SWC Megathread ࿔*:ଳ･ March 2026

sweetcakefamily

Tilly's Bi-Daily PT 1 (day 20) - Bouts-Rimes

1. dark gold lark threshold oak dream folk seam time chime (@starunicorn_5)

Fingers reach through the dark
Eyes in the night shining gold
As they seek to soar on hope like a lark
Whispering of the unknown over that threshold
The door was sun stained oak
A painting that stirred one's dream
To pass through was the wish of all the folk
And many would peek through the seam
Waiting with bated breath for the time
When the bell would finally chime

2. orange, forage, berry, fairy, tree, tea, glow, flow, waves, caves (@-ErisCove-)

Skies above streaked pink and orange
Casting soft light upon their forage
Their sights were set on a fabled berry
One rumoured to glitter like the wings of a fairy
But through the woods they found a tree
With leaves with which one would make tea
From its bark emanated an opaline glow
Loftly limbs swaying in the wind's flow
Skirting the trunk were brooks streaming in waves
Running down the hill to towering silver caves

3. Glimmer, silver, void, droid, tear, near, toast, coast, twist, mist (@Peachy_Rain)

In the dark her eyes would glimmer
Warm honey with traces of silver
I cling to the memory as if to fill the void
Willing myself not to become a lifeless droid
But the mask locks whenever I feel a tear
I refuse to let anyone near
In my imagination we're still raising that toast
On New Year's at our spot on the coast
But that day decided on a cruel twist
And now the light is shrouded in mist

226 words
(I'm no natural poet but I tried asdfghjkl-)

Last edited by sweetcakefamily (March 21, 2026 18:46:07)

LovegoodLady

critique for aves!! 307 words o' critique ;D

this is so cool! I love the idea, and I only have a few notes, most of them nitpicking ;D

The most stern-faced foxglove
To the frivolously frilled
The most beautiful flowers
Are poison-filled.

hmm i don’t have many notes here except maybe only capitalize the lines that start new sentences? And i might change line 4 to something like ‘are quietly scheming, poison-filled’. Probably not exactly that, but something similar i think would enhance the poem!

From the most closed-off tulips
To the friendliest
The most beautiful flowers
Are the deadliest.

I have pretty much the same notes here, capitalization and adding more to the last line, along with perhaps adding something to the second line? otherwise though i really really like this!

Jack in the pulpit
And white hellebore
The most beautiful flowers
Leave you wanting more.

Oooh I like the examples you gave here!! I don’t totally understand what you mean by ‘leave you wanting more’ but I do like the vagueness of it so you could keep it or change it <3 also i just realized the repetition is amazing ah!

Angel’s trumpet
And rosary pea
The most beautiful flowers
Have more than you see.

Maybe add a bit more negative connotation to the last line, otherwise though i really like this! similar to the last one as well, you can keep it or change it!

Mountain laurel
And jimson weed
The most beautiful flowers
That you think you need.

Hmm I’m a bit iffy on the last line, maybe try something along the lines of ‘might make you bleed’ or something a bit more vague if you want (since that seems to be a bit of a theme here)? I love love love the idea though!

Larkspur, iris
Need I go on?
The most beautiful flowers
Go above and beyond.

Once again, I’m not sure on the last line, but I’m quite obsessed with the second one <3 with the last one, i think you could do something cool with the word ‘pawned’ instead of ‘beyond’ or you could take a really dark turn and try something with ‘the great beyond’ xD

Take your time
And take in the view
The most beautiful flowers
Will hypnotize you.

Nothing to say here, love love love this and everything in it <33

Chromatic colors
And no two the same
The most beautiful flowers
Will drive you insane.

ehehe perfect ending I approve <3 once again, no notes, this is brilliant, hurrah, congratulations, fanfares, etc!!

Overall, I would say figure out if you want a different capitalization scheme, have less vague implications about the poison, and yeah! This is amazing <3

Last edited by LovegoodLady (March 20, 2026 22:45:01)

babyoda1546

➵ Quest the Twentieth: Bi Daily || Bouts-Rimés ⊹ ₊
(sage can NOT do poetry)

Luca - wings, strings, puppet, bucket, ache, break, fly, die, wood, could

They bound my wings,
Tied me to their wooden piece with fiery strings
I was just their puppet.
My intuition was as useful as a hole in a bucket.
My shoulders ache,
I feel as if I might break.
I wish I could fly,
But the closest I'll get to that is if I die.
For now, I'm a puppet bound to wood,
Wishing for a life that I never dreamt I could.

Sandy - lullaby, waves, goodbye, graves, sand, sleep, land, weep, war, bore

The ocean sings a lullaby
The peaceful sound of the crashing waves
Whisper a soft goodbye
The ghost crabs return from their daily graves
As I dig my toes into the sand
Not ready to sleep
To drift into a faraway land
Where even the willows weep
The stars bring no war
Peace the water bore

Lune - bliss, breath, abyss, lethe, kiss, aneath, hiss, freath, fleur-de-lis, death

A final moment of bliss
before my final breath
A jump into the abyss
Where I meet Lethe
Her lips brush my mind in a soothing kiss
Water I am aneath
Where the snakes hiss
I splash around in the river freath
In the water, I see light similar in color to fleur-de-lis
I go back under and chase it to my death

Clev - day end gray heart try part you sigh blue lie world

Some say “Good day”
I just want the day to end
Blue skies are all gray
One quarter of a heart
Still you try
To steal the last part
I can't love you
I sigh
The only color I see now is blue
and love is probably a lie
in this cruel world

Tilly - Spirit, inherit, bell, citadel, price, thrice, glass, brass, cry, goodbye

With me in spirit
Grief I inherit
Time marked by a bell
Trapped inside a citadel
Her soul for a price
If I could save her, I would've done it thrice.
I clean up the glass
and the plaque made of brass
as I cry
my final goodbye.

Herm - sea, blue, ship, free, knew, grip, key, view, drip, flee

Wind from the sea
Skies a blue
Gentle waves rustle my ship
I've never felt so free
I never really knew
I tightened my grip
Sailing was the key
Beautiful view
Water drips
From my home I flee

» — ⋙ 408 words ⋘ — «

smalltoe

Bouts-Rimés bidaily!!
+286 words

Chuey's set: silence, wave, crash, violence, grave, flash, cold, deep, seek, weep
(just read the book of the iliad where patroclus' dies (sorry for spoilers!! but it is thousands of years old…) and aaaaa i'm not okay :'(
first verse is about patroclus, second is about achilles

When he falls there is silence.
The realisation crests over the battlefield like a wave,
and the warriors are frozen until he meets the ground with a crash
of his armour upon the mangled ground, awash with the stains of violence.
The plains of Troy are his grave.

He stands at the trench, armourless, yet his figure glows, a flash
like the anger that burns and boils to counter the icy cold
of his heart, sunken so deep
within him as if it’s trying to seek
the twin heartbeat he’s lost to the underworld itself—but he cannot save him. He can do nothing but weep.

Clev's set: alone, believe, throne, child, ghost, wild, hiding, stage, shining, walls
also iliad fanfiction lmaoo - this time about troy!

Our fate is determined by the cruel gods alone.
They have weaved this story into the very tapestry of time, so we do not dare to believe
that perhaps one day Priam on his throne
will hold a child
destined to become more than a young ghost.
The beasts outside our city are hungry and wild;
but we will not die cowering or hiding.
Our ruinous end will be fit for the stage,
and generations will look up to storytellers with eyes shining
every time they breach the walls.

