the soft, golden season of rebirth we know as spring.
I also, was reviving - not only from the past year's particularly harsh winter, but also from those past twenty years of agony, hard work and illness spent abroad. Here in my native land, my spirit was free once more from the tourments of fate and of society - here nobody could consider me the criminal I was known as by all human beings. Here, among the trees and mountains and lake, I once again only a tiny part of the nature, an element myself.
The wind started to blow harder against my head. I let my hair lose from the strings tying it back, the grey strands flowing back against my cheeks. I knelt down, kissing the newborn grass with my lips. Tears dropped down from my eyes, soaking the grass with the salty water. I stepped up, took one last look at my beloved land, and jumped into the icy lake.
361 words
Daily 14
I feel hot, glimmering tears fill my eyes as the familiar landscapes of my childhood were displayed before my eyes once again. Twenty one years, I thought, a sad and nostlagic smile on my lips. So much has happened since I last saw these beloved mountains and lakes, but they had been there since the creation of the world and a matter of decades was meaningless in the long, long era of their existence. They still remain as they always had been, grand and beautiful as I had described in the earliest pages of my childhood diaries.
Though the altitude was high, spring was approaching in big steps and the gentle breeze swirling around my hair was cool and gentle, like a soft feather caressing my skin. A few loose strands of clouds were the only things that partly covered the bright blue sky. The afternoon sun was still high, its golden rays illuminating the newly green mountain slopes where grass was sprouting. Leaves had started growing on the bare tree branches, slowly covering them once again with a rich, deep green colour. Nature was reviving from the harsh winter, and it seemed like everything was happy to find the soft, golden season of rebirth we know as spring.
I also, was reviving - not only from the past year's particularly harsh winter, but also from those past twenty years of agony, hard work and illness spent abroad. Here in my native land, my spirit was free once more from the tourments of fate and of society - here nobody could consider me the criminal I was known as by all human beings. Here, among the trees and mountains and lake, I once again only a tiny part of the nature, an element myself.
The wind started to blow harder against my head. I let my hair lose from the strings tying it back, the grey strands flowing back against my cheeks. I knelt down, kissing the newborn grass with my lips. Tears dropped down from my eyes, soaking the grass with the salty water. I stepped up, took one last look at my beloved land, and jumped into the icy lake.
361 words
- XuMingHaoNath
-
Scratcher
13 posts
swc megathread: march '25
Daily :14
Un jour , un jeune de 21 ans, alla se balader dans le rue, le soir, il rentra chez lui pour dormir, le lendemain matin quand il se réveilla, il se trouva dans un autre type de paysage complètement différent à celui qu'il avait l'habitude de côtoyer .
Un peu plus tard, il se balada un peu plus, et il se rendit compte que ce paysage était d'une beauté inégale . Il essaya de trouver d'autre personne qui se serait également égaré dans cet endroit .
Un jour , un jeune de 21 ans, alla se balader dans le rue, le soir, il rentra chez lui pour dormir, le lendemain matin quand il se réveilla, il se trouva dans un autre type de paysage complètement différent à celui qu'il avait l'habitude de côtoyer .
Un peu plus tard, il se balada un peu plus, et il se rendit compte que ce paysage était d'une beauté inégale . Il essaya de trouver d'autre personne qui se serait également égaré dans cet endroit .
Last edited by XuMingHaoNath (March 14, 2025 15:51:43)
- _click_
-
Scratcher
100+ posts
swc megathread: march '25
Part 1: Breaking Common Rules (545 words)
— — — —
pretty much every rule i’ve seen is just a different version of “must use purple prose” which i hate doing! anyway here’s some aggressive imagery and satire (if you can catch it) in the first half, and abstract in the second half that purposely does not use purple prose
— — — —
the flowers are wilted tonight. the stars are out, yet barely visible as the clouds cover each and every one of those tiny lights. the garden does not breathe along with me. it exists in pure silence. i stand there for only a moment before sitting down, gradually lowering myself until my back is touching the cool grass. it rained yesterday, if that matters at all.
thinking about anything at all will only bring back a sea of memories that i do not wish to unravel, so i do not think. i do not speak. i stare at the sky, a cliche that most people might find boring, yet i find it to be interesting as i am a very introspective person. i am alive, if that matters at all.
the moon is out, captivating anyone who is emotionally deeper than the average person. i cannot recognize tonight’s moon phase. i am only a shell of the universe that orbits me (and no, it’s not the other way around). i am not offended by this natural exclusion. i am bringing my mind back to the present. after all, it has drifted away, if that matters at all.
i suddenly realize that there are other people around me. as if i have summoned them, they approach me, also choosing to rest in the grass. are they fellow introspective thinkers as well? there is no real way of knowing. nobody says a word, just how i like it. it is almost as if i have control over everyone. i smile at them, and they smile back. their smiles could be a little forced, but i do not notice or care because i am ever so grateful for their company… if it matters at all.
(292 words)
— — — —
“let me out of here,” she says. “it’s so dark here.” i personally think she could do a lot better keeping her mouth shut. besides, it’s not dark at all. i left the lights on, and she knows it. when will she stand down? will she ever?
she is trapped in a sketchbook, in the darkest corner of my imagination. she says that i must let her out, when she does not understand that it is impossible, that i cannot let her out. she does not help to move any plots forward. she is just there, a figment of my imagination, and while i could ramble on and on about her, i won’t. there is more to life than a figment.
i am conditioned to write, day after day, with no imagery. she begs to be drawn again, if only for a chance to live, which i cannot grant her. i am not an artist, and she is merely my rarely existent craft. i feed my paper ink, which she happily accepts. from her head to her toes, she does not always exist in full, depending on what i am willing to draw that day. nothing i draw is for an assignment, it is merely for self care and personal gain.
so i cannot let her out. and i hope that one day, when she is older and wiser (which she logistically will never be), she will understand that she must stop asking, for i will never be able to let her out.
(253 words)
— — — —
Part 2: Purposefully Incorrect Grammar (255 words)
— — — —
considering how i write entirely in lowercase anyway, i decided to use other choices for this part. i am a huge grammar freak so i didn’t want to go overly insane with this, but this is pretty much how i talk irl.
— — — —
“i’m gonna run,” i tell him. “i’m gonna run so insanely far.” he laughs, clearly unimpressed with my words.
“are you sureeeee you want to try that?” he asks, not having any clue how i could care this much. i nod, pointing towards the edge of the bridge.
“i’m gonna run,” i repeat, “and i won’t fall.” before he can stop me, i take off running. he follows me, careful to make sure that i don’t fall. he’s a heck of a lot slower than i am, so there’s no way he’ll catch up to me that easily. no, i wouldn’t trust that idea for a second.
somehow, before i realize it, he’s ahead of me. he reaches the edge in what feels like only a few seconds. a sense of dread fills me. he… he’s not stopping.
“stop!” i scream, desperately trying to match his speed. he can’t fall he can’t fall he can’t fall he can’t. and yet, in what feels like an eternity later, once i reach the edge, he isn’t there. my screams could shatter echoes themselves.
that is, until i feel a tap on my shoulder, proving that the universe might not be against me after all.
i turn to see him, and he’s laughing. “got you!” he exclaims, pointing at me with glee. i shove him playfully, warning him to never try anything like that again. he nods, pulling me back across the bridge.
we turn around and race back into town. and this time, i win the race.
— — — —
Part 3: Asyndeton (361 words)
— — — —
can confirm i had no idea what asyndeton was before starting this-
chosen emotion: anger
based on something that happened to me a little while ago.
— — — —
i’m sitting across from you, my laptop open. it’s been several months - five? six? - and i still can’t convince you to see my side. i stare at my laptop, pretending to be interested in the words on the screen as they blur in front of my nearly zoned out eyes. you say something. i don’t hear it. i don’t respond. i don’t have to. after all, it’s a free country. i have the right to remain silent.
you don’t seem to think so. you repeat whatever you said. i nod briefly in agreement, completely missing your words without a care in the world. you stare at me, your gaze hardening. i don’t react. i’m used to your rapid mood changes and main character syndrome by now.
