July 20 Daily
The dusty wasteland was about as empty as Steven had expected. Dead plants, skeletons of trees reaching up to the smog that perpetually obscured the sun. The occasional trash bag or soda can blowing across their path. There must be scavengers here, but there were none to be seen - perhaps they were hunting, or asleep. The only sounds were their footsteps and the howling of the wind.
Steven and Kyra had been walking for hours now. Steven really hoped they were going in the right direction. Everywhere looked the same in this place.
Kyra had been silent the entire time, staring listlessly ahead as she walked forward. She was worried, probably spiraling. Steven had known her long enough to know that.
“Hey,” he whispered, placing a hand on her shoulder.
No reaction, no acknowledgement of Steven’s existence.
“This is going to work. You know it will.”
Still no response.
“We’re going to be free,” Steven continued, his confidence growing somewhat. “In a few hours, we’re going to be free. Everything’s going to be okay.”
Finally, finally, Kyra glanced at him.
“How do you know it’s going to work?” she whispered, her voice husky.
“A little thing called ‘we went over this plan literally seventeen times and prepared for every possible outcome.’”
“You can’t prepare for every possible outcome,” Kyra scoffed. “There are infinite-”
“Well, every likely outcome. Are you happy?”
Silence.
Steven rolled his eyes. “Come on, please. We’ve got this in the bag. They have no idea we’re even coming.”
Kyra’s lips twitched, subtle, but it made hope surge in Steven’s chest.
“You’ve got the skills, everything you need. You can do this. It’s gonna be okay. Better than okay! It’s gonna be perfect!”
Kyra smiled.
“Don’t jinx it,” she said, and Steven knew it’s all he would get out of her.
Steven laughed as the headquarters came into view.
One simple break-in, one simple death.
And the world will be saved.

Steven’s world is on fire.
The plan had, naturally, crashed and burned. Literally. A smoke alarm blares in his ears. Flames cover every inch of the room, they have him cornered. He won’t last much longer, he knows.
But how can he focus on his own life? How can he focus on anything other than the burning, charred body just a few feet away?
One simple death. It was never supposed to be her, she was never meant to die. She is strong, she is powerful, she is-
Dead.
How did everything go wrong? How could it end like this?
They were good, they were on the right side, they were going to save the world from the shattered state it had fallen into. And all they needed was for that stupid plan to work. Of course it hadn’t worked, how could anyone predict-
A grinning, utterly feral face. A knife against her throat as it held her by the scruff like an animal.
The lighter. The click.
And flames.
The horror, the screaming, the hopelessness as they realized there was no escape.
It got Kyra first. Now it’s coming for him.
Steven chokes on the smoke. His head is fuzzy, he can’t think.
He is so, so tired, and the terrible light of the flames is quickly giving way to darkness.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers
And the dark takes him.


554 words

20.07.25 ⟢ 386/350 words - EoL Spinner
jester | steampunk :0 | lost | congeries

“I don’t think you should be the one choosing where we go,” remarked Via, nose scrunched up. “Your map is upside down, and I have no idea where we are, except from the fact that these cogs… do not look like they belong in the 21st century.” Oliver folded his arms, though he secretly agreed. “It’s modern art. Now, keep up, we told the parents we’d be home from sightseeing soon.” Via rolled her eyes but followed Oliver down the street in this weird city.

Far ahead of them, cobblestone streets stretched endlessly and old-fashioned buildings loomed in the distance, the constant sound of whirring in the background making the whole city seem a little uncomfortable. Via tried to stifle a laugh as Oliver failed to ask a local where the park was, the local shouting ‘NO!’ before Oliver opened his mouth to speak. “Chin up, I think I recognise where we are.” Via comforted her twin, though in reality all the roads looked the same.

“At least we’re getting our steps in!” quipped Oliver, making Via bite back a giggle. They turned another corner and to their delight, found the park! However, nearing the entrance, they realised they were on the West side. Their parents were sipping coffee on the East. A mechanical mouse scattered past through the gate as the two siblings followed, taking in the enormity of the park and the fair that was happening right in front of them. “Ready, set?” asked Oliver, grinning - he was about to run to the candy floss - and Via barely had time to reply with the reference ritual ‘Not yet!-‘ when he was dragging her through the park.

Great! Now we”re doubly lost.” sighed Via impatiently, as Oliver waggled his eyebrows. “Double lost with a side of candyfloss?” Relenting, Via took a portion, and Oliver got his map out (the right way up). He turned in his heel and pointed down a shady. tiny, abandoned path. l think it’s this way.” Via shook her head violently, voice muffled by her cotton candy. She moved his arm to point to the main path, with streetlights and people scurrying up and down. “The sign literally says continue down the main path to get to the East side, Oliver.”

“…Right!” Oliver said comically after a beat, “Onward!”

376 words

DISCALIMER THIS IS VERY HORRIBLE AN DRUSH DO NOT READ IT

warrior poem enemies flashback

My breaths come out in shaky gasps,
My eyes dilated and wild,
My voice coming out in growls.

I blink and blink in a failed attempt
To make sense of my surroundings,
The opening of a forest shrouded in darkness,
That consumes all.

~~~

'you don't understand!'
i exclaimed to my mum,
voice raw with emotion,
vision blurry with tears,
veins popping from anger,

'why can't you understand?'
i'm breaking and desperate

desperate for her to realise,
to feel what i'm feeling,
understand my reasons.

i want to become a warrior,
a warrior of taboki,
who bests beasts and defends our country,

i believe it's a job for those with
a heart full of pride
which seers through the night,
a weapon of loyalty
which protects us from all danger,
a mind of wit
which tricks their way out of tricky situations,

not just a job for the ‘men’
who steal all the glory
and if my master can agree and let me hope
my parents should be by my side.

I ran away that day,
clustered with emotions,
all those of hate and abandonment,
into the rain i ran and ran until a passed out.

~~~

I'm choking on the fresh tears that flow,
Overwhelmed with sadness and
'oh-how-foolish-i-was'
to run a way from home to the uncomfortability of it all.

It's truth.
Away from hoem is a place no woman should be
i should've listened but now it's too late.

Shadowy figures standing before me,
Skins emblasoned with tatooes,
dakasji tatoos,
and i know im in the house of enemies.

A man turns on the lights,
He has long sweeping hair,
He bends down to look at me,
hands on myu face analysing

i hate it

i want him of of of

'this one's a girl' he scoffs, face disaproving
im wearing my warriors uniform
they're judging like usual
his voice is rough but silky
contradictory but it's only a pain to my ears
no one wants to hear the voice of an enimie

'a warrior girl surely not'

they're fascinated

'should've stayed home hmm?'

'i'm not a girl' i spat ‘i’m a WOMAN'
despite myself i rolled my eyes as if i were bickering with my brother.

Daily #20 - Prompt: Orphan | Romance | A Place From Childhood | Chekov's Gun - 976 words

The winds were gentle, blowing Calliope's long, pale pink hair into her face. She tucked it behind her ear with her hand, then wrapped her lightly tanned arms around herself. Fidgeting with the fabric on her white tunic, she kept walking, doing her best to not get any stains on her light brown pants.
The plains that she walked through had been her home once upon a time. Up until the attack. Bandits came, pillaged her village, and murder everyone. She'd been the lone survivor, after her mother had hidden her in a wooden barrel. The attack had happened when she was five. Now she was twenty-one, and she hadn't been back to the plains since it happened.
Somehow, the plains still looked the same after sixteen years. While the massive village she used to live in was no longer there, a smaller one had taken its place.
Calliope strolled into the village nervously, wondering what the new village was like.
As she approached a general store, a young man walked up to her. “New around here?”
He had silver blue hair with bangs that slightly cover his blue-green eyes. He wears a black tunic, black pants, and black boots which contrast his perfectly tanned skin.
Calliope felt her face flush as a sudden, flustered feeling washed over her.
“Um, kinda?” she replied.
“Kinda?” he inquired.
“Well, my village was destroyed sixteen years ago, but it was in this area of the plains,” she explained.
“Ah, so you survived it?” he questioned.
“Yeah, only one,” she confirmed before asking, “Who are you?”
“Name's Calix,” he replied. “And you?”
“Calliope,” she told him.
'Lovely to meet you,“ he stated. ”Want a little tour of our village?“
Calliope nodded. ”Sure, yeah!“
With that, Calix began to lead her around the village, telling her all about the people and how they ended up there. Apparently, about five years ago, a bunch of traveling merchants set up permanent shops were the village would eventually be. They invited their families out to live there, houses and stores were built, and that was that. For about three years, the village had been running smoothly, always welcoming weary travelers.
Calix randomly cracked jokes as he showed her around to keep things light-hearted, which made Calliope laugh. By the end of the day, her cheeks hurt from smiling and laughing so much.
”Thank you for the tour,“ Calliope stated.
”Of course! Are you staying here for the night?“ Calix inquired.
”Yeah, I'll probably stay for a little bit,“ she informed him as he walked her to the inn.
”Sounds good! See you tomorrow then!“ he told her as she headed into the inn.
”See you tomorrow!“ she replied as he walked off.
The innkeeper was incredibly kind, happily agreeing to her staying in one of the rooms as long as she wanted to.
That became her normal. Calliope stayed in the village inn, quickly befriending the entire staff. Every morning, they all happily greeted her as they delivered her breakfast, which they had all memorized. After she ate, Calliope walked over to the general store to meet up with Calix, since he worked his shift there a few hours in the morning. After he finished his shift, the two of them would take strolls around the village, sometimes venturing beyond the village and farther across the plains.
They often took turns talking about their past. Calliope told him about what her village had been like, what the attack had felt like, and what she'd been doing since the attack. She joked that her life had been dramatic and exciting, but she'd just been wandering, stopping in villages whenever she needed to. On the other hand, Calix told her a lot about the village, what he'd done before he'd moved into the village, and any random stories he'd heard from the villagers.
Days turned into weeks, weeks turned to months, months turned to years. In the blink of an eye, Calliope had spent two incredible years in the village, always with the lovely company of Calix.
As the months went by, Calliope found herself getting more and more flustered when she saw Calix for the first time each day. To her surprise, he also blushed when her saw, causing her to wonder if he shared her feelings.
One cool autumn day, the two had gone for a stroll outside of the village.
”You've been here for a while,“ Calix noted.
”Yeah, I have,“ Calliope replied.
”Any reason?“ he asked, ever so slightly flirtatiously.
”Maybe,“ she responded teasingly.
”Am I not allowed to know what the reason is?“ he pushed.
”I might not be telling you because you know who it is,“ she teased.
Calix smirked. ”Oh, it's a who.“
Calliope rolled her eyes. ”Yes, it is.“
”Who is it?“ he asked annoyingly.
She'd had enough of his innocence. Without thinking, she grabbed his shirt and pulled him in, smashing her lips against his. Making her point.
Calix's eyes widened briefly, then his hands found her waist as he deepened their kiss.
It lasted for about five seconds before he pulled away.
”Woah,“ he muttered.
”The reason is you,“ Calliope snapped.
”Okay, I see that now,“ Calix replied.
Without another word, he kissed her again.
As he pulled away, they both smiled with flushed faces.
”I liked that,“ Calliope admitted.
”I did too,“ Calix agreed.
Happily, he pulled her against him and pressed his forehead against hers.
”Are we going to be a thing now?“ he asked.
”If you want to be a thing,“ she replied.
”I want it,“ he muttered, kissing her forehead.
”Me too," she whispered, gently pecking his cheek.
Calix held her close, as the two stood together for just a few more moments, before he and Calliope headed back to the village, to the general store where their little romance had began.