Kat's set: dark gold lark threshold oak dream folk seam time chime
liminal space fae liminal space fae!!

we linger at the edges of shadows, not quite at home in the dark
and not quite comfortable in the sun’s glaring gold.
those who care to listen catch a faint melody, as if a lark
hovers on the threshold
that they cross too fast. we are stiff like an oak
yet formless like a dream.
we do not care for the tangible, we are folk
made from stitches coming apart at the seams,
dancing along the creases of time.
if you’re lucky, you’ll stop to hear our laughter chime.

Zyzeryko

Truth, amour, booth, tour, youth, lore, sleuth, pour, tooth, four

Have I told another lie, or finally a truth?
We were each others first amour
I sit down in a quiet shop, opposite your booth
I find it hard to understand this love and why you tore–
It’s been a long time coming, twenty something years from youth
These days I tell people about you as my “lore”
All this time I spent, trying to cast out and act a sleuth
All this desperation to give my love to you: a pour.
Still remember the time we met, after we’d lost a tooth
And here it ends again—what is this, time four?

sun, done, moon, cocoon, star, far, planet, granite, night, sight, constellation, creation

I was the sun,
But now it’s done.
You were the moon,
Locked away in a cocoon.
At the end, I’m just a star:
And I will never be as far
From the humans, the world, and the planet,
The rock, the stone, the iron, the granite.
When it falls, the night
I slip out of sight.
To another world, a small part of a constellation.
But to ours, the reason for its creation.

berries, cherries, grapple, apple, peach, beach, farm, harm, sweet, feet

I sit alone on lonely orchards, lift my hand and grab the berries
I rise from where I sit and go off to trees of cherries.
Sometimes I find it hard to grapple–
But I’m surrounded by the apples.
I used to think the world was bright and happy, as if it were a peach:
But that ideation died that fateful day on the beach.
Now I live alone, wandering the farm
Wondering if anyone could know about the harm
Caused by the fruits here, always ripe and always sweet
I wander back and sit again, and the grass is cold against my feet.

Tellurium_26

March 20th poem bidaily pt 1- 237 words

brain, insane, maim, iridescent, pleasant, world, hurled, tough, enough

sounds cast inside my brain,
Echo off bone and bounce brightly, driving me insane,
To tear and rend and claw and maim.
Silent calls, so iridescent,
And I dream of a place that could be so pleasant
The noise and static of enduring the world,
Bouncing off walls, having been hurled,
I’ve learned to tough,
But the waves are growing rough,
And at this point I’ve taken enough

sun, done, moon, cocoon, star, far, planet, granite, night, sight, constellation, creation

Basking in the light of a setting sun,
I watch the rays disappear as the sight is done,
Silver light washes over the hills with the rising of the moon,
Coming forth at last, from the bright cocoon,
Dark skies speckled full but there’s just one star,
That looks, than the others, a little less far,
To be whirling through space, but still grounded to a planet,
Beneath my feet the layers of granite.
As I gaze into the night,
I can only think of my limited sight

affinity portfolio vicinity indigo salinity undertow infinity overflow divinity archipelago

To the water I’ve a known affinity,
To see, watch, preserve, portfolio,
I’ve seen all there is to in our vicinity,
From clear bright greens to deep indigo,
I’ve never even bothered much with the salinity,
Or how the sea draws me further from the shore with a sweeping undertow,
The blue water extends out to infinity,
And I wonder if I might overflow,
The blue seems to me a reaching divinity,
gazing out, on the dotted islands of the archipelago.

Route back to main SWC log

Last edited by Tellurium_26 (March 20, 2026 23:36:52)

-WildClan-

(unruly truly frond beyond day away bright night fade shade, from @evegau)

“She/Springtime”
The winds, they brush her hair unruly
She is the one whom I love truly
We push aside each dying frond
To find the budding sprouts beyond
She laughs with me at break of day
Sending my worries far away
And when the moon shines clear and bright
She sings to me in dead of night
As blossoms fall and echoes fade
We rest together in the shade

(lick fire sick dire flick admire click flyer kick liar, from @SkaterCat17)

“You Should’ve Had a Better Firewall”
I live for the heat, the dancing beat, the leap and the lick
Of fire.
You say that I’m wrong, you won’t hear my song, the situation is sick;
It’s dire.
Yet all you can do is swipe through a screen, photos unseen, fingers tap and flick
And admire.
The ads online, how they shimmer and shine, so you try to click
On the flyer.
But the flames are there, consuming your stare, and you feel the kick
Of a liar.

(cat bat hat rat sit fit mitt lit amazing blazing, from @Squidy-IceCream)

“Shenanigans”
Lilac was a pretty cat
And Lily was an awesome bat
They fought over a silly hat
(Which then got stolen by a rat)
Lilac found a place to sit
But in it, Lily couldn’t fit
So she slept in a baseball mitt
(Where it was dark, not well lit)
Speedrunning this poem was amazing
Even though the heat is blazing

Last edited by -WildClan- (March 22, 2026 10:03:36)

CodingAnd_Stuff

Dear Cat,
Hey! I’m sorry this is pretty late. Procrastination plus schoolwork equals Coast Is Very Slow. Thank you for the letter though, and I’m glad that I can write back now! (At 12:30 AM but let’s ignore that)

All of that baking sounds really tasty! Cookies, banana bread, and muffins are all delicious. What’s your favorite baked good? I don’t bake a lot, but I do sometimes do it with one of my parents and that’s fun! My family recently made a big pan of lemon bar, basically lemon pudding spread over a buttery baked crust, and that was amazing. We also recently made white chocolate raspberry scones which are also amazing.

At the time of your letter, my project still wasn’t going great. But I finally got some stuff done tonight and I’m caught up on it now, so that’s nice! I need to make a presentation and finish it up next week.

For dog breeds, both huskies and golden retrievers are really cool! And your best friend’s dog sounds great too. I’m not really sure about my favorite, but maybe a Rottweiler? I’m not a big dog person anymore, but I was super interested in them as a younger kid. I had a ton of encyclopedias on them, I switched imaginary dog friends every week, I wrote about them, I watched a lot of TV shows about dogs with my parents, I endlessly browsed my local shelter’s website, and I had a ridiculous number of fiction books about them too

For leader apps…true…but I’m just a lowly camper so I don’t know if it’s still fair game XD

About psychology, that’s really cool, nice! Behavior and why people do things is definitely interesting. I’m sure you’ll be an awesome therapist someday if that’s what you want to do! It’s also cool that your dad was a sociology major.

Your teaching class (if it’s that, I’m not really sure what a practical art is, whoops) sounds interesting! I hope it’s a good class. For programming, I do definitely think some classes can be good. I took a pretty good one in middle school that taught me most of the Python and JavaScript that I know and included a lot of hands on stuff and interesting programs. But I know that it’s not everyone’s thing and it does definitely depend on the class and how well it’s taught. I haven’t really figured out my classes for next year yet, but as I mentioned, I’d like to take the psychology one. I’ll also probably do algebra two, some sort of literature class, geography, biology, and maybe music? I’m not sure, but I’ll figure it out over the summer I guess.

About sociology vs psychology, okay, that’s kind of what I thought, but cool!