“you really don’t care, do you.” it’s a statement, not a question. i don’t react.
“*, you really are apathetic.” another statement. still, i remain silent.
i will not break. i will not falter.
the name hits my ears like a hammer hitting my skin. it’s something i can’t say out loud. even so, it wrenches its way into my brain. “so that’s what you think of me,” i mutter under my breath. “unbelievable.” and it is. i’ve spent a year and a half trying to understand you. you have never once done the same. you punish me for choosing not to overexert myself. you have no idea how wrong you are.
without a word, i stand up and push in my chair, shoving my laptop into my backpack. your eyes emit fear. “you can’t leave yet,” you plead. “class isn’t over.”
i stare you down. “i don’t understand why you’re suddenly so worried about school. five seconds ago, you were perfectly fine with calling me a name that i’m pretty sure the school would suspend you for. maybe we should find out what happens then.”
“please,” you beg. “all my friends left me. i can’t lose you too.” your words become background noise as i begin to walk away.
i turn around one last time, my phone ready with a drafted message to school authorities. “it’s no wonder your friends left you.”
— — — —
Part 4: Non sequitur dialogue (398 words)
— — — —
foreshadowing honestly annoys me so i enjoy this idea. anyway enjoy this dramatic retelling of something that happened yesterday
— — — —
four heads turn around, each person staring someone else down. somehow, their secret is out. everyone knows about the feud. they don’t know how it began, but they know it happened. and you? you’ve become known as a villain.
so how did the secret get out? nobody can truly tell. it is not at all probable that you spilled it. no, you don’t want anybody to know that you started the fight itself, so you’re out of the equation… for once.
let’s think. your first friend, the one you’ve been fighting with to begin with. did they say anything? did they allow everyone to know about what you’ve done? the answer to that is… no. they don’t have it in them to spill a secret that large, to tell the school - a school that barely knows they exist - about a once in a lifetime feud that will most likely never happen again. they’re angry, but not angry enough.
how about your second friend? you know, the one i spoke to yesterday. the one i asked about the feud. she told me that she wasn’t on your side, and that was why she wouldn’t be returning to any of the clubs you ran. she gave me a nice, cohesive explanation for the fight itself. she told me that you had started it - unintentionally, of course, but you had started it regardless. was she the one who told our entire grade that this had happened? impossible, she’s too kind of a person to ever try something like that.
your last friend is someone that i know fairly well. they haven’t been associated with the feud all that much. they keep to themself and make an effort to hide from the public. there’s no way to accuse them of going out of their way to harm your image and reputation in the media; they’d never dare try. so who was it?
four heads turn around, each person staring someone else down, daring whoever meets their eyes to confess their crime. none of them notice the fifth head slowly backing away.
that person slips into the shadows, going completely unnoticed. a notification soon pops up on everyone’s phone, spilling every small detail of the feud. and as your face goes pale from the grand reveal, my hand hovers over the keyboard, knowing that you got exactly what you deserved.
— — — —
pretty much every rule i’ve seen is just a different version of “must use purple prose” which i hate doing! anyway here’s some aggressive imagery and satire (if you can catch it) in the first half, and abstract in the second half that purposely does not use purple prose
— — — —
the flowers are wilted tonight. the stars are out, yet barely visible as the clouds cover each and every one of those tiny lights. the garden does not breathe along with me. it exists in pure silence. i stand there for only a moment before sitting down, gradually lowering myself until my back is touching the cool grass. it rained yesterday, if that matters at all.
thinking about anything at all will only bring back a sea of memories that i do not wish to unravel, so i do not think. i do not speak. i stare at the sky, a cliche that most people might find boring, yet i find it to be interesting as i am a very introspective person. i am alive, if that matters at all.
the moon is out, captivating anyone who is emotionally deeper than the average person. i cannot recognize tonight’s moon phase. i am only a shell of the universe that orbits me (and no, it’s not the other way around). i am not offended by this natural exclusion. i am bringing my mind back to the present. after all, it has drifted away, if that matters at all.
i suddenly realize that there are other people around me. as if i have summoned them, they approach me, also choosing to rest in the grass. are they fellow introspective thinkers as well? there is no real way of knowing. nobody says a word, just how i like it. it is almost as if i have control over everyone. i smile at them, and they smile back. their smiles could be a little forced, but i do not notice or care because i am ever so grateful for their company… if it matters at all.
(292 words)
— — — —
“let me out of here,” she says. “it’s so dark here.” i personally think she could do a lot better keeping her mouth shut. besides, it’s not dark at all. i left the lights on, and she knows it. when will she stand down? will she ever?
she is trapped in a sketchbook, in the darkest corner of my imagination. she says that i must let her out, when she does not understand that it is impossible, that i cannot let her out. she does not help to move any plots forward. she is just there, a figment of my imagination, and while i could ramble on and on about her, i won’t. there is more to life than a figment.
i am conditioned to write, day after day, with no imagery. she begs to be drawn again, if only for a chance to live, which i cannot grant her. i am not an artist, and she is merely my rarely existent craft. i feed my paper ink, which she happily accepts. from her head to her toes, she does not always exist in full, depending on what i am willing to draw that day. nothing i draw is for an assignment, it is merely for self care and personal gain.
so i cannot let her out. and i hope that one day, when she is older and wiser (which she logistically will never be), she will understand that she must stop asking, for i will never be able to let her out.
(253 words)
— — — —
Part 2: Purposefully Incorrect Grammar (255 words)
— — — —
considering how i write entirely in lowercase anyway, i decided to use other choices for this part. i am a huge grammar freak so i didn’t want to go overly insane with this, but this is pretty much how i talk irl.
— — — —
“i’m gonna run,” i tell him. “i’m gonna run so insanely far.” he laughs, clearly unimpressed with my words.
“are you sureeeee you want to try that?” he asks, not having any clue how i could care this much. i nod, pointing towards the edge of the bridge.
“i’m gonna run,” i repeat, “and i won’t fall.” before he can stop me, i take off running. he follows me, careful to make sure that i don’t fall. he’s a heck of a lot slower than i am, so there’s no way he’ll catch up to me that easily. no, i wouldn’t trust that idea for a second.
somehow, before i realize it, he’s ahead of me. he reaches the edge in what feels like only a few seconds. a sense of dread fills me. he… he’s not stopping.
“stop!” i scream, desperately trying to match his speed. he can’t fall he can’t fall he can’t fall he can’t. and yet, in what feels like an eternity later, once i reach the edge, he isn’t there. my screams could shatter echoes themselves.
that is, until i feel a tap on my shoulder, proving that the universe might not be against me after all.
i turn to see him, and he’s laughing. “got you!” he exclaims, pointing at me with glee. i shove him playfully, warning him to never try anything like that again. he nods, pulling me back across the bridge.
we turn around and race back into town. and this time, i win the race.
— — — —
Part 3: Asyndeton (361 words)
— — — —
can confirm i had no idea what asyndeton was before starting this-
chosen emotion: anger
based on something that happened to me a little while ago.
— — — —
i’m sitting across from you, my laptop open. it’s been several months - five? six? - and i still can’t convince you to see my side. i stare at my laptop, pretending to be interested in the words on the screen as they blur in front of my nearly zoned out eyes. you say something. i don’t hear it. i don’t respond. i don’t have to. after all, it’s a free country. i have the right to remain silent.
you don’t seem to think so. you repeat whatever you said. i nod briefly in agreement, completely missing your words without a care in the world. you stare at me, your gaze hardening. i don’t react. i’m used to your rapid mood changes and main character syndrome by now.
“you really don’t care, do you.” it’s a statement, not a question. i don’t react.
“*, you really are apathetic.” another statement. still, i remain silent.
i will not break. i will not falter.
the name hits my ears like a hammer hitting my skin. it’s something i can’t say out loud. even so, it wrenches its way into my brain. “so that’s what you think of me,” i mutter under my breath. “unbelievable.” and it is. i’ve spent a year and a half trying to understand you. you have never once done the same. you punish me for choosing not to overexert myself. you have no idea how wrong you are.
without a word, i stand up and push in my chair, shoving my laptop into my backpack. your eyes emit fear. “you can’t leave yet,” you plead. “class isn’t over.”
i stare you down. “i don’t understand why you’re suddenly so worried about school. five seconds ago, you were perfectly fine with calling me a name that i’m pretty sure the school would suspend you for. maybe we should find out what happens then.”
