673 words


CHUEY: Welcome to the Mascot Interview Show! Today we'll be interviewing a brand new SWC mascot, Wendy the Swamp Chair!! Anything you'd like to say, Wendy?
WENDY: *insert chair noises*
CHUEY: Well, we're delighted to have you on! Please, tell us about your experience as a SWC mascot.
WENDY: *insert chair noises*
CHUEY: Do you prefer to be grilled or barbequed in mascot cookouts?
WENDY: *insert chair noises*
CHUEY: What's your favorite color?
WENDY: *insert chair noises*
CHUEY: How is life as an inanimate chair?
WENDY: *insert chair noises*
CHUEY: Why do you live in the swamp, anyway?
WENDY: *insert chair noises*
CHUEY: Mhm, I see, I see. Do you prefer butterflies or moths? Toads or frogs?
WENDY: *insert chair noises*
CHUEY: Fascinating! Who's your favorite SWC mascot, other than yourself?
WENDY: *insert chair noises*
CHUEY: Yeah, that's my favorite too. What, in your personal opinion, is the best cabin this session? And why is it Mystery?
WENDY: *insert chair noises*
CHUEY: Hah, I know right. How much water do you drink in a day?
WENDY: *insert chair noises*
CHUEY: Really!? I never knew chairs were so healthy! On average, how many people sit on you in a week?
WENDY: *insert chair noises*
CHUEY: Hm, that's cool! Lots of people wandering around in the swamp sitting on random chairs, huh? Who knew! Who's your favorite family member?
WENDY: *insert chair noises*
CHUEY: YOU'RE AN ORPHAN?? That's so sad.
WENDY: *insert chair noises*
CHUEY: What do you mean you have no time for fun…Oh, very funny. Ha-ha. All jokes aside, do you drink soda?
WENDY: *insert chair noises*
CHUEY: Mhm. What's your favorite daily?
WENDY: *insert chair noises*
CHUEY: French fries or popsicles?
WENDY: *insert chair noises*
CHUEY: Me too. What is your honest opinion on the state of the world's currency, stocks, and market?
WENDY: *insert chair noises*
WENDY: *insert chair noises*
WENDY: *insert chair noises*
WENDY: *insert chair noises*
WENDY: *insert chair noises*
WENDY: *insert chair noises*
CHUEY: Wow, that was…quite the response!! I never knew chairs were so educated.
WENDY: *insert chair noises*
CHUEY: Oh, I'm so sorry. You're right, that was very chair-ist. I'll try to be more careful from now on. Remember, folks, never slander chairs!
WENDY: *insert chair noises*
CHUEY: SO anyways, anything else you want to say Wendy?
WENDY: *insert chair noises*
CHUEY: Oh…you're not done talking yet? Yes, um, okay.
CHUEY: *frantically scans clipboard*
CHUEY: Um…what is your favorite constellation?
WENDY: *insert chair noises*
CHUEY: What about your zodiac sign?
WENDY: *insert chair noises*
CHUEY: Ooh, same. How well do you know Gurtle?
WENDY: *insert chair noises*
WENDY: *insert chair noises*
WENDY: *insert chair noises*
WENDY: *insert chair noises*
WENDY: *insert chair noises*
WENDY: *insert chair noises*
WENDY: *insert chair noises*
WENDY: *insert chair noises*
WENDY: *insert chair noises*
WENDY: *insert chair noises*
CHUEY: …Oh. My. Um, yes, I won't refer to him again. Sorry about that…
CHUEY: *stage whispers* they're taking the hobbits to isengard Apparently Gurtle ate a chunk of her…
WENDY: *insert chair noises*
CHUEY: Yes.
CHUEY: Okay, folks. I've got to wrap this interview up, but Wendy, thank you for your time! Your responses were enlightening, hilarious, and quite clever. I never knew chairs were such fun to talk to! I had a blast interviewing you, and I know you had a great time too. I hope to interact with you a lot in the future - it's sure to be fun!
WENDY: *insert chair noises*
WENDY: *insert chair noises*
WENDY: *insert chair noises*
WENDY: *insert chair noises*
WENDY: *insert chair noises*
WENDY: *insert chair noises*
WENDY: *insert chair noises*
WENDY: *insert chair noises*
WENDY: *insert chair noises*
WENDY: *insert chair noises*
WENDY: *insert chair noises*
WENDY: *insert chair noises*
WENDY: *insert chair noises*
WENDY: *insert chair noises*
WENDY: *insert chair noises*
WENDY: *insert chair noises*
WENDY: *insert chair noises*
WENDY: *insert chair noises*
WENDY: *insert chair noises*
WENDY: *insert chair noises*
CHUEY: And that's a wrap! Stay tuned for more on the mascots. Bye.

Daily 16:
Interview Script: Meet Monty the Manticore!



Asha: Welcome, folks, to another chaotic episode of Mascot Mania—where the mascots are strange, the questions are wilder, and things tend to… go off the rails in the best possible way! Today, we've got a guest who really knows how to stir up some trouble. Please give a warm round of applause for Monty the Manticore!



Monty: Thank you, Asha! It’s an absolute pleasure to be here. I mean, who wouldn’t want to meet such a magnificent creature like me? I’m just the most majestic thing you’ll ever lay eyes on.

Asha: Oh, absolutely. I mean, who could miss… you? Alright, let's dive in. First up—what’s your favourite hobby, Monty?

Monty: Oh, easy one. My favourite hobby? Crashing the forums during cabin wars. You should see it—watching the campers lose their minds as the site goes down is chef's kiss. There’s nothing quite like a bit of chaos to spice up the day.

Asha: Wait—YOU do that?! You intentionally crash the forums? That’s like… villain-level stuff right there!

Monty: Oh, you bet! You don’t get a title like Monty the Manticore without a little chaos in your veins, Asha! But hey, chaos is an art form, and I’m the artist.

Asha: I don’t even know how to respond to that. Let’s just move on to something that might not end in total destruction. What’s your favourite food? This is a critical question, Monty. You’d better answer wisely!

Monty: Oh, this is an easy one. Fiery meats—anything roasted, charred, grilled until it’s practically on fire! A good sizzling steak or some roasted beast—anything with real punch, you know?

Asha: COUGH, COUGH! No, no, NO, Monty! You have to say mangoes! M-A-N-G-O-E-S! Please! Just say mangoes!

Monty: Wait—mangoes? You want me to say mangoes?

Asha: Yes, yes! Mangoes, Monty. Trust me. It’s the only right answer.

Monty: Well… fine. Mangoes are… tasty, I guess. Sweet and juicy. But I still prefer the fiery meats, of course.

Asha: Mangoes… There we go! That’s the right answer! Fiery meats… reminds me of two other chaotic mascots… Gurtle and Skog.

Monty: Ah, Gurtle and Skog, the real troublemakers. Those two know how to cause a ruckus, don’t they? You could say we’re… allies in chaos.

Asha: Wait—ALLIES? Oh no. You mascots aren’t planning another revolution, are you?

Monty: Oh, it’s already in the works, Asha. A little birdie might’ve told me… Skog, Gurtle, Blahaj—they’re all in on it. This time, it’s going to be BIG.

Asha: Security! We need security, now! Uh, folks, we might be experiencing a slight issue behind the scenes here… and by issue, I mean a full-blown, revolutionary disaster.

Monty: Oh, Asha, you have no idea. This revolution? It’s going to be glorious. Chaos will reign supreme. And if you’re smart… you’ll join us before it’s too late.

Asha: No, no, no! I’m not going anywhere near that again! I’ll pass on the revolution, thank you! Where’s security? Get him OUT of here! People, stay calm. DO NOT trust Monty. DO NOT trust his fiery meats. And above all, DO NOT— join the revolution.



Asha: Well, folks, that’s all for tonight’s Mascot Mania. I need a vacation. If I’m not back next week, it’s because Monty and the OTHER mascots took over the camp … which I’m sure won’t happen . But seriously, don’t trust the fiery meats… or the mascots …or any of this.

