SWC Megathread ࿔*:☘︎･ November 2025

Dawn_Camps

⧉ Historical Fiction Weekly ⧉
November 10-16
TOC

Total Word Count: ___

⧉ Part One ⧉
Research

Section Word count: 280

I'm not 100% sure I did this part right, if it's incorrect just let me know and I'll redo it <3
The Golden Age of Piracy refers to a period from around the 1650s-1720s, though some sources argue it started and ended a few decades later. This time period is generally agreed upon to be the height of pirate activity, with many famous pirates having come from this era. But what does pirate activity even mean? Well picture this: you're young and looking for a way to get rich fast, piracy seems like a good solution. Or perhaps you want to sail but the strict rules of the navy don't appeal to you, well lucky for you pirates don't have nearly as many rules and was very similar to any other sailor (well aside from the whole issue of legality and striking fear into the hearts of merchants)! However, a pirate's life wasn't just adventures on the high sea, their lives were incredibly dangerous; so what you gained in freedom, you lost in security. While some authorities might be willing to be lenient, most often you would find yourself at the end of your rope if caught. High risk, high reward. But how did one acquire such rewards? Obviously piracy wasn't exactly legal, so pirates quickly developed safe havens where they could easily sell their stolen goods and restock on supplies. It was a quick way to make money so most pirates decided to retire after a few years—another reason piracy was a sought-after profession. I mean, who doesn't want to strike it rich and retire early? Unfortunately pirates were a little too good at their jobs and ended up disrupting trade to the point where the navy hunted them down, thus ending the Golden Age of Piracy.

⧉ Part Two ⧉
Description

Section Word count: __
YEEHAW

⧉ Part Three ⧉
Character

Section Word count: __
YEEHAW

⧉ Part Four ⧉
Story

Section Word count: __
YEEHAW

Last edited by Dawn_Camps (Nov. 12, 2025 00:35:36)

babyoda1546

✪ Weekly Assignment 01: Writing Genres ⊹ ₊

Poetry - I chose acrostic. I suck at poetry so bare with me :D

Flora in the field, their bright blooms all around
Laying in the sun, sunshine gives us comfortable warmth
Out past the flourishing olive garden, no one makes a single sound
Water rushes through the creek and the birds preform
Echoes of the past all around
Rushed not through life’s raging storm

Flowers of all colors and hues reign
In the quiet field where time has come to a still
Enjoying the last of the day as sunlight begins to drain
Life hushes within the flat fields, curved valleys, and rolling hills
Dark night slowly creeps in as the sun sinks over the plain
(103 words)

Songwriting - I HATE WRITING SONGS WITH A BURNING PASSION SO PLEASE DON'T HURT ME FOR THE CRAPPY SONGGGG

(So I was thinking maybe some gentle and lifting melodies and maybe acoustic guitar and some light flute playing? I kinda wondered if the harp would fit. On noteflight, I experimented with arpeggios and chords and I really liked it. )

(maybe small low F to normal F arpeggio on piano and harp. Normal F to high F on flute. These are at the same time)
(After arpeggio, the piano plays background chords. Flute and Acoustic guitar play a main melody. Harp may be in the background. I don’t know.)

Lyrics:
When the world feels heavy, and you’re feeling small
Know that I’m beside you, I’ll catch you if you fall
Through the highs and lows, the laughter and tears
We’ll walk this road together, through all the years

(some small drum kick or something)
Chorus:
Though the seasons may change
And weather may differ
You are my friend and I’ll stay forever
Bright blooms in May
Colorful leaves in November
You are my friend so call me whenever

Lyrics:
When life grows tough
And you’re not sure that you’re enough
You can talk to me and I’ll be there
I promise, I swear

Chorus:
Though the seasons may change
And weather may differ
You are my friend and I’ll stay forever
Refreshing breeze in the Summer
And the December cold
Our friendship will never, never grow old

Bridge:
When the night seems like forever
I’ll be your guide, your beacon of light
Through every storm, and every calm sea
Just like family, you can count on me

Chorus:
Though the seasons may change
And weather may differ
You are my friend and I’ll stay forever
Flowers in May
Leaves in November
You are my friend so call me whenever
(295 words)

Script - I actually like scripts so yay!!

Lorelei and Ronan walk towards the trailhead, ready to start their hike
Lorelei: “Thank you for agreeing to take a hike with me today, Ronan”
Ronan: “My pleasure. Anything for you, mon ami”
Lorelei: “Baskins Creek seemed like a fun hike and I’ve never done it before so this should be fun”
Ronan: “I’m sure it will be”

…

Lorelei looks around for the path they were supposed to take and then at the map in her hands
Ronan: “Lorelei, Are we lost?”
Lorelei: “Uhhh… Nope. I got this, Ronan.”
Ronan smirks
Ronan: “Well at least I’m lost with you”
Lorelei: “We are not lost, Ronan”
Ronan: “You keep telling yourself that, my friend”
Lorelei chooses a path and walks down it
Ronan: “Are you sure this is the right path?”
Lorelei: “Yes. One hundred percent”
Ronan raises an eyebrow at Livy with that same stupid smirk on his face as he follows Lorelei
Lorelei: “Okay, so maybe I don’t but still. I got this, trust me”
Ronan: “You got it, princess”
Lorelei: “I told you not to call me that”
Ronan: “Whatever you say, princess”
Lorelei groans in annoyance
Lorelei: “Ughhh! You are so insufferable!”
Ronan: “Wow, Ronan. You’re so handsome and kind and-”
Lorelei: “Do the world a favor and shut up”
Ronan: “Fine. Suit yourself”
They walk in silence for a while, looking for the correct path
Ronan: “Is Forrest Frank that one singer’s real name?”
Lorelei: “I think so. Why?”
Ronan: “So when he asked his wife to marry him, did he ask her to be Frank with him”
Lorelei does a facepalm
Ronan: “Will you be Frank with me?”
Lorelei: “No”
Ronan: “Why?”
Lorelei: “Because your last name isn’t Frank”
Ronan: “Ohhhh yeahhh. Forgot about that”
Lorelei: “How did you- Never mind. I don’t want to know”
Ronan: “Suit yourself, princess”

…

Ronan: “What if the sky is secretly orange and all the colorblind people who see it as orange are correct and everyone who sees it as blue is colorblind?”
Lorelei: “This again? Really?”
Ronan: “Fine. I’ll stop.”

,,,

It was 3pm and they have been lost for two hours now. Lorelei is getting stressed
Lorelei sits down on a rock and anxiously runs a hand through her hair
Lorelei: “At this rate, we’re never getting out”
Ronan sits down with her, wraps a comforting arm around her shoulder, and pulls her close
Ronan: “Hey, it’s okay. We’ll be okay.”
Lorelei: “But what if-”
Ronan: “No what ifs. We got this. You're smart, princess. You’ll figure it out.”
Lorelei: “Okay… Let’s keep going”
Ronan: “That’s the spirit. Let’s go”
(434 words)

Speech - I probably couldn't give a speech. This actually sucks because I'm TIRED and I rushed it for my cabin <3

Fun Fact: A survey by Mental Health America found that 84% of women and 75% of men have experienced a toxic friendship. Of course this is normal because you’re always going to have a bad relationship or two in your life (especially in middle school and high school), but it hurts doesn’t it?

