March 14, 2026. Daily.

Duality of the River. 433 words.

The pleasantly cold waters of the river lapped up to our knees, calm waves engulfing our legs as the gentle light of the moon guided us through the night. The stars winked down at us, teasing us just as much as we teased each other.

Sharing all our secrets with each other since we were kids. Our feelings: visible but not tangible under the sand of the riverbed. A gentle breeze ruffled her black hair, hair as dark as the night we stood in. A chill ran down her spine as she nervously laughed off the cold. As she turned to face me her brilliant honey brown eyes connected with mine. The devil in her eyes won’t deny the lies she’s sold, and yet I’m holding on too tight while she lets go.

A current pulls us forward, tugging her away from me as she turns around to wade forward for one last time. One last time, together in the river underneath the pale night sky. One last time, before we are separated in two separate lives. One last time: her and I.

—

The color blue peeks out from beneath the green-tinted waters, waving sadly under chilled night winds. The water suctions to the skin beneath my knees, pearly white scars disappearing underneath the water out of sight. The moon, partially full, seems to be empty without its other half. The stars seem too timid to fully emerge into sight.

I hear the gentle splashing behind me and keep my eyes straight forward, willing tears to disappear from my eyes before I turn to face him. The wind whips my hair around my face, as if to wipe away my tears. A gentle laugh escapes my lips, without humor. I finally turn, facing the boy I had grown up with, walking through the river when it rose all the way to our chest. His eyes seem sad, his lips turned downward in a beautiful frown.

Even though I don’t wanna say goodbye, el muchacho de los ojos tristes (the boy with the sad eyes) holds me to the spots as the sand brushes over my feet, burying me where I stand.

Felices éramos los dos, y ahora lloro, por Dios (we were both happy, and now I cry, for God’s sake).

I turn as the current pulls me onward, apart from the boy who I waded in rivers with. As if it were a sign to move on from the relationship we never truly defined. And it dawns on me that this is the last time wading through rivers just him and I.

The worst part was that he’d never gotten the chance to say goodbye.
“The Atlantic leaves tonight, for Calais,“ pleaded Raoul, “Let’s be on it, for both our sakes.”
Christine’s hands froze where they were, fixing her earrings in place. She turned to look at him, dressed in a proper frock-coat, more like the boy who had tossed her roses than the man she’d found she married.
“You mustn't sing tonight, please Christine, we’ve been playing his game all along.”
“What’s changed, Raoul?”
“What’s changed- Christine, if you still love me, if you still wish to be wed, listen to me, don’t sing the song, please.”
“If-” If she still loved him? “But dear- I’ve promised-”
“I don’t care what you’ve promised, Christine! That man is dangerous, and it’s my duty to keep the woman I love safe.”
These words had shocked Christine into silence.
“The woman you love?” The silence in the room was stifling.
“Yes Christine-”
“No. Maybe once, but not anymore, and I am certain not now,”
She stood from her seat and approached Raoul, taking his hand.
“On the roof of the opera house, beneath Apollo’s lyre. You swore to me, promised to me that you’d protect me, nothing more, and that promise took the shape of a ring.”
Raoul turned her hand over in his and ran his thumb across her wedding band.
“But you don’t love me, Raoul. Not in the way you think you do, and not in the way I love you.”
He raised his head, eyes clouded in confusion, but Christine cut him off as he tried to speak.
“I love you Raoul, but you do not love me, and I don’t think you know that.”
But certainly, Raoul thought, as he looked at Christine, certainly, this was love, wasn’t it? He wanted nothing more than to pull Christine to him and promise her that nothing could ever hurt her. He was certain that this was, at the very least, close to love. So what did she mean? He tried to voice his concerns but she simply steeled herself and said once more.
“You do not love me Raoul. And I need you to listen to me, and understand that.”
“-But I don’t! Christine, you’re saying I don’t love you, and yet I so clearly desire to be by your side, and you’ve said you love me too, isn’t that enough?”
“That’s what you want now, Raoul. You want to protect me, but that isn’t love. You don’t love me, you need someone’s tears to dry and someone’s life to protect, and I’ve been that person for far too long, but I’m not that person anymore, and I haven’t been for many years. I won’t- I don’t need your protection, Raoul.”
At this Raoul had fallen silent, refusing to meet Christine's eyes, he wanted to say something- that nothing about those words were true, and yet, nothing about them rang false either. Christine took a breath and continued-
“I will sing at the concert tonight, and we will return to France together. After that, I’m bringing Gustave with me to Perros-Guierre, to be with my father.”
“But- The Resurrection of Lazarus, the graveyard’s violin! He will follow you there Christ-”
“Because you want him to! He will not follow me to Perros and neither will you, I am done, Raoul. Done with Paris, done with the opera, with you, and with him. I will visit my father’s grave, sing at the church on Sundays, and tell Gustave the stories my father told me when I was young.” As she said this, she took his hand, and guided him to the door.
“Listen to me Raoul, I love you so dearly, and as much as I could wish you loved me the same, you do not. I am not running to the phantom, and I will not stay with you. I am done, Raoul- and listen to me when I say goodbye.”
This was it, everything. All those years together, ended now.
“Goodbye, Raoul.”
She closed the door, and he’d never gotten the chance to say it back.

Author's note (I'm just going full fanfic here I have thoughts) : This is a weird AU, it's some funny blend of Leroux!phantom and ALW!phantom, I actually hadn't really fleshed out the Erik in this ‘verse but in my head it’s Leroux's characters and some weird smoothie of ALW and Leroux's plot. The trip to Perros clearly happens, as does the graveyard incident, but so does All I Ask at apollo's lyre? It doesn't make a lot of sense, because Leroux!Erik 1) literally died and 2) just would not do the things that would result in the events of LND. This Christine is definitely a Leroux!Christine because ALW!Christine doesn't really have a personality. Raoul is the one character that's closer to the ALW version, because the events of LND are such a non-sequiter that giving Raoul a weird white knight complex was the only way I could make it make sense (A Fool There Was- iykyk) also Leroux!Raoul would NEVER AND I MEAN EVER be classist, he defended Christine against Phillipe? ALW what??? Anyways this author's note is kinda just turning into ALW hate mail and I am completely okay with that.

I'm definitely projecting a little bit of arospec onto Raoul here because- literally same. What does romantic attraction even feel like? Anyways there's Rerik in the future you can trust me because I said so.

In this verse it's definitely less of a ship and more a toxic codependency.


Route back to main writing post: https://scratch.mit.edu/discuss/topic/869490/?page=6#post-9016533

Daily 15: Song Lyrics Mash-Up
word count - 418 words

You lept from crumbling bridges and yet I never knew how to survive with you. Always one step ahead it was as if I was living in your shadows. A mere sidepiece in your whole scheme. The betrayal certainly does run deep and writing this isn't helping much. I escaped and that was the best decision I could have ever made in my life. I'm free now and no one here event mentions your names. Why you so obsessed with me? Our thing was over ages ago and I can't believe that you keep holding onto these weaks strands of life to make up excuses for your crimes. I'm done being the victim in your game. We drifted to survive and I needed you to stay. I let you drift away but I don't care.

Some days it feels hard to even get out of bed, however, I know that it's only for the greater good. Can you just surrender and give me the life I've always dreamed of? I'm tired of chasing yours because it was never mine to claim. I know you've always treated me better than the others but that doesn't excuse what you've done. I keep telling myself that you didn't mean it but deep down I know you did. It was the final the goal, the ultimate intention. You acted like you were testing me but in reality, it was all just betrayal. You preached words day after day, telling me to surrender. I never will and I'm glad I never did.

The old me was broken like shards of glass and yet, you still chose to persist. I admire your dedication bu I will never commend you for it. If anything, it truly disgusts me that you went as far as to “brainwash” me into thinking we were ok. Instead, I was just living in a delusion of my own fantasies all of these years. No one truly tells you how crazy that will make you eventually. I just found out for myself. Even then I had no shoulder to cry on, no shoulder to lean on, no shoulder for support. I cried out for you and never did you come for me. You put this act when really all you've ever been blinded by is your own greed. I'm astounded as to how I fell in love with a criminal like you.. I guess it was all an act, just like always.

⋆.˚ An Incident and Issues ˎˊ˗ a short story on my character Saige Merlot

⋆.˚ Outline ⋆·˚ ༘ * 214/200 words

Exposition: Saige has been in Willow Ridge Orphanage for 1 month. She has learned the way of life around there and has built starting friendships with the other children. The children experience another normal day at the orphanage, doing their duties and chores. Saige, Caleb, and Jax are sent to work outside.
Rising Action: Caleb and Saige grow their friendship through understanding and helping each other in hard times. Out in the garden, the three kids work until they finish. Caleb and Saige are catching feelings for each other as they grow closer.
Climax: Jax, who hates Saige, tries to get rid of her. With the help of Mrs. Crowder, he tries to have her adopted by her uncle. Saige is called in to the adoption room and faces a traumatic experience. Mr. Moesal, the director of the orphanage tries to make the violent uncle leave.
Falling Action: Jax steps in at the last moment to stop the chaos in the adoption room. He is remorseful towards Saige for having not known what her uncle was like. He tries to earn her forgiveness.
Resolution: Saige is sent back to her room. She is broken and all her emotions take over her. Caleb comforts her and does his best to assure that she is safe.