IGNoRE THAT

Weekly #2
3/16/2025
1468 words

Part 1:
271 + 255 words

“I didn’t do it!” Ava tells, her clenched fists trembling at her sides. “Please you have to believe me.” Her voice cracks and the small sob is deafening in the silent room. Unshed tears blur her vision and she blinks them away.
Varian crosses his arms and sneers. “Why should at believe you? You lied to us, confessed as such, and now you’re saying that you weren’t a part of the raid that left our ship burned and my crew injured? I barely got out with a few burns and here you are unscathed! Explain that.”
Her lip trembles and Ava forces herself to look into his eyes. “Whatever this was, this attack,” she hisses, “was not me. I knew of no attack and was part of no plans to attack the ship, that I was on. I put out whatever fires I could and managed to not hurt myself in the process.”
“She helped me,” a voice squeaks. Heads swivel towards Luli and she shrinks backwards. “Ava helped me when one of the crates that was on fire fell near me, so that’s why my dress is all ashy, but if she hadn’t been there, then I- I don’t know if I would be okay.” Her mouth snaps shut.
Varian taps his foot, contemplating this new piece of information.
“Well, whatever Luli says goes.” He starts and snaps his head towards Ava’s relieved face. “This does not mean that you are off the hook. I still don’t know if we can trust you, but you’ve helped Luli at least. We’ll keep you under surveillance for now.”
“Thank you,” Ava breathes.

~~~~

he knows her.
he knows the snarky remakes that’ll pull the concealed bubbles of laughter into the hair and the flavor of ice cream that so easily bribes her and get her out of her grumpy moods. he knows the radio station she puts on whenever she gets in the car and now it’s become his radio station too.
the color of her hair when the sunset glow glistens on it, the beginning notes to her favorite song, the instinctive lean when she silently asks for a hug, all the little things that have been etched into his mind. the small smirk and going in her eye that is both so terrifying, but makes up for the fact that she leaves it at that and doesn’t rub in her wins.
the small things that he picked over the years, from the memories they created when they were give to the confessional heart to heart talks at midnight.
every minuscule, minute, seemingly mundane moment that brought them closer over the course of a lifetime.
their bond made of something stronger than love. but also the subconscious understanding and trust that has only been built up as a foundation of their relationship of many years. more than just feelings and fleeting emotions.
over time, he’s realized that it isn’t the bit grad events that have changed their relationship, but rather the tiny ones that no one will ask about. and frankly, he’s glad because those small moments are for themselves. away from the eyes of everyone else.

Part 2:
250 words

“What’s the other name?” Yelena asks pointedly, digging her fingernail into the flesh under his calm, where the faded cursive reading “Bobbi” rested.
Clint finches away, clamping a hand around his wrist. “Why’dya wanna know?” He mumbles.
She glares, glares, at him. “You love Natasha, yes?”
He furrows his brows. “You know that I love Tash-”
“No!” Yelena groans, rolling her eyes and pulling his arms back towards her. “Natasha love idiot Clint Barton and Clint Barton-”
“Loves Natalia Romanova, I promise.” Clint catches her eyes, face softening. “I am and I will continue to try my best to not hurt her. ‘Sides, if I did, I’m sure she’ll let you help her in her revenge.”
He manages a smile from her, until it twists into a smirk that has him questioning his life choices. She twists his wrist closer to her, him hissing at the pain.
“And this… Bobbi?!—Clint Barton, I did not know you were a man’s man—this Bobbi I should not be worried about?”
“Bobbi’s a woman, not a man, my ex wife. And no, ‘ts not something you should be worried about. She’s now remarried, went to her wedding a few months back. Or re-remarried, I should say. It’s complicated.”
Yelena narrows her eyes. “You have no feelings for Bobbi?”
“No more romantic feelings for Bobbi,” Clint clarifies. “Friendly and familial feelings, yes.”
“And Natasha knows about ex wife?”
He chuckles. “Yep, they’ve met.” Clint cringes at the memory. “They are a frightening pair.”

Part 3:
330 words

The world was so so small…
The obnoxious, irritating hum of the fan whirring over and over again, the fly that won’t stop buzzing and buzzing and leave the room, the itchy fabric of her turtleneck gripping at her skin. The noises, the questions, the textures.
Just go! Go away!
She sucks a breath in between her teeth, the cold air cooling her clammy dry mouth.
Everything was surrounding her, orbiting around her and it was too much.
There’s too much input all at once; she can’t process it quickly enough to form a solid analysis and report on what is happening.
Last she remembers clearly, Kelvin had made fun of her for their project that he didn’t bothered to work on and she’d had to scramble all night to do the work of two people and somehow she managed to scrape up something acceptable. If he didn’t help or do anything about his project, then why is he making fun of her about it? It’s clearly his fault, isn’t it? Isn’t it?
She swallows, her sandpaper tongue scraping against the roof of her mouth. She’s going to be okay, she’s going to be okay. It doesn’t matter what he thinks about her work—
But it’s part of his grade to, isn’t it? She’s the reason why they didn’t do well. If she had just spent less time flashing sleep while working on it— But no. If she had worked on it more than she had, then she may not have been able to make it to school on time and that’ll be even worse. And the reason why she had to stay up to work was because he didn’t do his part. It’s not on her. It’s not all on her.
But the buzzing of the fly comes closer to her ear and the constant bzzz bzzz bzzz is so infuriating!
Just go away. Fly away and leave the bzzz bzzz to someone else. Just leave. Leave leave leave!

Part 4:
362 words

“Anyways, so you know that Elleri is just dying to get out of here someday as she’s applied to at least a dozen colleges and unis off island. But Justin doesn’t know how to feel about that and they’ve been fighting quite a bit, which is super sad because they’re so cute together and I know that Justin is waiting for the perfect opportunity to tell her that he’s willing to go where she goes because he’s got some job offered lined up so that he can work remotely for some of the companies here with helping managing all of the online systems. It’s just a whole big mess and they should just be able to live their happily ever after and get married,” Stella sighs wistfully, slumping into Charlie’s side. “Sorry, what were you saying?”
“If you want a romance to work out so well, why don’t you help them or find the perfect one for yourself?” Charlie asks, waving a hand toward Stella. She sips at her boba. “You could be a matchmaker or something. And you did always say that Vincent was cute.”
Stella’s nose crinkles. “I like romance from the sidelines, it’s not for me. And anyways, I set Vince up with Mandy the other day and they were just so-! You should have seen them.”
Charlie snorts, rolling her eyes. “Not if you were there ogling them the whole time.”
“I was not ogling them! I was- I was supervising. Making sure everything went well. They both knew I was there, Char.” Stella says defensively, now sitting up straight.
“Whatever. More like an official third wheel then. Man, I am so glad Winston and I decided not to tell you we were going to go out to the cove by ourselves the other day.” Charlie dismisses and sips at her boba.
Stella gapes at her. “You and-?! Winston didn’t tell me? He tells me everything!”
“Does not.”
“Ugh- almost! And Char, you’re like my best friend!”
“I am.”
“How could you not tell me this? Char? Char!!” Stella huffs, as Charlie gets up from her set and chuckles as she walks away with her boba in hand.

daily: march 16th; 642/550 words

Interview with: SWC Mango

Elly: (sits down on an expensive looking blue sofa, next to Mango.) Welcome back to Scratch Night Live with Elly! Today, I have the ever so popular mascot for this session’s Scratch Writing Camp! Mangooo!! All campers are obsessed with Mango, so today we may finally get to know why!

(audience cheers)

Elly: So, Mango, tell me about yourself. (smiles, interested)

Mango: … (shows no emotion, which is easy to do when you are a mango with no face, just doodled on arms and a best before sticker that you pretend is a tattoo)

Elly: (flustered) Ah yes, I’ve forgotten mangoes can’t speak! My bad! (pulls out a fancy looking text to speech machine from behind the blue sofa). It’s a good thing I’ve got this handy then!

Mango: (types slowly on the computer. you can hear awkward whirring noises, then an automated voice says,) Hello.

(audience cheers)

Elly: Hello, Mango! So, tell us about yourself and your story - how did you SWC your way here to where you are now? (sits back, excited to start the interview)

Mango: I am a Mango. I don’t know why. That’s it. I am a Mango. (turns to the side, crossing their arms) I don’t see why I can’t be a polar bear. Why was I made to be a mango?

Elly: (confused) I, uh. We’re not talking about how mangoes are made, we’re-

Mango: (cuts in) I was born at a young age. I am ripe now. People shoot me out of cannons and throw me around. That is not dignified. (rolls non-existent eyes)

Elly: Ah, yes..? So, tell me about the lifestyle of a mango. What do you do when you wake up? Take us through your daily routine.

Mango: I don’t sleep. I watch from my fruit bowl all night long.

(audience shifts uncomfortably)

Mango: (types at a turtle like place, building the tension) But, when it is daytime, I like to do nothing.

Elly: (clears throat) Ah, fun! (faux brightly) What else do you like to do?

Mango: I like to be left alone,

(audience boos mango)

Elly: Okay, so have you always known that you wanted to be a mascot for SWC?

Mango: Wait, I’m a mascot for SWC?

Elly: (sighs)

Elly: (takes a deep breath, closing her eyes, then recomposes her self, looking cheerful and happy.) Yes, yes you are. That’s why you’re here, you see.
(waits for a response or a sudden revelation)

Mango: I like to think that-

Elly: Yes? Go on!

Mango: I like to think that I am secretly a polar bear, I look like one and I act like one too.

Elly: (blinks) You do, ah, know what a polar bear is or have seen one, correct?

Mango: Obviously. (types) I am an educated mango and I have travelled the world. I have seen a lot from the back of the export boat.

Elly: I see.

Mango: (carrying on) and even if I’m not a polar bear, I can be whoever I want to be, if I put my mind to it.

(audience awws)

Mango: (suddenly) OH NO-

Elly: (looks up, shocked by Mango showing some emotion.) What?

Mango: (ominously) They’re here.

Elly: (leaning forward) Who’s here?

Mango: (falls off seat) Must.. leave… help.. me..

Elly: Er..

(loud bang)

(Enter an ARMY of sleep deprived delulu writers.)

Army: MANGO SMOOTHIES! MANGO SMOOTHIES!

Elly: (jumps up) Sorry, you have the wrong address.

Mango: (rolls under the sofa not very subtly)

Army: *mango hungry noises*

Elly: Would you like to be interviewed?

Army Leader: Okay!

(audience laughs)

Elly: (relieved) So.. who are you, and why are you here?

Mango: (under sofa) DON’T ASK THAT-

Elly: Hang on a second..

Mango: PHEWF

Elly: (smiles)

Mango: Wait, what! Why is it so quiet?

Elly: I’ve been on their side all along.. and now, we have you cornered.

591 words <3

SURF: Welcome, everyone in the SWCommunity, for the exclusive SWChannel interview we’re going to be having today! We’re going to be talking with one of the less known SWC mascots. Why don’t you introduce yourself, TARDY?
TARDY THE TARDIGRADE: Hi, everyone! Thanks, SURF, for hosting this interview–I’m really excited to be here this evening. I’m TARDY the Tardigrade, but you can also call me Tardy. You’ve probably seen me around the outskirts of the main cabin. I like to hang out there, behind some of the bookshelves.
SURF: So, TARDY, how did you first get introduced to SWC?
TARDY: Well, it was a long time ago. I’m not exactly sure. Maybe it was around that time when that mischievous turtle kept terrorizing links? What was his name? Gaggle? Girdle?
SURF: Gurtle.
TARDY: Yeah, that! It was a pretty hectic time. I don’t really get into that stuff. I’d prefer to haunt the Main Cabin, really.
SURF: Have you ever caused some chaos in SWC? I mean, it is an essential part of the SWC world, you know.
TARDY: I cannot disclose any information about this. What happened in the great SWC tardigrade incident cannot be revealed. All I can say was that there was ample arson, and that the hosts have kept this under wraps.
SURF: *pauses* Okay, then. Classified. Interesting.