“please,” you beg. “all my friends left me. i can’t lose you too.” your words become background noise as i begin to walk away.
i turn around one last time, my phone ready with a drafted message to school authorities. “it’s no wonder your friends left you.”
— — — —
Part 4: Non sequitur dialogue (398 words)
— — — —
foreshadowing honestly annoys me so i enjoy this idea. anyway enjoy this dramatic retelling of something that happened yesterday
— — — —
four heads turn around, each person staring someone else down. somehow, their secret is out. everyone knows about the feud. they don’t know how it began, but they know it happened. and you? you’ve become known as a villain.
so how did the secret get out? nobody can truly tell. it is not at all probable that you spilled it. no, you don’t want anybody to know that you started the fight itself, so you’re out of the equation… for once.
let’s think. your first friend, the one you’ve been fighting with to begin with. did they say anything? did they allow everyone to know about what you’ve done? the answer to that is… no. they don’t have it in them to spill a secret that large, to tell the school - a school that barely knows they exist - about a once in a lifetime feud that will most likely never happen again. they’re angry, but not angry enough.
how about your second friend? you know, the one i spoke to yesterday. the one i asked about the feud. she told me that she wasn’t on your side, and that was why she wouldn’t be returning to any of the clubs you ran. she gave me a nice, cohesive explanation for the fight itself. she told me that you had started it - unintentionally, of course, but you had started it regardless. was she the one who told our entire grade that this had happened? impossible, she’s too kind of a person to ever try something like that.
your last friend is someone that i know fairly well. they haven’t been associated with the feud all that much. they keep to themself and make an effort to hide from the public. there’s no way to accuse them of going out of their way to harm your image and reputation in the media; they’d never dare try. so who was it?
four heads turn around, each person staring someone else down, daring whoever meets their eyes to confess their crime. none of them notice the fifth head slowly backing away.
that person slips into the shadows, going completely unnoticed. a notification soon pops up on everyone’s phone, spilling every small detail of the feud. and as your face goes pale from the grand reveal, my hand hovers over the keyboard, knowing that you got exactly what you deserved.
- unercornshine
-
Scratcher
100+ posts
swc megathread: march '25
‧꒰ა Weekly #2 - Breaking Rules ໒꒱ ‧₊˚SWC March 25' // Sci-fi Operation wall
✧── ･ ｡ﾟ★: *.✦ .* :★. ──✧
Part #1 - common rules
inspired by: “Let Me Down Slowly” - Alec Benjamin
Scene 1:
I sit here, shivers running down my spine, sat in the cold of the once vibrant room, an empty shell of the beauty it used to be: and your light used to radiate and bask me in its glow, now trying to remember what it feels like to have that warmth; cuz you're gone, and i almost dont remember what it was like to have you - the pain stabbing through my chest, like you were never here for me, only an illusion - an illusion who left me here to rot. It's so empty now, gloom clinging onto the walls, their heads bowed down mourning whatever you used to be, dust settling on that weathered armchair you used to pick at and peel as you listened to my rants and ramble, laughing at the stupid things I used to say, and your laughter would fill the room, filling it with a light never to be replaced as my shadow looms across the creaky floorboards, like they're mourning in sadness of the loss of you. The walls used to hold voices and now they don’t know what to do without them, like even the air is waiting for something—someone—that isn’t coming back, like everything is too loud and too quiet all at once and no matter how much I try to fill the space, it doesn’t work, it never works, because it’s not just space I’m trying to fill, it’s you.
And you used to say ‘forever’ in a way that felt so real, but i'm left in the dust now and i know all of it wasn't, and i used to count the freckles that spilt from your eyes, like constellations from far above brought as a blessing to me here, your presence a grace no one else had the fortune to be gifted, but it's gone now, and your gone, and I keep thinking, was it real?—because if it was real, if it really meant anything, then why does it feel like I’m the only one standing here, stuck, waiting, breaking, while you just… left?
You used to say my tears were beauty, you used to wipe them gently and tell me my pain was worth it, that even when i'm broken i look like a fantasy - is that why you left me, so i would slowly decompose and you could watch my beauty from afar, cuz im breaking right now, and it's not a sight to behold; i only wish one thing, that if you had to go you could've given me something, anything, because this silence: this aching, yawning, stretching, suffocating nothing you left behind? it’s cruel, it’s so, so cruel. And I don’t think I can do it, I don’t think I can just pretend I’m fine, I don’t think I can just move on and act like you didn’t devour a piece of me with you when you walked away.
I keep replaying it, you know, that last moment, the way you stood there, just for a second, just long enough for me plead—hope—that maybe you’d turn around, but you didn’t, not even slight hesitation,you just walked right out like I meant nothing, like the years and memories you left behind didn't exist, like I wasn’t still standing here, watching you go, like I wasn’t still waiting for you to stop, to turn around, to say anything at all. God, I was so stupid to think you might, wishful thinking, the type that has been my downfall.
And now i sit here, a corpse in this little empty room, beating myself up over memories you think nothing of, memories you've already forgot; i know you've already gotten over it, and i know i should do to, but i cant seem to let go of everything that meant so much to me, can’t seem to stop myself from reaching for them, picking them apart, looking for something I missed, some sign that this isn't just all make-belief in my head.
But it doesn’t matter, does it, because you’re not here, you never will be anymore: even if you were, what would I say, what’s there even left to say? ‘Please, if you have to go, don’t do it like this, don’t leave me standing here trying to convince myself it didn’t mean as much as it did, don’t—’ No, I wouldn’t say that, i wouldn't take my burden out on you, I’d just… I’d just look at you, and maybe nod, maybe I’d smile, if I could make myself, if the tears wouldn't come spilling out my eyes and the sobs wouldn't come jumping out my mouth, maybe I’d make it easy for you, i'd try to accept it, because I don’t think I could take it if I had to watch you let me down slowly.
Scene 2:
a few years later
I'm back.
/again/.
I told myself I wouldn't return. I told myself last time would be the last.
I lied.
It wouldn't be the worst thing I've done.
I don't know what brings me here. I come back every time.
It doesn't ache as much. I guess I've accepted it.
You won't come back.
Period.
I never should've hoped. Never should've allowed myself to dream. To /care/.
But here i am.
/again/.
I feel like it should hurt more. Like the ache i used to feel should return. I want it to.
It doesn't.
Everything always leaves me behind. Everything and everyone.
The room hasn't changed much.
The chair is still falling apart. The walls paint is still peeling.
And the dust clings onto everything. The shelves. The floor boards. My skin.
It chokes me.
A cruel reminder of how you've choked me too.
I run my hand over the chair you used to pick at. You know, it's leather is still pealing. You never could leave things alone. Always picking. Always Fidgeting. So persistent.
I used to hate it. The noise. The way your restless fingers scratched and scraped.
Now, I'd give anything to hear it again.
But there's only silence.
The one you cruelly gifted me as you walked out that door.
I sit.
The chair groans beneath me, like it remembers too.
And for a moment, I imagine you're still here—right across from me. Smirking. Teasing.
Picking away at the world like it was yours to break.
I guess it was, because you
b r o k e
my world.
The cold is my only companion. It sticks with me thick and thin. It runs up my spine leaving shivers behind and I almost sigh with relief.
Always-so-cold relief.
I stay a little longer.
Just long enough for the ghosts to find me.
They always do.
No matter how much I try to leave them behind.
Then I leave.
I open the door and walk right out without a care of what I'm leaving behind. (you)
Just like you did.
I know I should’ve left with you.
I should’ve walked away when I had the chance.
I should’ve saved myself.
But I didn’t.
Your absence rattles me.
It eats at me.
It lingers like the cold, seeping into my bones.
But the worst part?
The worst part isn’t the silence.
It’s not the emptiness that surrounds me.