I’ve been rewatching a TV show called The Owl House lately and it’s good as usual! I think it definitely gets a lot more deep and exciting as it goes on, and the characters get to be really fun and complex near the end. What do you like to watch? What are your favorite TV shows, if you have any?

For another random question, you play the viola, right? I have to admit that I barely know what one is…but that’s really impressive! How has your playing been going lately? I’d like to start playing music again and write my own songs, although that’s pretty far away considering the fact that I really haven’t studied music theory.

And a third random question! How’s your writing been going this month? Are you working an any projects?

Farewell (and goodnight, except probably good morning by the time you read this)!

- Coast

-WildClan-

songs about/after my characters' deaths, in no particular order

1. “Goodbye to a World” by Porter Robinson: The character “dying” here is actually a simulation whose end is necessary for the “real” character to be “born.” The real character blames themself, but the simulation assures them that though its world is ending, it's giving life to the next one in the process.
2. “Do or Die” by Thirty Seconds to Mars: The character dies fighting for a cause he believes in. It is tragic, but also hopeful, and the character accepts it as his fate, knowing he'll live on in the stories, remembered as a hero.
3. “Dead Hearts” by Stars: The character dies at a young age. As a ghost, they watch as their siblings grow up and become traumatized and corrupted by the trials of life. The character struggles to give up on them, even if they've been twisted beyond salvation.
4. “Video Killed the Radio Star” by The Buggles: Character who lived a notable life dies somewhat anticlimactically, and the world moves on without him. His ghost feels nostalgia and some resentment towards the younger generations, but mostly he just tries to reminisce about his glory days.
5. “Anger” by Sleeping At Last: I have a lot of songs for this particular character's death, and this is probably the most gentle of the bunch– But it's another one where the ghost narrates, this time reflecting on their actions and feeling regret.
6. “Fourth of July” by Sufjan Stevens: This character spent her life grieving the deaths of other characters, right up until her own demise. There's a deep sadness here, but it's not entirely without its beauty.
7. “Still Alive” from Portal: This character is accidentally killed and refuses to fully accept her own death; she's even a bit smug about it. Her society has found a way for ghosts to interact with the living, so she explains these sentiments to the guy who caused the accident.
8. “Masters of War” by Roger Taylor: The character gets killed while fighting for a leader he didn't support, proceeding to stew in ghostly bitterness until the leader, too, dies. There's never a real confrontation, just a lot of tension, resentment, and ominous vibes.
9. “Ghost Towns” by Radical Face: This character is shapeshifted into a new form, so it's only “death” of the body, technically. That being said, he can't realistically go back and he has a whole new life now. He still misses some pieces of his old life, but he moves on, and for the most part, he's happy.
10. “Radio Play” by Silva Hound: This character spent most of his life enthusiastically planning the event in which he'd die. He masterminded conflict between other characters, built elaborate architecture, and made deals with other powers, all so it could culminate in an epic finale. He's a bit silly.
11. “overgrown garden” by Beetlebug: The character was too young to understand the congenital illness that was killing them, nor why everyone was so concerned for their sake. It's simple, but very sweet and very sad.
12. “Me and Mr Wolf” by The Real Tuesday Weld: Two characters are in a romantic relationship, both of them are kinda messed up, things get taken too far, and one of them ends up dead.
13. “The Old Days” by Ingrid Michaelson: This character suffers from something resembling dementia. Her decline is slow, and she gradually loses touch with the present, instead retreating into her past. She doesn't notice the danger that ends up killing her suddenly, before she can succumb to the disease.
14. “right where you left me” by Taylor Swift: This character gets stuck haunting the area where she died. While she is able to wonder about the outside world, she is stuck reliving the breakup that led to her running away during a storm and getting struck by lightning.
15. “This Tragedy of Mine” by Knight of Endale: A functionally-immortal character mourns for a mortal character. The immortal begins to question things that they had never thought about before, possibly indicating that the mortal's mind has been absorbed at least partially into the immortal's.
16. “Catabolic Seed” by The Scary Jokes: The character starts out an innocent victim of fate, but things only go downhill from there. She begins to go mad and gets destructive, but ultimately welcomes death as a release. I have a lot of songs for her; this is one of the less-aggressive ones.
17. “Time Machine Reprise” by Chonny Jash: The character was never technically born in the first place, as their egg never hatched. Brought back to some form of life, they now have experience with the forces of the universe, but also have something of an identity crisis.
18. “Dear Wormwood” by The Oh Hellos: Another shapeshifting situation, but this time, the character doesn't remember his past body's life in full. Instead, he's mentally haunted by it, as well as physically and socially damaged. However, he eventually faces and overcomes his struggles.
19. “Finale (Can't Wait to See What You Do Next)” by AJR: This character's death is particularly painful for me. The character himself is okay with it, though; he's always had a great sense of humor and considers his legacy in the living world to be complete, anyway.
20. “Achilles Come Down” by Gang of Youths: This character's death is among the most dramatic and important in my stories, so I have a lot of songs for it. He's in a dark place and there's a lot of external conflict going on, too, which his internal conflict is skewing out of proportion.
21. “taixu” by lasah: The character grapples with their solipsistic beliefs about the universe and their place in it. They vicariously experience many other lifetimes before looping back to the start and beginning the cycle over again.

and I have SO many more; this was just me choosing only one song per significant death. there are other less-plot-significant characters I left out, plus many characters' perspectives on these deaths. plus more ghost POVs. I have so many of those.

_midnight_rain_

“Captain!” The new recruit named Stuart called, ringing his mini bell. “Captain! Hurry, it’s urgent!”
The captain sighed and trudged towards him. Captain Arrod was a beefy man, with eyes that portrayed a history too dark to say in a tale.
“This better be worth it, Stu,” he said, tapping his left foot rapidly, “not that whole fiasco with the rat.”
“In my defense, Captain, the rat was huge! But this is a different issue!” Stu gestured wildly towards the ocean.
Captain Arrod groaned. “Stu, that’s the ocean. Nothing special about it.”
Stu shook his head, eyes wide. “Captain, I’m serious! Look at the water!”
Arrod glanced at the water, seeing nothing. Shaking his head, he said, “Stuart, those are waves. They’re normal.”
“It’s going to storm!” Stuart insisted.
“So?” Arrod asked, “Calm seas never made a good sailor.”
Stu frowned. “Captain, at least secure the cargo!”
Arrod nodded and waved him away. “Alright, Stuart. Alright. Off you go to scrub the desks or whatever.”
“But Captain!”
Arrod ignored Stu’s cries and walked back to his quarters.
***
“CAPTAIN!”
“Not this again, Stuart!” Arrod growled. Arrod was steering the boat and was already tired and annoyed. Stu was getting on his last nerve, “Waves are normal! Rain is normal! This is the strongest boat I’ve ever run and it’s not going down!”
“Captain, this is serious!” Arrod froze. That wasn’t Stu’s voice.
“Come up here!” He called to the person talking, “I’m steering the boat!”
Soon, Lancelot (though everyone called him Lackey) was by Arrod’s side.
“What’s the matter, Lackey?” He asked.
“Captain, there’s a hole.”
Arrod snorted. “Impossible!” He exclaimed, “This boat has an indestructible hull!” Lackey bit his lip.
“Cap, it’s sinking. I’m serious. The waves formed a hole—Stuart was right.” Frowning, Arrod abandoned the wheel to go investigate the hole.
***
‘Hole’ was an understatement. They had the whole Bermuda Triangle in their ship.
“How did this happen?!” Arrod demanded, wagging his finger at Stuart.
“I told you!” Stuart insisted, “The storm was so strong!”
Eyes wide with panic, Arrod began to scream commands. “Get rid of extra cargo!” He demanded.
His recruits obeyed, tossing trunks of clothes overboard. However, it was to no avail. The ship began to sink as the water flooded the deck.
“Do we have lifeboats? Or any way to block the hole?” Arrod’s most diligent recruit, Abraham, asked. It was a valid question. Abraham had a wife and child at home and was desperate to return to them.
“I fear not…” Stuart tells him, “I told Captain that he should’ve done something but he didn’t listen!”
Arrod glowered at Stuart. “Oh shut up, Stu! You had no valid proof!”
Lackey placed a hand on Abraham’s arm, head bowed. “I’m sorry for your loss, my friend.”
“As am I,” Abraham replies, making everyone realize that they, too, have loved ones at home. Even Arrod is teary-eyed, a sight that is shocking to the others.
“If we are going to go down,” Arrod says, “then let’s go down our way.”
Minutes later, the crew is on the deck, bottles of rum in hand.
Stuart began to sing a sea chantey and the others joined in. They sang until the water was over their heads, drowning them all.
***
It was weeks before the boat was discovered. Maybe months. It was recognized on spot because the ‘Missing Boats’ alerts were painted across newspaper pages.
The funeral was a joint event, with the families and friends of the crew joining to mourn and celebrate. With songs, and drinks, and dance, it was a funeral worthy for a pirate.

