◆◇◆◇◆ REMINDERS ◆◇◆◇◆

Ushio Tsukinoki is constantly reminded of the fact that she wasn’t born as a she.

It starts small, as all things do. Ushio has finally settled into her life as a girl. It was hard, and she still faces criticism, but for the most part she’s able to enjoy it. For that, she smiles.

Her joy is short-lived, for when she goes home, suddenly everything reminds her of her life before she transitioned, before she changed into who she is now, before when she had an identity she didn’t feel right in.

The school picture from primary school framed on her bedside table reminds her of when she was a boy.

The awards from track hanging on the wall reminded her of when she participated in boy’s sports, the words ‘Boys Track Team’ on her awards almost mocking.

At that moment, that entire room was wrong. That entire room didn’t belong to her. Everything in that room belonged to her before found a gender identity she was comfortable with. But that was still her, she could be a girl, that’s what she wanted, but she’d never truly be one. Even if she got surgery, it’d never truly be able to get rid of what she was born as.

When she held her past track trophies in her hands, she cried. The type of cry where your shoulders shake and your chest heaves, the type of cry where you just can’t stop. The type of cry where you can’t do anything but wallow in your own despair.

She loved track, she loved that part of her past life. But, she wasn’t willing to participate in the Boys’ Track team anymore, because she wasn’t a boy. But she couldn't be in the Girls’ Track Team either, because she had a biological advantage from being born a boy.

She’d never run again because she was born in the wrong body.

Why was God so cruel?

Even the sight of the walls was enough to make her break down. She painted the walls of her room blue when she was younger because it was a ‘boy-ish’ color, because that’s what she used to be. A boy. It wasn’t normal for boys to want to play Cinderella in the school play, it wasn’t normal for them to want to play with dolls, it wasn’t normal for them to want to be a girl.

So in the past, she did what was considered boy-ish.

She painted her walls blue to be a boy.

But she wasn’t a boy.

That day, she ran up to her stepmom and begged to paint her room’s walls white between tear-soaked gasps. Her stepmom didn’t question the tears, she smiled softly and nodded.

The next day, all of Ushio’s old pictures were in a box beneath her bed alongside her trophies. Her once blue walls were now covered in a layer of white paint.

Ushio Tsukinoki is a girl.

———

Ushio is reminded once again that she used to be a he.

It comes in the form of breaktime. Hoshinara’s desk is pressed against Ushio’s, she doesn’t mind. She smiles and nods at the chatterbox Hoshinara is. Her long ramblings were comforting, not annoying. The type of chatter that would be welcome, like the type you’d listen to on a podcast to put on as comfortable background noise.

Of course, even if you’re listening to a podcast, background noise can still seep in.

“Ushio-san!” A voice calls. Hoshinara abruptly cut off her speech. Ushio looked to the side to see one of her classmates, Suzuki. “I was wondering if I could borrow your textbook for next period? If that’s alright with you Ushio-kun!”

Kun?

“I-I meant san! Ushio-san!”

The girl gripped tightly onto the navy skirt that was wrapped around her waist, a skirt that hadn’t always been a part of her uniform. She didn’t always have a girls’ uniform. She wasn’t always a girl.

Ushio stammered out something along the lines of “Don’t worry about messing up, just try to remember it next time.” Before excusing herself to the bathroom, ignoring the call from Hoshinara.

Why couldn’t she have just been born a girl? Why did she have to be born this way? Why couldn’t she just be in the right body? Why was she bound to a body she hated? How was this fair? What did she do to deserve this?

Why couldn’t she just be born a girl?

Ushio-kun.

“The honorific ‘kun’ can be used for both genders!” She tries to console herself, “It’s just…more commonly used for boys.”

It’s then that she remembers that she’s not even in the girls’ bathroom. She’s in the multipurpose room because she can’t go to the bathroom. The boys’ bathroom isn’t right, the girls’ one is, but she can’t go in.

She used to go to the boys’ bathroom.

She was born a boy, not a girl. She wasn’t born in the way she was meant to be.

She cried the same type of cry that day.

It wasn’t fair she couldn’t have been born a girl. It wasn’t fair that this was the body she was stuck with. It wasn’t fair that her gender had to be transgender girl instead of cis female.

When she got home, she deleted every text message that said ‘Ushio-kun’ and crossed out the ‘Ushio-kun’ in every paper that had it.

Why couldn’t things be different?

Why did it have to be hard to be who she was?

God made a mistake.

She was born as Ushio-kun, not Ushio-san.

———

Ushio is reminded once again, in the form of her voice. It was one of the things Hoshinara and Sakuma mentioned shortly after her transition.

Are you going to speak in a higher register now?

She hasn’t tried to yet, her voice still remained low and husky as it always had been, but no one had commented on it in a while that she almost forgot her voice sounded that way at all.

Nearly everyone in Tsubakioka knew about her transition, and while there were still some people saying she’d never be a true girl (Ushio would never admit those comments hurt, or that she believed them sometimes), for the most part people didn’t comment on her voice, which in her opinion was the one thing that prevented her from passing as a biological girl.

So, this experience happened outside of Tsubakioka.

She was at the aquarium with Sakuma and Hoshinara, they had all agreed that they needed to get out of the house, and they decided on the aquarium. This was in a different town, considering the fact that there was practically nothing interesting in “rural” Tsubaikoka (She thought it was rural until Sakuma pointed out the fact there was a singular AEON mall).

“So, where do you wanna go first, Ushio-chan?” Hoshinara asked, practically bouncing up and down.

“Uh…I’m not too sure, maybe the clownfish?”

Just then, two high school boys passed behind the group, catching wisps of their conversation. Ushio paid no mind to them, there were plenty of people passing by anyways, but she couldn’t prevent herself from listening.

“Dude! Did you see that chick? The one with silver-blonde hair?”

“Wait, that was a girl?”

“Uh…yeah, she’s kinda wearing a skirt dude.”

“Oh, I mistook her for a boy because of how deep and husky her voice was.”

“Yeah, I guess I see where you’re coming from, you’d think a person with feminine features like her would have a soft, high-pitched voice.”

The pride that swelled in her chest at being able to pass as a girl was short-lived. The moment her deep voice was pointed out, the smile that crept up her face dropped, like a balloon being popped. She stared at the two boys, they were both laughing and teasing each other.

Even if she wanted to transition, something about her still wouldn’t go. Her voice, something that’d always be with her, would give her away. That one thing that prevented her from passing as a girl.

“Ushio-chan? Is everything okay?”

Ushio snapped back from her inner turmoil, staring back at Hoshinara.

A real girl.

What made her so different from Hoshinara? Why did Hoshinara get to be born as a biological female while Ushio didn’t? How was that fair? Why was Ushio different? Why did she get a body different from the one she was supposed to have?

She hated this body.

“Ushio-chan?”

Of course, Ushio could never hold ill will to the energetic, starry-eyed girl in front of her. Hoshinara didn’t do anything wrong, it’s not her fault Ushio was born a male. She wasn’t the one to blame, even if Ushio envied Hoshinara for being born in a body meant for her, she didn’t blame her.

If anything, the only person Ushio could blame was their creator.

God made a mistake.

———

“Ushio.”

She looks up from her summer packet, the numbers sprawled across in neat handwriting. There her childhood friend was, Sakuma Kamiki, who was the most supportive of her transition out of anyone else in school. It was expected, considering how long Ushio knew him for. Still, she couldn’t help but have thoughts that sometimes even Sakuma referred to her as a ‘he’ in his thoughts.

“Is something the matter? You’ve been zoning out a lot lately, and I’ve heard you attempting to speak in a higher register, is something wrong? Does it have to do with your transition?”

Sakuma was right on the money. Really, it amazed Ushio how perceptive he could be sometimes, considering the fact that Sakuma had misread a situation many times. Something she’d never be able to figure out about him.

Slowly, she nods. Still insecure about her voice, still not willing to speak, even if it was to her closest friend.

“What’s wrong?”

She doesn’t speak at first, she hesitates to tell. She doesn’t speak because she’s scared of judgement. She’s scared Sakuma is going to strengthen her thoughts of not being a real girl, even if she knows he’d never do it on purpose.

“Please?”

Suddenly, she can’t reject. Because she remembers his promise, his promise that he'd try to understand her, that he’d try to always be there for her. If he didn’t know what was wrong, how could he act on that promise?

“Sakuma…” She starts, and now intent eyes are on her. “It’s just…I keep being reminded of how I wasn’t always a girl, like…I keep getting reminded this wasn’t the way I was born. I keep being reminded of the fact that…I wasn’t born right. I was born in a body I hated.”

“It’s just…not fair. Not fair that I was born a boy, when I’m supposed to be a girl. I can act like I was always a girl, but I keep being reminded that I was once a boy. Why did God make me born this way?”

“Sakuma…” She looks up to her childhood friend, his eyes holding nothing but kindness. “Do you think I’m a real girl?”

For a moment, she’s scared he’ll laugh in her face and say no. But he smiles, gentle and soft.

“I think when you were born a boy, God realized he messed up and gave you feminine features.” Before he could be questioned, he continued. “When I first saw you in primary school, I thought you were a girl. I talked to our teacher and said, ‘What’s her name?’, she laughed and told me that you were a boy.”

He rubs his cheek, “I didn’t believe her at first, I really thought you were a girl—er, not that you aren’t one.” He smiles, “You were born looking like a girl, Ushio. You always were one, not by your chromosomes, but in every way that counts.”

He doesn’t fully understand, he never will. But the way he says it, his words feel real, genuine, they didn’t feel like words he strung together to make her feel better.

At that moment, Ushio felt like a real girl.

♖ | 1998 words

Challenge 2 — Cabin Wars

Word count: 384 words

. ⭑ . ⭒ .

It’s odd, existing in two places at once. You know you’re awake, but some part of the not-real you is also there. You don’t have any control. You barely register what’s going on, but you still exist.

What you do remember is going somewhere and feeling the awake-you drown in the sort of overwhelming loneliness you’ve felt only once before, and it’s strange how something that wasn’t your own feels so familiar—

-

You come to with a jolt. You’re underwater. You seem to be breathing with no equipment, which is bizarre.

“You’re telling me humans evolve to breathe underwater?” you ask, glancing at the crowd milling about you. It’s the most logical conclusion you arrive at.

They roll their eyes beside you. “Look,” they say, tapping at their neck. There’s a colorful mesh of circuitry that perfectly complements the skin.

“Oh,” you say, feeling at your own. “That’s cool.”

“Don’t poke too much,” they reply wryly. “You might suffocate.”

-

Blink, and you’re gone. Well, not gone. Somewhere else, more flabbergasting.

“There is no way we have talking bananas on Earth.”

“We don’t,” they reply.

“There’s no way in past, present or future we get talking bananas.”

“Would you like to try the chicken?” says the waiter. He’s also a banana.

“Placeholder here is a vegetarian,” they lie blatantly.

“Dude,” you hiss. “Eating him counts as being vegetarian.”

Their grin promptly slides off their face. “*. Didn’t think that one through.”

“You never think anything through,” you snark. “It’s why we end up in stupid situations like this.”

“You are so whiny,” they whine. “I’ll see you somewhere else.” They wave their hand dismissively, and you’re gone.

-

You dodge out of the way, narrowly avoiding a bullet.

“WHY ARE WE BEING SHOT AT?” you screech.

“Correction: you’re the only one being shot at,” they say, sounding far too collected and amused. “You must’ve made someone really mad; this isn’t even as bad as the purple sun time.”

“You’re doing this on purpose,” you say accusingly.

“Oh, Placeholder. Stop being such a stick-in-the-mud! Enjoy being the main character in an action flick for once. Look, I think that’s the Pentagon! Maybe you’ll even get to break into it.”

You groan. “I can’t wait to wake up somewhere else. I’m not built to be Walmart Tom Cruise.”

