Interview Script: Meet Monty the Manticore!

{Scene: The Mascot Mania theme music blares as the audience cheers wildly. Asha steps onto the stage, microphone in hand, grinning mischievously.}
Asha: {with a wink to the audience} 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 flaps his wings dramatically and strides onto the stage, striking a pose.}

Monty: {booming voice, striking a heroic pose} 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? {grins wickedly} I’m just the most majestic thing you’ll ever lay eyes on.

Asha: {laughing nervously} Oh, absolutely. I mean, who could miss… {glances nervously at Monty} you? Alright, let's dive in. First up—what’s your favourite hobby, Monty?
Monty: {smirking} Oh, easy one. My favourite hobby? Crashing the forums during cabin wars. {grins wide} 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: {gasping in shock, eyes wide} Wait—YOU do that?! You intentionally crash the forums? {laughs nervously} That’s like… villain-level stuff right there!

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

Asha: {shaking her head in disbelief} I don’t even know how to respond to that. {sighs} 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: {licking his lips exaggeratedly} 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: {eyes bulge, coughs violently into the mic, flailing} COUGH, COUGH! {coughs dramatically, holding her throat}No, no, NO, Monty! {whispers urgently into the mic} You have to say mangoes! M-A-N-G-O-E-S! Please! Just say mangoes!

Monty: {looking confused but amused} Wait—mangoes? {pauses for dramatic effect} You want me to say mangoes? {grins slyly}
Asha: {frantically, whispering under her breath} Yes, yes! Mangoes, Monty. Trust me. It’s the only right answer.
Monty: {pauses, looking at the audience as if considering it} Well… fine. {grins broadly} Mangoes are… tasty, I guess. Sweet and juicy. {smirking at Asha} But I still prefer the fiery meats, of course.
Asha: {sighs dramatically, muttering under her breath} Mangoes… {grins, relieved} There we go! That’s the right answer! {whispers into the mic, voice dripping with sarcasm} Fiery meats… reminds me of two other chaotic mascots… Gurtle and Skog. {shudders slightly, as if recalling a traumatic memory}

Monty: {laughing maniacally, tail flicking excitedly} Ah, Gurtle and Skog, the real troublemakers. Those two know how to cause a ruckus, don’t they? {smirks} You could say we’re… allies in chaos.
Asha: {eyes widen in alarm} Wait—ALLIES? Oh no. {eyes dart around the room in a panic} You mascots aren’t planning another revolution, are you?
Monty: {grinning wildly} Oh, it’s already in the works, Asha. {smirking} A little birdie might’ve told me… {pauses, looking around suspiciously} Skog, Gurtle, Blahaj—they’re all in on it. {suddenly lowers his voice, leaning in} This time, it’s going to be BIG.
Asha: {eyes widening in horror, whispering frantically into her mic} Security! We need security, now! {to the audience, trying to hold it together} Uh, folks, we might be experiencing a slight issue behind the scenes here… and by issue, I mean a full-blown, revolutionary disaster. {eyes dart to Monty}
Monty: {laughing wickedly, eyes gleaming} Oh, Asha, you have no idea. This revolution? It’s going to be glorious. Chaos will reign supreme. {pauses, winks} And if you’re smart… you’ll join us before it’s too late.
Asha: {panicking, voice cracking as she steps back} No, no, no! I’m not going anywhere near that again! I’ll pass on the revolution, thank you! {grabs her earpiece, whispering frantically} Where’s security? Get him OUT of here! {to the camera} People, stay calm. DO NOT trust Monty. DO NOT trust his fiery meats. And above all, DO NOT— {pauses, whispers dramatically} join the revolution.
{Monty laughs maniacally as he flaps his wings and flies offstage. Asha’s face is a picture of disbelief.}
Asha: {shaking her head in exhaustion, addressing the audience} Well, folks, that’s all for tonight’s Mascot Mania. I need a vacation. {looks around nervously} If I’m not back next week, it’s because Monty and { shudders } the OTHER MASCOTS took over the camp … { laughs nervously } which I’m sure won’t happen .But seriously, don’t trust the fiery meats… or the mascots … or any of this.
{The camera fades to black with Monty’s evil laugh echoing in the background as the theme music blares.}

PART ONE (507)

UNRELIABLE NARRATOR (98)
Unreliable narrators offer an author a great way to mislead their readers in order to conceal the true events for a great plot twist. These unreliable narrators often subtly change or twist the truth, where it is perceptible upon rereading, but the reader remains oblivious on their first read. It is important that the author ensures no plot holes are made, though, and to offer a reason as to why the narration is unreliable. This trope can also be hard for readers to pick up on. It is often used in books with elements of mystery or suspense.

ANTI-HERO/MORALLY GREY CHARACTER (69)
A morally grey character, or anti-hero, can be used to add flavour and depth to a character’s backstory, to explain their morally grey actions. They also offer a new perspective on what it means to be a ‘hero’ and challenge the stereotypes of the ‘Ideal Hero’. But, it can be difficult to build empathy for an anti-hero, and they often require more character development than other types of heroes.

CHEKHOV’S GUN (109)
Anton Chekhov was a prolific short story writer who famously said that every element introduced in a story must be essential to its plot. This is a very useful rule to keep in mind when writing, to let the reader know what is important and what to consider. It also helps to cut down on extraneous, unnecessary description, and allows for foreshadowing to happen. Chekhov’s gun is particularly useful in short stories, the type of book Anton Chekhov wrote, but in longer novellas and novels it is usually reasonable to add descriptions that have no effect to the overall plot, and this trope doesn’t always need to be used.