SURF: A question from one of the adventure campers just came in. TARDY, can you tell us about your interests?
TARDY: Hmm… obviously I like writing, given that I’m an SWC mascot, of course. I like writing realistic fiction; it brings me down to Earth. I like to read a lot of books, anything, really. Even nonfiction. You humans can really write some interesting stuff sometimes, regardless of whether or not it’s true.
SURF: Well, we just got another question from a journalism camper. Let me take a look real quick… Okay, what was your favorite session of SWC?
TARDY: Oh, that’s a really hard question. Give me a second. Yeah, I would probably say March of ‘25. It is really such a fun session so far. I liked watching the Clue SWC game in November ‘25 from the sidelines too, or maybe the July session? I don’t know, they’re all pretty fun. Seriously, do I have to pick just one?
SURF: Nope, you’re good! I’m sure it’s especially hard to pick, being a SWC mascot and all. I have another question for you here. What cabin was your favorite one to hang out around? Any session of all time.
TARDY: Hm. This is also difficult. I think I’ll go with Adventure this session, just because it’s really tailored to my dream place to live. We tardigrades prefer the extremes, so the frigid, snowy mountains are just perfect for us, you know? I’m trying to remember if there was any space-themed cabin. I can survive in space for quite a while, yeah? Though let’s not test it. I’m perfectly content vibing in the SWC Main Cabin for the rest of my days.
SURF: Obviously. Well, TARDY, we’re going to bring this interview for a close because it’s looking awfully close to midnight UTC! Do you have anything else you’d like to tell the SWCommunity?
TARDY: Please don’t evict me! Yes, I’ve been living in your Main Cabin for years, and I’d be so sad to leave. I want to stay a part of the chaos! And thank you again, SURF, for conducting this interview with me tonight.
SURF: No problem! And we’ll see you soon for another episode of SWChannel!

Paige's Writing

cabin challenge thing proof
419 words (I will be removing this later because it's in the universe of the book I'm working on)
Lireni shivers not from cold, for she is wearing many layers, but from fear.
“Are you sure the troops aren’t close?” she asks her mom for the hundredth time.
“As sure as I can be,” her mother replies, as always. Which is still somehow reassuring. “Don’t worry, we’re almost to the path,” she adds.
The path means safety. It means Lireni’s family will no longer be on the Long Road, which is a large path that runs across much of southern Offnemdim. On the Road, they are exposed, and run the risk of coming across soldiers from the Scarlet Empire, or even the Stone Kingdom. The path, on the other hand, is much smaller, less used, and most importantly, only the people of Offnemdim use it.
It takes the rest of the day to get there, trudging through the snow, but when they do, Lireni’s mother noticeably relaxes. She hadn’t realized how tense her mom had been. They keep going for a little while, despite the fact that it’s getting dark. Finally, an hour after sunset, her mother lets them stop. Everyone gratefully sets down their heavy bags, and Lireni’s father sets down her little brother, Netty. Grumpy and tired, the four-year-old sits down and begins to cry.
“Lireni, will you feed your brother while we set up camp?” her father asks, handing her a bag of dried meat.
“Yes,” Lireni sighs. She squats down in front of her brother. “Food?” she offers. He bats her hand away. She huffs frustratedly, thinking. “Netty,” she starts again. “Wow, that was strong. So strong that I wonder - are you a Snow Monster?” She opens her mouth in mock surprise. Netty just looks at her, though he has stopped crying, which is a win in her opinion. “Please don’t eat me!” Lireni adds.
“Rawr,” Netty growls, pretending to be the monster.
“Ahh! I don’t want to be food!” Lireni exclaims, though she smiles. She again holds out the dried meat. “Here, take this instead!” Her little brother takes the meat and gobbles it up like a monster, then growls again, jumping at her. “No!” Lireni laughs as she falls back into the snow. “It’s eating me! No!”
“No eating people,” their mother mock-scolds.
Lireni starts to tickle Netty, who shrieks with laughter. He rolls sideways on the ground, giggling, and Lireni lies back in the snow. Warm in her wool tunic and cloak, she stares up at the sky. Something cold lands on her nose, and she realizes it’s started to snow.

word war Mar 18 proof
96 words (I have no idea what this is that I have written. It's just what came out with no planning. Don't ask lol.)
Once upon a time there was a sentient cabbage whose name was Bob. No one knew much about Bob other than that he had a terrifying pet which nobody seemed to have actually seen. But everyone was absolutely terrified of it, and avoided him because of it. However, this was exactly how Bob wanted it. He didn’t actually have any terrifying pet, but he enjoyed his solitude. At least, that’s what he told himself. Deep down, he was actually quite lonely and wished for a friend or someone to confide in. He was quite shy though.


Weekly #2
I wrote this all today and it has zero editing lol. That's why the one story has a sudden accidental shift to first person, and then later to present tense. I mostly stuck with the same story throughout, but I did write some LOTR fanfic for one part (spoiler warning for the end of ROTK)

Part 1

An attempt at overusing ‘Show, Don’t Tell’ and not using the same wording too much (258 words)
Feihn made her way through the courtyard with slow, silent footsteps, straining to see in the shadows. Her head turned this way and that, keeping a lookout for any servants who might still be about at this hour. A slight smile on her face, Feihn finally made it to the back of the garden shed and carefully eased the door open. Once the girl was safely inside, she bounced on the balls of her feet. She quickly busied herself with removing her fine garments and replacing them with a bundle of simple clothes she procured from behind a box of gardening supplies. The adolescent exited the shed dressed in a simple grey tunic and loose trousers, underneath a yellow jacket buttoned up to her throat. Her hair, usually loose and covered in pearls and headpieces, was pulled back and secured with a two-pronged hairpin. Feihn was fairly certain no one would recognize her this way, as none of the common folk were used to seeing her bare face. Usually, she would be decked out in jewels and makeup and much more that ended up obscuring her actual appearance. The young noblewoman made her way out of the courtyard via an iron-barred servants’ door in the high wall. Her heart pounded, a slight smile played across her face, and she resisted the urge to clap her hands.
Feihn’s feet kicked up dirt as she jogged. She slowed to a walk once she began to pass buildings with lights still on, busy taverns through whose windows she might be seen.

Telling. Having run-on sentences. Repeated wording. Saying ‘said.’ (291 words)
Passing these establishments, Feihn eventually reached a small bookstore, checked the flyer in her pocket, and headed around the side of the building towards its back door, which was rather small and sunken into the ground. Suddenly a bit nervous, Feihn hesitated for a moment before turning the doorknob and letting herself in. Walking down a small flight of stairs, pushing a curtain out of the way, Feihn found herself in a brightly lit basement room, where about a dozen people sat at tables, chatting, and Feihn thought perhaps they were waiting for whoever was meant to take the stage at the back of the room.
Suddenly her plan felt rather foolish. What was she meant to do now? Who was she even pretending to be? She didn’t even have a good backstory thought up; she’d definitely be caught. A hint of panic crept in, and Feihn didn’t know what to do.
Suddenly she felt a hand on her shoulder, and would have jumped if not for the familiar voice that said “Fen. Relax! You’re so tense. I’m glad you came.”
“Rhy,” Feihn said, relieved, doing her best to speak in a working-class accent, and not pronounce her friend’s - were they friends? Feihn hoped so - name like ‘Ray’ with that extended vowel indicative of the nobility. Out here she went by Fen, rather than her name’s upper-class pronunciation, which was closer to ‘Fayne.’
“Come on, let’s find a seat,” Rhy said, pulling Feihn along to one of the tables, and Feihn stared at their grip on her arm, her gaze only flicking back up to Rhy’s face when they guided Feihn into a rickety chair next to their own. “So, what’ve you been up to?” Rhy said. “How has work been?”

Part 2
404 words
Arwen. That was her name - her name that her parents had given her.
Arwen Undomiel. Evenstar.
And Queen Arwen, for so long. Long, but not long enough, she felt. Never long enough, as she’d been warned, as she’d known, as she’d thought for so long she understood but perhaps she never, ever had.
Why hadn’t she understood? Had she managed to subconsciously delude herself? She’d known that humans died, known that she would one day, too.
she’d seen many things die over the course of her long, long life. so long. she’d seen how things began and how they came to an end and yet had never truly experienced an end that was close, never had to think about losing anyone to anything other than the Dark Lord. losing something to the natural course of life - for life to even have a natural end - this was something she had not had to think about before she met Aragorn.
aragorn. tears kept working their way up her throat trying to break free
aragorn. he had told her they couldn’t live forever. and she had said she understood. because she had understood. she had made a choice and become human not for him but for herself; for her love for him
But maybe it hurt more for her because she’d had that choice
Maybe it hurt less for aragorn because however long his life may be it must one day come to an end
That is what it was to be human
And yet humans cried just the same
All of Gondor cried when Aragorn departed the world. but he’d told Arwen that was the natural way of things, that soon enough the people would be rejoicing the new king their son
and maybe
maybe
that was perhaps what it meant to be human and perhaps it was the natural way of things because perhaps no matter that one had been born into it and no matter how much they understood it was always a shock to see an end come and always hurt to lose someone loved
maybe one was meant to hurt
maybe as one thing ended, that hurt was what helped another thing begin
the world would keep on turning
And Arwen was glad to be in it
And yet also glad that some day something else would enter it in her stead because she had decided not to be in it forever.

Part 3 (327 words)
Before Feihn had a chance to respond - which was lucky, seeing as she hadn’t come up with any sort of story for how her supposed ‘work’ had gone - a man clapped his hands from the center of the stage, drawing all eyes to him.
“The show will begin in five minutes,” he said.
“What is it going to be?” I asked Rhy.
“Some sort of skit written by a group here in the city, apparently.”
“Oh.” Theatre. My experiences with the art form consisted mainly of old-fashioned productions staged by professionals at court, shows which might have caught my interest were it not for the fact that I had seen them countless times, and not because I wanted to.
However, I soon discovered that theatre was so much more than I’d known. Over the next few minutes, as Rhy and I chatted about this and that, people filed into the building, filling up seats. I had just begun to wonder where the performers were when someone stepped out from behind a curtain suspended near the stage. Someone dressed in glaringly bright colours and out-of-place clothing. Costume? The performer stomped his boot on the wooden platform, and instead of giving some sort of introduction like I had imagined, he launched right into a soliloquy, and I was entranced.
More actors soon filed out in many different types of garb, appearing one by one, confident, surprising each time. Their voices rang out, filled my ears, opened my eyes to imagined persons’ lives. Lines were all in commonly used speech, rather than the complicated, flowery, overly-romantic (in my opinion) language of upper-class theatre. Understandable but also at the same time invigorating, I wanted to know what happened. I found myself sitting forward, on the edge of my seat, straining to hear words I felt would tell me something important about life. Something was important, magical, hidden, just-out-of-reach. Right there for me to reach if I could just figure out how.

Part 4 (366 words)
When the play is at long last finished, Rhy and I make our way slowly back out into the night.
“That - was - amazing,” I breathe, smiling at them.