601

juliathecaesar

╭── ⋅ ── ⋅☆⋆ ☾ ⋆☆⋅── ⋅ ──╮

{ d a i l y 2 1 : b o u t s - r i m é s }
↳ Aaaaand now, day 2 of Bouts-Rimés! Take your favorite poem you wrote yesterday and share it in the same studio as yesterday. Find someone else's poem and write a 600 word story based off of it! Maybe it'll be silly or maybe it'll be dramatic. No matter the case, have fun and you can claim 700 points for today! Unfortunately, if you didn't complete yesterday's part of the bidaily, you cannot claim points for it. However, you can still earn points for writing a story today! Have fun https://scratch.mit.edu/studios/51380976/comments

─── ⋆⋅☾⋅⋆ ───

poem from snowy (@snowdropsugar)
They sing to their children a quiet lullaby,
watching the sea meet the sand in gentle waves.
They do not know yet that this is a goodbye,
for the shore will be their graves.
They’ll be buried under sand,
listening, ever listening, as their parents sing them to sleep
to accompany them to a safer land
where their sorrowful children need no longer weep.
They tire of the endless war,
and their shoulders ache from the weight of the worlds they bore.

The lullaby was soft enough to be mistaken for the wind.

Mara hummed it under her breath, the same melody her mother had once sung to her, long before the sky had filled with smoke and the nights had begun to echo with distant thunder. Now, she sang it for her own children, her voice barely rising above the hush of the sea.

“Again,” her youngest whispered, clutching her sleeve.

Mara smiled, though it trembled at the edges. “Again,” she agreed, brushing sand from the child’s hair.

The shore stretched endlessly beside them, pale and quiet beneath a sky scattered with stars. Waves rolled in gentle rhythms, as if the ocean itself were trying to soothe the world to sleep. Around them, other families lingered in the dark—silent shapes, hunched close together, waiting.

Waiting for morning.
Waiting for the ships.

Her eldest sat nearby, knees pulled to his chest, staring out at the horizon. He hadn’t spoken much since they left. Mara watched him for a moment, then let her voice drift back into the lullaby.

They sing to their children a quiet lullaby,
watching the sea meet the sand in gentle waves…

The words felt heavier now than they had when she first learned them. Back then, they had been nothing more than a song. Now, they felt like something else—something closer to a promise, or maybe a prayer.

The wind shifted, carrying the faint scent of salt and something colder underneath. Mara pulled her children closer.

“Will it be better there?” her eldest asked suddenly, his voice rough.

She hesitated.

A safer land, they had been told. A place where the war had not reached. Where no one had to run, or hide, or listen for the sound of something breaking in the night.

“Yes,” she said softly. “It will.”

He nodded, though he didn’t look convinced.

They do not know yet that this is a goodbye,
for the shore will be their graves.

Mara closed her eyes briefly, pressing the thought away as soon as it formed. She would not let herself believe that. She couldn’t.

Not when they had come this far.

A low murmur rippled through the gathered families. Someone pointed toward the water, and for a moment, hope flickered—thin and fragile, but real.

“Is that them?” a voice called.

Mara stood, shielding her eyes. The horizon remained dark, unbroken.

No ships.

The murmur faded, replaced by a deeper silence.

Her youngest had begun to drift to sleep, small fingers still curled into her sleeve. Carefully, Mara lowered her to the sand, continuing the lullaby in a whisper.

“They’ll be buried under sand…”

The words slipped out before she could stop them.

Mara’s voice faltered.

Listening, ever listening…

She swallowed hard and changed the melody, softening it, reshaping it into something gentler—something that did not carry the weight of endings.

Around her, others began to sing too. Different songs, different languages, but all just as quiet. The shore filled with fragile music, a patchwork of lullabies woven together against the dark.

Her eldest shifted closer, resting his head lightly against her shoulder.

“I’m tired,” he said.

“I know.”

She wrapped an arm around him, holding both her children close as the waves continued their steady rhythm.

Time passed, though it was hard to tell how much. The stars moved slowly overhead. The air grew colder.

Still, no ships came.

Mara’s voice grew weaker, but she did not stop singing.

Not when her throat burned.
Not when her vision blurred.
Not even when the world seemed to narrow to the sound of the sea and the weight of her children beside her.

She sang because it was the only thing she could still give them.

A small piece of comfort in a world that had taken everything else.

The ocean whispered against the shore, again and again, as if answering her song.

And beneath the vast, indifferent sky, the lullabies carried on—soft, trembling, and endless—as families waited for a dawn that might never come.

─── ⋆⋅☾⋅⋆ ───

670 words!
700 points :00

╰── ⋅ ── ⋅☆⋆ ☽ ⋆☆⋅── ⋅ ──╯

Last edited by juliathecaesar (March 21, 2026 14:13:31)

icebunny11

↻ ◁ II ▷ ↺

◪ Noͦ 21
Wordcount: 1001/600
Topic: Bouts-Rimés Short Story (Bi Daily Part 2)
Points earned: 700
Cabin: Cyberpunk

LovegoodLady
my love’s name is a palindrome / I met her in a catacomb / she gave me many gifts emblematic / of her passion in all things democratic / her favorite food was fried stingray / and mine was maggot souffle / meant to be, me and my reptilian / love who’s blood is the color vermilion / according to the red-filled hourglass / I stole when her tomb I did trespass

Experiment 28

Ingredients:
Half a tablespoon of glass oil
Three cups of red magma
Two tablespoons of fritty dust
Mixed for approximately one hour, twenty-three minutes, forty-two seconds

Outcomes:
Blazing Fire
Putrid Gas

Not any closer than I was a week ago, I have to say. The alchemy bench now has scorch marks upon it because of the most recent experiment. I must say, the fire part was a bit too aggressive. It almost burnt her. I don't know what I could have done if it had. I had to make sure she wasn't crying before trying to cheer her up. I already knew that she probably disapproved of this one- the three cups of magma were slightly dubious. Perhaps I should reduce it to two cups next time?