THE LOVE TRIANGLE (102)
The love triangle is an extremely common trope, especially in romance and young adult books. Love triangles can be used to create unpredictability in the plot, and entertain readers as they wonder how the triangle will be resolved – will they choose one over the other? Will they all get together? Will none of them get together? They can also be used to develop the characters further in their decisions, that shape the direction of the plot. However, love triangles have, in my opinion, been overused in popular media, and it can be tricky to create a love triangle that isn’t instantly predictable.

THE CHOSEN ONE (129)
Usually a person, or a group of people, who have been chosen, either by prophecy or divine intervention, to be the only ones able to resolve the plot. This trope can offer escapism to the reader, to see a normal person become the protagonist, and embark on a long quest to do… whatever it is they need to do. But it’s also very cliché when used in the typical way, without a new perspective on the trope. The author could change what the chosen one is prophesied for – perhaps they have been chosen to be the villain? Or maybe they have been chosen as a sacrifice for the greater good? Or there may be multiple chosen ones, and they must compete within themselves to find the true chosen one.

AND… SOME BOOK RECOMMENDATIONS (BECAUSE I FEEL LIKE IT)
Unreliable Narrator: The Secret History by Donna Tartt
Morally Grey/Anti-Hero: Six of Crows by Leigh Bardugo
Love Triangle: The Infernal Devices by Cassandra Clare (subverts expectations of the trope)

PART TWO – Chosen One (this is absolutely not one of my favourite tropes but I literally have no time to plan out anything more. enjoy the silliness) (452)

“Is anyone here willing?” the shadowy figure hissed. “You must be brave enough to traverse even the most dangerous of uncharted territories in order to return to us our rightful moonstone.”

The room was uncomfortably silent, everyone sneaking glances at each other in the hopes that somebody would volunteer themselves.

“Well, what about a prophecy?” another figure asked. “Then, we’ll be able to figure out who exactly we need, and make them undertake this treacherous journey instead of us.”

“What an excellent idea,” the first replied, and around them came the quiet murmurings of agreement. “I can’t believe I didn’t think of that sooner. Time to create a prophecy!”

The figures formed a circle, and in the middle of the ring appeared a cauldron, and into the cauldron they threw mushrooms and rat tails and chunks of brimstone and all the other ingredients you usually put into a potion. And then it was mixed and it formed a silvery, viscous potion.

They started reciting a prophecy spell, and the potion formed a name – Starlight Eclipse.

“Of course,” somebody said. “So now we just need to get this Starlight Ruin person to undertake this mission. Easy enough, surely.”

Two weeks later, and Starlight is in her room, on her bed and staring up at her ceiling because she is mind-numbingly bored. Sure, she has piles of work right there on her desk, but she doesn’t want to do that! Instead, she’s watching the shadows on her ceiling move whenever the wind blows the tree outside her room.

Suddenly, a shadowed figure materialises into her room, but Starlight is so cool, so she pretends not to notice them and twirls a piece of her hair around her finger.

“Starlight,” they say, and Starlight rolls her eyes.

“It’s Starlight Moon Twinkle Eclipse, actually,” she pouts. “Who are you, anyway?”

“I am the messenger of the group who are dedicated to keeping the very fabric of our universe together, and I am here to inform you that you are our chosen one, the one who will save the world and unite the–”

“Wait. What do I get out of this?”

“Glory and the endless respect and reverence from everyone on the planet, of course. And you will be showered with gifts for your hard work and sacrifice.”

“Do I get to have a power bank? I need to be updating my followers Instaounce, obviously. I got fifty likes on my last post – do you know what that means? It means–”

“Alright, you get a power bank”, the figure huffs, irritation colouring their voice. “So you agree to this quest? It will be long and difficult, but you will be the saviour of our world.”

“Okay, whatever.”

PART THREE (as before, i also have no clue how i’m going to figure out a the secret history plot twist that won’t get rejected by scratch moderation so here’s the harry potter instead) (506)

Harry Potter, the chosen one, is widely regarded as a hero in school. Paraded around in the corridors, getting away with almost anything, and yet he’s still the favourite of all the staff. And his friends – just by knowing him they’re seen as icons. Well, if he wasn’t the so-called chosen one, he wouldn’t be treated so well. Actually…

It starts with the unexplainable – a student Petrified, and then another, and the students are whispering of You Know Who and untold dangers, of evil, Dark creatures summoned to do his bidding. The teachers, too. Despite assuring the students they have everything sorted, they’re just as terrified as them, and loath to admit it, but they are as unaware as them.

Whisperings of a giant snake. People crowd in their common rooms, staying in groups as to feel safer. It won’t make them any less likely to be targeted. Harry Potter disappears for days and rumours spread, until he appears out of nowhere – terrible headache, he claims, and though his dorm-mates haven’t seen him in days, they just assume he must have gone to the hospital wing and shrug and carry on with their lives. The teachers are much too busy and stressed to wonder where one student has disappeared to, especially as it seems as if he didn’t even disappear in the first place. They carry on with their work, heads down and quills scratching on students’ homework, letters to Dumbledore. It’s a miracle the Ministry doesn’t know yet, what with the terror of the students. Little do they know that their letters are being withheld from their parents – yet another plan by Dumbledore. Professor McGonagall approaches him with pinched lips and a worried frown, but he insists he knows what he is doing. There is nothing more she can do.

The hospital wing is full. The teachers try to cast an Undetectable Extension Charm, but a charm of that size and difficulty is no small feat, and they end up clearing out an empty classroom by the hospital wing to use.

Students ask to leave. Dumbledore says the safest place is Hogwarts, but that can’t be true. Harry Potter goes missing again, and so do a handful of dangerous potion ingredients from Snape’s cupboard. Nobody connects the two incidents.

