Second-Best
1072 words

First of all, huge credits to Karen M. McManus, the incredible author of the ‘One of us is Lying’ series! If you haven’t read it, you totally should <3


I sat, shaking in my seat, as Bronwyn swerved into the vast, looming driveway. An intimidating building rose above us, its beige brick walls adorned with intricate carvings. A lump rose in my throat. The next few hours would determine whether Jake would go to jail. Or whether he would stay.
Bronwyn nudged my shoulder.
“You OK?” She asked.
I nodded mutely. “Fine.”
I opened the passenger door and climbed out.
Bronwyn glanced at me. “I’m not allowed in. Two ‘suspects’ in the same court case, or something like that. I don’t understand, I mean, Jake’s the suspect…”
I wrapped my arms around her. “When I walk out of here, Jake will be locked up and we’ll all be safe. I promise.”

“Court Case 32 in session.”
I swallowed as the judge swung his gavel down, his sea green eyes cold.

I glanced towards Jake. He ran a hand through his rich hazel hair, a smirk tugging at his lips. I sucked in a breath, a dagger of hatred and fury stabbing through me.

The perfect girl.
The perfect boy.
The prom queen.
The sports star.

The perfect couple.

Jake rose to his feet abruptly, a mask of sorrow and grief on his face.
“First of all, I just want to say how sorry I am for everything I did. I would do anything to fix what I did to my family, my friends and especially… My girlfriend.”
I lunged forwards, seething with anger.
“I am not your girlfriend!” I hissed through gritted teeth.
He gave me a small, sickly sweet smile. “I know, and I understand. I just wish, more than anything, I could have my Addy back.”
I bit my lip, the metallic taste of blood flooding into my mouth.
“I’m not yours! You stupid, evil, wicked-”
Rough, calloused arms pulled me back. I strained against them, desperately reaching for Jake, but I kept getting pulled further and further back.

“Jake, please! I-I’ll make it up to you! I’ll do anything! Just don’t do this… please.” I pleaded, my voice cracking in fear.
“I don’t care.” He muttered darkly. “I thought you were loyal to me. Not that stupid TJ Forrester.”
A steely look passed through his eyes. A speck of pure white rage blossomed within them. I had seen that look before. The look he had when he lost himself. When Jake Riordan didn’t exist. Only his wrath.
“I do love you,” I whispered softly, tracing his jaw.
That wasn’t true. I hated him. With all my heart. But I knew I couldn’t face the consequences.
He swatted my hand away. “Don’t touch me.”
Tears stung in my eyes. “Jake, please! Just give it a chance!” I yelled, my voice rising in panic.
He strode off, and just before reaching the door, looked over his shoulder.
“I thought I knew you.”


I collapsed in my seat, tears streaming down my face, the memory still raw in my mind. How could I have got him so wrong? How could he have let Simon die? How could he have the whole town on his-
“Addy Prentiss.”
I glanced up, startled. Everyone in the courtroom had their gazes fixed on me, some hard and calculating, some familiar and sympathetic.
“Um…” I mumbled, not sure what to say.
My lawyer, Hazel, leaned in. “You’re supposed to state your case against him.” She murmured.
I nodded slowly. We had gone over what I was supposed to say so many times. I just had to get through this. Make sure he stayed out of my life forever.

The runner-up in the beauty pageant.
The star who was always one step behind.
Second-best.


“Well, Jake, he abused me.” I began, gaining confidence. “He always pretended to be so… flawless. He had this sort of charm about him and he always got his way. If I was wearing the wrong clothes, if my hair was done up how he didn’t want, if I wanted to go somewhere that he didn’t like then he would always somehow change it. He made me feel like I was just second-best.”
“I wanted someone who would make me feel like I mattered. When around Jake I just felt like I was nothing. I felt like his opinion mattered more than mine, far more. I was just some background noise for him to come back to and use. TJ made me feel loved. I felt so guilty, but I knew I couldn’t stay with you. You were ruining my life.”
I paused for breath, looking at Jake. His face was a stormy mixture of bitterness and resent. Hazel put an encouraging arm around my shoulders.
“I know this isn’t how court cases usually go, but they needed to hear you. You’re doing so well, sweetie.”
I looked around. People were staring at me, madness in their eyes.
“Why is she talking about this in court?”
“This is highly inappropriate.”
“Just shut up.”
The last comment came from Hazel, again. I didn’t understand why she was just sitting there. She was supposed to do the talking. But still, she urged me to carry on.

“He left a boy to die. He attacked me and my friends. He almost-”
Jake cut me off, struggling with his handcuffs. “You liar! I would never attack anyone! Definitely not you, Addy.”
His tone became softer and he directed a guilty look at me.

I wasn’t buying it.

“Then how do you explain the camera footage of you with a gun, shooting me?” I asked bitingly.
His jaw dropped in shock. “I-I… Well, you… You idiot! You ruined everything!” He screamed, waving his fist. His muscles bulging, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a gun.

I gasped in shock.

The searing pain in my chest as the bullet embedded in my flesh.

The spots clouding my vision.

Cooper’s desperate shouts.

He couldn’t do this again. He wouldn’t dare. Not in front of everyone.

He clicked off the safety catch and pointed the gun at me.

Hazel clutched my shoulder.

“Don’t do it, don’t do it.” I heard her breathe.

He pulled the trigger.

The bullet hurtled towards me.

Everything went black.

The girl who cheated on her boyfriend.
The boy who left another to die.

Second-best.

FOOD COMMUNITY DAY

Do you ever wish you knew your neighbours better? Do you love cooking food for others, or hosting large gatherings? Or do you just want to not have to cook for once? Well, here's your opportunity…
Food Community Day, on the first Saturday of August, is a day when communities get together and have giant meals. People bring food (it's strongly encouraged, but if you can't, that's okay), and everyone is welcome. You’re encouraged to get together with your neighbourhood, your school (on the Friday), your church, whatever - it’s a day that brings everyone together, and a day where you can hopefully meet new people and bond over good food. It’s also a public holiday, so you’ve got to make your own food instead of going to cafes and restaurants, and even people who work on weekends won't have to miss it.
Food Community Day is also an opportunity to reach out to people struggling financially, whether by having charity-funded meals or by inviting more people into your neighbourhood feast. Charities that set up food for worse-off people hire a venue, put out a giant table, and let people sit down and bond while they eat. It's a day to relieve the pressure on everyone. It's a day where everyone supports each other, no matter who they are and where they come from. It's the opportunity to give everyone a safe space to eat and talk to people, a place to connect to people you never thought you would.
It's also a place to eat way too much dessert.
pfft no i'd never do that

pictures: https://scratch.mit.edu/projects/1152185374/

day 25 - holiyay! - 25/3/25

• TV Day ; 279 words

• link to aesthetic set

I would like to celebrate this day on September 7 as it is the day when electronic television apparently first worked.
During this day, everyone would watch a show or basically anything on the TV. (even yt, if they want)

So why TV day? Watching television as a holiday? Seriously?
Televisions hold a special place in my heart. I heard it playing in the background when I was a baby, sat down in front of it to look at what is going on when I was a toddler, started to watch it when I was a kid, and now as a teen (I think I am one now), I still watch it daily.
The TV gives me the entertainment that I really need. While there's our favourite apps like yt and tt, I feel that we should have a holiday for everyone to sit down and really watch TV again, whether is it just watching your favourite shows, rewatching the show you never watched for so long or watching a show for the first time.
The TV also provides a really big screen, compared to our phones and tablets, so that your watching experience can be the best!

So yes, I really like the TV. But not every household has one. And not everyone needs one.
Families or people who don't have a TV can then go down to the community centre or town hall (or wherever there is that is big enough to accommodate people and place a TV) to watch a TV show that will be played.

By having this holiday, I hope people can enjoy the entertainment that the TV gives and just enjoy the day!

blue bleeds to orange in the west and my head spins on. i am no longer in it, the moments slow to a crawl, and my salty tears warm my face but there is no me to feel the heat.
i am all glazed over in the fire. dissipate into smoke, cloud above heads of passersby. there are so many of them, their blues and violets and reds and greens all blurring to one strip of dirty grey.
then you are there, and the colors sharpen. my head reforms atop my neck. i smile as you wipe away the water.
i understand the temptation you say. i get that you need somewhere else to put it all. and you look out at the sun, squinting in its light. you are so real. how did you get all of the realness that should have been mine? how is your head so attached?
but i don’t say any of this, i just take your hand. that’s all the energy i have, anyways. because i’m not the sky. i’m not the sun twirling on and on. really, i am the branches— spiking upward, away from the ground. let me out let me out they cry.
the sounds are not real, though. the thing that is real here is you. your deep brown eyes, your golden earrings, firm and planted and tangible and solid and i could simply reach out and take a bite.
i am so hungry. these words are aloud. you— good you, graceful you— keep your eyes pointed westward. they shine. sand in sunlight. glass, stained glass on sunday mornings. your mouth is all that changes; that little satisfied lift of a corner. smile more, i do not say. instead i repeat myself, more sure: i am so hungry.
i can buy you dinner, after this you say. the colors are darker above, but still so bright along the edges. where did all the clouds go? is anyone asking those important questions? i’m not hungry for food, but you already know that.
the offer is nice. nice to be cared for, even when the cure is unknown. unknowable? how does one prove something is unknowable? one gives up. that quenched something. of the hole at my core. which is named hunger because no other name fits.
you look at me and the edges are all pink now. no cause there. but perhaps there was. can eye contact shape the sky? can care change what we see? in anyone else’s presence, or in my own loneliness, my head would be anywhere but on the ground with such questions.
i would like that i say. because it is true. and because i like the pinkness of your smile when you have something to look forward to.
i wish i could see the east. the land from which the sun comes. the unknown past. i see you, you see me, but no one else.
we’ll try your fifth favorite you say. and i have no idea what dish you’re talking about. but i will enjoy it because you are trying. okay?
okay.

