old forum would not let me post for whatever reason

SWC March '24 – https://scratch.mit.edu/discuss/topic/744829/?page=1#post-7835044
WUC April'24 – https://scratch.mit.edu/discuss/topic/751745/
SWC July '24 – https://scratch.mit.edu/discuss/topic/768651/?page=7#post-8037292
SAC September '24 – https://scratch.mit.edu/discuss/topic/777889/?page=1#post-8113031
SWC November '24 – https://scratch.mit.edu/discuss/topic/786802/?page=7#post-8217893
JWC 2025 – https://scratch.mit.edu/discuss/topic/796598/?page=1#post-8311457
SWC March '25 – https://scratch.mit.edu/discuss/topic/808229/?page=2#post-8426402
SWC July '25 – https://scratch.mit.edu/discuss/topic/828439/?page=3#post-8616181

SWC November '25

· · ── ·☼· ── · ·

date: Tue 4 Nov 2025
assignment: daily
prompt: songfic
word count: 488/300 words (To be updated)
acknowledgements: tysm Eabha for critiquing <3

· · ── ·☼· ── · ·

“And if you'd never come for me
I might've drowned in the melancholy”

The moon orbits the earth, and that is how tides are created.

Just like Earth's brightest satellite climbing up the horizon on a chilly December night, the ocean slowly gropes its way onto the beach, washing away tiny bits of brownish sand to drown it in the vast waters. Soon I will be joining the sand, down, down beneath the ocean.

A sharp tingle reaches my toes, the doleful splatter of waves. It retreats, the sand beneath my bare feet swirling away into the murky waters. A few seconds, then it comes back, reaching a little higher – what seems to be the smooth, cold, metal surface of a knife gliding menacingly across the back of my feet. The waves crash into white foam as they meet my ankles, wrapping around me like a hungry, greedy monster. Soon I find them thrashing against my calf, twirling, leaping, licking the hem of my dress.

A sharp tingle reaches my toes, the doleful splatter of waves. It retreats, the sand beneath my bare feet swirling away into the murky waters. A few seconds, then it comes back, reaching a little higher. The waves crash into white foam as they meet my ankles, wrapping around me like a hungry, greedy monster. Soon I find them thrashing against my calf, twirling, leaping, licking the hem of my dress.

I take a step forward, a step nearer into the unknown depths of the seas. I am not afraid of the ocean.

I brush away my tears. I am not a coward.

I take another step forward, another and yet another, shivers travelling across my skin as the frigid night air wraps around me. I am not afraid of the cold.

I am running now, desperate against the swelling push of the tide, my soaked dress tight against my skin. Every stumble means a frightened shudder, the struggle of an unwilling body as the water rises around me, all the way to my waist and then to my chest. I feel the weight of my hair dragging against my scalp as it absorbs the salty water, as though to warn me that it is not yet too late. I do not listen to it.

My neck is surrounded with water, waves are splattering on my face.

Right then, my foot loses its grasp of the seafloor. My brain is willing, my body is not. My lungs try to expand, but instead breathe in a big gulp of seawater, filling my mouth and nostrils. I scream.

I do not know how to swim. Despite every ounce of self-control, I fight for the surface, fail and try again, until the cold air that filled my lungs is replaced by icy water.

In the vast emptiness of the night, a shriek.

Just as my body is finally about to give in – give in and let water absorb it, finally letting my soul detach to reach a higher realm, one of rest, tranquility and oblivion, no longer tourmented by mortality – strong hands grasp my waist and I feel myself sliding across the waves. Saltwater splatters softly against my cheeks, henceforth a quiet companion. When, barely conscious, I feel the cold sand against my back, I open my eyelids and with one last effort stare, stare into those bright blue eyes shining against the darkness of the night.

He had come for me.

Critique for Sunny!

Note: whenever I write a “+” in front of something, it's just a suggestion for prolonging your text But I also have really bad taste, so these might be really bad, or they might not fit in with the way you envisioned your story.

ziqing11 wrote:

“And if you'd never come for me
I might've drowned in the melancholy”

The moon orbits the earth, and that is how tides are created.