Sunbathing on logs, swimming through the crisp waters of lakes and rivers, and clambering upon muddy shorelines, she was everywhere. Her habitat range was extensive, and she knew her niche well. Each of her turtles had its nature, and each performed it perfectly.
They were residents of the freshwater, omnivores with great adaptability to different climates. Both predator and prey, their connection to the land ran deeper than the roots of the oldest trees.
They all looked pretty much the same, at least from the perspective of the average passing mammal. They all bore the same history. Though every individual had different experiences over the course of a day, their memories recombined when they communed, either in the weightless calm of sunlight or the deep, dark dreams of winter hibernation.
A human might call it meditation, but for the turtles, it was the basis of their lives, their default state of existence. Their bodies still as stones, they would let their minds expand past their brains. The strands of their separate thoughts would wind together like so many tendrils of vines, coming together from across vast swaths of space to create that identity which they all shared: Her.
And she was old. Young by turtle standards, but still millions of years. Individual turtles only lived a couple of decades, yet the collective memory lasted much longer, stretching back to the very dawn of her species, and sometimes even further, to hazier recollections of distant ancestors who dwelled in primeval lands. In her long life, she had seen countless other species rise and run and fade away. All the while, she abided. Turtles weren’t known for moving fast, and the course of their evolution certainly didn’t shift very rapidly. They had remained more or less unchanged for eons.
She watched as the world continued changing around her, as smaller beings flickered in and out of existence like sparks in the great fire of life. This fire was even more ancient than she was, and she felt its pulse within each of her carapaces. It was the incarnation of nature’s spirit itself.
Life and death and change, all in an ever-shifting balance. Everything was temporary, she knew, even turtles. It wasn’t always a matter of living longer, but of dying slower. She could accept this.
So she abided.

emmerson ash is apprentice to the lady’s portraitist, a position of much prestige for a man of his rumored background. and he would brag to you about the heights of his position in the court of the elm university, if you would listen. or even just step into hearing range. he does not discriminate about who will be subject to his brags.
but his is not a particularly elegant job, despite what he might want you to think. he is tasked mostly with mixing paints, stretching canvases, painting backgrounds, and attending courses. emmerson is dedicated to his craft, and with fervor completes any assigned painting the master painter gives him. his other duties he skirts, pawning them off to anyone who will take them, heedless of the lack of quality such disregard leads to.
he is in attendance in court, on trial, in fact, on the day the war bells ring.

Yayy it's come time for me to rant again because I simply am the only one online. Why do ducks walk up to lemonade stands expecting grapes? We all root for the duck to get their grapes, or even some lemonade, but of course he always waddles away. Why should he expect that, though? It was a lemonade stand, not a fruit stand. And the lemonade stand owner cannot be expected to just have grapes. The audacity of the duck, to ask for it day after day, after even being refused every day, because it's a lemonade stand, not a fruit stand. Furthermore, considering lemonade stands are usually run by kids, this duck was probably harassing a kid daily! It's not the lemonade seller's fault. I would be annoyed to! Well, I'd also be a bit more concern that a duck was coming to a lemonade stand and speaking english, let alone asking for grapes. But I digress. Is that even like, a thing? Do ducks really like eating grapes? Or is that just a thing made up by the song? I would google it but I'm busy writing words.

We might need to hire a merc because I really don't want to have to write another thousand words after these five hundred. I'm willing to write like, five hundred more, sure, but I don't feel like soloing anything again. Oh wait, someone else offered to do it? But they've been gone for like an hours so I don't know if they're still doing it. Last time we got that war I soloed it and I'm really tired because I just woke up and only got like six hours of sleep. Which for me is soooo little. (lmao I need like twelve and even then I don't feel well rested) I actually might get breakfast first and do some packing before I write towards that other war. Again though, we should utilize the mercs! Especially because we have one, so we don't really need to worry about spending all the mangoes too early. Again we can halve a war - lol the different kind of have! I'm going a bit crazy here. I literally wrote a whole paragraph about the duck song and how the duck is in the wrong.

Well now I'm just going to rant about things because I have no idea what to say. Although to be honest that's what I was doing before too, it was just more focused around a certain topic. Someone is on the phone downstairs right now. I know who. They speak very loudly. The phone was also on speaker. Also, oh no they're coming upstairs. I'm writing in my bed. Hopefully they're not here for me! They don't seem to be yet. I'm hungry. I think I should eat that mango. Shame I couldn't let it get riper. I still need to get a couple more words down. Ugh she told me to print stuff I have to finish writing and I want to eat my mango. If I ever look back at these I'm going to think I was so unhinged it's kinda funny but not even funny.

Writing Contest - 558 words

If I were to ever think back to that gloomy day in the dreaded month of July, when lightning cracked across the sky marking midnight and a brunette girl name who’s also Me watches as another girl’s last breaths are dragged out, I'm not sure I could ever be able to sleep again. That’s why I'm sitting in this chair in the first place, why I’m risking it all just to scrub my mind free. That memory could be the reason I end up laying dead on my floor, my last breaths being dragged. Better the memory be exterminated than me.

Understanding the need to destroy all evidence is a crucial step to accepting the fact that I am planning to erase my mind. But I don't need to, my instincts are already set to erase it. To erase all memory of her. I need to. Erase her, that is. They all ask me for more eyewitness accounts. More information. More evidence. More reasons to condemn the villain. I keep telling them that the villain isn't the villain, that they were framed. That I knew exactly who the true murderer was. Of course, the police don't listen to me. Who am I if not a deranged girl who just saw her best friend torn to pieces in a bloody mess. They never took me seriously, even when they continued to say that my words mattered. Clearly not enough for them to switch directions.

I made the decision to stop bringing the subject of the murderer’s identity up to the police when the first letter came. A threat. A threat that stole my voice. The next day I was subjected more interrogation but it was one-sided. I was scared that if a single vowel or consonant left my lips that I would never be able to speak again. Or breathe again for that matter.

If I erase all my memory of her then they would stop interrogating me. Then the true murderer would leave me alone. I wouldn't need to stay silent because then there would be no secrets that I could spill because I didn't remember. I wouldn't have ever seen her die. That girl who’s also Me was never there when the lightning cracker. Never, never, never. I would be able to sleep.

When they hand me the pills, I only hesitate a split second before putting them on my tongue. My eyes roll back, I fall unconscious. I see it all flash before my eyes in dreams and I scream and kick. Or at least, my consciousness does. My brain burns as I try to fight against my restraints. I changed my mind. If erasing her makes me feel like Death maybe Death would be better.

Then, the pain is gone as fast as it came. My mind is blank. It's like a cloud of confusion has washed my mind. My eyes slowly open. I don't know where I am or why I am or… a nurse is standing in front of me and helps me up. I didn’t know that I was sitting. She tells me I was forgetting something. I ask her what. She shakes her head. I decide I don't want to know.

July - Critique
Words Written: 476 (395 excl. intro)
Piece Critiqued: What Was I Made For? by Elly



Hi Elly! Thank you so much for letting me critique your piece of writing! I have been itching to do critique this session and have finally got around to it, ahaha. Anyways! I’m going to give you some general comments first, and then go paragraph by paragraph! My apologies if I come off as slightly harsh, please remember that this is just my opinion and you are in no way obligated to implement any of the suggestions I’ve put forwards here!

In general, I liked the way you started and ended the piece, and overall it has a nice linear flow to it, which was very easy to follow! I enjoyed the variation in paragraph structure too, which added some interest and effect to this piece.

Life became boring. The same routine every day, the same pretending and the same loving, the same sadness and the same rewards. She didn’t know whether this was a life worth living. Life was good for her, perfect even, and she was immensely grateful for that, but the questions kept racing through her head. Why her? Why was it she who had to feel this way? Why was the world this way? And so every day became chances to be happy and every night became chances to be productive. Things still didn’t work out.

I really like how you’ve opened this paragraph! I really enjoyed how you used repetition to create effect here, as it really emphasised what your character (who I believe is Barbie?) was feeling. From this, it was clear that she was feeling bored with her life and searching for meaning. However, I felt the last sentence here felt a bit jumpy. I haven’t seen the Barbie movie though, so I might be missing some important context here, ahaha.

She thought a bit too hard about these things. Played piano then nearly cried about how it made her feel. Thought too hard about the future and undeniable fates, thought too hard about love and twisted ways, thought too hard about society and who she really was. Who she loved. Could love. What she was holding back. But then, one ordinary night, she realised something.

Again, your effective use of repetition here continues and I really like that you chose to use this! It’s clear to me that she’s dealing with some existential crisis. However, I feel like there could be a bit more elaboration and expansion on her feelings in this part, and that your final sentence could be a separate paragraph which I think could be more effective, especially with the following two paragraphs.

Life isn’t going to make itself great for you.

You’ve got to make it great.

I loved the variation in paragraph length here. With them being spaced out like this, it’s really effective and to me, it feels like your main character is realising something and it’s hitting them hard. I loved this section! No need for improvement here.

A silent vow, a new perspective and a wave of thankfulness. Life is the greatest thing that could happen to you, if you just let it happen. She had thought that everything she did was too useless to put effort in. But everything was everything, after all, and this was for her. Sure, this realisation didn’t mean she was all the way there yet, but she was prepared to give everything her all and love and laugh and write and play. She was prepared to make life great for others, too.

The shift in focus here was really effective, and I like how you’ve used this paragraph to start exploring the shift that your main character has gone through! However, I feel like this section could be expanded and elaborated on as it feels a bit empty.

The next morning, she logged online and went to forums, writing down her story in the most dramatic way possible, wondering if anyone had suspected that this was about her. Something about her feels lighter. happier, more peaceful. Her mind felt cleared. She noticed the little things she should be happy about. The many posters on her wall, the stacks of books and little trinkets. The sun seeping in through the curtains and the tote bags heaped on her door handle. She paused for a moment, to take it all in.

I also felt like the focus shift in this paragraph was a bit too sudden, and it felt more rough and jumpy than the other paragraphs. However, I really enjoyed how you talked about how she felt after writing this down, and her attitude shift which I thought was really nice.

Then she smiled.

And finally, I like how you closed this! This is a really nice ending, and I really liked it! To me, this read as if she was finally happy and I really enjoyed that.

Overall, this was an awesome piece you’ve written, but you could have spent more time exploring your main character's feelings throughout. I hope this critique helped!

also proof for when i eventually have to add words here's the 3702 i wrote for my hour long unofficial war with hope

OKAY DOODLES we are back doing a one hour word war with hope again, but I’m splitting this into two parts so I don’t like, crash out and burn lol. Also this is for cabin wars so we will have fun with that! I’m going to brainstorm ideas for a few scenes in the first half hour, and then write the said scenes in the second half hour! Also ignore the fact I am uh. I’m supposed to be finishing the SMC at some point but you know, hey. I also have a ramble but then I would definitely need to send proof for this and I will not be posting anything incredibly personal and private on the internet for my own safety, so hey.

Anyways, I’m currently listening to AKB48 while doing this because I know they’re not kpop but they’re my ult group! Okay anyways back to brainstorming since I think that’s what we were here for. Also my WPM must be crazy for this first part because there’s no way I’m beating hope for this! I’m going to see how many words Rose has done for Utopian’s war first and add these words to this and then I’ll start on soloing Kat’s war. Anyways. It will be very fun! Also my music can I just say-

Okay. Right, onto brainstorming! I'm like so annoyed with myself because I came up with like such a great world idea last week and now I have no time to enter the writing comp unfortunately, which is really really sad. Anyways. Moving on! OMG IT’S SAKURA NO HIBACHI! anyways aside from that! I’m going to ramble about this new world for a while until I’m done with this part because we desperately need words and I need to rise really high on the trackbear, could I hit 50k by the end of the day? Also I need to seriously make up for my lack of words last cabin wars, I hit 8k last session on this day so I can definitely do that again! But let’s go with small steps first! Anyways.