⋆.˚ Short Story ⋆·˚ ༘ * 1,930/2,000

The sun rose along the meadows just beyond the hills of Willow Ridge Orphanage. The subtle chirping of birds and whoosh of the breeze highlighted the early morning of this fine day in Spring. As dawn faded into the morning, movement and chatter inside the orphanage began to spur.
The young children in the west corridor were yawning as Mrs. Crowder came through to wake them up. It was a routine morning that this caretaker was never fond of. In fact, she was not fond of her job in any way. After several slow minutes, the kids sprung from their beds and rose intently to another day of their lives.
Mrs. Crowder made her way back to the hall to prepare breakfast while the children got dressed and cleaned for the day.
Not too far on the other side of the small orphanage, the older kids in the east wing were still snoozing in.
Jax woke up first, he usually did. “Wake up lazy bum.” he said, shaking Elias awake. “Wha- ah, OH.” murmured Elias as he shot upright on his bed. Sometimes he forgot that he slept on the top bunk, and nearly hit his head on the ceiling. “Jax! I told you to stop scaring me awake! Someday when I get a concussion for hitting my head, it’s gonna be all your fault.” said Elias with a pouty face. “Ugh, it’s time to get up, so I woke you up. You should be thankful.” replied Jax as he walked out their bedroom to go and get ready for the day.
“Nico!! Get up!” said Elias to his best friend. There were two bunk beds in the bedroom, and Elias and Nico occupied the top bunks of each. “Already?” answered Nico in a groggy voice. “Yes, bro!” said Elias. Nico got up and sat on his bed, staring over to Elias on his top bunk. “Hey Elias, race you to the bathroom!” said Nico. And with that, the boys climbed down the ladders and sped out the door.
The room was quiet. Saige opened her eyes and turned to her side. The orphanage only had 3 rooms for the children to sleep, so she was forced to room with the oldest kids there, which were in fact, three four other boys. Having only two bunk beds in that bedroom, Caleb, the oldest, had offered to share his bed with her.
Caleb yawned and groggily turned over to face her. He smiled, “Good morning sunshine.” Saige answered, “Good morning to you too. I think we should get up, we’ve got loads to do today.” Throughout the time she had spent in Willow Ridge, her friendship with Caleb was the most recognizable. Sure, she loved all the kids at the orphanage, but she connected with Caleb so much more. He saw how vulnerable she was, and cared for her knowing what her life was like.
“Alright. I’ll meet you in the hall for breakfast?” said Caleb. “Yeah, see you there.” she answered.
And so Saige got up and began her morning routine. The younger girls had gotten to the bathroom before her, so she waited patiently for her turn. “SAIGE! Good morning!” exclaimed a little girl, who was twelve years of age. “Anya! Hi! I hope you had a good sleep” answered Saige. This little girl had now become like a sister to Saige. She was so much like her in many ways. Coming from struggles, they were really good friends with each other. In the growing time at Willow Ridge, Saige’s relationship with Anya blooms bigger every day.
“Yes! I really hope we don’t have much to do today, I’ll see you in the hall for breakfast!” said Anya, and she walked with the other girls from her corridor towards the main rooms of the orphanage.
After breakfast, Saige headed outside for her assignment that day. Her, Caleb, and Jax were told to rework the back and side flower beds. It was a hot day, and the sun was shining brightly.
“Saige, can you pass me a pair of gloves?” said Caleb. She tossed over some grubby and shaggy looking gloves that they had to wear. “Jax, do you need a pair?” Saige asked. He glared at her and went over to get gloves himself. “Oh ok..” she said quietly.
Jax was never one to like Saige. He thought that she was a weak person, destined to get adopted and flee to a family. Although she knew he hated her, Saige had recently observed Jax getting colder and more hostile towards her.
And so the three children toiled and worked through the afternoon. Soil was fertilized, seeds were planted, flowers were uprooted, and the beds were watered. During this time, Jax went off to take care of the back flower bed and left Saige and Caleb to work on the side.
They worked in blissful silence. Every time Caleb would look over at Saige, he smiled. She could feel herself blushing and looking away. “Ow!” Saige said suddenly. Caleb rushed over to help her. “What did you do?” he asked. “I just cut my hand on the wired fence.” she said. “Oh you clumsy girl.” sighed Caleb as he pulled a band-aid out of his pocket and patched her up.
They stared into each other’s eyes for a moment. “I’m very grateful for you Caleb. You really don’t know how much, without your support I’d probably be in worse conditions…emotionally.” Saige said slowly. He looked at the girl with sorrowful, yet content eyes. “I’d never let someone suffer so much by themselves, not if I can help it.” he answered. Caleb pulled her up and gave her a hug. “Ok, let’s finish up and head back shall we?” Saige nodded in reply and got back to work.
––––––
Going back to the hall for a late lunch, Saige was met with a surprise. She saw Mr. Moesal, the director of the orphanage, and Mrs. Crowder standing just blocking her way. “Ms. Saige, you are to come with me immediately.” said Mr. Moesal. Saige obeyed.
All of a sudden, she felt scared. Saige didn’t know what was happening. Why was she being called? Was she getting sent away? “No.” she thought to herself, this could not be happening again.
They made their way over to the adoption room. Now, Saige was very concerned. How was it possible someone would offer to adopt any child at this orphanage?
Mr. Moesal opened the door and led her inside. “Mrs. Crowder, I will take it from here. Stay just outside and I will speak with you when we finish.” he said. The old and cranky caretaker nodded and closed the door.
Saige turned around to see her worst nightmare standing right in front of her.
“Ms. Saige, I believe this is your Uncle. He is here to take you back, because you have living relatives, Willow Ridge can no longer support your stay as a false orphan.”
“No.” said Saige in her head. Her heart was pounding. She could feel tears start streaming down her face. She felt like she was going to faint.
Saige had spent five years of her life growing up with Uncle Jackson. All those moments she spent with him were times of torture upon torture. He was an abusive alcoholic who cared nothing for her. Why was he here now? Why did he want to take something he had no care for? Saige was so scared. She could barely find her voice to speak.
Uncle Jackson stood there, arms crossed, and a stern face with eyes directly on her. “I–, I… can’t. I can’t.” said Saige, stuttering through tears. “I’m sorry Saige, you must go back if a relative requests your ‘adoption’, we cannot impede.” said Mr. Moesal. Now Mr. Moesal was quite confused. He did not know what was so wrong with Saige going back with her Uncle.
Outside the room, Jax was speaking with Mrs. Crowder. “They’ve got her in there, with the uncle,” said Jax. “Yes I know that boy! You better be grateful I was able to convince that dimwitted man to call a relative in!” replied the caretaker. Jax gave her a face and tried to listen in on the conversation happening in the room. Mrs. Crowder had been assisting Jax in his curious plan because he was the only orphan she highly tolerated, and she also hated Saige.
“You will come with me girl! There is no escaping this time.” shouted Uncle Jackson at her. Saige could only curl up and cry. Mr. Moesal was very concerned about this action. Uncle Jackson went over to grab Saige by the arms and drag her up. “STOP IT!” screamed Saige. She wrangled with her uncle and tried to kick him. Mr. Moesal was stunned.
“Oh, if I may sir, I actually have something else to say.” Mr. Moesal said quickly, interrupting. “We cannot give the child over to you if you cannot prove to us of an official residence.” At this statement Uncle Jackson let go of Saige and she fell to the ground. “What do you mean!?” Jackson exclaimed. “That is not true, give me the child,” he was angry. “Sir, I must ask you to leave. Now.” said Mr. Moesal.
Saige’s uncle screamed in rage. Mr. Moesal was a helpless man and didn’t know what to do. Uncle Jackson was about to hit her, when Jax burst through the door just in time to stop him. “Sir, he told you to get out, so get out,” said Jax firmly.
Jackson knew there were eyes all around him and decided to give up. “Don’t think you can escape from me just yet girl.” he said before Jax ‘kicked’ him out of the room.
Saige was shocked. She had no idea what just happened. The moments blurred through her tears and pain. Jax helped her up and looked at her with remorse. Mr. Moesal sent them both back to their room to settle down after the incident. As the kids were walking out, Mrs. Crowder was very confused. “Mrs. Crowder, I must speak to you immediately.” said Mr. Moesal. And so she was forced to be confronted.
––––––
On the dreadful walk back to their room, Jax stopped to speak. “I may not like you at all, but I’m sorry. I did not know he was like that.” Saige could only feel anger toward him. Now was not the time where her empathy was strong. “I… I can’t talk to you right now.” she said. “It’s fine, I get it.” Jax said and walked away.
Saige made her way back to the room by herself, sniffing and clearing her eyes. Nico and Elias rushed through the hallway chasing each other. They didn’t notice how she was and just shouted “HI SAIGE!” She could only smile faintly and watch them disappear into the stairwell. Saige got to the door and opened it. Caleb was in there and when he saw her, immediately got up from his bed.
“Oh my gosh. Saige, are you okay?” he asked, deeply concerned for her. She looked at him and shook her head. “No,” Saige replied in the faintest voice. She started crying, letting all her emotions sweep through her. At this moment, Caleb’s heart broke for her.
He pulled Saige in for a hug and didn’t let go.
Saige held on to him tighter. She was sobbing while she buried her face into his chest. Caleb planted a kiss on her forehead.
“It’s okay, I’ve got you now. You’re gonna be okay. No one can hurt you anymore.”

⋆.˚ Critique (for Tilly) ⋆·˚ ༘ * 467 words

Only three weeks since that disintegrating shadow had bl3d into dark wisps across the pristine marble floors of the high court, yet Nasia was here again with another anomaly before her.
She closed her eyes. “Oh Sol…we barely survived an attack from some mysterious being weeks ago, and we've bringing a new kind inside?”
“…He's clearly not like them.” Solenne fidgeted. “Maybe the council didn't listen to us the first time, but they'll have to now—we've seen an abnormal being twice, and now two completely different kinds. We could at least try taking this one to the court too.”
Lava of indignation bubbled in Nasia's chest. “I mean, they were pretty bent on gaslighting us when we brought that first one in…”
She turned back to the table. Moonlight streamed from the window across the face of the stranger bound with yards of rope to the dark oak surface. His skin was miles lighter than theirs, scattered with scars and streaks of identical shade to the splotches that painted Solenne's hands and dress from dragging him inside. Nasia couldn't even find the gold markings of their kind anywhere on his features, but the lack of wings on his back stuck out to her the most.
No wings, akin to the outlandish being she and Solenne had brought to the council three weeks ago, yet he wasn't of that kind either.
What was he?

✏ Oooo i love this start! In the first sentence I would add “It had been only three weeks…” to clarify this line better. Solenne is a bit quick to say that the mysterious being is not like the others considering they had only met one previously before him. Other than that, this is great! I like the descriptive language you use!

The stranger stirred, and Solenne gripped Nasia's arm.
“Still don't think we should've brought him inside…quick, help me tighten these ropes.” Nasia dropped to crawl under the table, and Solenne followed.
“I think-”
The ropes fell limp before their fingers reached them, and a perceptible thud sent the girls flying to their feet. Solenne shrieked.
The anomaly was standing.
“I appreciate the caution, but rope can’t do much.”
Flames licked to life as the sisters drew their swords, but the stranger only raised his scarred hands.
“Stay calm, I’m not armed.”
He swayed backwards, but his hands caught the the edge of shelves behind him. “Apologies, I- haven’t quite got my bearings. I can assure you, though…”
He blinked, taking in his audience. Fascination painted his expression, and Nasia stepped ahead of Solenne on instinct when his eyes locked with hers.
“You are…most beautiful. What are you?”
“I would ask the same of you.”
He met Nasia's stone gaze. “You do not know my kind?”
She shook her head.
“Hold on-” His head tilted. “Are you not Vailerke? The ones with wings?”
Solenne’s glance seemed to ask permission from Nasia, and she felt the urge to deny it. Before she could object, Solenne pulled the tassel of her iridescent cloak. The fabric rippled to the ground and crystalline wings sprung from her back. The stranger's jaw dropped.
“…Your kind make these?”
Solenne nodded, eyes softening, and Nasia struggled to hide her scorn at the sparkle on her sister's cheeks.
“Who are you if you know of us?” She retrieved the cloak and shoved it into Solenne's hands.
The being shook from his trance. “My apologies—my name is Tristan, and my kind are known as Aneile.”

✏ Great writing here! My only critique on this section regards this sentence: “Fascination painted his expression, and Nasia stepped ahead of Solenne on instinct when his eyes locked with hers.” It is a little unclear here who Tristan is looking at, I kind of thought it was Nasia at first. Maybe try changing it to something like: “Fascination painted his expression. Out of instinct, Nasia stepped ahead of her sister when his eyes locked with Solenne's” Omg that was not a good rewrite :sobs:, but you get the the point I'm trying to say lol

The workshop door swung open, and Nasia's heart leapt into her throat. Tristan stumbled away at the sight of another flaming sword.
Solenne jumped in front of him. “Papa, don't!”
Papa froze in the doorway. Nasia watched him register the scene and the strange anomaly standing behind his daughter with nerves on edge.
“Stars,” he muttered under his breath. “Nasia, what is this?”
Tristan stepped around Solenne, and the sword raised. “Peace, mister. I am not armed. Aren't you Apprentice Kylo Stellir?”
The sisters locked eyes in shock. Papa's eyebrows raised.
“It depends who's asking.”
“I'm Tristan. Do you know of the Aneile?”
“…Only from folklore. How do you know me?”
“I come for your assistance.” The shadow over Tristan's expression sent shivers down Nasia's spine. “The news I come with is grave.”
He hesitated, eyes flicking to the sisters behind him.
“It's alright, Tristan—anything you tell me, you tell them.”
Tristan nodded. “Aneile are not folklore. We have protected your kind and Skaiyward for centuries, and your lack of awareness tells me everything.”
“Protected us from what?”
He looked back at Solenne. “The Dimlov. Whatever your leaders have told your kind about your entire world is a lie. The Dimlov have been infiltrating your society in waves, and those in your high courts are of that very race, seeking to tear down Skaiyward for the light buried within. Your entire government is corrupted.”

✏ No comments here! I think this a great introduction to the problem! I like how the Vailerke are skeptical and have no context of what is happening. This allowed Tristan to have the upper hand which really ties into the later parts of your story!