It's not the fact that the cold is my closest companion.
I’ll be back.
I’ll always be back.
That's the worst bit
The bit that comes back to haunt me every time.
I always come back.
Every time I tell myself I won’t.
Every time I swear to leave it all behind, to finally walk away and never look back.
Because some ghosts…
Some ghosts were never meant to leave.
And I am one of them.
Bound to this place,
to the echoes of what once was.
Forever chained by the memory of you.
You.
The only thing I ever wanted back.
Last edited by unercornshine (July 23, 2025 21:42:46)
- Milkysplash
-
Scratcher
1000+ posts
swc megathread: march '25
Daily for fanfi! I used colour to represent hope hehe
Grey. Everything was grey. Her whole world was grey.
Everything was the same colour. Or rather, shades of the same colour. From the white of her clothes to the black of her furniture, and to the many greys in between, colour was absent from the world for as long as she could remember.
Her grandparents used to always talk about the world when there was colour. Everyone was free to dress as they wanted, paint their walls anything but a bare white, paint their nails, dye their hair, and play with colourful paints, among many other things. It sounded like freedom, but she was forbidden from thinking of it in that way.
Ever since the Greyscale Revolution occurred, colour was banned from the world, replaced with grey, or dark, muted versions of themselves. To her, it seemed like the whole world had descended into darkness, with not a single candle of hope to be found.
She had to keep quiet about her knowledge of the time before, however. If she spoke a word, the government would crack down, arrest her, and potentially her whole family. So the best strategy for her was to stay calm, stay quiet, and conform.
Until she didn’t have to.
One day, she found herself wandering through the city, and stumbled down into a vast underground complex. From the outside, it seemed grey and abandoned, but as she moved in, she saw colourful graffiti lining the walls. Tentative, at first, before plastering the walls. Not just black, grey, and all sorts of muted colours, but bright colours bursting forwards. Messages of hope plastered left, right, and centre, all joining in to make a large, colourful canvas, mixing into white.
A voice came up behind her, and she could feel the pressure of a weapon pointed at her, even though she couldn’t see it.
“What are you doing here?” The voice asked, and the unsaid or I will kill you was evident from their tone.
“I… I don’t know,” she said. “I just wandered in here. I mean no harm, I promise,”
The tension lifted as she heard the weapon being lowered. She turned around to see the other person - a woman, much like her, but instead of the whites and greys of the world above, she was dressed in all manner of colours, bright and unapologetic. Her hair tips were dyed in all the colours of the rainbow, pale, but not a dull pale. More of a bright, colourful pastel.
“Where… where am I?” She asked, confused. Was this the rebellion that the government always spoke of? The ones who refused to change?
“It seems you may have stumbled into the world of colour,” the other person said wryly, handing her a small pendant shaped like a candle.
She took it, and inspected it carefully. The candle was yellow, and the flame above was burning in shades of blue and green.
From what she could remember, these colours were the colours of growth, prosperity, and calm. And above all, hope.
It seemed like she had just stumbled into the rebellion.
Grey. Everything was grey. Her whole world was grey.
Everything was the same colour. Or rather, shades of the same colour. From the white of her clothes to the black of her furniture, and to the many greys in between, colour was absent from the world for as long as she could remember.
Her grandparents used to always talk about the world when there was colour. Everyone was free to dress as they wanted, paint their walls anything but a bare white, paint their nails, dye their hair, and play with colourful paints, among many other things. It sounded like freedom, but she was forbidden from thinking of it in that way.
Ever since the Greyscale Revolution occurred, colour was banned from the world, replaced with grey, or dark, muted versions of themselves. To her, it seemed like the whole world had descended into darkness, with not a single candle of hope to be found.
She had to keep quiet about her knowledge of the time before, however. If she spoke a word, the government would crack down, arrest her, and potentially her whole family. So the best strategy for her was to stay calm, stay quiet, and conform.
Until she didn’t have to.
One day, she found herself wandering through the city, and stumbled down into a vast underground complex. From the outside, it seemed grey and abandoned, but as she moved in, she saw colourful graffiti lining the walls. Tentative, at first, before plastering the walls. Not just black, grey, and all sorts of muted colours, but bright colours bursting forwards. Messages of hope plastered left, right, and centre, all joining in to make a large, colourful canvas, mixing into white.
A voice came up behind her, and she could feel the pressure of a weapon pointed at her, even though she couldn’t see it.
“What are you doing here?” The voice asked, and the unsaid or I will kill you was evident from their tone.
“I… I don’t know,” she said. “I just wandered in here. I mean no harm, I promise,”
The tension lifted as she heard the weapon being lowered. She turned around to see the other person - a woman, much like her, but instead of the whites and greys of the world above, she was dressed in all manner of colours, bright and unapologetic. Her hair tips were dyed in all the colours of the rainbow, pale, but not a dull pale. More of a bright, colourful pastel.
“Where… where am I?” She asked, confused. Was this the rebellion that the government always spoke of? The ones who refused to change?
“It seems you may have stumbled into the world of colour,” the other person said wryly, handing her a small pendant shaped like a candle.
She took it, and inspected it carefully. The candle was yellow, and the flame above was burning in shades of blue and green.
From what she could remember, these colours were the colours of growth, prosperity, and calm. And above all, hope.
It seemed like she had just stumbled into the rebellion.
- _click_
-
Scratcher
100+ posts
swc megathread: march '25
critique for @ziqing11 (781 words)
original piece here: https://scratch.mit.edu/discuss/topic/808229/?page=6#post-8429269
just going to start this off by saying i love these word choices!
this is insanely descriptive, i love it! i’m a little confused on the last use of “as though” - has he actually taken the path several times, or is it just a familiar feeling, or something else? i could be reading too deeply into it, though. in any case, the setting is amazing so far.
same thing as the last part - i’m again wondering how familiar the forest is to him. your sense of emotion in here is really strong, i find myself wanting to know more about his nighttime wanderings, as you put it. if i had to suggest something, maybe describe the clearing in a little more detail so i can have a better visual.
i love plot twists like this. definitely keep writing them. i’m now left wondering who “she” is… although i can tell from a brief skim that that’s about to be explained.
i will say i’m slightly confused here, because you just said that she was not there. does he know that she’s waiting in the shadows? is that something she frequently does?
i’m getting such insane visuals here! one thing: “the light had not revealed herself” - i think if it’s written that way, it implies that “herself” is the light rather than the woman. it’s a grammatical thing, maybe replace it with “her” or “the woman” etc. unless you’re personifying the light, which i could also potentially see happening there.
i was trying to find something to critique here but i honestly just love this part as a whole.
once again i love the imagery here! there’s a thing with the wording after the comma, i’m not sure if you’re saying he kissed her fingers or her rings. again, it’s another grammatical thing, both would be considered the subject in the latter half of the sentence i think. it’s a bit of a run on sentence, but it definitely still makes enough sense for me to understand it.
yet another amazing plot twist!
is she early, or is he late? not as much a critique as something i’m genuinely wondering. earlier on, you said he was swiftly making his way there, so i assume he’s still relatively fast.
i love the foreshadowing of the “thin smile” here…
my main thing here is the first sentence, which feels like a run on sentence to me. the part about the shadow seems to be the second half of the sentence, but the comma after “fierce” is also throwing me off a little. i’m not sure how to reword it, but with that extra comma, it feels like “fierce” and “lightning” are part of two different parts rather than one description. also, i’d put a hyphen for “lightning-like.” other than that, i love the last part. i’m left wondering what you mean by “forgetful” because he seems more oblivious, unless there’s something he’s forgetful about…
“once again” - was she looking away before? is he the reason her gaze becomes softer?
my teachers would tell me to never start a sentence with “but,” although i’ll admit that i break that rule a lot too. since you already said “change” in the first part of that sentence, maybe use a different adjective after? “the woman’s gaze shifted” or something like that. it’s a little repetitive.
this raises my question from before, which is about the plot. was he the reason her gaze was softening? if so, why would it harden again? i’m recognizing the medusa references, but the switch from love to hatred feels a bit too sharp.
before this, you said that he did in fact notice the change, so this is a little confusing.
how do you write such amazing imagery?! i love this, i can picture it perfectly.
okay, so that last line is making me want to go back and erase half my critique (for the sake of word counting i won’t, so pretend i did). having that plot twist as the last line is amazing.
overall thoughts: this is definitely giving the vibes of medusa which i’m sure was probably intentional. what i’m wondering now is why he would have continued to meet with her for this long. if she could turn him to stone that easily, why didn’t she do it sooner? the lack of backstory is honestly less of a critique and more so me thinking “this needs to be longer so i can read more.” i think i pointed out all the grammatical stuff already, so i’ll just say that this is an amazing piece and i severely envy your ability to write so descriptively.
original piece here: https://scratch.mit.edu/discuss/topic/808229/?page=6#post-8429269
“euphoria, silver, lantern, sever, secret” -@pages-of-ink
just going to start this off by saying i love these word choices!