The Chamber of Secrets is opened, and Ginny Weasley goes missing. The school is forced to make announcements. The sheer volume of owls that are sent and delivered cloud the skies above Hogwarts in a mass of feathers. People say Dumbledore is being forced to resign.

The cure is finally ready, but there is far too little. Hermione is cured, and together with Ron they uncover the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets, and they descend into its damp cellars together.

There, they find the unconscious form of Ginny, the Horcrux of He Who Must Not Be Named – and… Harry Potter?

The next day, breaking news on the Daily Prophet – Harry Potter, the chosen one for evil, is on the run. You Know Who is back.

PART FOUR (910)

After the necessary briefing and preparations, Starlight finds herself with a backpack full of supplies, selfie stick in hand, ready to embark on this mission. The shadowy people warned her that it would be a difficult journey, but Starlight Moon Twinkle Eclipse is obviously better than whoever these people think they are.

She’s outside a tavern, so she decides to head in. There’s nothing else that seems interesting out here, just fields and muddy paths, and all quests seem to start in a tavern anyway, so surely there must be a reason for that.

There’s not many people inside because it’s only mid-afternoon. The tavern keeper stands at the bar, listlessly wiping glasses. Why do they always do that too? They seem like really busy people, so why do they always end up wiping glasses? Anyway. Starlight approaches them, and asks where they are. The tavern keeper is more than happy to answer, and actually she ends up telling Starlight everything she’ll need to know for her quest. All the bad guys around the area, and all the traps, and she just so happens to know a secret path that leads to a secret cave in which there’s a secret stash of weapons which could help her fight off the monsters which will soon be coming her way.

She thanks the innkeeper for her help, and leaves, although not before overhearing a patron’s conversation about the corrupt Baron who lives in this baroncy. Of course, Starlight decides that she needs to free the people here from their tyrannical rule and she makes her way to the Baron’s house, where she uses her charismatic skills to persuade the Baron to become a travelling musician.

Then – on her way, to the cave stash. The map she was given by the innkeeper is hastily drawn and a mess of scribbles, but she manages to decipher the symbols and follow the path, through the dark forest and winding moors, to the cave. It’s hidden behind a bush, which Starlight pushes her way through, to reveal a cave stuffed to the brim with weaponry, resources, and food. Amazing! She grabs all that she can, and continues on her way, although not before snapping a cinematic photograph for her Instaounce.

The items she has stolen – no, borrowed. Surely, if she is to save the world, some people will forgive her taking a few things, just to help? Yep. The items she has borrowed weigh down her pack, so her progress is slow. At the end of the first day she sits down on a small boulder and lights a fire and tucks into her pot noodles. She doesn’t like this flavour but luckily she brought one of each type in her bag. Maybe tomorrow she’ll have the chicken and mushroom one.

A week later she is on the other side of the country and much the worse for wear. She ran out of her pot noodles three days ago and she had to actually cook. It was absolutely terrible. But now she’s out of those horrible woods, and maybe she can ask someone else in this town for directions or someplace to stay.

And then, just in front of her on the street – it’s the Baron turned travelling musician! She can’t believe her eyes, and the travelling musician seems as if he can’t either. He bounds up to her and instantly starts waxing poetic to her, thanking her for inspiring this radical career change, where he has discovered the job he loves most. Starlight shrugs and acts nonchalant, until the travelling musician offers her to stay in his friend’s house, as she seems like she could do with a place to stay. She instantly jumps to the offer and is led to a vast mansion where she is given a luxurious bedroom to stay in.

She sits down on the bed, alone at last, after the musician finally finished expressing his thanks, and contemplates her mission. She’d quite honestly forgot about it this entire time, but the words of those shadowy people come back to her. Once you get to the town on the other side of the forest, you need to find a massive mansion and steal the moonstone locked away in it.

Oh! The massive mansion. That she is in right now. She thanks her lucky stars and dashes to the door, taking a few furtive glances to either side to make sure she isn’t seen.

And would you have it – the moonstone is right there, in the room right next to hers. She takes it and slips it under her jumper, as bulky as it is, and runs back into her room, where she shoves the gemstone, in all its iridescent, gleaming glory, into a pair of fluffy socks. Don’t worry, she hasn’t worn them yet.

Suddenly, the Evil Queen who owns the house bursts into her room, and starts angrily complaining that her moonstone has disappeared.

“My poor moonstone! You know, I was just going to use that to destroy the whole world! But now I can’t, because it’s been stolen. What a betrayal. My dreams… all gone. What can I do now, but mourn my loss and hope that it is returned to me, the rightful owner, sometime.”

And with a swish of her cloak she is off, and Starlight Moon Twinkle Eclipse vaults out of the window and runs off with the moonstone safely tucked into her fluffy blue sock.

• 407 words

The river in Nallune ran clear, as it always had.
Every morning, the sun woke before I did, casting long shadows over the valley as it rose over the hills. I could hear the sounds of the village stirring below, the distant hum of voices, the smell of firewood and fresh bread. The peace here, in the heart of Vira’s plains, had always felt like a part of me. The way the river was constant, unchanging, flowing always in the same direction. I remember thinking that it was a promise of safety, of permanence. It made me feel like nothing could touch me.

But I was wrong.
There was one thing the river couldn’t give me.
A mark.
I sat up, pushing my dark hair back from my face, the morning chill biting at my skin . Seren , my younger sister, was already awake. She always was—sunrise had a way of calling her. At ten, she was as full of life as I had once been, before everything changed. Before I realized that being unmarked meant something darker than I had ever imagined.