Just like the moon climbing up the horizon on a chilly december night, the ocean slowly gropes its way onto the beach, washing away tiny bits of brownish sand to drown it in the vast water. Soon I will be joining the sand, down, down beneath the ocean.

Beautiful. Your sentences flow, your sound is so raw. Just beautiful.

ziqing11 wrote:

A sharp tingle reaches my toes, the smooth, cold, metal surface of a knife gliding menacenly across the back of my feet. It rereats, the sand beneath my bare feet swirling away into the murky waters. A few seconds, then it comes back. This time, it reaches a little higher. The waves crash into white foam as they meet my ankles, wrapping around me like a hungry, greedy monster. The third time, it comes even higher. The waves thrash against my calf, twirling, leaping upwards, licking the hem of my dress.

Menacenly -> Menacingly I would turn “A sharp tingle reaches my toes, the smooth, cold, metal surface of a knife gliding menacenly across the back of my feet” into “A sharp tingle reaches my toes, what seems to be the smooth, cold, metal surface of a knife glides menacingly across the backs of my feet” OR “A sharp tingle reaches my toes, the sensation devours me, the way the smooth, cold, metal surface of a knife glides menacingly across my the back of my feet, (+”its dangerous threats slowly sinking in.“)”. Saying: “This time, it reaches a little higher.” and “The third time, it comes even higher.” sounds somewhat repetitive? It might just be me, but I would replace it with something like “A few seconds, then it comes back, reaching a little higher every time. (+Inching up my skin, a subtle reminder of my/it's presence.)” and then leaving out the second time, or changing the secong one into “Once again, the water slowly inches up my leg, (+trying to grab my attention.)). And I would avoid repeating ”the waves“ twice. You could use a pronoun (”they"), or a metaphor to replace it the second time. I'm sorry if this was long… The thing I really love about this, is that when I read it, I can see myself there. I can feel the waves at my feet, and the spray of the ocean. It's incredible.

ziqing11 wrote:

I take a step forward, a step nearer into the unknown depth of the seas. I am not afraid of the ocean.

I brush away my tears. I am not a coward.

I take another step forward, and another, and yet another. I am not afraid of the cold.

The repetition here is just perfect. *Astounded silence followed by huge applause*. (depth -> depths).
(This may just be, and probably is, me, but when I read this I feel like your MC is fighting against self-doubt, or contradicting themself, I think you could add another element to portray that? Like… (+"I brush away the warm tears trickling down my cold cheeks, a tiny reminder of my loss/my suffocating grief/*insert anything*. I am not a coward/I am not a coward.“ *another example*: ”I take a shivering step forward, then another, and yet another, the freezing water sends chills up my spine. I am not/not afraid of the cold.") This just portrays a sort of contrast)

ziqing11 wrote:

I am running now, my soaked dress tight against my skin. Every step means a frightened shiver, the struggle of an unwilling body as the water reached higher and even higher, all the way to my waist and then to my chest. I feel the weight of my hair dragging on my scalp as it absorbs the water, as though to warn me that it so not yet too late. I do not listen to it.

My neck is surrounded with water, waves are splattering on my face.

Right then, my foot looses grasp of the seafloor. My brain is willing, my body is not. My lungs tries to expand, but instead breath in big gulp of seawater, filling my mouth nostrils.

I do not know how to swim. Despite every ounce of self control, my fight for the surface, fail and try again, until my lungs were filled with water and not air.

Some small errors :
“as though to warn me that it so not yet too late. I do not listen to it.” -> “as though to warn me that it's not too late yet. I do not listen to it.” (+ “as though to warn me that it's not too late yet. I hear it's pleas, but I don't listen. My body had already succumbed.”
And “Right then, my foot looses grasp of the seafloor. My brain is willing, my body is not. My lungs tries to expand, but instead breath in big gulp of seawater, filling my mouth nostrils.” -> “Right then, my foot loses its grasp of the seafloor. My brain is willing, my body is not. My lungs try to expand, but fail, as I breathe in a big gulp of seawater instead, filling my mouth and nostrils.”
And “I do not know how to swim. Despite every ounce of self control, my fight for the surface, fail and try again, until my lungs were filled with water and not air.”-> “I do not know how to swim. Despite every ounce of self-control, I fight for the surface, I fail and try again, until the cold air that filled my lungs is replaced with icy water.”
Wow. This is probably my favorite part of this. Your tempo is perfect, and every word marks my heart.