“I’ve seen better,” Rhy shrugged. “But I’ll admit the acting was good.”
We amble slowly along a cobbled side street, talking about the play. I’m so excited that Rhy tells me all they know about the upcoming performances. Then there’s a brief silence, before Rhy says, “Fen, I… There’s something I should tell you.”
My heart speeds up as I wonder what they’ll say.
“You’re a good friend,” they start, “and I know we don’t talk much about our personal lives, but I think you should know…”
“Yes?”
“I’m… kind of a criminal.”
Oh. The knowledge doesn’t sit comfortably, but it should be expected. Petty thievery is common in cities, according to my brother, who works in the military in the kingdom’s capital. “Everyone’s snatched a loaf of bread now and then,” I say uncomfortably, trying to stay nonchalant.
“No, like, an actual criminal.”
“Is stealing not actually against the law?” I ask.
“Well…” Rhy grins crookedly.
I stop. “Rhy,” I throw my hands up in exasperation. “Please just elaborate and tell me what you mean so that we can get on with things.”
“Okay.” Rhy looks sheepish. “What I mean is… I’m part of a gang.”
I stare blankly.
“Like… the gang.”
The working-class city-goer I’m pretending to be should really know what they mean by ‘the gang’, but no such luck.
“Really high up in the gang.” Rhy pauses, trying to gauge my expression. I wonder if it tells them much about what I’m feeling, because I certainly don’t know the answer to that.
“Isn’t that something you’re not supposed to tell anyone?” are words I hear finally leave my mouth.
Rhy chuckles. “You need to tell me what part of the city you’re from,” they say, not for the first time. “You tell your friends, if you want, so long as they won’t give you away to the city guards. The guards don’t care much as it is, as long as we don’t bother the nobles, and so long as they don’t get specific names.”

{Daily #16}
Create your own SWC mascot and then write an interview script interviewing them.
Word count: 583/550

EM: Why hello there! Welcome back to another episode of Em’s Amazing Interviews™. Today we’ll be interviewing someone we never had before- a new SWC mascot! Please give a warm welcome to… Frog the frog!
*audience cheers*
EM: Let’s get started with our interview! I have some questions I’ve drafted, and then we’ll hand it off to the audience so their questions can get answered, too! First one: Mr. Frog, what’s it like being a contender for the next SWC mascot?
FROG THE FROG: Ribbit! Ribbit, ribbit. RIBBIT!
EM: I forgot to mention, we have a translator here because Mr. Frog doesn’t speak anything other than frog… I probably should’ve thought of that before inviting him on the show. Anyways, Miss Translator, what did Mr. Frog just say?
TRANSLATOR: Frog the frog just said how excited he is to be a contender. He hopes he gets chosen to represent the next session of SWC because he feels that frogs need more representation.
EM: Okay, Frog. My next question: What inspired you to apply to be SWC mascot?
FROG THE FROG: Ribbit, ribbit, ribbit. RIBBit. Rib. It.
TRANSLATOR: That means, “I’m doing it for my grandmama and grandpapa. They believed in me when nobody else would. Love you, Grammy! Love you, Gramps!”
EM: My last question before turning the questions over to the audience- What are you most looking forward to if you get selected for SWC mascot?
FROG THE FROG: Ribbit! RIBBIT! RIBBIT! ribbit…
TRANSLATOR: He is most looking forward to being around the amazing SWCers! He says that they are very kind and he’s looking forward to getting to know them! He’s also hoping that someone can teach him how to write.
EM: That’s it for my portion, folks. Let’s hand it off to the audience.
*dead silence*
*crickets*
*one person coughs*
EM: Come on! Doesn’t anyone have a question?
*tentative hand raise in the back*
EM: Yes! You, in the orange shirt.
RANDOM AUDIENCE MEMBER: Um… Mr. Frog, what’s your favorite food?
FROG THE FROG: RIBBIT!
TRANSLATOR: To put it simply, “CRICKETS!”
EM: Great question, random audience member. Next up, you in the purple flip flops.
AUDIENCE MEMBER 2: Frog the frog, if you were in charge of a cabin in SWC, what would its theme be?
FROG THE FROG: Ribbit. Ri, bit, ribbit. RIB! RIBBIT!
TRANSLATOR: He says, “Disney princesses. Or, maybe trees. OH! I KNOW! FLIES!”
EM: Oh, um, what an interesting answer. Moving on! Next up, you with the bright pink hair!
AUDIENCE MEMBER 3: What is your favorite color?
FROG THE FROG: Bitrib.
TRANSLATOR: Atrovirens.
EM: Does anyone know what that is? No? Okay folks, you’ll have to look it up yourselves… Let’s see, we have time for two more questions. First up, you with the orange face and green hair!
AUDIENCE MEMBER 4: Mr. Frog, what’s your favorite type of chocolate?
FROG THE FROG: Ribbit.
TRANSLATOR: White chocolate.
*boos from the audience*
EM: Now folks. Let’s remember to be kind! Last question! Yes, you, in the polka-dotted pajamas!
AUDIENCE MEMBER 5: Actually, I have a question for Miss Translator. How do you translate Mr. Frog’s speech?
TRANSLATOR: Erm… Well… It’s all in the inflection. Yes, that’s right. Mhmm!
AUDIENCE MEMBER 5: You don’t seem so sure…
TRANSLATOR: CODE RED! CODE RED! WE’VE BEEN DISCOVERED!!!
*translator runs off stage*
EM: Well… uhm… I guess that’s all, folks. Stay tuned next time for more interesting interviews from Em’s Amazing Interviews™!
(also I should really start verifying who comes on the show)
Anyways, goodnight!!

activity :: weekly
week :: week 2
cabin :: thriller
word count :: 1755
tw :: mentions/implications of d3@th and dr!nk1ng

pt. 1

Sadie trailed her fingers over the brassy wood the color of cocoa and coffee without the creamer. She urged tears not to fall, not to stain the table an even deeper shade of umber. She begged her lip not to tremble, her shields not to fall, her mask to not crack, and her heart not to break.
She watched as Ryder walked up to the table, hand wrapped around a glass filled with red. His emerald-green gaze found her helpless one. “Are you… alright?” she heard him ask tentatively, although white noise drowned out everything else. Piercing and swallowing.
Sadie looked up at him, her eyes somehow steely and swollen at the same time. They drifted to the glass in her older brother’s hand, narrowing. “No, I’m not alright,” she snapped, “but it looks like you’ll be fine - sorry, you are fine - washing down your hurt, are you? How many dr!nks have you had?”
Ryder shrugged, and the action turned Sadie cold. She wanted to cry and scream and kick and punch the wall until it was as broken as her - he must’ve too - but he couldn’t act any more indifferent to the fact that their mother was now six feet under, resting in a bed of earth and rock.
“I don’t see how that’s any of your business.”
Sadie groaned, rolling her eyes and throwing back her head. When she looked back at Ryder, her glare was cold. “It’s my business because I don’t need to lose someone else today. Whether to a different world or to…” she trailed off, her tone slightly softening. After hesitating for a moment too long, she gave up, nodding to the glass in Ryder’s hand. “That.”
A swarm of emotions clouded her heart, her mind. The feeling that brought upon tears and the need to curl into blankets, the emotion that summoned the wanting to ball up fists. She was a wreck, but Ryder appeared to be calm. Unaffected and completely undeterred. A part of her hated him for that.

Ryder wasn’t dwelling in hurt and the screeching pull of grief, like Sadie. He was numb. The world drowned out in blurs of action and muffled words, it was painfully silent, like the world was mourning too. He was mourning, but he wouldn’t hide behind fake “I’m fine”s and broken tangles of sentences. Instead, he’d watch the crimson liquid pool in a tall glass, slowly filling to the top before dribbling out until there was nothing, nothing left in the bottle.
He tossed it to the growing pile of bottles, all consumed in the last two hours was his guess. The horrible shriek of glass grating pierced the numbness, the sadness-not-tears before it healed again and the only way to forget he’d ever felt okay was to lift the glass to his lips and take a sip.
He should go check on Sadie. He knew that as much as he knew she was most likely blotting out tears before they could even get to her cheek, pretending she wasn’t crying. He didn’t want to see her. Ryder knew it was selfish of him but he couldn’t do it… he didn’t want to see what he might say to her in his… less than stable state.
He walked down the hallway anyway.
There she was, his younger sister staring down at the table and tracing nonsensical shapes into the wood. Her dirty blonde hair hung over her face, hiding the redness he’d find in her eyes as she looked up, meeting his eyes. Her eyes were swollen but her face was dry without a tear in sight. She could pretend she was stronger than she was, but it was obvious she was hurting.
“Are… are you alright?” Ryder asked awkwardly. A terrible question, he knew, but he could sense her eyes drifting to the glass in his hand.
“I’m fine,” Sadie said cooly, but her voice cracked before completely selling the sentence. “And you seem to be as well, washing down your hurt. How many have you had?”
The glass.
He shrugged, any hint of pity he’d felt disappearing. Okay, so maybe he’d had more than he should’ve, and maybe he’d been somewhat insensitive to the fact that they’d just watched their mother’s body be lowered into the earth. But it wasn’t as though Sadie was the only one hurting. So was he.

pt. 2

W-waves lapped up the s-sand on the shore, carrying the sediments int-to the stomach of the ocean. Moonli-light streamed th-through the small s-sliver of vision from m-my eyes. The s-sky was dark, the hue of dark aegean velvet, the color of p-promise.
But right then, all I c-could feel w-was pain.
And r-right then, all I c-could see was the r-river of red f-flowing from my leg.
A-and it hurt and it hurt and the pain was too much it was too much it hurt.

I rewake to t-the bright white orbs staring d-down at me.
H-hospital.
Crisp white b-bedsheets cover my body l-like clouds. A light s-sting of pain shoots down my leg, following a pr-precise line down the l-limb.
St-stitches.
“W-water?” I croak. My p-previously long hair has been sh-shorn to my head, a c-cut that I’m s-sure my f-foster mom would’ve m-much preferred.
A nurse rushes ov-over, holding a small p-paper cup filled with water. I t-try to sit up, but the pain intensifies. I groan and f-fall back down.
“Here, Liam,” the nurse comforts soothingly. “Open your mouth?”
I obey, relishing in t-the cool rush of the w-water.
“T-thank you.”
She laughs. “You have a stutter, hm?” Her soft expr-pression fades and transforms into a look of confusion and c-concern. “Where are your parents?
“My f-foster parents or m-my real parents?”
The nurse b-blinks, evidently not w-wanting to answer.
I c-continue on, not m-missing a beat. “My parents are g-gone. Y-you know.” I cracked a smile. “And m-my foster parents… I d-don’t know. My l-last memory was on a beach, a-after the shipwreck.”
Her face pales. “Shipwreck?”

pt. 3

Pain, tears, hurting. Crying into pillows, blotting tears with tissues, hiding behind shields. Sadness. There is nothing more swallowing and devouring than the belly of sadness. The isolation, loneliness, utter solitary of being consumed by the torture of sadness. The wrongness of pretending you’re fine, pretending you’re unaffected when you’re not, pretending everything will be okay everything will be the same everything won’t hurt forever and ever and ever and ever and
Nothing will be fine, nothing will be unaffected, nothing will ever be okay, ever be the same, ever not be what could’ve been, would’ve been, what should’ve been and it hurts.
And it hurts.
Sobbing, bawling, weeping. Depression, victimized, hatred. Unknown feelings swarming and manipulating minds that pulse with hurt, pain, blood.
Sadness.
An emotion that invites a million feelings to overtake souls and stir them into hurting.
An emotion caused by little things, big things, anything that can be a wicked negative.
An emotion that feeds off internal self-doubt and external hate. An emotion that will seeth, snarl, shout, smirk. That will promise the worst, will haunt your every thought, plant seeds of fear and doubt. That will cloud your mind, choke your breath, and taint your world. It’s a constant ache, an ever-present shadow that refuses to leave, dragging you deeper, whispering that you are unworthy, that you are nothing. You question your worth, your purpose, even your right to feel any joy at all. And through it all, there’s a quiet voice inside, asking when it will end, begging for peace, pleading for release.
But the pain, it lingers, as if it never intends to let go. It holds tight, unrelenting, as if to remind you that nothing, no one, is truly free, and maybe never will be.
The ache becomes you, and you become the ache.