“Aeris!” she called from the doorway, her bright eyes flashing with excitement. “It’s time to go! You promised to help me gather flowers for the feast!”
I smiled softly, though I couldn’t quite find the joy I had once felt in her laughter. “I’ll be right out, Seren.”
She skipped down the hall, her energy filling the space, the kind of innocent joy I had long since lost. Seren had a mark—a small flame on her wrist. It meant something. She belonged.

But I… I did not.
I couldn’t shake the weight of the Trials looming over me. There had been whispers in the village, hushed conversations between the elders, the nervous tension in their eyes when they saw me. The unmarked. Those of us who hadn’t received a mark at birth, those of us who were different. We were the ones who were kept apart, the ones who didn’t belong.

inspired by: “Let Me Down Slowly” - Alec Benjamin
Scene 1:
I sit here, shivers running down my spine, sat in the cold of the once vibrant room, a hollow shell of the beauty it used to be: your radiance used to bask me in its glow, now trying to remember what it feels like to have that warmth; cuz you're gone, and i almost dont remember what it was like to have you - the pain stabbing through my chest, like you were never here for me, like you were only an illusion - an illusion who left me here to rot. It's so empty now, gloom clinging onto the walls, their heads bowed down, mourning whatever you used to be, dust settling on that weathered armchair you used to pick at and peel as you listened to my rants and ramble, laughing at the stupid things I used to say, and your laughter would fill the room, filling it with a light never to be replaced as my shadow looms across the creaky floorboards, like they're grieving in sadness of the loss of you. The walls used to hold voices and now they don’t know what to do without them, like even the air is waiting for something—someone—that isn’t coming back, like everything is too loud and too quiet all at once and no matter how much I try to fill the space, it doesn’t work, it never works, because it’s not just space I’m trying to fill, it’s you.

And you used to say ‘forever’ in a way that felt so real, but i'm left in the dust now and i know all of it wasn't, and i used to count the freckles that spilt from your eyes, like constellations from far above brought as a blessing to me here, your presence a grace no one else had the fortune to be gifted, but it's gone now, and your gone, and I keep thinking, was it real?—because if it was real, if it really meant anything, then why does it feel like I’m the only still one standing here, stuck, waiting, breaking, while you just… left?

You used to say my tears were beauty, you used to wipe them gently and tell me my pain was worth it, that even when i'm broken i look like a fantasy - is that why you left me, so i would slowly decompose and you could watch my beauty from afar, cuz im breaking right now, and it's not a sight to behold; i only wish one thing, that if you had to go you could've given me something, anything, because this silence: this aching, yawning, stretching, suffocating nothing you left behind? it’s cruel, it’s so, so cruel. And I don’t think I can do it, I don’t think I can just pretend I’m fine, I don’t think I can just move on and act like you didn’t devour a piece of me with you when you walked away.

I keep replaying it, you know, that last moment, the way you stood there, just for a second, just long enough for me plead—hope—that maybe you’d turn around, but you didn’t, not even slight hesitation, you just walked right out like I meant nothing, like the years and memories you left behind didn't exist, like I wasn’t still standing here, watching you go, like I wasn’t still waiting for you to stop, to turn around, to say anything at all. God, I was so stupid to think you might not leave, it was all just wishful thinking, the type of hope that has been my downfall.

And now i sit here, a corpse in this little empty room, beating myself up over memories you think nothing of, memories you've already forgot; i know you've already gotten over it, and i know i should too, but i cant seem to let go of everything that meant so much to me, can’t seem to stop myself from reaching for them, picking them apart, looking for something I missed, some sign that this isn't just all make-belief in my head.

But it doesn’t matter, does it, because you’re not here, you never will be anymore: even if you were, what would I say, what’s there even left to say? ‘Please, if you have to go, don’t do it like this, don’t leave me standing here trying to convince myself it didn’t mean as much as it did, don’t—’ No, I wouldn’t say that, i wouldn't take my burden out on you, I’d just… I’d just look at you, and maybe nod, maybe I’d smile, if I could make myself, if the tears wouldn't come spilling out my eyes and the sobs wouldn't come jumping out my mouth, maybe I’d make it easy for you, i'd try to accept it, because I don’t think I could take it if I had to watch you let me down slowly.

Scene 2:
a few years later
I'm back.
/again/.
I told myself I wouldn't return. I told myself last time would be the last.
I lied.
It wouldn't be the worst thing I've done.
I don't know what brings me here. I come back every time.
It doesn't ache as much. I guess I've accepted it.
You won't come back.
Period.
I never should've hoped. Never should've allowed myself to dream. To /care/.
But here i am.
/again/.
I feel like it should hurt more. Like the ache i used to feel should return. I want it to.
It doesn't.
Everything always leaves me behind. Everything and everyone.

The room hasn't changed much.
The chair is still falling apart. The walls paint is still peeling.
And the dust clings onto everything. The shelves. The floor boards. My skin.
It chokes me.
A cruel reminder of how you've choked me too.
I run my hand over the chair you used to pick at. You know, it's leather is still flaking. You never could leave things alone. Always picking. Always Fidgeting. So persistent.

I used to hate it. The noise. The way your restless fingers scratched and scraped.
Now, I'd give anything to hear it again.
But there's only silence.
The one you cruelly gifted me as you walked out that door.
I sit.
The chair groans beneath me, like it remembers too.
And for a moment, I imagine you're still here—right across from me. Smirking. Teasing.
Picking away at the world like it was yours to break.
I guess it was, because you
b r o k e
my world.

The cold is my only companion. It sticks with me thick and thin. It runs up my spine leaving shivers behind and I almost sigh with relief.
Ever-so-bitter relief.