ziqing11 wrote:

Just as my body was finally, finally about to give in, strong hands grasp my waist and I feel myself sliding across the waves, barely conscious. When finally I feel the cold sand against my back, I open my eyelids with one last effort and stare, stare into those bright blue eyes shining against the darkness of the night. He had come for me.

No comment on this. It's absolutely perfect.

—-
General appreciation: *Mouth drop* YOU. ARE. SO. TALENTED. Please, please, please, please, PLEASE A MILLION TIMES, notify me with ANYTHING ELSE YOU WRITE (or have written).
(Of course, don't feel obliged, I get carried away.)
Your mistakes were mostly grammar (I'm awful at grammar, too). So it's nothing to worry about!
THIS. WAS. AMAZING. (To anyone reading this, please go tell Sunny how awesome she is.)

SWC November '25

· · ── ·☼· ── · ·

date: Sat 8 Nov 2025
assignment: critique with Eabha
prompt: N/A
word count: 637 words
links: original post

· · ── ·☼· ── · ·

Note: all these are my personal thoughts, please don't feel obliged to make any changes! <3

Eabha2023 wrote:

The pain creeps under my skin. Stinging me, biting me, clawing at my chest until I can't breathe.

Wow. Amazing hook, sets the tone of the piece incredibly well omg!! The gradual progress of ‘stinging, biting, clawing’ is just wonderful, and I've got the impression I'm the one experiencing what the narrator is feeling.

I don't shimmer like a scaly eel or glide like a dolphin.
I'm still thrashing under the surface, gasping for air.
(You're the one holding me down.)

Love the comparison here omg!! And the sentence in parentheses adds a sense of danger / suspense.

I've been here for a while now, but that doesn't stop every day from getting worse and worse.

'I've been here for a while now' sort of breaks the mysterious, dramatic atmosphere in my opinion. Consider changing it to something along the line of ‘xxx days, xxx days and each time the sun disappears behind the vast waters it gets worse.’? <3

Water seeping into my lungs, killing me slowly. Ever-so-slowly.

Ooh I like this! Perfectly dramatic and slowly leaking more information to the reader. This is a personal preference but I would change 'Ever-so-slowly' to 'Ever. So. Slowly.'? Just a personal liking lol, feel free to ignore ^^

I don't die. No.
(You don't have the decency to kill me.)

Arghh I love this so much omg. The reader's like- oh great, the narrator doesn't die, yipee! And then- that's because ‘you’ don't have the decency to kill them!! The writing here is so powerful omg I'm in love /gen

Please drown. Please. I can't do this anymore.

Again it's competely a personal preference but I feel like the repetition of ‘please’ stands out from the dramatic tone of the piece? As in- I've got the impression that the narrator suddenly softens and begs for forgiveness / empathy, while earlier on it was a strong person who, though hopeless, was not giving up?

My memories haunt me, every night, I hear your voice resonating in my head.

I would add a ‘and’ here or separate this into two sentences <3

(Look at what you've done. Look at what you did to me.)
(I hope you're happy now.)
(How much longer can you thrive on my pain?)

Perfect omgg :00

When a jellyfish dies, it doesn't realize it. In fact, when a jellyfish is born, it doesn't even know.

I feel like this is a bit wordy? I would suggest changing it to something simpler like ‘A jellyfish doesn’t know when it is born, nor realizes when it dies'.

Its watery body just floats through the deep myths of the ocean. Slowly, without purpose. It doesn't care about anyone or anything. It can't feel. It can't feel anything, no pain, no nothing. No one can hurt it.

I would modify the sentence structure here to have variations between longer sentences and shorter ones, as I feel like this paragraph is a bit too fragmented? Something like ‘Its watery body just floats through the deep myths of the ocean; slowly, without purpose. It doesn’t care about anyone. It can't feel anything, no pain, no nothing. No one can hurt it.'