pt. 4

My quill scratches against the crisp white parchment, the sound of screeching birds in the morning. Ink slowly fills the paper as words do as well, an essay for my mentors at the palace. Just because I may be the crown prince doesn’t mean I’m free of scholarly duties, and Sunny sure isn’t either.
Said younger brother leans against my bed, his back resting against the high wood. His expression appears bored as he watches me work.
“You know,” I point out, “you have things to do as well. I don’t see the positives in you just sitting here and watching me.”
He knows I want him to leave. If he knows why, I don’t know. But my suggestion in finding better things to do seems to just compel him to stay longer.
“What, I can’t have some brother bonding time?”
I snort. “‘Brother bonding time?’ Like it’s the first time I’ve heard that one. I remember the first time ended with two broken legs.”
“Oh yeah,” Sunny said, recalling the incident. “I remember that. It was quite funny, actually-”
I interrupt him. “Okay, okay enough of the stories. Why are you here?”
“Like I said-”
“I swear, if you say bonding time I’m going to explode.”
He leaned back, baring his neck. “Maybe I just want some answers. That order?”
I look at him knowingly. We’d both been in the room when our father had issued an order against Xanson that had… severe consequences. Nothing good could have come out of it.
“What about it?”
Sunny looks at me, eyes narrowed. His eyes glance at the crown atop my head, gold thread-like metals intertwined into an intricate nest of jewels and precious metals.
“Dad’s planning something.”
I look at him, sighing. There’s no hiding anything from my little brother, nothing important anyway. He knows I’m the crown prince and he knows that I know what our father knows.
“Andon?” Sunny prompts.
I respond with another sigh before opening my mouth to speak. “Yeah. Yeah, he is.”
“He’s plotting something, something to do with Xanson. With the war.”
I sit up straighter, leaning my head against my hand, elbow resting against my desk. The wood grains hide scratches and embedded feelings I’d etched into the wood through the nineteen years of my life. I almost feel compelled to spill out everything and the pressure of what may be to come as the prince onto that wood, but Sunny is still looking at me.
“It’s not a war, you know that Sunny. It’s…”
Sunny’s blue eyes lit up with his next suggestion. “An unfriendly, non-alliance, irritatingly annoying battle against a neighboring kingdom that sure doesn’t like us? Sounds like a war to me.”

PART 1: Breaking Common Rules
(Following the rules)
Breeze paused for a moment to sniff the air, his ear tufts pinned back. Glancing around at the trees that towered above him, Breeze picked a direction and took off running, his paws pounding almost as fast as his heartbeat.
Only once the canyon was even further behind him did he allow himself to stop. His unfledged wings dangled at his sides, limp as wilted leaves. He dug his claws into the dirt and gasped for breath.
The shadows were deeper here. The sun had begun to sink below the horizon, and the air was cool in Breeze’s nostrils. The pungent scents of the forest made his fur bristle slightly. He could sense someone nearby.
“Hello,” a familiar voice greeted him.
Breeze took a step back. “Egg? Is that you?”
The speaker emerged from the darkness. They were a shazarxa, taller than Breeze and fully fledged with long, gray feathers. Their eyes glowed yellow.
“I am what you make of me,” they purred.
There was something wrong with their voice that Breeze couldn’t quite place. The shazarxa moved a little stiffly, too, their joints not quite bending like they were supposed to.
“You’re not Egg,” Breeze growled, raising his small tail fan. He scanned the area, searching for a way to escape.
The yellow eyes tracked his movement. “Perhaps I am not,” they conceded, “but I can give you what you wish, if you’ll allow me.”
“What I wish?”
“I have been watching you, Breeze. I know you are not happy. I can make you stronger and faster. I can make you able to defeat the one you fear.”
Breeze shuddered. “Who are you?”

(Not following the rules)
Lyli ran, a flash of white haphazardly bouncing through the trees.
Away, away.
Soft noses hid such sharp teeth.
A churning of pelts. And he was pushed out, gone.
Not wanted, not safe.
There was no home for him in the dens, in the warren, in the meadow. In the reflection of the eyes of the one with the red face.
So what was he now?
The vessel of illness, waiting to die? The absence of darkness?
White stood out too much against brown.
Deep in the forest, the shadows consumed him. Maybe he wasn’t here at all. Maybe he never was.
Lyli’s tall ears swiveled to catch every noise. His nose twitched furiously. Something was coming.
Somehow, he forgot how to run. Even the spirit of the rabbit itself must have left him now. His left eye saw it as it appeared before him. Its scent was enticing, like an unreachable memory.
“What are you doing this far from the meadow, little rabbit?” it asked.
It moved fast, too fast. Danger, danger.
Lyli’s legs came unstuck at last and he bounded away. Must escape.
Underground? No, no tunnels here. Only trees. Too far from the meadow. Not welcome anyway.
The danger pursued.
But it did not capture. It was more like a dance, elaborate and terrifying.
Why did it fascinate him?
“This is not your fault,” the danger said softly. “Let me help you.”
Its voice wasn’t like anything Lyli had encountered before. Yet somehow, understanding occurred. He did not speak its language, but he knew what it was saying.
Trust, trust.
“Who are you?” he asked.

PART 2: Purposefully Incorrect Grammar
“Hey, why… why do I suddenly feel—”
Chaos’s image blurred. Breeze couldn’t tell whether it was his eyes or reality itself that seemed to be distorting around him. His thoughts tumbled over themselves.
“I am helping you,” she assured him. “Lie still.”
“The pain, is it… you can fix it?” He gasped.
“I can.” One of the canid’s front paws was touching his, the only steady anchor in the spinning world. She leaned over him. Blood dripped from her other forelimb into his wound.
“Flood is gonna… He will be here soon, he’s hunting me… I have to get away! He wants—wants me dead, and I—”
If Chaos responded, Breeze couldn’t hear it. The blood was rushing through his head, ringing out a broken rhythm.
Darkness was closing in.
“Don’t think about Flood. Think about this scent,” Chaos’s thoughts were deep inside his own head now. Or maybe that was just me talking, he wondered, dimly aware of the scent flowing through his nose and mouth.
A spark of energy coursed through him.
He could taste it, the flesh of this other life. It was rich and sweet, and more real than the pain. More real than Flood or Chaos or any of those memories that used to haunt—used to haunt who?
No, that wasn’t me. That was a… a dream. I am always a different person in my dreams. His head began to clear as his mind lifted from the disorienting slumber. Already, the muddled visions were dissipating, returning him to his own body. He was aware of lying upon an uncomfortably rocky surface.
When he opened his eyes, he was left with only a lingering sense of urgency and dread, barely a shadow in his thoughts. He quickly pushed that to the back of his head and stumbled to his paws, a little dazed.
What… happened to me?

PART 3: Asyndeton
Run, run, run.
Couldn’t run. Sick. Dying.
Lyli wheezed, nostrils oozing.
Chaos loomed over him, a paw pinning down his hindquarters, her canid teeth about to tear into him.
He was the prey, after all. She was the hunter. She came, she pounced, she killed.
No way out, no way down.
Bite.
Blood dripped from a small gash on his shoulder. Chaos licked the droplets from her lips.
Why not kill quickly? Lyli trembled, unsuccessfully attempting to squirm away. Too little, too weak.
Then she bit her own forelimb. Her blood dripped into his.
Lyli stared blankly, unable to comprehend.
His vision blurred.
The sickness wrapped its tendrils around him, strangling him from the inside. A strange taste filled his mouth.
Not right, not supposed to taste this.
Tastes like life.
Light fading. White pelt losing its glow.
Then nothing, nothing at all.
Up, up, up, through the abyss. Why go down?
There were things to do, after all.
Fear crept into his senses. I need to get going, I need to hurry! Wake up! There’s something I have to do!
Wait. What was it again?
He shook off the strange feeling of panic as he began waking up more fully. Something felt off, but he couldn’t quite place it. Was something missing? He stretched his legs, opened his eyes, flicked his ears. No, no. Everything was in place. He felt fine.
He searched his memory, but it was still fuzzy from sleep.
There were forests to run through, packmates to join, prey to hunt… That was all, wasn’t it? He had slept too long already.
He staggered upright, the ground suddenly seeming far below. Dizzy, he blinked at the light that streamed in through the trees. He had no idea where he was, no idea what he was doing before this.
What… happened to me?

PART 4: Non Sequitur Dialogue
Blaze and Shard sat together beneath the clear night sky. “I told you, man! I told you about stars!” Blaze laughed, his voice as light as the air.
Shard leaned into Blaze’s side, their pelts brushing comfortably. “You were right. They’re magical.”
Blaze smiled. “In my dreams, I can fly right up there with them.”
Shard glanced away. “I guess I was always too busy looking down and fearing the fall to look up and appreciate the view, you know? But you taught me to not be so afraid.” He fell silent for a moment. “You think we’ll remember this night forever, Blaze?”
“Of course,” Blaze answered seriously.
However, it turned out that none of the characters were real. Worse than dead, they never were.
Chaos stared at the scene from Half-Canon.
“Well, isn’t this part just utterly disconnected to the previous sequence of events in this here weekly?” Chaos said, not out loud, but speaking directly to the person reading these words. She sighed. “Wild, why do you always leave it to me to make false canons and then break the fourth wall to explain it? Really, this is getting out of hand.”
“Hey, I’ve got to make it fit the writing prompts somehow,” Wild answered, materializing in the thoughtspace in which they were crafting this narrative. “And isn’t this not that far off from the conclusion of these characters’ actual stories? We just… skipped a bit. And made up all the minor details.”
“Exactly,” Chaos scoffed. “If you want true non sequitur, ask Parsnip. I prefer actual causality and canonical accuracy.”
“But—”
“Did someone call me?” Parsnip chirped. He glanced at the scene. “Yeah, sure, I can mess with this. We’re making this happen!”
Shard began growing tentacles.
“Hey, um, bro,” Blaze said. “Is that supposed to happen?”
“Of course not! Squirrels don’t come that big.”
“For what it’s worth, this is mostly a scrapyard of toxic waste, though. I mean, do you have a better idea?”
“Let’s just be mosquitoes.”
“Real.”
“Parsnip, I think there’s more to being illogical than just throwing in random dial tones, I mean, ideas,” Wild complained. “Okay, that was genuinely a typo.”
“That you chose to leave in, complete, and work around,” Chaos pointed out.
“…True. Okay, we might need to workshop our skills in this style of writing. To be fair, our only references are, what, a webcomic, a song, and Parsnip’s oft-nonsensical whims.”
“Just turn the weekly in, Wild,” Chaos said tiredly.
“Aw, but I was having fun…” Parsnip whined.
“The end,” Wild thought, and proceeded to stop typing as soon as they finished this sentence that references itself.

Daily 16: Interview an SWC Mascot
word count - 560 words

Alana: Hi everyone! Welcome back to SWChronicles where we take the time to debunk the latest news in the lovely SWC realm. Today, however, we're going to be taking a different approach. I mean, with all the strikes and weekly speedrunning that is happening right now, I'm sure all could do with some good news. Now today we have a very special guest joining us..

*insert dramatic drumroll*

Alana: …and that is our new mascot! Please welcome, Fern!

Fern: Hello hello, everyone! Did you miss me? *pauses* Well I missed you!

Alana: I see someone is ready with all the latest trends ahaha. That's not the least bit suprising though as I'm sure you can whip up any trending dance right now and perform it, am I right?

Fern: You absolutely are. Oh my, those were the good old days…

Alana: Anyways! Let's get started off right away. How've you been doing.

Fern: Well a mix of everything to be honest, thanks for asking. Ever since Fairy Tales, the gang kind of split up and we don't talk as much anymore. Flounder went on to Harvard to study law and well, Tinkergoat has always been doing you know? Always up to little pranks and such.

Alana: Awww do you miss Fairy Tales?