Ever since I was little, mom has always told me to find the right friends and that if a relationship turned toxic, to cut it off. She told me a few different stories from toxic friendships she’s had and to not put too much out there, I’ll summarize it. So, basically, mom and her friend had this fight because her friend was jealous about something (I forgot what it was), and her friend said, “I was only ever friends with you because you’re smart and successful!” It could’ve just come out in the heat of the moment but it still hurts.
I, myself, have had very few bad friendships. It was in third grade and a friend wouldn’t let me play with my best friend because I was “too smart” or “too nerdy”. I was frustrated, but being the introvert I am, I just separated myself from that group and got closer to the group I’m still friends with to this day. That was one of the best decisions I have ever made.

Next, I think it's worth mentioning the so-called “popular kids" I never have or wanted to be in that group. The “popular kids” are usually the ones that make bad decisions and are typically the mean kids. Mom always told me, “Popular kids are known because they are either feared or they are known for being brats. I think the more nerdy kids like your group are more known for being kind and goofy and just having good personalities.” Some popular kids are actually known for achievements and kindness, but I know in my school they are remembered for being staff kids or for being athletes or for being in trouble. My friend group is a bunch of nerds just getting by with our brains and weird personalities. My second grade teachers still remember me.

So I know this speech sucked but I’m just gonna end you off with this. You do not need to be in the popular group of kiddos. More often than not, they’re the ones that make bad decisions as they grow up and they are often not people I want to hang around. Be a kind person. Also, cut off the toxic relationships. They encourage bad things. Love you all. Bye
(432 words)

» — ⋙ 1264 words total ⋘ — «

Last edited by babyoda1546 (Nov. 10, 2025 04:35:19)

-NotWillow-

──★ ˙ historical fiction weekly
2,137 words … november 10

Part One - Researching the Time Period

Whether you're a history person or simply wanting to look back, historical fiction will allow you to put your own spin on past events! In order to begin a historical fiction piece, the most important part is researching the historical time period itself. However, for this part of the weekly, you are going to describe the time period in a way that doesn't just feel like a research paper. Use this workshop by @-ChocoLoco- to turn your research into a vibrant background for your story! Write 200 words of story-esque research, making the past come to life!

The Heian Period of Japan :

relocated capital to Heian-kyō (modern-day Kyoto)

considered peak of classical Japanese civilization

literature and aristocratic culture flourished

initially imperial, later became an oligarchy

elite women wore jūnin hitoe, a complex twelve-layered kimono

elite men wore sokutai, which were robes with headgear and fans

women wore facial powder, painted their teeth black, and grew out their hair

Tendai and Pure Land Buddhism flourished, along with Shinto

women wrote most literature as a form of expression

people often visited shrines for blessings or offereings

commoners lived in basic huts, basic foods, oral traditions, farming knowledge, simple garments

aristocrats lived in mansions, refined dishes, good education, calligraphy, layered robes

rich women were concealed, and marriages were often for political gain

ended from disaster, land decentralization, and military families

Commoners, like farmers and artisans, lived in modest homes from wood and thatch. They ate basic vegetables, fish, and rice. They barely had any education, often passed down from previous generations. People worked hard, with farming, crafting, and trading. Low class women helped in fields, worked at home, and made textiles. On the other hand, wealthy people lived in huge homes. They had extravagant dishes. They engaged in poetry, music, art, calligraphy, and literature. They were given proper education and were well-mannered. However, elite women were hidden from the public and had their own private quarters.

277 words

Part Two - Description Writing

Now that you know all about your researched historical period, it's time to use the newly acquired knowledge to draft a description, or setting, for a story set in this epoch. Perhaps you'll get to picture the ancient Egyptian temples or maybe you'll be writing about a nobleman's estate in the middle ages – in any case, be sure to use vivid imagery and precise details! Don't include any characters yet – this'll come later in the weekly. Make your spellbounding description at least 400 words to complete this part!

Heian-kyō, the heart of nobility, held lives of seclusion and concealment. Homes here were grand, designed for elegance and beauty. The mouth-watering smell of extravagant meals could be detected, as the elite had the privilege to have elaborate dishes. A nice stroll in the garden could present you with vibrant cherry blossoms, or the colorful autumn leaves. However, there wasn't a homely feel to the estates. Instead, family did not interact much with each other, and the houses was built more for aesthetics.

On the streets, markets sold food, textiles, pottery, and tools. The sound of bargaining and money could be heard. Chickens, dogs, and oxen roamed freely. Children played near homes and shrines, if they were not busy learning. Children coming from rich families were well-educated, and learned calligraphy. It was especially congested near gates and bridges, as people traded, gossiped, and traveled together. But the wide roads allowed for traffic to flow freely.

Not too far away, there was a small town, in between a forest and river. The village was alive in its usual rhythm, bustling with motion. Trees covered with pink cherry blossoms hang above the streets, children tugging at low branches as their mothers tried to call them home. Laborers are working hard at the field, the sounds of folk songs filling the air as they try to lighten the load. Craftsmen were busy in their workshops, the sound of metal echoing as they also carved wood and created textiles. Everyone worked with quiet determination, wanting to perhaps someday live a better life.

Homes in the village were nothing worth noticing, sitting right by rivers with small gardens. The dim flicker of a fire coming from the Irori was visible from the small windows. The smell of fish, rice, and some vegetables were present during meals. Children could play with handmade toys, or chose to race each other in the grassy fields. Still, some sat and listened to their mother's stories as she repaired their garments. They didn't have education, so they were obliged to help out with work. If they were not playing, they were help farm, carrying water, or finding firewood.

Tucked away in the nearby forest stood a Shinto shrine. Families and townspeople alike visit it regularly, offering sacrifices and praying. At the entrance is the torii gate—a vermillion colored structure to mark the start of sacredness. Visitors head towards the Haiden, where they would pray and worship in front of a small altar. During festivals, the stage would be bright with dances and music performances, with a cheerful audience. However for other ordinary days like now, it is empty and bare, resting in silence for now.

445 words

Part Three - Character Making

Now you've researched the time period and the setting, it's time to create a character! This will be familiar in many ways to how you've done so in the past, you need a motivation, a personality and a backstory. However in historical fiction, you need to make sure that everything makes sense within the context of your time period and setting! For this part of the weekly, you're going to list the characteristics your character possesses. You’re going to write 400 words linking it to your chosen time period, for example: What does bravery look like in the 1800s? How does class affect your characters appearance and values? Why did you choose that specific tragic backstory?