Nasia's stomach twisted. She watched Papa step closer.
“And you seek me for what reason?”
“You apprentices are the closest we can get to the Wingsmiths's knowledge of the light the Dimlov are after. What they passed to you is of great importance to our mission. Am I right to believe that you smiths work with the light to create your wings since it keeps you Vailerke alive in Skaiyward? That this light is also within you?”
Papa scratched his head. “…You're not wrong.”
“Then we need your help. Time is short, but more Aneile are arriving for assistance.”
“For what?”
“To travel through the gateways of Skaiyward to the central light, where your highest leaders dwell and plot to take it. As we're not Vailerke, we need you to help us pass the gateways. I know I'm asking of a lot, Apprentice Stellir.”
“If our father is going, so are we,” Solenne piped up.
Nasia's stomach dropped. “We are?”
“No!” Papa's harsh tone made her flinch.
“Papa, you can't leave us here, and you're not going alone.” Solenne tugged her older sister's arm. “Naz, tell him!”
Nasia swallowed. “I…”
“It would only be to the fifth gate,” Tristan pleaded. “And I shall not be the only Aneile there to protect you. I beg you, Stellir—you are the last apprentice, and we can't reach the Wingsmiths. If we fail, Skaiyward will fall.”
The silence was deafening. At last, Papa sheathed his sword, but Nasia read the apprehension in his eyes.
“I will think on it.”
“…You have until the moon reaches the centre. The Aneile are waiting.”
Nasia's gaze flashed to the window. The moon was halfway there.

✏ Niceee! I like how Tristan presents a perfectly believable case to Papa. The skepticism that remains is also great because it shows their reaction to take action is cautious. The only thing here is I was a little bit confused as to why Nasia didn't agree with Solenne in not letting their father go alone if he decided to go. Other than that it's good!

Nasia's blade just pierced through another towering Dimlov when Solenne came flying through the throngs of battles with her own sword drawn.
“Naz, I still haven't seen Tristan.”
Nasia gripped her shoulder at the breathless news and the anxiety in her eyes. “He'll come, Sol.”
“The fifth gate is about to close for the night. If he doesn't…”
Nasia's eyes widened. “Watch out!”
Nasia pushed Solenne and raised her sword to meet the obsidian blade of another Dimlov. The force pushed her to her knees, but Solenne swung her weapon to alleviate the weight.
The shadow engaged with Solenne as more forces flooded their surroundings. Nasia jumped to her feet to fight back to back with her sister.
“We need help!” Solenne shouted over the clashes of steel.
Nasia raised her horn with her free hand and blew a shrill call, continuing to strike the enemies that surrounded them. A cry from Solenne forced her to turn. She was on her knees, clutching her shoulder as milky gold streamed through her fingers.
“Sol!” Nasia swung her blade in an arc that took out both the Dimlov bearing down on Solenne, but the shadows pressed harder.
The Aneile's response horn reached them, but they were still paces away.
“Hey Sunlight, did you miss me?”
Tristan.

✏ I love how Nasia cares for her sister! The only thing I would clarify here is Tristan's sudden appearance. In this case it seems he came out of nowhere quite literally. Maybe have the sister notice some one or feel a presence before just cutting to his line? But besides that, the fighting description is really good!

Undeniable relief flooded Nasia, and she caught Solenne's shining eyes as dazzling light tore through the Dimlov forces around them. Tristan landed amidst them, wielding swords in each hand and making quick work of the shadows until half had fallen. The rest fled but ran straight into the arriving Aneile forces.
“You came…” Solenne's legs buckled, but Tristan caught her, dropping both his swords.
“Your work is done. You should turn back now with your father.”
Solenne's brow furrowed. “But you haven't reached the end—”
“The deal was until the fifth gateway.”
“But if we as Vailerke can't even get through, how will you?”
Tristan scoffed. “If the leaders dwelling there are Dimlov, we're their kryptonite. We can manage.”
“But-”
“Your work is done, Sunlight.” He unbuckled the armour over his shoulder to tear a piece off his tunic underneath. “Besides…I hate to see you like this.”
Solenne’s jaw clenched as he pressed the cloth against her wound.
Nasia knelt beside them. “He's right, Sol.”

✏ The only critique I have here is a tiny nitpick! Your second sentence: “Tristan landed amidst them, wielding swords in each hand and making quick work of the shadows until half had fallen.” is a bit tied on the wording. I would try and clarify it with something like: “Tristan landed among the sisters, wielding his swords and quickly working the shadows until half had fallen.”

A grunt of protest was her only response.
“Sir Tristan?”
They glanced up to see Aneile approaching. “We've held them off, but the gate closes soon. Are you ready?”
Tristan nodded, tying the cloth tightly around Solenne's shoulder before extending a hand. “Let's go find your father.”
She sighed but accepted his hand, then gasped as he lifted her straight into his arms. Her frown broke into a laugh, and Nasia smirked.
One of the Aneile faced her. “Lady Nasia, will you help us locate the gate before you leave?”
“Uh…” Nasia glanced back to Tristan carrying Solenne away.
He turned as if sensing her gaze. “Go ahead! She'll be fine.”
Solenne's face emerged from his shoulder as he faced the path again, and Nasia rolled her eyes at her broad grin and the sparkle in her cheeks.
The pair disappeared, and Nasia followed the Aneile. “So, when does the gate close?”
“When the moon is quarter to the centre of the sky. If-”
A strangled cry rang through the trees, and Nasia's heart stopped.
Solenne.

✏ What a turning point! Great writing, I have no critiques here ; )

Before the Aneile reacted Nasia was flying back to the smoky battlefield, flaming sword ignited.
“Tristan!” She screamed out as she burst into the ancient building, but at once paralysing force seized her limbs. Her sword dropped as she strained to regain control.
Through whatever unseen force that held her, she forced her eyes upwards to scan the hall. Her bl00d froze.
“Tristan!“ Nasia's tone turned from a cry for help to a scream of panic and rage.
Solenne was against the wall, struggling against Tristan's iron grip. His free hand was gloved with a device that glittered a magnificent gold from light that was pouring from Solenne's wounded shoulder. The light she needed to survive.
The stark horror in Solenne's fading eyes pierced Nasia's heart through, but the paralysis wouldn't abate. ”Solenne!“
A flame streaked overhead. Tristan yelled out, collapsing and releasing Solenne who fell limp to the ground. The crimson hilt of a blade protruded from his back.
The field holding Nasia snapped that instant, and she stumbled to her knees as Aneile flooded into the hall, weapons drawn.
”Stand down!”
Tristan scrambled to his feet and dived for the window, but Nasia caught dark wisps spilling from the wound on his back.
Just like the being she took to court eight weeks ago. He was not Aneile.
Her hands shook as she rushed to her sister's side, the Aneile's pursuit after Tristan drowned out by her grief.
“Solenne!” She stifled a sob and pulled the limp girl into her lap. Her wings lay shattered beside them. ”Papa, help!“

✏ OMG. This was unbelievable! Such a great plot-twist! Just one small thing, it is a little confusing who or what injured Tristan. The flame and blade sort of caught me by surprise and I was wondering how?

”You're leaving?“
The small voice sent Nasia straight to Solenne's bedside. ”Sol—yes. I'm going through the fifth gate with the Aneile. That antidote is there, and I'm bringing it back to you.”
Solenne's lip trembled. “But…you didn't want to go.”
Nasia reached to wipe the tears that streamed down Solenne's sunken cheeks. “I'm ready now.”
“I'm sorry, Naz,” she croaked.
Nasia shook her head. “For what?”
“I never should've trusted him.”
The crack in her voice broke Nasia's heart. “We all did.”
“Promise me you'll come back.”
Nasia kissed her sister's forehead.
“Count each sunset, and I'll be back before you reach fifteen.”

✏ Great ending! All is amazing here! Overall, I think you created an awesome story! I'd love to see an addition to this in the future, good job Tilly! <3


✎ 3.9-6.2026 ~ Weekly #2 ❀ ~ 2,611 words total ౨ৎ
⌗ ʙᴀᴄᴋ ᴛᴏ ꜱᴀꜰꜰʀᴏɴ'ꜱ ɴᴏᴛᴇʙᴏᴏᴋ ⋆˚࿔

PROOF OF PENPAL LATER TO DAWN :eyes:
(1,421 words)

March 15, 2026

Dear, Dawn;

Thank you so much for the letter you sent! I see the young one must be practicing in her free time lol. The experience you speak about comes from a long line of tiring words and cramped hands so I suppose you could say I am a bit of a master at this. Mafia is quite a fun game if played right of course. I personally only like Doctor as that is the only role that I have fully figured out.. I suppose it must be time to sit down and study the rule book and get good at it haha. Watcher and Spy are definitely also very fun, I also like link even if its probably more for larger groups. One of my least favorite villager roles would probably be Mayor as it just is odd to me, I get what to do but votes never seem much of a problem, it's probably also a bigger group role. We should definitely try and get more Fleur mafia games going, it's always fun when we all get together on a call to be honest. The more people you get definitely makes a funner game! Is there a limit to the amount of people that can play? I would think that at a point there would just be too many lol.
Answering your question, yes I definitely get tired of writing sometimes. I usually have like certain hobbies on sort of a loop of how active I am with them and it's usually pretty random. At some points I’ll be really focused on voice acting doing multiple auditions, do all my lines right as they come out, do callbacks ect. But then like a week or two later motivation will be completely gone for voice acting and I’ll be buying all the supplies for painting from paints to canvases. (One of the downsides of working in a hobby store lol.) This happens a lot including my writing, one of the reasons my book sits at one chapter for months haha. I do feel like homeschooling is better for me though I'm gonna be real. I'm not a big people kind of person in real life no matter what I may act like online so being able to do it at home is really nice and convenient! It’s going to be interesting when I go to college/trade school and have to actually learn from a teacher. Having a very social job and doing credit college classes are somewhat getting me prepared I suppose. Are you planning to go to college? (If you aren't already in college lol)
This is honestly a lot more fun then I thought it would be so I don't think you need to send this through the mail so don't worry, haha. And I don't think you could dox yourself anymore then you already have, your name is william and you live in paris with a fox!! I know everything!! Plus it probably would take a stupid amount of time since it would have to go across the border. Do people over there also need a special type of stamp to send a letter to send to another country? I definitely don't get as many letters as I used to, other than a few from some friends, bank statements, and college application things.
You are very welcome for the compliment on the last name, I used to be overly obsessed with reading books back in the day but over time books started to bore me? I
basically started writing my own books and stories as they become more interesting to me
then the things I was finding at the library or online. There are many books i still enjoy though, many of which are dystopian.
March 15, 2026

Continued:

The hunger games, divergence, maze runner ect all have a special place in my book reading heart but I do also like a few other books that I'll come back to occasionally which are random books at the library that I forget until I see them again lol.
I am now rereading this paragraph and noticed you challenged me to making my own format, and to that I'll say I'm way too lazy right now to even attempt creating anything other than this letter for you LOL! But yes profile themes have always been something fun for me for years, Just being able to search and find pictures that correspond with a certain theme is just satisfying I suppose. That is one of the reasons that I change profile pictures so much, its just a habit from when i did new themed profiles basically every day lol. I mostly keep my phone on dark mode for most things. Scratch is basically whatever im feeling as i have to turn on scratch adds and that's usually too much work on my phone as I usually have to switch browsers. When Pit and andrew were yelling it made me laugh so much, ever since being in the fleur group i have laughed so much more because of yall. The Fleur group has definitely helped me become better mentally in an odd way lol.
Actually y'all isn't much of an Ohio thing, it's more of a southern America thing, yet a lot of Ohio people still say it cause there's a lot of southerners who come to Ohio for the winter for some reason. It was so odd for Google to think i was talking about those, I totally forgot that was also another way to say contractions haha.
From what I've seen (as I told mouse) the scratch writing camp community seems really awesome, I was really skeptical of joining as I'm a very busy and forgetful person so joining something for a month was a bit of a challenge to myself but I'm glad I did it!! Really the only people i know in scw are waterfall, you, and mouse and a few others now but there are a few who I'm actually becoming friends with through this community which is pretty cool!! I honestly wish I got into writing near more the beginning of covid as there was a lot of time just sitting around doing nothing when I could've been building my writing skill tbh.
That game sounds really cool?! I never technically got into the last of us’s games but I watched the show but from what i know about the game that kind of game would be really cool for the slight description you gave lol. It sounds like a fun project to write!! How long have you been under this contract and if it has an expiration date how long is that for? I used to be a very big video game nerd lol, but recently because of work, school, and a bunch of other things I haven't played many games recently. I had been really big into games like deltarune, call of duty, stardew valley MANY visual novels ect.. Now it's mostly valorant and little indie games that I feel like supporting!!
The Scrape is definitely a big project that will take a long time and a lot of locking
in, but should be worth it in the end as it is a very cool idea i believe!! And I have heard your
singing voice, you are really good!! I definitely understand not being sure what to do for
your show, I'm also working on something show wise but deciding what the style should
March 15, 2026