vis seethed in the tower. she paced beneath jay’s perfected birds, beneath the murals they had shared hours on, beneath the rafters that on any other day would hold her laughter. the back and forth only made her more restless. her throat burned, not from screaming, not from silver, but from its disuse.
something needed to break. the world could not be perfect, still, when jay had—
vis never had trouble with control. it was a common problem, particularly for young students, who discovered they could get anything they wanted and simply took it. in the young, petulance was common, tempers were common, and tantrums of both could be catastrophic. but intention was stronger when the sea calmed and a whole choir of voices could speak as one. vis could not remember a time she did not know this. vis could not remember a time when fiery anger won out over cold intention.
but jay had never betrayed her until now. jay left; she needed a new soulmate.
the anger seemed a starling choice.
the moment she opened herself to it, everything burst at once. vis thrust the ring from her finger, how had she kept it, how had she not always seen? she clawed the birds down, tore them limb from limb. she scraped her nails across the paint, laughed unhappily when flakes fell like colored snow. her throat ached, begged for screaming, but one fact stood untouched by the anger, unfazed by her new friendship.
jay would come to see her. jay would come with a tearful expression and a mostly perfect explanation and expecting forgiveness. jay would come and vis needed her voice if she were to keep control. so, besides the laughter, vis remained silent.
the tower was entirely destroyed when jay arrived at the steps. vis could not find it in herself to feel embarrassed by the ruins around her. jay looked more out of place than she had ever before, hair a wild frizz about her head, uniform splattered with mud, dark bags singing of sleepless nights. how long had the attendants made her wait?
vis appeared untouched as ever, besides the paint beneath her fingernails. she had bathed, washed and braided her hair, dressed in her finest, most noble noble finery. then she had scraped jay’s painted face from their portrait and let that paint stay.
let her believe what she wanted. the only person vis wanted to please now was herself. the only goal here was to send jay away forever. she only needed speak once. she stared down at jay.
“i will not forgive you this. never. you’ve taken what we had and thrown it to the dogs. you’ve made it clear how little you valued whatever it was you saw in me. you’ve made it clear this is what you w—”
“please, no. vis, please—”
“you have nothing to say to me.” emotional as she had been in the destruction, her voice now was calm and pure and silver. she spoke it to truth, and it was as if it had always been. she spoke into reality another woman’s will, but her own body rebelled. her tongue split open, warmth coating her teeth. she clasped her eyes shut as pulsing colors ran through her vision. her ears rang and she swayed and the attendants rushed forward to help as she fell to her knees. but truth was truth, no matter the consequences.
jay had nothing to say to her.
vis didn’t see her leave, didn’t hear her footsteps over the ringing and fussing and calls for a doctor, but she felt the tug in her heart. one half ripped away from the other, arteries stretched tight to breaking, beating uneven and quick.
“i will be fine,” she murmured around the red. she was on her back, now, something cold pressed to her forehead and the pressure of someone else’s hand in hers. the words were calm as dreamless sleep, but she did not manage the silver again. maybe she never would, her final words used to cut jay away entirely.
“i will be fine.” lay on her lips, a heavy, liquid statement. “i will be fine.” slipped through her mind, rippled as pure intention into her veins, pumped through her shattered heart. “i will be fi—”
everything went dark. at last.

Daily 25/03/25
My public holiday would be on May 1st. This day would be all about fully enjoying spring, its beauty, its scents, and its lovely landscapes, all while eating a good coffee-flavored ice cream (why? Because I LOVE coffee ice cream). It would be a time to forget about work and deeply relax to focus on oneself. On this day, you can also do whatever you want, as long as it's legal, of course, like sleeping all day or having a not entirely sleepless night, because at least 5 or 6 hours of sleep are necessary, after all! May 1st is also a day to think about and spend time with loved ones to enjoy some good moments together.
May 1st allows students to rest, meaning that teachers should give as little homework as possible, or none at all, so students can fully enjoy the holiday. The best thing to do that day is to go for a walk, either by a lake or in a park, to breathe in the fresh air. This holiday comes from the fact that (this part, I made up) one day, two lovers went out to have an ice cream on May 1st, by a very blue lake. On that day, they hadn't worked at all, they had completely forgotten about it, and they just spent time together thinking about each other or about themselves. Since that day, they started and named this day “The Day Spent Together,” and many people began to do the same. However, this day was not yet a public holiday, which is why they couldn’t fully enjoy the beautiful spring weather. It wasn’t until later, in the year 2000, that this day became a public holiday, marking a new beginning. (290 words )

Princess Cooking Show
A writing comp entry by KitVMH and FairyAyla
1506 words



Cinderella: Hello and welcome to Princess Cooking Show episode 5!

Belle: This is a guest episode like last episode, which means we have another princess here helping us cook. But, today is a little different, because we have two guest princesses!

Cinderella: Please welcome Princess Mermista of Salineas and Princess Entrapta of Dryl!

(crowd cheers)

(Mermista and Entrapta enter)

Mermista: Uh, hi?

Belle: Hello and welcome! Today, we will be baking Strawberry Chocolate Cake! If you want to, you can bake along with us at home, with our all new Princess Cooking Show cookbook! Available now at our website!

(Belle holds up a cookbook)

Mermista: Uhhh, why did I agree to this.

(Entrapta walks over to the counter and turns on some egg beaters)

Cinderella: Put on an apron, and then let’s start cooking.

(Belle hands Mermista a white apron with a pink heart on the pocket)

(Mermista frowns at the apron as she puts it on)

Mermista: Ugh.

(Cinderella takes egg beaters away from Entrapta, who looks surprised and frowns. Cinderella then gives Entrapta an apron.)

Belle: Preheat oven to 350 degrees Fahrenheit.Take out two cake pans and grease them. (As she speaks, she does so.)

Cinderella: Add flour, cocoa powder, baking powder, sugar, and salt in a large bowl.

(Cinderella hands Mermista a mixing bowl)

(Mermista looks at the bowl, unenthused)

(Cinderella starts filling measuring cups with ingredients)

Belle: Now, Entrapta and Mermista, would you like to put the ingredients in the bowl?

Mermista: Not really.

Entrapta: Okay. These ingredients?

(Entrapta uses her prehensile hair to take the measuring cups and pour them into the bowl.)

Belle: Perfect! Now, whisk them together.

(Entrapta looks excited and reaches for the egg beaters, before Cinderella grabs a whisk and gently brushes Entrapta’s hand away from the egg beaters)

Cinderella: Here.

(Cinderella hands Entrapta the whisk)

(Entrapta looks disappointed, but begins whisking)

Mermista: Uh, am I just supposed to hold this thing?

Belle: You can set it on the counter.

(Mermista sets the bowl down on the counter)

Belle: While Entrapta mixes the dry ingredients, me and Mermista will work on the wet ingredients. Take out a mixing bowl and pour in the vanilla extract, milk, oil, and eggs.

(Belle pours ingredients into measuring cups)

Belle: Mermista, you can just pour these in! Oh, Mermista, you have water magic! I bet that’s helpful with baking?

Mermista: Uh, not really? And I can’t, like, use it on vanilla or oil. It’s just useful for, like, flooding the kitchen.

Belle: …Well, okay then! Please pour in the ingredients.

(Mermista pours the ingredients into the bowl)

(Entrapta finishes mixing the dry ingredients, and starts wandering around the kitchen set and picking up appliances)

Cinderella: Since we’ve finished mixing the dry ingredients, Entrapta, why don’t we oil the pans?

(Cinderella takes out a pan)

Entrapta: Oh. Could you do that? I’m kinda busy.

Belle (whispers): We did that already!

Cinderella: Uh, oops.

Belle: Anyway, now, lets mix the wet ingredients! Mermista, would you like to help me?

Mermista: I guess.

Belle: Great! Here’s a whisk

(Belle hands Mermista a whisk. She starts whisking lazily.)

Belle: Make to whisk til the wet ingredients are well combined.

Cinderella: While they whisk together the wet ingredients, we need to chop our strawberries! Entrapta, would you like to help me?

(Entrapta is in the process of unscrewing the microwave from the wall.)

Entrapta: Huh?

Cinderella: Would. You. Like. To. Help me?

Entrapta: Help you do what?

Cinderella: Chop the strawberries.

Entrapta: Um, I’m kind of in the middle of something. Thanks for asking, though.

(Cinderella takes a deep breath.)

Cinderella: (smiling with gritted teeth) This is a cooking show. You’re here to cook.

Entrapta: Oh. Right. Sorry. But you seem to have to the cooking handled, so…

(Mermista rolls her eyes.)

Cinderella: Please. Come. Help. Me.

(Entrapta’s shoulders sag as she pockets her screwdriver and walks over to Cinderella.)

(Cinderella takes another deep breath)

Cinderella: So! Here are your strawberries, on the cutting board, and here’s a knife.

(Cinderella hands Entrapta a knife. Entrapta begins slicing strawberries with it.)

Belle: Mermista, are you done mixing the wet ingredients?

Mermista: Uh, yeah.

Belle: Great! Now let’s mix the dry ingredients with the wet ingredients!

(Mermista does so.)

Entrapta: (muttering) I wonder if I could slice these twice as fast if I had two knives instead of one…

Cinderella: Why don’t I do the rest?

(Entrapta hands her the knife, then walks back over to the microwave.)

(Cinderella chops the rest of the strawberries, and eats a few slices)

Belle: Now that the strawberries are chopped, we can fold them into the batter.

(Entrapta yanks the microwave out of the wall. Everyone stops and stares. Belle screams.)

Cinderella: WHAT DID YOU DO!?

Entrapta: It looks like this has an outdated wiring system… If you give me a minute, I could make it much better—

Belle: You know, this would be a lot cheaper than an electrician…

Cinderella: YOU CAN’T PULL OUT PARTS OF OUR SET!!

Mermista: Hey, uh, isn’t this like, live?

Cinderella: (BLEEP)

(Belle glares at Cinderella.)

(Cinderella takes a deep breath)

Cinderella (through strained smile): Okay, let’s continue with the show now.

Belle: Right! Where were we? Uhh, oh right! Fold the strawberries into the batter.

Entrapta: But—

Cinderella: Evenly pour the cake batter into your greased pans.

Mermista: So, are you just gonna do the rest of this yourself, or…?

Cinderella: Here, Mermista, why don’t you put them in the oven?

Mermista: I didn’t mean— Ugh, whatever, fine.

(Cinderella hands Mermista both of the cake pans)

Mermista: Uh, how am I supposed to open the oven if I’m holding these?

(Cinderella opens the oven door and Mermista puts the cakes in, and Cinderella sets a timer)

Cinderella: Bake the cakes for 30-35 minutes until a toothpick or fork comes out clean

Entrapta: Wait! I haven’t put the microwave back in!

Belle: Please do that.

Cinderella: No— Please stop messing with our kitchen.

Entrapta: But if—

Belle: While it’s baking, let’s talk to our guests a bit! Mermista, we mentioned before that you have water magic; tell us a bit more about that.

Mermista: Yeah, so I can like, control water. I can also breathe underwater and turn into a mermaid, which is pretty cool.

Belle: And that water magic came handy for fighting evil, right? Tell us about the Rebellion!

Mermista: So, like, there was the Evil Horde that was trying to conquer our planet, so like, we had to fight them, which is what the Rebellion was for. I joined the Princess Alliance, which was a bunch of princesses working together to fight the Horde and stuff.

Belle: Entrapta, you were part of the Princess Alliance too, right? But that didn’t go smoothly?

(Entrapta has been looking at the wall where the microwave should be. When addressed, she looks back at Belle.)

Entrapta: Yes, I joined the Princess Alliance, but then I ended up in the Horde after I got left behind on a mission. And the Horde’s technology gave me so much to work with… I helped the Rebellion more later, though, and I made some friends there too!

Belle: Right, your work with technology! You’re considered famous on Etheria for your work with tech, right?

Entrapta: Oh! Yes. Tech is so fascinating, and inventing is so much fun! I haven’t been doing as much building lately, though; I’m doing more research on First Ones’ Tech! It’s powerful ancient technology left by a lost civilization, and there’s so much to learn—

(An unintelligible shout comes from offstage)

(Cinderella and Belle gasp. The wall behind them is on fire, and the flames are rapidly spreading.)

Belle: Oh, (BLEEP)!

Entrapta: I tried to tell you, it’s very dangerous to leave wires exposed! If you’d just let me put the microwave back—

Cinderella: This all your fault!

Entrapta: If you’d just let me finish—!

(More than half the wall is engulfed in flames)

Belle: Someone get a fire extinguisher!

Cinderella: The whole (BLEEP)ing wall's on fire!

Mermista: I got it!

(Water bursts from the sink and the walls, forming a huge wave that crashes against the fire and extinguishing it.)