Tsuki (月) , female , commoner in Heian Japan :

13-14 years old

single, and would like to stay that way

works for nobles

quietly rebellious, and defies social norms

eager to learn, but lacks proper education

resilient and resourceful

very religious family. Tsuki tries to be, but just doesn't really believe in Shinto/Buddhism

interested in literature works, and hopes to someday write something of her own

not interested in being wealthy, as she sees it as boring and rigid. however, she does want education

respects authority, just not social norms and classes

wants to find meaning in life, as well as to learn things

torn between tradition and desire, silence and expression, freedom and love, and social classes

observant, and constantly eavesdrops

most likely aroace, we'll see

perhaps an intj but could also be an infj

patient, and knows how to wait

Tsuki is a 13-14 year old girl living in Japan during the Heian period. She is a commoner, but works for nobles in the capital as a general servant. She is exposed to literature, and wants to learn more. There, she meets a noble around her age who decides to teach her. As she begins to read and write, she wants to be able to write something as well.

Tsuki is curious of the world around her, and will question everything. Since Shinto with a hint of Buddhism was common during this time, her family will be very religious. However, she doubts it, but still tries to be obedient while still seeking out her own answers. She is quietly defiant, not liking how the world is trying to force things on her. An example would be is that she is still not engaged. Usually girls around her age would be married already, but she is not interested in love. Also, she does not accept that the people have to be divided by social classes, and the aristocrats are more privileged. This is shown through her desire to learn.

There are many conflicts in Tsuki's life. She fights tradition and desire, like how her family is religious but she isn't. Silence and expression, where she wants to rebel, but at the same time, please those around her. There is the internal fight between freedom and love, where she could stay single but be looked down upon, or force herself to love someone. Finally, she is also born poor, so that makes things harder for her. Tsuki will learn how to overcome these challenges.

415 words

Part Four - Writing Your Story

The end is so close! For this weekly’s final part, now that you have all the information you need to make a story, it’s time to—well—write the story! Now that you’ve done your research and created your character, it’s time to put that all into a story of 500 words! Be sure to recall all of the research you did for accuracy, and get to writing!

Today was supposed to be a normal day, or at least I expected it to be.

The other servants and I were preparing for Shōgatsu. We were always told that this marked a spiritual beginning, and had to invite blessings. To be completely honest with you, dear reader, I never personally believed in this. But still, I did as I was told, and helped clean the estate.

The sun hung just above the horizon, its golden light shining through the sliding doors as I swept. Dusting my hands, I had a quick look around to realize that the floors were clean enough. Exhausted, I still continued on, as there were still many things to be done. After all, I was working for a noble family, and couldn't disobey them.

I sigh, grabbing some scrolls filled with poetry. Typically I wouldn't pay much attention to it. Until I dropped one.

It laid there, sprawled open on the floor.

As I was picking it up, the strange inscriptions seemed to call to me. I didn't understand what they meant, for I had never had any proper education, and neither did my parents. But I was curious how people could read and understand it. I was told that the writing could tell people stories and instructions, and I wanted to learn.

I grabbed it and sat down. Perhaps a miracle could happen, and I could suddenly figure out what they meant?

So there I spent for hours in that room. Night had already formed, and I was behind on my duties. Many scrolls were spread out on the floor, as I tried to teach myself. I could guess a few common words, but others I didn't understand. Sometimes, there were illustrations, which helped, but I was still confused and barely made progress.

Then, all of a sudden, the door opened.

I recognized the footsteps. It was the young master Yorihiko. He was around my age, but I couldn't risk getting in trouble. After all, he was still a noble, and we were obviously not equal.

I scramble to roll back up all the scrolls, but my attempt was futile.

“Shōmono.” He says sternly. I freeze, not daring to turn around. “Yes, Wakamiya-sama?” I nervously respond, my voice almost cracking as I break out into a cold sweat. I quickly stand up to bow respectfully. But instead of being shouted at, he calmly approaches.

“If you want to learn how to read, then just ask me.” His voice softens. Unlike the initial firm tone, this one has a more boyish feel. Maybe there was even amusement was in it?

I flush from embarrassment, looking up to look at him. He took that as a sign that I did want help, which was indeed true. He bent over, telling me what some words were. It was a lot to memorize, and I knew I would instantly forget.

“Here, how about everyday after supper we can meet here. I could teach you some characters.” He suggested, looking at me.

I nod in agreement. “Alright, that sounds fine to me.” He smiles brightly, then tells me to make sure to bring paper and ink. Yorihiko soon leaves the room, leaving me alone to finish up the rest of my duties.

The next day soon came, and I arrived at the same spot. I was a bit late, due to having to finish up cleaning another room.

I open the door, and his face lights up. “Oh, Shōmono, you're here. Didn't think you would come.” He chuckles lightly, as I bow to him. “I am always here to serve you.” I formally say, still afraid to speak casually.

“Oh please, no need to be so formal. I don't really care.” He says, inviting me to sit down next to him. There was an oil lamp placed on the table, and I set my things down.

We sit there together for a few others, his hand guiding mine as I practice strokes. He told me that he would teach me Hirigana first, which is what the women typically used. It was rather daunting, and I already forgot most of it, but I was eager to learn. Something was better than nothing. And yet, it still amazed me that I had the opportunity, which was usually saved for the elite, to be literate. However, I still could not wrap my head around the fact that they memorized all of this and so much more.

As I practiced, we talked about various topics. Turns out we both have the same view on social classes. I thought that life would be easier for him, but Yorihiko told me that they had nobles had their own problems. For one, he wishes that he would be able to be close to his parents, just like how the commoners were. I tell him about the troubles we face, which he already seemed to know, but still listened.

I did not tell him other personal things, like how I don't want to marry despite it being expected. Or that I want to please my parents but I am not religious. After all, even though we might be against it, social classes told us that we couldn't get too comfortable with each other. There was still something in my head that told me that this could all be a trap.

I could also feel some tension in the air. As if there were things he would like to tell me about, but couldn't.

But for the time being, I decided I would stick with the lessons and learn a little more each day.

It was late in the night when we finally decided it was time to stop. We both figured that I would not remember everything, so there was no point on continuing. I wait for him to leave first, before putting out the light and heading to my own quarters. Who knew that accidentally being caught looking at poetry would lead to something like this?

1,000 words

Last edited by -NotWillow- (Nov. 12, 2025 05:06:49)

babyoda1546

✪ Daily Task 10: Break Daily ⊹ ₊

Before I speed-ran the weekly, we had just gotten home from being out and about since 1pm, and we were all tired. I was sitting on the couch watching Hotel Transylvania with my family while reading a bit of my book, since I’m behind on my reading goals, and eventually I got tired of reading and just watched the movie.

After that, I went outside to touch grass and take a screen break after speedrunning my weekly (thank the good Lord for Ris and extensions), and when I got out there, it was absolutely POURING hail. So like any insane person would do, I stood out there in the cold and let the icy precipitation hit my skin. I was wearing shorts and a shirt, so that probably wasn’t the wisest decision.