Continued

be, is a pain in and of itself haha. Have you seen Knives Out? That movie very heavily leans into the family murder mystery trope and it's just a very good movie overall since you like that trope lol. Ayy we are twinning with fleur being high on our what we are working on lists, you got basically co-co creator since you are the wife of the co-founder and me being the nerd in the corner of the office!! It's really nice of you and Pit to help edna like yall have been doing, this project is definitely a group effort and it's awsome to see you both stepping up and taking little jobs here and there to make her life a fleur easier and stay on schedule!! I've hit three pages so it's probably time to end lol. I'll end with a question, if you were on deaths row what would be your last meal and why? :3

Jimmy Jay Guy

↻ ◁ II ▷ ↺

◪ Noͦ 15
Wordcount: 403/400
Topic: Three Song's Lyrics
Points earned: 600+100 for proof
Cabin: Cyberpunk

404 BY KIIKII
404, not found in the system

Eyes On You BY SEVENTEEN
Eyes On Me

back to friends BY SOMBR
It was last december

Her computer was her life.

Scrolling through another person's post at two in the night, the dim glow of the screen illuminating her face like the lamp of a night guard. Highlighting the shadows underneath her eyes, the hollowed-out cheeks, and the pools of dead envy in her eyes.

Sometimes, her screen would go black when it refreshed. She would get a glimpse of her reflection. The dull glass reflected her equally dull features. Dull. Ordinary. Completely and utterly average. I hate having eyes on me.

It was only last December when she'd started to pick at her skin, chew her nails instead of food. Use sorry excuses to hide in her room. Her wardrobe, which was once filled with bright yellows, was now gray and black like her laptop screen. Hoodies and jackets and sweatpants that let her swim in her own shadows, swim in her own hatred. It was only last December, yet it felt like it had been a decade.

She was so, so tired. The girl on her screen had pretty friends and a pretty car, and all her posts were so lively. It looked like she was living, not just existing. Like she was breathing, not just inhaling to survive. Like when she closed her eyes, she saw swirling, faint rainbows and not colors of date pits. Like she was everything she wasn't.

Again, and again, and again, she refreshed the page. Waiting for another post of hers to arrive. She knew she posted at this time- she was always the first to comment, the first to like, the first to message her. Her comments were always deleted by the girl in the end; sometimes her approaches were not so politely declined. But that was okay. If she were patient enough, if she stuck by her side enough, maybe she would learn to live like the perfect girl.

The next time she refreshed the page, a familiar message popped up on her screen.
404. Not found in the system. User has blocked you or does not exist.

Oh, had she been blocked again? She sighed, biting at her thumb as she navigated to her account, opening up her seventh one. How many more would she have to make before she could return to normal? How many more accounts would it take before she could buy another dress again?

It's fine. She could try again.

438 words

“Please, Lay, come on, I’ve been by your side. This whole time, I couldn’t’ve done it without you, nor you without me. That I’ve even lasted this long, a testament, to us!” He raised his hand in perceived triumph as Lay looked at him, dead-eyed.
“There is an ‘Us’ and there is a ‘Them’, Bee” The endearing name now a knife’s twist in his side.
“You and I-” She paused, before beginning to peel back the layers upon layers of bandages on Benedict’s arm. “-We no longer make a ‘we’,” she tore away the final layer, revealing his arm, discolored, misshapen, marked with a characteristic bite, and nearly rotten to the bone. She had been blind. “-and what does this-” she wrenched his arm backwards up to eye level, something that should have hurt, but he barely flinched. “-say about you, Bee?”
“That I was care-”
“-That you were careless!” she nearly snarled in his face, “That you are a liar and are selfish to the point that you would jeopardize all of the fort- for what? For Elle?” She saw her words hit him where it hurt, and felt the rage burn brighter. “For hell’s sake, get ahold of yourself, Bee! Look. Look at where we are. Look at where you left her. Is this really what you think she would’ve wanted?”
She could see Benedict freeze like a deer in headlights, “I counted- I’m counting on you, to make the right decision, before we make it for you.” She held her makeshift machete and pointed to the heavy iron gate.
It was only when she began urging him (with said machete) at an arms length that he snapped out of it. “-wait, wait Lay, you can’t really be suggesting, I won’t make it! Please Lay, remember how long Byrde lasted, with the resources at the fort, you don’t need to-”
“With the resources at the fort,” she punctuated this with a particularly harsh poke “we hardly have enough for everyone as is, there’s too much work to be done, and we’re not carrying dead weight, Bee.”
With a final swing, Benedict was pushed out of the fort, and The Gate slid shut between them.
“It’s such a shame, Bee, I really trusted you. You really could’ve made it far, and that blinded me. I wanted you to succeed but then you became such an issue.”
He reached out to grasp the bars, but the machete sounded against them with a resolute clang, causing him to flinch further into the wasteland.
“I’d wish you luck, but you’d need a hellraising miracle to dig yourself outta that grave.”

A/N: So there's this guy called Benedict in my class and I hate him because he is racist (and also sexist). He's overly concerned with US politics despite not being American and living on the other side of the globe, which yes it's important to engage in politics globally and not just locally, but at this point it's painfully obvious that he just follows too many right-winged social media accounts. He said that America under Jim Crow was better because “crime rates were lower” and I was just contemplating jumping him in the alleyway. Anyways, here I'm throwing him to the zombies, using lyrics from Bust Your Kneecaps by Pomplamoose (It's such a shame that you became such an issue), Fish Inside a Birdcage (I'm counting on you), and You're Dead by Norma Tangea (There's too much work to be done). UHhm yeah. This is just. Benedict why. Also he uses AI on so many of his assignments it's painful to ask him to explain his work. Don't put words on presentations if you don't know what they mean. Once he put ‘curated quotes’ on a presentation for peer feedback, and when his friend asked him what it meant, he just looked up “curated quotes” on google. Which just gives you- y'know. Curated quotes. Which are quotes, that have been curated. But if you don't know what ‘Curated’ means, they just look like quotes. And that's what he said. It was painful. Benedict why.



Route back to my main SWC post

Short story outline: 296
Exposition: Mako is a quiet girl raised in a small village, a short distance from the palace grounds. Unlike most nations, Arenteria deosn’t have a capital city—the palace grounds work as a city of their own and the village is on its own, there long before the palace stood. But recently, there’s been a problem: the palace grounds have been impeding on the village, taking resources from the villagers and leaving behind a nasty imprint on their home.
Rising action: Mako, ever the opportunist, sees her in—during the largest event of the year, she will infiltrate the palace grounds and force the offenders to cease.
Climax: Mako finishes her plan just in the nick of time, heading off to the palace grounds to sneak it. She thinks everything is going to plan, but as the ruler pretends to agree, they signal to the guards to have her captured. Mako escapes, severing the cord of a chandelier and watching it collapse to the floor. She has not killed the ruler, but she has destoryed their reputation and thus, the money by which they acquire the land her village sits on.
Falling action: life returns to normal for Mako. No one knows what she has done, and that’s how she wants it; having learned their lesson, the ruler steps back out of the resources and land of the village.
Resolution: Mako acknowledges what she did to her closest friend, who applauded her action. But they both understand that messing with a strong ruler has yet to end well for anyone in any village, and they fear for what will come of it. For the time being, though, they are happy: their land is theirs, their resources as well. Mako’s action, at least for this time, has saved them.

Short story: 1125
I watched the carriages roll in, across the nicest road in the village as to not muddy the fabric of their ride or the hem of their gowns with mud. Through the town they took our road to the palace grounds, different people passing through everyday attending the Duchess’s parties.
Everyday, I sat and watched them. Until one day, they stopped coming—a newer road had been built, and they didn’t need to go through the village with the strange child anymore. But that wasn’t really fair, was it? They took and they took, and they used our resources to build a road that was more polished and proper so they didn’t have to go through the town they destroyed along the way. They took the jewels from our mines, the clay from our rivers, and the leaves from our plants to make their homes, their roads, and their medicines. They didn’t give any to us.
I watched as people got sick and died, knowing they could’ve been saved if we had been allowed access to the materials that were rightfully ours.
The idea came to me on a particularly lonely day, the one after my uncle, cheerful and opportunist, passed away from the illnesses wreaking the village. A letter floated down from the skies, blown away from a far away land—at least, far away to me—and spiraled through the winds before landing on the chair he used to sit upon. I thought of it as a sign, and as I picked up the letter and noticed the colorful handwriting of the unnecessary invitation, I knew what I had to do. The task would be a hard one, but for our sake, I would do it.
The first step: find the road. Which was really quite easy since a road is hard is miss—over the grave of the plants and animals that used to live here, was the brick road, painting in a variety of lovely hues using the dyes sourced only in our village.
I waited for a carriage to come. Drawn by four horses each and a carriage man, all I had to do was wait for the perfect moment to strike: and by strike, I of course mean hold my hand out with a carrot. I didnt need to be fancy to get what I needed, because i had the common sense to do it all without the poshness. I jumped on one of the horses, giving it the carrot. The carriage man gave em a strange look, but, clearly fed up with the overall disturbing luxury of it, said nothing.
We got to the palace soon enough, and I dipped behind a line of trees. I had an invitation, yes, but I looked nothing like the people that come through these parts. What I needed was a ballgown and my own carriage, but this wasn’t Cinderella.
I watched, and I waited. Until night fell—then, it was time to move. I snuck into the castle quite easily, all things considered; security was quite lax despite the overwhelm of all the luxury in the world. I snuck around quietly, looking for someone who seemed important to talk to. The party was still going, though it was silently dying out as people filtered through the doors as a snail’s pace, eager to leave behind the night of impleasentries without being impolite.
And finally, I laid eyes on her. The Duchess herself, Mariana Arenteria, last name given with the same name as the nation to showcase her importance. I appeared besides her, in my same village clothes and jewelry, lacking the silk and satin the Arenterians dressed themselves in.
“Hello, little girl,” she said, her face a disaster of faux kindess. “It’s a bit late. Maybe you should go home.”
Maybe I should’ve. But I wouldn’t. I gave her a subtle nod, unsure of if there was a better gesture for someone of her stature. “Duchess Mariana, please hear my message.”
Her lips pursed, but she nodded.
“I come from the village outside the palace walls. Your people have been stealing our lands and our resources to build help only yourselves; so I come bearing a warning. Either share with us, or leave us be.”
She smiled politely. One of those dreadful, fake smiles, plastered in platinum when all you want is genuinity. “Well, of course dear. I’ll see to it.”
I smiled—a real one. “Thank you.”
But when I turned, several of the guards I’d outsmarted earlier had me surrounded. They wouldn’t pick off a small child, would they?
They would. They captured me quickly, threw me in one of those dirty cells. My uncle had always taught me that justice does what is right, and it would help me when I needed it—but I knew it wouldn’t come for me.
I escaped. I wish there was more to say, but there isn’t; I slipped through the bars because they were poorly designed and shoddy, easily allowing a child to slip between them unseen.
And I knew what would cause an uproar. The Duchess didn’t listen to me because she thought of me as less than her, and now came the time to prove her wrong.
Back in the main room, the party significantly quieter, I came up my idea in an instant. The chandelier, suspended by many hanging chairs and connected at one end to the wall.
The chain was as easy to break as the cell to escape, and within an instant it came crashing to the ground, shattering in a collision of light and tiny glass shards flying in every direction.
And then I ran. I left the palace behind, and I went home—I sat on the chair where my uncle used to sit, and I knew I had done something that could never be undone.
But in many ways, it worked. The Duchess retreated out of our land, without any many with which to continue her “renovations” of our materials. I told her our warning, my warning, and she failed to acknowledge it—and I hit her where it hurt.
The sun dawned. And with it, my Dawn: my closest friend, someone who I knew I could trust. Without my uncle, she was all I had left. So I told her the truth.
“Do you think I did the right thing?” I asked.
She sat silent next to me. “I think you did something that cannot be changed.”
I nodded. “But was it wrong?”
She shook her head. “It wasn’t wrong. It wasn’t right. We can’t fit actions into boxes, only see where they go from here.”
So as the sun climbed higher in the sky, we both acknowledged it: the only way forward was seeing where the path from here led.


