Daily (I stopped counting at this point):

Kat choked on her own breath as she tried to take a breath in, finding a dim mustiness instead of the bright air that was usually in her bedroom. She tried to open her eyes, and… they were open, but she still couldn’t see anything but blackness. A thump shook her world, and she groaned as she toppled over onto her side. Was she in a vehicle? She tried to get up, but quickly realized that her arms and legs were bound. She didn’t have much time to think that through, though, because a voice came from somewhere in front of her. “She’s up.” A man's voice rumbled, sounding annoyed. “One of you check that she’s still bound up, we don’t have any more tranquilizer.” So there were at least three of them, Kat thought as some kind of door creaked open in front of her. Evidently not a solid one, as she could hear them through it.

Rough hands grabbed her and felt her binds. Kat guessed it must have been dark in there, because they weren’t just looking to make sure she was trapped. Could she use that to her advantage? She couldn’t see, but they couldn’t either.

“She’s still here.” The man next to her called, with a surprisingly squeaky voice. It almost made Kat want to laugh.

“Well, come back here then. Matt is too incompetent to read a map, so you’ll have to do it.” The same voice from earlier snapped. It seemed like he was the one in charge, because the man next to her groaned, but did what he said. He lumbered away, and Kat heard the thump of the door closing. She strained her ears for more, but there was nothing more to be heard, except for the radio blasting country music.
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Kat woke up with a start again. She had fallen asleep after about an hour of not hearing anything. But she regretted it now, because she didn’t know how long it had been, or how far they had gone.

The men got out of a car with a slam, and she could hear some kind of sliding door opening behind her. They grabbed her, and one of them tossed her over her shoulder, carrying her like she didn’t weigh anything.

“Hurry up, Matt!” The leader called from in front of them, and Matt sped up until he was in step with the others. They walked up to the house, where they set her into a chair, and… removed her blindfold!

She burst out laughing immediately. She was at her house! The men that had kidnapped her were dressed as clowns, and the whole house was decorated in streamers. And in the middle, a giant chocolate cake!

“Suprise!” yelled her family, popping up out of the nooks and crannies of the house. Kat smiled. This might just be the best birthday ever.

⋆.˚ Sci-Fi Element ⋆·˚ ༘ * 302/200 words

The Willoscilla Scepter is a masterwork of bio-engineering that crosses between a traditional staff and a holographic wand. It is the primary tool for chromavexillers, spureygleae scribes, and high-ranking officials in Aethelgalrd. The composition consists of the Crystal-Braid at its center. The core of the scepter is grown from a Crystalline Weeping Willow, a genetically modified subspecies that is super rare, with wood that has the density of carbon fiber but the flexibility of a vine. Powered by the core, the heart of the scepter holds the Opal, a valuable mineral cartridge that powers the holographic technology. The shaft consists of three primary mother-vines braided together while they are still saplings. As they fuse, they leave a hollow, spiraling channel in the center where the for the Opal, where the Lumen-Sap, a bioluminescent data fluid, circulates The exterior thin and translucent bark, allows the user to see the internal “circuits” of glowing Lumen-Sap in the Opal At the head of the scepter, the wood transitions into dozens of leaves woven together by willow and vines. These are actually Bio-Membranes. They are thin, yet strong, and reinforce the veins of crystal and sap that run through the scepter. Willoscilla Scepters allow Florafolians to access the strong, slight direct, powers of the Luminary Willow which enhances their individual powers. Children of the Angiopflhores strive to succeed in school in order to pursue work as chromavexillers, spureygleae scribes, high-ranking officials, and other upperclass jobs to receive a Willoscilla Scepter as a notion of high honor. The Byrophytes, with much less opportunity, do not have the capability to achieve such status or gain a Willoscilla, only select cases occurred where a Byrophyte succeeded. The Florafolians want to access a Willoscilla Scepter in order to preserve their powers, or they will lose their powers as they age.

⋆.˚ Sci-Fi Worldbuilding ⋆·˚ ༘ * 353/300 words

Aethelgalrd is a futuristic city built on the foundation of nature. Unlike the traditional cottage-core nature village, Aethelgalrd is highly advanced. Powered by the Lumen-Sap from the Luminary Willow, the city runs on the ancient powers deep within this willow tree. It provides healing and protection to the powers of the Florafolians and upholds the entire city. With skyscrapers stretching to the sky, and buildings around the city, the architecture mimics the original fairy cottage, yet in altered, modern form by technology. The species that occupy this city are the Florafolians. Descended from fairies more than a century ago, these Florafolians still have powers when they are born, but have bred into modernizations so much that they do not last long. No wings, no flight. These Florafolians strive to hold tight onto their powers before they lose them as they age. Because of their descent so far into the future, the fairy aspects are highly lacking in this species. Aethelgalrd is divided into the Canopy and the Understory which implies the upper and lower class. The Angiopfhlores, the noble people, are privileged in this society. They have better access to healthcare, education, and technology. The Byrophytes, being lesser and yielding less wealth, are often mocked by the Angiopfhlores who do highly dislike the lower class. There is a divide between the city of Aethelgalrd. A strong prejudice with unwillingness from both sides to resolve the feuds. The Florafolians are each born with a special talent and power that is to be nurtured all their life. They value these gifts because their lives depend of it, it is the remnants of their fairy ancestors that miraculously are still bestowed upon them. Technology and inventions of all sorts are set into place by the Phyllo-Chloros, to enhance the Florafolians’ powers. There is basic healthcare provided for all citizens, but to gain access to a life full of power requires high rank in society that Byrophytes can never achieve. The imbalance sets off their society into a challenge between groups going through everyday lives trying to preserve the most valuable part of themselves that still remain.

⋆.˚ Cross-World Travel ⋆·˚ ༘ * 880/600 words

I barely made it on time. My grandmother’s mysterious house was always weirding me out. She expected me to be home by exactly 9:00pm or else she would send me to ‘the basement’. She thought I was scared- maybe I was. As I walked through the door, I heard her say the terrifying sentence. “You’re late.” But how could I possibly… It was 9:01pm. I hated her. I hated my life, my situation, and especially this house. I grudgingly walked downstairs into the darkness of the basement. I was to spend the next half an hour down there.
I began exploring the rustic and dusty downstairs room. It was damp and fairly empty. With an old upright piano sitting in one corner, and pieces of furniture laying around randomly scattered. All of a sudden, I noticed a curious door on the side of the back wall. How was that possible? I approached it, and it opened wide open. What. On. Earth.
Looking through the door, I saw an entirely different world. I didn’t know how this was possible. Curiosity got the better of me, and of course, I walked through. The door slammed shut behind me- how movie-like. So here I was. Trapped in another world in the basement of my grandmother’s mysterious house.
Boy was it a sight to behold. It was a dense jungle of a city, with forest overlapping the edges. I was on a pathway that led to what seemed to be a main entrance. This place reminded me of a fairy town…except, it wasn’t at all. There were buildings sky high–skyscrapers– that resembled cottages as buildings. The architecture was wild. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. It was as if the forest had built itself into the future. A place of nature and technology combined.
I stumbled along the winding path, heading towards the massive gates.
Curiouser and curiouser. What is this place?
I began to catch glimpses of the people that occupied this city. They were elven-like creatures who almost resembled fairies? No, that couldn’t be. They looked very human, with mystical features. Each creature was clothed in some sort of nature that was highly modernized in a technological way. Headbands, belts, sachets, and armcuffs were overpowering as they were part of these beings.
I reached the gates of the mesmerizing city, slowing to a stop. I felt scared. What was I doing? Did I think I could just walk into another world like I belonged there? What if they were hostile creatures and decided to kill me? Well, that would not be the greatest…
I couldn’t just stand there, so I rushed to hide behind a pillar to the side of the gate. I just needed to get out of the way and think through what I was doing, to make a plan. A sound came from behind me and I could hear a faint and distant rustling coming through the gates. Oh no. I was not fast enough.
Footsteps came along the pathway, and I heard talking and a loud BEEP as the gate opened.
“We know you are hiding. Please come out!” said a male voice as these creatures began walking outside.
At this point, all I could hope was that they would spare me.
I took a deep breath and then slowly walked back onto the dirt road. I was extremely surprised at what I saw. Yes, there were two ‘security’ guards, but standing in front was a kid? One of those beings that looked at most, a year older than me. The kid sighed and rolled his eyes while I just stood there. He turned on one of his gadgets and a hologram appeared for him to type something. He turned around to the two guards and said, “Just report back another wandering homo sapien, although– this time, a female.”
“Who are you and where am I?” I suddenly blurted out. Oops. I should have just kept quiet a little longer.
“Ma’am, I know you have a lot of questions, but I need you to follow me before I can answer any questions.” said the kid. Why was he sort of polite? I followed him through the gates and into a world of wonder. The city inched closer with every step I took. The marvelous architecture captivated me.
Curiouser and curiouser. I couldn’t help myself.
We came to a stop in front of a smaller building. There were articulating circuit vines latching together pieces of wood into glass windows and the roof had what looked sort of like solar panels. “Sorry about that ma’am, there are wild creatures that roam the forests outside the gate, so we are told to take wanderers inside,” said the kid. “Oh! No worries.” I answered slowly. “My name is Osmo, I am a border official. Can I assume this is the part where you ask to return to your world?” So much had happened in the past few minutes, and I could not wrap my mind around the situation. I was confused.
Curiouser and Curiouser. But– I wasn’t ready to go home.
“Well, I haven’t gotten a chance to explore this city yet.” Osmo chuckled. “You are a curious one.” I raised my eyebrows at him.
“Okay then ma’am. Welcome to Aethelgalrd.”