As the saying goes, when life gives you lemons, make lemonade, and when the Elements of Literature Spinner gives you four random elements of literature, mix them all together in a new unique story. Today we’ll be revisiting the Elements of Literature Spinner to inject some randomness into our lemonade— I mean, stories. For 250 points (and an additional 50 for sharing), write 350 words incorporating your fresh picked elements into a delicious new blend. Get squeezing here: https://scratch.mit.edu/projects/1047415761 !

villain // myth // stress inducing place // ambiguity

“Was it you?”
He grinned. “Why do you assume such a thing? I wasn’t involved whatsoever.”
“I know you.”
“Do you? Do you really know me?”
The clock on the wall ticked. A nonstop noise, reminding him this conversation wouldn’t be able to last too long.
“I don’t have time for your games. Was it you?”
He sighed. “I almost wish it was. He was so annoying. Arrogant. Didn’t care about anyone else. Alas, I fear I’m innocent.”
“A man died.”
“And so you believe it must’ve been me who killed him? No, I could never be innocent. I’m a monster who doesn’t love anything but chaos, destruction, misery—“
“I never said that!”
“But everyone else did. I hear them, you know. I’m not just spending all of my time scheming, I have a whole life of my own. As hard as that may be to imagine.”
He was running out of time. If he couldn’t prove himself in the moments left, maybe he’d never get to.
“…I wish I believed you were innocent.”
He flinched. “…What?”
“I saw you.”
He hesitated. There was nothing he could do. “Then you must’ve seen what he’d done before. What he’d said, you have to understand, I didn’t—“
“You could’ve admitted the first time I asked.”
“I’m afraid I’d rather not be trapped in whatever jail you’ve created for me.”
Not too much time left. Before they came to their own conclusions. Before he dragged his brother down with him.
“I didn’t create it. I find it disgusting, horrible, and…”
He waited. Waited, feeling all the time he had slipping away.
“I… know why you did it.”
“Then help me. Please. Just this once.” He begged. He hated begging. Feeling weak. He was weak though. Weak and out of time. “Tell one lie in your life, and you’ll never have to see me again. I’ll be out of your hair forevermore, you can go and forget I even exist, I swear—“
“What if I didn’t want you to leave again?”
He froze.
They were coming.
It was too late.
“Then you must be truly naive, brother.”
One final inhale, before he’d be left to rot in some cave.
Unless he could run fast enough.
Hide well enough.
One final trick, one last disappearing act.
Like he’d promised, he’d never be seen again if he did this right.
Though, he had to admit, that was a pretty big if.

NOTES
I was watching Ragnarok when I first got this prompt, so I struggled to not make it Thor and Loki. They’re not brothers in mythology though so it’s. Uh. Inaccurate. The story was originally based on how Loki killed Baldr but uhhhh I forgot while I was writing and just had some fun writing whatever this is. I actually sorta forgot each part I was meant to incorporate throughout the whole thing. But I’d like to believe I did pretty good!!

daily - july 20
352 words … last updated 07.20.2025

»»————-　⚜　————-««

Today we’ll be revisiting the Elements of Literature Spinner to inject some randomness into our lemonade— I mean, stories. For 250 points (and an additional 50 for sharing), write 350 words incorporating your fresh picked elements into a delicious new blend.

lover, tragedy, solitary place, euphemism

Ever since the day his lover joined the stars, John slipped away behind a curtain of silence. He could no longer face the world without someone next to him holding his hand. Crystals would slide down his face as he gazed at the framed memories of them, and would fill the air with sorrow. He slid the metal band of his finger, placing it on top of the drawer.

It was like a lightning struck his heart, the moment the news arrived to his ear. How they would have to lay her down on the ground, as people gathered near her box. Aunts and uncles would say their speeches, and pay their respect. At first he questioned the typical things, how, why, and where, and soon found out what had happened to his dear wife.

She had been tracing the usual path to work, the same steps she took as she normally would. People and cars were following the same rhythm as they would, until a blue vehicle didn't. A sudden clash happened between them, which led her to crossover to another world. It all happened in an instant. The driver was sentenced away, but that still didn't matter to somber John.

But now he questioned more, questions no one could answer. What would come next to his life? Did his poor wife take her place hanging in the air with the moon, or was she brought to the world below? How would he ever find a way to shed light onto the shadow that he carried? He wanted to let the memories escape from his tight grasp, but all the more did he want to hold them close within his heart.

Maybe someday, just someday, would he learn how to walk with the ache. To learn how to turn the mourning into a shining rhythm. Carry her memory on his way to work. But for now, he hid with the solitude, enveloping himself in the quiet. Gazing longingly at old treasures and photos. Ordinary items that were special because of her. Maybe he will someday move on, but not just yet.

»»————-　⚜　————-««

352 words

daily
Sunday, July 20, 2025
451 words

As the saying goes, when life gives you lemons, make lemonade, and when the Elements of Literature Spinner gives you four random elements of literature, mix them all together in a new unique story. Today we’ll be revisiting the Elements of Literature Spinner to inject some randomness into our lemonade— I mean, stories. For 250 points (and an additional 50 for sharing), write 350 words incorporating your fresh picked elements into a delicious new blend. Get squeezing here: https://scratch.mit.edu/projects/1047415761

(I got explorer, steampunk, surrounded by enemies, and irony.)

The robots were everywhere. Todd was beginning to have doubts about this adventure. He had been travelling for quite a while now, somehow managing to avoid getting caught in his hastily-thrown-together disguise, but it felt like he wasn’t getting any closer to his destination.
“Keep going, man!” Todd’s hat told him. Or more specifically, the earpiece that was attached to the hat. His friend Cleo had put it there, and it was her voice that he was hearing now. “You’re almost there.”
Even when she couldn’t see him, she seemed to know what he was thinking. Todd briefly wondered if she had installed a mindreader as well as an earpiece.
“Why did we decide this was a good idea, again?” Todd whispered back. “Any one of these machines could kill me in like ten seconds.”
He glanced around. The steam-powered beasts crowded the streets, some lumbering heavily across the ground, while others skittered across walls or flapped erratically through the air. Their emissions clouded the air with a thick stench.
“Ten?” Todd could practically hear Cleo frown behind her microphone. “I could make one that could do it in five.”
“Very helpful,” he responded, sarcasm dripping from his voice. “But I’d like to know what the plan is.”
“Didn’t we already go over this? There’s a friend of mine nearby. They wanted our help in gathering some data. Which requires exploration!”
“You’ve got to teach me how to operate the teleporter so that you can do it yourself next time,” Todd grumbled.
“Haha, no thanks!” Cleo chirped. “Perfectly happy over here with my control panel.”
Todd sighed. He knew this sort of thing was what he was getting himself into when he chose his friends. “What sort of data, anyway?”
“Well, ask them yourself. You’ve arrived.”
Startled, Todd stumbled to a stop. “I have?” He turned around. “Where?”
“You have,” a metallic rumble responded. “Hello.”
Todd looked up. The building he was standing next to was talking to him.
“Uh. Hello?”
“Please, come inside.” There was a loud rattle, and the wall slid aside to reveal a door. Todd hesitated for a second, then pushed it open and stepped inside.
He was not prepared for the sheer amount of death machines inside.
“Um.”
“Don’t worry about those,” the building said. “I am the Creator, but I didn’t create the things you see before you. Humans made them.”
“Okay… why?” Todd considered running back out the door before it closed.
“Humans love nothing more than to craft their own destruction!” The Creator’s gears clanked together in a sound that Todd realized was laughter.
“That… really isn’t funny.”
“Well, it got a lot of laughs up here, Todd,” the Creator responded. “A lot.”


table of contents

word war ummm pretty formatting later i need to cook for the flower daily

idk it’s 202 words tho


uuughghgh ily raymond you’re my fsvorite


Raymond grins at me from across the table with one of their oh-so-smug smiles that’s almost comfortingly familiar at this point, one hand on their chin as they lean on the makeshift furniture. “What’re you gonna do ‘bout it, huh, darlin’? You shouldn’t be mean to the birthday boy,” They mock-pout, putting a hand to their chest.

“I know, I know, Ray.” I sigh, and manage a weak laugh and smile at their words. They’re right. As if they ever aren’t—sometimes the world seems fitted to their desires, like everything they would ever want was handed to them on a silver platter. A loving family? Check. Magical powers. Done. It almost makes it tempting to tease them about it, how simply wonderful their life is. But as they said, of course, they did have special privileges today…as if they didn’t have them every other as well. I gesture with a hand to the candles still flickering on the poorly-decorated cupcake…if I could even call whatever it was that. The UWBDA never really had a thing for baking. “Just blow these out, maybe that’ll keep your mouth shut for once.” I can’t help but throw in a bit of a snarky retort to

Part 1
Have you ever thought that two seemingly very different stories could work incredibly well together to create an epic story? Maybe you thought that Kpop Demon Hunters could fit very well in the world of Gravity Falls. Or maybe you want to combine Jumanji and Ducktales. Well, now's your chance to write the combo story of your dreams! Pick any two stories (they can be from books, movies, video games, TV shows, musicals - you name it) and combine the two into one epic story. For this weekly, you'll be writing a story that smashes together two different stories to create one dramatic tale. For example, you could take the twisted Dorothy and her companions from Danielle Paige's series Dorothy Must Die and make them the leaders of Halloween Town in Tim Burton's The Nightmare Before Christmas film. Or, maybe you could combine the Percy Jackson series by Rick Riordan with Shannon Messenger's iconic Keeper of the Lost Cities. Better yet, you could combine a classic Disney film, such as Tarzan, with a cartoon like Phineas and ferb. The choice is yours!
Combining stories is often how I end up with ideas for writing assignments, so I thought it'd be a fun idea for a weekly!

Part 2
Intro
Welcome to my little Weekly! I hope you enjoy it (also sorry if it's not the greatest - this is my first time doing something like this)
Part 1 - Deciding On Stories
For this first part, you'll decide upon which two stories you're going to combine, and then write 200 words (or more) on why you think these two stories would fit together well. Define the basic plots of each story, and explain how you plan to combine them.
Part 2 - Outlining Your Story
For the second part, you'll outline the basics of your story in 200 words or more! Explain which setting you choose, which characters you'll use, and anything else that you'd like. For example (once again using my Nightmare Before Christmas and Dorothy Must Die idea), you could make Dorothy and her crew the leaders of Halloween Town, have the Wizard as Oogie Boogie (because why not), or anything else.
Part 3 - Writing a Summary
For the third part of the weekly, you'll start writing a short, 200 word summary of what your story will be like. You'll use this summary for the final part of this weekly.
Part 4 - Writing Your Final Story
For the fourth and final part of the weekly, you finally get to write your story! Use the summary you wrote in the third part as a starting point, and expand on your ideas in it.
Hope you have fun writing your combo story!