Okay so this world! I literally need to flesh out these characters. They're so two sided and it’s just not fun. I want complex characters! Sakura I’ve got a good idea of what she’s like, but I really don’t have a good idea of the other characters Okay so let’s see! We have Nova surname I’ve forgotten, who’s also like. A superhero. Yes this entire thing is a childrens thing but ANYWAYS it’s kinda like my Atoll City verse expect I actually do stuff about things so you know, please take that as you will. Anyways. Moving on. Nova got her powers (which is like. light bending) after an accident in the school lab where she and Sora were the last ones out. Now they have cool magic powers and they’re superheroes now. Oh my gosh typing with my hands is so tiring oh my gosh sobbing I would like to switch to a keyboard my WPM go brr, anyways I’ll swap in a second, we’re nearing ten minutes. Anyways.

Okay I got too tired of writing with my tiny pesky keyboard so you know what we’re back to the whole thing for this! OH MY DAYS typing is going so slow at the moment, maybe it’s because of my awkward position. ANYWAYS what were we doing, brainstorming scenes? ah, sigh. Anyways back to brainstorming scenes!!!

Right the time is back on and it’s time to type! NEVERMIND good SPAG, that all went out the window the moment my keyboard appeared on the scene. Anyways we were going to brainstorm scenes I would write for the next what, twenty minutes? Okay, I can do that!! TIME TO DO THIS!! Also my ipad is about to die so uh someone send help omg I wanna go back to Suki to Iwasetai it was soooo good omg but I can’t have it on repeat for ages and ages and ages can I? NO.

Alrighty here we go!! So I need to write a scene somehow involving Sakura and I really want to do a write-the-same-scene from different POVs thing so I think that will be a very fun thing to try out this time! So I’m going to do that. I’ve done that already but I also just really love the exercise of rewriting the same scene over and over and over with new additions each time. Sakura’s also really cool. Did I not mention this?

RAWR incoherent rambling that future skylar has to decode. Urghhhhh. Anyways. WE MOVE ON!!!

So scenes I could write from multiple POvs will probably centre around my Weekly 3 verse and kinda fleshing out the school and Sakura and Nova and Sora’s roles in the whole kerfuffle with Mr Harrison that I established last time, hehe. Sakura is kinda patient, she can also get really annoyed so that’s her character I guess? Niova’s entire character is timid and shy and she’s kinda just there if you get what I mean? And then Sora who’s more of a leader, Sora tends to be more aggressive than Nova. And as for Sakura’s small circle of friends you have Artemisia and Taylor who both ave skills. Taylor’s good at diplomacy. She’ll get chosen for undercover work at some point in the future. Artemisia’s good for general field work, like Sakura. AND YES I couldn’t think of a better name for their agency like we’re just going to call it SHADOWY GOVERNMENT AGENCY okay like the Task Force Echo verse I already have. MOVING swiftly on. I think we need to establish the whole timeline of events here.

Okay. Sakur gets recruited when she’s twelve because uh honestly i don’t know twelve sounds like a reasonable age for this to happen, considering she’s already well trained by the start of the story. She’s also really good at figure skating because Sakura’s just like that. Anyways. Sakura gets recruited and she gets trained. THENNNN she starts High School and that’s a fun experience because she meets Artemisia and OH MY GOSH I have to make my iPad last like 13 minutes on this and then I can take a break from writing so aggressively someone please can and do send help, sobbing. Anyways okay let’s go!!! alright so Sakura meets Artemisia and Taylor and they become friends. This is like two years later by the way.

Okay and then a lovely thing called A Lab Accident happens close to the start of the story.. Sora and Nova were in the science lab, but all of a sudden, they have to get out as there’s a serious accident, chemicals do chemical stuff and WHEEE they have power now. Also this happens like. Sophomore year of high school close to the Summer, so Sora and Nova spend all summer figuring out their powers and enter junior year as that.

And then!! Our delightful Sakura then gets told that HEYYYYY so uhm we found out that your chemistry teacher is evil because it’s always the chemistry teachers guys I’m sorry, it’s always them. So yeah, her chemistry teacher Mr Harrison is evil so she basically has to go spy and grab evidence on him, and she’s reporting to (or well her official partner) Sasha Wilder, who is 18 and just done with high school! Sasha has been there when Sakura was in Sophomore and Freshman years, but now she’s like grown out firmly yayokay that was a bit of a detour. Okay so back to the point whileI keep Suki to Iwaseti on repeat, ahaha. Anywayssss. Sakura ends up spying on Mr Harrison, and he releases his Evil Plan Early so Sakura ends up hiding in the ceiling with Artemisia and Taylor doing comms for her (she has told the two of them about this by now) and then Sasha shows up. YAY that’s the main thing here, so yippee!!

Okay with that done I have ten minutes left to spend rambling about anything and anything and i think we’re going to go with talking about AKB48 or like IZ*ONE or something because that’s what's currently playing omg SUKI TO IWASETAI it's so goood omg i’m sobbing alright anyways back to this!! I WANNA RAMBLE ABOUT SUNSHINE BAY LET ME RAMBLE ABOUT THIS WORLDDDDDDD.

Okay I wanna write more scenes involving the trains because they’re so chaotic and I just wanna see my characters suffer through the train delays because they're me and I need to see the suffering my train to London gets cancelled lol. I think I’ve done this once before but I need to integrate this into the story sobbing. Anyways, we're going to be writing about a lot of strikes this coming half hour!! I think. I should hope. Anyways I hope that’ll be okay as far as I’m concerned right now someone please say that it’s all okay!!! alright let's go further on. this yap!! Okay, I have five minutes left, what else can I write? OH I NEED TO WRITE MORE FLUFF SCENES but uh guess who doesn’t have any inspiration to write said fluff scenes? Me. YEs, you guys guessed it right. I have no motivation or ideas to write these but I LOVE THESE CHARACTERS like yes my other universe are cool but Sunshine Bay is just cooler, I’m sorry. Anyways we’re going to continue to talk about these characters. I REALLY need to include a Renee fluff scene with her child because ALLY. IS. ADORABLE. Like Ally should visit the hospital or something, wait, that's actually not a terrible idea. OKAYYY and we also need to include something about Aliana and Alfie because they’re just such a cute brother sister duo in the universe oh my gosh, they’re my favourites to write about!!

okay three minutes left here’s what i’m going to write for the next half hour: I'm going to write a few of the scenes in my weekly three universe form different perspectives, and then I’m going to write the the scenes from the Sunshine Bay universe because the world needs more fluff from those guys, they’re so adorable and I love them so much. Okay. Yay!! SCREW IT I have two words left and I’m pretty much going to end up soloing this 2k word war if I'm not careful so I can add these words to the other war? it should give me enough time to go grab lunch and come back up and finish writing though!! Also depends on how much Rose has written as well so there’s that! OH MY GOSH my fingers are hurting typing this oh my gosh sobbing how am I not typing this faster ARGHHHH anyways i’m literally out of ideas now i’m just rambling and I don’t know how to keep the ideas flowing screams less than a minute now i think it’s okay if i stop here? Yeah, I have no ideas and I think it would be okay to stop here, ahahah. That sounds good!! I also need to proof this so yeah-

Okay. We done.

OKAY here we go, we’re back for part 2 and I know I said I’d write some scenes but I really don’t know if I have the capacity to, sobbing. I’m currently trying to solo a 2k war because Apocalyptic pulled a silly and we decided that we’re going to do three wars at once and after this I’m probably going to have to help Zoe with her 3.5k war (sorry Zoe!!) but yeah, this war is mine and I have to write so much for it!! Which I can do in half an hour so it’s not really a problem? Except that when I’m writing scenes I can’t really write that fast, not unless I have some prompts so it doesn’t feel helpful to be writing scenes because it involves much brainpower right now. I think what I’m going to do at the moment is just do more brainstorming and come up with some prompts to do for the rest of cabin wars and after this I need to go back and do more maths. Yeah, maths and writing is the story of my day, sobbing Anyways, that will\ be it, just a pure half hour block of more brainstorming and more rambling. The thing is, I love writing like it, and it is very fun and I think I’m going to hit almost 4k for this which is a crazy amount for a cabin wars, if I’m right - I’m close to beating my all time cabin wars record of just over 8k, so uh, sobbing. Anyways!! BACK TO THE BUSINESS! We’re going to be brainstorming prompts for anyone to use! Well, mainly myself.

So firstly probably character development would be a good thing to think about. Character development is awesome and I love it when I get to do these things. And so I think I can definitely do more stuff on character development! I think just by writing short scenes featuring the characters would be super helpful in this. My characters are… I love them, but they all feel like they have a similar personality and they really shouldn't, uh, you know.

Anyways!! For each character I'm going to write a scene with them interacting with other characters and that interaction will then help me write better! OH and I also have some critique I need to get back to Elly as a part of cabin wars, I’m hoping these can go on as a part of cabin wars? And my critique tends to be incredibly rambly so that’s also a thing I’d have to consider. Oh, look, High Tension just came on. We love high tension!! anyways I’m locked into brainstorming for he next half hour so I might cry a bit here- anyways-

Moving on!!! We're going to talk more about my characters and hopefully flesh them out? Right now, I want to focus on Sakura and her gang and flesh them out in terms of their character and hopefully that’ll give me a better idea of how to write them when I actually get around to writing them in a bit! Okay wow I am typing incredibly fast. This is one hour of writing I’m trying to do and also yeah, I’m running from my maths problems because I made a mistake. Anyways!!!

Firstly, we have the wonderful Sakura Xiaoliu Miyahira-Zhuang!! Sakura, known professionally as Sakura Miyahira, is one of the teenage protagonists of this story! She’s sixteen, a rising star in the figure skating world which she did just for fun, and now she is well and truly heading for the olympics so you know, fun and scary times- Anyways! Sakura is also a field agent for the ICIS, which yes… they recruit children. Because. I don’t know why. THIS ISN’T SUPPOSED TO MAKE SENSE, NONE OF THIS IS. All I am going to say is that this is a plot reason thing and you’re supposed to Not Question this thing, so you know. Take that as you will.

Anyways I’m now listening to the produce 48 soundtrack as I type out the rest of this and anyways. It is very fun. BUT LIKE. THIS IS NOT THE POINT. WE ARE SUPPOSED TO GO BRAINSTORMING. I SCREAM.

Anyways. BACK TO THE POINT OF THIS this ramble has become very unwieldy and before I go off on a produce48 and girls planet 999 were so rigged rant, and akb48 was done so dirty thing, IIIII am going to poke myself back to the present and continue to type up this ramble!! which has become incredibly long and rambly, someone remind me why this is being done on my bed instead of at my desk? regardless!!

wow i just distracted myself with heavy rotation and no i love that song so much like actually sobbing - urgh i still have twenty minutes left on this but it’s okay!!! we’re going to get this one done!!! alright.

ANYWAYS it is up to me to ramble myself out of this for the next twenty minutes. It’s unlikely that i’m going to hit 2k in twenty minutes, that would mean I’d have a stupidly fast WPM, which I do not have. My WPM is 50, but I think it has been slightly higher at times? Anyways my typing position is not the best to swap and redo things!! I SHOULD get back to doing maths soon oh my gosh i’m so tired and I want an ice cream or something yikes arghhhh

Okay!! uh back with rambling about my characters I think I was talking about my characters before I got distracted by my music taste but to be honest I need to write this much anyways so I’m just going to write about my music taste because I’ve listened to enough AKB48 to have Opinions about stuff now and it’s quite fun!!