⋆.˚ Sci-Fi Story ⋆·˚ ༘ * 881/600 words

The golden light of the Salixium, the ancient elder root at the city’s heart, did not flicker–even as the humidity of the Undergrowth reached a sweltering peak. In the far side of Aethelgard, the air was thick with the scent of wet earth and flowers.
Kaelen, a Byrophyte whose hands were permanently stained with the dull, oxidized copper of sap, wiped sweat from his brow. He was a Resinar, and today, the city was leaking. One of the primary vascular lines in the city’s foundation had ruptured, spewing pressurized Lumen-Sap like a glowing wound.
“Pressure’s dropping in the Canopy,” a voice crackled through his auditory-moss. It was his overseer, a Graftvian who sat safely in a working pod three levels up. “If the Angiopflhores lose their holographic displays during the Solstice Gala, it’s on your head, Kaelen. Seal it.”
Kaelen didn’t respond. He couldn't. He was busy fighting the Saspilinvesine coiled around his arm. The vine, an irritable piece of tech, sensed his exhaustion and was trying to constrict. He slammed his fist against a stone root, forcing the vine to extend into a rigid brace. With a grunt, he hauled his heavy Amber-Pressure Pack toward the rupture.
Above him, the city of Aethelgard stretched toward infinity. It was a marvel of nature’s defiance, skyscrapers of willow and transparent membranes that mimicked the delicate architecture of the ancient fairies. But the elegance was a lie maintained by the sweat of the Byrophytes. Up there, the Angiopflhores practiced their Elima-Song using Siliabraid staffs to project masterpieces of light and sound. Down here, the technology was brutal.

—————

Kaelen despised the Angiopflhores and their way of life. They lived in an uphold built off of the sweat and blood of toiling Byrophytes. They were the upper class that was favored in this society. He was sure that he hated all of them. Although this was not true.
Months ago, Kaelen was fortunate enough to travel to the center of Aethelgalrd to be shown the mechanics of the Luminary Willow. He was one of the best Resinars in the Understory, so the Phyllo-Chloros had a small sense of trust in him. The Angiophflore in charge of the Resins and Grafts was a brilliantly bright young girl. She was fresh out of school, so smart, that she made her way up to a high rank in so little time. Kaelen was amazed at this. He had always thought lowly of Angiophflores, yet here was a truly honest one, taking charge because she worked hard for it.
They acquaintanced through work, and Kaelen grew fond of her. Posy. She was a nice girl, who sought to defy the hatred of Aethelgalrd. In all the work she did, she treated the Byrophytes with sincerity and negotiated with them like equals. One day, Posy invited Kaelen to her office. She wanted to show him the experiences she got as an Angioflhore, and how her powers were so much stronger, thanks to her Willoscilla Scepter. She saw the goodness in Kaelen and pitied his dying talents. Kaelen’s cold heart towards the upper class was softened through his friendship with Posy.

—————

Kaelen reached the rupture. The sap was blindingly bright, a violet spray that hissed against the damp walls. He activated his braces as he felt the flow of the running sap surge through his DNA. His skin twitched, turning the color of dark oak, protecting him from the heat of the raw sap.
But the power felt thin. Brittle. He was twenty. In Aethelgard, that meant his natural “bloom” was already fading. As he kept aging, his powers would fade away, until he was left to rely on external batteries to keep him healthy.
He aimed the nozzle of his pack, spraying the high-velocity resin. The amber hissed, hardening instantly into a translucent scar over the weeping wood. As the leak slowed, Kaelen pulled his flickering Reed staff from his belt. He tapped the staff against the resin seal. A muddy and faded hologram sputtered into existence. It was low resolution, showing a grainy map of the surrounding root-grid. The hologram told him what he needed to know–the pressure was stabilizing.
For a moment, Kaelen leaned against the cool bark of the foundation. He looked up through a ventilation shaft and caught a glimpse of a Wing Warden soaring on iridescent Vesper Wings, silhouetted against the noon of the upper city.
Kaelen felt the vibration of the Salixium humming through the soles of his boots, and breathed a sigh of relief. He had done it again. Bruised and tired, he made his way back to his lowly office to gather his belongings.

—————

Posy was woken by one of the guards outside her office. Ma’am, I think you should check the power grid. She got up from her desk and went to check the panel. The leak was finally stabilizing and the flow of the circuits had come back. Thank goodness. Posy held up her Willoscilla Scepter, and tapped the tip of it. The glow of the crystals surged back and the circuits of Lumen-Sap finally connected the willow wood back together. The connection was restored for the Solstice Gala.
Posy looked out her window and smiled. Quietly whispering to herself, she said, “Thank you Kaelen. You’re amazing.”


✎ 3.16-23.2026 ~ Weekly #3 ❀ ~ 2,416 words total ౨ৎ
⌗ ʙᴀᴄᴋ ᴛᴏ ꜱᴀꜰꜰʀᴏɴ'ꜱ ɴᴏᴛᴇʙᴏᴏᴋ ⋆˚࿔

March 24 Daily : Description

406 words

The bakery felt warm on my skin- soft and comforting. The smell was of freshly baked bread and sweets- the perfect atmosphere. Chattering filled the air. Dozens of customers talking, laughing, eating. The polished wood of the chair was cool, and I fit snugly in the crevices of it. It felt like it had been worn by time- worn by the hundreds of people who had sat right where I was now.
The food arrived, warm and buttery. The bagels were perfect. They tasted like biting into a summer-day cloud— or better yet, like biting into a ring of dough-like heaven. I felt the butter in the bagel squish as I bit into it, tasting delicious.

The ocean’s air was salty in my throat. The sand beneath me was coarse and grating- feeling like sandpaper. The water was cold. The air blew fast and sharp, as if it were a bullet grazing my skin. It blew sand into my arms and face and stung me. There was no sound except for the rushing wind and thundering ocean.
Sand got in my mouth- making me cough and hack. It tasted terrible - salty and wet and stinging. I felt a drop of water on my tongue- not salty, but fresh. Oh no! Rain? Sure enough, the water came crashing down from above too. It was raining hard; I could've sworn the drops were piercing my skin.

The fur felt nice against my skin. I loved the jacket- it felt perfect on me. The shoulders weren't too tight and the sleeves didn’t feel like they were trying to choke my arms. The fur edges comforted me every time I brushed against them. It smelled fresh and new- not dusty or used. I liked the sound of the metal zipper when I pulled it up and down.
Paired with the new jeans, I was sure this would be my best fit. The jeans were made of soft denim, with frayed edges at the bottom and ragged holes that let air brush against my knees.

The kitchen smelled of fresh pasta and fruit. It was a relief to come in here after the burning heat of the outdoors- the air here was cool and refreshing. Taking off my shoes was also nice- it meant that I could slip into the plush fur slippers. The chairs in the house were soft- worn by time and use. The soft fabric smelled of lavender.

Daily #24 - descriptions without sight
(I had to add extra words for description, around 590 is description, I hope that qualifies-)

The refreshing breeze that had been washing over me fades away, replaced by a harsh heat that soaks into my skin. I wince at the sharp warmth, my hands instinctively reaching out as if feeling something would tell me where I was. A rush of hot air is the only thing that meets my palm, and now the dewy smell of earth has shifted to something more stale.
I realise I can hear the thumping of the horse's hooves more clearly before the soles of my bare feet begin to burn with excruciating pain. I cry out and jump back, feeling the ropes that bind my wrist pull taught. The burning stops as my feet find cool, rough grass again.
A neigh from the horse and a tired sigh from its rider sends prickles of irritation down my spine. “Hey, not my fault! I can't do this without shoes. What was that?”
“We're out of the forest now, getting into the desert,” his voice appears weary, which annoys me further. “We're almost there.”
“Why is it so hot?”
“Well, the sun has been out all day. The forest is quite dense, so we wouldn't have noticed.”
“I can't walk there, Malachi.” The scratchy cloth over my eyes makes my forehead itch, and I'm tempted to pull it down but the tight binding around my hands refuses to release its pull. “Just how far is ‘almost there’? Haven’t we been walking for hours?”
Another sigh comes, and then I hear a shift which makes me stumble backwards. The ropes pull even tighter.
“What are you doing?” I call out, then gasp as I feel a warm hand wrap around my arm.
“Don't panic, it's me obviously.” Malachi's voice is closer, but now I want to slap him because I can hear a smile. “Would you find it better if you rode with me?”
I frown. “I'm allowed to?”
“Well, if that's the only way I can get you there…Come.”
The whine of steel against steel makes my heart leap into my throat, and I retreat from Malachi's grip. “What was that?”
“It's alright, I just need to cut the ropes.”
“Cut them? You trust me that much?”
The pull of my bindings release, yet there's still tight knots around my wrists.
At the same instant Malachi's hands grip my arms tightly. “Nope. Don't even try it.”
I snort as I let him lead me towards his steed. “Where would I run to, anyway? I can't even see. Speaking of, can you take off this blindfold now?”
“No chance.”
“It's just a desert, what secrets could I possibly see here?”
“Still no chance.”
Now Malachi's hands are lifting mine, and a soft fuzzy coat brushes my fingers. “Alright, you're touching Snowlit now. Can you get on blindfolded, or must I carry you?”
“Please don't, I've got it.”
My hands travel up the horse's hide until they hit firm leather and the cold metal of buckles. I lift my right foot to find the stirrup, gripping through the dark for a handhold on the saddle. My bound hands fumble, and at once I feel Malachi's gentle grip against my shoulders. My skin bristles but I decide not to say a word as I find my footing on the stirrup and finally haul myself onto Snowlit's back. The sharp coolness against my bare feet and the reprieve from the endless walk makes me want to sigh.
“Is that better?” Malachi's words dance around me as he rises onto the horse as well to sit just behind.
I shrug. “Would be nicer without the blindfold and ropes, but it's alright.”
“I still can't remove them…sorry.” His apology surprises me, but I only shrug in response. “Just keep your hands close so I can hold the reins in front of you properly.”
Arms flank me on both sides and I tense, but as the piercing thwack of leather against Snowlit's hide sends us moving again, my attention is taken by the rush of hot air that now breathes across my skin. A breeze filters through the heat as Snowlit's hooves thunder on and sprinkles of grainy sand brush over my toes. The reins crack again, and for a moment it feels like we're flying.
The air flowing through my nose brings a light herbal scent along with the dry dust, which I can only imagine is from the delicate wildflowers that often grow amidst our sands. There's even a slightly sweet aroma, as if rain had just passed by very recently. I breathe through my mouth for a moment, and a metallic taste coats my tongue that instant. Through the gust of air whipping through my ears, a hawk's cry carries overhead, sending shivers down my spine.
The sound brings back the memory of adventurous desert travels back home when Aron would point out all the hawks in the sky as they flew, and now I want to rip this blindfold off just to see the rolling dunes again, one last time.