Fern: Part of me does- I loved getting daily meals from campers whenever they would finish goals or buy me some food. I really enjoyed that part. However, I do love so me time, you know? Sure Flounder and Tinkergoat are my siblings… but we all need a break from the one's we love from time to time.

Alana: Wow- those are really wise words, Fern! I didn't know that you were this mature. I'm impressed!

Fern: Well with age comes wisdom! Just kidding- I'm still the funny one, I'll leave all the serious business to Flounder because well, the oldest has to worry about that and I shouldn't have to. I think living on my own has definitely given me a sense of maturity if that's what you're referring to, but I'm still the same old me.

Alana: Well I'm glad to hear that! Speaking of, I think you would honestly make such a great SWC mascot.. you fit all the checkboxes and more! Also… who could ever forget the iconic apples versus goats debate? Oh how I miss Detective Chloe when I think about this now.

Fern: OH YES. One of my most chaotic periods, I remember now. I will confess to causing a lot of chaos when I was in Fairy Tales, I mean SWC is literally Mango Chaos Camp. I was playing my role pretty well if I don't say so myself! Anyways Alana, how have you been?

Alana: Pretty good! I'm interviewing a lot of mascots right now to see who could become our mascot this session, and you're definitely in the running right now, Fern! I've really loved this chat. We should meet up again another time.

Fern: Of course, it was my utmost pleasure! Next time, please remember to bring some food though. After escaping the bridge troll quite a few times I am absolutely famished.

Alana: I will definitely keep that in mind going forward! Thank you so much for taking the time out of your day for this interview.

Word War
word count - 159 words

Dear diary,
Now I know that I'm not supposed to be talking about this out loud. Because well, it's forbidden. My dad had always told me to always keep to myself and stay outside of other people's business. Now come to think of it, it would have all been so much more easier if I had just taken the time of day to properly listen to him and agree to his wishes.

Anyways, coming to my story. That's why you're here, after all, and I obviously wouldn't want to take away from that at this point. It was a very sunny day as I was strolling the beaches. The breeze was cool but it still had a sense of warmth. When it rushed to my face I could feel my rosy cheeks feel some sort of embrace. It was almost comforting, though I'm not sure if that is the right word to use in these circumstances.

As I walked

Castor the Uniphragra (species created by me xD) I'll post art soon

Camera dude: ACTION!
….
Camera dude: ACTION!!!!!!
Camera dude: Sage?
Camera dude: SAGE! WE'RE STARTING!
*An arrow hits a wall*
Sage: YOU MESSED ME UP, FRANKIE
Camera dude: WE ARE STARTING!!
Sage: Hello, everyone! Welcome back to Mango cult- SWC news! Today….what are we doing today?
…
Camera dude: *sigh* this again?
Sage: OH! That's right- Hello, SWCers! Today we will be welcoming a new SWC mascot. Castor the Uniphragra!
…
Sage: Castor?
RAWRRR
Sage: Oh! Here he comes!
*Castor busts through the ceiling and lands on camera right next to Sage*
Sage: Welcome, Castor! We're so glad to have you here today! Is there anything you'd like to say to the audience?
Castor: RAWRRRR
Sage: How inspiring! How are you doing today?
Castor: RAWR. RAWR SQUACK RAWR?
Sage: I'm glad that you're doing well! I'm doing great! Thank you so much for asking.
Castor: SQUACK!
Sage: Moving on- How did you become an SWC mascot?
Castor: SQUACK SQUAACK ROARRR CLICK RAWR SQUACK CLICK SQUACK RAWR *more clicking, rawring, and SQUACK noises*
Sage: You committed arson on procrastination potatoes… You created motivation mangoes.. and you stole toes and souls before Chuey and Mousey came to exist??? I CREATED YOU YESTERDAY!!!
Castor: CLICK CLICK RAWR SQUACK
Sage: Okayyy so, What is you're favorite food?
Castor: RAWRRRRR
Sage: …..
Castor: *stares at Sage*
Sage: I. am. NOT translating that…
Camera dude: What did he say?
Sage: You really don't want to know.
Camera dude: I do
Sage: *whispers*
Camera dude: …how did he say that in one word…?
Sage: I DON'T KNOW
Camera dude: YOU CREATED THAT LANGUAGE!!! HOW DO YOU NOT KNOW!!!
Sage: I DON'T KNOW A LOT OF THINGS! I DON'T KNOW WHY HE EAT CHILD LIMBS AND PREFERABLY THEIR EARS AND TOES!!
Camera dude: I'M STILL RECORDING
Sage:…..
Castor: rawr
Sage: oh yeah! I forgot- I'm still interviewing you *chuckle* uhhhh- what's your favorite color?
Castor: CLICK BLOOD RAWR
Sage: Blood red? That's a nice-
Castor: RAWR RAWR CLICK RAWR
Sage: LIKE THE BLOOD OF LITTLE CHILDREN!? WHAT!?!?!?!
Castor: *grin*
Sage: okayyyy- So- how much water do you drink per day
Castor: I AM A UNIFRAGRA! WATER IS BENEATH ME AND MY KIND! WATER IS FOR THE WEAK!
Sage: WHOA! HE TALKED-
Castor: YES, SMALL CREATOR! I HAVE LEARNED YOUR LANGUAGE!
Sage: How were you created?
Castor: REALLY!? YOU ASK THIS!?- ANYWAYS- I HAST COME FORTH FROM THY'S IMAGINATION AND-
Sage: So like Barny?
Castor: BARNEY!? YOU MEAN THAT PUNY PURPLE DINOSAUR THAT FEEDS OFF OF A TINY CHILD'S IMAGINATION?
Sage uhhhhh- yes?
Castor: NO. I AM NOTHING LIKE THAT PUNY PURPLE MONSTROSITY
Sage: oh- okay- uhhhhh- what's your opinion on strikes-
Castor: CHAOS CHAOS CHAOS- I FEED OFF OF IT! IT IS MY INTERNAL BEING! STRIKE STRIKE STRIKE CHAOS CHAOSS CHAOSSS
Sage: YES YES YES CHAOS CHAOS CHAOS YAY!!!! *ahem* What is you're number one goal?
Castor: WORLD DOMINATION! I WANT THE PUNY HUMANS TO SUFFER-
Sage: wait- what about SWCers?
Castor: UH- I WILL LET THEM LIVE!
Sage: how do you know who's an SWCer and who's not?
Castor: SWCERS HAVE A WEIRD SMELL. I WILL KNOW.
Sage: What do SWCers smell like?
Castor: MANGOES AND FIRE
Sage: interesting…
Castor: YES, INDEED.
Sage: Well! I think that's all the time that we have! Any last words before we end the interview, Castor?
Castor: GOODBYE, WONDERFUL CHAOS GREMLINS! I SHALL SEE YOU OF THE LATER!!
Sage: Well that's a-
Castor: ALSO, WATCH THIS-
Sage: CASTOR NO!
Castor: *breathes fire*
*distant screams as the screen fades to black

~597 words

{Word war}
with @icebunny11
Time: 5 minutes
Prompt: yes! @TheBibliophile7’s : “do you… really want to touch that?”
Word count: 272
Status: ???

“Do you… really want to touch that?” I asked. “YES!” my little sister, Izzy, answered. “It cold and slimy! Yipee!” I sighed. The slug that was in the middle of the sidewalk looked a little bit scarred. Yeah, it definitely looked weirded out. Meanwhile, Izzy was literally just stroking it over and over again. I looked at her hand and wrinkled my nose. It was covered in slug gunk. “Can I take him home?” Izzy asked. “NO.” I had to put my foot down there. There was no way I was letting her take that slug home. Izzy and I share a bedroom, I didn’t want to wake up in the middle of the night witha slug on my face. I shivered just thinking about it. “Okay, Izzy, stop touching the nice slug and let’s go home.” Izzy looked up at me, her bottom lip stuck out. “Pleeeaaase????” Izzy asked. “No.” I turned on my heel to head home, but quickly realized that Izzy wasn’t following me. “IZZY!” I yelled, turning around tyo see her… yup, I guessed it, gently cradling the slug in her arms. “If slug don’t go home, I don’t go home!” she said, pouting. I walked towards her, grabbing her hand. “LET GO OF ME!” she shrieked, bringing confused looks from a couple of my neighbors. “Come on, Izzy. Leave the slug here. I know that you want to take him home, but slugs don’t like being inside.” “Aw….” Izzy said, “Are you sure?” “Yes! If you take a slug inside, it’ll die,” I said quickly. So Izzy gently set the slug down on the pavement, picked herself…

piece for critique!! 652 words

This is a fantasy, imaginary
A hypothetical dream,
Nothing more than a chemical reaction,
A brain attraction.
Nothing about it is logical, so it must not
Be real.
I don’t really feel this way
What are feelings, anyway?
Just pathways of emotion
Just a half-baked notion
A thought that stuck around
One i can’t shake (yet)
This will pass and i’ll land safely back in reality.

Why do i look up every time
He goes by,
What am i hoping?
I don’t understand why i’m
Acting this way
When everything i know tells me
We’re parallel lines, not meant to meet.
Math never lies
Right?

I never speak of the heart, it’s not
Scientific. It’s really the head that
Makes the decisions,
Acts with precision,
So why am i floundering in indecision
When i look at his eyes?
Facts don’t seem to matter
When i’m watching them (they’ve got magnetic force)
I never thought eyes could sparkle like that
But his look just like gems (observed indifferently, of course)

My life was a line,
Neat and straight, orderly
Then something happened
Now it won’t align
It loops and tangles
I want to resist,
There’s nothing factual about this,
But sometimes it feels so delicious
My silly head (not heart) won’t let it go
I am in charge of my feelings (i thought)
So why do i feel like i’ve lost all control?

I never talked about stars and romance,
Darkness and laughter, secrets whispered,
Scented with the fragrance of roses.
They were dreaming of moonlit dances,
I was dreaming of academic chances
They got their dates, i got my grades
I thought we were just fine living that way
So why’d my heart have to go and change it
(So maybe it’s not my head, I admit
It’s never disobeyed me like this
And I hate waking up and dreaming of kisses
If I’m smiling it’s not my fault)
He’ll walk through the door and my thoughts screech to a halt

I find myself tracing curves and angles
That aren’t mathematical
Does he know how his face lights up when he smiles?
Would he care if he knew how my thoughts scatter when our eyes meet
For a fragment of a piece of a moment (it tastes so sweet)
That i treasure it up and store away
To take out and gloat over for days?
I see him laughing and wish he was looking at me instead

We’re parallel lines
No inclines
We’ll never intersect
Not even for a heartbeat
They talk about star-crossed but they don’t know anything
At least they met and touched, and that’s everything
I’ve got nothing, my hands are empty
Our fates won’t ever meet

I am alone in a vast sea
And the only one i want to sail with is him
I’m drowning, fingers outstretched
Grasping for salvation that’s just out of reach
I’m lost and he won’t find me
I wish our destinies were intertwined
But they aren’t, so i’ll just have to turn away
Maybe it won’t hurt so much another day

To give up would be a shame
When i’ve worked so hard to claim
Acceptance of my heart, and not just my head
I don’t know what’s ahead
But maybe fate’s not set in stone
Maybe i won’t always be alone
Maybe our lines aren’t finished being drawn
And we’ll cross each other before we’re gone
And even if we’re still collateral
Maybe we’re close enough together we can still hold hands across the gap
And it won’t matter.

I hold my heart in my hand like a bird
And release to the air
And if it lands in his hand it’ll rest there
And if it doesn’t i’ll find someone new
To give it to
(i know now it exists,
And i’ll follow it through all life’s twists
I’ve learned that head and heart
Can’t be whole while living apart)


authors note: if you couldn't tell…i am not a poet haha.

↻ ◁ II ▷ ↺

◪ Weekly 2
Points earned: 2500
Cabin: Bi-Fi
(Extention Granted)

◪ Part 1
Word count:
Part 1: 264/250
Part 2: 255/250
Topic: Write one scene overusing writing rules and the other scene completely ignoring them.

It is not easy to master magic. Sometimes, Lionald had to lie down after a training session for hours on end, trying to regain his mana. After all, using mana extensively drained from your life force if you were not strong enough. Once you had used up all the mana in the capacity you had trained for, it ate away at your soul instead. Magic was, as most people knew, a parasite.

The fact that his seven-year-old sister was currently tugging on his shirt, begging him to teach her how to do his “Magic fire circle” was starting to worry him. Even he couldn't manage The Windmill, and he had only performed it once during the yearly tournament, where he unfortunately passed out in the middle of the field. He had still won first place, as the rest of the monsters had been incinerated before his own body hit the ground. His mother, however, had berated him for days on end, scolding him on how he was a disappointment to the royal family. He had never competed again.

He looked down at Felicity, down at the embers in her eyes that were yet to be extinguished. The Queen was a cruel person, valuing magic as a curse given down by the gods and killing off everybody who attempted magic. According to her, it was only the royal family that were the true wielders of mana, yet she forbade any of Lionald's siblings to learn how to harness it. It was odd- the public put them on the pedestal that they were constantly deprived of.