ALRIGHT!!! Let’s talk about AKB48's songs - they’re all absolutely stunning, my first love was Love Trip which I fell in love with while going though the Team SH discography and I love it so so so much!! Then Sentimental Train came along and I love that song so much, I love Iwake Maybe as well because of the different vocals and it just has a depth that most other AKB48 songs don’t have? I love the style of AKB48’s music: catchy, simple tunes with simple harmonies and it’s also very much a schoolgirl vibe which I love so much and yeah!! Another one of my favourites is Kuryami which I love so much. And I also loved Kuze no Fuiteriu or whatever that was called again, this is for a word war so I don’t have that much time anyways.

Another one of my favourites is Heavy Rotation! This one was definitely a grower, it wasn’t an instant favourite for me but after seeing the videos of IZ*ONE performing this song and then of it being performed on produce 48 I will say that this song has won a special place in my heart. Also like, yeah. Anyways. Nothing more said! OH I ALSO LOVE SKAURA NO HIRABACHI!! It’s their first release and it was so so good!!

Speaking of IZ*ONE, now’s the perfect time to start rambling about these guys! I love IZ*ONE so much, and Suki to Iwasetai has my heart! It’s so jpop, but the music video screams kpop and I love it? Like, this is what IZ*ONE is SUPPOSED to be, a crossover group between the two cultures and Produce 48 did AKB48 so dirty with everything and urgh… anyways!! SUKI TO IWASETAI can live in my heart forever and ever and everrrr I love it so much! Yes, Airplane used to be my favourite IZ*ONE song but it’s Suki to Iwasetai because I like Jpop more than Kpop now!

OH AND TALKING OF AKB48 AND JPOP… we should talk about AKB48’s amazing sister groups! I mainly listen to Team SH and Team TP’s music, and they’ve released some amazing original singles. I think my favourite singles come from Team TP, it’s a lot less rap while with Team SH there’s a lot of rap and it’s just- not my style? Although, RIVER has a lot of rap and I still love that song so, you know, take it as you will-

I also need to start listening to the Sakamichi series as well!! I’ve heard their music is good so I’m going to listen to Nogizaka46 at some point soon. BUT back to my ramble about AKB48… like the group has such an amazing system for such a large group - there’s so many of them, and yet it works so well! Graduated members can graduate while new members can come in, and everyone’s having fun with their songs because they’re catchy and they’re simple and they’re very fun to sing! I may have found myself singing Sentimental Train a lot recently… anyways!! moving on with the rest of this ramble!! Basically, in short, AKB48 is very cool and you should listen to them more hehe.

OOPS I have six minutes left and then I will find out how much I need to write towards a critique okay so uh- anyways!! Let’s go!! I will say that Team SH has the better covers out of the two mandarin groups, as the songs TEam TP covers are different to the songs that Team SH covers and the SH songs tend to be classics. Although, I know Team TP were going to release some of the classics as well. But between them they have a solid amount of discography covered! So I can have Mandarin versions of both songs!! YAY!!! Songs I WISH they would cover are Sakura no Hirabachi as that’s just an AKB48 classic and you can’t not cover that sigh…. although. Yeah. I think I’m done with this rambling and I swear my arms are getting so tired now ARGHHHH okay four minutes skylar you can survive four minutes right?

Also speaking of this stuff. I will just say that Kurayami has just come on and STU48 were the coolest for performing on a boat? Like gosh that was so cool of them to do, ahaha. And yeah. I wish that other AKB48 groups could do cool stuff like that but their permanent theatres are cool enough, I guess. And also the fact they perform every night is really cool too. Although I find it so sad that I’m just getting into them as their popularity is declining sobbing. Oh well. They’ll go through a revival - the group is so large, sobbing. And their sister groups are doing fairly well from what I can tell? Okayyyy that’s enough ramble for now, the timer’s about to go off but I think I’ve solidly beaten Hope by a good 1k words now and yeah my arms need a delightful break. Sigh.

One minute left. Okay. You know what, I’m just going to call it here because I am definitely tired from all this typing. I’ll come back after I do a maths thing.

Critique for Skylar ⟢ 597 words

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Hi Skylar! Thank you for letting me critique this piece <33 I'm really excited to read it! Straight away, this writing gives off a spy sort of vibe that feels really intriguing! I can be a little harsh sometimes when writing feedback, so please don't take it personally ;D

Sakura was hiding in the ceiling panels of the science lab. This was… completely, utterly, totally normal. (It was not.) Sakura thought that the ceiling would provide a better place to hide, and then later crash through for the element of surprise, but it was somehow worse than the vents.

I really like the opening sentence, and the writing style/tone! Since you already used Sakura I think it would flow a bit more to replace the second ‘Sakura’ with ‘she’. The ‘And then later crash…’ phrase felt a little out of place, maybe replace the ‘and’ with ‘so she could then later etc etc’ and the element of surprise part in brackets, but that may just be personal preference to make it flow more.

Anyways, she was thankful that she was wearing her tactical suit and not her nice school clothes. To be fair, she had an always be prepared mentality at school and would usually wear her jacket over the shirt she chose for the day.

Cool cool cool no doubt no doubt no doubt (sorry, I just wanted to make a reference-) This part is great! Maybe to make it a little clearer you could add a ‘so’ after ‘and’ and before ‘would’ <3

Sakura could hear a scuffle happening below, and she guessed that it was the two self proclaimed superheroes Star and Crimson Hawk, and her evil chemistry teacher, Mr Lewis Harrison, who had plans to take over the world. Before she did anything else, Sakura did a quick weapons check and ensured they were where they thought they were, and firmly secured her mask to her face, which would hopefully prevent anyone from recognising her.

Love this! One small comment, ‘they were where they thought they were’ got a bit confusing, changing it to ‘they were where *she* thought they were’ would make it easier to understand. (Sorry for assuming pronouns)

Sakura’s position as a somewhat well-known figure skater would mean that she could be recognised by some random person on the internet should things get out. Sakura’s Agent Tsuki Miyazaki Zhang, Codename Ethereal persona was different to how she acted as her real self - instead of the elaborate hairstyles she wore as Sakura, Tsuki would wear simple and practical hairstyles, usually a ponytail or a braid. That was how she found herself now: her hair tied up in a ponytail, weapons at the ready, a mask covering part of her face, and an earpiece in her ear. “I’m going in,” Sakura said into her earpiece, hoping that friend-turned-trainee-agent Taylor Sanderson (who was monitoring comms) would hear her. “You might want to call for backup.”

You genuinely explained this so well and the pacing was perfect! There are some jumpy parts though, maybe to make it clearer replace ‘usually’ with ‘for example’ to make it resonate more.

“Copy,” came the reply of Sanderson. Sakura knew that both Taylor and Artemisia were currently hiding in an empty classroom, Artemisia trying to get any camera footage to save onto a different computer while Taylor had handed her a ridiculously long and unnecessary report on how best to take advantage of her evil chemistry teacher’s psyche. She didn’t read it.

To specify who ‘she’ is, you could expand that last sentence to something like ‘As per usual, Artemisia didn’t read it.' I love the plot, by the way! The storyline is really gripping and keeps me interested. I'm asking lots of questions - in a good way - and I'm excited for her to jump out of the ceiling - in a definitely normal way, cough cough.

Sakura switched on her voice modulator, before slowly lifting up the ceiling panel. Looking down, she could clearly see the kerfuffle that was happening between the two self proclaimed superheroes, Crimson Hawk and Star, and her chemistry teacher. They were not having a good time with this. Sighing, Sakura dropped through the ceiling, landed on the floor and took the advantage of surprise.

You could make the last sentence seem a little more dramatic, because this feels like Sakura is just entering with no energy, just a sighing person levitating down. The commas are a bit strangely placed in this for the flow of the writing, the first comma after ‘modulator’ could maybe not be included and the ‘Crimson Hawk and Star’ part could be changed to ‘Crimson Hawk, Star, and her chemistry teacher.’ But it's up to you since that could confuse readers on who the two self-proclaimed superheroes are.

“Where the heck did you come from?” Someone asked, clearly confused at Sakura’s sudden appearance. Sakura ignored them, focusing on the task at hand. She swung her body around Mr Harrison, her somewhat evil (definitely evil) chemistry teacher, throwing him against the wall. Someone screamed. Mr Harrison groaned.

LOLL I love this! (Of course the chemistry is evil /mj I'm not going to bring my beef with chem into this-) You could drag out the action a bit more. What are Sakura's emotions? Is she struggling? Does she wipe her hands down after?

“Arms behind your back,” Sakura ordered, as she put the handcuffs on him. She was a little jumpscared by the way her voice came out, but quickly recovered. “You’re under arrest for conspiring against the government and as a threat to both national and international security.”

“Who… who the hell are you?” Harrison groaned as Sakura firmly secured his handcuffs.

“Agent Miyazaki,” Sakura said, using her primary alias.

“Miyazaki!” A new voice called, and Sakura could see her partner, Agent Sasha Wilder, emerge through the door. “He’s down?”

“He’s down,” Sakura affirmed, before releasing her grip against Harrison. “He’s all yours now, Winters,” Sakura added, addressing Sasha by her primary alias, before handing him over to Sasha.

“Meanwhile, you-” Sakura said, glaring at the two self-proclaimed superheroes in the room, “- should learn to not interfere.”

Ohhh I get it now! She's a force to be reckoned with and I love it ahah

“What?” Said Star, clearly confused. “We were doing just fine before you came in the room,”

“You,” Sakura hissed, “were interfering. And you were almost about to get slammed.” She turned and left the room without saying another word.

This is great! Maybe you could add a bit more with the heroes, as in, she left the room, leaving the two fakes to sort themselves out.

-

Nova thought they were doing quite fine, thank you very much, trying to take down the evil chemistry teacher. What happened after, she wasn’t sure, but she and Sora were sure trying to stop some kind of crazy world ending disaster from happening. That is, until someone crashed through the ceiling.

It was hard to tell who the person was, dressed in all black. “Where the heck did you come from?” Nova exclaimed, confused. This was supposed to be her mission, not-

Ooh I love this parallel! The voice of this writing is paced so well and is really suitable for the character. Well done!

The next thing Nova heard was groaning from Mr Harrison as he was pushed firmly against the wall, the intruder grabbing some handcuffs from her utility belt. “Arms behind your back,” a not-quite-human, clearly modulated voice said. “You’re under arrest for conspiring against the government and as a threat to national and international security.” The way they spoke was clearly authoritative, but Nova still didn’t know who they were.

This is really good, but I feel like you're repeating a lot of things that have already been said/happened. Maybe elaborate more on Nova's side of the story.

“Who… who the hell are you?” Mr Harrison groaned as the new person kept him pressed against the wall.

“Agent Miyazaki,” came the reply.

“Miyazaki!” A new voice called, and the intruder - Agent Miyazaki - turned to face the doorway. “He’s down?”

“He’s down,” Agent Miyazaki affirmed, and Nova noticed the agent had released her grip on Mr Harrison, passing him over to the newcomer, who was dressed similarly to Agent Miyazaki - sans mask. “He’s all yours now, Winters.”

This is great recounting, but expand more on what Nova thinks. For example, you could add something like 'Without acknowledging the two heroes in the room, Agent Miyazaki passed him over to the newcomer."

Suddenly, Nova could feel Agent Miyazaki’s eyes look directly at them. “Meanwhile, you should learn to not interfere,” Agent Miyazaki said, glaring at her and Sora.

“What?” Nova was confused. How could she have known that this was going to happen, that whoever this agent was was going to come in and show her up? “We were doing just fine before you came into the room,” Nova added.

“You were interfering,” Agent Miyazaki hissed. “And you were almost about to get slammed.” Then, Agent Miyazaki turned and left the room without another word.

I really like this! Maybe Nova could feel a little more misled, though?

Overall, this was such an enjoyable piece to read! I love the pacing and how the characters were portrayed.