Critique: 328
Hello Skylar!!! Thank you for letting me critique your short story <3 ill start with grammar, though its a bit ironic since im not writing my critique in correct grammar lol. I’m by no means an expert but I noticed a bit of missing or incorrect punctuation, so ill point that out, but to be honest i dont prioritize grammar until im editing so feel free to ignore this section entirely if you want!

“Amber!” A voice called

Typically the word after an exclamation mark are capitalized, but from my understanding, a quotation mark dividing them provides an exception to this rule because the sentence is Amber, a voice called, instead of Amber. A voice called. But again its not a big thing so feel free to ignore that!! <3

hand the patients over.” The lead

Simliair thing here, if what the character says is part of the sentence its typical to use a comma!!!

Anyway im sure you get the idea, ill move on to what you asked for specifically I just wanted to point that out !!

You mentioned wanting advice on the characterisation, so ill do my best to critiquie that!

First off, I have a bit of trouble differentiating the characters from one another! I think they talk in very similar ways, though thats not necessarily a bad thing. To me, the focus of this story is the impact that these fights and superheroes have on the city, especially the hospitals, not the characters—which is why the bit with Rena fighting back against the firelights (love the unintentional arcane ref btw) seemed surprising; not in a bad way, just like shifting the focus from the setting to the character interactions.

I did really enjoy this story and want to thank you again for letting me critique it; I think this new angle to what the other affects of superheroes within a city is really interesting, and I’m sorry my critique is on the shorter side!

Songs and Lyrics
Gunjou Sanka (Eve, Numa): 繋がっていたいって　信じられる言葉 / だってもう昨日の僕らにおさらば
English Translation: Wanting to stay connected are words to believe in / Since we’ve already said goodbye to the us of yesterday

More! Jump! More! (More More Jump): 未来でも / 世界でも / 今は変えられる気がするんだ
English Translation: Whether it’s the future / The world / I have a feeling we can change them now

Sure on this Shining Night (Laurisden arrangement): Sure on this shining night of star-made shadows round / Kindness must watch for me this side the ground

She stood among the rubble of the destroyed hospital building. Most people had gotten out, but there were still a few casualties. The rescue efforts had mostly finished by now, and the scene was quietening down as patients were rushed away and distributed to other hospitals around the city. For Elanna, the usual sound of ambulance sirens, the beeping monitors and the sound of medical teams discussing orders, the background noise to what had been much of her life in this place were gone.

All because a dispute between two rival gangs had gotten out of hand, and with superpowered people on both sides, there was bound to be destruction. And the destruction had come right to Elanna’s hospital. Aspen Glenn Memorial, once one of the largest hospitals in Aurora Bay, had been reduced to rubble.

“I’m sorry,” Elanna heard a voice say behind her. She turned around to see Rena standing there in her ERIS combat uniform, looking apologetic. “Elanna, we… we tried our best.” Rena wasn’t working in the hospital that day, but she had been busy doing work for her double life (Elanna still wasn’t quite sure what to make of that) when she’d heard about the fight close to the hospital. Elanna had caught glimpses of the three-way battle between Rena’s team, Detectives Hayes and Moore, a group of police officers desperately trying to protect the building from destruction, and the two disputing groups as she’d called a code green and did her best to help evacuate patients throughout the hospital.

“Superheroes are a stupid idea,” Elanna muttered in response, picking up a piece of rubble from what was the emergency department and throwing it on the ground in anger. “They just need to stop interfering. Whoever decided to let superhumans attack each other close to public services is out of their mind.” Elanna paused in her rant to breathe. She was angry and frustrated - frustrated that the government couldn’t control the ever-increasing number of vigilante groups, and angry that it had led to the destruction of the place that she loved most. “It’s not like they’re going to rebuild the hospital, now that it’s reduced to rubble,” she added bitterly, crossing her arms.

“Uh, I’m pretty sure some of this might be salvageable?” Elanna heard the familiar voice of Amber Roberts say as the (possibly former?) charge nurse walked into view. “I’m not an engineer by any means, but I could call Mira and see what she thinks.” And there she was, being ever the optimist.

“They’re pulling funding from us all the time, Amber,” Rena sighed in response. “They might not even have enough money to reconstruct the budget. Because it’s all going into defence and intelligence and Ala- uh…” Rena trailed off, and Elanna got the distinct feeling that Rena almost let slip something she shouldn’t have. “Stars, do I want to walk right up to whoever’s in power and tell them they have to fund us more. That the reason vigilantism is on a rise is not because we’re not dealing with it effectively, it’s because the public services are underfunded. And then people seeing a need to become what the government can’t.”

“You and Elanna would be pretty terrifying, walking into parliament and making your case,” Amber joked, before turning more serious. “I guess we are underfunded.”

They stood in silence for a few moments as Elanna trudged to the edge of the rubble and onto the road, through what once had been the ambulance bay. She turned back and took in the ruins once more.

“So what happens next?” Amber asked, breaking the silence. “You still have a job, Rena, but me and Elanna…”

“I still want to be a doctor,” Rena said with conviction, interrupting Amber. “I quit working for ERIS because I wanted a chance to be a doctor without any distractions, and then Ala- Torres, Becker, and Payton came dragging me right back into what I left behind. It doesn’t give me the same fulfilment that working as a doctor does.”

“New jobs,” Elanna responded. “But I won’t be heading up the emergency department anymore and you won’t be a charge nurse.” Elanna gave Amber a sympathetic look. For the past three years that Amber had been one of the charge nurses at the emergency department, they’d handled everything in their own way. Moving on to different jobs would mean leaving all of that behind.

“I’ll make sure to stay in contact with you,” Rena said as she began walking to the edge of the rubble. “Wherever we go next, I want to know where you are. And maybe one day we’ll find ourselves back here, but that’s just wishful thinking.” Elanna wanted to quip back at Rena. She could be realistic when she wanted to.

“Wanting to stay connected are words to believe in,” Amber murmured. “Since we’ve already said goodbye to the us of yesterday.”

Elanna remembered Amber saying those words on more than one occasion, usually whenever a colleague left or transferred from their department. Elanna remembered that they were some of Amber’s favourites to say, and words that had seemed to have gotten her through major life changes.

“There is no constant in life but change,” Rena added. Rena had reached the edge of the rubble pile and was standing next to Elanna. “And it’s so… fragile.”

“Mmhm.” Amber replied, walking out of the rubble to meet Elanna and Rena. “There’s still the future.”

“There’s a future, but I’m not sure it’s a good one,” Elanna said. “With this hospital gone, our jobs are about to get a lot harder.” They’d lost one of the major trauma centres for the city that day, and the others would no doubt be overstretched.

“I’ll talk them into rebuilding it,” Rena promised, though Elanna could tell it was empty. “Though I doubt it will happen.”

“Whether it’s the future, the world- I have a feeling we can change them now,” Amber quoted. From what, Elanna wasn’t sure, but it was on par for Amber’s more optimistic tendencies. “You just need to try, Rena.”

“I guess.”

The stars glimmered in the night sky as Elanna felt Amber hug her and Rena. The stars outshined the city lights, casting shadows on the ground. She was reminded of a poem that Amber once shared with her during a long shift, one whose words reflected the night of this very moment. And, Elanna supposed, the reminder that despite living in a world where life is cruel and fragile, there would always be kindness.

Sure on this shining night of star-made shadows round,
Kindness must watch for me this side the ground.

part one

taking inspiration from three lord huron lyrics (and the originating songs as a whole) — man thinking about his life, about waiting for his love to return to him, and retrospection on the time they spent together. because i’ve been so into sinners and interview with the vampire recently, the main character is gonna be from the south, a professor of some sort, and of course it will be gay but a little vague. something about gender — the treatment of female university students (maybe the main character marries a student once the relationship ends?)

the love interest is “a thief, who steals just for fun,” as in the lord huron lyric. he invigorates the main character and, with his wealth and passionate conversations, shows him a world he never knew could be accessible to him. but the whole thing is told in retrospect, so you know it ends even before it starts. the love interest left without a word, abandoning the narrator, and what came after spiraled out from that event. marriage and obligation, but in his grief and shock the narrator was merely a shell of his past self. so, in a way, that friendship ruined his life, by showing him what was possible and then snatching it all away.

part two

i had always dreamt of a companion, to come save me from my own isolating ways, to sweep me off my feet and show me the world, to accompany always in thought and deed. some man after my own heart, brave and opinionated and passionate who would see my curiosity not as a stain on my god-fearing family, but a manifestation of the love of the earth. he came to me, at last, as i neared the end of my youth in my twenty-ninth year of life. not a minute too soon, for i had promised my mother to take a wife and start a family the day of my thirtieth birthday.

his name was red, though he dressed all in grey and his coloring was dusty brown. salt-and-pepper hair, curly and slicked back, spoke to his being a few years my elder, though i always considered him a youth, enthusiastic as he was. he was a professor of archeology, visiting for a short semester the very same university where i taught as an adjunct. the most important thing to learn of red, which i never quite internalized until it was too late, was this: he was a thief, and he’d steal just for fun.

we met by pure coincidence, or divine providence if you were christian, leaving a performance of king lear. i, attending in the company of my mother, spotted him and his entourage of flushed young female scholars during intermission and rolled my eyes. obnoxious, how some male professors would treat their students. i strove always for politeness in my own interactions with the women in my classes.

rushing out of the packed theatre, we bumped shoulders. “you look familiar,” he said, grey eyes glinting. “professor harris,” i nodded in response, “we’re in different disciplines.” “ah! yes. the young adjunct in classics. i should like to see you on the road. a classroom is no space for ancient history.” “quite,” i agreed. he smiled, we pushed through the crowd together, he seemed to forget the young women he was escorting to the show. “visit me in my office sometime. professor lancaster red, up in northkin. let’s talk about getting you out to the land where the fires of the ancestors burn.” i nodded again.

he really said that, pulled that poetry from the brief and chaotic moment, and i was entirely smitten from then. i was no better than a schoolgirl, hanging on his every word, though he would treat me as an equal. which i shall be forever grateful for. he moved fast, no patience for waiting around, always with a new site to explore. he chartered private flights, unthinkably expensive, so we could fly out to digs in ohio or missouri or washington state for the weekend and make it back in time for class on monday morning.