Part 3
Introduction
Confused on what I mean by combining stories? Well then, this workshop is for you! In this workshop, I'll explain the basics of combing stories, and how this strategy can be used to inspire you in writing fictional stories!
Why would this be helpful?
Have you ever been stumped, staring at a blank page when you have to write a fictional story for an assignment? Blankly staring likely won't get you anywhere, which is why you turn to other stories. When you do this, you can figure out what makes those stories intriguing, then you take those elements and implement them in your story to get you started! This method helps you get out of your writer's block without turning to prompt lists (that might not actually help much).
How to go about combining stories:
Pick a few stories (usually two to start).
While this seems a bit on the nose, picking stories can shift how your story will end up. If you pick fantasy stories, you'll probably end up writing a fantastical story, while dystopian stories will lead to your tale being more dystopian.
Figure out what you like about them.
Maybe certain characters have appeal to you? Maybe the setting, plot, themes? As you study the stories you picked, try to figure out why you like these stories. Take note of what you like, since you'll need these elements to start writing your combined story.
Combing elements.
The most important part of all this: combing the elements that you like. You can make this as on the nose (such as using the same characters, setting, etc.) or as vague as you'd like (making it less clear where you got your ideas). If you took note of a lot of elements, you can pick a few (or all of them if you want) to combine into a story.
Writing your story.
With the elements and how detailed you'd like to be, you write out a story, as long or as short as you'd like, using the elements that you liked. You'll find that, with the stepping stones of the other stories' elements, you start to have more ideas that expand on what you started with.
Conclusion
Yay! You made it through this little workshop! Hopefully now you have a new way to come up with story ideas. Sorry if this isn't the best; it's the first time I've written something like this.

Part 4 - Weekly From @Milkysplash
Part 1 - 212 words
In general, the Formery is seen as a holy haven, since it houses the Wolven Heroine and has served as her residing place while she's been in a stasis. Empress Lovetta created it by lifting a chunk of land into the air, and enlisting workers to build a temple for the Heroine. She assigned one of the Heroine's protectors to watch over the Heroine while she slumbered. Years passed, and multiple generations of protectors watched over the Heroine. Alongside the protector, Lovetta assigned a messenger to pass news between the Formery and Kejian Castle, which was were Empress Loveta resided. The messenger also delivered food and other supplies that were provided by nearby inns to the protector on the floating land. Visitors weren't allowed, since only those blessed by Empress Lovetta could step foot on the Formery. The Heroine could also bless people, but she was in a stasis, so she couldn't. The only people who could enter the Formery were the Heroine's protector, the messenger/delivery person, Lovetta, and Lovetta's daughter, Rosemeadow. Lovetta didn't visit much, but Rosemeadow visited constantly, praying in the Heroine's temple for her to awaken. Years went by, Rosemeadow kept visitng, generations of protectors and messengers passed by, as they all waited for the Heroine to awaken.

Part 2 - 296 words
The Formery is a holy haven, a floating chunk of land suspended in the air by powerful light magic. It was sent to the skies by Empress Lovetta 400 years ago to create a safe place for the Wolven Heroine to rest in her stasis. The land was originally part of Kejian Castle, and many workers built a temple for the Heroine to reside in. After construction was complete, Lovetta assigned one of the the Heroine's protectors, Hachi, to keep watch and care for the Formery while the Heroine slumbered. As years went by, generations of protectors watched over the Heroine. Along with the protector who lived on the Formery, there was a messenger/deliver person who brought news and supplies from Kejian Castle and nearby inns to the floating land. Many generations held this role, and it was seen as an honor to be able to travel up to the Formery. The only ones who step foot there were those blessed by Lovetta: Lovetta herself, the messenger, the protector, and Lovetta's daughter, Rosemeadow. Rosemeadow often visited in place of her mother to pray for the Heroine. The most recent protector, Maple (who is the 16th protector) was there the fateful day that the Heroine awoke. Just a few yeas prior, she'd been brought supplies by the current messenger, Ivory, who was a young, optimistic boy. The two had rather a friendly relationship. At least they did until Ivory brought someone with him who'd offered to help him carry supplies. The person Ivory brought was a young man called Molly. Molly eventually became the Heroine's other protector, personally training under Lovetta to take upon this task. After the Heroine awoke, the floating land had been left behind quickly, and she has yet to return to it.

Part 3 - 220 words
Maple is the Heroine's current protector who resides on the Formery. She is a faun who wears a grey, mid-length skirt, a white t-shirt, a black cardigan, and a forest green scarf. Tufts of caramel-colored fur poke out of her clothes. Curvy antlers protrude out of her long ginger hair. Bright blue eyes always watch over the Heroine. She's the sixteenth protector of the Heroine from her generation, which was the generation that remained on the Formery.
While many thought that she'd become more introverted due to the isolation, Maple is the exact opposite. She's rather extroverted, and is fairly good with people. However, the traditional protector in her does show when she interacts with Molly, the Wolven Heroine's other protector. Since Molly won a competition to earn his role, Maple holds a grudge against him. After all, she inherited her role.
Other than her conflict with Molly, she has pleasant relationships with everyone else.
While some (mostly Molly) dislike her unprofessional manner around the Heroine, Maple defends herself, explaining that the Heroine told her to drop formalities. Despite her carefree attitude, Maple is deathly loyal to the Heroine, and the Heroine has expressed her comfort around Maple.
Most would think that such an isolated life would be harmful, but Maple has shown that it doesn't always result in awkwardness.

Part 4 - 358 words
Every day was the same for me. I know a lot of people tell others that, but for me it's actually true. As the Wolven Heroine's 16th protector, it's my duty to watch over her stasis here on the Formery.
My day-to-day life consists of making myself food, praying for the Heroine to awaken, tending to the Formery's gardens, and overall just keeping the Formery clean and polished. Well, at least as polished as a floating chunk of land with a temple on it can be.
There aren't many visitors, with the only ones being Empress Lovetta, Lady Rosemeadow and Ivory. Lady Rosemeadow comes up multiple times each week to pray, sometimes with the Empress. Ivory, the delivery boy, drops stuff off from nearby inns every month or so. Ivory has to be one of my favorite people; he's so sweet. Except for that one time…
One day, when I was hanging around (I'd finished all my chores), Ivory made a delivery. I thought it'd be like all the other ones, except it wasn't. He had another person with him, someone I'd never seen before.
I instantly questioned him. He explained that the person (who was Molly - he'd later become my fellow protector) had offered to help him make the deliver when he'd been struggling to carry all the supplies. Molly had followed him up to the Formery.
My reaction was a mix of shock and anger. How had he entered this haven? There was no way that he'd been blessed by Empress Lovetta; Ivory claimed to have met him at an inn. Despite Ivory's trust in him, I couldn't find that same feeling in myself.
I ended up yelling at him, getting angrier than I probably should have. Since then, we've been on a bad foot.
We're slowing starting to work through our conflict, since the Heroine, Daci, has woken up. Molly started the deal, telling me that we needed to get along for the sake of the Heroine. That I could agree to.
As of now, the Heroine hasn't returned to the Formery (sadly), but Molly and I are getting along better, so that's a plus.

Leaping Past Generations || 1969 words (not including title) || Fanfic Writing Comp Entry (fandom/media this is based off of: Bug Fables: The Everlasting Sapling)

===

“Ha! You look ridiculous!” Vi’s typical yellow face had quickly become an orange-red tone. Her laughter made it nearly impossible for her to breathe as she pointed at her fellow comrade, Kabbu, wearing a bee costume that looked all too similar to her.

Vi always had to be getting up to trouble. Although she was the most annoying creature on the planet, something was fun about her. Maybe it was that we did enjoy that childish energy she brought along. Or perhaps we just enjoyed poking fun at her until she went into a fit of rage.

Kabbu’s face became an ever so slightly red tint at Vi’s comment. “It’s not that bad. Right, Leif?” He looks up in our direction, waiting for our reassurance. “Oh, don’t bother. I’m only told to wear it for a few hours… it shouldn’t be that big of a deal.”

Kabbu had always been the one to ground us. Keep us, and that annoying little bee, on track. Although he had a tough and serious exterior, he was filled to the brim with kindness, to the point where even if he gave all of Bugaria some, he’d still have more to give. It almost worried us, how gentle of a soul he was.

“Oh, Kabbu. Don’t listen to her. She can’t be saying anything when she’ll have to wear a Blue Bug Ranger costume herself.”

And us… the last of the trio. Welcomed into the team as some sort of anomaly, a relic of a generation long past. Throughout our adventure, our questions were unfortunately answered, leaving us to realize we weren’t alive as we thought we were, but instead undead.

Vi’s eyes went wide, antennae straightening out. “I would’ve hoped you would’ve forgotten about that-”

“Come on, Vi, it won’t be that bad.” Kabbu pulled a clotheshanger out of nowhere, a set of blue wings with yellow accents in the form of some sort of cloak hung upon it, a complimentary fluffy neckscarf sitting on his other hand. Vi bolted further away from us the moment she saw it, and just seconds later, we had dropped the camera, the only focus being the sky and the faint sound of Vi’s squeals.


An alarm rang on our Termapad, pausing the video of our former comrades, shouting at us with a cartoon-ish photo of an ant. “Your grocery order is ready for pickup!” The sound, though we had grown used to it, made us nearly drop the device. That’s just wonderful. Another day having to leave our pit of misery and have to show our face… maybe even socialize if we were unlucky enough.


The shade our house provided was no more. Sure, we weren’t going to be out for any longer than a few minutes, but simply stepping outside made us long to return home.

The journey to the store felt rather long, treacherous in some ways. Every bug staring at us felt nearly as painful as a wasp striking us with their spear. Every step was another second off of our seemingly neverending life that could’ve been for anything else. Generations have seen us walk down this path, and we personally couldn’t wait until our face is only seen by the future generations in a history book. Though Vi and Kabbu (or… at least Kabbu) would’ve probably been devastated over the fact that we would even THINK such a thing. Our internal lamenting over our everlasting “life” came to a halt as we entered the shop. The enthusiastic shopkeeper approached us with a bag as per usual.

“Hey, Leif! Good to see ya! For a moment I thought you weren’t gonna get your order.”

“Mhm…” Whenever they would make small talk with us, we’d always try to avoid encouraging them to continue.

“I packed you some extra mushrooms too. Y’know, your favourite!” They seemed quite pleased with themself for doing this simple gesture.

“That’s very kind of you, but we’d best be leaving now.” We pulled out our sack of spare berries, grabbing the necessary amount for the exchange.

The shopkeeper laughed. “Oh, Leif. You know you don’t have to pay. You’re Bugaria’s-”

“We insist.” Our berry-covered hand was in front of their face, and by the shopkeeper’s change in expression, we were being harsh with our insistence, perhaps almost threatening.