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400 points

Word War #5 ⟡ 271 words

Duration: 3 minutes
Against: Asher - Thriller
Prompt: N/A
Outcome: WIP

Hello I’m ELly and I don’t know what I’m going to be talking about because there’ son prompt and going into this i thought i could probably talk about the books I’m currently reading which is ahem a LOT but I dn’t know and hm so should I actually or should I talk about things I want to do well the thing is I don’t have a list of things that I want to do prepared in my mind and I probably sound like a psycho but yeah I need a list to start rambling on about these things at full speed because how else am I supposed to write about things without pausing to think in the middle of word wars? Well the words full speed made me think about full speed ahead form epic the musical which i admittedly havent listened to in a long long time and when I do it’s usually the same few songs. Like ther are some songs i only listened to like twice I guess. But I dont know. I dont know the underworld saga that well, admittedly, but I probably should. Okay I just increased the writing pace so please dont pay attention to any typos i make i i make any but yeah they’re still words right ie seen it happen it happen reminds me of gracie abrams because of let if happens- i have a very reference induced brain- anyway i uh dont know what to write anymore and theres like 15 seconds left on the time so speed speedy speedy quick quickqcuik im very typing yeah les go y=typing ahhhhh

critique for mabel :D
590 words

It was something Zoey and I did often when we first met as two crazy eight year old's in primary school

A tiny detail, but I think it should be “eight year olds”?

We stared at the clouds and reminiscent every moment we shared.

I'm not sure if this entirely makes sense - perhaps “and reminisced on every moment” or “we stared at the clouds, reminiscent of every moment we shared” could work better?

My eyes didn’t hold it in forever. And I think you can tell. I remember watching her board a plane, setting off to achieve her dream. We live in a small town, so it’s hard to become anything but a farmer or construction worker here. I get it, I guess. But even if I decided to visit or move there, she would probably have new friends by then.

Here, I think the story would read better if you put the sentence “I get it, I guess” before the sentence that precedes it? So it would read like this: “I remember watching her board a plane, setting off to achieve her dream. I get it, I guess. We live in a small town, so it’s hard to become anything but a farmer or construction worker here.”

I’d recovered from my tidal grief for the most part

I absolutely adore how this links in to the metaphor about the waterfall flowing past the protagonist's eyes.

As I got home, I collapsed onto my couch, soaking up the feeling of the gossamer fabric

Okay this is soooo picky but I'm not sure if I've ever felt any sofa fabrics that feel like gossamer? I would say gossamer fabrics are really sheer and lightweight, and honestly I'm not sure if that description really matches up with that of a sofa. But I obviously haven't seen all the sofas that exist in the world, so please take this with a very liberal pinch of salt.

“I’m Abigail,” Abigail looked over, her voice quavering."

Personally I think it would read better if you replaced the comma with a full stop - “I'm Abigail.” Abigail looked over, her voice quavering. - or if you changed the verb to a synonym of said, for example: “I'm Abigail,” the girl ventured, her voice quavering.

But I couldn’t just spit it out, she wouldn’t understand.

As sad as this passage is, I really like how you started introducing elements that encourage Ivy to realise how change isn't always a bad thing - Zoey might never understand her as she used to, but there will be others in her life who will.

After all, she’s living her dream life and it doesn’t seem like she misses me a bit.

I think this should be in past tense?

the air getting thicker by minute

I think you meant to write “the air getting thicker by the minute”?

“So, we’re not really close to done… Um you can come over tonight maybe?” Abigail flinched, looking away

I'm not sure why Abigail would be flinching here, unless if she was surprised by her own question? If so, I think you could probably make it a bit clearer, or just offer a little more explaination, to allow the readers to infer why she would flinched.

I nod in agreement, “Yeah. Um. I’ll ask my parents.” She gives me a short smile then walks off.

I think this should be in past tense.

I didn't cry, or get mad. But almost realized that maybe we just weren't meant to be forever.

I love love love these two sentences, but I think they could work better joined with a comma instead of separated with a full stop?

My doorbell rang, the squeaking cacophony sound resonating through my house.

Perhaps you meant “the squeaking cacophony of sound”?

verdant grass that looked like it hasn’t been cut in months.

Check your tenses here

I tried to laugh, but it was really hard to believe it this time. -> Just know that everything’s going to be just fine. -> Maybe everything will be just fine. -> And this time, everything really is just going to be fine.

The progression of Ivy's thoughts and hope? Impeccable.

We laid down, collapsing onto our backs and spreading out our arms. It was exactly what Zoey and I used to do, but this wasn’t Zoey, this was Abigail. So I didn’t let Zoey slip my mind’s grasp and instead just remembered all our memories together, and the memories I had yet to make with my new friend. So no, this time I didn’t cry, I didn’t let a single tear drop out of my eye. I smiled. Change is something hard to accept, and it took me a while. But you think about how there's rain and sunshine or day and night. They’re different. But beautiful in their own way. And this time, everything really is just going to be fine.

I have no critique for this paragraph, I just want to say how beautifully you summarise the story and the progression of change here. I especialy love “I didn't let Zoey slip my mind's grasp and instead just remembered all our memories together, and the memories I had yet to make with my new friend”, and how you portray change as something that initially might feel uncomfortable, but usually makes people better for it. This also just goes generally, for the entire piece - how the protagonist was initially so reliant and close with Zoey, and how they drifted apart, and how perhaps that wasn't a bad thing after all. It's just a beautiful conclusion to a beautiful story.

Overall, I absolutely loved reading this piece and critiquing it - honestly, it was amazing, which is probably why all of my critiques are really nit-picky and specific. I wish you the best in the writing competition - good luck! - and if you have anything else you'd like critiqued, I would love to read more of your work!

〈 Writing Comp Entry: Ocean of a Thousand Lives 〉

Dolphins jump over the foamy swirls
Leading their young in a diving, leaping, chasing life
Young dart and spin
As wild and quick as birds in the sky
Allowed to play by parents
Who hunt and guide.

Waves travel across the world
Bringing water and stories
That have churned
Thousands of miles away
Rolling into beaches and striking rocks
A clash that looks violent
But allows forest to grow underneath.

Kelp clings to stone
Standing against the tides
Tides push and pull
Wrenching kelp away from its anchors
In a dance that will last forever
And one that gives home to so much more life.

Sharks live in the deep open waters
And the tiny cracks alike
Reduced to nothing but their hunger
When their lives are a complex tapestry
And the threads create rebirth
Not just death.

Small life burrows in crevices
Tiny and vital
The blood of the ocean
Small but fueling the lives of everything
Seeming insignificant
But without them
What is noticed would not exist.

Seabirds screech and dive and hunt
Working to feed the next generation
That waits patiently on the sand dunes
Growing strong to one day
Feed a new generation
The previous one will die
Small moments huddled in the sand
Or drifting on the sea
Surrounded by what they did
And the breath of the ocean's tides
Their lives will fade and pass
But it will create space
For their young to flourish
Forever parents to more.

Whales drift through the depths
Songs echoing through miles of water
Alone but not lonely
Living the lives of giants
And dying as life-giving heroes
They are stars that glow bright
Then fade to dark
Their stories continue on through the lives
Of everything else sustained
They will join the sand and tides
In a cycle that creates the sea.

The ocean is vast
Every piece has a purpose
It is one unit of a thousand lives
Every one is a dance and a cycle
Of life and death
Of love and loss
Of parenthood and birth,
The ocean tells the story of the world
And holds the future in its grasp.

Credits:

• Celeste for a critique
  

• Chuey for tips and suggestions
  

• Various people for motivating me and giving ideas
  

Critique for Mabel

There we were, one last time, lying down in the lush grass that was swaying rhythmically to the wind. It was something Zoey and I did often when we first met as two crazy eight year olds in primary school. Before, the world seemed so big. But now? It just seemed daunting to take even one small step further. We didn’t want to spend our last moments together crying, but what left was there to do? So we listened to each other breathe and enjoyed each other's company. Inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale. We stared at the clouds, reminiscent every moment we shared. It was hard not to cry. It doesn’t seem like such a big deal, but it’s hard seeing a friend you love move away.
“Everything’s going to be fine,” Zoey wistfully smiled, one she couldn’t hold together for longer than a couple seconds. That was the saying both of our moms had always told us when something went wrong. I tried to laugh, but it was really hard to believe it this time.
So, when she eventually had to say goodbye and leave, I simply tried my best to hold in the waterfall begging to drip through the cracks in my eyes. That was two days ago. My eyes didn’t hold it in forever. And I think you can tell. I remember watching her board a plane, setting off to achieve her dream. I get it, I guess we do live in a small town, so it’s hard to become anything but a farmer or construction worker here. But even if I decided to visit or move there, she would probably have new friends by then. Speaking of friends, I needed to make some too. But I was a little caught up in absorbing everything that just happened, so I mentally set it aside and reminded myself of other things that needed to happen before friends.

Five days since Zoey left also happened to be the day I started ninth grade. In previous years, Zoey was always there with me. But change would happen eventually either way. I’d recovered from my tidal grief for the most part, so I looked presentable ━ to an extent. Arriving back at my old school for one of my last years there without my best friend felt depressing, to say the least. And I had a feeling it was going to feel like that for a while. I crept through those familiar hallways, hugging my worn out binder tightly to my chest. I continued to tread through those dreadful hallways all day, in hope of finding something interesting to do and get my mind off Zoey.
As I got home, I collapsed onto my couch, soaking up the feeling of the leather fabric. Well, the first day was an absolute nightmare. I hoped time would just stop for a bit and only start again once I’d recovered.

I feel like this first half is too fast paced, reading it felt like tumbilng down a hill. I do understan you don't have words to spare tho so here are some ways to make it slower and more emotional without having to write a lot more words (some of the ideas are NOT from me to avoid copyright XD)

1. Break up long sentences into shorter parts
Long sentences push the reader forward fast. Breaking them into fragments slows time and lets emotions sink in.

Original:
We didn’t want to spend our last moments together crying, but what left was there to do? So we listened to each other breathe and enjoyed each other's company.

Slowed:
We didn’t want to spend our last moments together crying. But what else was there to do? We just listened to each other breathe. Quiet. Steady. Together.

2. Use sensory anchors (without adding words)
Slip in one vivid sensory detail to ground the moment — sound of grass, cold air, weight of silence. This deepens immersion but doesn’t add length.

Original:
Inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale.

Slowed:
Inhale. Exhale. The wind hummed around us. Inhale. Exhale.

3. Show not tell
Instead of telling (“it was hard not to cry”), echo feelings through rhythm: repeat, pause, small fragments.

Original:
It was hard not to cry.

Slowed:
I blinked hard. Swallowed it back. Still, the tears burned anyway.

4. Replace generic verbs with weighty ones
Words like walked, looked, hugged are quick. Swap with ones that carry emotion: crept, clutched, sank, dragged.

Example Revision (not longer, just slower)

Arriving back at my old school for one of my last years there without my best friend felt depressing, to say the least. And I had a feeling it was going to feel like that for a while. I crept through those familiar hallways, hugging my worn out binder tightly to my chest.

Slowed version:

Walking into my old school — one of my last years here — without Zoey felt wrong. Heavy. I knew it would feel that way for a long time. I crept through the familiar hallways, binder pressed tight to my chest, like it might hold me together.

ok THATS IT

Weekly #4

૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა ♡

Part 1 - Outlining


ೀ ⋆ ｡ ˚

the art of dissonance. 2000 words

This is how it feels to be the music.
I stroke the keys, seductively smooth under my fingertips, arching my wrists before moving into the piece. When I play piano, the music is not just a sound for me. It is a feeling, an emotion that crashes over me like a tidal wave, carrying me on a current as I flow towards the end of the song. It is a beautiful kind of serenity, all the more lovely for its fragility. I crescendo, feet working the gleaming pedals as I build up to the skin-tingling finale, hands flying up and down the keys.
Then my fingers slip in a jangle and crash. I’m forcibly yanked out of the tide of music into reality, staring blankly at my sheet music.
I’ve failed. Again.
A month until the recital.
A month before I sit down at a grand piano and play this song for hundreds.
A month to make perfect something that, right now, is full of flaws.
I lift my chin, take a deep breath, flip to the first page. I start over.
I will get this right if it kills me.