Experiment 97

Ingredients:
Two tablespoons of glass oil
Half a cup of fire magma
Three tablespoons of fritty dust
Three glowing wings (wings refer to those of the lightning bugs)
One true shroom
Mixed for approximately one hour, fifty-four minutes, two seconds

Outcomes:
Immense Glowing (Approximately five minutes, thirty-three seconds)
Glowing will still, and result in a sickly sweet smell accompanied by a change of color to deep ombre

Gosh, I really thought I had it this time. The glowing had gotten my hopes up. I really thought that this would be it, and I had almost given a teaspoon to my love to taste before the smell had filled my senses. I shudder to imagine that she almost tasted such a thing. No worries, disaster was averted. I cannot help but wonder what my mistake was this time. We are approaching our milestone of century experiments, but I am not closer to approaching my goal. I'm afraid that I will have to disappoint her yet again.

Experiment 196

Ingredients:
Six tablespoons of glass oil
Quarter a cup of fire magma
One tablespoon of fritty dust
Three glowing wings (wings refer to those of the lightning bugs)
Two dimmed wings (wings refer to those of the sky bugs)
One true shroom
Mixed for approximately three hours, two minutes, zero seconds

Outcomes:
Glass oil settles to the top, followed by dimmed wings, glowing wings, true shroom pieces, and fire magma in layers (in exactly that order)
Fritty dust is nowhere to be found in the potion?

Yet another failure. I have moved my workbench in front of her today- this motivates me far more. I have been managing to get over three experiments done in a day. I do not quite mind the lack of sleep- she has been sleeping for so long on my behalf anyhow. We are such a perfect pair. She makes up for my faults, sleeping all day when I cannot. I wish that when I get my measly hours of sleep, she would wake up on my behalf. One day, she will shake me up and tell me it was all a fun trick. I would not be mad at her- how could I ever be mad at her? But until I can be certain it is a trick, I cannot stop trying.

Experiment 753

Ingredients:
Five tablespoons of glass oil
Half a tablespoon of fritty dust
Six glowing wings (wings refer to those of the lightning bugs)
Nine dimmed wings (wings refer to those of the sky bugs)
Three true shrooms
Carvings from the bottom of a swamp stallion's hoof
Mixed for approximately five hours, seven minutes, fifty-nine seconds

Outcomes:
Does it really matter if it failed?
Potion turned red.
A slight spicy(?) smell filled the air
The potion started bubbling violently

Fail.

I am getting tired. When will this prank end?

Please, I really beg of you. I stare at the glass every day and place my hand on top of yours. Why must you sleep for so long? When you were conscious, we would smile and joke about how late you worked into the night. Is this you, catching up on the hours of rest that you never got? If so, I think it has caught up on and more, my love. The last time I tried to feed a potion to you in hopes it would work, your lips turned blue. I cried all day, hoping that I hadn't caused something worse to happen. When I checked up on you the next day, you were perfectly fine again, but sometimes I believe that the reason you are not waking up is because of that horrid potion. If I had just been patient and tried it out on myself first, maybe I would still have a chance. We would still have a chance.

We will finally be reunited. If you cannot come to me, which you have so valiantly proved, I will come to you. I brushed your golden hair all these days, trying to mimic how you did so. But now, when we meet, I shall be able to watch you brush it yourself once more. It is not too late for me to meet you, right? I know I've waited for over a decade, but I hope you've waited for me as well. I changed the flowers every day, bathed you, and clothed you. I expect that this loyalty deserves at least something.

Do not fret any longer. Soon, we shall hold hands together, where I am not the only one holding yours. We shall smile at each other, where I am not the only one smiling down at you. Soon, we will laugh about the time I wasted making worthless potions, when there was such a far simpler route to join you on your journey, to meet with you and cherish you like I am meant to. Soon, my love. Soon.

Experiment 4250

Objects:
Rope
Wooden Stool (Can be exchanged for a different material; the material is not important)

Outcome:

Last edited by icebunny11 (March 21, 2026 19:24:54)

icebunny11

↻ ◁ II ▷ ↺

◪ Writing Competition
Wordcount: 1143
Cabin: Cyberpunk

Warning: The following is quite a morbid story.

She Is But Sleeping

Experiment 28

Ingredients:
Half a tablespoon of glass oil
Three cups of red magma
Two tablespoons of fritty dust
Mixed for approximately one hour, twenty-three minutes, forty-two seconds

Outcomes:
Blazing Fire
Putrid Gas

Not any closer than I was a week ago, I have to say. The alchemy bench now has scorch marks upon it because of the most recent experiment. I must say, the fire part was a bit too aggressive. It almost burnt her. I don't know what I could have done if it had. I had to make sure she wasn't crying before trying to cheer her up. I already knew that she probably disapproved of this one- the three cups of magma were slightly dubious. Perhaps I should reduce it to two cups next time?

Experiment 97

Ingredients:
Two tablespoons of glass oil
Half a cup of fire magma
Three tablespoons of fritty dust
Three glowing wings (wings refer to those of the lightning bugs)
One true shroom
Mixed for approximately one hour, fifty-four minutes, two seconds

Outcomes:
Immense Glowing (Approximately five minutes, thirty-three seconds)
Glowing will still, and result in a sickly sweet smell accompanied by a change of color to deep ombre

Gosh, I really thought I had it this time. The glowing had gotten my hopes up. I really thought that this would be it, and I had almost given a teaspoon to my love to taste before the smell had filled my senses. I shudder to imagine that she almost tasted such a thing. No worries, disaster was averted. I cannot help but wonder what my mistake was this time. We are approaching our milestone of century experiments, but I am not closer to approaching my goal. I'm afraid that I will have to disappoint her yet again.

Experiment 196

Ingredients:
Six tablespoons of glass oil
Quarter a cup of fire magma
One tablespoon of fritty dust
Three glowing wings (wings refer to those of the lightning bugs)
Two dimmed wings (wings refer to those of the sky bugs)
One true shroom
Mixed for approximately three hours, two minutes, zero seconds

Outcomes:
Glass oil settles to the top, followed by dimmed wings, glowing wings, true shroom pieces, and fire magma in layers (in exactly that order)
Fritty dust is nowhere to be found in the potion?

Yet another failure. I have moved my workbench in front of her today- this motivates me far more. I have been managing to get over three experiments done in a day. I do not quite mind the lack of sleep- she has been sleeping for so long on my behalf anyhow. We are such a perfect pair. She makes up for my faults, sleeping all day when I cannot. I wish that when I get my measly hours of sleep, she would wake up on my behalf. One day, she will shake me up and tell me it was all a fun trick. I would not be mad at her- how could I ever be mad at her? But until I can be certain it is a trick, I cannot stop trying.

Experiment 753

Ingredients:
Five tablespoons of glass oil
Half a tablespoon of fritty dust
Six glowing wings (wings refer to those of the lightning bugs)
Nine dimmed wings (wings refer to those of the sky bugs)
Three true shrooms
Carvings from the bottom of a swamp stallion's hoof
Mixed for approximately five hours, seven minutes, fifty-nine seconds

Outcomes:
Does it really matter if it failed?
Potion turned red.
A slight spicy(?) smell filled the air
The potion started bubbling violently

Fail.

I am getting tired. When will this prank end?