Then, when I had had enough of trying to catch a cold, I went inside and made hot chocolate- why not? I rested on the couch and basically just went back to watching movies until 11pm. We just agreed on taking it easy for the night because my little brother isn’t feeling good right now. Somewhere in there, I also got to have two slices of caramel apple, which had peanut butter and chocolate chips with milk chocolate drizzle on it, and IT WAS SO GOOD!! I love apples.

So yeah, that was basically what I did after midnight UTC, and I got back on scratch at 11:08 to finish my weekly and post it on the forums. Now, I plan on doing a critique and finishing homework. Sage out.

» — ⋙ 266 words total ⋘ — «

Last edited by babyoda1546 (Nov. 10, 2025 05:09:54)

babyoda1546

✪ Training 03 ⊹ ₊

User: @babyoda1546
Nickname: Sage
Cabin: Action (TENSION TENSION TENSIONNN)
WPM: 35-45 (way faster without test)

VS

User: @FairyAyla
Nickname: Ayla
Cabin: Gothic (Quoth the Raven, “Nevermore”)
WPM: 34ish

Info:
Prompt: No Prompt
Time Limit: Five Minutes

FIGHT!!!

I slip into the market, going straight towards my usual stop to buy some food for my family. My mother says not to buy food for our family because it costs something too precious, too valuable. Surely, it doesn’t matter when I have 3 siblings and a mom that has memory gaps.
I pick up two loaves of bread and one pound of salmon and place it on the counter.

“Ah, Storm! Good to see ya, lassy!” He greets me with a crooked grin he usually gives to his regulars, “Will that be all for you today? Two loaves of bread and one pound of salmon?”

“Yes,” I confirm, matter of factly

“Perfect. That’ll cost you three memories” He replies and then hesitates, “Actually, I’ll give you a discount since you’re still young. Just don’t tell anyone…”

“Thank you,” I smile slightly, grateful for his kindness, “How much is the new cost?”

“One memory” He replies with a cheery smile

“Okay, perfect.” I say as I sign the permission form. While he gets the memory taker ready, I close my eyes and pick out one of my embarrassing memories of me waving at someone who was waving at a guy behind me. I feel him press the cold metal against my temporal lobe and I feel the memory slip out of my head

» — ⋙ 223 words ⋘ — «

Last edited by babyoda1546 (Nov. 10, 2025 05:36:45)

Asha-the-SWC-fan

Weekly 2
Part I: Research — The Weight of Silence (≈200 words)
Spain, 1957. The war has been over for almost twenty years, but its shadow still stretches across every cobblestone. The regime promises order, religion, and prosperity, yet what most people inherit is silence. Conversations stop when uniforms pass. The Church decides who may marry, who may learn, who may keep their children. To speak of the missing is to invite disappearance.Foreign tourists sip sherry in glittering hotels while, two streets away, widows trade bread coupons for medicine. The newspapers praise Franco’s peace, but everyone knows the truth: peace is just another word for fear that has learned to behave.
Still, Madrid is alive. Beneath the hymns and propaganda, the city hums with small rebellions — a poem scribbled on a receipt, a banned book wrapped in brown paper, a photograph hidden behind the Virgin’s portrait. The people endure, and endurance itself becomes an act of defiance.
And in the center of the city stands a fountain, its stone angels streaked with rust and rain. The locals say its waters remember what the living cannot speak — that if you listen at dusk, the trickle turns to murmured names.
Part II: Setting — The Plaza de los Caídos (≈400 words)
At noon, the plaza is blinding. The marble paving radiates heat; pigeons drift through the air like scraps of paper. From the government building, a portrait of Franco stares down — steady, unblinking. Children in worn shoes kick a ball beneath it, their laughter sharp and brief before fading to whispers.The fountain stands at the heart of the square, its basin chipped, its cherubs eroded to near facelessness. Water slips from their mouths like confession. Around it, vendors sell carnations and lottery tickets, their voices low. A brass plaque reads Plaza de los Caídos — Square of the Fallen — but no one says who the fallen were. The city smells of diesel and baking bread. A church bell marks the hour. Inside a nearby convent, linen sheets hang like ghosts from the windows. The nuns there run a maternity home — officially a refuge for unwed mothers, unofficially a trade in silence. Babies are baptised , recorded, and gone by morning. At dusk, the heat relents. The plaza fills with the sound of typewriters from open offices, the crackle of radios announcing censored news. From balconies, women shake out rugs, releasing clouds of dust that drift through shafts of amber light. Somewhere, a record spins — a slow, melancholy waltz.
When night falls, the streets narrow into secrecy. The air cools, and the fountain’s reflection sharpens. Soldiers patrol, their boots echoing against stone, a rhythm older than the music. Behind shuttered windows, people breathe carefully. A dog barks once, and then nothing.
It is in this silence that the city speaks loudest — in the pauses between footsteps, the tremor of water, the hush before a confession.
Part III — Inés Valera, The Beautiful Witness (≈400 words)
Inés Valera is twenty-six, and beautiful in a way Madrid does not know what to do with. Not the powdered, obedient beauty that fills the church pews, but something rarer — the kind that feels like sunlight breaking through confession-room glass.
Her hair is black silk, always pinned in a low twist that loosens when she walks home in the wind. Her skin holds the olive tone of Castile’s hills at dusk; her lips, unpainted, still look as if she has just sipped from a pomegranate. But it’s her eyes people remember — grey, edged with green, the colour water. They seem to see too much and forgive too little. She works at the Ministry of Health, copying records, cataloguing births, the loss of lives, and disappearances. By day, she moves like order itself — crisp blouse, modest skirt, a small silver cross glinting at her throat. By night, she unpins her hair, washes ink from her hands, and lets herself be what she truly is: a witness in exile from her own story.Her father was arrested in the first months after the war for “Republican ideas” ; her mother folded the silence around them like lace. Beauty became Inés’s camouflage — people looked, admired, and never guessed she was stealing fragments of truth from the files she typed. There is quiet strength in the way she carries herself — as though she’s learned that grace can be armor. When she passes through the plaza, soldiers glance up from smoking , and even the priests pause their prayers. But she does not notice. Her thoughts are elsewhere, circling the faces she’s recorded, the names she’s tried to save.
To strangers, she is luminous. To herself, she is only light reflected from the water she kneels beside each night.
Part IV: Story — The City Remembers (≈500 words)
The night folds over Madrid like a shawl. The air is velvet and ash.
Inés Valera walks quickly, her heels barely touching the cobblestones, the hem of her skirt brushing against the dust that still remembers soldiers’ boots. From the convent’s tower, a bell strikes nine. She counts the notes, each one closer to curfew, each one a warning.
Her hair has loosened — a strand of black silk against her cheek, trembling in the breeze. The streetlamps turn her skin to gold and shadow, and for a moment she looks less like a clerk and more like a memory made flesh. The fountain waits for her in the Plaza de los Caídos. The water glows faintly under the sodium light, thin streams catching on the angel’s cracked face. The basin smells faintly of moss and coins. Someone has left carnations floating on the surface — red, too red.
She kneels and opens her handbag. Inside, the notebook: thin pages, cramped handwriting, hundreds of names. Babies born. Mothers lost. Children traded for loyalty. She touches the first page with careful fingers. The ink has bled in places, as if the names themselves were trying to speak. Inés lowers her voice. “You will not disappear,” she tells them.
It feels fragile, talking to paper. But in Madrid, even fragility can be strength.
She tears a page free, folds it once, and presses it into the fountain’s water. It drifts, trembles, sinks. The ripples reach her reflection — and distort it, until the woman staring back is a stranger.
A sound behind her — footsteps.
She stiffens, turns.
A man stands beneath the archway of the pharmacy across the plaza. Not young. Not a soldier. His coat collar is turned up, his hands hidden. The kind of man who’s learned to live in silence too.
He steps forward, and the lamplight catches his face: weary eyes, unshaven jaw.
“You shouldn’t be here,” she says.
“Neither should you.”
His voice is low, rough, yet something in it is familiar — the timbre of old lullabies, the rhythm of home.
“You’re Inés Valera,” he says quietly. “I knew your father.”
Her breath catches. “My father… was lost.”
“No.” A pause. “He was taken. To Carabanchel Prison. I worked in the infirmary there. He spoke of you — said you had your mother’s eyes.”
She almost laughs. Everyone says that when they have nothing else to give.
“Was he gone?” she asks.
The man hesitates. “Not gone completely. Some absences take longer.”
The wind stirs the fountain; the water licks the stone like a whisper.
He reaches into his coat and pulls out a slip of paper, folded and yellowed. “He gave me this. Said if the city ever began to speak again, you’d know what to do with it.”
Her fingers shake as she opens it. Inside, one name. A child. The same one she’d written hours ago in her files.
Her father’s handwriting — unmistakable, fragile as breath.
She stares at it until the letters blur. “He knew,” she whispers. “Even then.”
The man nods. “He helped me smuggle out the records. Before they were lost.”
Inés looks up at the fountain, its water catching the light like tears. “All this,” she murmurs, “and still they try to erase us.”
“Not if you remember,” he says.
He turns to leave, his footsteps fading into the labyrinth of alleys.
Inés sits back on her heels. The paper trembles in her hand, her reflection broken by the current. She traces the letters again and again, until her thumb smudges the ink. Then she folds the paper, presses it to her lips, and drops it into the water.
The fountain takes it gently, carries it down into the dark.
She stays there long after the plaza empties. The air grows cold; the lamplight wavers. The water murmurs — a language without words, a song older than the city.
Her hair tumbles loose, her fingers curl into the wet stone. She can feel the names of the lost and the hidden, of those who never returned, brushing against her skin.
She thinks of all the mothers who were told their babies vanished. The men who never came home. The women who learned to smile so they would not be seen. Her father’s name carved into absence. Her own face reflected in a world that refuses to know itself.
The city is quiet now, but it hums beneath the cobblestones. Secrets travel faster than soldiers’ boots. They settle in fountains, in cracks of stone, in the shadows of balconies.
Inés leans closer to the water, her lips almost touching the surface. She whispers: “Tell me your names. Keep them safe.”
A breeze ripples through the plaza. The fountain shivers.
She rises, brushing the damp hem of her skirt, and begins to walk away. The lamplight casts her shadow long and thin against the stones. Behind her, the fountain murmurs. It does not answer.
But she knows.
Somewhere in the quiet, in the memory of water and stone, the city remembers.
And yet —
She does not look back.
The night swallows her silhouette. Somewhere beyond the alleyways, beyond the balconies, beyond the stones that have seen too much, there is a name waiting to be heard.
She keeps walking. The fountain’s whisper follows. A current of hope and grief, of loss and memory, of all the names that were never meant to vanish.
And Madrid, patient and unyielding, waits.