838 words

⋆.˚ “The Scent and Sounds of a Summer Night” ⋆·˚ ༘ *

It was a cool evening by the beach. The air was brisk, with a soft and warming breeze wisping through town, brushing gently against Amber’s skin as she walked. The steady hush and crash of waves filled her ears, a rhythm that seemed to settle somewhere deep in her chest. Each step she took pressed her feet into the cool and damp sand, clinging briefly to her skin before slipping away.
Amber walked alone along the ocean, her flip-flops dangling loosely from her fingers, with the rubber straps tapping lightly against her hand as she walked. The ocean air carried a mix of scents–sharp salt, a faint trace of seaweed, and something distant but familiar, like fried food drifting from the boardwalk. The breeze shifted, wrapping around her and tugging softly at her sweater, sending a chill along her arms before settling again.
She wandered closer to where the water met the shore, letting the tide roll over her toes. The water was cold, enough to make her inhale sharply, but she didn’t pull away. Instead, she stood there for a moment, feeling the push and pull of the ocean as it curled around her feet and retreated again, leaving behind a thin, foamy trace that quickly dissolved.
The sounds of the beach were scattered and layered. The distant laughter of people further down, the occasional cry of a bird overhead, and the low, constant rumble of waves crashing into themselves. Amber let those sounds guide her, slowing her walk, letting the moment stretch on.
Eventually, the air began to change. The clean saltiness blended with something warmer, richer. Sweet caramel, buttery popcorn, and the unmistakable scent of frying oil. The wooden planks of the boardwalk replaced the sand beneath her feet with a hollow creak at every step, vibrating slightly with the movement of people around her.
Voices grew louder, overlapping in bursts of conversation and laughter. Music pulsed somewhere nearby, its beat steady and bright, weaving through the hum of the crowd. Someone brushed past her shoulder, quick and unintentional, leaving behind a faint trace of perfume.
Amber slipped her flip-flops back on, the familiar pressure of the straps settling against her skin as she moved further into the crowd. She could hear her friends before she reached them, their voices distinct even among the noise, rising with excitement as they called her name.
As she stepped closer, the warmth of their presence replaced the cool edge of the ocean air. Someone grabbed her arm, pulling her into the group, their laughter immediate and welcoming.
Behind her, the waves continued their endless rhythm, but here, surrounded by familiar voices and the lively hum of the boardwalk, Amber felt herself relax, carried effortlessly into the night.


✎ 3.24.2026 ~ Daily #24 ❀ ~ 457 words ౨ৎ
⌗ ʙᴀᴄᴋ ᴛᴏ ꜱᴀꜰꜰʀᴏɴ'ꜱ ɴᴏᴛᴇʙᴏᴏᴋ ⋆˚࿔

Daily March 24th
Words: 420

The campsite smelled of sunlight. It smelled of pine needles and fresh earth and the rainfall from last Tuesday and the start of a new summer that would— hopefully— be just as good as the last. As the car pulled into the driveway of the site, birds began chirping overhead. Their songs ran through the trees, mixing melodically with the breeze rustling through leaves and her hair. It felt wonderful.
It blew on her face, cooling her down from the boiling summer sun. It felt like jumping into a cold pool, flooding around her with relief. She ran her hand along a tree, feeling the rough and scratchy bark. She felt the smooth, slightly sticky leaves and the dead leaves and earth crinkled under her crocs.
She set up the tent, feeling the smooth metal poles and crinkly, waterproof fabric overlay. When that was done, she opened up a tube of chips with a pop. They tasted amazing. Barbecue flavour, her favourite. It went perfectly with the hot dogs they made on the warm campfire later for dinner.
The fire cast warmth throughout the campsite, the scent of smoke wafting gently in the wind. The smoke stung her eyes, but the warmth guarding them from the cooling air. Crickets began to chirp as evening descended over the site. A bullfrog croaked from somewhere nearby, joining the chorus of creatures who seemed to be crowding their campsite.
As they headed off to bed, she was happy to have such a warm sleeping bag and comfortable padding underneath. All night, she heard leaves rustling outside and the gentle pattering of summer rain, but the tent’s rain cover kept them safe.
In the morning as the dew landed on the plants and mourning doves announced the rising sun, the girl and her family headed down to the beach. The path they followed was rocky and rough, but eventually they made it to the beach. The sand was scorching, but the cool water relieved it. Excited shrieks emanated from all over the beach as they heard children splash and play in the salty water.
She made her way into the water, the coolness spreading throughout her body and relieving her sunburnt skin. As she dipped below the waves, the water filled her eyes and muffled the sound, giving her peace for once on her family camping trip of the summer. As she reemerged, she laughed. A short, melodic sound blended in with the shrieks of happiness and made her soul light up with joy.

⋆ tuesday, march 24th: sight-less description

~ from the perspective of a stray blind kitty cat :)
the sun has been beating on my back all day, and the little shaded spot under the bridge that i usually call my haven is too flooded today to hang out in. i spend most of my time wandering around the town, preferring to stick to soft, plush grass because not only did the concrete burn against my paws, but i had learned that they were often crowded with millions of unpredictabilities - careless footsteps, whirring of wheels, curious dogs. my nose brushes against the flowers every now and then, and i sneeze each time i get a whiff of pollen. i just needed to keep wandering, push through the fire on my fur until i come across some shaded area.
i hear the soft jingling of a bell and my ears perk up. could i be nearby a shop? the shops in towns tended to be a hit or a miss, the people either loved me or wanted me out immediately. still, i was getting hopeless, so i followed the bell until my nose bumped with a cold glass door. i sat outside of it patiently until another person came along to push it open for me, sneakily tiptoeing my way in, brushing against smooth glass on one side that causes my fur to stand up and a woman’s leg on the other. instantly, i’m hit with a blast of cool air which i’m infinitely grateful for as well as a million new smells, all wonderful. warm baked bread, milk, coffee, fresh fruits, and other pastries i’m not sure of the names. the marble tiles are cool against my feet, and i feel a little bit bad for the mud that i’m certainly tracking on them.
“oh look, a cat!” someone calls. i had learned long ago that that was what i was - ‘cat’. “come here, kitty!” …and sometimes a ‘kitty’. they sound friendly, so i follow the sound of their voice. a long, frail hand lands itself on my head and i lean into the gentle touch, rubbing my body on this person’s leg affectionately. this person’s hand smells like books and coffee with lots of sugar, and i feel that i can trust them immediately. i roll over to expose my tummy, purring affectionately at both the attention and the refreshing feel of the marble on my back.
“what a sweet kitty,” the lady whispers, and i meow in response. she’s pouring me a little cup of water and i lap it up eagerly - it’s perfectly sweet and silkily cold, easily the best thing i’ve tasted all day. all week too, maybe.

A storm was brewing.
The barometric pressure dipped. A low breeze swept in from the north, its tendrils soft and icy as it scuttered across the ground. The air was heavy with humidity, tense with anticipation.
It was eerily quiet. Only the ever-present splashing of the stream could be heard above the wind as they began to pick up—faster, colder, sharper. It rippled the surface of the water, creating frothy little bubbles, dashing droplets against stones, disturbing the otherwise unbothered currents as they made their way to distant rivers.
Autumn leaves lost their grip on branches, and they spiraled madly into the evening sky. All across the forest, animals tasted the tang of a tempest and prepared themselves for the coming squall. Normally, this hour would see a host of nocturnal prowlers awaken and begin their nightly rounds. But tonight, all stayed hidden, tucked safely away in their dens and their burrows, in nests and in hollows.
The smell of rain was strong, overwhelming the earthier scents of dirt and trees. Drops began to fall from above, moistening the rocks and making little pits in the dry, dusty soil. The first drops came scattered and uncertain, tapping lightly against surfaces in irregular rhythms. Then the tempo changed. In sheets, in a flood, it came cascading downward, the separate beats becoming one steady drum.
Thunder cracked, a sudden, splitting sound that vibrated through the forest. It left a ringing silence in its wake before the rain filled the gap again. The wind surged in powerful bursts, shoving against cliff walls and rattling loose anything and everything, howling through narrow spaces with a voice loud enough to rival the thunder’s.
The ground softened, turning slick and unsteady. Over the hours, the dust gave way to mud, carpeting the ground in a slimy, viscous goo. Puddles formed, their surfaces pummeled by the endless onslaught of rain, the water splashing up, then falling down, flowing towards the lowest elevation it could reach, growing the puddles ever larger.
The thunder boomed again, even closer this time. There was a creak, and then a crash, as a tree—struck by lightning—fell to the ground, immersing its branches into the greedy mud.
But soon the rain calmed, reducing itself to a steady drizzle. The wind, too, ceased its howling, instead switching focus to quietly tugging at waterlogged leaves and blades of grass.
The scent of wet soil rose from the ground, sharp and earthy, mixed with the faint metallic flavor that lingered on the tongues of those animals who were brave enough to emerge from their warm places of refuge.
Birds began to chirp again, as warmth broke through the heavy skies. The trees lifted their branches upward, basking in the fresh wafts of air. Puddles were lapped at, mud was imprinted with pawsteps. The stream burbled onward, the water level climbing high up its banks. Rushing downhill to a greater destiny, it went on.