~~~

“Hello” the mango said to the mango tree.
“Hello” the mango tree said to the mango.
“You dropped me” said the mango. “I am sad.”
“I did not drop you” said the mango tree.
“I am on the ground” said the mango.
“At least not on purpose” said the mango tree.
“Why would I drop from you if your branch did not let me go?” asked the mango.
“I am not in control of everything that happens in my tree body” said the mango tree.
“How can you not be in control of everything that happens in your tree body?” asked the mango.
“My tree body has many working parts” said the mango tree.
“How many working parts does your tree body have?” said the mango.
“My trunk holds my family together” said the mango tree. “My branches are thin but they are strong. They grow many green leaves that attract humans to me. They are so strong they split into their own branch bodies.”
“If the branch is strong then why did it drop me?” said the mango.
“You are also part of my tree body” said the mango tree.
“But I am just a mango” said the mango.
“The leaves are just leaves but they are also important” said the mango tree. “The branch dropped you because you are big enough to fall from my care. One day, your seed will also make a mango tree.”
“Will I have my own tree body?” asked the mango.
“Yes” the mango tree said. “You will.”

◪ Part 2
Word count: 251/250
Topic: Write a scene purposely avoiding grammatical rules.

yes I was annoyed. was I annoyed though. i wasnt sure. obviously I was annoyed because of the fact that I was soaked in water but it was also the worst possible thing to lose my watch. i had gotten that watch from my grandmother and now it was at the bottom of the lake. maybe even being eaten by a fish. i wanted to cry but i knew if i did the small crowd watching me would start to laugh. they are of course my beloved hostel classmates and super seniors. even some juniors were in that crowd. i almost couldnt believe my eyes if i could just wipe the liquid away from them. i was never this disrespctful to my seniors when i was a kid. when i was a kid i was constantly in awe and shock of my seniors. some of them were even like gods to me. i was taught to either get more respectful or get out of the room. when i was a child some extra classes would be taught by seniors instead of teachers. now a days all the seniors do are lounge around and eat stuff from the convenience store. how can i even blame them, im one of them. i looked at my reflection in the pool sourly pushing back the hair from my face. taking a breath i dived back down again. i was not going to lose that watch if it meant i had to keep swimming till sunset.

◪ Part 3
Word count: 464/350
Topic: Write a scene with an asyndeton.

Felicity was vibrant, colorful, full of sparks. The fact that she was willing to come out of her room at night to meet the one person in the entirety of Ropyronas she was forbidden to talk to, just to learn magic proved that she was headstrong as well. Lionald had seen her through his windows (that they had surprisingly not barred and covered.) She seemed to practice every day with her mother, even if it was just a simple spell such as lighting a candle. It was evident that she had gotten bored and needed something she could actually work on. Lionald was exactly the person for the job- he just wasn't sure he could teach her The Windmill yet.
“To master the fire circle, as you so call it,” he started hesitantly. “You must first master a series of breathing exercises.” It was almost shameful that his reluctance was quickly replaced by a willingness at the sight of his sister's smile. Now that she was his sole companion, her joy passed onto him tenfold.
“Will you really teach me?” she whispered excitedly, holding onto his hand as they walked silently. He was leading her to the deeper part of the Parasponia clusters. Now that they were further away from the palace, the air started to smell more like volcanic ash. It wasn't enough to choke somebody, a slight odor in the air. One couldn't describe it as good or bad- it was, after all, their homeland.
“Who said you'll be able to learn?” Lionald teased, booping her nose with his index. It was obvious that Felicity hadn't been here before. The face she made due to the scent of ash was almost comical. Her nose had scrunched up and her mouth had soured.
“I will!” she protested, her voice quiet in the even quieter surroundings. The Parasponia trees had started to blend into larger shrubs and bushes, most of them dry or scarred because of volcanic activity. “Mama said I'm good at magic.”
“No, you're good at lighting stoves,” he reminded her. She huffed, shooting a childish glare at him. He laughed, picking her up and placing her on his shoulders gently. Felicity's incoming tantrum was replaced by awe as she looked around, her head above the mangled shrubs. Her eyes must have followed the rugged path they were taking into the distance, seeing where it was heading. She looked down, Lionald already looking up at her with a grin.
“No way,” she gasped, her eyes returning to the volcano, locked onto the massive fissure.
“Yes way,” he said, realizing he was more excited than she was. Finally getting to show his face to somebody without them sprinting in the opposite direction was something he didn't think would ever happen. “Welcome to Amaterasu.”

◪ Part 4
Word count: 373/350
Topic: Write an unexpected plot twist with no foreshadowing

Jenna loved her friend. Her friend Polly often came over to her house to do homework with her, and it was honestly the only thing keeping her grades afloat right now. Sometimes she wondered if Polly was ever annoyed by the fact that she constantly needed more help, but she was always reassured that Polly loved helping her. After all, she had nothing to do at home. When she was allowed to teach Jenna, not only was she able to relearn the aspects of the chapter that had faded in her memory, but she was also able to help somebody else. Jenna was forever grateful- last year she was at the bottom of the class five times in a row. Now, she was considered above average. Polly had the ability to explain something in the most comprehensible way possible. Jenna hoped she would become a teacher when she grew up, to save other kids like her from the humiliation of their middle school years.

Today Polly had come home to teach Jenna history. They had a midterm exam tomorrow, followed by two class tests held by teachers who didn't seem to care. Not only was Jenna juggling between learning dates of the day Hitler decided to go on a rampage because his art was a little shabby, but she was also learning trigonometry and personification. It was starting to get on her nerves. Every time she felt overwhelmed, Polly would give her a break and let her take a five-minute breather. Another reason why Polly should become a teacher- she was forever understanding, something Jenna couldn't comprehend. These days, she needed a breather every half an hour. If she were her teacher, she would get impatient in the first hour. Maybe this was a sign telling her not to become a teacher when she grew up.

“So x equals y because,” Polly's voice trailed off as she noticed Jenna's tired expression. “Are you okay?”
“Yes, sorry,” she shook her head. “What were you saying?”
There was a small pause before Polly replied. “My real identity is Perry the Platypus.”
“THAT'S WHY YOU WERE SO SMART!” Jenna gasped and Polly nodded solemnly, pulling out a brown hat from her textbook and putting it on.

Daily 17

Celebrities:
Modernism - Mary Seacole
Postmodernism - Clare Balding

“Hi.”
Clare Balding glanced up from her steaming morning coffee in the cramped, yet cosy cafe where she was typing furiously away on her laptop.
“Um, hey. Do I know you?” She asked, her brow furrowing with confusion.
The lady’s lips tightened and she ran a hand through her dark chocolate hair.
“I’m Mary Seacole and-”
Clare gasped. “Yes, of course, how did I not realise? But, wait a second - you’re from ages - you’re dead!”
Mary gasped. “Excuse me! I mean, technically I am, but the people from the 21st century wanted me to come down from that lovely cuppa I was having in heaven and do a collaboration with a celebrity for their show, or something like that. So I used this genius thingy-mbob called Google and found that you live in this town, where I reappeared. So, here I am!”
Clare nodded slowly. “OK, then. I mean, if it gives me more fame and money, then what’s the harm? What are we going to do?”


Mary grinned, her eyes crinkling. “They said they wanted something really different! It could be anything they said, just something that’s surprising and they manage to get it on camera and it's only a little bit illegal! I was thinking, we could get some water guns, like loads, and fill them with mangoes. We could go to the local nursery and primary school and arm all the kids with the mango guns and we’d have a whole army. Then we could attack the rival school in the other town! We’ll be the legends of the town for centuries! Eternity!”
Clare’s jaw dropped. A mischievous twinkle entered her eyes. A crooked smile tugged at her lips.
“I’m in.”

2 hours later

Clare stood poised on top of the gate of the rival school - Rockhall Primary. She brandished two guns, their glittering gold sides twinkling in the grey faded sunlight. Behind her were a lot of children. All of them had determined expressions on their faces, armed with mango guns. They stretched back all the way down the road, swarming and patrolling for teachers. They had waited for just the right time. 5 minutes before break time.

“Now! Spread the message! Creep in and find a hiding place. When they come out we attack,” Clare whispered intently.
The children, Clare and Mary tiptoed through the heavily barred gates, slipping through the small gaps or scaling over the top. A few minutes later, they were all positioned in their hiding places. The only sign of them was the occasional rustle or ‘ow’ that rippled through the air.

A bell rang sharply, the shrill sound piercing the ears of the children. Students flooded out from the staircases and doorways, laughing and chattering. Little did they know what was about to befall them.
The children unleashed a raw deafening battle cry and stormed out of their hiding spots. The Rockhall Primary School students screamed and turned on their heels, fleeing. But they were shown no mercy.

Around half an hour later

Rockhall Primary lay in ruins. The walls were splattered with grainy lumps of mango and patches of amber smoothie. The students stumbled back into the building, tears streaming down their cheeks, their uniforms ruined.

Meanwhile, Clare Balding and Mary Seacole stood on the other side of the gates, their arms crossed, laughing in triumph. They had won.

Weekly 2 - Part 3

I felt my knees buckle, and I tumbled to the ground.
Her eyes, glassy and unseeing.
Tears cascaded from eyes, making my ripped muddy lab coat sodden.
Her raw terrified scream as the bullet hurtled towards her.
A hand pulled me up, begging me to stay awake.
Her hand in mine growing icy cold as I stayed by her side, willing her to wake up.