They made a light, nervous laugh-like sound. “O- ok…” They cautiously took the berries from our hand. We proceeded to turn around and leave, desiring to lie in bed for the remainder of the day and play Mite Knight rather than engage in any goodbyes.


Once we returned, we played maybe 10 minutes of Mite Knight before someone stood at our doorframe. A strange creature, seemingly a sentient jumping spider, with antennae. Fake antennae, likely made from old wire and some sort of headband. The fellow seemed excited to meet us.

“We don’t sign autographs.” We looked back down at our game after examining her for a fair amount of time. “If you are here to give gifts of any sort, keep it, and give it to anyone else.” We motioned towards the unopened boxes of past gifts we had received.

By the looks of it, she was unable to contain her excitement. “Nah, I’m not here for any of that.” The tone of her voice screamed innocence, as well as a spunky energy we were all too familiar with. We waited for her to continue, though she didn’t say a word.

“So… what are you here for?” We prompted her. Although we weren’t a fan of conversation, we felt we needed to get a straight answer before kicking the young spider out.

“Well, the name’s Dart. And, it’s just…” The spider dashed towards us, sliding down onto her 4 knees in front of our bed. “I am SO inspired by your work!” her 4 arms went out to reach us before pulling 2 of them away.

A little startled, and unsure how to react, we decided to play dumb. “…what work?”

She froze, expression stagnant except for some mild twitching. “I- uh… come on… you’re… you’re Leif, right?” She seemed desperate for us to say yes.

“Yes… we are…”

Dart bounced around. “Oh my goodness- I can’t believe I’m speaking to a Hero of Legend!” She started dancing around the disaster of a house. She managed to stop herself, her limbs bent closer towards her torso, hoping that by some miracle, we hadn’t noticed the ruckus she almost caused.

“What would you know about what we did?” We unpaused our game. “Besides, after our greatest accomplishments, we’ve remained hidden here. We don’t think you’d be as interested in us as you’d like to believe.”

“Uh, because you’re in the history books!” Out of a pouch she carried around her waist, she pulled out a book titled “Bugaria: A Complete History, Volume IV - The Explorers’ Way to Victory”, very quickly turning to a page with an image of us and the remainder of Team Snakemouth covering a majority of it. “I noticed you were in town, and just HAD to ask questions. Was exploring hard? How are you still here? Were Vi and Kabbu as cool as they said they were? Could you perhaps tea-”

“We’ll have to ask you to stop there,” we state, instinctively creating a ball out of ice thanks to our magic.

“Huh-? But… why-?” Dart backed away, ever so slightly off-put by our accidental threat.

“Because we don’t feel like it.” Our voice was harsh, and was even beginning to scare her off.

“Please-”

“No.” A wall of ice formed between the two of us upon saying that. It wasn’t entirely intentional, although it felt nice being separated from her in the moment. We could hear faint shrieks and cries as she supposedly ran out of our house. While the wall made us relieved, that relief melted away along with it. We had scared a literal child away with our powers. We shut someone out who was simply curious. It felt petty. All for what? So we didn’t have to face the many experiences we had in the past? No, it was more than that. It was to block out the possibility of making another mortal friend. We had lost family, we had lost friends who were practically found family to us. Perhaps we were doing this to reduce the likelihood of facing that kind of loss again. We had always been subconsciously doing that since the beginning of Vi and Kabbu’s eternal slumber all those moons ago. Sure, loss did hurt, though was this any better?


We gave this sudden discovery time to process, which eventually led to a decision we’d never expect to make. We stood up and left the house, the darkening sky feeling mildly more comfortable than the piercingly saturated blue it was earlier.

We found Dart laying on a bench outside of an inn. She appeared to be asleep, or near sleeping. Both because we were ashamed of what had happened earlier, and that she wasn’t sleeping in the most comfortable of places, we tapped her awake. She jolted upwards, antennae falling off of her face, an entire 8 eyes staring up at us. A moment later, 6 of those eyes closed, leaving the two in the centre of her face wide open. She adjusted the headband with her fake antennae so they fit perfectly on her head.

“You plan on sleeping out here?” we asked.

She nodded.

“You do know there’s an inn right behind you.”

“Of course I do. You think I’m rich?” She folded 2 of her arms.

“No. Though it’s only 3 berries to stay the night.”

“Well, la-dee-da, Mister Retired Explorer.”

The area went silent for a brief moment as we tried to formulate some kind of response. “…We have a bunk bed,” we finally stated.

Her eyes widened. “As in… you’d let me stay the night…?”

“We suppose, if that’s the only alternative to sleeping on a bench.”

She jumped up, circling around us, waiting for us to lead her to our home.


Upon returning, she leapt onto the typically unused top bunk of the bed. She wrapped herself in the previously untouched leaves, taking in the warmth and comfort. She glanced around the room as we sat down on the bottom bunk, just about ready to fall asleep. Before we could consider doing so, Dart sat up.

“Hey… Leif…” her voice was quiet, kind of soft as well.

“Yeah?”

“Y’know… I always wanted to be an explorer like you.”

Our only response was a nod. We didn’t let the conversation continue on. We heard her shuffle around, and sure enough she was asleep shortly after.


We woke up to the sounds of rustling. Upon looking around our small house, it appeared that Dart was packing up her few things before presumably leaving.

“Oh, you’re awake!” Dart exclaimed, turning to face us. “I was just about to go.”

We had stayed up late the night before, thinking about everything she had said the day before, especially about her wanting to become an explorer. “Do you have anywhere to go?”

A dejected sigh came out of her. “Not really. No job, nobody that supports me or that I need to support. Just that bench in the Kingdom’s plaza, and my book, more as a metaphorical place.” She made a sad laugh, one arm touching her pouch with the book in it.

“Then, we don’t see why you can’t stay.”

Dart turned around, likely not believing what she had heard. She stood there as if she expected us to repeat ourselves.
“We’ve decided we’d like to mentor you.”

Dart ran to us, wrapping two of her arms around us, the other two eventually holding on to us as well. “That… that would be a dream come true.”

===

Little extra author's note, thank you so much to Vi (which is even better she was the one to do so considering this is a Bug Fables fanfic XD) for critiquing this! If you happen to be reading this, your advice has increased my confidence in this piece by so much, and considering this has been my favourite piece I've written in a while, it is super duper appreciated!

creating weekly: tragic endings
1,869 words … last updates 07.22.2025

»»————-　⚜　————-««

Choosing the Topic

All weeklies start out as simple topics that they will be based on! To start off this weekly, choose a topic that interests you- it can be about anything, from a weekly about plot twists to non-fiction. Write 200 words describing your idea to complete the first part of this weekly!

Tragic endings are something I adore, which is why I decided to base my weekly off of them! Tragic endings is the complete opposite of happy endings. Where it's usually the main character suffers immensely and ends up dying. This can range from sickness to someone sacrificing themself for the greater good. If it's not the main character, then it's someone/something that affects the main character. For example, their lover dying or they couldn't save the world from being destroyed. These are the kind of endings that leave the reader crying, or at least on the verge of.

Now, you may be wondering: why would someone want to read a story like this? Typically, tragic endings leave people pondering over the book for days—maybe even weeks. Unlike happy endings, where the conflict is over and there's not much to think about. Others just enjoy crying, which may sound ridiculous to some, but extremely normal to others. They tend to stick, and make the book memorable. Not saying happy endings are worse in any way, it also just depends on personal preference and genre. Endings like these are completely different from happy or “normal” endings, and are really fun to play around with.

This is exactly what I will be teaching about for my weekly. How to write them with emotion and depth and leave the reader stuck reading the last chapter because their so hooked on it. Of course I'm not a professional, but I LOVE reading tragic stories (hence why I wanted to be in tragicomedy.) I have also wrote a few myself, so I would say I have some knowledge on the topic.

276 words

»»————-　⚜　————-««

Part One: Explain the Impact
I know that you've read a segment of a story and emotion flooded your brain. What about watching something that left you pondering about it for days? For this part, choose a scene from a book, show, movie, or play that left a heavy impact on you. Explain why you started obsessing over it, was it the emotion, the storytelling, or the lore? Maybe all of that combined!

Part Two: Use Descriptive Language
Writing scenes with emotion and tragedy should be descriptive! The reader should feel what the character feels in the moment. Check out this workshop over here that I made on my alt account about writing describing objects/people/events. Then, come back, and write one of your own focusing on a character's emotion in an important segment in a story. Make sure to show and not tell.

Part Three: Change an Ending
Ever wanted your favorite story to end differently? Now's your chance to do so. Choose a book—could be any of any genre—and change the ending of it. What if the villain had won? Or the love interest ended up with someone else? How about the the protagonist literally became the moon as silly as it sounds? It's completely up to you, be creative, and do whatever you want.

Part Four: Finishing Your Own Story
Tying it all together, it's time to create the conclusion to your own story. This time, however, it should be sad and tragic. While we haven't necessarily exactly talked about tragedy itself, we have talked about impact and emotion. Some examples of tragedies would be: someone close dies, the main character falls sick, or an artist gives up and never tries again. Have fun with this, and don't feel too much pressure for this!

274 words

»»————-　⚜　————-««

Eva's Weekly

For the first part, think of some of your favourite words and phrases. Then, research their origins, and write about them.

zenith - Arabic origin from an inaccurate reading of الرأس (samt al-raʾs.) It was misread as an “ni” instead of an “m.” It had meant, “path above the head,” and was used in Old Spanish and Medieval French before coming to English. In French it was “cenith,” which came from many Latin words that were the translations of the Sanskrit word.

ethereal - came from the Latin word “aetherius,” Old French “ether,” and Greek “aithēr.” In Latin it meant “the upper bright sky,” in Old French it was the same, and in German it meant “upper, purer air.” All translations basically meant the same.

serendipity - came from a letter Horace Walpole wrote to Horace Mann, which came from the Persian fairytale, “The Three Princes of Serendip.” Serendip was also an old name for Ceylon, which is now modern-day Sri Lanka, in Sanskrit. When translated, it means “Dwelling-Place-of-Lions Island.”

mellifluous - from Late Latin, “mellifluus.” Mel means “honey,” which came from the Greek word meli, which has the same definition and meaning. Fluus (flowing) was added to make the word mean “flowing honey.”

astronomy - Old French “astrenomie,” Latin “astronomia,” and Greek “astronomia.” Astron means “star,” and nomos means “rule, law.” Astronomy came before the word “astrology.”

202 words

»»————-　⚜　————-««

Now you’ve researched some words you already know and love, it’s time to learn some other words … Then, use your newly discovered words in sentences.

eleutheromania - extremely strong desire for freedom

hunky-dory - fine, doing well

flibbertigibbet - someone who talks a lot; a yapper

borborygmus - the rumbling sound made by fluid or gas in the stomach

kerfuffle - disturbance or commotion caused by disputes

“Hey, are you hungry?” She asked her best friend, to which he replied with, “no, I'm hunky-dory right now.” However, his stomach betrayed him and let out a loud borborygmus. “You are hungry! Why don't you ever listen to me?” She spat bitterly. “Well, maybe if you weren't such a flibbertigibbet, people would actually believe you have anything important to say!” He retorted angrily, glaring at his not-so best friend.