↻ ◁ II ▷ ↺

◪ Noͦ 25
Wordcount: 513/500
Topic: Memory (Lane) Book
Points earned: 600+150 for proof
Cabin: Cyberpunk

First of all, I would like to start this piece with the fact that this daily literally almost brought tears to my eyes. When I caught sight of my name on the Thriller team, it literally gave me such a big whoosh of memories, especially since my first session was where I was a backup camper, not an official one. I remember I had been chosen on maybe the first week of the session, while lying on my cousin's lap (she was brushing my hair and making the funniest accent, pretending to be one of those salon ladies), and when I checked my scratch notifications, I had just started to beam. It was my first ever scratch camp, so I was SO CRINGE and I was probably the worst camper there, but God, I loved it so much it was honestly lame. I think after that first session, I truly had started to fall in love with writing. I was always writing as a kid, but I had never actually had a community that pushed me through my procrastination. Who helped me when I was at my lowest and pushed me even higher when I was at my highest. I had never experienced how good an online community was, and after that first session, it was like the healthiest addiction I had ever felt. One time, I missed the signups (I think last year), and I literally sobbed; I was devastated.

The memory book cover had very pretty blue flowers, and I remember thinking they were so pretty back then, too. Do you know I have still never won an MBC competition :sighs dramatically: I'm good at designing, but there are just some extremely talented people here who are so unmistakably good at it that I KNOW I don't have a chance </3

Something I noticed when looking through the memory book was the sheer number of campers. I blinked like I couldn't believe my eyes. Tell me why there were more than twenty? I got hit by another wave of nostalgia when I realised that most of the campers have grown up past the scratch age There are so few campers than before. I remember during cabin wars how sometimes Scratch would literally crash because of our spamming. I'm pretty sure one of the leaders got into a whole deal about it with the scratch manager too :sob: I'm so sorry, whoever you were! The larger number of campers was always super fun, but then there came the obvious downside of… wait… why can't Ava find a downfall? More campers = more fun! Though I did always feel bad for the leaders. Who knows how they were able to manage so many campers on their own. I respect the early leaders so much because they tell me why they were keeping a check on 30 coffee-driven procrastination-suffering kids who stayed awake till 2 AM. In fact, I'm pretty sure that they stayed up till 2 AM to make sure WE didn't stay up till 2 AM.

SWC Leaders, you guys are amazing <3

March 25th daily- 514

The beam of the flashlight sweeps back and forth through the dusty air, and Lucille can’t help but give a cough, seriously regretting her previous decision to leave the mask at the base. Regardless, it wasn’t like she could go back now. She kept pushing forward, glaring at the arching stone above her and ensuring it stayed that way, keeping it up with the sheer force of her gaze. Fixated as she was on the ceiling, she didn’t see the patch of ground that was… grainier? Than the rest. It sank through the air and landed atop the sand, only for it to keep sinking, albeit slowed. Her foot continued sinking until the weight of her body resisted it, and then the sand got a little impatient and simply decided to collapse under her, bringing her foot, and the body it was attached to, another meter or so further into the depths of the cave system. When the foot finally stopped falling, on account of it hitting a non-sandy material that it couldn’t just sink into, the rest of her had followed, although it had a less pleasant time getting acquainted to the floor. Then the flashlight followed and greeted her stomach in a particularly harsh manner.

Once Lucille had finally reoriented herself, sitting up to look around, she immediately failed to locate a recovery route, as the cave exploration rulebook dictates she should have, and instead was completely bogglegasted at the sight before her. A mysterious glowing lichen, pulsing softly, grew in a webbed pattern across the walls, illuminating a truly impossible site. Stones of all different colors and varieties were peeking through the rock, their color made visible through the dust by the light of the faintly pulsating lichen (on second thought, maybe it was a little disgusting). Looking around, Lucille pulled a small bound notebook from her bag, it took her surprisingly long, considering she was an intelligent creature and the bag was not, but at the end of the day, she emerged victorious, with both a pen and a book in her hand. Flipping back and forth through her notes, she only grew more confused. The combination of stones here was literally impossible. The acidic environment needed to form opal would have neutralised the acidic pressures needed for the ruby and sapphire glinting from the dust just a few yards away. And- the pressures here weren’t nearly high enough for topaz, and if they were, the combination of igneous, sedimentary, and metamorphic rock was too varied for this to have ever been natural. Perhaps these were artificial controlled conditions? And yet, the only way in or out was the freshly-punched hole in the ceiling. Maybe this cavern had unique tectonic activity that blended a unique cocktail of pressure, compounds, and heat? But, the nearest plate boundary was hundreds of thousands of kilometers away.

“How curious…” she muttered, so enthralled by the rock, she failed to notice the sprawling lichen growing gradually closer, and when she did. It was too late.

She was eated by the creepy pulsating lichen.

RIP Lucille.

A/N: I have like 0 motivation, hit me with a mango bartender.
Bartender voice: Awrh buddy it's almost mornin' ain't y'think you've had 'nuff
-
So at no point during the writing of any of this did I have any idea where it was going lol. The ending was- all that was coming to mind. I needed to end it. Nov 2024 was my first SWC camp, and I like rocks.

Back to SWC main post
woa I did NOT know you could do that

Daily 25

660 words
Subtheme: Chess

I haven’t had motivation to write for the past few weeks at all (how convenient) but I’m going to attempt a daily today!

I clench my fists underneath the table, anxiety churning in my stomach. I think my breakfast might be coming up the other way later.
I am in a vast ancient hall, with beautiful polished stone floors and crumbling oak beams. Hundreds of people surround me. My friends and family. My opponent’s friends and family. Cameras follow my every move, microphones are thrust in front of me, journalists vying for interviews. I thought it would be nice to be a bit more well-known. Not the nerdy girl at school. Yet every time I have to speak in public, I stutter, I blush and usually I run away.

All of my training. All of my lost chess matches. All of my won chess matches. It all comes down to this.

When I entered a small chess tournament at my school, I had no idea it would get me this far. I just thought it was another little thing, that would get me another little trophy, and I would gain basically nothing from it. I won that small tournament. I went through to county level. I won that. I went through to nationals. Won that. I got second place in the international trial. That meant I qualified for the Chess World Championships. Against one of the most renowned chess players in the world. The most, actually.

I swallow, my legs trembling under the table as they call my name.
“Amelie Jones!” A lady at the microphone booms, her voice echoing off the walls.
She then calls the other person, but the ringing in my ears is too loud for me to even hear it. Here I am, at the Chess World Championships, and I don’t even know my opponent’s name.

I take my seat opposite her. She has olive skin and a cloud of frizzy hair that frames a serious and slightly nervous face. That comforts me. I give her a small smile and she nods back at me timidly. We shake hands, as per tradition.

And it begins.

She has white pieces, so she starts. Move one of her pawns forwards two spaces.

I have black pieces. I move one of my pawns forwards two spaces as well. Keep the king protected. Get a pawn to the other side. Turn it into a queen. Kill her king. Simple, right?

Time seems to slow down. The atmosphere in the room is tense and silent. I can sense people’s eyes watching me, burning into my back. My heart thumps in my chest, I gulp, I take deep breaths. I can do this.
I allow myself to focus completely on the game, my eyes only looking at her hand moving her pieces, all the possible moves she could make. All the possible moves I could make. The match gets into a steady rhythm, each of us taking our time to select our moves, the clink of wood against wood familiar to me. I pretend that I’m just at school. Back in the maths classroom, my biggest opponent a boy in the year above me.

The match is getting us nowhere. I have lost four pieces, she has lost five pieces. I steal a glance at the clock. It’s been nearly an hour.
Every so often, they get the computer to analyse the game. To check for a stalemate. Which would call for a rematch. The thing I dread the most. I just want to get this match done.

I move my knight, threatening her queen.

She moves her queen back.

I advance my pieces further forwards.

I lose a bishop.

She loses a rook.

I lose a knight.

She loses a pawn.

And the game continues on, until we each have lost twelve pieces.

“Stalemate!”

I sigh and close my eyes briefly.

Time for a rematch, I guess.

Added on the 19th:

+245

Dear Editor's Name,
Thank you for your commentary on “Ghost Rumors!” I agree that the first person narrator speaking from a retrospective point of view is a great choice for this story—the POV is one of my favorite parts of the piece.
Throughout your comments, I loved your use of questions and specific examples to get the author thinking about potential edits. Your ideas on how the narrator could potentially be connected to the case were especially thought-provoking, and I hope that they spur the author to continue working on the story. Also, your tone was consistently positive and encouraging throughout your feedback, which I really appreciated.
I noticed that you mentioned that “the language felt a bit too predictable” in your Rationale for Accept/Reject. I definitely see where you're going with this note, but, while I might have been missing something, I didn't see that same idea repeated in your General Commentary. I would definitely suggest that you make sure all the main points from your Rationale are brought up to the author in your commentary since they are valuable suggestions that could help them improve! It could perhaps have seemed offensive to critique the author's diction, but you did a great job phrasing your other areas for improvement positively, and I'm sure a note like that would not have seemed out of place.
Great job overall, though! I hope to work with you on another piece in the future.
-My Name


+961

Specific Commentary:

S1, L1–2: This is such a fun start to your poem! I can immediately tell that it's going to be very down-to-earth with honesty and a touch of humor. Just a small note—I think “Dad-Jokes” is typically two words without a hyphen. The formatting might have been a stylistic choice though, so feel free to ignore this.
S1, L3: While I can absolutely understand what you're saying in this line, it feels a little awkward/overly wordy. I might recommend removing “also” and perhaps trying to condense the rest of the line to help it flow a bit more smoothly.
S1, L4–5: I love this
S2, L2: Throughout this piece, I found it really interesting that you capitalize “Father” even when it isn't referring to a particular person. The capitalization lends the word some extra weight, making it stand out in an interesting way.
S3: The anaphora in this stanza is really well done, and I liked how the pattern was broken slightly in the last line.
S3, L3: Another small grammatical note—I think there should be a comma before “and” in this line since the conjunction is separating two main clauses. I do enjoy the rhythm created by the lack of punctuation; the line could potentially work both ways.
S4, L2–3: These lines are so relatable! My family definitely has a designated “spider-man,” too. Like with the earlier reference to a “double dose of Dad-Jokes,” I love how you're infusing some fun and humor into this piece.
S5, L1–2: Great transition into the next section of your poem—these lines mark a very clear shift in tone.
S6, L3: I see what you're going for here, but “or is it envy” felt a little out of place to me as a reader since the final clause is not parallel with the nouns earlier in the series. I might suggest replacing “is it” with “maybe” or “perhaps,” or even removing the “is it” and changing the question mark to a comma so that it flows into the next line.
S6, L6: Your use of quotation marks here is a nice callback to your earlier discussion of the lack of gender division in your household.
S7, L1: Again, I'd recommend putting a comma at the end of this line to separate the two main clauses.
S7, L2: I love this line, but I wonder if you could further emphasize this moment with a little imagery—what specifically about the makeup made them “recoil?” This seems like a perfect place to add a little more humorous detail.
S9, L3–12: Great detail in these lines—though you never state it explicitly, you do a great job showing how your fathers care about you.
S10, L5: This is a great stanza; nice work summing up the message of the previous page. However, the repeated phrase “only Fathers in the building” caught my eye. While it's fun (and it reminds me of Only Murders In The Building, one of my favorite shows!), I'm not entirely sure what “the building” is meant to refer to here. Perhaps a more specific word than “building,” such as “home,” might make for a more evocative phrase?
S11, L1–3: I love this section!! While this isn't necessary, I might recommend replacing “I have models” with “My Fathers are models” or something similar, just to make it a little more clear who you're referring it.
S11, L6: This is a perfect end to the stanza. I love your use of polysyndeton to ‘sandwich’ this stanza and the last.
S12: As a whole, this is such a great ending to your poem! Each section flows really smoothly into the next, and it definitely encapsulates the entirety of the piece.
S12, L15–16: Like I previously mentioned, I love the “Dad-Jokes” reference, and it's great that you use it as a recurring motif in your piece. However, I feel like it kind of undercuts the impact of your poem's ending. Perhaps it and the last line could be swapped to retain the humor with a slightly stronger final line? For example, you could edit it to: “And, besides the number of Dad-Jokes / I would not change a thing” or something similar.

General Commentary
Thank you for submitting your poem to Journal Name! I really enjoyed reading this piece—you do such a great job blending humor and really impactful messages about societal expectations and gender roles. To me, the standout section is definitely the final stanza—though it's just a bit more abstract than the rest of the piece, it works so well as a conclusion to the themes you introduce earlier on.
I also really loved your use of details throughout the piece—the description of the “first-period kit” and “Gloria Steinem and bell hooks” were so well done, and you did a great job helping readers to understand your family's experiences and traditions. In comparison, though, I felt like some areas of the poem were a bit lacking in imagery. Specifically, in S3 where you list different duties that your Fathers take on, I wonder if you could have added just a little more specific detail about what these tasks entail in your family. What holidays do you decorate for? What common meals or cleaning duties do your Fathers have? Similarly, in S8 where you discuss security being called on your Dad in the museum, added detail could help readers feel more emotionally connected in that moment. Just a little more specific imagery in these sections could bring your poem to the next level!
Again, though, great work with this piece, and thank you so much for submitting to Journal Name. I hope to see more of your work in the future!



+1343

Specific Commentary:

P1, L1: This is such a compelling first line! Though it doesn't reveal too much about the plot or characters just yet, it definitely hooked me and made me want to keep reading.
P1, L2–3: I wonder if you could expand a bit on this sentence—what specifically about “the look he always gave” helps the narrator to understand his inner feelings?
P1, L4: I'm curious about your reference to “the shade cast” during the characters' relationship. Are you talking about a physical darkness in his apartment, or some aspect of the “pitiful glances” he exchanges with the narrator? Especially since shade is referenced again in the title, I would love to see you elaborate a bit on this line!
P1, L6–8: The line beginning “Yet off it went…” confused me a little. I see what you're saying, but the diction was a little difficult to untangle, and I had to read it several times to grasp your meaning. I wonder if you could either break this line into two sentences or rephrase it a bit for clarity.
P1, L9–13: I love the image of the environment created by these lines! Though you don't describe the characters themselves, I can definitely imagine the scene as a whole.
P1, L12: Personally, I feel like the word “incessantly” is a little redundant—“gazing” already implies that the narrator has been staring for a while. I might recommend finding another adverb that describes the narrator's emotional state rather than what their eyes are physically doing. Perhaps “listlessly” or “wearily” might work?“
P2, L1: Good transition here! The word ”stoked“ caught my eye—I'll expand on this in my General Commentary.
P2, L2: By ”as with the others,“ do you mean that the narrator has been moving between various siblings' rooms, or maybe that different siblings have been taking your brother's room one at a time? Perhaps this phrase could be clarified a bit to avoid confusion.
P2, L3–5: I love your connection of the word ”cherished“ to the narrator's overall feelings about the room! Again, though, your phrasing was just a little difficult to understand. Does ”I was always cherished in “ refer to the physical space of the bedroom, or the color in general?
P2, L5–7: This is such a great explanation of the narrators' thought process. In a relatively short part of the piece, you do a great job establishing his backstory and personality.
P3, L3: I love how ”plain“ could be interpreted as two different meanings—very nice play on words!
P3, L4–5: I have two comments on this line! First, I wonder if you could mention the narrator's actual age at this time rather than referring to it generally. I would totally understand if you'd want to avoid that level of specificity, but I think mentioning his age might help readers to understand more of the context behind this section of the piece. Also, I'd love to see a little elaboration on ”what implications it may have held.“ You talk later on about the narrator's positive feelings towards keeping the curtains open, but never what downsides there might be to this.
P3, L7: Did you mean ”disappointed?“
P3, L8: I'm very intrigued by the phrase ”calling of age!“ What did you mean here?
P3, L11–13: I love the deeper insight you provide in these lines! The narrator speaking from a slightly later point in their life gives you a lot of space for statements like this.
P4, L1: I wonder if you could make it a little clearer that you're transitioning to a different time and place. I completely missed the shift here, and I thought we were still in the narrator's childhood for the first half of this paragraph!
P4, L3: While ”whatever texture there was to it“ is an intriguing description, I would again love to see a little more specificity! Maybe consider what fabric the curtain is made of and what that might feel like?
P4, L5: You introduce such an interesting contrast here! I love how you show with this small detail why their relationship is doomed—they seem to be completely different people!
P4, L6: ”small clothes piles on the floor“ might be an opportunity to give a little more personality to the other character. For example, you could consider what sorts of clothing he typically wears. A bit more detail here would do a lot for your characterization.
P4, L10–11: The two timelines come together so smoothly here! This line definitely helped me to understand the symbolism of the curtains; I reread the previous paragraph and it makes much more sense now. This piece definitely lends itself to being read multiple times—lots of details earlier on make more sense with the context of later lines.
P5, L1–2: While I can see what you're saying in the sentence ”As anyone would be, I am glad that I, too, eventually grew up and out of it, as my siblings had,“ I wonder if you could tighten up the phrasing a bit. Some of the phrases (namely ”as anyone would be,“ ”too,“ and ”as my siblings had“) felt a bit repetitive, and I think removing one or two could make your language clearer and more concise.
P5, L3: Is ”the room“ here referring to the one the narrator is currently in, his childhood room, or his brother's room that he moved into?
P5, L5: I absolutely see where you're going with the ending, but ”waiting for the glare of the sun to change his color“ fell a little short for me as a reader. Again, I was a little confused by your meaning—do you mean that the sun needs to change its color to be less hostile towards the room? Does the sun begin to fade the blue of the walls when the curtains are left open? I love the idea of this line for the piece's ending, and it has a lot of symbolic potential—just a little more detail could help to clarify its meaning!





General Commentary
Thank you for submitting your writing to Journal Name! I really enjoyed reading this piece—the symbolism throughout was fascinating, and the flashbacks to the narrator's childhood were incorporated nicely. While I mentioned most of my notes regarding smaller details in the piece in my Specific Commentary, I did have two larger structural comments that I wanted to bring up here.
First, I wonder whether some additional characterization would have helped readers to feel more connected to this story. Though I loved the details you revealed about the narrator's past experiences, his personality and motivations for being with the other man felt a little unclear. Specifically, I would have loved to see a little more from the other man's point of view—why does he feel like he needs to ”keep those curtains shut?“ However, if the limited characterization was intentional in order to allow readers to project their own experiences into the story, I understand your reasoning for leaving these details out.
Also, I was a little curious about your word choice at times in this piece. I mentioned in my Specific Commentary that the word ”stoked“ stood out to me because it was so different from the other musings of the narrator. Typically, he seems to be relatively introspective; his words sound almost poetic at times. Because of this, ”stoked" felt a little out of place. Perhaps if he were in his late teens, an informal word like this would fit into his narration more smoothly. However, since the characters' ages aren't explicitly stated, I imagined them as older. While you definitely don't have to stick to only formal or only informal diction in your piece, I do think that some explanation for this choice could be added to explain the duality evident in the diction.
Again, though, great work with this piece, and thank you so much for submitting to Journal Name. I hope to see more of your work in the future!