Please, I really beg of you. I stare at the glass every day and place my hand on top of yours. Why must you sleep for so long? When you were conscious, we would smile and joke about how late you worked into the night. Is this you, catching up on the hours of rest that you never got? If so, I think it has caught up on and more, my love. The last time I tried to feed a potion to you in hopes it would work, your lips turned blue. I cried all day, hoping that I hadn't caused something worse to happen. When I checked up on you the next day, you were perfectly fine again, but sometimes I believe that the reason you are not waking up is because of that horrid potion. If I had just been patient and tried it out on myself first, maybe I would still have a chance. We would still have a chance.

We will finally be reunited. If you cannot come to me, which you have so valiantly proved, I will come to you. I brushed your golden hair all these days, trying to mimic how you did so. But now, when we meet, I shall be able to watch you brush it yourself once more. It is not too late for me to meet you, right? I know I've waited for over a decade, but I hope you've waited for me as well. I changed the flowers every day, bathed you, and clothed you. I expect that this loyalty deserves at least something.

Do not fret any longer. Soon, we shall hold hands together, where I am not the only one holding yours. We shall smile at each other, where I am not the only one smiling down at you. Soon, we will laugh about the time I wasted making worthless potions, when there was such a far simpler route to join you on your journey, to meet with you and cherish you like I am meant to. Soon, my love. Soon.

Experiment 4250

This is my last experiment.
If this works, I will be joyous.
If this fails, I will not be alive to fix it. I beg, if this does not work the way I want it to, whoever finds this book to read through every experiment carefully.
Even if I am not here, you must make sure to save my love.

If this actually does work, I will turn back on these pages and laugh at my foolish worrying. So I assume that will not- cannot fail. I wouldn't be doing this if I weren't sure about the idea. I myself have learned the art of being patient and a trustworthy potionmaker over the past ten years. She will be laughing at my side as well, smiling at how paranoid I become every time I talk about her, gazing at every one of my written experiments, which will soon mean nothing but dust.

Though I wonder, can ghosts turn pages?

Last edited by icebunny11 (March 29, 2026 05:19:21)

Alfalfa78

poem part ii
original poem by ava!
- - -

The sky was cold and grey, the sun hidden away by thick, sad clouds that filled the sky. It was impossible to tell just from searching in the sky whether it was morning or midday or anywhere in between. It was like being in some kind of limbo.
The endless crashing of the tides ebbing and flowing as the surged up onto the shore didn’t help any, either. It was accompanied by the gentle breeze that ruffled your hair slightly, pushing it out of your face as you looked at the sky and sea beyond.
Sea shells and other trinkets were being washed onto the shore, but you paid them no mind. There was nothing truly interesting about them. They were just little things that got caught up in the currents of the ocean and got dragged away, ended up here.
You were far more interested in the bird by your feet. A swallow, maybe? You weren’t quite sure. Birds were birds. And this was just a bird. A dead bird, but a bird nonetheless. It was soaked through; wings limp and feathers drooping.
Some part of you was yelling and screaming to get away from it, that the bird was disgusting, and you needed to get away from it. But that part was quiet, dim and dull. Muted by the sound of the waves crashing and the winds blowing.
All you could bring yourself to do was stare at it in an almost detached way. It just sat at your feet, staring at you in the same detached way with an unblinking eye. A wave rushed up around it, seafoam lapping at its sodden feathers before receding just as fast as it had come.
You looked up, dragging your tired gaze from its unblinking one, and looked back over the sea. The sea looked equally cold as the sky did now. A cool midnight bluish black, contrasted by the almost pure white seafoam.
The wind picked up a bit, your hair getting tossed around more as the salty sea air hit your nose. The waves seemed to grow louder – stronger. They rushed up against your feet, splashing gently onto your shoes. You glanced down, absently picking up a foot.
The swallow stared back at you before being dragged gently away by the currents. You watched it go without a word, just staring after it as the waves carried it away. Probably back to where it had come from, wherever that may be.
A dry chuckle escaped you.
You wished that the waves could do the same thing for you. Take you back to where you had come from, just like that. Take you back to your home before all of your life changed. That they could just carry you away on the waves.
As if it was that easy. Stars, you wished you could just snap your fingers and be whisked away into a fairytale sometimes. To escape from all the grief and doubt that surrounded you here. But no, you were stuck here.
A bird without wings, trapped in a rusty cage.
Your cage – this island – wasn’t very pretty. It was just an island. Covered in grass and trees, and sometimes a few flowers in the spring. But you were here, and this island was yours, now. The closest thing you had to a home.
But you wished you could go back to your old one. Before everything changed. Before you changed, most of all.
Though, you were pretty sure that every other person on the planet wished that, too.
But you couldn’t go back to before, as much as you wished you could.

- - -
(606 words)

FairyAyla

Daily 21

Aaaaand now, day 2 of Bouts-Rimés! Take your favorite poem you wrote yesterday and share it in the same studio as yesterday. Find someone else's poem and write a 600 word story based off of it! Maybe it'll be silly or maybe it'll be dramatic. No matter the case, have fun and you can claim 700 points for today! Unfortunately, if you didn't complete yesterday's part of the bidaily, you cannot claim points for it. However, you can still earn points for writing a story today! Have fun https://scratch.mit.edu/studios/51380976/comments

Poem from @juliathecaesar

A curious little striped cat
Went chasing a quick little rat
They startled a fluttering bat
Who tumbled straight onto a mat
And knocked off a tall wizard’s hat
The wizard just blinked as he sat
While paint hit the floor with a loud splat
He muttered, “Well… didn’t plan that”
The rat just looked cheeky and fat
And the cat gave its head a soft pat.

If curiosity killed the cat, then it was a miracle that Annie wasn’t dead yet. Annie was a small brown tabby striped cat, who was very curious indeed. Yes, her curiosity did sometimes mean that she got into… well, situations. Getting pecked by crows for just wanting a bite of those delicious looking donuts, or hanging off a very tall building, after nearly missing a jump onto some smashable flower pots. But still, she was curious, and what can be done about that? One day, as she lay outside, she saw something, skitter by. She lifted her head, to look. A little rat quickly darted by. Annie stood up and stretched, then gave chase. She didn’t know if she wanted to eat the rat, like most cats would, she just was very curious about, well, everything, so she ran after it, with little thought as to why. The rat squeaked in alarm as she chased it. The rat was very fast indeed, one of the fastest rats Annie had ever seen. But still, since she was a cat, and the rat was a rat, and cats are much much larger and faster then rats, she eventually caught up. The rat was cornered, in an alleyway. Not sure what to do, the rat squeaked loudly, and quickly jumped onto a box in the alleyway. Annie followed, just as quick.
Jamie the bat had been peacefully sleeping, but when she heard a ruckus from below, she fluttered up into the air, despite it being broad daylight, when it was rather dangerous to be out and about for a bat. But she had been curious, so that was that.
Annie and the rat were leaping up the boxes, toward the roof. The rat leaped onto the roof, and Annie followed. Jamie the bat turned around, and was very shocked to see a rat (who usually are not on rooves), and a cat (who sometimes ate or attacked bats). Jamie, in her shock, tumbled into the alleyway, right onto an old mat someone was throwing out. She also happened to bump right into a towering wizard, knocking him off his feet, and his hat off his head. The wizard had came out from his house to see what the racket was. Because he was curious. The wizard blinked, as he sat on the ground. Annie, who had forgotten about the rat, stared down at the scene below her. The rat, also stared down at it. Annie swished her tail, knocking into a can of teal paint, that some careless person had left up on the roof top. Annie yelped and jumped to the side, grabbing the rat out of the way, as the paint can teetered on the edge of the roof, and then fell from the roof, onto the ground, with a loud splat. They all just stared at the fallen can of teal paint and the mess it had made, for a long moment. After a while, the wizard muttered something. “Well… didn’t plan that.” He muttered, then stood up, taking a very long time to do this, because he was very old. The wizard grumbled something, then went back into his house. “That’s George, the wizard” Jamie the bat explained, flying up to the cat and rat. “I’m Jamie.” She said. “Nice to meet you, Jamie! I’m Annie.” Annie said. “I never learned your name, what is it?” Annie asked the rat. “My name is William” Said the large cheeky rat. It seemed that this cat was not going ot eat him, for it probably would’ve already if it wanted to. “Nice to meet you, William.” Annie gently patted him on the head. “I’m happy to hang, but… not right now? I’m nocturnal.” Jamie said. “Oh, okay. I’m most active at dawn and dusk, anyway.” Annie said. “See you!” William said. And the all walked off to go about their lives. The End.