To me, that's the ultimate power. It'll trump a crown or a legal contract any day.

The ‘legal contract’ here, again, feels a bit intrusive…? Because up until now there is no clear definition of the time period / setting of the piece, which adds to its mysteriousness – but then suddenly a legal contract is mentioned which hints to the real world / modern society, and for me it feels a bit awkward <3

I wish I were a jellyfish.

Jellyfish don't rule; they dominate. A silent dictatorship that we all oversee. No one gets hurt, no one gets their dreams shattered into a million pieces.

YES BEAUTIFUL omg, nothing to say <33

We'll all be dead by then anyway.
Jellyfish don't linger on the pain; they don't spread salt on your wound. They wouldn't even care. They can't feel the burn of the poison you pour down their throats. I do, though. I taste every single drop.
They don't want you; they can't. But they'll get you no matter what. You'll feel the sour sting of their avid tentacles if it's the last thing you do.
It doesn't matter to them.
I wish it didn't matter to me either.

I LOVE the contrast here between the narrator and jellyfish wow, amazingly done!!!
Like I've mentioned before, a jellyfish doesn't have a purpose; it doesn't need one to destroy you. All it needs is for you to simply pass by. Maybe you're distracted, maybe you're hurt, maybe you're feeling. None of those things could ever pull a jellyfish back.
They do it better.The ‘like I’ve mentioned before' kind of shatters the atmosphere, in my opinion – just deleting it would work! The rest of this is magnificent <3

But most of all, the reason I want to be a jellyfish is that they keep going, no matter what.
And I'm just about to give up.

OMG I LOVE THE ENDING :0000 The reader (me lol) has come to love the character through the unravelling of this story, and the last sentence here just makes me want to cry omg. I've come to believe that though it is hard for the narrator, they will not be giving up in the long term. And now BAM! they do give up T-T (this is just me hating bad endings because they make me cry lol but all this just means that this is so wonderfully written omgggg) well done wowie wow wow I'm thoroughly impressed :000

overall thoughts
this is such a MAGNIFICENT piece Eabha oh my goodness, I cannot stress how well written this is :00 the tension build-up, the suspense, and then the final KABOOM!! is so dramatic omgg
You have convinced me that you are an amazing writer, Eabha <3333

SWC November '25

· · ── ·☼· ── · ·

date: Fri 21 Nov 2025
assignment: N/A
prompt: N/A
word count: 746 words
links: N/A

· · ── ·☼· ── · ·

A bus stop just outside factory providing employment for mentally disabled persons. 4 pm.


All of a sudden there was a man in front of me.