Added on the 25th:


+219

Dear Editor's Name,
Thank you so much for your commentary on “The Monsters In-Between!” I loved seeing what you had to say about this piece—your comparison of the story to a LEGO building is so creative, and I liked how you used series of questions to get the author thinking about potential edits.
As a whole, your commentary was very well done. It was positive and uplifting, but still brought in several potential areas for improvement. Your feedback to the JEs were similarly well done. I don't have any major suggestions for you in that regard!
While this isn't a huge issue, I did feel like your commentary was missing some transitions. When you jump between positive and constructive feedback without any sort of transition, it can feel a bit jarring. For example, the lines, “Each sentence is a new brick that builds on the last. Sometimes two successive sentences in a paragraph don't seem to fit together…” felt a little confusing to me as a reader. The first line says that the lines build upon each other nicely, but the second suggests the opposite—a brief transition between them (and in similarly contrasting areas of your commentary) could help to clarify!
Great work overall, though! I hope to work with you again in the future.
-My Name



+993

Specific Commentary

S1, L1–3: What an intriguing start! I have several ideas as to what the narrator could be discussing here, but I like the ambiguity that it starts off with.
S1, L3: I would suggest adding some punctuation at the end of this line—maybe a period or a colon would help? Without punctuation, it feels as if it is meant to transition straight into the next stanza, which I'm not sure you intended. Also, I'm not sure the word “truly” is necessary. While it does emphasize your point, I feel like the line might flow a little more smoothly without it.
S2, L1: I love your use of a direct question here. It was very engaging to me as a reader.
S2, L2: I'm not sure if I'm interpreting this line correctly. Are you suggesting that the narrator is breaking up with someone, and their expression reminds them of someone they used to know/be in a relationship with?
S2, L3: Is this line meant to stand alone? Due to its position in the stanza, it seems as if the “look in your eyes” and “the feeling” are meant to be connected somehow, but the link is a little unclear. If the narrator is feeling the “pity and forgiveness,” perhaps you could add a couple words to the start of this line to clarify that?
S3, L1: While I like what you're saying here, I feel like it could be stated slightly more concisely.
S3, L2: I love what this line reveals about the central relationship—very interesting detail! Again, though, it feels a little wordy. Perhaps you could remove the word “truthfully” to improve the flow?
S3, L3: I am a little confused by this line. Do you mean that “dejection” as a subject “wouldn't know” something? The connection between this statement and the previous line isn't quite clear.
S4, L1: Again, this is such a creative detail! It was initially a little difficult to interpret, but I absolutely can see what you're saying.
S4, L2–3: The introduction of “them” complicates things a little. Is “them” the same character as the “her” that was introduced earlier? Is it referring to multiple people, or one? Is the “you” character imagining a past friend/partner, or just trying not to imagine the narrator? While the idea behind these liens are very intriguing, I would suggest adding a little more clarity to ensure that your readers can follow the plot.
S5, L1: This is such an interesting quote! I don't think I've ever seen a line from one poem quoted in another before, and I'm interested to see how you build upon it. I might suggest removing “A man” or replacing it with a more specific descriptor, perhaps “a poet” or something similar. As it is, this phrase does not add much to the line as a whole.
S5, L3–5: These lines are so beautiful! Your use of repetition creates a great rhythm.
S6, L1: I wonder how specifically this interpretation is incorrect. Is it different from the author's own intention, or is it an idea that the narrator wants to walk away from.
S6, L2: I like how you return to the title here! I would suggest replacing the comma with a colon to set it off a little more strongly and avoid a run-on sentence.
S7, L1–3: Though I do think that earlier sections of the poem could be clarified, I think this section contextualizes a lot of what you've said earlier. I love how you've brought together all three characters and both relationships.
S7, L4–6: Interesting line breaks here! I love the contrast, and again, your use of direct questions to the reader is fascinating.




General Commentary
Thank you for submitting your writing to Journal Name! I really enjoyed this piece—the different characters and relationships provided a bit of a mystery to uncover as I read! Though the poem is relatively short, I think you did a great job conveying the complexity of the main relationship. Both characters have differing expectations for themselves and each other, and they're both making unrealistic and perhaps unhealthy comparisons that get in the way of their true selves and relationship.
One suggestion I have is to add a little more description as to why the central relationship ended. Why was the “you” character so fixated on “her” at the narrator's expense? How did this impact their current relationship, and what did “you” intend to get out of ending it? However, if your purpose was to make the plot slightly abstract so readers can apply it to situations they may have experienced in their own lives, I can understand keeping this part a little vague!
Also, I was a little confused by the connection between the lines you quoted from e.e. cummings and the rest of the poem. To me, “death I think is no parenthesis” implies that it is a permanent end rather than a transition. I'm not sure if that's the intended interpretation of the line, but either way, I am not sure how the lines that follow the quote link back to it. While you discuss the “emotions like the ones you feel for her and the ones I feel for you,” unless I've missed something, you don't return to the idea of death or finality. Rather, the final line suggests that the breaking off of the relationship is “kind, soft, pitiful, and sorrowing.” This softness seems like a parenthesis to me—it lacks a more intense finality and feels more like a transition than a complete ending. I'm not sure if this is what you intended. As you edit, though, I would definitely suggest making the link between the quote and your own ideas a little clearer.
Again, though, great work with this piece, and thank you so much for submitting to Journal Name. I hope to see more of your work in the future!

⋆.˚ “Almost Perfect” ⋆·˚ ༘ *

Barbie woke up flawless.

Of course she did. She always did.

Her hair fell in glossy, unmoving waves, her smile was already in place, and her eyes sparkled like someone had just whispered a compliment into her soul. She stretched gracefully and obviously, and then sat up in her Dreamhouse bed.

“Good morning, Malibu!” she chirped to absolutely no one.

“Ugh. It’s 7 a.m., Barbie.”

That was Skipper, slouched in the doorway, holding a half-charged phone and looking like she’d just fought a losing battle with reality.

“Rise and shine!” Barbie said, already standing, already perfect. “Today is going to be amazing. I have a fashion show at ten, a space mission at noon, and I’m baking cupcakes at three!”

Skipper blinked. “You’re doing… all of that? Today?”

“Of course! Why wouldn’t I?”

Before Skipper could answer, the front door burst open.

“BARBIE!”

Ken rushed in, wearing rollerblades, a lab coat, and oddly, a cowboy hat.

“I may have accidentally invented a time-traveling smoothie,” he announced.

Barbie paused. “A… what?”

Ken held up a glowing pink blender. It hummed ominously.

“It was supposed to be strawberry banana,” he said defensively. “But then I added glitter. And science.”

“Of course you did,” Skipper muttered.

Before anyone could stop him, Ken hit the “blend” button.

The world went SPINNING.

Pink sparkles exploded everywhere. The Dreamhouse flickered. The walls shimmered like a glitch in reality, and suddenly—

Everything changed.

Barbie looked down.

Her heels were gone.

In their place? Fuzzy bunny slippers.

Her perfectly styled hair? A frizzy, windblown disaster.

Her outfit? Sweatpants.

“…What,” Barbie whispered.

Skipper stared. “Oh my gosh. You look… normal.”

Barbie gasped. “I do not!”

“Barbie,” Skipper said, trying not to laugh, “you absolutely do.”

Ken, meanwhile, was now wearing a medieval knight’s armor over his rollerblades. “Okay, slight hiccup.”

The Dreamhouse door opened again.

Raquelle stepped in, took one look at Barbie, and froze.

“…What happened to you?”

Barbie grabbed a mirror.

For the first time ever—everything wasn’t perfect.

Her eyeliner was smudged. Her hair refused to cooperate. She had…she leaned closer,

“Is that… a pimple?” she squeaked.

Skipper snorted.

“THIS IS A DISASTER!” Barbie screamed, pacing. “I can’t go to my fashion show like this! I can’t go to space like this! I can’t even bake cupcakes like this!”

“Why not?” Skipper asked.

“Because I’m Barbie!” she said, like that explained everything.

Raquelle crossed her arms. “Honestly? This is kind of refreshing.”

Barbie stopped. “Refreshing?”

“You’ve been perfect forever,” Raquelle said. “It’s… odd. Annoying, even.”

“Hey!” Barbie protested.

Ken clanked loudly as he tried to sit down in his armor. “I think she means you’re usually… a lot.”

Skipper nodded. “Yeah. Like, who wakes up ready for three careers before breakfast?”

Barbie hesitated.

“Well… me.”

They all stared at her.

Barbie looked back at her reflection.

Not perfect. Not polished. Not… plastic.

Just her.

And suddenly, something weird happened.

She laughed.

At first, it was small. Then bigger. Then she couldn’t stop.

“This is ridiculous!” she said. “I look like I got attacked by a hairbrush!”

“You did,” Skipper said. “And you lost.”

Barbie grinned.

“You know what? Fine. Let’s do today anyway.”

“Like that?” Raquelle asked.

“Like this,” Barbie corrected.

So they did.

Barbie walked her fashion show runway in bunny slippers. The crowd loved it. She piloted her spaceship with messy hair. She baked cupcakes with flour all over her face.

And somehow?

It was the best day she’d ever had.

Later that night, as the Dreamhouse settled and the sparkles faded, everything slowly returned to normal.

Perfect hair. Perfect outfit. Perfect Barbie.

She looked in the mirror again.

Still flawless.

But now she knew something she didn’t before.

Perfect wasn’t nearly as fun.

From downstairs, Ken shouted, “GOOD NEWS! I FIXED THE BLENDER!”

Barbie paused.

“…Don’t touch it!” she yelled, sprinting out of the room.

Because some things, even in Malibu, were better a little messy.


✎ 3.25.2026 ~ Daily #25 ❀ ~ 652 words ౨ৎ
⌗ ʙᴀᴄᴋ ᴛᴏ ꜱᴀꜰꜰʀᴏɴ'ꜱ ɴᴏᴛᴇʙᴏᴏᴋ ⋆˚࿔

#1 I sit alone on the pier, waiting for something interesting happen. I watch distant ships, and I imagine they are moving islands as I watch the passage of time carry the world ever onward, but in the time I have blinked so many and yet so few things have changed I don’t know how to describe the infantasoumsly small world that plagues us. The ships have moved fractions of an inch in the time I have blinked, and yet, the world has shifted once again.
I get up. I need not stay in a place so far disconnected from the world that it’s unknown whether I will return from it to my home. But I’m up now anyways, so I embark on the journey through the woods that will take me back to the home I have stayed in, though not the one I have grown in, following the dark steps of the pathway until I see a light poking through the trees. I don’t consider what it could be, because the anxiety that once plagued me reagrding our home being lost in a fire is gone now—there is nothing in that house I couldn’t stand to lose, including my cold-blooded aunt, bless her icy heart.
The idea comes to me in a flurry of thought. No, her home is not on fire, though she deserves nothing more—but it could be. I think of Imogen, of the town, hidden and blindsighteded from the disaster this house has brougth into the world. The only thing we would lose is a wolf in sheep’s clothing, as well as the records of the Infama that had served us little good so far.
I knew what had happened, and the records kept under the rug in the living room gave us no light or courtesy at all when it came to the event. Why had she taken me in? I can be sure the Infama made her, though I lack insight into why she should agree given what had happened to her own brother and the other members who dared to defy the order’s wishes. I had every opportunity, silver lighter in my pocket, where it had stayed from when my father had given it to me until now.
The memories flood back, and the anger almost makes me do it, but I have to hold myself back into the group is ready to move into position. It’s hard to do, but I keep reminding myself why we’re here—if I play my cards right, we get what we want and if we lose, the only thing we have to lose is our lives, and none of us are particularly attached to ours.
I flcik the lighter back and forth in my hand, watching it light up the darkness, tempting me to join it with its golden flame. I could. Click of a button, right? And it all could go up in flames.
And I’m so tempted. I bet Pippa’s already gone off to bed, and she won’t see the flames or smell the smoke until its too late.
“It won’t bring anyone back,” I can hear Imogen telling me. I know that, of course I do—but I also know I’d feel most connected to the family I lost as I watchde the flames twist and shiver and dance over the graev of the person who stole them from me.
They can’t come back, but she could join them. I’ve never been one to believe in heaven and hell, but I sure hoped that when Pippa died she wouldn’t end up with my family after she was responsible for their deaths. Her and her friends thinking htey could defy natural order and pick me over them.
It just wasn’t fair.