Just then, their other best friend walked into the room. “Ugh, y'all are making such a kerfuffle! You guys are the reason why I am suffering from eleutheromania.” She shouted dramatically. Then they all took refuge in their separate rooms, rudely slamming their doors. None of them were hunky-dory anymore, that’s for sure.

A new friend walked in, trying to resolve the issue. But then, she ended up being dragged into the squabble. Each time someone tries to resolve the argument, they always leave or join the fight. There is a rumor that to this day, everyone is still arguing, each interaction adding to the intensity. Yes, this was all because a friend said he wasn’t hungry.

224 words

»»————-　⚜　————-««

Word Combinations:
to combine two existing words to make a brand new one
lambitious - lazy but ambitious. the feeling you get when you want to do something but don't at the same time out of laziness

faupology - fake apology that was made because they were forced to; insincere apology

texpectation - an expectation for a text message

popcream - a mix between a popsicle and an ice cream; a cold dessert

Keyboard Smash:
to smash the keyboard, then make new words out of the smash
ioughahsdfhjoiusfeadiapihdsfo

shaugh - to give someone a look after someone betrayed you

houf - the sound of when one stamps their foot on the carpet floor

(this was also a mix of using another language) feediaphilia - someone who loves being fed/eating food

fojious - the feeling you get when you eat a snack or meal after crying

Definitons:
the words that were given to me by Eva
aurelth - the air just above a body of water that typically has a sefalu

janip - what a dolphin's jump out of the ocean is called

hareler - to teach a hare/rabbit/bunny how to read (“ler” means “read” in portugese)

sefalu - a seafoam mist in the aurelth/the air just above the ocean

otab - a structure of any size on a mountain

210 words

»»————-　⚜　————-««

Use your favourite words, your newly discovered words, and made-up words in a piece of writing, for example a story or poem.

Willow had always been suffering from eleutheromania, and had never been completely hunky-dory because of it. So, she decided that it was time to take action. No one would miss her, because she never spoke much, mainly because she was afraid of being a flibbertigibbet. Packing up her very few items, she shoved her bags into a mini-van, and left for the sea-side.

She got off, and lazed around on the sand for a while. It wouldn't be her permanent spot to reside, for she vowed to never settle down. Hearing her stomach make a borborygmus sound, Willow decided to get some food. Noticing a dolphin janip out into the aurelth, she grabbed a fishing rod and headed towards it. She reeled it in, feeling the sefalu on her hands.

As she was about to eat it, the dolphin gave her a shaugh. Letting it go, Willow started wailing at the loss of her snack. Just then, a red carpet rolled in, and someone walked towards her, their boots making a houf sound. “I heard you were hungry.” They mysteriously said before disappearing, but now there was a bag of popcorn on Willow's lap.

Eating it, she felt very fojious. After all, she was also a feediaphilia. But then, she heard people making a kerfuffle, so she decided to leave, heading towards an otab on a huge mountain. Of course this was only after buying a popcream.

Making it up to the mountain, Willow noticed a rabbit. Maybe she would attempt to do a hareler, and teach the rabbit. Oh how she would have, but she was feeling very lambitious. So, she asked a proffessional, and her texpectation was that he would help her out. And so he did, but he also scammed her and overcharged! She threatened to sue, so he gave her a faupology.

So now, Willow and her hare are having many adventures with each other. Both studying astronomy while a zenith came by, both being very ethereal. Serendipity was ahead of them, and it was mellifluous to their ears. Then they lived happily ever after, exploring the world and having so much fun and adventure together. The end.

362 words

»»————-　⚜　————-««

1,869 words

a star is a story worth a thousand words (death and i walk hand in hand)
07.26.2025

writing comp entry
word count: 1622
CW/TW: mentions of death (literally…)
project version can be found here

—

He and I are no strangers. No, we are far from it.
Yet somehow I have managed to walk away from him time and time again.
Your gaze falls to mine as I entangle my fingers with yours, one hand graceful, one calloused. We don’t have to do this, you say, and for a moment I am convinced. But still I shake my head no and tell you we must press on. In the corner of my eye, I see Death, looming there. His eyes meet mine, but I shake my head no. Not yet, I say silently, with my eyes, my heart, my everything. Please just wait.
But Death is not patient. He does not wait. He has no time to wait. Death shakes his head at me. It’s time. It’s time. It’s always time, because he and I have stargazed together, and watched the tides rise and fall. We have climbed mighty hills and explored great forests until we have been benighted. Only then does Death turn away, promising me, Not today, nor tonight. But perhaps tomorrow.
Death has repeated that over and over again, yet nothing has happened until now.
You look over your shoulder to where Death is, but you cannot see him. You give me a strange look, as if to ask me what I’m looking at, but seem to decide that if this is our last time together, it wouldn’t be prudent to ask such trivial questions.
Death turns from me- from us- but only for a moment, and I know that is all I will have.
I tell you I love you, that we have to do this, because the government forced a contract and pen into our unwilling hands and made us sign up for the CAP program. And you shake your head in resignation, as if we could somehow take it back.
You say that the government is scared, and I know that you’re right. They’re scared of what we can do, of what we are, of who we are to each other. So I tell you, at least our story will still be told after we are gone.
You look skeptical, so I point to the stars above us. Each one, I say, tells a story, is a story, holds a story of one person or a hundred inside of it. And ours will become one of them.
Being the pessimist that you are, you tell me that the government will take our story away from us. Being the optimist that I am, I tell you what my father told me, that a story can never be stolen, because it is in our hearts. And that once we have long departed, our story will be in the stars.
It started out small. My father had wanted to see me live past ten years, but he never did. So instead he left me with a story. A story of the stars and their stories. How the stars hold tales of brave warriors and cowardly mice, of sailors and their ships, and prophets and their prophecies.
Death looks at me- at us- impatiently. It’s time. His eyes glint with a sort of sorrow unknown to me, and I feel those eyes, sharp like obsidian, boring into me. Into us. And I know that we cannot stall any longer.
It’s time.
I don’t want it to be time, not yet. So instead, I stare at the tall, white building in front of us. Promising, promising, promising of things that aren’t real.
I don’t want to go. It would mean leaving the stars behind. It would mean leaving you behind, even though you’re technically coming with me.
You squeeze my hand and promise that everything will be alright, even though it won’t be. Then you walk- more like drag- me towards the entrance of the building that looms over us, casting us in a shadow and blocking out the sun.
Better to get it over with, you tell me. I almost agree with you, but I can’t, because I’m too busy stealing one last look at the stars.
The hundreds- no, thousands- of them twinkle against the navy of the sky, and I can almost swear one of them winks at me, as if to reassure me that they are still there and will always be. And soon, my story will join them up there.
Death is behind me- behind us- and guiding us silently through the clear double doors and towards the receptionist. She looks extremely bored as she checks us in, then tells us to wait in the waiting room. As we sit down on the uncomfortable plastic chairs provided, Death smiles. It’s one of satisfaction, of no longer having to wait. It’s time.
We wait for what feels like forever. You twiddle your thumbs and anxiously bite your nails- a bad habit I’ve come to love about you- until I have to pry your hands away and hold them in mine. One pale hand, the other a deep bronze.
Doors open with the whir of gears, and a nurse- maybe he’s a doctor- calls our names. Not separately. Together. And together we stand up and follow him in, bodies stiff, arms swinging awkwardly by our sides.
I glance over my shoulder. Death is there, but he doesn’t look me in the eye.
The building’s walls are bare and white, which provide no comfort. You shiver slightly, because the AC is blasting and it’s freezing, and I reach for your hand in a silent offer, and you gratefully take it.
I suppose that’s helpful in our last moments together.
We reach the room- the final one we will be in- and the nurse leaves us there, promising that the officials and doctor will come soon. It isn’t very reassuring. The TV inside gives us outdated news- tax rises, inflation, and the development of the CAP program.
The CAP program. The Control of Adult Population. It was only initiated a few years ago, and most people wanted to avoid it. So the government decided that if there were no volunteers, they would just make people do it.
You reach for the remote and turn off the TV with a flick, and the bright colors and sounds abruptly turn to black. You turn to me, eyes brimming with unshed tears, and say, I don’t want to do this. Please. There must be some way to turn back time.
I shake my head. There isn’t, I tell you. We’re not that advanced yet. The CAP program is just the first step towards even more.
You sigh and turn away, and I already long for the stars and their ever-present company. Their absence leaves an ache in my chest, a hole in my heart that cannot be filled. How am I supposed to read the stars? Read the stories that are worth a thousand words if I walk hand in hand with Death? If I am stuck inside of the CAP building, and will never come out?
The door creaks and a man with a white coat and weathered smile lines around his eyes walks in, clutching a clipboard like it’s his last resort. But he’s not smiling today, and if anything, he’s the opposite. He introduces himself and starts reading through what must be a mandatory speech about the CAP program and its importance. The man talks more about how our contribution to the CAP program is important to the study of human anatomy and population control within the country, and ends by thanking us. Thanking us. For what? For doing something we never really wanted to do?
The doctor gestures for us to sit in two cushy chairs, and as we do, they immediately recline until we’re laying flat on our backs, staring up at the ceiling- and the tons of equipment now surrounding us. Blindly, I reach for your hand, longing to feel your warm presence once more. You squeeze my hand, and I imagine our fingers intertwined. One hand small, the other big. I don’t want to let go. Not ever.
As I squeeze my eyes shut, I picture the stars. Already my memory of them is fading, and I feel a pang as I realize I will never see them again. I will never recount the stories of warriors and cowards, of ships and prophecies, that my father told me.
And I realize that that’s okay.
That maybe one day, just maybe, I’ll get to see them again. But in a different way.
I squeeze your hand one last time, a final goodbye, a final thank you for everything, a final I love you. Then the doctor tells us that we must let go, and although I do not want to, I drop your hand. So much more calloused, more bronze, more large than mine.
For the last time, I think about the stars, and their thousand-word stories.
Death appears again, and his gaze meets mine. It’s time. He looks as if he almost is bracing me to beg and plead again, and say, Please, not yet. Just another day. Just one more day of us walking hand in hand.
But instead, I look him in the eye. I’m ready.