652 words

Tellurium_26

March 21st- Bidaily part 2

The same sick lottery every year. I never go. Too many downcast eyes, and too many broken faces that fracture a little bit more when another townspurse’s name is pulled, and they rise, smiling, lifting their clothes from the dusty ground as they hop up the steps, smiling as they take their ticket. As if a quarter of the papers in the bowl don’t have their name scribbled over it in a loopy scrawl. As if anyone else, with dust streaked faces and boots caked in dirt, would ever see past the gate as the gold glinting of the brass train disappears into the distance. I’ve stood by that gate, watching the train disappear into the horizon one time too many. I had almost given up on participating, but this was my third, and final, year. Last year the business did well, I’d saved up enough to buy fifteen tickets. That was half the minimum number that the townspurses would dump into the bowl, walking upstage with thirty tickets cupped in their hands. Fifteen tickets. I took refuge in the fact that, well, it was at least twelve tickets more than anyone else on my street had ever pitched. I put my hands in my pocket and ran my fingers over the coppers and crumpled notes. Sitting on the roof of our complex, I watch the empty streets, and the tower in the center of town. If I am spending the coppers after all, I need to be written in before the third bell. I see movement at the top of the bell tower as a chimer pulls the thick rope down in one strong stroke, and the sound of a single rumbling chime rolls over the houses. The bell quiets, and thus the registry is open. Most everyone else was already there. It’s a little less than one interchime on foot from here to the registry, takes half as long on a bike, but I can’t afford getting it confiscated. Heaving a sigh, I turn and make my way down the rusty rungs of a ladder, and begin the trail on foot.

The roads are empty. It’s always a little like this, on the writing and pulling day. I liked the past two years the most, when I would watch the first bell ring, then the second, and then the third. All without putting a single mark on a single slip. It was quiet as well, then again, it was always quiet, but a different quiet. A peaceful quiet, where the air itself hummed with a glimmer of hope, the normal quiet, on the other hand… The normal quiet was a quiet of stifling desperation. The citadel was not made to hold this many people, and not for this long.

I put my right hand out and let my palm drag against the concrete, my steps becoming soft and rhythmic, fading into the background. The notes and coppers whisper in my pocket with every step, and it’s perhaps the last time I’m ever making this trip. Heck, it was my first time even seeing the registry up close, I’ve seen it in pictures plastered all over, nailed to trees and pasted to walls, but not in person, never in person.

I feel a small protrusion from the wall as it scratches a line along my palm as I hear faint chatter drift to me through the stagnant air.

I'm almost at the registry. Almost about to hand over the most money I’ve ever had in my pockets for fifteen blank slips, and I feel, for once, despite it all, the same glimmer of desperate hope that perfumes the air around the registry, flowing in and out of its large shuttered doors as people congregate.

Main SWC post

Last edited by Tellurium_26 (March 21, 2026 23:01:06)

Zyzeryko

I watched silently from my window for some time before leaivng the warmth of the quiet farm house and stepping out onto the fields, the yellowed wheat of the ground prepared for a heavy harvest. The peppery dirt is wet, damp from the constant rain pour that has given us this plentiful season, though most of its duration has been spent alone, hiding form the icy water that falls from the sky in the farmhouse or the old shed out back, filled to the brim with rusted out cars. Every moment I’ve remember from my past life has left me feeling as if I’d been cut, scarred and mangled and chewed up and spit out in the gruelly cycle that is called life.
I can only remember one face, and it hurts the most to think about. My father, in a world far away, left behind his title and his namesake and his riches to sail across the sea—the sea across the world from me, one I’ll never lay eyes upon—throwing his life to the ocean to receive the gifts of it in tenfold.
Except that’s just a myth—the sea gives you one thing and one thing only, its embrace as it drags you to an icy death, one as cold and frightening as the rain that stains our farmland and stains the world and stains our home as he sits, rocking, back and forth in a squeaky old chair.
I don’t know what he dreamt of, though I imagine it was warm and quiet but near the sea so he could go fishing, close enough to town to trade greetings with neighbors but not so near we had to hear their fights—this was meant to be everything, and now it is just a soggy field of wheat.
It used to be a horse farm, and the people who lived here galloped through the trees in the peak of summer to escape its burning, blinding rays. The winters held fireplaces and warm drinks close at hand, and now it is still and silent, like I am in the rain.
Sometimes I feel like the earth is dead, and with it, its people, innocent and ocne full of life, stripepd down to their barest of bones and left to sit in empty houses in empty fields on empty streets in an empty town. Sometimes I feel like my father, frameless and unaware, rocking endlessly as the world teeters on, scratchijng its own edges in a sorry attempt to right itself.
I don’t wish for the past. It was warm and full, bright and happy and it is gone.
Our world is cold and dark, and as the rain trumbles on, it takes us with it to the next. Sometimes I feel I am the only person in the world who is not empty, not full of a reeking sadness that corrupts the world and all it is.
I was on that boat, and I was there when it took my mother. And here is the truth, in its cold entirety: it’s not just a myth. There are treasures to behold in the world, buried deep, deep, deep under sand and rock and wood and corpses. I’ve seen it; though only in my dreams. That one tiny, green gemstone—though a jewel is far from its main appeal. The wheat has never been green, but somewhere, a tiny green world is starting anew, growing and growing and growing until one day, my hope is this: it will return to us our world, and return to us our lives.
The rain silently swept in and took what we had, and as I sat on the cold, wet porch steps, I saw a flicker of green.
Just a small, brief thing, a moment in time. But it was enough.

-NightGlow-

Daily 21: Story Based on Poem
word count - 619 words

I searched across the seas but I couldn't find the guiding light. The lamp post flickered a deep emerald shade as the smoke began to settle along the coastline. I had just crashed the car and fumes were coming out from the hood. I always knew fate would bring me back to this twisted road but I never knew it would be in such a manner. You see, my father never wanted me and my mother always treated me as this delicate creation. She blocked me off from the world and I lived in the silence of my own cries. The nights were lonely as I fought to find one reason to keep living, one reason to persevere.