Had to paraphrase some parts so scratch would let me post it <3

Last edited by Asha-the-SWC-fan (Nov. 10, 2025 17:11:07)

Asha-the-SWC-fan

Critique for Silvi! <3
Okay, so looking back at The Bridge to Nowhere, I feel like the song already has a strong emotional core, which is honestly the best part. The imagery of drowning, being stuck, and the “bridge to nowhere” really sets a mood that hits. That said, there are a few areas I think could be tightened or enhanced to make it even stronger.
1. Repetition:
The choruses and pre-choruses repeat a lot, which works for emphasis, but it might feel a bit repetitive over 360 words. Maybe I could vary the language slightly each time—small changes in phrasing or imagery could make it feel more dynamic while keeping the central theme intact. For example, instead of always “claws at me day and night,” maybe one pre-chorus could show the pain differently, like “gnaws at my insides” or “haunts me endlessly.”
2. Unique phrasing:
Lines like “Oh, how, how do I hold on?” and “Oh, how, how do I stay?” are effective in showing desperation, but repeating them might weaken their impact. You could experiment with slightly different ways to express the same feeling—maybe more metaphorical or vivid imagery to really pull the listener into the emotional state.
3. Imagery & metaphors:
The “drowning” and “bridge to nowhere” metaphors are strong, but leaning into the visuals more could make the song more cinematic. For example, describing what the bridge looks like, the fog, the water, the emptiness around it—little details can make it feel more tangible.
4. Flow & structure:
The structure is consistent, but because everything is so introspective and heavy, a few lines that break up the intensity could help. Maybe a line or two that’s a fleeting hope or a small glimmer could make the despair hit even harder by contrast.
5. Ending:
Repeating “That I’ll forever be stuck on the bridge to nowhere” works as a refrain, but ending with a slightly varied perspective or unresolved question could leave a stronger emotional resonance instead of just repeating the same line.
Overall, I feel like this song already captures raw emotion really well, but small tweaks in phrasing, imagery, and variety could push it from good to truly memorable.
Hope this helped <3

Last edited by Asha-the-SWC-fan (Nov. 10, 2025 17:20:33)

silverlynx-

Daily 10 - Touch Grass!