—
1622 words

author's note | not included in word count
This story was born from a quote. Well, the quote was born from my brain, but still.It started out with the quote that I put in my writing thread for this session, and at the time of writing that quote I didn't think much of it. But then, weeks later, I was struggling to write and find inspiration for the writing competition, and so I turned to the quote, and hence, this idea was born.
Personally, I've always been interested in things about the stars. My parents don't know how obsessed I am with outer space (and have been for the past seven years or so), and everything about the night sky fascinates me. I don't know, it's just satisfying to glance up when getting out of the car and spotting Orion. And the constellations are beautiful. I've always loved how they tell stories, how stars can tell stories. Because they each have their own.
While the stars weren't as prominent in this story as they have been in some of my other ones in the past, they still played an important factor. The main character (the narrator) doesn't want to leave the stars and their stories behind. But they know that one day, their story will be read in the stars. This part was the one of two most important pieces of symbolism in this story, and it honestly doesn't make that much sense if you don't think about it really, really hard.
The second piece of symbolism was making Death sort of like a ghost that follows the narrator around everywhere. The narrator is haunted by Death's presence, and they are aware of it. But they don't want to accept their death, and they refuse to. The end is supposed to be a sort of epiphany, though it isn't really, in which the main character comes to accept their inevitable death. The last line is supposed to prove that, and I don't care what you say but that is my favorite line.
Anyways. Enough of me yapping about my story. You already read it, you don't need to keep reading it or about it.
Huge thanks to Aasha, Rose, Coast, Sky, and Chuey for critiquing this! Your advice and feedback was priceless and contributed to the final version of this story. Thank you <3
And finally, thank you to YOU for reading this. What keeps me writing is knowing there will be people I'm writing for (that, and I like writing and SWC ;D).

competiton entry, written 21.07.2025

comp entry // draft 2, post-critique:

inheritance

you passed me marigolds
and trefoils, said i had to
pass it on

marigolds we planted together
at my father's grave,
with the trefoils, because we vowed to
take revenge for it

(the marigold is an acidic orange
gracing funerals and the like,
painting the sordid scene in
angry colors)

and so the flowers
were passed,
from generation to generation,
till they became rotten, with lurid colours
mere husks of what they had been once


(trefoils are a glaring yellow,
curled into blossoms
like tight fists
that scream, “i will not let this go”,
and “you will pay for this”)


the flowers pricked my fingers
with their thorns, made them bleed,
sapped all color from my life.
i took out my inherited pain
on a person from the opposing side,

a sunshine haired boy
weaving daisies into flower crowns,
(i was wrong to hurt him)

you
and this
cursed anger, and pain
and vengefulness and this persisting
memory of pain and being hurt had sapped
enough of my life, that i decided
to let all of it go. so i hurled
the trefoils into the nearest stream,


watched

it

disappear …


and hesitantly, with
strength i didn't know was there —
against the wishes of our warring ancestors —

i asked him forgiveness.

i wrapped my fingers around his inviting hand,

in defiance.

author's note

This poem is dedicated to my country, and any other country going through ethnic/religious conflict. My country has seen a lot of religious conflict in the past ten years or so, and it's scarily increasing as time goes on. On that note, I realize that this topic is a controversial topic and would like to apologize if any part of the poem was hurtful or offensive in any way. Nothing of that sort was intended, and the poem was written with hope of healing <3

Both ‘sides’ in the poem have hurt each other, and the speaker's action of ‘throwing the trefoils in the river’ is symbolic — trefoils symbolize revenge, and by throwing it away, she's deciding to forgive. She isn't letting go of the grief — that's hard to let go, but she is making a conscious and voluntary decision to forgive and end the vicious cycle of violence and bloodshed

This entry was originally a response to the flower daily, but it didn't have enough words to count for points. So, huge thanks to Alba for her lovely flower language guide, The Language of Flowers! <33 It's a very useful resource and has broken me out of writer's block several times. Thanks also to Celeste ( @indigo—- ), my SWC friend, and critique partner who reviewed this for me. Her feedback was a massive game-changer for me, and without her help, the poem wouldn't have been in a good enough condition for submitting (ilysm <3).

Thanks are also due to my cabin's leaders for cheering us on, and encouraging me to write, and everyone who has yelled at me to go write in the main cabin. I don't know what I would do without you guys <3

21.07.25 ⟢ 340/300 words - Flower Daily
Snowdrop - Hope
Rhododendron - Danger
Zinnia - Thoughts of Absent Friends

The walk to the memorial is slow. “Be quick,” they said. “Stay safe.” I don’t listen to them. Nowhere is safe, and my fingers tighten on the zinnia in my palm as planes roar above, sneaking through the sky to get to its prey. It’s been endless years of death and destruction, memories of blue skies and picnics now fading stories. The world seems to be quietly resigned as I make my way across the rubble, grey upon grey upon grey. For a moment, there’s no one else in the universe except for me and the wasteland around me, light spatters of rain echoing in the silence. Finally, I turn a corner and reach the memorial, proof that these people were real, proof that war was new once.

I play the game with myself, scanning the list of names for his, finding it easier than last time and the time before that. Sadness crashes into me like an angry ocean, suffocating me and pulling me down. If this is what remembering is like, I want to forget. But I can’t, so I brush my thumb over the engravings gently, placing the zinnia on the ground. The only other flower there is a rhododendron.

I pause to admire the petals. Turning my face up to the clouds, I take in the slow hum of engines and my boots dithering over the dirt under my feet. Somehow, I’m smiling. The names stare back at me. They defended us for a reason, and I can’t just let that go. Sometimes, letting go is easier, but it’s the holding on that counts. So I run back home to feel the wind through my hair, I stop to pick up gravel so I can skim stones in the lake and I jump in the puddles for the joy of being able to. And then I see it.

In the dirt and the mud and the loneliness, there is a flower so hidden you must uncover the bramble to look at it. It is a snowdrop.

critique for leopard | 07.21.2025

Hi Leopard!! I'm Celeste, but you know that already. I'm really excited to critique your poems today! Although I don't have that much experience in critiquing poetry, I really enjoy writing poetry and have being writing it for a little over a year now, so hopefully my knowledge will be helpful in this case today haha. I understand that you hope to submit this compilation into the writing comp this session, so I'll try my very best to help you!! Anyways, enough of me and my yapping, let's get started!

—

Reading the titles, I think I'm going to do a mostly line by line critique, and then after each poem, I'm going to just give general thoughts! So let's start with Holes in Heaven.

—

I think this is a great start to the poem! I do feel like, though, that the “really” sort of breaks the flow of the piece. I would suggest getting rid of it, and maybe adding another “long” in its place to emphasize how long it really is. This might be just a personal preference lol, but maybe removing it would help. I also think that making everything after the third line past tense disrupts the flow as well. Instead of “dragged,” you could write “drag,” and so on! I also really love the last few lines, to me it really encompasses the first stanza really well.

She said it was just like going a long walk,
but forever.
A really long walk…
The ones we dragged ourselves on
through the rain,
coming home drenched
but smiling anyway.
Or the ones we felt like gods,
when we danced on the top of the world,
looking down on everything:
carefree, proud
and a little bit windswept,
just a little sunburnt,
feet throbbing, hearts pounding
but living.

—

I know I said that I'd go line by line, but this is obviously stanza by stanza so we'll just go with that now. Anyways, I really love how you added the reference to pointe shoe ribbons and brambles! I am a bit confused, though, because you sort of talk about her walking, but then switch to you?? Or maybe it's just because I can't really fully comprehend something until I've read it like five times. I'll read it again later and see if I can get back to you on this with better feedback.

It sounded good:
she wasn't gone, she was just…
Walking.
And we all knew how to deal with sticks
and stones and mud.
Brambles may wrap around our ankles
like pointe shoe ribbons, but worse,
yet their wounds fade
like our boots wearing away

—

Absolutely love this stanza. Nothing more to say about that. And also, in this stanza, the reader gets a better understanding of what you're writing/talking about!!

And she would be happy,
her eternally 70-something-year-old legs -
tree-trunk solid, her husband said.
She wasn't pleased about that,
but it gave us lots of laughs -
scampering
up so many peaks
in her beloved mountains.
But the mountains on Earth miss her,
and so do I.

—

Ooooh, I love this!! It goes back to the title, which I'm assuming you got the title from? If not, I like how you made this connection to the title and the poem, and how it adds a deeper meaning to the whole thing. It feels a bit sudden, though, because you start to talk about stars when you didn't before.

She said stars are holes in heaven,
that when our loved ones shine through,
we know they are happy:

that I would know she is happy
if I look up at the stars.

—

I feel like italicizing and adding the question mark in the second to last line throws the poem off-balance a little bit. Compared to the rest of listing things off, this one sort of stands out, and it makes me wonder why you didn't do that with the last line as well. Maybe you could get rid of the italicizing and question mark. It would definitely make the poem flow a bit more, instead of having the reader pause with the question mark in the middle of the line.

Stars.
Like the stories she told me, all those years ago.
Now, I look up at them:
the twinkling —
as bright as the glint in her eye
when we laughed about
cake in the freezer
or how many? trips to the shops
or how to say tuna (I was always right).

—

This is a good transition from the stars to dancing, because you talk about the lights. Overall, I think this stanza is beautifully written, and as a dancer as well, I honestly relate to it a lot. I think that adding the hyphen sort of disrupts the flow (I've been saying that a lot today), so maybe you could do without it!

The light -
like the lights at the ballet,
the ones she watched me dance under
when I’m free and I can’t stop smiling,
when I am where I am meant to be,
where I catch her smiling eyes in the audience.

—

I think adding the hyphen thing (I forgot what it was called help) could be replaced with a comma, or just be deleted all together. This could make it seem like you are listing things off, instead of simply saying it.

Oh, what I would do for her to watch me
one more time —
for her to see me grow older than thirteen.
I think that’s all she wanted.

Granny didn’t need stage lights
to love me.

—

I feel like you don't need the ellipsis in the fourth line of this stanza. I also feel like you could replace all of the “and”s with “of” to match the line before them. This, I think, could really bring out everything you list and bring them to life. I think that this suggestion is more of a personal preference though, so if you want just ignore this piece of advice.

But she glowed so much brighter than the spotlight.
Her laugh rang so much truer than a violin.
Her presence, just as warm
as memories…
of medals glinting on summer days
and capsized kayaks scattered with cookie crumbs,
and sunbathing on the school field,
the happy screaming of children
and squawking of seagulls
and friends around me —
things she never saw me do.

—

Again, I don't think you need the ellipsis there in that line, and I also think that line is a bit too long in comparison to the rest of the poem. Maybe you could try putting each "and “ as a separate line, to really emphasize each word (this is just what I would do). I also don't think you need to italicize ”living."

Or maybe she did
when I stargazed.

I hold my memories quietly,
like stars.
Each snapshot
is joy and life and energy and freedom and love and laughter…
And I am so lucky
to be really living.

—

Help. I cannot get over this stanza at all. I love this, it is so beautifully written, I can't stop reading this (give me your talent! jk haha).

Three years have passed
but I still look for her in the stars,
even though I don’t believe in heaven.
Maybe her warmth has made me better,
my memories brighter.
Maybe her soul scattered —
filling the holes in mine
with her endless love.

—

Again, I have no words. I have no words for the rest of the poem, actually.

Maybe she is shining through,
somewhere,
her spirit sitting
on top of a mountain,
wrapped in clouds like her favourite jumper,
watching me dance,
no doubt being nosy to the spirit sitting next to her.
Or maybe,
she is a soft summer breeze in the mountains,
an inside joke,
A standing ovation.

And maybe one day,
after I have lived so much more
and added so many more memories
to my constellation,
we can go on a walk again,

her light guiding me
back down the lane.

—

Overall, for Holes in Heaven, I really loved this (especially the end)!! I think in general, mostly in the beginning and middle of the poem, you could change a few things and words here and there to make the poem flow a little bit more and keep it moving. A few ideas in the beginning felt a bit disjointed, especially when you first mention the stars. I really loved this poem, and since I don't want to ramble too much, I'm going to move on now.