#2 The idea comes to me in a flurry of thought. No, her home is not on fire, though she deserves nothing more—but it could be. I think of Imogen, of the town, hidden and blindsighteded from the disaster this house has brougth into the world. The only thing we would lose is a wolf in sheep’s clothing, as well as the records of the Infama that had served us little good so far.
I knew what had happened, and the records kept under the rug in the living room gave us no light or courtesy at all when it came to the Unraveling. Why had Pippa taken me in? I can be sure the Infama made her, though I lack insight into why she should agree given what had happened to her own brother and the other members who dared to defy the order’s wishes. I had every opportunity, silver lighter in my pocket, where it had stayed from when my father had given it to me until now.
The memories flood back, and the anger almost makes me do it, but I have to hold myself back into the group is ready to move into position. It’s hard to do, but I keep reminding myself why we’re here—if I play my cards right, we get what we want and if we lose, the only thing we have to lose is our lives, and none of us are particularly attached to ours.
#3 So I tiptoe inside instead, shutting the door behind me, lighting firmly in my pocket where it has been and where it will stay until the day my fate is in equal to theirs. I lift the rug, and I slip down the cellar steps until I’m within the records room, my feet uncomfortable on the rough concrete floor. I’ve been down here so many times by now, with myself, with Imogen and Marco and Cameron, and we’ve never discovered anything useful. We’ve barely discovered anything, since all the records are tinged at the ends from seemingly a fire that raged through here. The metal file cabinets sort of helped them out, but nothing really came of it. I opened multiple drawers and cupboards, but again, there was nothing that aided me at all. Any paper that wans’t completely destroyed was blank, or contained nothing but a name or alias, simple graphics and small drawings that I gusss were menat to convery something. What that something was, I don’t know. And I began to doubt i ever would, when I stumbled onto one sheet of paper, tucked behind a cupboard, the edges seared off by the rage of the flames.
But the rest is intact. And I see the diagram, the machine they used to bring me back and the one they could’ve used to save every single person in my family.
I’m enraged. I’m vaguely aware of my vision going red as I take the lighter back out of my pocket, sliding it between my fingers carefully, flicking it open and closed again before holding up the sheet of paper and watching the flames climb it slowly until it bursts into a color of flame like no other.
The sheet falls to the floor, the embers catching on other papers and scattering around the room.
The smoke has never smelled so sweet. The fire has never looked more beautiful.

#4 But as it burns, the fires peels away the wallpaper and reveals a silent, sturdy metal door. The fire hasn’t ravaged it, neither the one before nor the one now. It’s unlocked, and as the hair on my arms prickles up I grab the knob and force it open, hoping that whatever it waiting on the other side is not a living member of the Infama.
It’s not. It’s an additional room, this one containing twice the amount of records as the first and in much more detail, not a single page flicking with a burn mark.
I read each one carefully. I don’t know how long I’m down there, but the heat of the fie one door over rages and rages and the room heats slowly to the point of being unbearable. I flick through every record, every single change made to the machine before it was first used on someone named Jonathan Beard. I turn off the fglaslighr on my phone and google his name—nothing comes up.
Oh, that’s why: the paper features a red ink line, saying “failure” in its blood ink.
They killed whoever this Jonathan was and tried and dailed to bring him back.
The next was Imogen, followed by Marco.
I was fourth, and Cameron was the most recent. All sent to this area, all convinced they were just lucky (or unlucky, depending on how you look at it).
They did this to us. They killed us, or the part of us that died in each and every “accident” brought here to be supervised by Pippa, the sister of one of the victims, as we stood under her watchful eye and she let us get away.
I found the records, but at what cost? We lost everything, we lost part of ourselves to try and bring the Infama to justice and somewhere deep inside, we knew it would never happen.
Not unless we did it ourselves. And we would, I realized, the heat of the blaze tingling my hair, cut noticeably short.
Stacy was killled in that accident—Infama, meet the new me. I am comign for you, and I am bringing the most hell you will ever know.
I watch the lighter flick to life again, stuffing any important papers in my pockers before throwing the silver trinket over my shoulder and jumping through the window and into the cold, wet grass outside it.
#5 - can be found at the end of my weekly.
#6 I sit there for a long time, until the dew of the grass has soaked through my shorts. I don’t count the hours, but I lay there long enough to see the sun peak its equally flaming head above the trees. The house isn’t on fire, at least not yet—but I can still feel the heat from the window. Slowly, I stand up and head back for the pier, hoping to beat the authorities, or worse, the Infama, there.
I get there quickly, or at least it feels quick since my brain is otherwise. My sailboat is still there, rotten and rather bad smelling, but operatorable. I sit down in it, but I can’t make my hands move out to untie the rope holding it to the pier, os I can slide away into the disturbing stillness of the water.
Imogen is here, Cameron, Marco, even Madison and Jacob. Madison and Jacob aren’t here because of the whole cult thing, but just by happenstance and for a while I loved them both and now I don’t know how to feel—the world has tossed and turned and chewed me up and spit me out.
Two months ago, I was Stacy McCullen and I lived an amazing life in our house in LA, and then the Infama claimed their lives to save mine.
All three of them menat the world to me, and now they mean the world to no one because they aren’t even in this world anymore. I untie the rope and drift slowly out to sea.
The wind is dead, so i don’t go far. I can see the pier, and even the house from where I sit, but I don’t move. I barely breath but I stay close enough to shore to imagine myself coming back to save my friends in the nick of time, wishing more than anything that I could just save one person.
The waves lull me away. I lay down, my head resting against the solid wood of the bottom of the boat. I don’t fall asleep, but I want to—I want to froget everything. I want to pretend it never happened, and if I’m lucky, some sort of storm will roll in and take me with it to the bottom of the sea.
But I think of Imogen, the look on her face when she realized how many lives have been stolen by the Infama. Not just her father and not just mine, either.
“You need to calm your temper,” Cameron had told me. “Fire just bruns things down.”
I didn’t know how to put into words—that’s all I want to do. I want to watch all of them brun and see the looks on their faces when they realize the reason they failed wans’t because of science, or the government, but because one teenage girl burned their organization to the ground.
“We have to be calm about this.” Imogen had grabbed my shoulder when she said that, looking so deep into my eyes I thought I was falling into her soul. “If we burn them down, the only thing that happens is we go to jail—or worse.”
I knew she was right. I had been acting like fire, if my actions were any evidence of that, and we had to be more like water. We had to work silently, under the surface so we could take them down in one fell swoop instead of a depressing cycle of fires. Water beats fire, or something like that—Imogen kept saying that.
I don’t really agree with the message. We’re already fine as we are—Imogen is the water, the silent storm that keeps us alive and safe. I’m the fire, and I keep us angry and vengeful.
I don’t want to move on. Cameron is like the ice, though that isn’t that much different than water—and I mostly just say that because he’s ice cold. He’s all strategy, but his plans don’t often work because we’re up against an ancient cult who turned science against itself to bring us back from the dead. And for what?
That’s the qurstion, isn’t it? Why? None of the records explained that, and I guess we know why. They don’t want this getting out at any cost.
I sit up and take one of the oars out of the side, rowing myself back to shore.
I run, faster than I’ve gone before to our hideout, carved into the woodlands.
#7 No one is there when I arrive, but I don’t think anything of it. It’s early in the morning and I haven’t called a meeting. Imogen popped her head up from behind a desk, forcing me to retract my former statement.
“What are you dong here, Stacy?” she asked, her heart shaped lips pursing.
I blinked. “We need to rethink our strategy.”
She hmmed. “Yeah, I agree.”
“The whole fire-water thing isn’t working out, because even when we work our hardest, nothing is done—we can’t be one step ahead, and we can’t outsmart them or outfight them.”
Imogen smiled. “I disagree. We can otusmart them, we just have to, you know, be smart about it. For example, if you kept the setting of fires to a minimum that’d be great.”
I smiled too, unconsciously. “Thanks for the suggestion. ANyway, we need a game plan—peope are going to get suspicuosu if this keep sup.”
She exhaled softly. “You’re right. The best course of action is to regroup and spend all of our time mamig a plan, but we have to keep in mind that this organizatin is older than any of us, any of our living family members… older than anyone in the world. They aren’t about to go down without a fight, and if they do lose, it’ll be a lot on us.”
I nodded. “We could brun down the whole tonw.”
“And Madison?” she aksed, rolling her eyes. “But anyway, that won’t work out well at all. You’re right, it can’t be this fire vs water thing, that’s just a cliche. But I was right about you needing to calm down, I know you’re desperate revenge. We all are. But we have to stay calm or they will all get away and then what have we accomplished? Nothing.”
I sighed dramatically. “Fine, I know you’re right. But hat can we actually do? I’ve checked out our options, and they’re pretty limited. We could go on the run, but what then? Just accept the injustice? I don’t think so.”
Imogen blinked harshly, raising an eyebrow. “It’s not simple. We won’t find an amazing solution, the best thing we’ll find is a solution that doens’t end up with all of us dead for real. There are so many members, right? Like hundreds. We could stage a fake meeting, but I doubt anyone would show up if members can even call meetings at all. We could try and hunt them down but the records don’t give us muc.”
I held back what I knew about the other records room. “I bet Pippa has the members.”
Imogen gave me a pathetic smile. “She’d never give them to us. To be honest, I don’t even think she has them, because wouldn’t it be crazy dangerous to keep a list of people supporting you in like a drawer osmewhere? I don’t think that’s plausible. I don’t doubt she knows some of them, but… I think finding them all is a lost cause. They abandoned that location a long time, anyway, right?”
I nodded sadly. “After all the clues I found, and then… nothing. I don’t know what to do.”
Imogen’s face lit up, her lips twitched upwards. “Is there any way we could go back to LA for like, a day?”
I raised an eyebrow. “Maybe. The funeral was a long time ago, but… god, I don’t know. School event? Clearing out my parent’s house? Think I have to wait until I’m 18 for that one.”
“Ask Pippa, maybe she’ll say yes.”
“Are we talking about the same Pippa? Word I can’t say Pippa?”
Imogen bit back a laugh. “Yes, but like, think about it! She can’t just say no.”
“I’m… pretty sure she can.”
She rolled her eyes. “It’s always a no if you don’t ask.”
“Or she knows we’re lying and kills us all and buries us in the woods!”
Her eyes widened sarcastically. “Just ask. Please, for me! Just aks and maybe we could check out the scene.”
“It was a car accident, Im! It was cleared up within two hours. We won’t find anything, and no one is just going to give us their records. This is hopeless.”
“Keep your head up, Stace. We will get this figured out, and then you’ll get your wish and watch them all burn.”