That's when I ventured out to Solana Falls. It sounds like such a haven, does it not. Well, from a young age I had been told numerous stories about the treasures that lay on the city’s coasts. The waters were pure and blue, filled with all shades of algae. Kelp grew beneath the reefs and wildlife surrounded the area. It was paradise and many killed for the chance to go and live there. Growing up hearing these fantasies has a way of shaping your dreams. I had never been needed, nor was I ever wanted, so this place was perfect for a misfit like me.

Each day I drew a mark. A tally with an old red piece of chalk against my scorched wall. The black curtains darkened the mood but at least the chalk was able to bring back some sense of life to my life. I really needed color - the whole world was always either black or white. At least, that's what my mom taught me. Growing under her watch was never easy. There was always a new demand to meet and I always felt as if I was just falling deeper and deeper. More behind a day, drowning again the next.

It was like a never-ending cycle of punishment. Except, I never got the praise. Like a wilted flower, my petals started to fall and I lost my spark. I lost myself. I lost my name. Through the winds it blew and crevasses fell, and still I felt so empty inside. The tears had poured down for too many nights, my eyes puffed up and red. She had finally gone, the world had taken her. I wasn't sure whether to cry or laugh out of joy. It seems pretty dark if you ask me, but who are you to judge? Any child but through that torture would face the same dilemma…I can guarentee you that.

Now, here I am standing brave yet still alone. Solana Falls was the dream but I never came to see it. The seas were my calling, the glitter falling everywhere. Birds echoed in migration as I followed their calls. I thought I had figured out all the secrets the world had to offer but it seems as if I'd only fallen deeper. We're always told there's light at the end of a dark tunnel but I now know that this isn't true. There's only light for those who are born into it. Everyone else has succumbed to the internal darkness in which nothing survives. Faced with your own thoughts, dealing with your own emotions, it becomes an endless battle with no clear ending.

The end. Yes, the end. That's what I need to find. Crashing this car was supposed to bring me there, acting as a bridge as I carry over to the next. The golden gates I never saw, instead I remain trapped. Trapped and finally alone in this world.

ChueyTheCat

poetry bidaily part 2 || 607 words

The Wise Old Wizard’s cottage was, for once, quiet and still. Inside, a bubbling cauldron had boiled over, green foam dripping to the floor (he’d forgotten to turn the special effects off for the night), the Dark Lord’s skull (or, as the Wise Old Wizard had known him, Bobby) yammered cheerily to itself in a large glass jar, and his cat (striped silver on black, rather than the other way around) sat placidly by the fire. It was early morning, before the sun had ventured to peek over the horizon; the Wise Old Wizard was still snoring in his bedroom.
There was a tiny scuffling, and then a rat head poked out of a hole in the wall. It surveyed the room before venturing further out — the cat paused her grooming and stopped, ears twitching. Something must have alerted the rat that all was no longer well, for it paused halfway out of the hole before impulsively scuttling the rest of the way out. In a moment the cat was on it, and then the hunt began. The cat leaped onto a shelf to get a better vantage point, knocking over a jar along the way. It fell to the floor with a loud crash, releasing its contents — a small, somewhat disgruntled bat — onto the violent pink mat that covered the floorboards. (The mat, it should be noted, was not improved by having a bat in a jar dumped onto it, but it had suffered so much in its time in the Wizard’s cottage that it hardly mattered anymore) The bat hauled itself into the air and began to flutter around the cottage, squeaking, and every time it flapped its wings its fur turned a different color — all of which were various shades of eye-bleeding neon. Another experiment of the Wise Old Wizard’s, no doubt. On its third revolution the Wizard finally stumbled out of his bedroom, mumbling to himself. He flinched when the bat whizzed around, knocking his hat off. This happened on a regular basis anyway, as the Wizard was rather tall and his hat even taller. In fact, he’d had to raise all the doorframes in his house some years ago, as the only alternative was to start wearing shorter hats, which simply would not do. What kind of respectable wizard would he be if his hat wasn’t at least a meter tall? Of course, this made it somewhat unwieldy to manage on occasion, but that was all part of the job. You could tell a true wizard by how well they wore their hat — at least in his opinion, which was about the only opinion he cared much for anyway.
The Wizard sat down, clearly determined to ignore the chaos erupting inside his cottage, but the cat and rat chase hadn’t died down, and worse, the bat was beginning to emit splashes of paint every time it squeaked. Splat went a splash of purple — splatter a glob of orange. In no time the Wizard’s cottage was liberally soaked in paint. He sighed, giving up all hope of a peaceful morning. “Well… didn’t plan that,” he muttered to himself, standing to go scoop the cat up. She perched in his arms, glaring at the rat, which sat neat and dainty in the middle of the floor. It twitched its whiskers at her cheekily before scuttling back to its rat hole, safe for another day. The cat squirmed and squirmed until the Wizard let her go, whereupon she returned to her spot by the fireplace and resumed grooming herself, stroking her ears with a quick paw. It was, all in all, a very ordinary morning.

AWritingCheerleader

Daily March 21
Words: 608

The girl awoke to a morning like all others. The sun was concealed behind a thick sheet of clouds, but the rays dripped through her window and indicated morning’s arrival. As she rose from her bed, her movements felt slow and cumbersome. She wished she could go back to sleep, that the sun would simply sink below the horizon once more and give her a few more moments of respite.
Alas, her wishes were left unanswered. She dressed and prepared for the day, braiding her long blonde hair into a braid crown atop her head and making breakfast for her family. She got ready for all the tasks she had laid out for the day. As the sun broke above the low hanging clouds, she headed out in the carriage to the market. She was once again filled with a dull and numb sense of boredom. The day seemed to be dragging on even though it had hardly started.
The cool morning breeze and spring foliage did little to lighten her mood. The birds chirping and squirrels climbing as she made her way into town did not move her as they typically had in the past.
She entered her usual bakery. The baker was a family friend of hers from when she was young, a kind old man. He greeted her with a warm smile that she returned half-heartedly.
“Why so glum, Martha?” he asked, his face falling as he continued to knead the dough in the bowl in front of him.
“I am not quite sure the reason, Timothee. I woke up this morning feeling this way,” she lamented.
“That is most unfortunate, my friend. Just look at what a nice day it is outside. How the sun is singing with the birds, how the grass is poking through and the snow is finally gone! How you have survived to live and fight for another day. When you look at these things, how can you be sad?”
“I suppose that is true. I saw a bluebird on my way here. I have always loved bluebirds! My father always told me they had the most beautiful voices.”
“That’s the spirit you’ve got to have, Martha! It sure is a beautiful day out there.”
“It sure is beautiful in here, too! That bread smells absolutely heavenly, let me buy a loaf.”
“Today, Martha, it’s on me. Enjoy this with your family later, and don’t you forget what a miracle it is to live.”
After thanking the baker profusely for his generous gift and putting the bread back in her carriage, the girl left the shop and went back into town to run some more errands. Even the brown path laid before here seemed to glow with increased optimism. The sky seemed bluer, the trees more green, and the birds seemed to fly higher and sing louder than before. She was so grateful to have such a friend as Timothee to point out just how wonderful it was to be alive. She could always count on him.
The day seemed to take on a much more lively turn from there, as though a fiddle had begun playing in the place of a violin. She ran her other errands with a smile on her face and a song in her heart, thankful to have the opportunity of another new day to live and breathe. Everyone she passed seemed to be smiling too, or at least returning her smile, and asking her “how do you do?” Earlier, her response would have been dour and pessimistic, but now she was not lying as she told them each, “Quite dandy! And how are you?”

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