A gentle breeze travelled through the air, passing between the intertwined branches and making the last leaves of autumn rustle and fall to the ground in a graceful swirl of orange and red. Night had befallen the sleeping world, peaceful and quiet. The silver moon hung high in the sky, illuminating the figure of a handsome young man in the midst of the forest. The sound of crunching leaves was heard with every footstep, and though the moon's light was barely enough to distinguish the shadow of the trees, the young man made his way swiftly through the forest, as though he had taken that path a hundred times.
this is insanely descriptive, i love it! i’m a little confused on the last use of “as though” - has he actually taken the path several times, or is it just a familiar feeling, or something else? i could be reading too deeply into it, though. in any case, the setting is amazing so far.
Upon approaching a small clearing, he pressed his trembling hand on his chest, as though wanting to suppress the fierce beats of his heart. His eyes, used to the darkness of the night from his numerous nighttime wanderings, quickly scanned the open space before them.
same thing as the last part - i’m again wondering how familiar the forest is to him. your sense of emotion in here is really strong, i find myself wanting to know more about his nighttime wanderings, as you put it. if i had to suggest something, maybe describe the clearing in a little more detail so i can have a better visual.
He drew in a sharp breath, his muscles tensing. She was not here.
i love plot twists like this. definitely keep writing them. i’m now left wondering who “she” is… although i can tell from a brief skim that that’s about to be explained.
He walked further into the clearing, making himself visible, in case she was waiting in the shadows like she often did.
i will say i’m slightly confused here, because you just said that she was not there. does he know that she’s waiting in the shadows? is that something she frequently does?
He was not wrong. A mesmerising woman with dazzling hazel eyes and long brown hair flowing in the breeze appeared from the trees. She was carrying a lantern, its orange glow illuminating her pale face, but for whatever unknown reason, the light had not revealed herself earlier on to her passionate lover.
i’m getting such insane visuals here! one thing: “the light had not revealed herself” - i think if it’s written that way, it implies that “herself” is the light rather than the woman. it’s a grammatical thing, maybe replace it with “her” or “the woman” etc. unless you’re personifying the light, which i could also potentially see happening there.
The sight of this woman brought tremendous joy to the young man - his features lit up with a glowing warmth and his lips split open to reveal a full hearted smile. By the way his entire body trembled with excitement, one would not doubt that this man was close to euphoria.
i was trying to find something to critique here but i honestly just love this part as a whole.
He hurried towards her, kneeling down to kiss the pale fingers loaded with rings of all sorts he had pressed his lips upon so many times.
once again i love the imagery here! there’s a thing with the wording after the comma, i’m not sure if you’re saying he kissed her fingers or her rings. again, it’s another grammatical thing, both would be considered the subject in the latter half of the sentence i think. it’s a bit of a run on sentence, but it definitely still makes enough sense for me to understand it.
He stood up, and gently slid his arms around her shoulders. They were freezing to the touch, abnormally so, but he paid no notice.
yet another amazing plot twist!
“You're early”, he whispered tenderly in her ear.
is she early, or is he late? not as much a critique as something i’m genuinely wondering. earlier on, you said he was swiftly making his way there, so i assume he’s still relatively fast.
She displayed a thin smile on her lips. “You are too”, she replied back in the same loving tone, making warm flames of love glimmer in her eyes.
i love the foreshadowing of the “thin smile” here…
Suddenly, so rapidly one could not have noticed the change, the shadow of a fierce, lightning like glare passed through those bright pupils. The man, lost in a sea of forgetful and passionate love, did not notice anything.
my main thing here is the first sentence, which feels like a run on sentence to me. the part about the shadow seems to be the second half of the sentence, but the comma after “fierce” is also throwing me off a little. i’m not sure how to reword it, but with that extra comma, it feels like “fierce” and “lightning” are part of two different parts rather than one description. also, i’d put a hyphen for “lightning-like.” other than that, i love the last part. i’m left wondering what you mean by “forgetful” because he seems more oblivious, unless there’s something he’s forgetful about…
The woman stared once again into the young man's eyes, her gaze returned to the soft glimmer, and the couple stood there, transported to a haven of their own.
“once again” - was she looking away before? is he the reason her gaze becomes softer?
But slowly, very slowly, to the point where the young man couldn't notice the change, the woman's gaze changed. This time, it was not a mere shadow.
my teachers would tell me to never start a sentence with “but,” although i’ll admit that i break that rule a lot too. since you already said “change” in the first part of that sentence, maybe use a different adjective after? “the woman’s gaze shifted” or something like that. it’s a little repetitive.
The warmth was replaced with bitter and harsh coldness, the glittering tears of love were replaced with some kind of indescribable hatred. She fixed the man so hard that it seemed like her horrible glare was imprinted right into her partner's soul.
this raises my question from before, which is about the plot. was he the reason her gaze was softening? if so, why would it harden again? i’m recognizing the medusa references, but the switch from love to hatred feels a bit too sharp.
The young man never had the chance to notice the change in his mistress.
before this, you said that he did in fact notice the change, so this is a little confusing.
His body was slowly turned into stone, every inch of his skin hardening into a dull, lifeless grey.
how do you write such amazing imagery?! i love this, i can picture it perfectly.
As she felt the hands on her shoulders stiffen and increase in weight, the woman stepped back, admired her work with an eerie satisfaction, and left, without even glancing back at the man she pretended to love.
okay, so that last line is making me want to go back and erase half my critique (for the sake of word counting i won’t, so pretend i did). having that plot twist as the last line is amazing.
overall thoughts: this is definitely giving the vibes of medusa which i’m sure was probably intentional. what i’m wondering now is why he would have continued to meet with her for this long. if she could turn him to stone that easily, why didn’t she do it sooner? the lack of backstory is honestly less of a critique and more so me thinking “this needs to be longer so i can read more.” i think i pointed out all the grammatical stuff already, so i’ll just say that this is an amazing piece and i severely envy your ability to write so descriptively.
- angieee-_
-
Scratcher
37 posts
swc megathread: march '25
daily 013: colors to feelings ˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚
word count: 316 / 314
The rain was pouring down her windows.The sky was a sickly blueish-gray that she despised. The trickle of water was soothing, the pitter-patter sound on the windows.She was laying on the edge of her bed, her head hanging off the edge upside down. It sort of fascinated her. She loved to see the world in different ways, even if it was just upside down. It changed everything, the floor was somehow now the ceiling.
Her journal was sitting below her head, her hair fanning out like a curtain around it. The ink was dark gray– she’d always insist on using every color except black. Journaling always helped her understand what she was feeling, just writing everything out helped everything make sense. Because it didn’t. It didn’t make sense, not to her. Like the ink. Gray is like the line between white and black, gray is confusion and indecision.
The peonies he had placed on her desk during the first period were pink like the rosy blush of her cheeks. They were pink like the heart she drew on her notebook after he had talked to her. They were sitting in a murky glass vase on her desk, organized almost haphazardly to fit into the small jar. She was pleased that morning, pleased with the flowers he had so graciously gave her. His bouquet came with a note, his phone number, which she had happily punched into her phone. He somehow already had her number, though, and she knew that, so evidently, she didn’t text him. She would wait.