(The walls are smoldering, the wallpaper burnt off, and there’s a hole where the water burst out, revealing a broken pipe behind it. Everything and everyone on set is drenched. Everyone just stands there for a moment.)

Cinderella: What the—

(The timer beeps. After a beat, Belle grabs oven mitts and pulls the cake out of the oven and places it on the counter.)
Cinderella: Well, the cakes out the oven

(Cinderella takes a fork and sticks it in the cake, and it comes out clean)

Cinderella: Well… The cake’s done.

Belle: Well, that’s it for today. Um…

Cinderella (joylessly): See you next time on…

Cinderella and Belle (in unison): The Princess Cooking Show.

Mermista: Wait, don’t we get to eat the cake?

(Cinderella and Belle both glare at her.)

Belle: Cut!

Cinderella (whispering to Belle): We are never having them on again.

critique for mousey!! 807 words (when the critique is longer than the piece SOBS i swear i didn't mean for it to be so long lol)

Crystal stepped into the room somewhat nervously, not sure what to expect. A man stood there, somewhat awkwardly, and Crystal could tell as soon as she looked at him that he was her father. He had red hair that was messy and in need of a trim, and he was tall and somewhat lanky; but well-muscled as well. He had a face that was incredibly similar in shape to Crystal’s, and his eyes were bright green.
“Hey,” He said, sounding somewhat embarrassed.

OKAY yippee I love critiques - let's jump right into this! Right off the bat, I noticed you used the word “somewhat” a lot here. I would try to cut it down to just one or two instances, since it's kind of what I call a “halfway” stance - where the writer isn't quite stating one thing or another. While they're not bad, halfway stances can weaken your writing. Go all the way! Make Crystal shake with nerves. Soak her dad's voice in embarrassment. Draw out those emotions, let your reader feel the tension in the air.
That being said, find a happy medium. Going all the way, all the time can also weaken your writing - I usually only do something like that when I'm purposefully using it as a tool in my writing to make fun of something, or just make it sound silly. Experiment until you find a balance you like.
Also, this is very nit-picky, but when you're writing dialogue, I believe only proper nouns should be capitalized after an “insert words here,” sentence structure, if that makes sense. So, like - “You must hate me,” The girl spat - would be incorrect, but “You must hate me,” the girl spat, or “You must hate me,” Rhonda spat, would be correct! Whenever I'm stuck on something like that, I mentally (or, if I need to, physically) remove the quotes, and apply grammar rules to the sentence accordingly.
All right, moving on.

Crystal didn’t even say anything–she didn’t know what she could say.
“So. Uh. You probably don’t remember me. And I haven’t seen you in a long time. But. I-I’m your dad.”
“I know,” Crystal said, still shocked, but her voice was kind of icy. This was the man who had decided to flaunt his powers and as a result, had gotten her to have to wear the Monitor. He had basically ruined her life. And now he was here. She didn’t know what to think, but as her shock faded, anger replaced it.

OOH the plot thickens hehe. Couple things to point out here! First of all, the wording in this section is a little awkward in places, so let's work on smoothing some of that out. I'll go through it in a kind of list, to make it easier to see.
“Crystal didn't say anything–she didn't know what she could say.”
(The use of the word “even” here made it feel a bit clunky to me, and I think it flows better without it.)
“'I know,' Crystal said. She was still shocked, but her voice was icy - after all, this was the man who had decided to flaunt his powers, and as a result, had made her have to wear the Monitor.”
(I broke some things up in different places and changed a couple of word choices.)
“He had ruined her life, and now he was right in front of her. She didn't know what to think of that yet, but as her shock drained away, anger filled its place.”
(I noticed the halfway stance again here with some of your word choices, so I touched up those spots to try and make the writing a little stronger.)
I think that's all the suggestions I had for this section, so let's move on to the next one.

“…You probably hate me, don’t you,” He said softly. It wasn’t even a question.
“Yeah, no kidding. You ruined my life! You decided to flaunt your powers and got busted, and then you just ran away and abandoned me and my mom, and I’m forced to wear a Monitor because of you, and that. Ruined. My. Life. Everyone hated me, I wasn’t treated fairly, and it’s all your fault!” Crystal snapped. He flinched, then took a deep breath and finally met her eyes.
“Look, I don’t blame you for hating me. You have every reason to. But first… Could I explain something?”
Crystal crossed her arms.
“Whatever.”

You already mentioned that he flaunted his powers in pretty much the same words, so maybe try saying something like “You decided to show off what you could do and got busted” instead.
Also, I'd reword the sentence “He flinched…(etc)” like this: “He flinched, then took a deep breath, finally meeting her eyes.”
Love how it's getting juicy here!

He closed his eyes for a moment before opening them and beginning his story.
“I never intended to leave you. We were out on a walk in a park when you manifested magic in a great explosion of light and color. It was unmissable. I had no choice. You were so young, and I didn’t want you to be taken away from us. So I put a block on your magic, and I took the lights as my own. I shouldered the blame to protect you. And so I was forced to leave. I didn’t want to go to prison–I mean, who does? So I left. I couldn’t come back. I wanted to. I wanted to so, so badly. But I couldn’t. I’m sorry, Crystal.”

The dialogue here feels a bit stiff, especially after the more informal, broken-up sentences used earlier. A good way to see if your dialogue is natural or not is to speak it out loud. Does it sound like something you (or your character) would usually say, and if not, how can you adjust it?

She stared at him, suddenly unsure what to say. He was the reason she hadn’t been able to use her powers. But… he had also saved her life. At the cost of his own safety. He was looking at her with a kind, open expression, but it was also resigned. As if he expected her to blow up at him and renounce him. She was tempted to. But she thought about Thea, who had no one but still cared about everyone. Cyfrin, prepared to die for people he didn’t even know. Ronan, who saw things in other people that they didn’t even see in themselves. And Ashla, who had told her she was lucky to have parents who cared about her. All of these people who believed in her, probably more than she believed in herself. Her dad had sacrificed himself to save her. He had done everything he could. The least she could do was forgive him. So she didn’t say anything. She just stepped forward and hugged him. He stiffened, shocked, and then hugged her back. She held him tightly, almost afraid to let go. A million thoughts were running through her head–she finally had met her dad, he was actually a nice guy, he cared about her and her mom more than anything, and he had sacrificed himself for her. But none of those mattered as much as the thought she kept going back to: He loved her.
And she loved him.

Yay, happy ending! I love strained relationships that resolve at the end Anyways, couple more things to point out here - first, the end chunk is very compact compared to the rest of your writing, which was more broken up. I'd break this up more to match, especially since there are some sentences here you could draw more attention to by isolating them, like the line about forgiving him.
I'd also draw out this scene a bit more. The forgiveness feels a bit sudden compared to Crystal's earlier resentment and anger, although you've already added some reflection here! I'd just expand on that a little.
I had enough context for most of it, although I'll admit I was confused as to what exactly a Monitor was. Since your reader doesn't have access to any other details about it, and it appears to be fairly crucial to the story, I'd elaborate on that some more so your reader has a clearer understanding of it. I could tell it had something to do with magic, but not much more.
If you're looking for ways to expand, add some backstory! Why is magic considered bad? Why is her father back now, of all times? Where is Crystal's mom, why isn't she present for this interview? Who set up this interview, if anyone?
That's all I have for this critique, and I hope it helps!! You're so talented, and I'm rooting for you <33

Critique for Mouse
1230 words
3/25/2025

Hey Mouse! Thanks for letting me critique this piece and I'll be going through it line by line and then go over my general thoughts at the end!

Crystal stepped into the room somewhat nervously, not sure what to expect. A man stood there, somewhat awkwardly, and Crystal could tell as soon as she looked at him that he was her father. He had red hair that was messy and in need of a trim, and he was tall and somewhat lanky; but well-muscled as well. He had a face that was incredibly similar in shape to Crystal’s, and his eyes were bright green.

Right away, I see that you've used somewhat twice. I personally don't like reusing adjectives/adverbs too closely to one another, and in this case, somewhat isn't the strongest descriptor either. What does it mean to be somewhat nervous? If she's not sure what to expect, then couldn't Crystal be fully nervous? I think you could remove both uses of the word and not make a drastic difference to the contents itself.
Also another thing that confuses me is like how Crystal recognized her father. Like obviously you list out how he looks similar to her and I'm assuming that she doesn't see him often, but how familiar is she with her father's looks? Is his face familiar to her or does she just know from what she's heard from other people that they look alike? Or some other personal sense that she's seeing her father, other than just physical characteristics?
Speaking of the listing of physical features, I think that the last two sentences are very ‘he was/had xxx and xxx’, and that isn't bad, but you could certainly mix it up a bit. And I don't think you need to necessarily change up the structure in order to do it, but go into more specific details. For example, for the last sentence, it could be something like ‘He had the same hooked nose that she saw when she glanced at the mirror’. I think it'd be a good way to also show more of Crystal's character, if you go with the whole mirror thing, in how she interacts with her own reflection/beauty.
And one small thing, this is one of few paragraphs that isn't indented at the beginning. Not sure if that was intentional or not, but it breaks the continuity of the rest of the formatting and I don't like that lol.

“Hey,” He said, sounding somewhat embarrassed.

Again with the somewhat :>

Crystal didn’t even say anything–she didn’t know what she could say.
“So. Uh. You probably don’t remember me. And I haven’t seen you in a long time. But. I-I’m your dad.”
“I know,” Crystal said, still shocked, but her voice was kind of icy. This was the man who had decided to flaunt his powers and as a result, had gotten her to have to wear the Monitor. He had basically ruined her life. And now he was here. She didn’t know what to think, but as her shock faded, anger replaced it.

The two things I want to point out here are the ‘didn’t even say/didn't know what she could say/didn't know what to think' and the third sentence here ‘“I know”, Crystal said,’ etc etc.
Going with the didn'ts first. You do use it a lot within this passage and I think that while it acknowledges an absence in something, ex: not knowing what to say, it only states the fact and maybe hints of something underlying, but you can build upon it in order to give that personal and emotional context to it. I'm going to go off on the last use of it here, ‘didn’t know what to think'. Is it about the appearance of her dad, or the fact that he was talking to her? Or both? What physical or emotional reactions does she have to it?
And regarding point two, with the third sentence, it'll kind of tie in with the first point.

“I know,” Crystal said, still shocked, but her voice was kind of icy.

I want to point out ‘still shocked’ and ‘kind of icy’. While you did say earlier that Crystal was at a loss of words, I think you can show her shock better there!! It isn't as obvious and it's an emotion that you can imbue and add into what you already have (which could help with showing why she didn't say anything).
For ‘kind of icy’, it follows the same thing that I mentioned about using somewhat earlier. It isn't a strong descriptor and doesn't clearly define it, like you're not fully dedicated to that descriptor, if that makes sense? If icy isn't the specific adjective you're going for here, then what would fit it better? Cool and clipped? With an edge? Strained? I have a general rule that you need to modify your descriptors, either make it be a contrasting/unexpected modifier or find a better descriptor!!

“Yeah, no kidding. You ruined my life! You decided to flaunt your powers and got busted, and then you just ran away and abandoned me and my mom, and I’m forced to wear a Monitor because of you, and that. Ruined. My. Life. Everyone hated me, I wasn’t treated fairly, and it’s all your fault!” Crystal snapped. He flinched, then took a deep breath and finally met her eyes.