“Hello,” he said, “my name is Victor, what is yours?”
“… Alice.” I replied, opting for a distorted version of my real name, not daring to provide him with
anything more.
“It’s very nice to meet you Alice, I really like Asian women.” he said with a lopsided smile on his
face.
“How… nice.” I offered hesitantly. I felt suddenly very self-conscious of my straight black hair,
slanted eyes and flat nose.
“Do you have a boyfriend?” he asked again, anticipation obvious in his voice.
“I- no.” I said. My brows creased
“Ah well,” he seemed relieved, “I don’t have a girlfriend either.”
When I did not reply, he continued.
“You know, I’d like an Asian woman as my wife.”
A brief pause.
“I’d really like one. One just like you, y’know?”
Another pause.
“I know a ton about Asian culture. You eat with chopsticks, right?”
He seemed to be waiting for an answer from me, so I nodded.
“Ah yes,” he looked contented, “and you also have a different calendar. Lunar, right?”
Again I nodded.
“Aha!” he laughed, “see how much I know about Asians?”
I did not move.
“Anyways,” he said after a slight silence, “can I get your phone number?”
“I- I don’t have a phone.” I answered. I felt his eyes on me and suddenly wished I had put my
phone in my bag instead of in my rear pocket.
“Uh… well, at least you’ll know where I live,” he brightened up at the idea, “I live right next to the
north doors of the city center. Like, not far from the post office. There, in that direction, y’know?”
He pointed.
I nodded, still silent.
“Where do you live?”
“… Next to- uh, the old public swimming pool.”
“Oh, where’s that?”
“Not- not far from the… high school.”
“Ah- oh, I see.” He glanced at me, a hint of suspicion in his voice. “Well anyways you remember
my address right? Next to the north door?”
“Yes.”
“You’ll come to visit then?”
I remained motionless.
“Anyways, we should sit next to each other on the bus.”
Another silence.
“Well in any case… Just remember that if you come you should ask for the foster home. Cause I
live in a foster family cause my dad couldn’t raise me when I was little so I was put in a foster home. My foster family is nice, they have two children and I’m sort of friends, like really good
friends with them.”
Pause.
“I mean I consider them as brothers. There’s Jeff and he’s twenty seven I think. It’s been a while
since I last saw him now that I work and everything, and I miss him, sort of.” I don’t know why,
but my heart softened at the distant light in his eyes.
“But anyways,” his smile returned, “it’s good because I earn money and everything now. And by
the way, how old are you?”
“Fourteen,” I said.
“Ah, well I’m twenty one, but that’s no big deal, people marry others twice as old.”
The bus arrived, and the people squeezed in. I half hoped that he would go in before me, but he
waited for me to step on before following, a half smile hanging on his lips.
I did not sit.
“Why are you standing? There are seats left.”
“I… okay.” I didn’t know how to refuse.
Again he waited for me to sit before he sat down right next to me. His friends were snickering.
“You know?” he said, looking at me, “I think my wife would be really happy with me. My foster
family tells me I’m very special. Like, I’m not normal like you are. My brain works in a unique
way, they say. I have a little something extra, they say, just like the movie, y'know? You know that movie? So like- my wife would go from
normal to special with me, y’know? So that would be good for her, because she would be
special.”
He smiled, expecting something from me.
I said nothing, and his smile drooped.
“It’s- it’s my stop next,” I said.
He stood up to let me pass.
Just before the doors of the bus closed, I heard his voice, muddled in the laughter of his friends,
say,
“Don’t forget to come see me, you know my address!"

SWC November '25

· · ── ·☼· ── · ·

assignment: writing comp entry
acknowledgements: tysm Eabha, Liv, Toko and an irl friend for critiquing <3
word count: 475 words

· · ── ·☼· ── · ·



Love sinks.
Despair pulls.
Both, engulfing tides.

Just like Earth's brightest satellite climbing up the horizon on a chilly December night, the ocean slowly creeps its way onto the beach, washing away tiny bits of brownish sand to drown it in the vast waters. I feel a shiver, a trace of the burden ingrained in mortality. Soon I will be joining it, down, down beneath the ocean.

A sharp tingle reaches my toes, the doleful splatter of waves. It retreats, the sand beneath my bare feet swirling away into the murky waters. A few seconds, then it comes back, reaching a little higher. The waves crash into white foam as they meet my ankles, wrapping around me like a hungry, greedy monster. Soon I find them thrashing against my calf, twirling, leaping, licking the hem of my dress.

I take a step forward, a step nearer into the unknown depths of the seas. I am not afraid of the ocean.

I brush away my tears. I am not a coward.

I take another step forward, another and yet another, shivers travelling across my skin as the frigid night air wraps around me. I am not afraid of the cold.

I force my way further amidst the waves. The monster that the ocean has become wraps around me – smooth, cold, and ever so dangerous.

I am running now, desperate against the swelling push of the tide, my soaked dress tight against my skin. Every stumble means a frightened shudder, the struggle of an unwilling body as the water rises around me, all the way to my waist and then to my chest. I feel the weight of my hair dragging against my scalp as it absorbs the salty water, as though to warn me that it is not yet too late. I do not listen to it.

My neck is surrounded with water, waves slap against my face.

Right then, my foot loses its grasp of the seafloor. My brain is willing, my body is not. My lungs try to expand, but instead breathe in a mouthful of seawater. I scream.

I do not know how to swim. Despite every ounce of self-control, I fight for the surface, fail and try again, until the cold air that filled my lungs is replaced by icy water.

In the vast emptiness of the night, a shriek.