And she did. She waited days and days, and he never texted her. She just stared at her empty blue lockscreen, devoid of any notifications. She’d wait until tomorrow, she decided. Then she’d go on and give up on him, she’d put on her favorite maroon sweater and forget about him. He wasn’t worth it anymore.
word count: 316 / 314
The rain was pouring down her windows.The sky was a sickly blueish-gray that she despised. The trickle of water was soothing, the pitter-patter sound on the windows.She was laying on the edge of her bed, her head hanging off the edge upside down. It sort of fascinated her. She loved to see the world in different ways, even if it was just upside down. It changed everything, the floor was somehow now the ceiling.
Her journal was sitting below her head, her hair fanning out like a curtain around it. The ink was dark gray– she’d always insist on using every color except black. Journaling always helped her understand what she was feeling, just writing everything out helped everything make sense. Because it didn’t. It didn’t make sense, not to her. Like the ink. Gray is like the line between white and black, gray is confusion and indecision.
The peonies he had placed on her desk during the first period were pink like the rosy blush of her cheeks. They were pink like the heart she drew on her notebook after he had talked to her. They were sitting in a murky glass vase on her desk, organized almost haphazardly to fit into the small jar. She was pleased that morning, pleased with the flowers he had so graciously gave her. His bouquet came with a note, his phone number, which she had happily punched into her phone. He somehow already had her number, though, and she knew that, so evidently, she didn’t text him. She would wait.
And she did. She waited days and days, and he never texted her. She just stared at her empty blue lockscreen, devoid of any notifications. She’d wait until tomorrow, she decided. Then she’d go on and give up on him, she’d put on her favorite maroon sweater and forget about him. He wasn’t worth it anymore.
- icebunny11
-
Scratcher
100+ posts
swc megathread: march '25
↻ ◁ II ▷ ↺
Synesthesia is a funny thing to have. It's not physical, not something tangible. It exists in your mind, grows, and gnaws if you aren't strong enough to deal with the flurry of colors that confuse your mind. It is like having a sixth sense that you cannot control. With sight, you may close your eyes. With taste, you may retract your tongue and cleanse your palate. With sound, you may place your hands over your ears. With touch, you may meditate and isolate yourself. With scent, you light incense or candles.
In synesthesia, you cannot close your mind to the bursts and sparks that bounce through your skull. You cannot cleanse your palette of the paint splattered on it. You cannot place your hands over your ears, as that, too, creates a certain type of sound your brain just has to decode into hues. You cannot mediate when and what your subconscious deems fit enough to create a resounding tint behind your eyelids. To others, it may seem exciting. New shapes and pigments to match your everyday life. A fashion designer's dream, a painter's only hope. People underestimate the magnitude of the searing headaches that shoot through you at every turn. Every car passing by you, every person conversing with you politely on the street. Even if you are ready for a sound to happen, you are never ready for the color that blurs your vision, your thoughts. You are never ready for the weight of the tinge, never know how long it will last.
It irks you how you can control your body through your mind. You can move your fingertips, raise your eyebrows, and take steps forward and backward. You can pick up items, throw baseballs, or hug a family member. You can blink, run, write, cry, and you can even paint the colors that flash across your eyes.
It irks you how you can control your body through your mind, yet not your mind itself.
◪ Noͦ 14
Wordcount: 328/314
Topic: Holi
Points earned: 200+100 points for proof
Cabin: Bi-Fi
Synesthesia is a funny thing to have. It's not physical, not something tangible. It exists in your mind, grows, and gnaws if you aren't strong enough to deal with the flurry of colors that confuse your mind. It is like having a sixth sense that you cannot control. With sight, you may close your eyes. With taste, you may retract your tongue and cleanse your palate. With sound, you may place your hands over your ears. With touch, you may meditate and isolate yourself. With scent, you light incense or candles.
In synesthesia, you cannot close your mind to the bursts and sparks that bounce through your skull. You cannot cleanse your palette of the paint splattered on it. You cannot place your hands over your ears, as that, too, creates a certain type of sound your brain just has to decode into hues. You cannot mediate when and what your subconscious deems fit enough to create a resounding tint behind your eyelids. To others, it may seem exciting. New shapes and pigments to match your everyday life. A fashion designer's dream, a painter's only hope. People underestimate the magnitude of the searing headaches that shoot through you at every turn. Every car passing by you, every person conversing with you politely on the street. Even if you are ready for a sound to happen, you are never ready for the color that blurs your vision, your thoughts. You are never ready for the weight of the tinge, never know how long it will last.
It irks you how you can control your body through your mind. You can move your fingertips, raise your eyebrows, and take steps forward and backward. You can pick up items, throw baseballs, or hug a family member. You can blink, run, write, cry, and you can even paint the colors that flash across your eyes.
It irks you how you can control your body through your mind, yet not your mind itself.
- silverlynx-
-
Scratcher
100+ posts
swc megathread: march '25
Daily 14 - Holi
570 words
I swung my legs over the edge of the roof, a smile dancing on my lips. The memories from the previous day flooded back to me.
The courtyard was flooded with people, all smiling and chattering. Their faces were bright and their eyes were twinkling with joy. The day was like a spark of light in the darkness. A glimmering star in the midst of the war. A thread of hope for us all to cling on to as we were dragged further and further down by the constant deaths.
“Silence!”
A booming voice roared through the crowds. My uncle.
“A toast to my wonderful son and now daughter-in-law!”
And my best friend.
“To a wonderful long life and a happy marriage!”
He raised his glass as did everyone else. I raised my lemonade, cringing, but in a good way. This was much preferable to being in the hospital watching patient’s eyes glaze over, listening to their final breaths, watching as the heartbeat monitor goes still…
Lena raced over to me, dragging Connor, her new husband, along with her. He rolled his eyes at me from behind her back. ‘What am I going to do with her?’ he mouthed at me.
I shrugged and smiled. Lena frowned.
“What are you two grinning about?”
“Nothing!” I answered quickly.
She shook her head at me and wagged her finger.
“No secrets from the bride.”
I sighed dramatically. “He was saying how beautiful you are and how he couldn’t live without you.”
She gave me a thumbs up. “Correct answer. Anyways, Daph, I’m married now! I’m actually married!”
“I was aware,” I said drily. “Anyways, we talked about this. Not Daph, it’s Daphne. OK?”
She nodded. “OK, Daph.”
I looked pointedly at her.
“OK, Daphne.”
Happiness bubbled up inside me. For her. For Connor. For everybody. Maybe we would get through this. Just maybe.
“Bye, I need to go.”
Lena stuck out her tongue and flounced off to Connor. She gazed up at him, her eyes brimming with love.
The blissful feeling of peace still pulsed through me. I smiled uncontrollably with the overflowing elation. I gazed upwards, remembering my mother’s words. When you need a friend, the sky will always be there. It has watched the earth in its greatest highs and its most devastating lows. Yet it has always stayed there, ever-changing but still completely the same.
The sky was a glowing patchwork of ambers and rubies and pinks. Streaks of muted indigo and stark yet somehow soft blue wove into the different colours. A million shades of orange resonated from the horizon, fading into rich cheerful yellows and striking deep reds. Stars and planets glimmered down at me, dotting the sky in a dazzling white. The moon hung round and low in the sky, seeming close enough for me to reach out and brush its surface with my fingers, dip them into the jagged craters.
The river below me reflected the sky, the hues dancing along its waves. With each twist and turn it made the colours change, creating a never-ending cycle of flashing shades of a million colours.
And as the darkness drew in, wrapping me up in its arms, a sigh escaped my lips. We would survive this war. We would escape. We would win.
The thoughts swirled through my brain, starting a fiery determination. I was going to win this war whatever it took.
570 words
I swung my legs over the edge of the roof, a smile dancing on my lips. The memories from the previous day flooded back to me.
The courtyard was flooded with people, all smiling and chattering. Their faces were bright and their eyes were twinkling with joy. The day was like a spark of light in the darkness. A glimmering star in the midst of the war. A thread of hope for us all to cling on to as we were dragged further and further down by the constant deaths.
“Silence!”