I think the last sentence is worded awkwardly. The addition of ‘then’ doesn't quite fit the flow. Maybe removing it doesn't quite go for what you want either, but I think it flows better without.
While I had questions about the whole situation with her conflict with her dad, this doesn't help too much either. Though, along with the three points that were made before, you do add some things (ie: getting busted, abandoning her and her mom).
But this is a great opportunity to dig into some of the deeper points for Crystal and her broken relationship with her father. What sort of specific resentments does she hold? Abandoned family? Okay, how did that affect her single mom and Crystal's experience with that growing up? Everyone hated her? Okay, how did that impact her view on herself? Of course, you can't cover all of that, but you can mention some of it and go into it more in her inner monologue. I also think that by removing some of the dialogue that goes into things that Crystal, her dad, and the readers already know, it'll allow more room to get into the other stuff. Not quite sure how I would go about that though.

A million thoughts were running through her head–she finally had met her dad, he was actually a nice guy, he cared about her and her mom more than anything, and he had sacrificed himself for her. But none of those mattered as much as the thought she kept going back to: He loved her.
And she loved him.

Awww, I'm a sucker for character reconciliations <3

Okay and with that said, I have a lot of thoughts, so bare with me ajdkfhasfd-

Starting with formatting of the end, it's lumped all together, which is different from the much smaller paragraphs that you've had so far. I think that the section about Thea, Cyfrin (love this name btw), Ronan, and Ashla could be its own paragraph, as well as at the beginning of ‘A million thoughts’ maybe?
And onto the actual resolution itself, it feels rushed and tied up quickly. As a reader, I don't think I'm able to fully sit with the betrayal and resentment that Crystal feels towards her father and then contemplate on those thoughts with what has been revealed to us by her father. Also, given how long Crystal has seemed to hold this resentment against her father and what we can see of her, it seems like a drastic switch. I think that more discussion would be nice for them to understand the other, and for the readers to understand the places that both characters are coming from. Maybe Crystal questions what he is saying, challenging his words? Maybe have an actual declaration of love from her father? You have a lot of great content, but building upon the structure that you have would really help solidify some things.

For needing context, I guess the big question I had was why Crystal sees her father? Did she know that she was going to see her dad/vice versa? Where's her mom? Another thing is the whole concept of the magic that Crystal (and not her dad, if I understood correctly?) possesses and why society views it that way. Also, what's the Monitor, and if Crystal has it on her, then I think she could totally use it as a way to show her father how he's physically affected her. As in she has to have it on her at all times(?) and people see it and treat her differently.

Overall, this was a nice piece to read and it's a bittersweet concept! You have a lot to work with and I can't wait to see what it becomes <3

Daily 25

Holidays? More like holiYAYS! We all know of at least a few holidays, but what about the ones that have yet to be made? Well! Today, you'll be making your very own holiday! Your task is to write a 250 word description and create an aesthetic set for your brand new holiday! What day will it be on? Why are you celebrating it? Who celebrates it? What's it about? By completing this, you'll earn 300 points for your cabin, plus an extra 150 for sharing proof! Have fun and happy new holiyay daily day!

It’s national Cleaner Fish and Food with holes day! The only day of the year where you can go underwater, and get your teeth cleaned by fish, instead of your dentist! How do you celebrate, you might ask? Well, you go and get your teeth cleaned by a fish, and eat food with holes in it. You’ll probably see some sharks or stingrays there too, but they won’t eat you, don’t worry. You will want to make sure to drink a water breathing potion before going underwater to get your teeth cleaned, unless you can already breath underwater. While you are waiting in line for the cleaner fish, go ahead and enjoy some holed food! Like swiss cheese, bagels, or donuts! Or an apple, with a large hole in middle, heh, how’d that get there? Once it’s your turn to get your teeth cleaned, simply open up your mouth, and the cleaner fish will eat the food and gunk off your teeth. Be sure to not close your mouth while they clean your teeth, as no one likes to get eaten. Unless your food, like bagels, or donuts, or swiss, or that apple with the suspicious hole in the middle. So, today, on National Cleaner Fish and Food With Holes day, come and eat food with holes, like bagels, and donuts, and swiss cheese, and that suspicious apple, then get your teeth cleaned by cleaner fish instead of a dentist, and have a wonderful day celebrating your fishy clean teeth.

250 words

March 25 daily
276 words

National Admire Britain Day is an American holiday celebrated on July 4 out of spite for the usual Fourth of July celebrations. Independence Day is all about the USA not being part of Britain anymore (or at least it’s supposed to be), so what better way to rebel against it than by celebrating Britain? (Other good ways include learning about terrible things the US has done in the past, celebrating Mexico, or really just learning about literally any other country. But none of those are what we’re talking about here.)
The main way to celebrate National Admire Britain Day is by enjoying British media. Listen to your favorite British comedian, watch your favorite British TV show, or read your favorite British author. Or check out some British media you’ve never seen before. Consider getting a VPN if you don’t have one already so you can watch stuff on the BBC.
(Looking for media recommendations? Some of my favorites are the children’s edutainment comedy show Horrible Histories and the gay teen romance show Heartstopper.)
You can also learn about British history, particularly from British sources. Or learn how to do an English accent. And drink lots of tea.
You can also wear red, white, and blue, because those are also the colors of the Union Jack, as well as many other flags for countries around the world. Or wear clothes with the Union Jack on them, if you happen to have any.
People outside of the US can celebrate it as well, but why would they want to? The holiday isn’t because the UK is particularly great; it’s just because celebrating it is anti-USA Fourth of July.


Aesthetic: https://scratch.mit.edu/projects/1152539602

Critique for Luna!! 341 words

--Artsy_Girl-- wrote:

The Pheglemat

i. You

The Pheglemats are not people.

No, how could they be?
People have emotions.

Any normal human has emotions.

A Pheglemat feels nothing. Their soul is an endless void that knows nothing but the overwhelming sense to fill that unquenchable thirst for emotion.

OOH okay I just want to say I love the concept here. I love story ideas like this haha.
Anyways, starting off here, I noticed a couple things to point out - first, that the “no” at the beginning of the second sentence feels a bit, I don't know, clunky? I think the flow would improve if it was just left as “how could they be?”
I also think it would make more of an impact if you deleted the sentence “Any normal human has emotions” and instead had the direct contrast of “People have emotions” and “A Pheglemat feels nothing.”

Pheglemats want to feel something.

They want to feel pain, love, heartbreak.
Pheglemats are incapable of feeling anything by themselves.

I'd add a “but” to the sentence above, and possibly also combine it with the one just before it!

And so, the only way to feel is to steal someone else’s emotion.

Pheglemats should have never existed—but in a world where everything is perfect, the only non-perfect thing must be death and Pheglemats.

I'm not sure where you were trying to go with the sentence here; it feels like you switched trains of thought mid-sentence. Maybe try something like “They should never have existed, but there they are, the only things marring a perfect world–Pheglemats, and death.”

For a brief hour or two, a Pheglemat can feel emotion.
If they exchange it for a life.

When they swallow the life of another, they can be like a real human.

The sentence here feels a bit informal - try something like “When they swallow the life of another, they can feel just like a real human.”

(And yet they never feel the guilt of taking a life just for two hours of something most people want to escape from.)

Pheglemats are not robots.
They can think for themselves, even if it’s without emotion.
(If you count thinking for yourself as being controlled by a dominant thought that tells you to rip the life out of a human to feed your empty feelings that you think you want.)

The “that you think you want” isn't necessary here, and it dulls the impact a bit as the reader is jerked out of the flow to try and figure out where it fits with the rest.

Pheglemats think highly of humans.
(They want to be human themselves.)
They tend to stick around hospitals because instead of taking a life of a healthy human, they can mercifully release a sick person from their troubles.

That’s how they think of it.

I'd clarify with an “at least” here.

And that’s where I met you.
A hospital.

I wish I could’ve met you in a better place, for maybe the difference in scenery would’ve gotten you to love me.

You were running against the crowd of frightened people, who were fleeing the facility because there was a rumor that a Pheglemat had broken into the hospital.

It really said something about how safe your perfect world was.
Security could not have been so loose that any Pheglemat could break in.

No one complained about how poor the security was.
All they ever cared about was themselves and their safety.
No one wants to risk running into a Pheglemat.
(And yet you still did not run away from the danger.)

I'm a little confused by whether the security is good or bad (at first it looks like you're saying it's good, but then you say it's poor) but mostly OOOOH the plot thickens hehe.

You caught my eye, and I felt a strange sense of curiosity to follow you. I liked the feeling—it was like a fishing line, pulling me to my object of fascination—you.

“Hey,” I said, placing a hand on your shoulder, stopping you before you could leave my sight.
You whirled around, frightened. I retracted my hand, feeling sorry for scaring you. ‘Sorry’ is like a wave; I felt knocked off balance as a current of self-doubt gnawed at my stomach.
You narrowed your eyes at me, and opened your mouth, but I cut you off before you could say anything.

“We’re supposed to be evacuating right now,” I told you.
You glanced over your shoulder, and you pushed past me without answering.
I felt irritated for being ignored, and I hated the feeling.

No matter, I followed you, warning you to go back. You didn’t want to give up, for some reason.
“No!” you told me, again and again.

“It’s dangerous—”
I was silenced by your terror-filled gasp.
Your hands flew up to your face and your eyes went wide with shock.
I peered into the room you were looking into, to find a woman collapsed on the floor, an IV still hooked into her wrists.
Her skin was an ashy grey.

“Mom?” you whispered, tentatively stepping into the room and reaching down to check your mother’s pulse, but there was no use in doing so anyway.

“I’m… so sorry,” I tried to tell you, but you could not be consoled.

In between your sobs and screams of agony, you growled, “If I ever find that monster, any monster like it at all, I will kill it with my own two hands. I will watch the life be sucked from its eyes just like—”
Your voice broke, and you continued to cry.

I felt surprised when you cried into the stranger's shirt, and let the stranger place his arms around you, let him comfort you.

I’ve never felt this way before.

When I got home to change out of my tear-soaked shirt, I felt a strange level of contentment and sympathy, but no one could wipe the smile off my face.

(Only time could.)

ii. Madness

You heard a knock at your door.
On the other side of it I stood, playing with the ends of my coat as I waited for you to open it.

“How did you find my address?” was the first thing you asked me, and I didn’t blame you. I felt a strange urge to laugh then—it was an odd tingle in my chest, but I liked the sensation.

“I just came to deliver a letter,” I tell you, fishing for the envelope in my coat pocket and holding it out to you. “And ask you a question.”

You took it hesitantly, but thanked me.
“What’s your question?”

I knew this was so sudden, since we had met the day earlier, but truly, I could not erase you from my thoughts.
I took a deep breath, one that was motivated by the bubbly feelings I felt in my chest.
“Do you want to get coffee together?”
I was asking you out on a date.

You simply replied, “No,” and slammed the door.
I stood on your porch with a cold smile on my face, facing the sun.
Your neighbor waved at me as he passed by your house while walking his dog.
It was a nice day.

But I felt bitter.
I loved the feeling, but it washed away far too quickly.

I slipped my hands in my pockets and followed your happy-go-lucky perfect neighbor and his dog.
I heard someone scream by the time I rounded the block, and when I turned, a young man was poking at your ash-colored neighbor while his daughter fled inside.