Just as my body is finally about to give in – give in and let water submerge it, finally letting my soul drift to a quiet, painless nothing – strong hands grasp my waist, pulling me across the waves. Water, henceforth a quiet companion, splatters softly against my cheeks. When, barely conscious, I feel the cold sand against my back, I open my eyelids and with one last effort stare, stare into those bright blue eyes shining against the darkness of the night.

SWC March '26

· · ── ·☼· ── · ·

date: Thu 5 Nov 2026
assignment: word war with Skylar
prompt: “I told you we needed more glitter”
word count: 532 words

· · ── ·☼· ── · ·

“I told you we needed more glitter”, Anica whispered Jasper, both hands covering her mouth. If she thought she was discreet, she was wrong. Not only could Lys clearly hear her words but anybody could tell from the way her brown eyes were dashing back and forth that she was talking about her.

Her party, more specifically. And what a party it would be.

Lys sat slumped in the sofa. She was sad and depressive. She did not want anybody to be planning a party for her, especially because of how extraodinarily wonderfully out-of-the-ordinarily disastrously she had played at the recital. So yes, she was supposed to be the number one pianist, the excellent student, the most brilliant musician. And yet her fingers had failed her.

She had prepared ages and ages for this one recital. She had been working on that piece from Chopin for three months already, and during every day of those three months she had practiced at least an hour a day, not counting warm up pieces and scales, that is. That was why she was so upset. She had listened to a dozen different version of the piece on the internet exactly as her teacher had suggested, so that she could find the interprate that she felt closest to and then inspire her playing based on what she hears form them. She had gone down the deepest rabbit holes the internet could ever provide and had managed to scavenge different versions of her piece's sheet music, for the sole purpose that she could compare the anotations and see what the composer really wanted to express through the music. She had done all that, and had even agreed to wear that horribaly old fashioned emerald green floor length dress her mother had so insisted she wore. She had practiced until her piano keys turned yellow, until her old stool (the thing that she sits in) had broken and she had to go in town to get a new one. She had done all that and yet-

What a disaster it had been.

All her friends had been invited, of course, according to her mother's wishes. They had booked places at the recital two weeks in advance to make sure they would not miss Lys' greatest performance. And it sure promised to be Lys' best performance. Her teacher had offered countless praise to how hard she was working on the piece and how amazing it would turn out on the beautiful Steinway in the auditorium. They had practiced, practiced, and practiced still until nothing could ever go wrong.

Yet everything did go wrong.

There she had been, a barely sixteen year old girl dressed in heels, a floor length gown and a fully makeup-ed face. There she had been, descending the stairs to the stage. There she had been, presenting her piece proudly to the applauding audience. There she had been, sitting down on the stool.

She had begun playing. Her fingers moved from key to key flawlessly, relying on muscle memory. The notes raveled up, mixed together, formed the melody she had slept with and lived with and learnt to adore over the course of the last three

SWC March '26

· · ── ·☼· ── · ·

date: Thu 5 Nov 2026
assignment: weekly #1
prompt: SWCharacter Swap
word count: 1,913 words
link: swc activites official record

· · ── ·☼· ── · ·

Part One – Character Sheet 328/200 words

full name – Lys, last name unspecified/unknown
gender – cis female
age – 15
physical traits – Lys has long dark brown hair (that she mostly just leaves to hang down her back), fair skin and sharp hazel eyes. She's a bit smaller than average, skinny build, and has about as much muscles as an ant does (the only thing she ever fails is PE). She wears the first thing she finds in her closet (which, luckily for her, is most of the time fairly decent thanks to her mother's routine organising).
personality – Lys' personality is a jumble of very different things that are rarely seen combined on one person. She's very outspoken and sees no point in white lies, which often comes off as rude to people who don't know her well. She frankly could not care less about others' opinions on her, the latter having been recorded to vary between ‘coolest person ever’ and ‘stubborn, impolite and awefully strange’ (the latter is quoted from her older brother during a heated argument). She is in fact quite stubborn as she has very strong opinions on about everything that interests her – which is quite literally everything – and convincing her of otherwise requires at least two skilled professional debaters. Lys is as observant as she is outspoken. She sees every single detail, including those on people. In fact, her understanding of others' is so meticulous that it is often perceived as unsettling. Lys is very smart, probably to a point where it would be considered abnormal. She is top of the class just by doing the strict minimum (and sometimes, less than that). Lys isn't lazy; not exactly. She justifies her blank worksheets to angry teachers by cooly explaining that the majority of her free time is occupied by practicing piano, as she aspires to go professional once she graduates. That was true. Lys didn't see the point in lying anyway.
occupation – student; aspiring pianist