A booming voice roared through the crowds. My uncle.
“A toast to my wonderful son and now daughter-in-law!”
And my best friend.
“To a wonderful long life and a happy marriage!”
He raised his glass as did everyone else. I raised my lemonade, cringing, but in a good way. This was much preferable to being in the hospital watching patient’s eyes glaze over, listening to their final breaths, watching as the heartbeat monitor goes still…
Lena raced over to me, dragging Connor, her new husband, along with her. He rolled his eyes at me from behind her back. ‘What am I going to do with her?’ he mouthed at me.
I shrugged and smiled. Lena frowned.
“What are you two grinning about?”
“Nothing!” I answered quickly.
She shook her head at me and wagged her finger.
“No secrets from the bride.”
I sighed dramatically. “He was saying how beautiful you are and how he couldn’t live without you.”
She gave me a thumbs up. “Correct answer. Anyways, Daph, I’m married now! I’m actually married!”
“I was aware,” I said drily. “Anyways, we talked about this. Not Daph, it’s Daphne. OK?”
She nodded. “OK, Daph.”
I looked pointedly at her.
“OK, Daphne.”
Happiness bubbled up inside me. For her. For Connor. For everybody. Maybe we would get through this. Just maybe.
“Bye, I need to go.”
Lena stuck out her tongue and flounced off to Connor. She gazed up at him, her eyes brimming with love.
The blissful feeling of peace still pulsed through me. I smiled uncontrollably with the overflowing elation. I gazed upwards, remembering my mother’s words. When you need a friend, the sky will always be there. It has watched the earth in its greatest highs and its most devastating lows. Yet it has always stayed there, ever-changing but still completely the same.
The sky was a glowing patchwork of ambers and rubies and pinks. Streaks of muted indigo and stark yet somehow soft blue wove into the different colours. A million shades of orange resonated from the horizon, fading into rich cheerful yellows and striking deep reds. Stars and planets glimmered down at me, dotting the sky in a dazzling white. The moon hung round and low in the sky, seeming close enough for me to reach out and brush its surface with my fingers, dip them into the jagged craters.
The river below me reflected the sky, the hues dancing along its waves. With each twist and turn it made the colours change, creating a never-ending cycle of flashing shades of a million colours.
And as the darkness drew in, wrapping me up in its arms, a sigh escaped my lips. We would survive this war. We would escape. We would win.
The thoughts swirled through my brain, starting a fiery determination. I was going to win this war whatever it took.
Last edited by silverlynx- (March 14, 2025 20:20:15)
- -NightGlow-
-
Scratcher
1000+ posts
swc megathread: march '25
Critiquitaire
word count - 560 words
Overall Thoughts
This is an amazingly-written daily, Ava! You should be realsly proud of yourself - I really like the way you're able to bring your words to life and get the readers invested in your writing. In addition to this, your use of figurative languges and imagery really help to just take your writing one step further by truly providing value to the feelings of your characters. Thank you so much for letting me critique this piece. I can't wait to read more of your writing in the future!
word count - 560 words
I was not the favourite child.PERFECT INTRO. This is a great way to just give the reader an idea of the setting and just general environment you have going. I also love the metaphor you've made in terms of the glasshouse with this being the flower daily and all hehe ;D I also just really enjoyed the different personalities you introduced while abruptly ending it with “That's me”. It definitely just adds to the statement you made at the start and leaves the readers eager for more!
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.This section doesn't seem to fit in as well as the rest for some reason? Maybe this is just a personal thing I noticed, but after ending with such a powerful section of “that's me”, I don't really see a seamless shift if that makes sense. In one way, I feel like that's definitely the beauty of this piece – so I wouldn't necessarily advise you to change the segue into it or anything! I just feel like the later bit goes off into more of a tangent which could be polished? I'm nto sure what exactly I mean by this to be honest, but I'd recommend somehow adding more emotion here if that makes sense!
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.You definitely have a way with words, Ava! I feel like you do a really good job sort of bridging the connections and feelings of your characters. This stone on the beach excerpt, for example, is probably a feeling that a lot of people can relate to, so emphasizing this as the whole “idea” of this character's relationship to their parents is a good way to add more description without explicitly stating anything.
Something once there, but not quite anymore.
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 love your use of anaphora when you repeat “saying” in the last few phrases, it definitely provide the emphasis that I believe you're going for! I feel like breaking up the second sentence into two would help with just general framing since right now it's a bit too much to read at once. That's really a personal preference though, so feel free to keep it how you see fit <3
I don't believe it either.
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.I know this is the flower daily so I feel like the flowers were kind of an afterthought here? The plot is really nice, I just think that it would be very interesting to see this same thing guided by flowers and the different emotions/things they symbolize. Looking at the overall writing, I like the addition of the flowers you've chosen (for meaning purposes as well as for variety), but it'd be great uf you introduced part of this earlier on!
I will wear this dress next year. Maybe then, I will be just as eye-catching as the petals of a ulex.This is the perfect ending! Definitely encompasses the vibes you've built so far and it almost gets that relatability aspect from the readers as they read the ending – the simplicity makes the meaning much more complex and I think you've done a great job with that!
Overall Thoughts
This is an amazingly-written daily, Ava! You should be realsly proud of yourself - I really like the way you're able to bring your words to life and get the readers invested in your writing. In addition to this, your use of figurative languges and imagery really help to just take your writing one step further by truly providing value to the feelings of your characters. Thank you so much for letting me critique this piece. I can't wait to read more of your writing in the future!
- taylorsversion--
-
Scratcher
100+ posts
swc megathread: march '25
Colour Daily: 345/314
Decked out in bright colours and sparkling accessories, the ballroom is a beauty. So are the people standing in the ballroom, spinning in unison on their sparkliest heels and their smartest shoes, having the time of their lives. Laughing, twirling, smiling, all the parts that make the dance a success.
Olivia stands in the corner wearing her drab waitress uniform. She sighs, tired, and sits down on a hard wooden chair. Her black and white suit isn’t nearly as posh or expensive as the guests’ - quite the opposite, actually. She doesn’t mind, though. She shifts on her seat slightly and her mouth parts.
From behind the pillar, she can see the most breathtaking woman, donned in a graceful silky dark blue dress, gold jewellery accenting the look. Her dark skin glows and her hair is in the prettiest up-do ever, falling softly on the woman’s shawl. Seeing her friend, the woman smiles widely and waves, her bangles jingling up her wrist.
Upon seeing the friend’s facial expression, the woman’s smile fades quickly.
Olivia is curious and can’t help but listen in. The woman’s sharp eyes glance around furtively, but Olivia looks away quickly and her eyes don’t meet Olivia’s. Leaning in, she can just about make out the conversation between the woman in navy and her friend, a young man in a bright red suit. He’s furious about something, and they’re arguing quietly- the man with gesticulations and silent rage, the woman with a strange passive aggressive calmness. “What an odd pair,” Olivia wonders.
Olivia is just about getting bored of the conversation when the man turns to leave, the argument resolved. The woman extends her arm, touching it gently. The woman is sorry and the man is forgiving, he apologises too. Olivia looks, once again, at the gorgeous woman watching the man with a bittersweet smile and feels green.
Olivia knows that there is not a chance, but she should try anyway. She picks up the tray of food and walks towards the woman. Eyes lock and her stomach fills up with butterflies.
Decked out in bright colours and sparkling accessories, the ballroom is a beauty. So are the people standing in the ballroom, spinning in unison on their sparkliest heels and their smartest shoes, having the time of their lives. Laughing, twirling, smiling, all the parts that make the dance a success.
Olivia stands in the corner wearing her drab waitress uniform. She sighs, tired, and sits down on a hard wooden chair. Her black and white suit isn’t nearly as posh or expensive as the guests’ - quite the opposite, actually. She doesn’t mind, though. She shifts on her seat slightly and her mouth parts.
From behind the pillar, she can see the most breathtaking woman, donned in a graceful silky dark blue dress, gold jewellery accenting the look. Her dark skin glows and her hair is in the prettiest up-do ever, falling softly on the woman’s shawl. Seeing her friend, the woman smiles widely and waves, her bangles jingling up her wrist.