I felt satisfaction, and it sizzled in my stomach and turned into something more like impatience while I waited for you to open your door again.
I hoped you would see the mess your dearest Pheglemat had caused.

I wanted you to fear me. Or love me.
Or just notice me.
I had grown a strange quick, attachment to you, apparently, and this feeling was my favorite by far.
I don’t know why it was you that caught my attention—maybe it was because I liked how you cried to me when I stole the life from your mother’s eyes. (I didn’t know she was your mother, but I can’t say I feel sorry.)
Maybe it was the way I hurt so bad
(and it felt so good)
when you turned me away.
And so I kept coming back for more.

No notes here other than I'm screaming THIS IS SO GOOD LUNA. I love love love when a nonhuman with no feelings falls for a human *screeches*

iii. Obsession

I came back to your door the following day. Another greyed neighbor was drooped over her porch stairs, but I hoped that you wouldn’t see.
I knocked on your door, brimming with new emotions.
Your face contorted when you saw me, and I dropped onto my knees.

Pheglemats are always desperate.

“Please,” I beg you, “I love you. Please love me,” I cry.

“No, freak?” she exclaimed. “Get off of my porch!”

“Love me—” The door slammed.
I cackled. Was this what it was really like to be a human? To have your deepest feelings professed and get the door slammed in your face?

I questioned my sanity, who I was
(a heartbroken Pheglemat),
and why I was doing this.
I could not bear this amount of emotion anymore. I needed more, and perhaps that would fix my sanity
(or perhaps not).

I knocked on the door once more.

I heard a click, and watched the silver door knob turn.
“I said—”

“I’m sorry,” I whispered to you, leaping forward and grabbing your wrist.
I wasn't actually that sorry.

I watched you finally understand, in the last flicker of light that passes through your eyes.
I was the Pheglemat all along.

iv. Humanity

The emotion I fed from your soul bubbled in me, and I burst, feeling my senses get overwhelmed.
And for once, with my heightened sense of emotion, I finally felt guilt creep over my soul, and I crumbled to the floor, staring at your grayed body.

For once, I was human, swimming in a dark sea brimming in self-pity and guilt, that of which my unchangeable nature and I brought upon me.

(Because this is what I didn’t know I was asking for.)

Luna you broke me I'm shattered SJGHKJDSLGHKJGHL this is so good. Not only do I love all the ideas you used here, but you pulled them off so well??? This better place somewhere ahaha.
I don't have any other notes here, you did an amazing job <3 Good luck!!

Critique for Livy 276 words

FireBlood23 wrote:

I am born of flame and fury
I am a raging god of my own

I hate to be doused
But returning to their arms simplify me

Their cold embrace comes back with pain

I love your style here! I've only got a few things to point out in this section. First, I'd change “I am born of flame and fury” to "I was born of flame and fury,“ because it helps to establish the past tense a little better. However, I understand that the way you have it written now matches the sentence below it, so feel free to take or leave it haha, it's just a personal style preference.
I'm also not sure what you mean by ”returning to their arms simplify me" means - perhaps consider clarifying that a bit.

Screaming so loud the heavens should comfort me
Comfort me with my hoarse voice and blank stare
But they do not

Right here it looks like there should be a comma after “comfort me” since otherwise it looks as though they're supposed to be comforting the narrator with their own voice and stare, if that makes sense.

Screaming for someone to hear me
They never hear me

Again, personal style preference, but I'd put “They never hear me” in parentheses to give it more of an impact.

I am mad
All poets are
We all grasp for the intangible being that we have to
It is in our blood

I'd change “that” to “because” here.
Lovely poetry here! Your voice is very clear and musical.

The fact they alway hold out

I think there should probably be an “s” at the end of “alway” here.

Drag me to the cold
Warm?
Ground

Once again, I'd enclose “Warm?” in parentheses to set it apart further.

Where I lay
Hunted by poison truths

I love this bit here!!

My eyes blind
I know I will not see

I'd add an “are” before “blind.”

I will lie in the darkness
Enveloped by my dying fire
Scratched at by my demon’s claws

And I'd replace “scratched at” with “raked,” since it's slightly stronger imagery.

I am alive
Destined to die

Screaming I love this line so much <3
That pretty much wraps up my critique - you did an amazing job with this piece! I really didn't have that much to point out haha. Thanks for giving me the opportunity to critique this, I had a blast. Congrats on crafting such a marvelous poem, and best of luck!

tehe

Critique for Kenzie 134 words

From finding ideas, to writing, to sharing the story with others – writing a story is a magnificent experience.

Since you already used the word “writing” in this sentence, I'd replace “writing a story” with “creating a story.”

Stories can be written with anything the author desires.

I mean, yes, they can be written with anything – a pen, a pencil, etc. However, I think I know what you mean here, and a better way to clarify might be to say that stories can be written about anything the author desires

It could be science fiction or romance, slow or fast, complicated or simple, or anything else they’d like. Overall, writing a story is fun and anyone can do it!
Planning a story is a fun activity to do. Creative ideas flow through the brain, trying to be the loudest screaming “Pick me! Pick me!” Fingers tingle with excitement waiting to type or write. The story is waiting to be told.

Since you used the word “waiting” twice, I'd replace one of them with a synonym or something else similar.

Words seem to flow and gather themselves on the screen as the story comes to life. Characters of all sorts gather minds of their own to direct the story where it needs to go.

“Gain” might be a better word to use here than “gather,” since it's a clearer definition of what you mean.

Scenes are played out, with anything from sword-fights to flying dragons. It’s all up to the author on what is written.
When the story is finished, polished, and in its final form, it can be difficult to believe that it’s finally completed. Sometimes a few lucky authors will even gather a fandom thirsting for more of the characters and worlds. It’s beautiful to see fan-fiction and fan-art all over, characters being shipped, and seeing others loving the story.
Making a story is simple. All that needs to be done is planning the story, writing it, polishing it, and then finally publishing it. Although there may be challenges along the way, from plot holes to publishing problems, it can be done.

I love this little essay! Stories are, indeed, so much fun to dream up and bring to life <3
I don't have any additional notes here, so I'll just close with good luck!

{Daily #24}
Prompt: Create your own holiday! Explain the holiday in 250 words and then create an aesthetic set!
Holiday: International Rubber Duck Appreciation Day
Word Count: 310/250
Notes: We all knew that this was necessary.

International Rubber Duck Appreciation Day is a holiday that is mandatory for all to celebrate. It doesn’t matter if it’s your birthday. We don’t care. Celebrate this holiday and no other holidays every March 26. Otherwise, an army of rubber ducks WILL come to your house. We know where you live. We know where everyone lives. MWAHAHAHA! Anyways, International Rubber Duck Appreciation Day is usually celebrated by erecting a miniature Christmas tree and then duck-ifying it with rubber duck ornaments. The tree is usually topped with a giant pink rubber ducky, although any giant rubber duck is fine. On each branch, there should be at least one rubber duck ornament, whether it’s a tiny one or a gigantic one. There should also be a string of rubber duck lights around the tree. Remember, this isn’t a full-sized tree. It’s a mini one. Many people also decorate their houses with multiple rubber ducks. Some decorate with a rubber duck garland. Others wear rubber duck themed clothing. Either way, you must have some form of decoration for this holiday. OR ELSE. Moving on. Obviously we celebrate this holiday because rubber ducks are amazing and deserve to be appreciated for all they do. From floating in sinks and bathtubs to staring at you day and night, rubber ducks work very hard and deserve your appreciation. I also forgot to mention that you should write a thank you note to rubber ducks in general to celebrate International Rubber Duck Appreciation Day. Finally, true rubber duck lovers celebrate this day by baking a rubber duck themed dessert*. Some might decorate a layer cake with bright yellow frosting and rubber duck candies. Some may bake rubber duck themed cookies. There are many different ways to do this. Also, you should host a party for this holiday. International Rubber Duck Appreciation Day for the win! Em out.

*Please do not cook rubber ducks. Rubber does not cook. Rubber duck THEMED, not rubber duck flavored. Please.

AESTHETIC SET: https://scratch.mit.edu/projects/1152582585/

critique for chuey

hi chuey!! thanks so much for doing a critique exchange with me, i always love doing these and reading your pieces <33 so let’s jump in!

chuey wrote:

What does it mean…
I kneel, placing my still-beating heart into iron hands.
…to sell your soul?

love just going all in right here, great opening! :> like how it mixes the question with some action to keep it interesting ^^

chuey wrote:

It was traditional to offer something to the deities when you came of age, asking for a wish granted in return.

I feel like some part of this sentence confuses me, maybe you could phrase it “asking for a wish to be granted in return”?

chuey wrote:

The greater the sacrifice, the more you received. Many gave a family heirloom they cherished, or long-hoarded savings, or the promise that they would dedicate this or that to their chosen deity. Some would offer the best of their labors: the most perfect apple they’d ever picked, the most beautiful dress they’d ever sewn.
I climbed the stone steps slowly as the priests chanted the words of the ceremony in an ancient language, blessing the youth and, I suspected, praying to the deities that no one would make too foolish of a wish.
I wondered what they would think of mine.

nice bit of foreshadowing/hinting at the wish here!

chuey wrote:

My best friend since forever, Callie, was right behind me, clothed in pure white.

Ok this is getting very nit-picky but I feel the phrase “since forever” is a little vague and a little too casual for the overall tone of the story. You could say “since we were both five years old” or keep it at just “my best friend” and that might read a little smoother.

chuey wrote:

All of the coming-of-age were; it was tradition, symbolizing their purity, celebrating their last day of childhood. My collar rubbed against my neck, but I didn’t dare scratch it and ruin the sacred moment. As we passed the candles lining the steps, they flickered, fragrant smoke spiraling away from the billowing skirts and tunics.
There were five of us today.

You don’t necessarily need to address this, but this does make me wonder if our main character shares a birthday with Callie? Or why do they get to do it on the same day? (Five seems small for it to be *all* the kids coming of age that year, especially if he doesn’t know the other boy, if that makes sense. It didn’t take me out of the story or anything the first time I read through, just a curiosity I had!)

chuey wrote:

I didn’t know the boy who stood to my left after we mounted the final stairs, but Callie was to my right, her hair in a simple black braid hanging down her back. Loose wisps of hair had escaped, framing a face flushed in excitement.
In front of us were seven figures, representing the deities: one stone, one iron, one a shrub, one silver, one gold, one clay, and one glass. Each outstretched cupped hands, ready to receive offerings.

Love this setting! your description is very simple but effective. I can really picture this whole scene.

chuey wrote:

Callie went first, kneeling and placing her sacrifice – the most beautiful rose I’d ever seen - into the hands of the shrub.

Unimportant, but your em-dashes don’t match here.

chuey wrote:

Like the rest of her family, Callie was a gardener, and her favorite flowers were roses. Still, I couldn’t help but think that surely there was something she valued more highly, something that would gain her more favor with the deities. The rose, though lovely, would fade quickly, becoming nothing more than a heap of crumpled petals.

I feel like this criticism is a really neat insight into his character! Especially considering *his* offering~ really good!

chuey wrote:

“I offer the most perfect flower of my labors to the deities, and in return I wish that my beloved may always love me, as long as we both live,” she says, bowing her head.
The priests waited for a moment before signaling that she could stand, and she rejoined the line, cheeks flushed with excitement. “Do you think they’ll like it?” she whispered to me.
I didn’t have time to respond, because it was my turn.