he debated me furiously whenever we encountered disagreements; he seemed to understand i wanted nothing more than to be challenged, and took it upon himself to challenge me. he changed my thoughts on archaeology, which i had so long conceptualized as an endeavor with so little daily consequence. i opened his eyes to the beauty of ancient language, the archaeology of literature, the reconstruction of sounds and truths. we co-authored a paper, just once in those years of companionship; he insisted the partnership happen, i insisted it only occur once.

i feel i never knew red, not like he knew me. so so many layers to him. i would think i finally understood him in total, or at least in half, and then he would surprise me again. nothing surprised me so much as his leaving, with so little fanfare. without even a goodbye. i write this with so much time removed; years have gone but the pain is the same. i tried to forget. i tried to move on, tying the knot with an ambitious young student and fathering her children, continuing my translation work in the sleepless nights of new parenthood.

red had got me tenure, even though he never committed to working at the university more than a year at a time. even though our disciplines were so separate. mary, my wife, took classes with him before ever meeting me.

he introduced us, when she joined his research team. “dr. red has fascinating thoughts, does he not?” she asked that first night, in the research meeting, both our eyes tracing him from across the lecture hall. “i’ll ask that he brings you along on the next outing,” i answered, distracted. “oh, do please, dr. harris.” she was eager, i was eager, that worked for us, even when red left the next semester without a single letter of explanation. i saw her as a gift from my departed friend, similar as they two were. i invited her on to my own research team, i wrote her recommendations for exclusive master’s programs in translation and classical archaeology. i married her, in a small ceremony, trying not to think about red, or the waiting, or my own hypocrisy.

mary wanted more than i could provide, anyways. there was no chartering planes in my future, the passion of my beliefs faded without red there to challenge me. i fell into a trance, very much like those years after leaving home and before meeting him. mary’s mother and my own begged for grandchildren, little kenneth was our response. my wife resented me, my stasis, my stagnation, my hollowing out. so empty was i that it was nothing to agree when she proposed she leave. just a nod, really, before my eyes slipped back to my reading. good for her.

she had never been what i wanted. mystery, challenge, departure from the norms. i thought her a gift, how stupid! only another war red stole from me the years of my life.

i’ve decided to send him this entry from my journals. i feel quite better now, than a year ago, when i wrote this. i found his address in an issue of a journal of archaeology. let him see, how he stole from me. maybe red will take pity— though you never do, isn’t that right my love?

part three https://scratch.mit.edu/discuss/post/9043751/

weekly 2:

pt 1:
pt i - there was a boy called hiromitsu. he was born in a struggling family who lived in the countryside contently in a small village. despite his lack of wealth he was content in life, he had a best friend aiko who lived in one of the other houses in the village. after they used to finish their work in the farm they would play together in the fields and rolling hills. hiromitsu was in love with aiko but he had never got the courage to tell her.
pt ii - aiko one day turned ill and was forbidden from leaving her bed and quarantined so hiromitsu was unable to see her until a specific date which her parents had allowed him time with her. he gathered her fave flowers for her and composed himself to confess to her but when he knocked on her door they announced to him that she had succumbed to the illness and passed away.
pt iii - hiromitsu was bitter and refused to believe, he was in denial, something in his heart told him that she still lived. at the funeral he created quite a ruckus trying to convince everyone that she was still alive but no one believed him
pt iv - hiromitsu vowed to get her back and gatrhered his things and began to run as fast as he could into the valleys and hills in a reckless search of something-anything out there. there he met a superstitious old man who told him he must perform a ritual over her grave to bring her back from where she was trapped under the earth.
pt v - he starts the ritual when aiko's spirit comes to him telling him to stop that she love him always with him etc. the story ends with him one his knees sobbing on her grave.

Daily || 15th march || 468 words
People in the kingdom usually avoided the forest near the border. It had a reputation for making travelers disappear. Knights had ridden into it before and never come back. Merchants tried taking the shortcut through the trees and were never seen again. Sometimes villagers even claimed they could hear strange music drifting out of the woods late at night. Because of all that, Elia had always been curious about it. Which was exactly why she was now walking straight into the forest with nothing but a lantern and a stubborn sense of curiosity. The wind moved through the branches overhead, making the lantern light shake slightly in her hand. Dry twigs snapped under her boots as she walked. The deeper she went, the quieter everything became, until the only sound left was water somewhere ahead. She followed it. Eventually the trees opened into a small clearing where a narrow stream cut through the ground. Moss covered most of the rocks, and the water glimmered faintly in the lantern light. Someone else was already there. A boy sat on a fallen log beside the stream with a beat-up guitar in his hands, casually playing like he was sitting in a tavern instead of the middle of a supposedly cursed forest. Elia stopped. “You do realize this place is supposed to be cursed, right?” she asked. The boy glanced at her for half a second, then kept strumming. Out of nowhere he suddenly sang, “Do you ever get a little bit tired of life?” Elia stared at him. “That’s your answer?” He shrugged. “Spend three days wandering through haunted woods and you might start asking that too.” Before she could reply, something rustled in the darkness past the clearing. A deep growl rolled through the trees. The boy’s guitar playing stopped immediately. From between the shadows stepped a huge wolf. It was far bigger than any normal wolf, its fur dark and rough, its eyes reflecting the firelight like burning coals. Elia’s hand slowly moved to the dagger at her belt. The boy stood up, glancing at the creature, and muttered quietly like he was remembering something. “Fight so dirty, but you love so sweet.” Elia frowned. “Is this really the time for poetry?” “Not poetry,” he said. “Lyrics.” The wolf suddenly lunged. Elia jumped sideways while the boy grabbed a burning branch from the small fire beside the log. The wolf snapped at them but pulled back from the flames. For a moment nobody moved. Firelight flickered across the clearing while the wolf paced slowly in front of them. The boy let out a rather annoyed laugh. “Fantastic,” he muttered. “Fight a giant cursed wolf in the middle of the woods.” Elia gave him a look. He sighed and shrugged. “I’m just a man.” The wolf growled again. “Unfortunately,” he added, raising the burning branch like it might actually help, “I’m a man who really doesn’t want to d!3 tonight.” And so, the fight began.

Songs used :
Teeth
Numb little bug
I’m just a man

Daily March 15th
Words: 1230

“This is it, General Ragnar. This is the plan. There’s no way it couldn’t work,” I said, forgetting myself for a moment as I stared at the maps and the tiny wooden ships dotted around like a children’s game.
I had been staring at the island map in the same way for the past few weeks, rearranging the troops like a madman, all to crack through the enemy’s line and regain our land. Our people were dying and here I was, scheming and hoping the General would finally listen to me.
The General regarded me thoughtfully, “Thank you for your time, Lieutenant General Delta. The King has sent us another to help with strategy. Says he has big plans. Knows his way around. Before we decide on our next move, I’d like to consult him.”
I swallowed down the embarrassment, saluting and leaving the tent. Sure, let the new guy weigh in. It’s not like we had exhausted all the other options. I had never had to exert so much willpower to keep myself from bursting out in front of the General. I stalked back to my tent and lay on the cot. At least I had my own private space to decompress after another day filled with strategy meetings and constantly having my ideas shot down. I took my hair out of its tight bun and combed my fingers through it, remaining in my uniform should I have to arise in the night. I lay my sword across the floor beside me before blowing out my candle. I am surrounded by night and cold.
As the only girl ranking above Captain in Arcouna, I should’ve been used to it by now, but it filled me with rage when Majors “forgot” to salute me in the morning and Brigadier Generals spoke over me in meetings. I drifted off to sleep still on edge. The enemy could strike any moment and we still didn’t have a solidified plan. We should’ve, but no one would listen to reason.
In the morning, I splashed water on my face and straightened in my uniform, securing my sword at my hip. I tied back my hair even tighter than the day before, half hoping it would fall out and I would blend in with the other men of the army. The birds were silent in the dying trees as I walked through the snow to the tent where I was meeting with the General and the new Lieutenant General Raf.
When I entered the thick canvas tent, they were already inside and surrounding the round central table. Maps crinkled as Raf spoke. I saluted them as I entered and they saluted back half-heartedly. I cleared my throat.
“Lieutenant General Delta, a pleasure,” Raf said.
He seemed to be mocking me. I nodded to him.
“Please explain your plan to Lieutenant General Raf.” the General said.
I launched into a brief description of the strike I had been planning, moving the boats around as I spoke. Before I could even finish, Raf took one of the boats and moved it over.
“Who are you trying to impress?” he asked me, laughing.
Thrown off guard, I paused. How unprofessional. I straightened my back.
As though he was bestowing a pearl of wisdom on me, he began to speak again. “Those who don’t try never look foolish.”
“Thank you for the advice, Lieutenant General Raf. Now, does the plan accord with your expectations?”
“Not quite,” he said, then began to babble out a half-baked plan that I had proposed weeks ago.
I glanced at the General and, to my horror, he seemed to be quite enjoying Raf’s proposition. He was nodding along, listening intently and seemed to be considering the plan that I had realized wouldn’t work due to the positioning of their troops on the western coast. They would see us coming from a mile away.
A young page swept into the tent, saluted us with fear in his eyes and told Raf his presence was required elsewhere. I turned to the General and felt my professionalism evaporating, even in the cold.
“I proposed the same plan weeks ago, General Ragnar,” I gritted out.
“I do not recall. As I said, I must consider Lieutenant General Raf’s plan carefully.”
“Recall that their troops were positioned in Insilanda and would see ours coming through the bay,” I said.
“Lieutenant General Raf’s plan is quite proficient.”
“He doesn’t have a plan, he just hates mine.”
“We will go with his plan. The King told me he is quite competent. You are dismissed.” As I staked out of the tent, I cursed myself for losing my temper. I may have been the highest ranked girl at only nineteen, but it wouldn’t last long if I kept running my mouth. Now we were walking into a death sentence thanks to the General’s preference for the new kid. I needed something to take my mind away from the task at hand, so I headed back to my tent.
When I got there, I was utterly shocked to see my younger brother huddled in a bundle of a cloak outside of my tent.
“Jet? What are you doing here?” I shouted, running towards him.
He was only seventeen. He was supposed to be safe from the hands of the King’s army. We embraced.
“They came to my house and sent me here, Scout. They tore me away from mother and father. I didn’t know where I was going,” he was out of breath and terrified.
I felt his heart hammering against my chest.
“It’s okay, you’re here now. They’re planning an attack within the next few days, you’re most likely here to help with that.”
I left out that the attack was a death sentence. That our army didn’t stand a chance. But he must have seen my broken heart in my eyes because he began to cry. I could not do anything to save him so I only hugged him tighter and hoped I’d never lose him.
The next few days of preparation passed in a flurry of meetings, myself being excluded and ignored as the plotted and tried to send my brother into a battle we were sure to lose. My cries fell on deaf ears.
The fateful day arose like any other. The sun slunk higher in the sky, filling my stomach with a sense of terror. I walked out onto the beach to see off our soldiers, there for only one reason. I didn’t stop walking until I got to the end of the line of ships and found my brother. I hugged him one last time, struggling to find the words to reassure him and promise I would be waiting for him when he got back. The lies were stuck in my throat.
“I love you, Scout,” he said, eyes filled with tears all over again.
“I love you too, Jet. You’ll be with me like a handprint on my heart,” I am quoting my mother, trying to make him feel better.
All too soon we were ripped apart and I was forced to watch the ships disappear over the horizon. When the ships returned, I ran down the line of them once again in search of Jet. Every face I saw was of a stranger. They blurred together through my tears. My Jet was gone for good.

  ⋅ ────── ‹ ⨳ › ────── ⋅

‹ Back
ᛝ Song Lyrics
 Daily #15 › 411 words › 700 points
 Take your playlist and put it on shuffle. Then, take a one lyric from each of the first three songs that you get.
 Now incorporate your three lyrics into your daily!
 TW: implied de4th.