This is how it feels to shine.
I have never failed at a recital before.
When I say fail, I don’t mean that I’ve never made a minor slip-up or two. Everyone does that; it’s inevitable. But I’ve never made a major mistake – cutting out a chunk of the piece, slamming the wrong chords, floundering and losing my place in the music. My piano teacher, Ms. Fields, takes the time before each recital to walk us through overcoming mistakes during the performance. The important thing, she says, is just to keep going. Don’t go back unless you absolutely must, and never, ever stop.
Every year, the pressure ticks up a little. Ms. Fields’s favorite way to set up the program is to have the least advanced students perform first, and the most advanced perform last, but most of her students drop out after only a couple years, meaning that the handful of more impressive songs are her little finale to the recital – especially the last one. Every year, I’ve been bumped back closer and closer to the end, but it wasn't until this recital that she announced that I am the last performer on the program this year. Not only will my performance wrap up the recital, it’ll reflect on her teaching, as well as my ability to play. If I don’t do well–
–but I don’t let myself think about that. Even though I worry on the outside, on the inside there is an inner core of calm and certainty. Of course I will do well. I always have, haven’t I?

This is how it feels to doubt.
The days slip away as I practice over and over. This is the time I hate the most: the week or two just before the recital, when the nerves are cranked up as high as they’ll go and my fingers flop and stumble over the song as though they’ve never played it before. I mess up, take a breath, and start over, losing myself in the music.
I’m so close to the end. Just a few more bars, and–
I hit the wrong chord, and this time I don’t bother to flip the pages to the start and try again. I crumple like a wilted flower, resting my head against the keys. The resulting clang reflects my mood.
I can’t play it perfectly, no matter how hard I try. In vain, I grasp at memories of previous recitals, remembering that this exact thing happened then, too. And look how those turned out. I made it through the real thing without breaking a sweat.
I’m at war with myself. I’m not playing for the crowds anymore. I’m not playing for my teacher. I’m not even playing for my family.
I’m playing for myself. I’m proving to myself that this is a challenge I can overcome. I’m proving to myself that I can do it, as I have time and time again. I’ve never yet met a song I couldn’t conquer.
And I’m determined to conquer this one. I straighten, adjust my position on the bench, and start again.

This is how it feels to freeze.
It’s the day of the recital. My teacher always runs us through a rehearsal before it begins, letting us warm up on the piano we’ll be using, familiarize ourselves with how the piano feels and sounds.
I’ve practiced. I’m ready. It’s time.
The parents aren’t allowed to watch during the mock recital, but afterwards they start filtering in and finding places to sit. This year, the recital is being held in a church, and evening light glimmers softly behind stained glass windows. The pews are hard, the backs uncushioned and rigid, but I’m not paying attention to the discomfort. My focus is on my hands, which are ice blocks. No matter what I do, I can’t get them warm.
I listen to song after song. There are some stumbles, but nothing too major. I clap after each one, and then, too soon and not soon enough, it’s my turn.

This is how it feels…
I walk to the piano, clutching my music binder. I arrange the position of myself, the music, and the bench. I lower my fingers to the keys.
It’s never sounded like this before, so beautiful and crisp on the perfectly tuned piano. My confidence grows in leaps and bounds as I play. I’ve mastered it. I’ve done it. I’ve proved to myself, once again, that I can–
–and I hit the wrong note
–and I jerk out of the flow
–and I lose my place
–and I freeze.

…to fail.
I stop.
When I perform for others, a chilly peace descends on me. A soothing calm, unrippled, that carries me to the end of the performance. It’s an unreal feeling, like being cradled in a glass ball, shielded from worries and doubts, surrounded by nothing but music.
Now the glass shatters into a thousand pieces, and I’m nothing more than a shivering mess huddled over the piano, my heart fluttering up into my throat like a panicked songbird’s. I can’t have messed up. I can’t.
The silence stretches for an eternity. Ms. Fields finally notices something is wrong after what feels like hours, although in reality it was more likely a few seconds. She leans over, whispers for me to keep going.
“I can’t,” I say. That’s all I can say. “I can’t, I can’t, I can’t.”
I can’t go on. It’s too hard.
She continues prompting me, and after several more seconds of panic I shakily begin playing again, stumbling through the song as best I can. I mess up in places I haven’t messed up for weeks, and the icy serenity has melted into a flood of emotion that I dam up as best I can. I must get through this. I can’t ruin it further than I already have.
I finish the song and stand, curtsying to the crowd with the most ungenuine smile I’ve ever given scraped across my face. Then I scurry back to my seat. I wait until the wretched recital is finally over, the closing remarks are finally closed, and then I let it go.
My grandmother is the first to catch me in a hug, squeezing me tight. She plays piano too; she understands. I cry into her shoulder as more people surround me, friends and family closing in, a cocoon of safety shielding me.
Always, after a recital, there’s a warm glow that suffuses me, a spark of joy that comes from knowing I’ve succeeded. Tonight, there’s nothing but bitter ice and hollowness in my veins.
I failed.
I didn’t fail the crowds. I didn’t fail my teacher. I didn’t fail my family.
I failed myself.

This is how it feels to thaw.
At the reception, I keep my head down. I don’t want to make eye contact. I don’t want to see the pity there.
Someone sits down next to me. My grandmother. She takes a breath or two before speaking, sorting out her thoughts.
“When your dad was a little boy, he needed an accompanist, but I didn’t have enough time to learn the piece. So we hired someone instead.”
I toyed with a strawberry, smearing pink across my plate.
“He got up there to play before the judges, and the accompanist started playing, and do you know what?”
I took a bite of strawberry. I expected it to taste sour, but sweet juice washes over my teeth instead.
“She messed up,” my grandmother continued. “Her job was performing piano, and she still flunked that piece.”
I looked up, meeting her eyes for the first time. “Really?”
Her eyes crinkle at the corners as she smiles. “Really.”
She stands up to go talk to someone, and I finish the rest of the strawberry, deep in thought. I hadn’t thought about how even the best might mess up sometimes.
If even they did…well, then maybe it was okay for me to mess up, too.

This is how it feels to learn the art of dissonance.
Before that night, I believed that I could play anything. That when the moment came, the imperfect would crystallize into something perfect.
I knew failure existed, but I didn’t know it could be mine.
Many people came and told me that I did a great job that night. I didn’t believe them. I couldn’t. I mumbled thanks and changed the subject, unwilling to dwell on it. I thought they were just trying to make me feel better. Everyone had to have heard. Everyone had to have known. I imagined pity in every glance sent my way, apology in every tone of voice. You tried your best… but it wasn’t quite enough.
But since that night, I’ve realized that they really were sincere. They genuinely enjoyed my performance, mistakes and all. Their compliments weren’t just empty words.
I learned that the harshest critic in that crowd that night was the girl trembling on the piano bench, fingers slipping off the keys to land helplessly in her lap.
I realized, as I never had been able to comprehend before, the art of dissonance: flying, failing, falling – and accepting that sometimes imperfection is beautiful too. I let myself down, but I didn’t stay there. Instead, I let my disappointment coalesce into motivation, into a promise that I would try again next time…

This is how it feels to be the music.
I’m sitting at the piano bench a few weeks later, picking out a piece of music to learn over the summer. My piano teacher has already played a couple for me, but I’m pretty sure I know which one I want.
I hand the music to her, and an eyebrow lifts, but she plays it for me anyway.
And it’s beautiful. More than beautiful: stunning.
It’s also hard. Extremely hard. It’ll take me months to master, if I master it at all.
A smile stretches across my face, and unlike the one at the recital, this expression is a hundred percent real.
“That’s the one,” I say. “I want that one.”
In the end, that’s what the recital left me with: a desire to push even harder, to overcome the obstacles in my way. I may mess up a dozen more recitals before I finally get this song right, but it doesn’t matter anymore. My music is allowed to be imperfect, to be human.
Who are you? I ask myself.
I know what the answer to that question would have been after the recital. And I know what it is now.
I’m a mistake, I would have said.
I lay out the sheet music. I adjust the bench. I stroke the keys, still seductively smooth under my fingertips. Then I arch my wrists and begin to play.
No.
I’m not a mistake. I am the music.

critique for sky | 07.26.2025

—

Hi Sky!! I'm Celeste (you know that already, obviously, but hey let's stick with formalities here and make it sound official okay), and I'm really excited to read your piece!! I've known you for such a long, long, time now, so I know how good at writing you are (you are good and will not say otherwise, got it?). That being said, I'm really nervous at the same time because you're my competition for the writing comp. So! Since you want to submit it (or, already have submitted) this piece, I'll do my best to make sure this is the best that it can be. And since I'm rambling now and this is very NOT formal, let's get started before I go off on a tangent.

—

I think for the second sentence here, you should add “away” after the “running,” just to make it sound like you are emphasizing “running away.” In this way, you repeat “running away” twice, which really emphasizes these words and their importance. This is more of a personal preference, I typically like repeating this to show their importance, but you don't have to.

i. running away is a coward’s game of foolish mistakes and trivial selfishness. running is understanding that there will be things you leave behind and things you will never look back upon of your own accord, if only to move onwards with your life and leave the remnants of your buried past behind.

—

To me, this feels like a run-on sentence, it's pretty long and there aren't too many breaks in it. There is one comma near the beginning of the sentence, but after that it doesn't stop, and if I was reading it out loud I feel like I would run out of breath. Maybe you could find a way to split the sentence up, and that would help.

Not the way that sleep can fix, but the way that seeps into your bones and carries a weight heavier than the crown of a head bent beneath the burden of pretending to be fine.

—

I absolutely love love love the use of the metaphor here, with the candle being blown out. I do admittedly use that one a lot, but it's a good one and I will never get tired of it hehe.

Now, I feel as though the light within my body has been blown out, a candle that once burned through the night, now long extinguished.

—

Since I've decided to be nitpicky today (like I do every time I do a critique), I'll give you the same piece of advice I've given multiple others. This isn't really important, and I doubt that the judges will care or notice, but for the sake of everything staying consistent, I think you should indent. All of the previous paragraphs here have been indented, and then suddenly there is no indent. I know formatting in Scratch forums can be finicky and annoying, especially if copy and pasting from google docs, and the tab button doesn't work. I just usually put three to five spaces in place of this, and that works!

You’ve always told me that running is a neverending cycle of both cruelty and shame, neglecting those you leave behind and abandoning them without looking back. But maybe sometimes, running is a way of continuing on to triumph through the tears of blood that the clouds cry. Maybe running is forging a path for others that they cannot see themselves. Maybe, running is a sacrifice made to benefit others.
Maybe, running is what I’ll do.
Not because I want to leave- because I want you to stay.

—

I think in general for the first part, you could drop a hint as to who Calista is and what she means to Aislia. This would maybe make the first part make some more sense, but in general I love it!! I know your style- it's very poetic- and I can see you putting that poetic-ness in your writing here, and you do a good job at keeping the tone consistent (something I often struggle with, so I admire you very much for this haha).

—

I know this is meant to sound poetic and stuff like that, but I feel like adding “however” makes it a little bit too formal. Maybe replacing it with “but” or something like that would help, it would make it sound less formal if Aislia is just writing a letter to someone (regardless of whether that letter gets sent or not). I know writing rules state that you can't start a sentence with “but,” but (haha) a lot of people do that anyways so it's fine (I know you do).

However, there comes a point in time where I wonder if walking into the sun with others by your side will burn with a ferocious flare, guilt and fear eating away at your flesh, rather than with the painless warmth of skin brushing skin.