Another small punctuation thing, but you don’t need the comma before “because”

chuey wrote:

Swallowing, I knelt in front of iron hands, heart pounding in my throat.

Not necessary, but it would be kind of cool to explain why he chose the iron statue/deity! :0

chuey wrote:

“I offer my heart, my life-blood to the deities…”
Pain shot through my chest, and I gasped, red light coalescing above my palms to form a throbbing mass, which I placed on the figure’s cold hands. Unless the deities accepted my offer and sustained my life, within moments, I would die.
“…in return, I wish-”
I had to stop for a second, wheezing through the agony.
“-to become the greatest artist the world has ever known.”
Silence fell, thicker than honey, dripping down the sides of reality. In that heartbeat, the world had stopped, and turned, and looked, eyes wide with wonder and fear.
I lay panting on the stone, desperate for life, for breath.
The place where my heart had been throbbed, once. And then the pain was gone, and I could stand. A breeze whispered around my feet, and for a moment I thought I heard a voice within.
A daring boy, to be sure…and a foolish one. Laughter.
Then everything exploded back into color and sound and chaos, the crowd shouting and stamping, candles sputtering on the ground as the priests panicked.
They would have a hard time salvaging this ritual, although it wasn’t the first time someone had made a disruptive wish. The coming-of-age who hadn’t gone yet glared at me, knowing their turn would have to wait.
I didn’t care.
My heart now throbbed in iron hands, no longer mine – but that was the cost of greatness, wasn’t it?

Not much to say here—really good!

chuey wrote:

Somehow, the ritual pulled itself together and finished, and life went on as it always had. Some wishes had immediate effect. Others hadn’t yet surfaced. Mine was somewhere in between: I knew I was getting better, but I wasn’t the best. Not yet.
Callie was waiting for me when I stepped outside, as she always was, ready for our usual walk. She had the little crease between her brows that meant she thought I had spent too long in my studio, but I ignored it.

Could you clarify how long of a time jump there’s been, maybe? (You do later, but I wasn’t sure here.)

chuey wrote:

Today she seemed to have something on her mind as we walked. She jittered in a way that was unlike the girl I knew, flushing and paling at irregular intervals. I began to wonder if she was ill.
“Do you love me?” Callie blurted.
I stopped walking and stared at her. A cart rumbled by behind us, and I imagined the driver snickering over what she’d said.
“What?”
She looked down, toying with a strand of hair. “I just…I do, but you never said anything, and you’ve never talked to any of the other girls but I don’t know because you never even looked at me like you…like you might. And I wanted to know."
A year ago, I’d held my own heart in my hands. Now it seemed that I held Callie’s, and a mistake would cost me the companionship of a lifetime.
“Callie…” I hesitated. “Of course you’re important to me, and you always have been-”
I didn’t get a chance to finish, because Callie threw herself at me, squealing. “I knew it! I knew you’d say yes. We can have the wedding in spring…I’ve got to work on a dress if I’m going to get it done on time!”
She continued chattering while I stood in stunned silence. I hadn’t meant for it to go this way. I’d been going to say more. Things had changed, it wasn’t the same.

Maybe “I wasn’t the same”? :0 or could you clarify what “it” is?

chuey wrote:

But there wasn't a way now to get out of it without breaking her heart. So I smiled, nodded, and let her talk, while an empty place in my chest twinged.
Maybe once I could have given her my heart. But it wasn’t mine to give away anymore.


Somewhere, a forsaken heart throbs painfully, seeking for what has been lost.


We clashed often. Callie wanted me to stop working so much on my art and find another job. No one wanted to buy an amateur's paintings, not here.
She was blind to my progress. I showed her the line of canvases over and over, and all she could see were the hours I spent with them instead of her.
“I’m doing this for both of us. I’ll be able to give you whatever I want once I succeed. Don’t you understand that I’m just trying to fulfill my wish?” I asked her once.
Her eyes flashed. “All I want is a chance to live out mine! You were always…you were always the only thing I wanted.”
Tears filled her eyes and spilled over, and I held her while she cried, wondering what might have happened if either of us had made a different wish, because the ones we’d made didn’t work together. But I didn’t know how to tell her that, how to tell her that we just weren’t compatible, not with the choices we’d both made. I knew it would only crush her. So I locked my lips instead. I locked the door to my studio. And I locked myself out of our life.

This is really good agh— just a note for a wording I might change
“how to tell her that we just weren’t compatible” -> “that we just didn’t fit”? or something similar (compatible works too, this is likely just a me thing but it feels a little long/complicated for such a simple sentiment, if that makes any sense~)

chuey wrote:

Somewhere, a forgotten heart beats in iron hands, patches of it turning cold and stony.


Eventually, it happened. One year there were hardly any bids for my latest piece; the next the auction was jammed full, crowds outbidding each other every two seconds for a chance to buy one of my works. Callie moped, tending her garden for hours or wandering listlessly around the house, but I was too busy to pay attention. Every moment I could spare was spent dipping my brushes in my paint pots and splashing color across an empty white void.
In the past, I’d had frequent episodes of stabbing pains in the chest,

“to the chest”? “in my chest”? (since you just aid ‘in the past’ the phrasing feels a bit repetitive)

chuey wrote:

but those hardly ever bothered me now. I didn’t miss my heart. I hardly ever thought about it. And I’d gladly make the same sacrifice again to gain the fame that was starting to trail my works.

Dang!

chuey wrote:

With every beat, it grows cooler, more rigid, as the essence that made it a heart escapes.


I was in the middle of a series focused on individual colors when Callie got sick. I didn’t notice until she started coughing so loudly I could hear it all throughout the house, and even then it took time to register it beyond merely an annoying sound.
“I’m not feeling well,” Callie told me, coming into my studio.
I squinted at my paint pots, trying to find the perfect shade of red. I’d just finished a painting done entirely in blue shades, and red was next on the list – but I couldn’t find any inspiration. None of the shades spoke to me like they usually did.
“I’m sorry, dear,” I said absentmindedly, wondering what would happen if I mixed scarlet and vermilion. “You should go get some rest.”
She coughed again and I looked up, realizing for the first time how gaunt her face looked. How tired. When she pulled her hand away from her mouth, I saw blood specks on her palm.


I stood up and dashed to her side just in time to catch her as she fell, coughing and coughing and coughing. Crimson leaked from her mouth. I studied her for the first time in months, maybe years. She looked so fragile, hands calloused from gardening and trembling from her weakness, midnight hair streaked with ash.
“I want to know,” she rasped, weary blue eyes searching for mine. “Did you…ever really…love me? Or were you just…trying to…fulfill my wish?”
I didn’t reply, fascinated by the color painting her lips. It was beautiful, redder than the rose she had sacrificed on that long-ago day, redder than my heart had been. For a moment I wondered if I should feel something – if I would have felt something, had my heart still beat where it belonged – but the empty canvas beckoned behind me, its call louder than anything else.
“Did you…ever…love me?”
“Callie, it’s – it’s all right. You’ll be fine,” I tried to reassure her.
I rubbed sticky scarlet fingers together as I searched for what else to say. It was just a cough, of course, but then, the blood…I stared at my fingers, and on an impulse, I stood and swiped my hand across the canvas. My next painting came together with a click.
I didn’t notice until the dead silence fell that Callie had stopped breathing.


Somewhere, two hearts have stopped beating.
I am the greatest artist the world has ever known.
What does it mean to sell your soul?

Okay i love calling back to the first line!! but ok hear me out? what if it wasn’t a question anymore, so you could say something more like
“This is what it means to sell your soul:
Somewhere, two hearts have stopped beating.
I am the greatest artist the world has ever known.”

to show that he believes it’s all worth it (but also caused their hearts to stop beating)? :0 it’s great the way it is, too, just a little thought!


Brooo this is so good. I really loved reading this!! the character was so interesting and watching him devolve was just!!! it felt inevitable but in a stuck-to-the-edge-of-my-seat-anyway sort of way XD great job as always, chuey! i hope some of my comments helped you

chuey wrote:

My best friend since forever, Callie, was right behind me, clothed in pure white.

Ok this is getting very nit-picky but I feel the phrase “since forever” is a little vague and a little too casual for the overall tone of the story. You could say “since we were both five years old” or keep it at just “my best friend” and that might read a little smoother.

chuey wrote:

All of the coming-of-age were; it was tradition, symbolizing their purity, celebrating their last day of childhood. My collar rubbed against my neck, but I didn’t dare scratch it and ruin the sacred moment. As we passed the candles lining the steps, they flickered, fragrant smoke spiraling away from the billowing skirts and tunics.
There were five of us today.

You don’t necessarily need to address this, but this does make me wonder if our main character shares a birthday with Callie? Or why do they get to do it on the same day? (Five seems small for it to be *all* the kids coming of age that year, especially if he doesn’t know the other boy, if that makes sense. It didn’t take me out of the story or anything the first time I read through, just a curiosity I had!)

chuey wrote:

I didn’t know the boy who stood to my left after we mounted the final stairs, but Callie was to my right, her hair in a simple black braid hanging down her back. Loose wisps of hair had escaped, framing a face flushed in excitement.
In front of us were seven figures, representing the deities: one stone, one iron, one a shrub, one silver, one gold, one clay, and one glass. Each outstretched cupped hands, ready to receive offerings.

Love this setting! your description is very simple but effective. I can really picture this whole scene.

chuey wrote:

Callie went first, kneeling and placing her sacrifice – the most beautiful rose I’d ever seen - into the hands of the shrub.

Unimportant, but your em-dashes don’t match here.

chuey wrote:

Like the rest of her family, Callie was a gardener, and her favorite flowers were roses. Still, I couldn’t help but think that surely there was something she valued more highly, something that would gain her more favor with the deities. The rose, though lovely, would fade quickly, becoming nothing more than a heap of crumpled petals.

I feel like this criticism is a really neat insight into his character! Especially considering *his* offering~ really good!

chuey wrote:

“I offer the most perfect flower of my labors to the deities, and in return I wish that my beloved may always love me, as long as we both live,” she says, bowing her head.
The priests waited for a moment before signaling that she could stand, and she rejoined the line, cheeks flushed with excitement. “Do you think they’ll like it?” she whispered to me.
I didn’t have time to respond, because it was my turn.

Another small punctuation thing, but you don’t need the comma before “because”

chuey wrote:

Swallowing, I knelt in front of iron hands, heart pounding in my throat.

Not necessary, but it would be kind of cool to explain why he chose the iron statue/deity! :0

chuey wrote:

“I offer my heart, my life-blood to the deities…”
Pain shot through my chest, and I gasped, red light coalescing above my palms to form a throbbing mass, which I placed on the figure’s cold hands. Unless the deities accepted my offer and sustained my life, within moments, I would die.
“…in return, I wish-”
I had to stop for a second, wheezing through the agony.
“-to become the greatest artist the world has ever known.”
Silence fell, thicker than honey, dripping down the sides of reality. In that heartbeat, the world had stopped, and turned, and looked, eyes wide with wonder and fear.
I lay panting on the stone, desperate for life, for breath.
The place where my heart had been throbbed, once. And then the pain was gone, and I could stand. A breeze whispered around my feet, and for a moment I thought I heard a voice within.
A daring boy, to be sure…and a foolish one. Laughter.
Then everything exploded back into color and sound and chaos, the crowd shouting and stamping, candles sputtering on the ground as the priests panicked.
They would have a hard time salvaging this ritual, although it wasn’t the first time someone had made a disruptive wish. The coming-of-age who hadn’t gone yet glared at me, knowing their turn would have to wait.
I didn’t care.
My heart now throbbed in iron hands, no longer mine – but that was the cost of greatness, wasn’t it?