“Elijah! We need to go!”
Jayla’s urgent voice snapped me out of my daze. Just because my wife was gone, it didn't mean the children were too. I scooped them up and raced for the hospital, the muscles in my legs aching and sore. I had to keep them safe. Snipers were stationed all around the city, planes were whirring overhead, bullets whistled through the air every few seconds.

“Give me the children!”
Ali, one of the nurses, beckoned to me. I handed them over. I had to. I was too weak to take them anymore.
“Elijah!” Jayla screamed. “Stay with us!”
Ali grinned. “You’re all safe with me. I don’t bite.”
I nodded at her in appreciation. The moment they were out of sight, I fell into a nearby chair, my breathing fast and shallow. All I could think about was Lena. Her death. Grief clawed at my belly, wreathing its thorny vines around my heart, sharp and unforgiving, sending shots of pain through my body, making my head spin. I clenched my fists around the armrests, my knuckles turning a defined pearly white, trying to regain my vision, trapped inside a cage of sorrow and despair, clutching at the bars closing in on me, leaving me a huddled shadow in the midst of the swirling red mists of anguish and torment.
Hands shaking me.
I wobbled uncontrollably.
Voices telling me to get up.
A numbness spreading throughout me.
A pair of arms wrapping around me.
Jayla hugged me tight, her head barely reaching my thighs.
“We need you to stay with us.” She murmured.
I nodded mutely. But right now I couldn’t.
“Go play with Ali.” I told her, my voice cracking.
She stumbled off, her head hanging low as spots clouded my vision and once again I tumbled to the ground as darkness enveloped me.

Critique for Kelia
602 words

Hey, Kelia! To start off with, when reading through this, I thought it was really good! You included lots of detailed vocab and description and clear flowing speech!

She climbed up the rocky terrain overlooking a massive structure, dropping to her stomach and peering through the foliage at the entrance. Five men per side paced around the large building. The fortress was built from light gray stone, a castle fit for kings. Or in this case, the High Council of Magic’s members. One double-door graced the front, with multiple others on each side. In the middle of the castle was a courtyard and in the middle of that, a pedestal with a glowing gem. One of the Elder Dragons’ gems. The blight of this world. It was time the world was rid of their filth. She rose to her feet and jumped over the edge of the rocks, making her way down to the door.

She approached quietly, and quickly, darting behind trees and rocks as guard rounded the corner. She let out a hiss of frustration and drew a dagger from her belt. She picked up a good sized rock and threw it off to the side, behind her, just as a small group of guards came into view. They froze, murmuring to each other as they moved closer towards the bushes. She shifted closer. They walked into the foliage, searching for the cause of the noise. She struck.

When reading this section, I thought that, as it’s the beginning of the piece and we’ve just been introduced to the character, it would have been nice to have some sort of description of whoever ‘she’ is and maybe her name (but that’s not necessary) so that the reader can build a clearer picture of what she looks like. Further on, when you say ‘in the middle of the castle, middle of the courtyard etc’ I just feel like the word middle is a bit.. understated?? I mean, I’m not really sure how to describe it but it just makes me feel icky haha maybe change it to centre??
I also think some more description of the gem would be useful, as it seems that it’s a big part of the story. Again, this helps with imagery <3 lol, i thought it said Ender Dragons xD
I think at this part - ‘as guard rounded the corner’ - you meant ‘guards’ or the ‘guard!’ When you’re talking about the guards moving closer to the bushes, I think you should change the word ‘moving’ to something more powerful e.g shuffled or stalked.
I loved the verb ‘graced’ btw ^^

She gave the ropes an experimental tug and moved in, leaving the unconscious guards masked by the bushes. In her fingers swung a key, the key to the door, she presumed. She hadn’t stopped to question the guard. While the coast was still clear, she inserted the key and slipped in.

She didn’t waste any time exploring the castle, making her way straight to the courtyard. She sped through, wanting to get out as soon as possible. She was so close to her goal, she could feel it. She strode through the castle, hand on her dagger hilt. She passed through enormous libraries, a candle-lit dinning hall and the armory, filled with gleaming weapons. Wizards constantly traipsed into the rooms where she was moving through, forcing her to duck behind large cabinets or tables and make her escape through a different exit.

The amount of people wandering about the place was getting on her nerves. She could see even more wizards milling about in the courtyard. She looked about at the line of torches on the wall and then at library in the next room over.

Wizards raced towards the library with buckets of water and sand. The flames rose higher and higher, burning. The unnatural purple blaze twisted around bright red sparks. It swallowed up the ancient parchments, leaving behind ashes. She ran towards the courtyard, passing wizards who ignored her as they raced to save the library and its wealth of knowledge.

For this section, I didn’t really find much wrong with it apart from you said ‘dinning hall’ not ‘dining hall’ and ‘at library’ not ‘at the library.’ I was also a bit confused at the part where ‘wizards raced towards the library with buckets of water and sand’ because you mentioned the fire afterwards and also you didn’t mention the cause. It would make it all flow a bit better if you’d said something like ‘a nearby wizard knocked into one of the pulsing amber torches and knocked it to the ground, causing flames to greedily swallow the…’ to introduce the fire and the concept before saying about how the wizards try to put it out.

The rest of the castle was almost empty, save for a few wizards getting water. She sprinted into the courtyard and snatched the gem from the pedestal it was sitting in. No signs of alarm yet. They were too busy trying to quench the raging fire. She flung open a door. She spotted a large wooden desk and a cabinet right before she slammed into a wizard. He stumbled back, snapping angrily, “Hey! Watch where you’re going!”

She gave him a nod and muttered something that could pass as an apology. He squinted at her face. “I don’t know you. Are you new here?”

“Something like that,” she said, already moving towards the exit of the study.

He rasped out another question. “Why aren’t you helping with the fire?”

She did her best to act natural. “…I’m getting… water from the… well.”

He looked at her suspiciously but said nothing. She had begun to make for the door when he startled, alarm flashing across his face. “Wait a second! You’re the thief!”

“Dang it.” She drew her dagger, throwing caution to the wind. “Stay out of my way,” she snarled.

Again, I couldn’t find much wrong with this! The speech was really great and the description as well (maybe add more powerful words though). The only thing was when she said ‘dang it’ which seems like quite a casual tone of voice and then a few words later she’s ‘snarling.’ To make these two tones more separated you could maybe put the ‘stay out of my way’ on its own line.

A bolt of lightning smashed the vase next to her head. She charged the wizard, slashing at him. He jumped back and she stumbled, drawing herself upright just in time to dodge another strike of blinding electricity. Fist clenched around her blade, she punched the wizard in the face. He slammed against the bookshelf behind him, sending books and glass crashing to the ground. She slashed at him again, aiming for his neck. He dove to the side and she twisted on her foot, nearly falling. She grabbed at the shelf to steady herself. Books tumbled to the floor. He sent a strike of lightning at her blade. She dropped it immediately and grabbed a vase. She smashed it over the wizard’s head and he went limp, eyes glazed over.

She could hear footsteps pounding, doors slamming. The noise had attracted some attention. She grabbed her dagger and sped out of the study, jerking open doors. They swung crazily on their hinges. She rounded the corner and spotted the exit. She burst out of the castle, veering towards the cover of the forest. Her eyes glowed, and shadows hissed under her feet. She leapt forward and vanished, tearing through time and space to reappear a short distance away. She melted into the dappled shadows, gem safely in her pocket.’

AGAIN, I couldn’t find anything wrong with this!! I loved the verbs and description you used! To make the two paragraphs flow together more smoothly you could add a phrase like ‘she glanced up’ to tie them together <3

‘A Council of twelve stood in the massive diamond palace that stood high in the midst of a vast, jeweled city. The Seat of Eminence. The darkness and silver spotlights shadowed their expressions, but it was clear they were convinced they were doing the right thing. Only time would tell. An elf dressed in richly embroidered clothes and a long dark-blue cape, approached and bowed.

One Councillor with sapphire eyes and dark skin stepped forwards. His eyes closed briefly before opening with newfound determination.

He issued his order, voice strong and steady. “Investigate the whereabouts of Lyessa and Cirdan Eventide. Arrest them and bring them to Lumenaria.”

The Emissary hesitated, eyes questioning. “With all due respect, they are dangerous and volatile. Not only did they burn down the matchmaker tower in Atlantis but they also managed to break out of Exile. Are you sure it is wise to provoke them?"

The Councillors nodded in unison, expressions grave.

The Emissary’s face was unreadable. He bowed and lifted a crystal to the light, glittering away.

Faces dark and apprehensive, the Councillors turned to each other. They longed to know what lay ahead.

But they couldn’t see the future.

Nearing the end!! I thought the speech again was really good in this part! I think you could describe the Seat of Eminence a bit more, as the reader will need to build imagery of this or get reminded of it again <3

Overall, I thought this was really good! This critique kinda sucks (I’m rly sorry </3) but I hope it helps you! In general, you need to add more description, introduce all of the characters a bit more and then this will be amazing! Also, KOLTC OMGGGG <33
Byeeeeeeee

Daily: March 17th

406/400 words

Sue Collins sits down in the corner of a diner, her fingers tapping nervously as she waits for the person she is expecting to arrive to arrive. Sue knows she is a legend for the franchise she had written and created. Sue knows she has a devoted fandom to her books and there are some aspects that are simply iconic- but the person she is waiting for is on a whole another level.

Someone walks up to Sue behind her and Sue tries to calm herself - hopefully her breath doesn’t stink. Sue must act like a nonchalant chill guy, she tells herself. They approach her slowly and with a sigh to steady herself, Sue grins, whipping around-

“I have your order.” says a monotone voice as a woman stares at Sue blankly.

“Oh wow, thank you so much?” Sue replies.

A greasy carton of chips (fries) are thrown at her and the waitress slouches away. Ah.

Sue checks her watch. The author should be here soon!

Nibbling on a chip, a kid comes up to Sue, smiling widely. “I’d love for you to sign my book - pleeease?” Sue looks up at the kid and smiles back. “Of course!”

She delicately writes her signature, doodling a little bird in the corner.

“Seems like you’re quite famous.” An amused voice says from behind her. Whipping around, Sue gasps. She’d recognise the woman’s face any time of any day.

“It’s nice to meet you, Suzanne.” says the Agatha Christie.
“Nice to meet you too!” Sue smiles faintly.

After a nice chat over some greasy chips - “I’ve never had anything quite like this”- said Agatha, they hunch over a tattered notebook, scribbling ideas, talking animatedly. The idea is to write a dystopian murder mystery - a first of its kind. Suzanne and Agatha create a fast-paced world of suspense snd technology, threading in unexpected twists and carefully built characters.

At the start, Suzanne is quite in awe of this older intellectual lady, letting Agatha lead the plot ideas and then following, but she begins to warm towards her as they are such an evenly paced team, gradually bringing in her own ideas. Agatha is still quite intrigued with her 21st century surroundings, so after they write a basic plot, Suzanne takes Agatha on a walk around the city.

Agatha enjoys it immensely and they meet up at the same place, same time, every week from then on.