  ⋅ ────── ‹ ⨳ › ────── ⋅

Lyrics used:
Viva la Vida - “Who would ever wanna be king?”
By Your Side - “Lost in the echoes of the night”
Opalite - “Life is a song, it ends when it ends. You move on”

I miss you.

As I look at the stars, I think about how, once you’d gone, the nights began feeling darker, sadder. Who would ever wanna be king? Who would want to rule a world without you? Not me.
“Life is a song, it ends when it ends. You move on” they tell me, unaware of how much I need you, how much I need to hear your voice. Unaware of how guilty I feel.
Your name, lost in the echoes of the night. Your face, fading away. We’ll never experience them again, the afternoons we spent together when we were young, thinking it would last.

I think about the day they told me that you weren’t here anymore. 2 days after it happened. I thought I would see you again… Well, I was wrong.
I didn’t even say goodbye. You just left.

I remember the day before, you and I were so busy preparing everything for the mission. You were getting ready, I was thinking of a plan B. I forgot about this one possibility. I didn’t consider it. I didn’t even think about it, and I don’t think I would’ve wanted to. There was no plan C.

I remember the day we graduated together. The jokes about our futures. The party.

I remember how we chatted every day after school. The park nearby, where we spent so many hours drawing and sharing our thoughts, one of the places that I barely go to anymore.

One particular memory stands out. Your 14th birthday party. We ate cake together, swam in the pool, and I met your family, your friends from other schools and your pets. We hid presents in the backyard so you could look for them. We threw confetti all over the place. I was able to do everything I couldn’t do at home, like being silly, making jokes, and be a child.

And I still remember the day we met, more than 15 years ago. You were new to my school, and we just clicked. We bonded over our similarities and forgot about our differences. Our families and our past didn’t matter, that day.

I don’t remember how my life without you was. How life before that day was. I just know that I wanted to feel that I belonged, instead of being weird, an outsider, someone intimidating. And you gave me the opportunity to.
I don’t think I’ve told you how grateful I am.

I miss you.

  ⋅ ────── ‹ ⨳ › ────── ⋅

I looked into the mirror, and my reflection gazed back at me. It was surreal, like i couldnt understand anything at all: the relevatations of last night stung at my cold arms like the words I coudnt understand. They told me the truth, and I heard it kind; I tried to be understanding, but I couldn’t. These people, these dreadful, awful people, had taken the lives of everyone I kew. And what for? For me to survive, for me out of all of them, all their accomlishemtns and all their goals, because I had a better chance at surviving being a test subject? I dont think so. I wont accept it, and I dont accept it. I catn believe that someone could do something like that at all, and i dont elieve that anyone would have the will to be so cruel. When I arrived to that meeting, I woke up on a battlefield and ther was nothing I could do to escape its grasp over my life. From the moment of the crash, everything had spiraled and spiraled and spiraled into one giant mes that I had no hope in all the world of cleaning up. It was a disaster, really and truly. But msot of all, it had taken and taken and taken from me in such a way I do not know how I can describe it in any sense other than this: you steal, and you steal, and you steal and when there is nothing left to take, know this: I will come for you. I will come for you and I will not back down, the same way you did not back down when the thought occurred to you and the same way you did not back down when you went through with it.
You took. I take. You stole from me, and in return, I will steal from you. I do not like the messaging that is that of the high road, because in my eyes, the high road is just a path a little harded to take, so that those afraid of justice can blindside themselves with forgiveness. I tell you now and I tell you once: there is no high road for me. I have never been the bigger man, and I will never bow down in fear of rightful retribution. An eye for an eye leaves the whole world blind, but it seems ironic to say it so after taking the eyes of the innocent while you stand seeing.
Just look at yourself in the mirror. You stand, we fall. You rise, we bow. You take, we give. And I cannot stand it any longer than it has taken me to write this message for whomever comes next, and I already told you once. The high road is not one untravalled, but it is one taken lightly. I dont mourn for those who seek or give forgiveness, but I do not envy them either. We are the opposition to each other, and when they told me the truth, I tried not to care. But to tell you the truth, it hurt my feelings. Such a meaningless phrase, but it did. To know someone had taken and taken and taken from me and left me nothing but ashes was unforgivable, and the high road is one too high for me to climb.

Proof for March 15 Daily.

433 words

1: So give me a smile, or or give a sneer, cause I’m trying to guess here. - Dear in the Headlights by Owl City
2: Pour me a heavy does of atmosphere. - Vanilla Twilight by Owl City
3: Today is another day to find you. - Take On Me by a-ha
4: With friends like these, well, who needs enemies. - The Bird and the Worm by Owl City
5: All the stars we steal from the night sky. - Never Enough from The Greatest Showman


I walked toward the base of the mountain. My backpack heavy on my back, hitting my spine with every step. My thoughts running truly rampant as I started up the foot of the mountain. I came here to escape my troubles. I just wished for the world to pour me a heavy dose of atmosphere. Each step ascending the mountain got me farther and farther from the real world and its troubles. Leaving what haunts my dreams, questions my dignity, hurting my pride. I was happy to leave for a while. No people saying, “today is another day to find you wasting time.” I wonder what people think of me in the inside. Maybe when I get back I could make things better, but I doubt a mountain trip could teach me much. Just that I know that by halfway up the mountain I’d be tired, my hands would hurt, and I’d probably need to stop and rest for a while. But is it worth it? Who knows, who can do more than guess in this world? It’s all a question, so give me a smile, or give me a sneer, cause I’m trying to guess here.
My thoughts shifted as I saw the sun setting in the distance. The trees were outlined in colorful sunshine, the snow reflecting everything like water, making it ten times brighter than it really was.
Stars started coming out. Bits of glittery light scattered on a dark blue sheet of paper. My friend the moon and my friends the stars staring down at me. It makes me think, with friends like these, well who needs enemies? I flicked on my headlamp and kept climbing. I was almost at the cabin I was staying at, but even. I thought, all the stars we steal from the night sky, by polluting the world, they come out in the high mountain air. The stars are specks of joy in my eyes, but then the next morning they all ways disappear. Forcing you to say goodbye to them all.
I arrived at the cabin and went to sleep. The following morning the moon was still out. Guiding me through my life as I kept going up the mountain. The second day is always hardest, you are already tired out and haven’t gotten used to the thinner air and cold yet, but I am excited to reach the top.
I have reached the top. The sun is setting and makes a beautiful picture, an amazing sight, making the trip worth it. Now to head home to a life I need to fix.

Proof for March 15 Daily

433 Words

1: So give me a smile, or or give a sneer, cause I’m trying to guess here. - Dear in the Headlights by Owl City
2: Pour me a heavy does of atmosphere. - Vanilla Twilight by Owl City
3: Today is another day to find you. - Take On Me by a-ha
4: With friends like these, well, who needs enemies. - The Bird and the Worm by Owl City
5: All the stars we steal from the night sky. - Never Enough from The Greatest Showman


I walked toward the base of the mountain. My backpack heavy on my back, hitting my spine with every step. My thoughts running truly rampant as I started up the foot of the mountain. I came here to escape my troubles. I just wished for the world to pour me a heavy dose of atmosphere. Each step ascending the mountain got me farther and farther from the real world and its troubles. Leaving what haunts my dreams, questions my dignity, hurting my pride. I was happy to leave for a while. No people saying, “today is another day to find you wasting time.” I wonder what people think of me in the inside. Maybe when I get back I could make things better, but I doubt a mountain trip could teach me much. Just that I know that by halfway up the mountain I’d be tired, my hands would hurt, and I’d probably need to stop and rest for a while. But is it worth it? Who knows, who can do more than guess in this world? It’s all a question, so give me a smile, or give me a sneer, cause I’m trying to guess here.
My thoughts shifted as I saw the sun setting in the distance. The trees were outlined in colorful sunshine, the snow reflecting everything like water, making it ten times brighter than it really was.
Stars started coming out. Bits of glittery light scattered on a dark blue sheet of paper. My friend the moon and my friends the stars staring down at me. It makes me think, with friends like these, well who needs enemies? I flicked on my headlamp and kept climbing. I was almost at the cabin I was staying at, but even. I thought, all the stars we steal from the night sky, by polluting the world, they come out in the high mountain air. The stars are specks of joy in my eyes, but then the next morning they all ways disappear. Forcing you to say goodbye to them all.
I arrived at the cabin and went to sleep. The following morning the moon was still out. Guiding me through my life as I kept going up the mountain. The second day is always hardest, you are already tired out and haven’t gotten used to the thinner air and cold yet, but I am excited to reach the top.
I have reached the top. The sun is setting and makes a beautiful picture, an amazing sight, making the trip worth it. Now to head home to a life I need to fix.

Daily 15:

All of us have a playlist with words… I think. Unless you're performative and only listen to classical jazz… Take your playlist and put it on shuffle. Then, take a one lyric from each of the first three songs that you get. Now incorporate your three lyrics into your daily! Write 400 words to claim 600 points, plus an extra 100 points for proof!

Lyrics: “I don’t got no obligation” (From No Obligation, by the Linda Lindas) “I’ll put you in your place” (from Put You In Your Place, from The Lightning Thief, and “You should learn when to go“ from Violet, by Hole)

She sat on the school steps, dirty blonde hair blowing in the slight breeze. She had chopped off most of her hair, after a while, it had been getting way too long for her taste. Now it hung just below her chin. She liked it better this way. Got in her way less. She probably was supposed to be somewhere, but it’s not like anyone could tell her to go away or go somewhere else. “What are you doing here?” Some boy with stupid hair asked. “What are YOU doing here?” She snapped back. “I asked first. So tell me.” He said. “I don’t got no obligation. I don’t have to tell you anything”
“I mean, this is school property, and you’re probably supposed to be in class…” He said. “Not just… sitting on the school steps.”
“Maybe YOUR supposed be in class. You don’t work here. Plus, your hair is stupid.” She said, glaring at him. He looked very annoyed. “Well, maybe I do work for the school.” He said, crossing his arms. “Also, my hair isn’t stupid.”
“Oh yeah? You clearly work for the school” She said sarcastically, rolling her eyes “You’re like, what, ten? And your hair still is stupid” She smirked. She could totally punch his stupid face with his stupid hair if she wanted to. “Hmph. For your information, I am not ten. Anyway, you should get to… wherever your supposed to be.“ She kind of wanted to punch his stupid haired stupid face.
“You should learn when to go” She said, standing up and glaring down at him. Ha, she was taller then him. She could destroy him. If she wanted to. “I’ll put you in your place.” She kind of wanted to. Only a little. Maybe a bit more then a little. I guess she wouldn’t destroy him. Since he was so tiny, he wouldn’t be a good opponent, anyway. It mainly was because he was so annoying. Maybe she could stick him in a tree. Or a dog house. Or a toilet. “Well, YOUR place should be your class.” He said snobbily. He had no idea what he was getting into. “Maybe your place is in a tree. Or toilet.” She said, smirking. His eyes looked a little scared. Ha. And then he quickly began walking away. She laughed. “Like that do you any good!” She yelled after him, grinning. “Prepare to pulverized!”

401 words

daily 15
lyrics used:
“your sparkling smile, is so sweet stone, bright illusion” - diamond smile (naniwa danshi)
“surviving each day, that we pass through with cloudy hearts” -weeeek (NEWS)
- “it can’t be okay that i’m the one who survived” - life (MILGRAM)

Your sparkling smile…

I remember, of course, you always mentioned my smile whenever we spoke. On our first date, on our anniversary, and on late night calls. But I didn’t agree with your words, not one bit. My front teeth were so crooked I pushed on them to keep them in place.

Is so sweet, stone.

But if anything, your smile was the one that sparkled. The one that shone brighter than the sun. A smile that felt something akin to a diamond. You know what they say—love makes a person go blind. But there was no way that was true. I knew better than anyone else that the smile plastered on your face was truly beautiful, through and through.