Part Two – Character Moodboard 157/100 words

playing piano – Lys wishes to attend a music academy after she graduates from highschool to become a professional pianist. Her life is centered around piano, practicing two hours a day and prioritising music over school work.
books – these reflect Lys' exceptionnal intelligence and academic expertise. She devours books; they represent the majority of the source of her knowledge.
clock – this image of a clock symbolises the passage of time and highlights Lys' attention to detail.
lily – the flower Lys is named after. In fact, ‘fleur de lys’ means ‘lily flower’ in French.
piano surrounded by water – underlines the importance of the piano for Lys. The changing tide represents the ups and downs of life.
spiraling staircase – represents Lys' logic and scrupulousness; her eagerness to understand.
eye through keyhole – symbolises Lys' observant nature.
black coffee – bitter, strong and bold, just like Lys' personality.
music sheet – reflects Lys' passion for music and her willingness to succeed as a professional pianist.


Part Three – Character Swap with Tiegan 681/500 words

Edinburgh Waverley was bustling with the ceaseless flow of travellers, submerged in the early autumn glow that signaled the end of vacations. Families, students, workers, people of all sorts were returning to their usual occupations. Luggage was everywhere, piled up on trolleys, sat on by toddlers, carried across the tiled floor; all withholding memories of a delightful summer. Faintly, beneath the speakers and the constant chat of the crowd, the rumbling of a train could be heard as it left the station.

In the sea of people, a girl was standing motionless before the departure board, soft eyes searching the orange words. Kiersty was her name. She was tall, lanky, her blonde hair resting on her shoulders in a neat fountain of curls. She wore nothing extraordinary – a simple t-shirt and jeans with a silver pendant; but something about her whispered gentleness and quiet serenity, much in contrast to the busy atmosphere of the train station. Kiersty tilted her head upward, her brown irises sliding from left to right until they landed on a line on the departure board.


Seemingly satisfied, slender fingers reached for a suitcase – a plain brown Samsonite – and Kiersty walked away, blending herself in the crowd of travellers.

Half an hour later she was stading on the platform, a big number eight hanging a few meters away from her. Under the sunlight streaking through the see-through roof, one would notice a trace of freckles on the bridge of her nose. Both her hands were laid on the plastic handle of her suitcase in front of her, her expression neutral with a tinge of anticipation – after all, it wasn't every day she took the train all the way from Edinburgh to London alone.

Minutes ticked by. Kiersty found a spot against the wall, where she propped her backpack against her suitcase, resolving to stare idly at the people around her.

There was a family of four sitting on a bench just to her right. The youngest child probably wasn't older than two and was asleep in a dark green baby stroller. His brother, who looked about four, seemed to be frantically searching for something in a backpack. Kiersty watched him wriggle his arm into the stuffed backpack, grimacing as he groped around blindly, tugging on his mother's sleeve for her assistance and finally bursting into a tantrum when his demand proved to be ignored.

A couple travellers arriving on the platform blocked her view of the toddler. People were pouring onto the platform, a constant stream of trolleys and backpacks. A frown etched into Kiersty's brow. A quick glance at the giant clock on the wall told her that her suspicions were correct – the train was late.

When finally the white and yellow vehicle slid into Kiersty's view, the sun was beginning to droop. She clambered in along with the other passengers.

Fifteen minutes later, she found herself sitting sitting in a window seat, elbow propped against the window frame. The late afternoon light spilled in from the wide panels of glass, bathing the compartment in a faint golden light. The train was already speeding through the scottish countryside, past meadows of green, hills, forests and little towns with their pointed church towers. Outside, the sky was streaked with trails of cloud, first pink, then orange and then deep violet, gliding quietly away in unison as the train swiftly travelled past.