—

Honestly, I had to re-read this sentence a few times to get what you were trying to say. This could just be me and my inability to understand things properly, but maybe you could clarify this sentence by changing words or something? To me, “utter void” didn't make that much sense, I think that was what threw me off, so maybe just choosing different words to describe that could help as well.

I wonder if I am sentencing you to a doomed eternity of utter void, basking in darkness only the stars can break up.

—

You already say “ends of the earth” before in this section, making it feel a little repetitive, so unless you were aiming to emphasize this part, then I would change it up a little, just so it doesn't feel like you're repeating things for no reason. Just a suggestion.

If I were to walk to the ends of the earth, would you follow without a falter? Would you endure the brambles sinking deep into the bare flesh beneath your feet, the restlessness that has seeped within your bones, the blood and the tears dripping from your eyes as you watch the world around us go up into flames?

—

Again, I've decided to be nitpicky with formatting, again just to keep it consistent (because I like consistency). In the first part, you didn't indent this, but in this part you did. I think you don't need to indent, just for it to match with the first part, and to the part that introduces who Aislia is addressing the letter to (I'm sorry for being nitpicky today).

Love,
Aislia

—

The intro to this third part here felt a little bit random, compared to the first two parts. Maybe try rearranging the order of the sentences, or editing them a little bit to match the pattern of the intros of parts one and two.

iii. where the bleeding may stop, the pain never will. from the bloodbath shall rise the flowers, a beautifully lethal bouquet watered by the tears of those who only feel the roture of those who seek the beauty. wounds never heal, only close enough so that the bloody mess beneath may not taint the undergrowth of the outside.

—

Oh. My. Goodness. Part three.
I very literally have no words.
(Whatever you do, don't change this part, I beg of you. It is perhaps the most beautiful thing I have read today so far.)
My only thing is that “Dear Almost” doesn't quite make that much sense to me, so maybe clarifying that would help (and somehow changing as little as possible of this part would be great too please).

Dear Almost,

You never meant to love me, not really. You only meant to see what would bloom if you crushed a soul gently enough.
You buried me under the burden of your words, the scraps of empty promises, the ghost of what you swore you meant. You let me wither and rot but told me to be grateful while I basked in the garden of your soul. You gave me forget-me-nots and dandelions, then bound them to my wrists. You shackled me in dahlias though you never accepted my gifts. You left me a bouquet of love, devotion, and grief, and told me to wear it like a crown. I watched as the flowers that I watered with my tears grew into the spirals of my stemmed cage.
The first to grow were the marigolds. The bloomed in the bruises you didn’t leave with fists- grief masquerading as gold. They smiled at me like meek stars drowning in the night. But no light stemmed from them as they wound around my wounds, binding me to the longing for the things I once had.
Then came the wildflowers, budding in my throat and curling around my tongue. Slow, suffocating, trapping the air within my lungs. They spilled from my throat until my voice wilted in their shadow. I became still. Small. Sounds dulled beneath the tremor of the flowers that silenced me.
And then came the roses. Crimson and dark, curling around my ribs and forming a cage of their own. Petals soft as the promises you never kept, thorns sharper than your goodbye. They blotted my vision and collapsed my lungs until all I could do was breathe in the form of you I was never able to let go of. They bled me dry in the shape of love.
I could blink for light but there was no more left to see, and I could gasp for air but there was no more left to breathe, and I let you bend me though there was no more left to break.
Even the loveliest of gardens grow wild and reckless and even the prettiest of flowers rot. Even something so beautiful such as the garden you planted within me could host the remains of something so lethal.
Marigolds the name of the sun wilting the beauty of the things I long to have, wallflowers the symbol of hiding behind nothingness, and roses the color of the blood that spills from my heart, staining the grass with a sickly sweet finality.
I do not know when the garden became a grave. But I can no longer tell where your roots end and my bones begin.

Aislia

—

Again, for the introduction thing. I really loved the pattern you used for the intros of parts one and two, and I almost wish you could do that for the rest of them (consistency and my personal preference). I do consider this a personal preference, just because I like consistency and patterns, it just makes my heart happy.

iv. and it is at these times where they wonder: are the stars truly deaf or do they simply turn their minds from the useless beings who clamor beneath? are the soft cries of a young girl muffled by the blanket of darkness she wilts into, or are they an irrelevant strife? can the stars hear the screams etched into the metal of a tired, old belt loop, or are the sounds of fire against fire against skin against skin against flesh inaudible to the merciless ears of all those useless beings?

—

My only thing for part four is that you maybe bring her father more into the first part? I love the story about the Sculptor and the Sculpted, but it feels a little bit sudden when you start talking about her father. I see the reference to the Sculptor and Sculpted, but I do think you could integrate her father in a little more, at least add a little bit about him before you start the story of the Sculptor and the Sculpted.

—

I didn't know who Lia was at first, I had to go look at your project description to understand it, maybe you could just clarify that a little bit somehow, I'm not sure exactly. This would definitely help, though.

—

In general, the ending (or rather, part five) didn't quite match the tone of the rest of your piece to me. Maybe adding more similes or metaphors directly could help with this, but otherwise I think this is absolutely beautiful. I also don't think you NEED to capitalize “you” at the end, but you can.

—

Yayyy we reached the end!! I hope that this helped, and that with the little time you have left to edit your piece you are able to polish this and make it stunning. Seriously, though, do not edit part three that much, if at all, please. I love it just the way it is. Overall, I think it's just small things that you could change- wording and clarification stood out to me the most. Besides these things, I think this is a great piece!! Also, I'm sorry that I didn't explain the things I liked about this too too much, just because I didn't say many good things about it doesn't mean that there weren't any good things about it (cough cough part 3), there was so much I wanted to say that was amazing but I'm just trying to keep this short (because that went SUPER well). Thank you so much again for letting me critique this, I'm sorry this is so late haha. I hope this helps, and I can't wait to read more of your writing in the future!

—
1300 words exactly

Lestie! Okay, this critique is SUPER rushed but uh- I’ll try to do as best as possible.

“Yet somehow I have managed to walk away from him time and time again.”

Don’t forget a comma after “somehow”!

“Yet somehow I have managed to walk away from him time and time again. Your gaze falls to mine…”

This transition feels choppy and out of place, as if you’re switching perspectives and/or the person you’re talking about. Even as I continue reading, I’m confused and am almost skipping over the next parts in order to find the next mention of the word “him”! Through that process, it becomes clear that Death was the original addressee. However, this transition could definitely be tightened up.

This next paragraph is great and poetic, although it makes characterizing Death difficult. It almost gives him a softer and kinder expression, but up until this point, he seems far more cold and unwilling.

“…made us sign up for the CAP program.”

This line feels extremely out of place. Not only this, but it’s hard to decipher the acronym's meaning. The tone of the piece is very poetic, but this leans more into more of a realistic fiction piece. Along with this, the mentions of the government feel very harsh and aren’t subtly integrated near the beginning of the piece. However, in the next paragraph(s), you incorporate that poetic feel once again while still balancing it with the mentioning of the government. This is great!

Once again, the transitions between the next few paragraphs aren’t very smooth. Switching from explaining her father’s origins and her backstory to mentioning Death again doesn’t feel like a good transition. (Wow, how many times have I used the word “transition”?)

“…guiding us silently through the clear double doors and towards the receptionist.”

The reception’s role is so mild that her title doesn’t need to be that clear, since it begins leading towards more of a realistic fiction than a poetic reflection.

Okay, I’m wrapping this up even though there’s more I could critique, but I do feel as though, now knowing the meaning of the CAP program, the story begins taking more of a sci-fi turn, straying from the original poetic form of the piece. You’ve added in great symbolism and figurative language, but it does feel scattered at times. Not only that, but when writing a more poetic piece and still wanting to use a clear plot, it sometimes help to blur ideas into slightly more general ideas. For example, ‘the receptionist’ doesn’t need a title: simply describe her enough in a way that shows who she is.

OH- AND THEN ENDING- CHEF’S KISS!!! I LOVE IT SO MUCH!!

That’s it! There’s more (and I’ll try to edit it in), but for now, this is all I have! Your piece is great, Lestie! YAY!!!!

lifeblood | rockie's writing competition entry (1061 words)

“Words have power. In fact, there is nothing more powerful in our world than letters strung together, tattooed in the same black ink that runs through our throbbing veins. That is the sole reason we control who can engage in the sacred art of ingesting and creating these forms… It’s what’s best for us all.”

- Julius Oxnard, Etched in Ink: The Past, Present, and Future of Words in Anglia

The day Rook learned to read was the day the world began to spiral—the day that every citizen of Anglia felt the shimmering ink running through their veins begin to hum with a strange power. It was a day where magic snuck through the cracks, where the rich and the poor and the happy and the sad felt a ripple pass through their very souls—one that caused the tiniest fracture in Anglia’s bloodstained fabric, one that built and built and built until it all came crashing down.

But before Rook could break the world, he was just a boy. A boy with no parents and no family to speak of. A boy who was tragically, desperately alone.

The air in Anglia was cold after the sun went down—bitterly, desperately cold. Mice scurried over hunched figures freezing in the poorer streets. The air seemed thin, and the sky was an otherworldly black with no stars to be seen.

This was no place for a world-changer.

But most world-changers start out this way, don’t they?

Rook clutched his hands to his chest, his skin taking on a sort of bluish pallor as he hurried through the city, snow fluttering around him in a beautiful, harrowing dance. The lack of simple signage—or of any words at all—around him didn’t deter his purposeful, if slightly harried, stride. He knew this city, and he knew how to survive it.

He was no more than twelve, and yet, he moved with the haggard sort of desperation that only came with undeserved years on the streets. He was mostly used to the cold by now—in fact, he didn’t even falter when a particularly strong wind slammed into his back, curls whipping into his onyx eyes.

Anglia sprawled out in front of him in a jagged, hungry mess of unkempt roads and starving bodies as Rook trudged through the slums with a watchful eye, one hand resting on a dagger with practiced precision as he monitored every move of the dark figures that lined the alleys until he made his way to the heart of the city, where the alleys were pristine and the streetlamps bathed the smooth, unbroken concrete in a steady glow. He had arrived at Quill Street—the homes of the merchants, the politicians, and the writers.

The houses were extravagant, almost garishly so, with twisting rooftops and soaring balconies, standing out like overly polished sore thumbs against the soot-stained brick of the rest of the city. Rook’s eyes strained as he gazed through the stained-glass windows and noted the plates of steaming food piled on tabletops, the scenes of happy families, and the towering shelves of books. He imagined the smell of their intoxicating pages, how the words would form in his head if he cracked open their spines. He pictured the small children that he glimpsed through open doors reading bedtime stories and learning their alphabets with no small amount of jealousy. He’d always wished that he was one of those children—someone who knew how to read in a world where words were the greatest power of all.

But then the visions passed, and he was on the street again, illiterate and lonely and starving.

A particularly ferocious gust of sleet-streaked wind jolted him from his wistful reverie, and he hurried up Quill Street, planning to find his way to a hostel and convince the owner to let him stay. But, as Rook poked his head out from behind the corner of the street’s final mansion, a spatter of gunfire rang out ahead.

He ducked behind the side of a mansion to hide and cursed quietly as he noticed a black-robed figure—a Saliax, one of the lawkeeping grunts— aiming a pistol at a ragged man holding a small alphabet book, a bullet lodged in the poor man’s gut. He bled out slowly, black ink spreading like a ripple on a pond over his ivory-colored shirt until the thief’s horrible gurgles finally went silent.

Rebellion pervaded these streets, and it had always intrigued Rook—he sometimes liked to dream of a world where everyone could read and write, where everyone had a chance to discover the magic of words on a page, where everyone could write a story or visit a library. But he had always been too preoccupied with finding his next meal to rebel. Here, though, being caught anywhere near the scene of a Saliax execution was a death sentence in itself.