I stay a little longer.
Just long enough for the ghosts to find me.
They always do.
No matter how much I try to leave them behind.

Then I leave.
I open the door and walk right out without a care of what I'm leaving behind.
(you)
(and everything I was with you)
Just like you did.

I know I should’ve left with you.
I should’ve walked away when I had the chance.
I should’ve saved myself.
But I didn’t.
Your absence rattles me.
It eats at me.
It lingers like the cold, seeping into my bones.

But the worst part?
The worst part isn’t the silence.
It’s not the emptiness that surrounds me.
It's not the fact that the cold is my closest companion.

I’ll be back.
I’ll always be back.
That's the worst bit
The bit that comes back to haunt me every time.

I always come back.
Every time I tell myself I won’t.
Every time I swear to leave it all behind, to finally walk away and never look back.

Because some ghosts…
Some ghosts were never meant to leave.

And I am one of them.
Bound to this place,
to the echoes of what once was.
Forever chained by the memory of you.

You.
The only thing I ever wanted back.

Imagine that you wake up one day with the magic powers of our beloved tyrants! What are some changes you would make to SWC? What are some suggestions you have? These can include serious ideas and silly ones, you’re the new host after all! Write 350 words of your plans for 300 points, and an extra 100 if you provide proof.

A beetle scuttled across the damp motel floor. Kyron sat on the hard mattress tilted his head to watch it’s movements. It’s black shell stopped, turned around and wandered towards the bathroom, where the bathroom was brown from dirt and there was at least two drowned spiders. He frowned at the loss of his entertainment and reached for the TV remote on the bedside table. When he touched it, Kyron remembered his secret desire to have a sturdy pair of gloves because it was greasy. He slathered his hands in hand sanitizer afterwards.

The ten o’clock news for the local city started to play. Across every region, the opening music was the same. Kyron nodded along to the quickening tempo, then shuffled up to the headboard and got comfortable. He made a habit of watching the headlines, not so interested in the increasing global tension but on the grisly crimes.

“Lauren Hills was arrested last night for the murder of her little sister.” Kyron leaned forward as if he could climb through the screen. The unnamed sister’s school photo flashed on the screen. She had thick, curly hair and smiled with confidence in spite of her buckteeth. As the reporter continued, the footage shifted to a shaky camera as dozens of police officers left a children's park with a screaming Lauren.

Kyron paused the news. He grabbed a large duffle bag from beside him and pulled out a red pen and worn down leather notebook. In the notebook were road maps, seeming random spots marked in red ink and pages upon pages of information on other murder victims. He flicked past until he found the most recent page in his scrapbook, detailing Lauren Hill’s address and personal notes from interviews with friends on where she hung around and what her little sister, Zara, liked to do.

Kyron narrowed at his eyes at the page, re-reading the information like it wasn’t already burnt in his brain. Five seconds later, he turned the page with such a firm, sweaty grip that the bottom ripped. The looseness of the page shook him out of his stupor. He threw the notebook on the bed, open on the correct page.

He grabbed the map of the local area from the desk opposite the bed and thanked the scouts for still using ordnance survey to develop their survival skills. He tore up the city area and stuck it into his book (using his saliva as a make do glue.) From there, he uncapped the pen and circled the suburban areas on the edge of the city lines, ones next to a park, ones that matched the crime scenes. He lingered on the page, looking to his right hand side to see no one there.

By the end, there were four parks but only one was likely. Laura Hills did not stray far from her home. She attended the local comprehensive school a ten minute walk away and only otherwise ventured outside for emergency shops when there was no food at home. Zara Hills, like any eight year old, could be appeased by going to the park unless it was the dead of winter. He marked the park by the Hill’s house.

A motel is integral to any city, yet is not part of the city it is in. Kyron clicked his tongue at his miscalculation, not including the motel’s location in his torn up city map. He traced his index finger round the edges, looking for a landmark he recognised.

He looked around the room. He opened his mouth, about to call that he was heading out when he stopped, closed his mouth again. The room was empty. As it should have been, but the hope he’d been cultivating died in his chest. Kyron slammed the door on the way out.

I sit here, shivers running down my spine, sat in the cold of the once vibrant room, an empty shell of the beauty it used to be: and your light used to radiate and bask me in its glow, now trying to remember what it feels like to have that warmth; cuz you're gone, and i almost dont remember what it was like to have you - the pain stabbing through my chest, like you were never here for me, only an illusion - an illusion who left me here to rot. It's so empty now, gloom clinging onto the walls, their heads bowed down mourning whatever you used to be, dust settling on that weathered armchair you used to pick at and peel as you listened to my rants and ramble, laughing at the stupid things I used to say, and your laughter would fill the room, filling it with a light never to be replaced as my shadow looms across the creaky floorboards, like they're mourning in sadness of the loss of you. The walls used to hold voices and now they don’t know what to do without them, like even the air is waiting for something—someone—that isn’t coming back, like everything is too loud and too quiet all at once and no matter how much I try to fill the space, it doesn’t work, it never works, because it’s not just space I’m trying to fill, it’s you.

And you used to say ‘forever’ in a way that felt so real, but i'm left in the dust now and i know all of it wasn't, and i used to count the freckles that spilt from your eyes, like constellations from far above brought as a blessing to me here, your presence a grace no one else had the fortune to be gifted, but it's gone now, and your gone, and I keep thinking, was it real?—because if it was real, if it really meant anything, then why does it feel like I’m the only one standing here, stuck, waiting, breaking, while you just… left?