Within the comfort of the compartment, Kiersty had laid out a wide assortment of things – a stubby pencil, a mobile phone, a worn sketchbook that suggested frequent use and a pair of wired earphones. Her hand was moving fluently across a sheet, back and forth, back and forth, decorating it with dots, lines and shapes until a scene slowly came to life; the graceful angles of the hills, the last summer flowers and most of all, the glorious setting sun. And it really did come to life as the star glided past the horizon, drawing a conclusion to a summer filled with laughter, joy and memories.


Part Four – Character Meeting 729/600 words

There had never been so many people on the platform at once. A smell, an unpleasant mixture of sweat, cigars and rusted metal lingered in the station, becoming more intolerable with each additional person squeezing through the automatic doors to the platform. If the train didn't arrive in the next five minutes, the travellers nearest to the rails would be pushed right down.

With a squeeze, a groan, a yank and a muttered apology to a too close neighbour, Kiersty managed to pull her watch from her rear pocket. Two hours she had been standing on the platform, waiting for the currently nonexistent train to arrive. At this point, if it did end up coming after the extravagant delay, she wasn't even sure half the crowd would actually be able to get in. With that in mind she had tried to wriggle forward a bit, to no avail. After a few half-hearted attempts she had resolved to stand in place – and what a long stand it was. Her feet were numb and her back was stiff and sore. All around her babies were whining, adults were huffing and the station employees had long ago ceased to try and contain the angry crowd.

A delay of one hour and fifty three minutes, and counting. Rumours of all kinds were muttered; a broken rail, technical issues on the train, an unexpected strike and even a fire was imagined in the despair, but nobody really knew what was going on.

Kiersty was observing a little poodle in the arms of an old lady when she felt herself become the subject of a meticulous analysis. Quietly she twisted her head around, just enough to see, out of the corner of her eye, a pair of sharp hazel eyes staring directly at her. She felt a shudder run up her spine. Creepy, really, how it seemed those eyes could pierce right to the center of her soul and read her every thought. Her mind lingered on the image of their owner – a girl, skinny, not too tall, a cascade of dark brown waves, ghostly pale skin, slender fingers clutching her bag…

All of a sudden she recognised her. Those same fingers had been playing on the public piano in the train station a couple hours ago, when everyone was in good mood and the delay had not yet been announced. The brown haired girl had walked straight to the piano, brisk and confident. By the time her hands were flying on the black and white keys, a thick crowd had formed around the instrument. When the final note dissipated in the air, the entire station was silent. Then, came the thunderous applause.

Kiersty had never heard anything like what the girl had played. Even then, on the suffocating platform, she could still discern the intertwining melodies, still see those pale fingers dancing gracefully on the keyboard.

The commotion in the crowd brought her back to the present.

The train was arriving. In an instant everyone was pushing forward, determined to be the first to get on the vehicle.

The compartment doors opened, and it's all Kiersty can do to maintain her balance as people all around her gushed forward. She catched a trace of dark brown hair disappearing in the train – the piano girl had managed to squeeze in.

A few rows of heads, barely two meters away and she would reach the train. She pushed with all her might.

One meter, she was at arm's length now, a final squeeze and she-

The orange light began shining, the beep, beep, beep signaling the closing of the doors.

People were hollering around her, the doors were beginning to move, she was not going to make it.

A pale hand yanked her arm, pulling her inside just as the doors slid shut.

Kiersty staggered from the momentum, righting herself and grabbing hold of a handle just as the train jolted forward. Bewildered, she looked around her and saw none other than the piano girl standing up from the floor and patting off the dust from her jeans.

“Sorry about that,” she said, her voice surprisingly low and mellifluous, looking Kiersty straight in the eye, “figured you might've wanted to hop in.”

“Oh- yes, thank you,” Kiersty answered, baffled.

“This probably isn't the best circumstances for introductions, but-” the girl continued, “-I'm Lys, a pleasure to meet you.”