When I saw this daily, I had just come back from one of the most horrific hockey sessions that I have ever endured. It was chucking it down - I’m British by the way hence the horrible weather - and the rain was lashing at my face and my arms and my legs (I was in a t-shirt and skort!) and the wind was really going for it too! To make things even better, the dugouts where we put our bags/coats/hockey stuff are really badly designed, meaning that all of my stuff was drenched. I could feel puddles in my shoes as I played game after game, with numb hands and an extremely slippery hockey stick!
This daily was a welcome relief from all of that - a chance to just relax for 15 minutes. And then I remembered - I needed to clean my room! If I’m being honest, I don’t even mind cleaning my room, so I thought I’d do this daily properly, and spend those 15 minutes being productive. I’m writing this at a spotless desk (other than all the random dents scattered across its surface!) which feels very nice as I haven’t cleaned it for about a month.
After I’d cleaned my room and was just waiting for surfaces to dry, I looked up zoo-related products for kids, as I have a DT test coming up, which my twin sister has already done, so she told me what we were designing! I hope no one checks my search history… Anyways, I’ve decided to make the most beautiful (ugly) sketch of a safari car thingy, and it’s going to have a roof that slides on and off, as well as a curtain that slides across the sides. The car will have some additional figurines (zoo animals) to place inside the car! It comes in many different colours (ooh!) and has some flames coming out from the back, because, why not <3

silverlynx-

Critique for Chuey

First of all, Chuey, I loved reading through this! The fantasy themes I loved with all the fairy tales and the bakery feud - it was all quite whimsical! Your speech was extremely skilled, very emotive and you managed to convey Maybelle’s anxiety and the beginning changing into anger. This is probably going to be a terrible critique as it’s quite rushed and this piece was just too good to critique - there are only a few points I would like to make, and they’re not even very significant.
I found no grammar mistakes throughout the whole piece and nothing up until when Maybelle begins to get a bit more angry, when the inspector mentions the rivalry. It was when you said ‘I could practically see smoke coming out of her ears. Actually, that might have been smoke.’ This just seemed a bit more disjointed - the second part, that is. You could either put the ‘have’ into italics, but that seems a bit unnatural, so I would suggest changing it to ‘Actually, maybe that was smoke,’ with the ‘was’ in italics to put emphasis on that.

When you say "The lights were brighter…” you only repeat that twice, but I think it would add more emphasis if you repeated it three times, with another ‘brighter.’
One more thing: it’s not essential, just something that I personally prefer - if you could somehow add in the inspector’s name, have Maybelle address the inspector with something, then that helps me connect to the character more.
Thank you for letting me critique this and I hope it helps!

aviva_

daily 10
it snowed :0

Last night it snowed. This morning, when I went outside, there was a light dusting of snow on the ground, and it was really pretty looking. Most days, to get to school, I take public transportation part of the way and walk the rest of the way, going with my friend who lives nearby and goes to the same school. Usually we drive to get to the public transportation first, though, and unfortunately for us there was a lot of snow on the roads so it was really hard to drive. I looked out the window on the way and there was a lot of snow on the roofs of the buildings and on the ground. Then we walked through the snow. Fortunately my shoes didn't get too wet. There were some areas where the ground was more slippery and some where it was less slippery, and there was actually even a part where the ground was almost completely dry, which was weird. Anyways, we were walking through the snow, and it was really cold, but it was pretty. When we got to school, we were a bit late, so we went straight to class. My first class was math and we had a test, so I was focusing on the test the whole time. When I left the class, I looked out the window and saw a whole bunch of snow falling and swirling in the air. It was so thick I could barely see the building across the street, and that looked really cool too.

257 words

goldenglorymindz

In the story “The Party” by Pam Muñoz Ryan, the main character learns that she doesn’t need other people’s approval to feel worthy.
In the beginning of the story when the main character gets off her bus and sees her friends, she realizes that all of them have been invited to a party, except her. After the main character figures this out, she starts thinking “Why hadn’t she invited me? My feet were too big? No. Maybe. My face was broken out? Who wants someone with acne at her party? Why did she invite every person in my group except me?” (Ryan 2). After this, she starts worrying and thinking about everything that could’ve been wrong about her. At one point, she even felt like she wasn’t worthy “That I wasn’t worthy.” (Ryan 2). This evidence shows how the main character demonstrates her dependence on the “popular” girls’ approval. However, later when the main character finds out she might be invited, the main character thinks “So what if I don’t go to the party? I’m still me whether I go or not. And it’s just for one night. So what’s the big deal? My thoughts were spinning.” (Ryan 4). This shows how she changes and thinks that she doesn’t need any extra approval from Becky and that she should still be herself. She also thinks that it is just a “one night” thing and it doesn’t really change who she is. In conclusion, the main character in the story learns that her approval doesn’t depend on other people’s point of view.

this is just a practice english essay for critiquarresdfhgui

Last edited by goldenglorymindz (Nov. 10, 2025 21:24:29)

Milkysplash

⋆ ⊹ ┈┈┈┈┈「 ☆ 」┈┈┈┈┈ ⊹ ⋆

November 10 - Mission 10

Words: 286/250
Points: 400

⋆ ⊹ ┈┈┈┈┈「 ☆ 」┈┈┈┈┈ ⊹ ⋆

So most of my life seems to revolve around my current career crisis and I’m actually glad I had it! I have spent far too much of my waking time during the day thinking about my career crisis, having decided that maybe I don’t actually want to do engineering, despite the fact that it’s really interesting to me.

Oh well. I’m here now, and I can’t really do much to change that.

I had my violin lesson tonight, and after I came back home, I sat down for dinner with my mother and we had wonton soup! I discussed what I was thinking of doing during my potential gap year and I think a plan is starting to form. I am known for making rather impulsive situations and I have no idea what’s drawn me back to healthcare again, but I am doing some very deep soul searching at the moment. And asking for a lot of spiritual guidance.

I was very happy that my mother was really nice about it and we got to have a good honest and open conversation about what I wanted to do in the future. I know that they worry that I won’t spend my gap year well since universities really want to make sure it is spent well, but I have plans forming. I plan to do a whole bunch of volunteering in and around my local area just to get that sort of healthcare experience but start considering potential careers and degrees I could pursue with healthcare and health sciences. Having this discussion made me feel all the more ready to scrap my UCAS application this year and reapply next year to a course I’m actually interested in.

⋆ ⊹ ┈┈┈┈┈「 ☆ 」┈┈┈┈┈ ⊹ ⋆

END OF FILE

goldenglorymindz

Critiquitaire for @CaleMoreti 225 words total!

Strengths

You set a very strong mood and atmosphere, pulling me in immediately! The story establishes a gritty, bureaucratic, yet supernatural investigative atmosphere. This strengths the feeling of your piece. You also had a very intriguing premise! The world-building around “guardians,” “abilities” (like “Back in Time” and “Sea of Monsters”), and a rogue agent is compelling and immediately draws the reader in. I also love your character voice! Maril’s interior monologue gives him a clear and relatable personality. Your dated entries also create a good narrating device, instead of an information dumping narrator. I also loved the cliffhanger you left for Maril and the newbie.

Areas to improve

Though you have a good pace, your clarity could improve a bit. There are sudden scene transitions like when we switch from Meril reading a file to a colleague asking “Meril what are you doing?”. This transition feels a bit abrupt (or maybe it is what you were going for). You can also “Show, don’t tell” with emotion, for example, while you showed Marils feelings well, sometimes you were directly telling us rather than showing his physical reactions. I also have a correction to make. In the excerpt: Most were resolved by themself, except for one. You should change “themself” to “themselves”.

Overall, you did a very good job writing this story!