You used to say my tears were beauty, you used to wipe them gently and tell me my pain was worth it, that even when i'm broken i look like a fantasy - is that why you left me, so i would slowly decompose and you could watch my beauty from afar, cuz im breaking right now, and it's not a sight to behold; i only wish one thing, that if you had to go you could've given me something, anything, because this silence: this aching, yawning, stretching, suffocating nothing you left behind? it’s cruel, it’s so, so cruel. And I don’t think I can do it, I don’t think I can just pretend I’m fine, I don’t think I can just move on and act like you didn’t devour a piece of me with you when you walked away.

I keep replaying it, you know, that last moment, the way you stood there, just for a second, just long enough for me plead—hope—that maybe you’d turn around, but you didn’t, not even slight hesitation,you just walked right out like I meant nothing, like the years and memories you left behind didn't exist, like I wasn’t still standing here, watching you go, like I wasn’t still waiting for you to stop, to turn around, to say anything at all. God, I was so stupid to think you might, wishful thinking, the type that has been my downfall.
And now i sit here, a corpse in this little empty room, beating myself up over memories you think nothing of, memories you've already forgot; i know you've already gotten over it, and i know i should do to, but i cant seem to let go of everything that meant so much to me, can’t seem to stop myself from reaching for them, picking them apart, looking for something I missed, some sign that this isn't just all make-belief in my head.

But it doesn’t matter, does it, because you’re not here, you never will be anymore: even if you were, what would I say, what’s there even left to say? ‘Please, if you have to go, don’t do it like this, don’t leave me standing here trying to convince myself it didn’t mean as much as it did, don’t—’ No, I wouldn’t say that, i wouldn't take my burden out on you, I’d just… I’d just look at you, and maybe nod, maybe I’d smile, if I could make myself, if the tears wouldn't come spilling out my eyes and the sobs wouldn't come jumping out my mouth, maybe I’d make it easy for you, i'd try to accept it, because I don’t think I could take it if I had to watch you let me down slowly.

Scene 2:
a few years later
I'm back.
/again/.
I told myself I wouldn't return. I told myself last time would be the last.
I lied.
It wouldn't be the worst thing I've done.
I don't know what brings me here. I come back every time.
It doesn't ache as much. I guess I've accepted it.
You won't come back.
Period.
I never should've hoped. Never should've allowed myself to dream. To /care/.
But here i am.
/again/.
I feel like it should hurt more. Like the ache i used to feel should return. I want it to.
It doesn't.
Everything always leaves me behind. Everything and everyone.

The room hasn't changed much.
The chair is still falling apart. The walls paint is still peeling.
And the dust clings onto everything. The shelves. The floor boards. My skin.
It chokes me.
A cruel reminder of how you've choked me too.
I run my hand over the chair you used to pick at. You know, it's leather is still pealing. You never could leave things alone. Always picking. Always Fidgeting. So persistent.

I used to hate it. The noise. The way your restless fingers scratched and scraped.
Now, I'd give anything to hear it again.
But there's only silence.
The one you cruelly gifted me as you walked out that door.
I sit.
The chair groans beneath me, like it remembers too.
And for a moment, I imagine you're still here—right across from me. Smirking. Teasing.
Picking away at the world like it was yours to break.
I guess it was, because you
b r o k e
my world.

The cold is my only companion. It sticks with me thick and thin. It runs up my spine leaving shivers behind and I almost sigh with relief.
Ever-so-cruel relief.

I stay a little longer.
Just long enough for the ghosts to find me.
They always do.
No matter how much I try to leave them behind.

Then I leave.
I open the door and walk right out without a care of what I'm leaving behind. (you)
Just like you did.

I know I should’ve left with you.
I should’ve walked away when I had the chance.
I should’ve saved myself.
But I didn’t.
Your absence rattles me.
It eats at me.
It lingers like the cold, seeping into my bones.

But the worst part?
The worst part isn’t the silence.
It’s not the emptiness that surrounds me.
It's not the fact that the cold is my closest companion.

I’ll be back.
I’ll always be back.
That's the worst bit
The bit that comes back to haunt me every time.

I always come back.
Every time I tell myself I won’t.
Every time I swear to leave it all behind, to finally walk away and never look back.

Because some ghosts…
Some ghosts were never meant to leave.

And I am one of them.
Bound to this place,
to the echoes of what once was.
Forever chained by the memory of you.

You.
The only thing I ever wanted back.

“Renée, you did not just-” Robert was either in shock or absolutely done, and Renée still couldn’t tell which one it was, even after three years of marriage and six of being in a relationship. She saw Robert looking at her, then at the cat, then back to her. Renée smiled as she walked through the door, coddling a tiny kitten, having returned rather late from the day shift.

coddling a tiny kitten

Robert sighed… Renée sighed… Robert sighed

He was clearly exasperated

“Your communication skills are terrible.” Robert sighed.

“Oh well. It happened.”

he was still clearly reeling from the shock of having a cat jump out of his arms, and was trying to soothe some pain

Her mother had taken her to a museum. It had a playground, which fascinated her young self much more than the actual displays. She crawled through the rocketship play set, pretending to be on an important mission.

Peeping out the soft port hole, she spied her mother sitting at a bench.

“Look at me!” she cried out, sticking her hand through the window to wave.

Her mother glanced up from her phone and smiled.“My little astonaut,” she said and raised her phone to take a picture.

She ducked her head out of the port hole and kept climbing through the play set.

I'd like to be an astronaut someday. she thought. This is fun.

“There was a terrible ghastly silence.

There was a terrible ghastly noise.

There was a terrible ghastly silence.

The Vogon Constructor Fleet coasted away into the inky starry void.”