—

Moving onto After the Curtain Falls, I can already relate to the first stanza so much. (I mean, I'm also a dancer and have been for basically my whole life now, but some people aren't, so this is sort of a personal thing.) I think the third line doesn't have to be italicized, it's fine without it, but feel free to just keep it there.

I don’t remember learning
to breathe through dance.
Only that I did.
My heartbeat learnt
its tempo at the barre,
my smile formed
mid pirouette.
My vocabulary
was taught by my ballet teacher,
not the ones at school.

—

I think for the second to last line, you could add a comma there! Usually I don't add punctuation to my poems, but sometimes I do, and in this particular case I feel like a comma would work really well right there and make the poem flow a bit easier.

But what if one day
the stage forgets my name?

I keep wondering…
When will my last pilé be?
Will I know?
Or will it just fade away
like the audience filing out?

—

Skipping forward a few stanzas, because the last few were absolutely gorgeous, this is again about punctuation. I think that you could add less periods. There are quite a bit in general, but I think I noticed it in this specific spot the most because there are three of them in one stanza. To me, adding periods stops the flow of the piece ever so slightly, and while this isn't a bad thing, too much of it could affect the poem and its bigger picture.

And I will sit in those chairs,
itching a ghost of movement in my legs,
muscles reaching for a rhythm…

That isn’t there anymore.
The barre will become a border —
and I will be on the wrong side.
Forced to watch, applaud
my language…
That I no longer speak,
Wishing I could.

—

Honestly, I feel like this next bit is more of a personal preference (because I usually don't italicize in poetry), but I don't think you need the italics on those specific words. Okay, I really like how the italics emphasize those words (and as someone who has done slam poetry before), and I understand the importance of it. But maybe you don't need that?

One day
I will have to leave my world behind,
and nothing else will ever compare.
Every hobby, every event, will seem
forever dull
in comparison.
Like the soft ache in every muscle after a long class.
My life will no longer have
that spark
which I only get from dancing.

—

Skipping all the way to the last line (because the previous stanzas were amazing), again, I don't think you need the italics. And again, this is a personal preference. With that being said, you absolutely did not have to listen to me yap about italics for the last few minutes (for that, I am sorry).

But I’m so scared of that moment.

Let's… just ignore the fact that the italics aren't showing up here.

—

Overall, for After the curtain falls, it's mostly just personal preference stuff: italics!! And also punctuation, you probably don't need that much, but again: personal preference. I really enjoyed reading this poem, I really related to it, as a dancer myself who has been doing this for basically my whole life, I understood the message you were trying to convey. Really enjoyed this, and I'm going to move on to Encore!

—

In Encore, the first stanza really caught my eye, it all comes back to punctuation for me. Again, I don't think you need the hyphen thing (WHAT WAS IT CALLED-) or the colons, I feel like both of these sort of stop the flow of the piece, even if we're only in the first stanza.I absolutely love the last two lines of this stanza, and in this case I love the italics there, too!

I step onto stage for my final bow —
stripped of heavy foundation,
and red lipstick:
just… me,
and a theatre full
of ghosts.
I guess I'm almost one of them now.

—

I like the reference to the script there, it really ties the idea of the poem together, especially earlier on in the piece! Also I have no idea if you meant to rhyme (“seats” and “be”) but I liked that very much hehe. I almost pointed out “programme” but then I realized that you guys spell it differently than we do, so I'll leave that alone.

If my life was a script…
Did I write enough of it myself?
I'm reading the last lines now, but —
I hope I spent more time
on stage
than in the wings,
my audience waiting in interval.
Did I spend too much time rehearsing
and forget to perform?
I hope I performed for myself —
not for the empty seats.

And the programme didn’t mention
how short this would be.

—

I like how you mention your gran again, I know these poems are just a compilation but it ties back to the first poem, which I really liked!

Now I can finally bow to everyone…
Even my gran is there, for the first time
since the last show she ever saw,
a week before I turned 13.
She is smiling from the front row, teary-eyed.
I can join her in the stars now,
after I take this last curtsy.

—

I feel like you don't need the hyphen things here (what are they CALLED?!). I think there is enough emphasis on the “would've” and “should've” without them there, and including them sort of makes the reader pause in the middle of the stanza each time they read that particular punctuation mark. Again, this is more of a personal preference to me, so feel free to keep them there!

But some nights, I wonder
if I stood in the wings so long
I forgot my choreography.
I would’ve —
should’ve —
danced wilder if
I’d known they were the last times
before I took my bows to the ghosts.

—

I really do apologize for the amount of times I've brought up the hyphen thing today (I still don't know what it's called) but I think you could replace it with a period in this case, or simply just a hyphen. I've said it and I'll say it again, personal preference.

Maybe my final bow wasn’t
for them —
it was for me
all along.

—

Help. I absolutely love your ending. It's an amazing final declaration, and as a theater kid, I understand what you mean, both literally and figuratively. Great job!!

I really hope I was a show
worth watching.

—

Overall, I think Encore has been my favorite (I still have one poem to go, so this might change hehe)! Overall, my tips for you are basically the same as they have been in the other poems: punctuation marks and italics (I am extremely sorry that I keep repeating the same things over and over again-). I'm sorry I've slowed down too, I'm not giving you as much advice as I did in the first poem. Hopefully, I'll make up for that with the last poem, A Star Remembers!

—

Wow. What a great beginning. Right away, we're pulled into the action and your emotions, and I can already see the theme of this final poem forming! Adding the “life” as its own line and stanza, plus italics, really emphasizes what everything listed in the first stanza means to you as a whole in your life. Love this!

It all fades, all at once:
the ache, the glitter, the lights,
the applause.

Life.

The italics aren't showing up, so… let's just pretend that they are there.

—

I love the rhyming, intentional or no, it's beautiful and makes my heart happy (although rhyming is something I will eternally struggle with doing; every time I rhyme it just sounds cheesy). I'm not sure if the hyphen is needed, though to me adding the hyphen or not adding it changes the tone and meaning of the word “here” ever so slightly. With the hyphen, as you have it now, it sounds like “here” is the thing that stays. Without the hyphen, it sounds like something is staying “here.” Depending on whichever meaning you're going for, I would have the hyphen or not!

Pointe shoe ribbons fray
but something else stays -
Here.

—

Can I just say: this is relatable. (… that's all haha)

Not the perfect end pose,
nor the perfect lighting.

—

I hate to be repetitive, but I don't think you need the hyphens there. Though it actually flows pretty well with them, it also works without, so you should probably just keep them there-

Just the hush backstage after -
just the final click of a camera -

—

Okay, Leopard, you have magical endings. Literally. Yet another beautiful ending, and it's an amazing one to end this whole compilation of poems!!

But somewhere,
a star remembers my name.

and I remember too

—

As a whole, I couldn't find anything, really, in A Star Remembers that I would critique on. I absolutely loved it, it's perfect the way it is. While it is the shortest poem out of the four in this compilation, there is so much more emotion packed into this one, and I really loved it.

—

Whew! I critiqued all four poems! I'm sorry I sort of stopped being really nit-picky after the first one, and I'm sorry I was really repetitive about punctuation this and punctuation that and italics but I really hoped this helped!! I love how all of these four poems are tied to each other in some way, so it doesn't feel like there's one poem that sort of is hanging by itself with its own little theme… really well written, you're an amazing writer and poet, and again, thank you so much for letting me critique these pieces of art!! I didn't mean for it to be this long, but… oh well. Too late now. Thanks again, Leopard, and I look forward to reading more of your poems in the future!! (Actually, in the meantime, I'm going to go read some more that you've written-)

—
2033 words :000
i got carried away </3

Daily 21
663 words

Daisy (innocence), Orange Blossom (purity), Dandelions (faithfulness), Petunia (anger) - Petunia wasn’t in the project, but I needed a flower that meant anger for my story ^^

A fanfiction on the amazing book ‘Girl, Goddess, Queen’ by Bea Fitzgerald <33

“Mother, I don’t want to be married to some stupid god who is just going to treat me like a possession, show me off! I don’t want my identity taken away, Mother!” I cried in despair.

Demeter shook her head sadly.
“I know, Kore. But it’s for your safety. There are Olympians vying for your hand! I will get you the best husband possible.” She promised.
Tears stung in my eyes. “But what if the best isn’t enough? They’re not going to treat me as an equal.”
Mother’s eyes hardened.
“This is for your safety. I’ve always tried to protect you. But this island can’t keep you from the world forever. A good husband will make the gods respect you.” She told me in an icy tone.
I swallowed. “I’m the goddess of flowers. I’m never going to be respected when I have such a useless, childish power.”
“Your power is beautiful. They’ll recognise that, Kore. And when you have a husband, you’ll agree with me. You’ll feel safe. Protected. I’m only trying to help you.”
Rage boiled inside of me. “I don’t want your help! I just want to stay here, forever! I want to live with the nymphs and the flowers and never have to have some stupid ring on my finger that will bind me to a man who will likely barely even register my existence!”
“You don’t have a-”
“I know I don’t have a choice! I’m a woman. I never will. But I may as well try and create myself one if the other choice is living with some Olympian for the rest of immortality!”
“Kore, you need-”
“You don’t tell me what I need, Mother. I’m my own woman now. You don’t need to tell me what to do.”

I could sense that Mother was trying to summon up the words to calm me down. Nothing could soothe this anger inside of me. I flung open the door and stormed out.

I turned back for a second.

“No one tells me what to do.”

The moment I reached the meadows, a slight sense of power tingled through me. I could feel the flower brimming beneath my fingertips. The pastel pinks and amber marigolds and sunshine yellows created a stunning patchwork as far as the eye could see.

“Kore! I’m so excited for you!”
I turned around. Myyrah, one of the nymphs, was standing behind me, a glowing smile lighting up her face.
“What do you mean?” I replied flatly.
“You’re getting married! Imagine what your husband’s going to be like! All tanned and muscly - so kind to you, yet mysterious. And he’ll have the most dreamy eyes.”
I almost laughed. I wished I could be so joyful about my arranged marriage as these girls were.
“I think I need some space.”
“OK, then. I guess I’ll see you later.”
I forced a smile and started walking the other way.

The moment I was out of sight, the fury returned. Surging through me like a tidal wave.

I brushed the luscious grass with my fingertips and watched deep sapphire blues and rich purples and fuschia pinks twist and blossom into a new flower. A petunia. Meaning anger.

I gathered them in my arms, feeling them slowly cure my sorrow, and fuel my determination to not get married.

I collected daisies meaning innocence, orange blossoms meaning purity, dandelions meaning faithfulness, all the things I was expected to be. I created more flowers and gave them meanings, ones of sorrow and regret, ones of revenge and spite.

I created chains with all the flowers and fashioned a crown around my head. I wove them into my hair. I wore the crown as a sign of anger. Of malice. Of rebellion.