But it was all just

A bright illusion.

When I close my eyes, like a movie scene, I can see it perfectly projected on the back of my eyelids.

But people forget things, and I am no exception. While I can look at your dark eyes through a photo frame, I don’t think I ever got a picture of that bright smile. You always smiled an artificial smile at cameras. I could tell the difference between the two.

I can’t remember. It keeps fading away. I don’t want to forget it.

I can’t stop crying as I try to recall your smile, but to no avail. My smile wasn’t deserving of your praise, but I can’t remember yours anymore.

I am forgetting your face.

———

This world is unfair, cruel even.

So as your body lays underground, the only memory of your face I’m allowed is your memorial portrait—one with a blank face, and no sign of your diamond smile. I knew that my world would end that day.

I remember, being the reckless college students we were, you drove in your car as we laughed and stuck our heads out the window. We didn’t wear a seatbelt, we didn’t feel like it. To us, it was freedom, being able to run down the highway without authority.

I felt free as a bird.

But when you crashed, you lost everything.

I remember horrified stares and hushed whispers.

I remember your warm blood pooling beneath me before I lost consciousness.

I remember.

I knew that from that moment on, by a fundamental law of the universe—you were gone. And in turn, the world had ended.

I remember how heavy my heart was. You and I always did everything together. So perhaps, somewhere along the way, I thought that would last forever. So, at some point, I convinced myself that after you were gone, WE were surviving each day, that WE pass through with cloudy hearts. I couldn’t comprehend being alone. So I convinced myself that everything I did, you did as well.

So I pretended, and convinced myself that I was right. You had told me, you adored my love of stories and my vast imagination. So, perhaps, I clung onto that. I told myself you would’ve liked for me to keep imagining.

It can’t be okay that I’m the one who survived.

511 words Your sparkling smile…

I remember, of course, you always mentioned my smile whenever we spoke. On our first date, on our anniversary, and on late night calls. But I didn’t agree with your words, not one bit. My front teeth were so crooked I pushed on them to keep them in place.

Is so sweet, stone.

But if anything, your smile was the one that sparkled. The one that shone brighter than the sun. A smile that felt something akin to a diamond. You know what they say—love makes a person go blind. But there was no way that was true. I knew better than anyone else that the smile plastered on your face was truly beautiful, through and through.

But it was all just

A bright illusion.

When I close my eyes, like a movie scene, I can see it perfectly projected on the back of my eyelids.

But people forget things, and I am no exception. While I can look at your dark eyes through a photo frame, I don’t think I ever got a picture of that bright smile. You always smiled an artificial smile at cameras. I could tell the difference between the two.

I can’t remember. It keeps fading away. I don’t want to forget it.

I can’t stop crying as I try to recall your smile, but to no avail. My smile wasn’t deserving of your praise, but I can’t remember yours anymore.

I am forgetting your face.

———

This world is unfair, cruel even.

So as your body lays underground, the only memory of your face I’m allowed is your memorial portrait—one with a blank face, and no sign of your diamond smile. I knew that my world would end that day.

I remember, being the reckless college students we were, you drove in your car as we laughed and stuck our heads out the window. We didn’t wear a seatbelt, we didn’t feel like it. To us, it was freedom, being able to run down the highway without authority.

I felt free as a bird.

But when you crashed, you lost everything.

I remember horrified stares and hushed whispers.

I remember your warm blood pooling beneath me before I lost consciousness.

I remember.

I knew that from that moment on, by a fundamental law of the universe—you were gone. And in turn, the world had ended.

I remember how heavy my heart was. You and I always did everything together. So perhaps, somewhere along the way, I thought that would last forever. So, at some point, I convinced myself that after you were gone, WE were surviving each day, that WE pass through with cloudy hearts. I couldn’t comprehend being alone. So I convinced myself that everything I did, you did as well.

So I pretended, and convinced myself that I was right. You had told me, you adored my love of stories and my vast imagination. So, perhaps, I clung onto that. I told myself you would’ve liked for me to keep imagining.

It can’t be okay that I’m the one who survived.

511 words

Weekly #2

Part one: Outlining

305/200 words
Brain dump:
So maybe like Cad is studying at a cafe and sees someone from college. Maybe like his ex or smth? Anyway, that person Cad knew comes over for some reason to talk with Cad and it is like superrr awkward. Cad realises that he doesnt know this guy anymore and yay sad stuff. Ooooh theme is something like ‘while something could've been right and good in the moment, it can no longer fit. People change and relationships no longer work’ I don't know lol but it sounds good.

Expo: Cad and Jamie used to date in college or smth. They broke up at some point and Cad didn't really know. Jamie had wanted to swap careers/paths for a bit and after they broke up he did, switching from psychology to art or something idk.

Rising action: Cad is studying in a cafe, maybe one or two years after they broke up. He goes to buy coffee and he sees Jamie, who works at the cafe now. Jamie comes to Cad’s table and they start to talk.

Climax: Cad finds out that Jamie switched careers and it hits him that Jamie has his own life and his own friends and his own interests, none of which include Cad. Cad realises that while it had been right when they were dating, things changed and now their paths have split. He realises that the relationship is over.

Falling Action: Cad also realises that he has changed too. He realises that that's okay. He accepts that time has changed them and they no longer fit together. Cad excuses himself from the conversation and leaves the cafe

Resolution: Cad leaves, holding the pendant that Jamie gave them while they were still dating, and Cad is happy. Maybe not happy exactly, but at the very least, at peace.

Part Two: Writing

1292 words
“When translated, Sekhmet’s name roughly translates to ‘She who is powerful,’ or ‘the one who loves Ma’at.” Cad murmured as he read the passage. “Interesting.” He scribbled down the piece of Stretching, he stood up. He was at a cafe, (the best cafe in the city, as far as he was concerned) and closed his note book. Should he get another coffee? He probably would've, a few months ago, but now he thought hot chocolate might be better. Too much caffeine wasn't good for you. He walked over to the line in front of the counter, a slight bounce in his step. Studying always put him in a good mood. Then he looked over at the employee standing behind the counter, and froze.
info on the old Egyptian goddess in his notebook. The sound of soft rain soothed his mind as he studied. Again, he glanced out the window.
It was beautiful here in the city of New Lorik, with neon lights reflected in the rain slicked streets. He smiled, and reached for the pendant at his neck. He still couldn’t get over how lucky he was to have gotten an apartment here. He just tried to ignore the original reason he had wanted to move here.
He picked up his coffee again as he looked back to his note page. He already knew what he had just written down, but now he looked at it with new eyes. How had the ancient Egyptians evolved that aspect of her? Why was she the only god who seemed to follow Ma’at so closely? Questions filled his mind as he kept thinking about the problem. Absent mindedly, he tried to take another sip of his drink. Unfortunately he found it empty. Glancing back at his work, Cad sighed. Maybe it was time to take a break. It had already been a couple hours.
There was no way. Cad bit his lip, his heart beating faster. Memories of warm nights spent together on a couch or playing board games late at night started to tug at his mind. Jamie couldn't really just be here, right? This couldn't be their first time meeting in months, just randomly at a cafe? Why had he never seen him before?
Trying to stifle his emotions, Cad focused on what he was doing- just ordering a drink. Even so, as the line steadily got shorter, Cad got more and more nervous. Subconsciously, he tucked his pendant back in his shirt. Jamie looked different. His hair had grown out, he now had bangs that swished whenever he moved. His ears were pierced now too. But it was definitely Jamie.
“Hello! What can I get for you today?” Jamie said, speaking the words to his characteristic rhythm. He didn't look up at Cad, instead focusing on the POS system in front of him. Cad suddenly felt incredibly awkward.
“Could I just get a, um, hot chocolate?”
Cad saw the moment Jamie recognized his voice. Jamie looked up, brown hair swishing out of his face. His eyes widened slightly.
“A-ah, Cad. Hi.” Jamie faltered. “Y-yeah I can get that for you. Would you like that for here or to go?”
“For here, please.” Cad said, running a hand through his hair. He suddenly felt an emotion rise in his chest. Sadness? Hope? Joy? He couldn't tell.
“That’ll be three dollars-” Jamie swiveled the POS system over, a small, hesitant smile on his face. “Just pay here.”
Cad pulled out his card, not making eye contact with Jamie. After paying, and leaving a twenty percent tip, it was done. Cad walked back to his table. He sat down at his work. He tried to study.
But, he found it impossible to concentrate any more. As much as he loved to study Egyptology… everything kept reminding him of times studying with Jamie, celebrating after high-school graduation, late nights staying over at each other's houses… Now that he had seen Jamie again, after months of being apart, he found himself wishing for a future that could’ve been.
Cad groaned, and shut his notebook. It was no use. He grabbed his hot chocolate, the hot liquid burning his mouth.
“Hey- sorry, can I sit here?”
Cad looked up- Jamie was standing there, across the table in his black cafe uniform.
“Oh- uh- sure. What's up?” Cad asked, surprised.
Jamie sat softly in the cushioned chair, shrugging slightly. “It’s my break- and I thought I would just say hi.”
There was silence for a second. “So, uh, how long have you worked here? I haven't seen you around before?” Cad finally said.
“Oh, yeah. I used to work here in the morning, but I wanted to switch to a later shift so I could start taking a pottery class.” Jamie responded, looking down at his hands. “Do you come here a lot? I’m surprised you didn't order a coffee.”
“I’ve, uh, actually been trying to cut down on caffeine.” Cad said, forcing a laugh. “Surpising, I know. I used to be, like, a caffeine addict or something.”
“Used to…” Jamie murmured, quietly.
Cad cleared his throat. “I don’t remember you being interested in pottery though. Weren’t you studying psychology?”
Jamie looked up. “Yeah, I uh, was… I didn’t actually like it that much. I’ve been getting more into art now.”
“Oh.”
Had Cad ever noticed that crack on the wall? He suddenly became very, very, interested in it. Then he took a sip of his hot chocolate. A couple seconds later, he became very invested in his nails.
At last, Jamie ended the silence. “So, are you still working towards your Egyptology masters?”
“Yes- I actually came here to study. The atmosphere is perfect here.” Cad answered, grasping on to the topic.
Jamie nodded, absently.
They kept talking. Talking about the weather, talking about their homes, talking about their favorite foods. In summary, talking about nothing in particular- nothing of note, that is. But it struck Cad how different they had become.
“So are you not studying psychology anymore? What are you planning to do?” Cad asked. A year ago, they had been planning to get jobs together at a school- him being a school psychologist and Cad being a history teacher. But if Jamie was no longer interested in psychology…
Jamie brightened, a small smile on his lips. “My, uh, friend, Juniper, actually brought me to the pottery class. She’s going to show me some cool art mediums, since I’ve been getting more into that. I, er, said earlier that I didn't want to keep going with psychology, but really I’m just not fit for working with a bunch of school kids. I think I would do much better at being an art therapist-”
Cad stopped listening. It hit him, to know that Jamie had moved on from their dream. That he now had different plans, and different people, in his life. But Cad supposed that he did too. He waited for the ache he had felt when they had first broken up- or at least some sort of hurt. Strangely, none came.
Cad set down his hot chocolate, interrupting Jamie’s rambling. “Hey, sorry Jamie, but I actually should get going. Thank you for meeting me- It was really great to see you again. Good luck with your job.” Cad smiled, and gathered up his stuff.
“Oh- uh, you too.” Jamie looked flustered at the abrupt end to the conversation. “I suppose my break is almost over anyway.”
The two men nodded to each other. Then Cad left, door swinging shut behind him, leaving Jamie to stare after him. The air was wet, the night was dark. Cad’s boots made little splashes and ripples across the soaked streets. His hand wrapped around his pendant. And he smiled.

Part Three: Critiquing Others

https://scratch.mit.edu/discuss/post/9044828/