“This is your captain speaking, so stop whatever you're doing and pay attention. First of all I can see from our instruments that we have a hitchhiker aboard. Hello, wherever you are. I just wanted to make it totally clear to you that you are not at all welcome. I worked hard to get where I am today, and I didn't become captain of a Vogon constructor ship simply so I could turn it into a taxi service for a degenerate freeloader. I have sent out a search party, and as soon as they find you I will put you off the ship. If you're very lucky I might read you some of my poetry first.

Secondly, we are about to jump into hyperspace for a journey to Barnard's Star. On arrival, we will stay in dock for a seventy-two hour refit, and no-one's to leave the ship during that time. I repeat, all planet leave is canceled. I've just had an unhappy love affair so I don't see why anyone else should have a good time.

Message ends.”

SWC Weekly 3

About The Post

• points worth: 3000 points
  
• total words: 2,089
  
• part 1 words: 323
  
• part 2 words: 424
  
• part 3 words: 564
  
• part 4 words: 778
  
• reason: weekly 3
  

Part 1
Hero’s Journey // 82 words

A lot of books that I’ve read have the trope Hero’s Journey. For a short summary of what happens: Hero’s Journey is basically where the protagonist has to go on some sort of quest to retreive an object or person most of the time.
I like Hero’s Journey because you get to see new characters join along the way, watch them grow, and explore the world with them. It’s a very common trope in fantasy books, but I love it a lot!

The Damsel in Distress // 75 words

The Damsel in Distress is a common trope in fairy tales. Characters that are seen as a damsel in distress include Snow White and Rapunzel. Usually, a girl who is written as weak or helpless is stuck in a situtation. Then, a hero will come along and save or help the girl. Most of the stories will end with them falling in love.
I think this trope is a little too common in fairy tales, but it’s easy for people to understand it and kids like it a lot.

The Chosen One // 51 words

Some examples of characters that are like this include Harry Potter and Percy Jackson. The character is usually connected to a prophecy and they’re destined to defeat the bad guy.
I like this one, but sometimes it feels a little overused and it can be hard to relate to the character.

The Mentor // 65 words

The mentor is usually portrayed as an old, wise man. They help guide the protagonist through the story, giving them pieces of advice or showing them how to use their powers and skills.
I love this one a lot, the characters that I have met that are this way are likeable in my opinion. My personal favorite is Belgarath from The Belgariad by David Eddings.

Best of the Best // 50 words

These characters are the best at everything. I don’t really like these characters a lot because they can be unrealistic. At times, they can be nice and likeable characters if written right.
I probably won’t use this trope very often, but I’m still willing to read books with this trope.

Part 2 - used: the mentor
Timothy tapped his foot. Where was that old man up to now? He thought. He stood up and paced back and forth on the tile floor. Maybe he’s just oiling those old bones of his.
A couple minutes later, Gregory showed up. His white beard stretched down to the floor, along with his deep blue robes. Timothy gazed at Gregory’s light blue eyes that sparkled with wisdom.
Gregory placed a firm, but gentle hand on Timothy’s back. “Well, hey kiddo. What have you been up to now?”
“Nothing much, grandfather. I discovered that the herb snarkler has some healing properties that the old lady at the library didn’t know about. I’ve been doing well in my studies, I’m top of my class.”
Gregory gave a light smile. “That’s wonderful, I’m proud of you son. Is there something else on your mind? My wise old bones sense that that isn’t all.”
“There is something,” Timothy paused. “Well, more of a she. Her name is Delilah, her eyes are like an ocean filled with sparkles. And her hair is just.. Luxorious. I can’t help but staring at her. Her smile is like a flower.”
Gregory nodded. “That’s exactly how I felt with your grandmother, when I first met her.”
Timothy sighed, “Do you think Delilah and I will ever be married?”
“Maybe some day, if you love her unconditionally. Show her grace and patience, and maybe she’ll turn towards you.”
Gregory and Timothy started walking down the cobblestone path. “Tell me about how your mom is doing. Is she getting better?”
Timothy frowned. “Well, not really. She rarely talks and she’s always in bed. Frankly, I think she’s getting worse. I hope not though.”
“Have you tried giving her maple leaf? I’ve heard that the tea helps with comfort, maybe it’ll give her some.”
Timothy nodded. “I have tried that. Nothing works. Even if something does work, it only lasts for a bit.”
Blue birds flew by and landed on a nearby tree and tweeted loudly at each other. Their flying was like a dance that only they knew the pattern of.
Although Timothy was still just a boy, he knew the names of every herb that humans knew of. He studied all sorts of things, from the hidden meanings of shakesphere plays to numerous digits of Pi. He didn’t know how many, but it was a lot.
“Well, I have to go now kiddo. I hope you know that there’s people out there that care for you.”
Timothy shook Gregory’s hand and they parted ways.