Critique for @indigo—-

Hi, person I definitely don't know ;) Celeste! Thanks for the opportunity to read your entry, it's quite beautiful and was a pleasure to read <3

In terms of overall formatting, the paragraph indentation used makes your story much easier to read, than if it was a solid block of text. However, using paragraph breaks might make it even easier to read (as in, placing an empty line between paragraphs) and also make it easier on the eyes.
Quick tip, maybe start a new paragraph whenever there is a shift in focus, or when there is a new speaker.

He and I are no strangers. No, we are far from it.
Yet somehow I have managed to walk away from him time and time again.

What a riveting first line! It's mysterious, and grabs my attention almost immediately, especially since you don't reveal who ‘he’ is until we're further into the story.

Your gaze falls to mine as I entangle my fingers with yours, one hand graceful, one calloused. We don’t have to do this, you say, and for a moment I am convinced. But still I shake my head no and tell you we must press on. In the corner of my eye, I see Death, looming there. His eyes meet mine, but I shake my head no. Not yet, I say silently, with my eyes, my heart, my everything. Please just wait.

I would recommend starting a new paragraph after “we must press on”, since the focus shifts to Death. You don't need to place a blank line between the two, but giving the “In the corner of my eye…” part a separate line would increase clarity

Death turns from me- from us- but only for a moment, and I know that is all I will have.

Devastating. Efficiently increases the feeling of urgency here. You've fragmented your sentence there with the hyphen, and that introduces an undercurrent of panic. I am in awe.

They’re scared of what we can do, of what we are, of who we are to each other.

This hinted to me during my first reading that there's more to your story than what meets the eye, that there's meaning in the story, and that I have serious competition if I submit my entry as well. /lh /pos

My father had wanted to see me live past ten years, but he never did.

This sentence confused me a little, and it took around two re-reads to understand. I initially wondered, “Is the MC ten years old? The MC's father never did what?” Therefore, I would recommend expanding on the “he never did” like, “he wasn't able to do so” for better clarity.

Otherwise, you've done a great transition into flashback mode here. Well done!

Death looks at me- at us- impatiently.

Usually the hyphen (-) is used for compound words or while splitting the word into two different lines, while the em-dash
(—) is used for fragmenting sentences, interruptions and as an alternative for the paranthesis, which is what you're trying to do. I would suggest using ‘find and replace’ (you can use any word processor software like MS Office/Libre Office/Google Docs) to fix this repeating issue.

It's very likely I'm being a little too nitpicky here, being a part-time editor and all. I doubt the judges will really notice, especially since the hyphen is used like that in informal contexts, and I assume that the competition is relatively informal. In formal writing, however, this might be an issue.

I entangle my fingers with yours, one hand graceful, one calloused. I feel those eyes, sharp like obsidian, boring into me. A story of the stars and their stories.

Oh, don't mind this — I'm just salivating over the beauty of your prose. The tactile (touch related) imagery there with the handholding, the contrast? It's amazing. Also, the alliteration (“a story of stars”) makes it so poetic.

There's some repetition in that final sentence and I'm not sure if it's intentional or not. I would recommend replacing the second ‘stories’ with a synonym, like ‘tales’, though that's not strictly necessary.

The TV inside gives us outdated news- tax rises, inflation, and the development of the CAP program.
The CAP program. The Control of Adult Population. It was only initiated a few years ago, and most people wanted to avoid it. So the government decided that if there were no volunteers, they would just make people do it.

Amazing world-building and layering here — instead of dumping all the information in the beginning, you're revealing them as the story unfolds.

I squeeze your hand one last time, a final goodbye, a final thank you for everything, a final I love you. Then the doctor tells us that we must let go, and although I do not want to, I drop your hand.

This line made me feel so much. Anger at the doctor for not even allowing this. A heck ton of sadness.

But instead, I look him in the eye. I’m ready.

What a beautiful last line. *breaks into a thunderous applause*

The story is beautiful and gorgeously written. Any ‘mistakes’ I pointed out were mostly nitpicks; I didn't notice many of them initially and had to purposefully look for them, since you asked. /t


All the best with the competition, bestie <3 I believe you can do it.

(580 words)

Daily, July 21st
Announcer: Welcome, everyone to ‘The Garden Sisters’! Where we follow the lives of Apple Blossom, Buttercup and Camomile Garden in their everyday lives. Tons of drama, tons of plot, laughter guaranteed.
Today, we’re looking at Apple Blossom and Buttercup fighting while Camomile just wants some coffee.


Apple Blossom: Eeek! Jordan just asked me out on a date!
Buttercup: A date? What do you know about guys and dating?
Apple Blossom: (scoffs) More than you, Buttercup! Your name literally means childish! Mine means preference. Which means I’m preferred or whatever. Now i have to go straighten my naturally wavy blond locks and put on makeup even though my face is naturally beautiful. (Exits stage)
Buttercup: (arms crossed, scowling) Everyone always likes Apple Blossom more than me. Except for maybe Camomile. (Turns to Camomile) Sis, who do you like better, me or Apple Blossom?
Camomile: Honestly? I just want some coffee. I barely got any sleep last night.
Buttercup: It isn’t like you to be this tired, Camomile, your name literally means energy! You love Mountain Dew!
Camomile: Yeah, well, whatever. I couldn’t sleep because you were being childish and fighting with Apple Blossom. Again. (Closes eyes for a few seconds before opening them again) Sorry. Must’ve nodded off for a minute.
Buttercup: Hey, wait you never answered my question. Who do you like better. Me or Apple Blossom?
Camomile: Neither! (Exits stage)
Buttercup: I want to find someone who loves me best out of all my siblings. Someone who doesn’t find me childish.
(Doorbell rings)
Buttercup: Oh! I’ll go get the door!
(In the doorway stands a boy in glasses)
Tulip: H-hi? Is this Buttercup Garden’s house? I-I’m Tulip Farm and I have a package for you…
Buttercup: Your name is Tulip?
Tulip: Well, yeah. Tulip means fame. My parents named my older brother Nightshade and he ended up tangled in some dark stuff so they decided if they named me Tulip I’d be famous. But I’m just nerdy old me.
Buttercup: Cool! Want to come in for a snack?
Tulip: Sure!

Announcer: Is Tulip Buttercup’s true love? Will Apple Blossom and Jordan work out? Will Camomile ever get her coffee? Find out in the next episode of the Garden Sisters!

Tis the time for another SWClassic - the flower daily! Flowers are beautiful, but hiding beneath their petals is an underling message. Today, write 300 words incorporating at least three different flowers and their hidden meanings into your writing! Doing so will earn you 250 points, plus an extra 50 if you share it with us! Check out Alba's wonderful project for a collection of flowers and their significance: https://scratch.mit.edu/projects/741579314/

I was ever so fond of daisies when I was younger.
I suppose that’s due to the fact that I vividly would remember that one night, when you’d found a daisy, and given it to me.
I tried to keep it alive for as long as possible, but I guess that wasn’t very long.
The flower was the first thing I’d ever killed.

Rosemary grew by our apartment, as impossible as that seems.
I could never figure out how it got there.
Or how I did, really.
But we were there, the flowers and I.
I was stuck in a century that didn’t want me anymore, and it was stuck in the smallest bit of green in the entire city.
I assume most wouldn’t think of flowers as relatable, but it had always been clear I was different.
I used to be able to hide it.
Pretend I was like the others.
It was easier.
Ferns grew by our apartment too.
Baffling, all the life I found so close to someone who’d destroyed so much of it.

I’d always found dahlias beautiful.
Have you ever looked up their meaning?
They’re like promises, I suppose.
A promise I’d intended to keep.
A promise I thought you would too.
But then I was alone.
Have you ever been alone?
Well, I suppose you had, of course, but you quickly found more friends.
Every time I’d been alone, things got bad.
You know what happened. Maybe better than I do. It got blurry.
Strangely, despite what you used to believe, back when I kept the daisy alive, you were the only friend I’ve ever had. The only one I ever really trusted, anyway.
The only one I’d ever loved.
No, for once, you’d killed it.
You killed the dahlia.
The one thing I’d ever been able to keep alive.

But I forgive you.
You’d forgiven me for worse, anyway.
I forgive you, you lying traitor.
I wish the best for you two.
After almost a century, I really should find another friend anyway.
Sure, I’ve still got these marigolds growing with me.
But I’ve got hope now too.

NOTES
I love flower meanings!! I think about them a lot.
I accidentally made this about Bucky but in my defense I just watched 8 marvel movies in one weekend. Also dahlias always make me think of him so yeah.
Daisies: innocence
Rosemary: revival
Ferns: concealed love
Dahlias: yours till the end (which was too close to “I’m with you til the end of the line” for me to NOT connect the two)
Marigolds: grief
…yes I used almost twice as many flowers as I actually needed to. I love flower meanings.

dahlia - yours til the end | dandelion - faithfulness | pansy - you occupy my thoughts (some trouble finding)

She positioned herself in front of the full length mirror. A bright young lady with twinkling light brown eyes was staring back at her. Brown curls pulled back into a neat coiffure against her neck were covered by an elegant black sunhat with a velvet bow and a few peacock feathers. Both hands, gloved to the elbows in rich black, rested against a lavish gown propped up by a voluminous underskirt. Her dress was almost covered from top to bottom with midnight blue lace, with the added embroidery of thin golden threads. The jewellery she wore was far from modest as well. Several necklaces rested against her bust, the most notable one made out of big, fat pearls. Make up powder covered the entirety of her face all the way to her neck, her cheeks were unnaturally pink and her lips brightly red.

Vivianne huffed out an exasperated breath. She looked more like a doll on sale than a future fiancée. Or perhaps those were the same things after all. If this was what her mother wished, she could very well play the part of the delightful to-be-married young aristocrat - not that they really were aristocrats, after all. Disinterested, she detached her gaze from the mirror and followed the servant out from the door of her bedroom, careful not to step on her trailing gown. The young lady schooled her features into a polite but elegant smile - she wouldn't miss an opportunity to look her best, even though there was way too much lace to her fancy.

The reception hall's door opened, and she heard someone announce, “Miss Vivianne Chambon.” Adjusting her posture, she stepped in gracefully, making sure to cast a bashful glance at the young man sitting beside Monsieur Chambon, barely holding his gaze so that no one apart from him would notice. As she entered, the young to-be fiancé - Monsieur de Villiers, it seemed - stood up. He blushed just so slightly from Vivianne's piercing eyes, but recovered almost immediately.

“Mademoiselle Chambon,” he said, bowing, “what a pleasure it is to meet you.”

Vivianne curtsied in return, smiling delightfully as she returned his greeting.

The gentleman proceeded to hand her a bouquet. “I hope you will accept this small gift of mine - a bouquet freshly picked from the gardens this very morning.”
“How noble of you, Monsieur de Villiers, I very much appreciate your good will,” Vivianne returned, keeping her voice slightly breathless as though amazed by the offer. Truly, knowing her love of flowers, almost every suitor turned up with a bouquet or two, so her reaction was nothing more than a practiced act.

Taking the bouquet, Vivianne examined it thoughtfully. Dahlias… pretty common, except these gentlemen's wishes are never granted - or at least I hope not… Dandelions… not unseen. And that is… oho! isn't those pansies? Where did he find these?
(481 words)