ChueyTheCat

our shards || 1260 words || a piece of writing totally unrelated to dailies lol

tw: some subjects addressed may be uncomfortable or triggering

i. scent
a spicy-sweet smell fills the air and you recoil,
the odor a sickness in the back of your throat
but when you ask they say they smell nothing
a faint scent, perhaps, nothing to worry about.
you can barely eat in the dining room for days
the smell is everywhere in there
thick and choking
how can't they smell it too?

ii. sight
you've never thought of yourself as a particularly sensitive person before but
you do have to wear glasses for your eyes and the lights sometimes
get in your head and pound, pound, pound
your mom says the brightness setting on your laptop is so dim she can't see but
you can see just fine, you like it that way
you don't want to invite the monster that lives in your temples out
when you close your eyes you see sunset-colored afterimages
sometimes you look at the sun even though you shouldn't
averting your eyes but still you're so curious about the flaming glory
maybe you're a moth, singed by light
wings charring sight fading
but something in the brightness sings to you so loudly, drawing you out of the night

iii. taste
you stop eating bananas because of how long you can taste them afterwards
recalling a sweetness you no longer crave, tongue scraping against teeth
you used to eat one every day because they said they were good for you but
one day you just stop
you think perhaps your taste buds have sharpened with time;
once you could eat banana bread and think nothing of it,
but you bite into a muffin now and fight not to spit it out
“what flavor is that?” you ask,
and when told it is banana bread you set it carefully aside.
another favorite destroyed by a tongue too clever to be deceived by sugar and flour.
you used to eat pineapple but its juice makes your mouth tingle
until you could no longer look at a chunk of the yellow fruit without fearing the worst
you haven't eaten pineapple in years, maybe
you used to eat a funny little snack, crisp pieces of baked pork rind
fluffed up with air, melting on the tongue
until you decide you no longer enjoy the flavor,
and now the crunch makes you flinch
you're not a picky eater, you eat things
just not these.

iv. touch
you like touching skin – yours, others'
you don't bite your nails
instead you nibble at your knuckles
pale skin flushing angry red as your braces leave swollen imprints
you're not sure why you bite at them only that you must.
other times it's your collarbone
hitching your shoulder up so that it pops out,
snuggling your hand into the space and tugging, tugging
nails digging into flesh, it hurts but it feels so good
there are pictures of you as a child, smiling close-lipped at the camera,
fingers folded next to your shoulder.
most of the time it's your hair
twirling around your fingers
you've learned how to tie a knot in it with one hand
even create a chain of loops
sometimes it snarls and you have to shred the strands to get the tangle out
pulling it apart hair by hair
sometimes you just have to tug it, yank your scalp, once twice thrice
there's an art to pulling out a chunk to knot that's just the right size
not too big not too small
not catching in the hair around it
just as there is an art to pulling at the bones holding you together
an art to teeth tugging at but never breaking thin skin over joints
you wanted to break the skin sometimes
pressed your metal-laced teeth over it viciously
but it never broke
and neither did you.

(and sometimes the only touch you can bear is your own
flinching away from hugs
stumbling back from hands that reach for you
you see the hurt but you can't explain that it hurts you too
the press of fingers that are not your own
it's difficult to explain that sometimes you crave
the skin of others on yours
and sometimes it sickens you
until you want to run.)

v. sound
they tell you you spend too much time alone
when you tell them you feel lonely but you cried
when there were too many people at the library that one day and there was too much noise
too many people in your space
your space is not an inflexible thing it changes some people expand it growing growing until
you can barely stand yourself being in it and some people shrink it small smaller until all you want is to press yourself to
them.
you tell them you feel left out when they never tell you things
and they say you never want to do things but you cried
when you had to spend the afternoon at your grandparents' house when your loud cousin was there
and the sound was everywhere and there was nowhere to hide so you curled up in a room far away
and tried to pretend you were not there and watched the clock until they came back
and they said you could come with them next time
you think, maybe, they understood a little then.
they talk about how all you do is sit there with your headphones in but when your headphones are in you can fill
your ears with the sounds you want to hear and suffocate the noises that drive knives into your skull

(you don't think of yourself as a shy person
there is nothing quiet about you
bold voice, bold clothes, bold energy
throwing hands around when you're excited
bouncing up and down on your toes, pacing as you talk
laughing with your whole body, head thrown back, letting yourself go all the way
when you're with your friends you draw energy from them
unwilting after a bad day
but when they leave the sounds crush you
and you make yourself tight and small
tugging at your collarbone, breath short and shallow
panic pressing in.)

vi. you
some scents make you feel sick but you
like the coconut lotion your mom got you
like the way it makes your skin smell so that
you can press your nose against it hours later
and catch a ghost of sweetness.

some sights enrage the beast in your head
eyes aching after long hours of reading
temples throbbing in time to your heartbeat
but you love lighting candles and watching
their tiny flames dance on the wick.

some tastes make your tongue recoil,
palate rejecting it, no matter how well-hidden
but you like to eat roses, pulling silken petals off
submersing yourself in heady floral flavors
feeling the frail softness in your mouth.

some touches make you cringe back
your skin intolerant, uncaring
but you enjoy holding hands with people
warm flesh folding to link you together
wrapping you in gentle safety.

some sounds hurt something inside of you
that goes beyond ossicles and cochleas
but you like listening to rain falling,
droplets splashing quietly on thirsty soil,
or raging furiously, screaming with the wind.

some things try to snap you
and sometimes the destructiveness is too much
you rip throw push pull
but no matter how hard you tear at yourself
you never fall to lifeless pieces.

viii. our shards
we are made of fragments,
skin muscle bone
we fall, we shred, we fracture
screaming in our minds
surrounded by sensation
but we are not broken
(we can mend, heal, live)

Last edited by ChueyTheCat (Nov. 10, 2025 22:04:42)

ForestPanther

To be honest, today has not really been a wonderful day. I'm very sick right now, but at the same time, I have loads of stuff I need to do. Consequence of me always putting maximum pressure on myself. I went to bed last night at around 10:30, so not too late- but I slept in this morning. My parents woke me up at 11. You may be thinking that this would be beneficial, but to be honest? It really just contributed to my suboptimal day. I immediately felt stressed and guilty about wasting what could have been a potentially productive morning. Then, we got lunch, and I just felt so sick the entire time. Food was good though. I got home and tried to force myself to work for a bit- it wasn't until around 2:30 that I managed to get myself up to do anything. I was also quite disappointed because I was craving ice cream, but we didn't have any- little things, but when the day in general has been bad then these small things add up very quickly. My desk was clear, I had my art stuff out- my GCSE is looming and I'm incredibly stressed, and on a tight deadline- but honestly I just felt so sick, I couldn't focus. I ended up watching some videos about producing so spontaneously went on a production site and tried to make a beat. I do a lot of composition but not much production, but overall I'm not mad at the beginnings of the song. Finally, though, I did some art. Watched videos in the background- Moist Critikal, and then a bunch of F1 stuff, like interviews and funny moment clips. Watched the race yesterday so emotions are still high from that. I've just finished doing some art for about an hour. Well, not finished- never finished- but I think I will take a quick break. Go outside. Can't wait until dinner so I can take more medicine.