Not much to say here—really good!

chuey wrote:

Somehow, the ritual pulled itself together and finished, and life went on as it always had. Some wishes had immediate effect. Others hadn’t yet surfaced. Mine was somewhere in between: I knew I was getting better, but I wasn’t the best. Not yet.
Callie was waiting for me when I stepped outside, as she always was, ready for our usual walk. She had the little crease between her brows that meant she thought I had spent too long in my studio, but I ignored it.

Could you clarify how long of a time jump there’s been, maybe? (You do later, but I wasn’t sure here.)

chuey wrote:

Today she seemed to have something on her mind as we walked. She jittered in a way that was unlike the girl I knew, flushing and paling at irregular intervals. I began to wonder if she was ill.
“Do you love me?” Callie blurted.
I stopped walking and stared at her. A cart rumbled by behind us, and I imagined the driver snickering over what she’d said.
“What?”
She looked down, toying with a strand of hair. “I just…I do, but you never said anything, and you’ve never talked to any of the other girls but I don’t know because you never even looked at me like you…like you might. And I wanted to know."
A year ago, I’d held my own heart in my hands. Now it seemed that I held Callie’s, and a mistake would cost me the companionship of a lifetime.
“Callie…” I hesitated. “Of course you’re important to me, and you always have been-”
I didn’t get a chance to finish, because Callie threw herself at me, squealing. “I knew it! I knew you’d say yes. We can have the wedding in spring…I’ve got to work on a dress if I’m going to get it done on time!”
She continued chattering while I stood in stunned silence. I hadn’t meant for it to go this way. I’d been going to say more. Things had changed, it wasn’t the same.

Maybe “I wasn’t the same”? :0 or could you clarify what “it” is?

chuey wrote:

But there wasn't a way now to get out of it without breaking her heart. So I smiled, nodded, and let her talk, while an empty place in my chest twinged.
Maybe once I could have given her my heart. But it wasn’t mine to give away anymore.


Somewhere, a forsaken heart throbs painfully, seeking for what has been lost.


We clashed often. Callie wanted me to stop working so much on my art and find another job. No one wanted to buy an amateur's paintings, not here.
She was blind to my progress. I showed her the line of canvases over and over, and all she could see were the hours I spent with them instead of her.
“I’m doing this for both of us. I’ll be able to give you whatever I want once I succeed. Don’t you understand that I’m just trying to fulfill my wish?” I asked her once.
Her eyes flashed. “All I want is a chance to live out mine! You were always…you were always the only thing I wanted.”
Tears filled her eyes and spilled over, and I held her while she cried, wondering what might have happened if either of us had made a different wish, because the ones we’d made didn’t work together. But I didn’t know how to tell her that, how to tell her that we just weren’t compatible, not with the choices we’d both made. I knew it would only crush her. So I locked my lips instead. I locked the door to my studio. And I locked myself out of our life.

This is really good agh— just a note for a wording I might change
“how to tell her that we just weren’t compatible” -> “that we just didn’t fit”? or something similar (compatible works too, this is likely just a me thing but it feels a little long/complicated for such a simple sentiment, if that makes any sense~)

chuey wrote:

Somewhere, a forgotten heart beats in iron hands, patches of it turning cold and stony.


Eventually, it happened. One year there were hardly any bids for my latest piece; the next the auction was jammed full, crowds outbidding each other every two seconds for a chance to buy one of my works. Callie moped, tending her garden for hours or wandering listlessly around the house, but I was too busy to pay attention. Every moment I could spare was spent dipping my brushes in my paint pots and splashing color across an empty white void.
In the past, I’d had frequent episodes of stabbing pains in the chest,

“to the chest”? “in my chest”? (since you just aid ‘in the past’ the phrasing feels a bit repetitive)

chuey wrote:

but those hardly ever bothered me now. I didn’t miss my heart. I hardly ever thought about it. And I’d gladly make the same sacrifice again to gain the fame that was starting to trail my works.

Dang!

chuey wrote:

With every beat, it grows cooler, more rigid, as the essence that made it a heart escapes.


I was in the middle of a series focused on individual colors when Callie got sick. I didn’t notice until she started coughing so loudly I could hear it all throughout the house, and even then it took time to register it beyond merely an annoying sound.
“I’m not feeling well,” Callie told me, coming into my studio.
I squinted at my paint pots, trying to find the perfect shade of red. I’d just finished a painting done entirely in blue shades, and red was next on the list – but I couldn’t find any inspiration. None of the shades spoke to me like they usually did.
“I’m sorry, dear,” I said absentmindedly, wondering what would happen if I mixed scarlet and vermilion. “You should go get some rest.”
She coughed again and I looked up, realizing for the first time how gaunt her face looked. How tired. When she pulled her hand away from her mouth, I saw blood specks on her palm.


I stood up and dashed to her side just in time to catch her as she fell, coughing and coughing and coughing. Crimson leaked from her mouth. I studied her for the first time in months, maybe years. She looked so fragile, hands calloused from gardening and trembling from her weakness, midnight hair streaked with ash.
“I want to know,” she rasped, weary blue eyes searching for mine. “Did you…ever really…love me? Or were you just…trying to…fulfill my wish?”
I didn’t reply, fascinated by the color painting her lips. It was beautiful, redder than the rose she had sacrificed on that long-ago day, redder than my heart had been. For a moment I wondered if I should feel something – if I would have felt something, had my heart still beat where it belonged – but the empty canvas beckoned behind me, its call louder than anything else.
“Did you…ever…love me?”
“Callie, it’s – it’s all right. You’ll be fine,” I tried to reassure her.
I rubbed sticky scarlet fingers together as I searched for what else to say. It was just a cough, of course, but then, the blood…I stared at my fingers, and on an impulse, I stood and swiped my hand across the canvas. My next painting came together with a click.
I didn’t notice until the dead silence fell that Callie had stopped breathing.


Somewhere, two hearts have stopped beating.
I am the greatest artist the world has ever known.
What does it mean to sell your soul?

Okay i love calling back to the first line!! but ok hear me out? what if it wasn’t a question anymore, so you could say something more like
“This is what it means to sell your soul:
Somewhere, two hearts have stopped beating.
I am the greatest artist the world has ever known.”

to show that he believes it’s all worth it (but also caused their hearts to stop beating)? :0 it’s great the way it is, too, just a little thought!


Brooo this is so good. I really loved reading this!! the character was so interesting and watching him devolve was just!!! it felt inevitable but in a stuck-to-the-edge-of-my-seat-anyway sort of way XD great job as always, chuey! i hope some of my comments helped you

facets of a someone
briefly-organized notes from some of the things i feel

i see her like an angel among the ever-shifting cacophony of a grocery store checkout line. in the rhythm of the beeping registers she turns to look at me, and our eyes meet for the briefest of moments. the most stunning emerald eyes i’ve had the glory to behold, a small and so adorably awkward smile that i really hoped wasn’t a delusion of mine, and then we’re back to strangers once again. my heart flutters embarrassingly, pierced by the sharpest of arrows - even the back of her head is pretty, a halo of golden curls bouncing like a flower field.
i think at last that maybe i should try to strike a conversation, smoothly ask for a number the way i had seen before in those hollywood movies. but i am stupidly late and her face is lost into the world.
the cashier calls, next; as she has done for all of today and who knows how many days before. i pay for my cabbage, carrots, and a gallon of apple juice that had impulsively made its way into my arms. all the things insignificant that wouldn’t be remembered in a month. stepping out into the warm summer sun, i try to not think too hard on the lady. how she must’ve come from heaven itself.
(in another universe, we hold hands and take long walks in the park. there’s a blooming tree of cherry blossoms swaying in the breeze and we ask the next passerby to take us a photo. it sits on the mantel years later.
here, i’ve told her all of my secrets and in turn i know every inch of her life. she’s got a passion for stars, her father forced her to get a boating license at 15, she’s deathly afraid of bees, innocent things such as this. it brings us closer and it is why we look at each other with so much love and adoration. in this universe fate simply favors our togetherness.)
at last, that is not what happens. the only thing i will ever carry of her is a casual memory and the quick colored pencil sketch i’ve made in which her nose is entirely wrong. it’s a thing born of wistfulness that’s been created by evening candlelight. a note in the margins reads: i wonder if she cares this much, too. (or maybe she’s one of those people with a life too busy to focus on the little details.)
despite all of this i am not sad. the days pass as usual. the angel-faced woman wasn’t the first to end up in the pages of my sketchbook, and i knew she certainly wouldn’t be the last.
here’s to more chances missed; i think, toasting a glass of apple juice to the nonexistent shadows in my kitchen.

~

i have a dream, one night. it’s the kind that gets you awake and staring at the ceiling for a hot minute, left in the darkness of reality to process the nonsense that you’ve witnessed. in this case, it was the good kind of nonsensical. the plot, if you could call it that, was fantastic and pieced together surprisingly well, and it was just enough to get someone thinking about the world hard and deep. the possibility of forgetting it in the morning made me sad.
since i likely wouldn’t be falling back asleep anytime soon anyways, i force myself up and open my laptop. the glaring brightness of an empty document burns my half-asleep eyes, but the dream was just really that good. the soft clicks of my typing blend with the thunderstorm outside and i try my best not to leave out any details. when i’m satisfied and the sun has risen halfway already, i lay back down in an attempt to reclaim lost hours of rest - i’m lucky it’s a weekend.
i forget about the story (because that’s what it’s become, now) for a little while after that. i still remember the dream though, vivid in my mind, and it takes everything for me to not randomly retell it to the next stranger i pass. guess what? i would say, and they would listen to all the wild happenings with awe and a mixture of concern.
i’m at a traffic light while imagining this, and i glance into the car next to mine to notice a young, tall man in a business uniform. probably on his way to work. briefly, i wondered if he had had any weird dreams recently, too - we could exchange them now, before the light turned green and we were off onto a highway where no one really existed beyond the shells of their vehicle. here, this random man could be the human being behind the wheel who dreamed of unicorns on unicycles and wasn’t at all the air of “professional” that he exerted.
but the light does turn green, then, and the car behind me honks. i rush to press the gas.
(the young businessman has already sped off.)