Upon seeing the friend’s facial expression, the woman’s smile fades quickly.
Olivia is curious and can’t help but listen in. The woman’s sharp eyes glance around furtively, but Olivia looks away quickly and her eyes don’t meet Olivia’s. Leaning in, she can just about make out the conversation between the woman in navy and her friend, a young man in a bright red suit. He’s furious about something, and they’re arguing quietly- the man with gesticulations and silent rage, the woman with a strange passive aggressive calmness. “What an odd pair,” Olivia wonders.
Olivia is just about getting bored of the conversation when the man turns to leave, the argument resolved. The woman extends her arm, touching it gently. The woman is sorry and the man is forgiving, he apologises too. Olivia looks, once again, at the gorgeous woman watching the man with a bittersweet smile and feels green.
Olivia knows that there is not a chance, but she should try anyway. She picks up the tray of food and walks towards the woman. Eyes lock and her stomach fills up with butterflies.
- Zyzeryko
-
Scratcher
100+ posts
swc megathread: march '25
Seris’s blue hair sparkled under the spotlights, the silver strands picking up the light like a disco ball. Mine was lifeless, dull and pale in color compared to hers. Just like us. She was bright and vivid, with the ambition to fight for any cause she deemed worthy. Not like me. I was ever the shadow, idly agreeing to anything anyone ever said. Everyone other than me was that way. Bright. Ambitious. Cheerful. It was like I was the shadow that haunted our group, keeping us back but keeping us together. Dev had red hair. It matched her so well. She fought so much, so fiercely… sometimes I wished I would wake up just like her. I guess I could relate to Mak, not that that was any sort of fate I wanted. Mak was dull. Not the kind of dull that I was, though. She wasn’t uninteresting. She was just hollow. Grey. Like her heart must’ve been. Kai was different, and to be entirely honest, I don’t think I ever knew what Kai saw in Mak. I mean, sure. They had known each other their whole lives. But Kai… Kai was purple. Kai was alive. She glittered under the lights while Mak turned her back away from the people who had given them everything. Maybe Mak was our shadow. Our ghost. Instead of me.
That would be comforting. But it wasn’t the case. Even the psychos Seris had befriended had more life to them than me. Hell, even the dead girl. Amirrora, wasn’t it? She was their shadow. And yet somehow, she was so much more alive than I was. Mania, dressed in gold. A rich girl with a taste for blood who had been kept under lock and key for far too long, spoiling finery with blood. She was too alive. Every place she went, every space she filled with her presence, everything she touched was changed by the life inside her.
- Thecatperson19
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Scratcher
63 posts
swc megathread: march '25
March 14 2025 Daily
The endless expanse of ocean was a dark, dark black, highlighted only by pale blue light from the moon, the occassional white bob of a flashlight on shore, and the blinking red lights that dotted the invisible horizon. Maybe not exactly endless, but ignoring the parts that were lit up, the rest, the rest was an endless expanse of dark black. From my vantage point on the third story balcony facing the ocean, it seemed like a confusing mix of different times. The balcony itself? Alit, though in muted hues as the LEDs struggled to fight back the oncoming creep of nighttime. The coast and the shore, however, were colored in dusk, the vibrant vegetation that I saw in the morning now an inky, dark green shadow. It was a different world than the daytime, when life was all splashing in the surf, digging in the sand, and hiding from the sun under hats and overhangs. Every so often, the light from a flashlight would brighten the brush and remind it of it's diurnal duties. Did I like it? Hard to say. I felt a little sorry. The blanket cover of night had holes in it here. As a result, the darkness brought a strange world, where everything at once seemed enchantingly unfamiliar, but the occassional peep of light, rush of a car, or the unceasing lull of the ocean rendered it momentarily recognizable once more.
I stared into the distance. But there, somewhere in the middle of my vision, were the blinking red lights – signs of ships and buoys out on the water. The only thing those lights made clear was the horizon, for once not twisting the ocean's natural darkness into a daytime blue. The red dots reminded me that, despite how I couldn't see that endless expanse, the water was still there, and it stretched out, to the eye, forever and a day.
Sometimes when I'm traveling in the dark, leaning my head against the bus window and trying not to fall asleep, I watch the red lights that scatter across the desert horizon. The remind me of ships in the night, and, for a moment, I believe that the water is there.
364 words
The endless expanse of ocean was a dark, dark black, highlighted only by pale blue light from the moon, the occassional white bob of a flashlight on shore, and the blinking red lights that dotted the invisible horizon. Maybe not exactly endless, but ignoring the parts that were lit up, the rest, the rest was an endless expanse of dark black. From my vantage point on the third story balcony facing the ocean, it seemed like a confusing mix of different times. The balcony itself? Alit, though in muted hues as the LEDs struggled to fight back the oncoming creep of nighttime. The coast and the shore, however, were colored in dusk, the vibrant vegetation that I saw in the morning now an inky, dark green shadow. It was a different world than the daytime, when life was all splashing in the surf, digging in the sand, and hiding from the sun under hats and overhangs. Every so often, the light from a flashlight would brighten the brush and remind it of it's diurnal duties. Did I like it? Hard to say. I felt a little sorry. The blanket cover of night had holes in it here. As a result, the darkness brought a strange world, where everything at once seemed enchantingly unfamiliar, but the occassional peep of light, rush of a car, or the unceasing lull of the ocean rendered it momentarily recognizable once more.
I stared into the distance. But there, somewhere in the middle of my vision, were the blinking red lights – signs of ships and buoys out on the water. The only thing those lights made clear was the horizon, for once not twisting the ocean's natural darkness into a daytime blue. The red dots reminded me that, despite how I couldn't see that endless expanse, the water was still there, and it stretched out, to the eye, forever and a day.
Sometimes when I'm traveling in the dark, leaning my head against the bus window and trying not to fall asleep, I watch the red lights that scatter across the desert horizon. The remind me of ships in the night, and, for a moment, I believe that the water is there.
364 words
- -KenzieCamps-
-
Scratcher
100+ posts
swc megathread: march '25
Color Daily
About The Post
- points worth: 300
- words written: 314
- reason: Daily 14
- prompt:
The Hindu Holi festival is celebrated by people throwing colored water and powders on one another, in a festival of spring and love. The bright colors involved in Holi evoke feelings of joy, happiness, and fun—just like the festival itself! Today’s daily is about incorporating color imagery—how do the color/s you’ve described represent the characters’ emotions, or reflect the mood of the scene? Using colors to symbolise feelings, write 314 words for 200 points—share proof for 100 extra points.
My light blue dress flew in the wind as I walked down the path of tranquility in Sunshine Park. The breeze blew past my long, brown hair and I breathed in the fresh, spring air deeply.
Green leaves swirled across the path. Yellow blossoms bloomed along the sides of the path. The blossoms changed color based on the mood, and today was a happy day. A healing day.
When it was a cloudy and rainy day, the blossoms were colorless. Gray and dead. I am thankful that today is a yellow day. I take a seat on the bench, and wait. Hours later, a young man in a dark purple suit approaches.
He carries himself with confidence, like he’s some royal king. I gaze at his hair that swirls around with the wind, and his bright blue eyes staring at me. I blink and shake my head, realizing that I’m not invisible and he can actually see me.
“Today’s a happy day,” he glances at the flowers, “What’s going on?”
I shake my head. I can’t speak. I must speak, otherwise he’ll think I’m weird and it won’t be a yellow day anymore. I manage to let out a few words. “Um, well, I don’t know. Healing.”
He nods his head in understanding, something that I don’t get often from others. We sit together on the wooden bench in silence, admiring the clouds. The fluffy white clouds slowly move across the sky like turtles in a race. They turn into different shapes. A unicorn, a dragon, a phoenix.
“My name is Liam. I come from a faraway land, the kingdom of Avaloria. I’m looking for a fair maiden to rule alongside me, as my queen. You seem like the perfect choice, would you be willing?”
I nod. In shock. Nobody had ever made such a kind gesture. I was going to be a queen.
Closing
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