Runaway--

Touch grass daily: 262 words

Hi! writing about what's going on for me has always been way easier than writing fiction. Not really sure why- I guess that's why I do so much better in report-heavy classes rather than english and creative writing. This morning I woke up and took my dog to the park, much to her delight. It had rained overnight so the air still had that very dewy peaceful feeling to it. We were alone for the first few minutes, however not long afterwards a couple other dogs showed up. One was a golden retreiver who was very old, and the other was a bully type dog. My dog ran with the latter, who was chasing a frisbee. My dog's always really silly, when we're at the dog park she completly refuses to pick up any object so she was really just chasing the frisbee and then staring at it like. “Uh… what do you want me to do now…”

It was school time when we went to the park, which felt really weird because I'm used to going later at night when not many people are around. That's alright, though, my dog was still enjoying herself and she only sorta needed a bath when we got home from trying to dig! Which is honestly an improvement to last time when she threw mud at everyone. My little bundle of chaos. Right now she's completely passed out on the sofa even though we got home 5 hours ago. I haven't heard a sound from her since, all that running must have been very exhausting

KitVMH

November 10 daily – Take a Break
265 words

My grandma is visiting right now, and I spent the better part of the day playing solitaire with her, my sisters, and my mom. When we say our family game is solitaire, it sounds like a joke and rather sad, but it’s not. It’s a group form of solitaire, where everyone has their own deck of cards and plays on each other’s cards. Apparently it’s also called nerts, or racing demon, or pounce, but we’ve always called it solitaire, even though that’s not an accurate name. The rules are kind of hard to explain without demonstrating, but it’s a lot of fun. The goal is to play the most cards and not have any minuses (cards in your minus pile). You have four cards laid out in front of you face up, plus your minus pile. The rest of the cards are your hand that you flip through, three cards at a time. Once you run out of minuses, you can call “out” whenever you want, ending the game. You play cards on piles, which start with the ace of each suit and go up from there, and everyone’s playing at once so it can go really fast. You don’t want to get beat to playing a card you had, and sometimes people play something at the same time — whichever card is underneath the other wins. There can be a lot of shouting and name-calling. My grandma is normally very sweet, but if you beat her to something in a game she might call you a doofus or a big dork, which is very funny.

ChueyTheCat

take a break || 260 words || Daily No. 10

Today I stopped messing around and did some homework. Specifically chemistry homework, which is not my favorite but whatever. I read through the rest of my chemistry textbook chapter and then answered the comprehension check questions, of which there were only three. And yep that was pretty much all I did.
Oh, I also did some geometry homework – I read through (surprise) a geometry book. It’s not your average textbook, though, because of course it isn’t. Instead, it’s a literal, actual book, like for reading not just for stuffing in a forgotten corner when you finish the class. I’m not kidding, it has a dedication at the start and everything. Anyways, I read two chapters of that, but I didn’t pick a question to answer yet, mostly because they all looked more complicated than I was willing to devote the brain power to at the moment. See, the other fun thing about this book is although there are a lot of pictures and math questions, there are no answers. That’s right! Not in the back of the book, not even in an answer key. There is no answer key, because it’s a textbook. That being said, nobody, not even my geometry teacher sometimes, knows if the answers we get are right. We’re graded on “how hard we tried” to solve the problem, not how well our answer works.
I have some doubts about that process, but it’s only one question a week, and we do have other, reasonably graded questions with right and wrong answers. So I guess it’s fine.

-vanillamochabear-

⋆ monday, november 10th: touching grass daily

i decided to take the daily prompt literally today and went to touch some grass (just kidding, i had to take my precious dog out anyway)! i noticed it was pretty dry out, and the grass was not as fun to touch as it would’ve been in the summer - some spots were dry and yellow, but that’s just the perks of late fall i guess. the leaves aren’t the only thing changing color!
speaking of leaves, i noticed my neighbor’s tree was a really vibrant shade of red, so, unable to resist myself i awkwardly walked over to pluck a leaf off (i really hope they’re not the kind of person to check their ring cameras). i then realized that maybe the leaf i’d just gotten might be lonely, so i got another one that was lying in my front yard. it was kind of mango-colored, shifting frown reddish orange to yellow to green. it also had spots on it, like a rotting mango. both leaves are now currently sitting in the pages of my notebook, when they’re dry and flat i’ll probably incorporate them into a sketchbook page!
also, it was really cold and windy outside. the weathermen on the radio weren’t lying about a cold year - usually, it doesn’t dip below freezing until december at least(?) but tomorrow’s around 20 degrees fahrenheit

i heard that some places were getting snow this week, and i’m really jealous that my area isn’t. if it’s going to be cold, couldn’t it have been cold with some fun sprinkled in instead? and cancelling school, of course.

silverlynx-

Daily 11th November - Letter

Dear Anonymous Twin,
I am writing this letter to you to let you know how much you are appreciated by me - I don’t let you know enough, or even at all how much I do appreciate you, as I’m just afraid (this sounds stupid, sorry!!) to show it. I don’t think you can get closer to someone than literally being born two minutes apart. I loved every single second of chaos when we shared a room - playing ‘Peekaboo’ and ‘No more monkeys jumping on the bed’ (which always resulted in a head injury) and discos before bed. I remember the first time when I moved up to my current room, and I wouldn’t go to sleep. I woke our parents up and made them set up a cot (I was 5!!) in our room so I could sleep there. In Year 1, I remember when I wasn’t partners with you in class for the first time, and I was holding back tears for the next few weeks.

I just want to thank you for being so supportive of me - even when it’s hard. Over the years we have separated more, as it’s natural when we’re put in different classes, to make our own friends. We aren’t so dependent on each other any more, but we are still very close. On the recent residential when we were put in different houses (15 miles away from each other) that was my first proper time being away from you, for more than one night, and I missed you so much.
I don’t think there’s a thing I don’t know about you - apart from your music taste! And I don’t think there’s anything I’ve kept from you either! Despite obvious sisterly arguments, you are pretty much my best friend, and I feel so privileged that I can even have a twin (so that I don’t have to make friends whenever I go to one-off events!), let alone one like you! We can get a bit sick of each other, which is completely expected when you were literally together before birth, and it is annoying being 2 minutes younger than you, and the fact that you're two inches taller than me as you were breach birth so you took up all the space in the womb (and apparently you were kicking me as well - how rude!)… I could go on and on, but there are so many more good things that I could list about you, better and deeper than little fights over height differences. You’re extremely silly (which is a compliment by the way), and a very thoughtful person. You worry very deeply if someone even vaguely criticises you, and that shows how much you care. Thank you for being so incredible <3
Love from your annoying (amazing) twin sister,
Silvi (I nearly wrote my name :00)

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