~

i do open that document again, eventually. it’s been a couple months now and i barely remember anything of it, so i supposed that the dream wasn’t as life-changing as i had previously anticipated. nonetheless, i was prepared for some good entertainment and had even made myself a steaming cup of tea.
i read. and read. my facial expressions continue to shift.
first of all: the thing was long. i had no clue how i had managed to complete something like this in a matter of hours. all typos and grammatical errors aside, the sheer size of it was impressive.
secondly: i smile softly at the mention of the emerald eyed lady from the register line - i’d forgotten about her by now. in this, she’s being portrayed as a divine being, and i like the personality that she’s been given. if it weren't for now, i would have never spared a thought to her again and i think that’s also an interesting concept to ponder on.
and last: it’s surprisingly entertaining. it was like my first time dreaming it up all over again, and it held me to the edge of my seat. whatever i had expected to feel, it wasn’t this at all (childlike wonder).
with a bit of editing and some other alterations, i genuinely believed that this could make it somewhere. maybe not long enough to be a full length novel on the shelves of some bookstore, but enough to be featured in a popular magazine of sorts. yes, that would be nice.
in the next week, i’ve gone through the entire process - the story’s all polished and ready to go, and there happens to be a national magazine open to literary submissions. everything was aligned for this moment.
when i get to the “submit” button, i find myself unable to click it.
a voice in me says: is this really your story? you’ve done almost no work at all to get here. think of all the other authors, the ones who have been writing for years and have hundreds of pages dedicated to planning out their plots. does it even count if the entire thing is credited to your half-conscious state? even worse, what if your dream is entirely plagiarized from something that you don’t remember seeing? such as the appearance of someone you saw for literally one second…
and they were right - sure, it was good, but something in my stomach churned at the thought of signing the work under my name. i felt no connection to it whatsoever and sharing it felt like a violation of privacy somehow to the world of my mind. clicking off of the website, i sigh.
curse the self-bestowed guilt.

~

the whole ordeal doesn’t matter at all as more time passes, even if it hangs around in the back of my mind sometimes. i’m in the park today and the sky is dreary with unfallen rain. the air is nice though, and bright blooming flowers cut through the grass. they’re a stark contrast, and in a way it reminds me of looking at a crowd. here is this person, and that one, and guess what? they’re all special and alive in a way far past anything you would know. look at them compared to the world.
it’s here in this random moment where i realize just how unknown i am to the world myself. i am an insignificant person sitting on a bench, alone and watching the ducks pass by. would people care about me if i did end up as a famous author? what if i were a criminal? would it make a difference either way?
no one knows who i truly am exactly, and in ways i think that’s the joy of existing. no one would be able to guess my thoughts about baked mac and cheese, or the things i’ve made up about people walking by, or know my more recent, crazier dream. they don’t know what i like, or don’t.
(you don’t.)
the thoughts - the untold ones, ones never shared - swirl in my mind like pieces of paper in a breeze. they could be trash, or perhaps a winning lottery ticket. nobody would find out, because they are mine to keep. unreleased.
(but what if i did want to release them? what if i don’t know how?)
i see the angel-faced lady across the pond. she’s walking and smiling with a boy, and i don’t bring myself to feel anything negative because she never had anything to do with me in the first place. i am only happy to see that she’s well.
my mind swirls up again and i decide that i do want my innocent secrets out into the world somehow. they are a part of me, after all.

i take the first dream that i had, the one i couldn’t bring myself to publish the story of and briefly write it’s contents on a leaf. would it be found? probably not. there was a tiny chance that someone braver than i would stumble upon it, and i cling to that. in the end it’s free, like it should be.
i open my journal next.

you found this, then. you found my thoughts, raw and an unblended smoothie, written on a ripped-out slip of paper and left on a bench, and you decided to give it a read. you know a bit of me now, and you’re the first to hear about these random small occurrences in my life.
i thank you for that. and i think it’s funny, a little - you’re probably centering my entire character around these instances. in your mind, maybe i’m funny, smart, insane, relatable, whatever. i can assure that it’s an entirely different image from what any of my friends or family hold. (i hope i feel human above all.)
you still do not know my name, and i won’t tell. our paths cross here, once, and who knows if this little brush of our threads will be remembered for days, years, a lifetime.
unfortunately, we are both still strangers to each other. it’s more poetic than a pity.

~

author's note (back to original piece) || 404 words

Hii I'm totally not rambling here to get more words trust lol
In all seriousness though I love to ramble about my stories and I finally decided to sit down and do that, especially since this piece is, well, what it is. So here goes.
I'm not sure when I first came up with the idea. All I remember is knowing that there would be an artist, and that he would paint with blood. The rest I filled in later.
Although the idea had been bouncing around for a while, I didn't sit down and write it until January, when I wanted a piece to submit for the JWC comp. And…it was a mess. No editing, no critiques, and a whopping 2.4k words long because I didn't know when to stop. Yikes. I was fairly proud of it for something pulled together so quickly, but in the end I was kind of disappointed. All that hype over the idea for nothing more than another mediocre short story? I decided to shove it into a mental drawer and forget about it. Except I didn't.
Fast-forward a couple of months later, when I was scrambling to come up with something for the SWC comp. None of my ideas were flowing, I had dozens of unfinished drafts piling up, and the deadline was looming. I had originally tossed the idea of submitting Heart of Stone aside because it was too long, and I thought it was impossible to cut it down enough, but in desperation I took it out of the drawer and dusted it off.
And…wow, I'm so glad I did. Because that dream? I hadn't failed to bring it to life. I just needed to carve it out of the unnecessary words.
In some ways, it means more to me now than it did before, on completely different levels. I've sacrificed important connections to get what I want, like the main character. And like Callie, I've struggled with what seem to be impossible feelings. Coming back to the story now, it's not just something creative I jotted down – it's also about me.
So get that pencil out, even if you don't think your writing is going anywhere. Type out those ideas. Because writing, for me, is about more than creating – it's about discovering myself.
Okay thanks for reading this ramble, I was way too sappy and formal pfft. I hope you forgive me.
Bye.

writer’s block! (a script/monologue/mess)
1108 words; competition entry!
i think i formatted this wrong lol xD

Elly sits in her room. It is night time and she looks tired. You watch as she types something on her laptop, tilts her head, then retypes.

She stands up and faces you, reading aloud hesitantly.

Elly: (eyes darting back to the laptop every so often) Hey! This is probably going to be the most random entry you read, but I guess it was worth a shot! Right now, I’m looking at the competition project, skimming through entries, thinking.

And I’m thinking, “Wow. I wish I could write.”

Elly pauses a beat before continuing on hurriedly.

Elly: I mean, I can write. But I wish I were able to carve stories with my mind, to plan out the most shocking plot twists ever, craft beautiful backstories for well developed characters. Yet here I am, embarrassing myself, with my painfully short knowledge of writing techniques and about ten songs stuck in my head at the same time. Go me!

Yes, I know that comparison is-

Elly furrows her brow and edits something, retypes, raises her eyebrows, lowers them, then shrugs.

Elly: (continued): Sorry, I mean, yes, I know that ‘you can do ‘anything’ if you put your mind to it!’ and yes, I know I shouldn’t compare either, but I’ve had a lack of imagination recently- so. Hiya! I’m putting my mind to it!

Elly sighs and starts chewing her nails out of habit.

Elly: Er, how come I’ve already run out of things to say? Hmm, how would I keep a reader captivated… wait one second!

You watch Elly go through a strange cycle of a quick google, then scrolling, then flopping her head onto the desk in despair. Then getting up because she really is running out of time to do this and beginning the cycle AGAIN.

Elly: Ah yes. I know!

She clears her throat.

Elly (continued, ironically reading an entry inside of an entry): On Wednesday, 25th March 2025, Elly types out the quote, “You can make anything by writing.”

She pauses, and writes the word brownie.

A brownie appears. Elly fist pumps the air.

Elly: Yesss!! (shoving all thoughts about the competition aside, she scrabbles to press some keys on her keyboard and-)

*Some amount of magical popping noises later*

10 boxes packed to the brim with brownies appear in Elly’s arms.

Elly: (staggering from the weight) Wooahh! What am I meant to do with these?

There is a noise to her left and in enters a human like figure with a hood covering their face.

Elly: (turns to face the figure) Uhhh- how? I mean, why are you in my room?

Athena: I have come here because I would like to have your brownies.

Elly: (handing them over in relief) Sure, but, er, who are you?

Athena shrugs with wisdom.

Elly: Alright, I guess that doesn’t matter. Just make sure you pay for these boxes of brownies.

Athena: What do you mean, pay? Pay with what? I don’t want to pay anything! (stomps foot)

Elly: But I have emotional attachment to these brownies! I’m so.. sorry?

Athena: Honestly, you better be. (glares) Missus, do you know who I am? (sarcastically)

Elly, with a gasp: Actually.. I think I do! You’re a goddess! You are Athe-!

Athena clamps her hand over Elly’s mouth and pulls her under the desk in one swift move.

Athena: What do you think you’re doing? They’re listening.

Elly: (mumbling through Athena’s palm) Who??

Athena puts a finger to her lips.

Athena: Shhh!

Elly and Athena look up as they start to hear faint music.

Athena: I recognise this. Epic the Musical?

Enter Elly’s Distracted Thoughts, a replica of Elly you can only see with your mind’s eye.

Elly yelps.

Elly’s Distracted Thoughts: Why am I here? This is NOT supposed to be happening in the middle of my entry. I guess I have gotten distracted again? Seriously! I’m trying to procrastinate and now you’re making me procrastinate procrastination. Must I always get carried away and go on and on like this? I am literally an endless cycle of thoughts. Is it not possible to lock in and write or am I just-

Pause.

Elly’s Distracted Thoughts (continued): l-l-l-l-legendary? Yessir!

Elly has finally gotten free from Athena’s grasp and stands up indignantly.

Elly: You again! I’m trying to concentrate, don’t you get how difficult you’re making it for me? Is it so much to ask for ideas instead of song lyrics and focus instead of tiredness?

Elly’s Distracted Thoughts: Yes! Unless I get to make dam references in my writing non-stop. Hahaha!

Elly turns to Athena.

Elly: Please, please help me get rid of these songs stuck in my head, or this annoying voice or whatever. I’m begging you, could you do that for me? It’s just for a little bit so I can wrap this up!

Athena: That is not wise.

Elly: I don’t care! It’s not like you’re the wisest smartest being on Earth anywa- Oh.

Athena (with a sigh): Fine, if you insist.

The stage goes black and a monotone voice rings out, loud and clear.

Voice: it is a deafening void of silence that lays in front of you. so excruciatingly still and quiet, transporting you to a plain, dark room with such serenity you cannot bear to think. panic builds up inside at the prospect of staying focused forever and eternally in the zone, but you push it away, glad to leave all the noise and thoughts and strange imaginings. without anything to stop it, the silence builds up without noise, pressuring you and seeping through the cracks. it cages you, trapping whatever is left and leaving you bare, exposed and frighteningly

Elly (to Athena): ALRIGHT! We get it! That’s enough! Bring her back!

Elly’s Distracted Thoughts runs in.

Elly’s Distracted Thoughts: Oh, woe is me! If you are my universe and I am your sun, burning brightly for you forever and ever then you live in the worst universe ever because this sun has just disappeared and definitely has not come back like a boomerang!

Elly turns to the audience watching and shrugs, like ‘What?’.

Elly: What’s happened to you? Are you sick or something? Here, have a brownie!

Elly reaches behind her for the stack of brownie boxes. They aren’t there. She pats the table uncertainly before turning around.

Elly: WHAT HAPPENED TO MY DARLING BROWNIES?????

Elly’s Distracted Thoughts: Haha! Athena took them! We outsmarted you- the goddess of wisdom plus your thoughts make a good team!

Elly: So you’re telling me a GODDESS pulled out this elaborate plan because she was too lazy to pay for her food?

Elly’s Distracted Thoughts: …Maybe.