Rook tried to dart back the way he came, but another Saliax lazily smoking a pipe lingered on the other end of the street, presumably tasked with guarding Quill Street after the attempted robbery. He hurried back into his hidden corner and tried to breathe slowly, surrounded on both sides but not yet noticed. His pulse quickened, his breaths growing shorter and shorter as an unwelcome panic infected his chest. He needed to find somewhere to hide before someone found him. Rook’s mind whirred frantically, uselessly, and his body seemed to move without his brain’s permission as he crept around the mansion he hid behind and into its sprawling backyard.

And that is why Rook found himself crouching in a bare tree in the dark gardens draping across the back of 402 Quill Street in the dead of night; how he noticed a piece of discarded paper lying, forgotten, beneath a wrought-iron bench, streaked with mud and snow. He could just make out the faint outline of crude, childlike markings along the page, drawn out carefully in black blood. Ice-cold temptation overtook him—a desperate, maddening urge to learn, to discover, to read.

He crawled down from the tree, his heart beating quickly. What he was about to do was incredibly illegal and went against the very foundations of Anglia. But, in his mind, it wasn’t truly that bad—after all, what great harm could come from a child learning his letters?

So Rook picked up the paper, and Anglia began to splinter at the seams.

⋆ july 27th: daily!! jokes on you, i slept 10 hours. my picture was the stupid horse in the rain meme. i opened pin and it was there idk

it’s been a very long day of writing for cabin wars, and you are tired beyond your wits. your fingers feel as if they are on the verge of falling off, and there are tears that lurk behind your eyes. but at last, it’s over, and you feel… proud? of all the effort that you’ve put forth into keeping your cabinmates alive. there is always a light at the end of the tunnel and you’ve been patient enough to wait for it. you shut off your computer for now and get up, blinking. now what? you haven’t moved in quite a bit, too locked in to think of anything other than writing. maybe you should go outside and touch some grass.
you open the door to go and stand on your lawn, light from the sun and the bright blue sky blinding your eyes that have gotten far too used to the light of your screen and drawn windows. the air is crisp and fresh. you take it all in for a minute, before sighing and saying aloud,
“man, i’m so hungry.”
suddenly, the sky darkens, and it starts to rain heavily out of nowhere. you panic, was this the apocalypse? the end of the world? you turn around and frantically try to head back inside, but the door is locked.
turning around, there is an average looking brown horse descending from the heavens. you fear that he has come to claim your soul at last, and you are doomed. he stands tall, lowers his head, and you await his message.
“how hungry…”

Evil (Re)Incarnate

Author's Note (Not in word count):
This is a complicated concept set in a complicated world. It's a deliberate stylistic decision that I've explained sporadically and intended for you to connect the dots. As such, I won't help you, but I do encourage you to try to understand - and keep in mind that despite the similar place names, this world is NOT, in fact, a future of our own.

Also, credits to @Alfalfa78 for the critique!

“Joanna Aren-1758, please come to the stage.” I stand, ready to do my part. There are a few hundred others promoting with me today. The name Aren is a relic from before the unification, but my family decided to keep it for the sake of novelty. A world of 9 billion people who couldn’t even share a language - I shudder at the thought of life there.
“Today, August 6th, we promote Paolo’s youth to adulthood. Like all of us, they have the memories of Johan, the English tongue, and most importantly, the commitment to keeping our world together. Today, they are chipped, and can ascend to do the good work that our past self did a millennium ago. Say your vow as one mind.”
We speak in unison. “I pledge to respect the unification. I pledge to carry forth the values of Johan and help happiness in all. I pledge to serve our one mind.” I’m moved by the gesture. As I stand to be chipped, I can clearly see myself along the track of life, and with my past life - I was Johan Elliot, and now I am Joanna Aren. And with the others who have been Johan Elliot, I’ll help maintain the unification. The chip stings, but I’m too busy in the clouds of my future to notice it.
We’re dismissed, but as the others are brought cars for other designations of Paolo, I’m one of the few that surprisingly aren’t. I ask my escort if my destination is in walking distance. They shake their heads. “You’re being deployed to Chicago.”

——————————————————————————————————————————
The plane touches down, and I walk out into the frigid air. How could anyone live in this climate? I suppose Johan Elliot did, but everywhere’s supposed to be better since the unification. It’s a shame my position wasn’t in Paolo.
I’ve heard before the unification, people “traveled”, exploring the world. But what is there much to explore? Now that we’re all unified, any city is just like any other - people just stay in the one we’re used to.
“Where are we going?” I ask my escort.
“Chicago Security Facility. We don’t need them often, so there’s only six.”
Security? I don’t know what that is. I guess I’ll find out.
The vehicle pulls up to the building, which is indeed marked “Security” - although it has a strange symbol above it, the pinwheel of souls. “What work is there to do regarding reincarnation anymore?” I ask. “Everyone can trace themselves back to Johan Elliot.”
“You’ll see in a moment.” For a second, I see a flicker of emotion on the escort’s face. Fear?
A woman is already there when we enter the facility. “Aren. Come on in - we have work for you.”
“And what exactly would that be?” It seems to me that the unification government doesn’t discuss all of its public services in detail. What I can’t comprehend is why they would have something to hide from us - we are all of one soul. That’s why the unification exists - although if you want to go further back, it’s because Johan Elliot constructed his revolutionary Soulcatcher and then accidentally trapped himself inside it.
“You’re familiar with the Queue of Souls, correct?”
“Of course. Before the unification -”
“The process still continues now.”
“Alright - when someone died OR DIES, now or earlier, they’re in theory supposed to be sent to the back of the Queue of Souls, and then once they wait for everyone ahead of them to be reborn, they reincarnate into the next child born. But that process is archaic now. The copies of Johan fill the Queue, and nobody ever returns to it - we’re all chipped, so the chip takes our soul upon death, which is permanent. Now, the only souls are the ones that can trace themselves back to the original Jonah Elliot.”
“Not as archaic as you might think. There’s one thing you forgot about the chipping process.”
“And what is that?”
“The earth’s original other souls can’t be chipped; we only know how to make them for one soul - ours.”
The realization dawns on me. All the world’s souls - or I slowly realize, almost all of them - all come from Jonah Elliot, so we only live two lives. But the original souls from before the unification, the ones we can’t chip, never disappeared. We exterminated them, but their deaths aren’t permanent.
“They’re still in the queue.” In between all the Johan Elliots, occasionally, someone from before the unification is born. Such people could tear our entire society apart - from their different values to the fact that they can’t be chipped.
“You want me to kill some of them.” My hands shake.
“No. If we kill them, they’re just born elsewhere eventually. We need you to capture them and bring them to us, where we’ll keep them in comas. Aren, the data from your chip suggest you’re incredibly high-variance from the main continuum of humanity - in a way that makes only you perfect for this task. Some of these people somehow evaded us until they had to be promoted to adulthood, and now they’re hiding out in a tower just east of Chicago. FIND THEM. Destroy the threat to our society. THAT is your role.”

——————————————————————————————————————————-
I stand at the base of the tower, ready to complete the plan. I’ll throw the grappling hook up the tower, catch the refugees by surprise, then get them in the body bags and ship them to security. Only I’m here - more people would mean they’d be more likely to notice - but I have a microphone connected to the Security facility. It’s a beautiful view - to the right of me, I see the forests of the Excluded Zone, the area around the original Johan Elliot no one’s allowed to enter.
“I’m ready.”
“Good. Get the refugees and ship them back to us in security.”
I begin to slide up the grappling hook, when suddenly, I feel a jerk beneath my feet, almost as if the entire ground is shifting. Surely I’m not going up that fast? I look up, and I see the problem - someone from the top has grabbed the hook, and is reeling me in. I no longer have altitude control. So much for secrecy.
“Put down your weapons and surrender!” I yell.
A cry comes from above, that of a young boy. “Under no circumstance! We know your plans - the people here have known about the machinations of security for a long time!”
I consider the situation. An idea comes to me - a dark one, but an idea none the less.
“I’ll put down my weapons as well. We just want to talk. Security no longer uses its comas.” I have no such intentions.
A hushed discussion comes from above. “Alright, we’ll reel you up.”
They really are stupid! I watch as they reel me up, my knife and ropes behind my back, and I’m sent into the tower. I’m prepared to go into a lunging position, when suddenly, the boy pulls a black object from behind his back.
I can’t resist my curiosity. “What is that?”
“Chipgun. Make any moves and we’ll activate your chip and kill you. What, you really thought we were that naive? You’re holding a knife behind your back. We accepted your fake request because WE would like to have a talk with YOU.”
“About what?” I snap. “You’re a threat to the unification, and you’re holding me here against my will. It’s a good thing we got rid of you when we rose to take control of your collapsing world - “
“You never got rid of us completely. And our world wasn’t collapsing until you made it do so.” There’s fire in his eyes, burning with the strength of the sun in a magnifying glass. “I was among the last to die - but my body was tied to one of Elliot’s horrible creations, and it sent me very close to the front of the queue. I remember the history that the others never saw and your government erased.”
“What history? The world was breaking down, we rose up, established the unification, and allowed humanity to return to its optimal state.”
“It took a couple years once people realized that someone had found a loophole in the reincarnation process - that 99 out of every hundred children born were an incarnation of the exact same man. It worked quicker then; every millisecond, a new Johan Elliot was created and joined the queue. I had to work for that selfish narcissist. I was near his forcefield gate, so I could survive a little while, but they got me eventually. But I saw how quickly an entire civilization can be ripped apart by a hivemind of children. How rivers can run with the blood of all but the man I hated most. How a government can destroy culture and humanity, in the name of total sameness.”
I want to scream at him, to tell him that for the things he’s said, it’s good he isn’t chipped so we can kill him again and again. But I’m beginning to understand something about what he says. It rings out more and more clearly in my head - maybe it’s just because I’m so divergent from the other Johan and Joannas, but I’m starting to see a simple fact.
He’s right.
My eyes widen as I consider all the things I was blind to throughout my life. No wonder we’re never given a choice in anything - it’s because our society is too feeble to even sustain itself without everyone’s total cooperation. No wonder I’ve been taught so many times in my classes to ignore hunger and pain - it’s so I can act like this is a normal state of life. And it’s been like this for a millennium. But it’s not normal. The world’s been filled with copies of one man with a limited set of skills, and I’m one of them. I’ve been a pawn in my own game.
I break down to the ground. How could I have been so naive?
After all, I can see it clearly. The man we all worship - the man we’re all living the second lives of - was an empathyless, deranged fool. We are ruled by our past self, and the whole world has broken down for it.
I look out of the tower, into the Exclusion Zone below. It’s high enough from here that you can even see Johan’s machine. Every millisecond, it kills him, but the machine keeps his soul in his body - so he’s still alive, but since he “died”, a copy of his soul joins the queue - and then the process repeats, drowning out everyone else in a flood of his copies.
The boy (man?) and his group notice where I’m looking. “I take it you've realized. We had a plan against this - we positioned ourselves here so we could fire into the exclusion zone, get past the force field and break the machine. But it turns out, the field is stronger than we thought. The only thing that can make it through is someone Johan’s soul.
I grasp what I have to do to make things right. I look at the barrel of their cannon-like weapon firer, then climb into it. The boy understands my aim completely - he signals to the child running it, and she prepares to fire.
I turn my microphone on. “I hope you understand what you’ve done. I hope you pay”. Then I throw it out the window, and watch helplessly as my body is blasted into the air. In my final moments of consciousness, before I finally faint from the blast on my legs, I’m glad of what will happen. My body will cross the barrier, and crash into the machine. For the first time in a millennium, it will stop.
All of us are chipped. So we don’t rejoin the queue. And while the original souls will return, there will never be a Johan Elliot again.
That’s for the best.