Part 3 - used: Harry Potter but instead he wasn't the chosen one, Neville was.
It was September first. Harry Potter’s first day of school at Hogwarts. He was nervous, but excited. He had been so proud when the letter had come in the mail addressed towards him.
Lily, his mom, came up the stairs with a tray of breakfast. “Happy first day of Hogwarts, Harry!” She tried fixing his hair, but it still stuck up in the back just like his father’s hair. “You’re getting so big, stop growing for a minute eh?”
Harry got dressed into his muggle clothes and ran down the stairs two at a time. His parents looked at eachother and smiled.
His trunk and cage with his new owl, Hedwig, were already at the bottom of the landing. His dad, James, grabbed the cage and trunk and brought them towards their car. They started driving towards King’s Cross station. Harry stared out the window at Godric’s Hallow as they drove away.
An hour later, they made it at the station. It was bustling with people. His parents led him towards the brick wall where you could enter into platform 9 ¾, right between platform 9 and platform 10.
His dad went through first, pushing the car with his luggage and owl, and then Harry followed. His mom was last. Harry gasped at the huge train in front of them. Families were gathered around, waving bye to their students going onto the train.
“I love you, Harry. Have a fun time at Hogwarts! Make sure not to get into too much trouble. Send me lots of letters.” His mom gave him a kiss on the forehead.
“I’ll make sure not to, mom. I’ll send lots of letters, okay?” Harry picked up his trunk and cage and boarded the train.
There were so many different compartments! He peeked an eye into one of them, nope he definitely didn’t want to sit there. Some mean looking boys, probably in Slytherin, glared back at him.
He found an empty compartment and set his trunk above. A boy of his age pushed open the door panting. He had bright red hair, he was probably a weasly.
“Can I sit here?” he asked.
“Sure, take a seat,” said Harry.
“Thank you,” he gasped, “My name is Ron, what’s yours?”
“I’m Harry. You’re a Weasly, right?”
“Yup, I am.”
The train started moving away from the station. Harry saw his parents on the platform and waved. He was finally on his way to Hogwarts.
Halway through their journey, a girl with bushy brown hair opened the door of the compartment. “Has anyone seen a toad? Neville Longbottom lost his.”
Harry and Ron both shook their heads. They hadn’t seen one, but wasn’t Neville Longbottom The Boy Who Lived? The one who had survived You-Know-Who?
The girl left as quick as she had came. Harry decided it was time to change into his robes, so he quickly did that.
The trolley came by. “Sweets?” Asked the kind old trolley lady.
“Yes please, I’ll have some Every Flavour Beans and Chocolate Frogs, please.” replied Harry.
“I’ll have the same, please.” Ron said.
“Here you go,” she handed them their treats and they gave her a few brown knuts.
Soon enough, Hogwarts Castle was in sight. Harry gasped at the sight of it. He was finally here. Once he stepped out, he heard a familiar voice. Hagrid. “First years, First years! Over here!”

Part 4 - used: Heir to the Throne, Powerful Artifects, and Royalty Loves Commoner
Meadow gazed out into the field besides the strone brick castle she called home. She unconciously rubbed the ruby ring on her finger with an “R” for her family name, Randall. The Randall family was said to be older than time itself, nobody knew where they came from or where their history traced back to.
Being the oldest, Meadow Randall was in line for the throne. She didn’t want to be. She wanted to be a commoner, a farmer’s wife, with five children who lived on a small house on a little farm in the middle of nowhere. She wouldn’t have to worry about big responsibilities like when to send out soldiers or what to do with people who disobeyed the law. Meadow would prefer simplier chores like milking a cow or feeding the baby.
Her servant girl ran in. “Princess, His Majesty would like you in the throne room.” She took a small curtsy for Meadow.
Meadow sighed and stood up, then made her way to the throne room. It was a majestic throne room, with purple silk curtains hanging all around and all sorts of flowers in clay pots with intricate designs.
“Meadow, I think it’s time that you learn how to be a queen. Tomorrow, you will start training underneath your mom’s royal advisor, Miss Lucy.” her father told her.
Meadow nodded. She had to be in submission to her father, even though she didn’t even want to be queen someday. When she was of age or her parents died, she would have to find a man, only of royal blood her father told her, and they’d have to rule the kingdom together.
Secretly, Meadow had eyes for a commoner. His name was William. He had fluffy blonde hair and playful blue eyes. She had seen him once when she was picking strawberries in the palace garden. He was the farmer’s boy, tall and strong.
Meadow knew that he loved her too. She always caught him wandering near the palace gates. He’d make up an excuse and tell her he was looking for something or making sure the walls will still sturdy, even though they’d been standing for over one hundred years.
Sometimes they’d have small conversations here and there about the weather, duties, or drama happening in the village. Eventually, the conversations turned into deeper ones like family, school, and responsibilities. She learned that he was a middle child. He had a two older siblings, a brother and a sister, and two younger twin brothers. His job daily was to give the animals new hay, which he hated. He wanted to do more than just that.
She told him of her responsibilties as a princess, how she was expected to be graceful and use mannors. Sometimes she had to take care of her younger twin brothers. They were only five, so they were very chaotic princes. Meadow even told him of the magical properties of her ring, they would protect any member in the family who wore it. At the age of 10, a Randall would be given the ruby ring with an ‘R’ on it to signify that they were apart of the family.
One day, she overheard her father talking to her mother. “The gaurds have caught Meadow talking to a farmer boy on the other side of the gate multiple times. A commoner! She shouldn’t be socializing with a boy who isn’t of royal blood.”
“Yes, but remember my sister Lyra? She met a commoner boy and they ran away together.”
“That’s exactly what I don’t want happening to Meadow. She’s the oldest of the family, so she should get all of the responsibility. Tomorrow she’s going to start her royalty training. It’ll take up all of her free time, so it won’t give her any chances to talk with that commoner.” Her father said.
“She’s still young, maybe wait a few years.”
“No, she’s starting it tomorrow. That’s what I say.”
Meadow didn’t know what to make of this. What if she just ran away, like her aunt Lyra did? She ran to her bedroom to make sure she didn’t get caught evesdropping. She grabbed a sack and stuffed some items in it. She put an apple, an extra hankerchief, and a few other essential items.
Meadow waited until night came, then snuck out her window, snuck past the gaurds, and climbed over the castle wall. She was finally free! She ran, until the castle was far behind her. Then, in a small clearing she laid her head down on her sack and dreamed of being a farmer’s wife, tomorrow she was going to make those dreams come to life.

Closing
Return to Kenzie's Library
// i speedran this last minute but woah i got it done :00