to bea, 2100 words!

Hi bea!!! Im so sorry for taking so long to reply, i kept seeing it and wanting to reply and then my motivation just disappeared </3 but anyway, im here now!!

Ooooo that sounds super cool!!! I would say my favorite part of making character is giving them different personalities, i know that sounds basic but seeing the way different people react to the same things is really interesting to me

What do i like about designing character? Hmmmmm probably adding symbolic or symmetric designs into their outfits or hair or color schemes, to make it all tie together! I dont remember if you do art or not, but if you do, whats your favorite thing about character design?

I do indeed have a lot of sharks i have three blahajs, one of which is technically fake ahkahajagah and blahaj is a blue shark, i have a fluffy great white shark, a leopard shark, another great white, a blacktip reef shark, and for my birthday i got a shark outfit :sparkles: pretty soon ill have a potato dressed as a hammerhead shark and a shark pencil case which im really excited for!!!

It’s been a while since you wrote this (again so sorry!) but i totally get that. My goal is 100k and im a bit behind, so im trying to catch up by writing this very long letter. Im at about 71k at the moment, which is my record but i dont feel proud of myself because of how disheartening it is to see people at so much more :sob: alas, after this session i am planning to take several steps back from swc due to a lot of factors, but hopefully ill come around from time to time to see what everyone is up to!!

Ahhh i know right!!! I can see why people are scared of them because they’re fairly large (about eight feet if i remember correctly) but theyre so sweet and i’d love to pet one one day <3

Oh noooooooo </3 i hope you caen have a semi cool birthday this year!!!

Yeah, that’s super true. Honestly, i just get so frustrated with it thrat i doesnt really feel worth it to me </3 i’ve been learning machine, but i’ve done hand before too.

Oooooo i like your solutions a lot actually!!! The issue is sort of rooted in lack of options… with Lyisha on their trail, there’s nowhere to go, with out without Madelyn. The reason they made it out the first time was part of Lyisha’s plan, which ended up being pinned on Sec ( i dont know if i mentioned her before ) who played the whole thing off like a misunderstanding, then immediately turned around and gave it up for Madelyn. Silver is a more black and white type prrson, and she doesn’t see the reasons for sec’s betrayal as options or a way out, but rather another way to destory her and their relationship. Sec’s quiet and more or less submissive and meak nature flips on its head the second she’s with Madeyn, and it enrages Silver, but what choice do any of them have? Sec was the person silver trusted most, because the majority of the group has been nothing but unreliable and problem causing for her. However, the biggest issue Silver has run into is her lack of underrstandign for anyone. If she could see past the finger pointed at Madelyn, she could see what really lies behind Sec’s action— the truth.
THis has been… ranting with zy ;D

I’m so glad it helped in some way!!! Your ideas have helped a ton too, i dont know if im the only one who feels this way but i feel like using other peoples ideas, even when they’re suggesitng them to me feels like stealing :sob: ive been trying to gert over that because there is no 100% original idea and whatnot, but its hard!!!

OMG wait youre right— i didnt realize that until now!!! They both need a book thats such a funny coincidence :eyes: i love the uncanny utopia thing, i find it a lot more fun to work with than an evil goverment almost? Like with a dystopia if everyone hates the government its a lot easier to take them down, but when the government can paint you as crazy for doubting them, its so so so much harder!! Everything is “perfect” until you aren’t.

Thank you!!! Honestly, she isnt super likeable and i didnt want her to be. Coming up with flaws is usually so hard for me, but it also has to feel realistic. Silver is egotistical, and she always thinks she’s right— everyone is beneath her and no one could ever catch up. Except… life doesnt work like that. She can’t be the best at everything and she isn’t always right, if the heist goen wrong is any evidence of that. She sort of has the opposite story to my other protagonist; while SIlver goes from being rude and dismissive to being sort of nice sometimes, Stacy goes from being positive and optimistic to being os hell bent on revenge she’ll do anything to get it. Not a one for one inversion, but i feel like they’re pretty close opposites!!! What do you think about character flaws?

Ooooo that story idea sounds so cool!!! I love the idea of being able to transfer worlds while you’re asleep. That actually gives me sort of another idea, for the book! Im not sure of the genre, but it sounds like there are entities guardian these portals, so what if one of them had the book? Or, alternatively, if there is any sort of palace or imperial grounds, the book could be there!! Just spit balling, of course you dont need to take any of these suggestions seriously ahakdhahda

Yep!! A live whale shark birth has never been recorded, but we know this because a whale shark once washed up on shore with more than 300 embryos, all growing at different rates if i remember correctly :0 the most aggressive sharks are great white, tiger, and bull, in that order!! One time toko saw a tiger shark while they were scuba diving, and i think thats super cool as long as he was careful!! If a shark is every coming towards you, you can push down on the space between its eyes (like its forehead almost?) and it should swim away. Hopefully. Sorry if i already told you this fact…. :eyes:

I hope you had a great day and a few more since i last wrote!!
Well this is probably about to get long since my goal is 10k from letters, so this should get about 1k more words :eyes: currently im at about 71k i think which unfortunately puts me quite a bit behind, im supposed to be at 82.5k, but i think we’ll get there regardless. I organized everything by word count, and ive finished my ranting doc, my prompt doc, my weekly doc, my daily doc, and my cyberpunk sprints doc, but that’s it. i’m hoping to finish my word wars doc but that might be a lost cause at this point, its art 4.7k when my goal was 10k :skull: initially i had planned to get 30k for my novel, but im at less than 1k at this point. If i finished that, i would be at my goal, but the amount of planning i need for it is so much more than anything else. I wrote a lot of swc words ABOUT swc, mostly talking about the things i dislike about how its run and suggesting ways it could be better, but i think sharing them will probably cost me a leading spot in the future.

Hmmmm today i went through my closet!! Can you tell im looking for more things to write about? Anyway, i got rid of a pair of really high platform boots, a newsprint shirt, a corset type shirt, a button up shirt, two pairs of shorts, three pairs of gloves, and a bunch of sewing stuff. My mom really wanted me to hem a dress that our neighbor bought, but i dont like sewing so i havent done it it was nice to go through my closet, i was mostly doing it to make an aestheitc video but i never actually finished sooooo i dont know where thats going!!! If you’ve ever watched kay chung’s studying videos, thats what i want to do except i dont want to study :sob:

Would you say you’re more organized or disorganized? For me, im very very very very very very organized, its something i pride myself on. I love having a clean closet where i can just instantly find what i want, same thing with my ikea furniture fun fact i just discovered today!! I dont have a single drawer in my room, so everything has to look really tidy to not look super messy. The hardest part of organizing for me is probably my stuffed animals, since i have so many (and especially shark ones). But anyway, irts fine!! Maybe i could try describing my room, since its such a pain to post pictures on scratch. When you open the door, to the left is my bed ( i have a day bed, so it sort of looks like a couch. I think its weird, but its fine i guess! It has these little silver dots with spikes on it, so i’ve been peeling those out) and it houses all my stuffed sharks and my pillows and my strawberry milk squishmallow which is admittedly not a shark. To the right, next to my flag, is a 3 by 4 ikea shelving unit with a lot of plants on it. I cant have real plants because they’re poisonous to cats, but i like the fake ones anyway. Funny story, one time i tried to grow a real plant, but after a month it hadn’t grown at all—and i figured out why. I had never, not even once, watered it.

Anyway back to my room!! On the top, there are three plants with the dragon lily in the middle, a succulent on each side, a candle on the right side and a little box with my zodiac on the left side, where i store my quarters and my tiny dinosaur friends. My space heater is in front of it, and moving to the wall opposite the door, it has a window and thats where my desk sits, right in front of it. My desk houses my ipad, my pc and my laptop, as well as my variety of lip balms :skull: it also has a fake plant, and, if im not working out, my water bottle!!

To the left of it is my two shelves, the top with my desk organizor, my headphones and my wallet, the bottom with my handmade bag and ANOTHER plant. My desk organizaor, though not on my desk, has a lot of stuff in it (sadly…) including my genshin merch and my junk journal stuff!! Speaking of which, have you played genshin or have you ever thought of junk journaling? For me, its like part of me wants to collect everything and the other part of me wants to own nothing and be super minimalist, so i let my collecting self go crazy with my junk journal that i admittedly started yesterday…

Okay, anyway! To the right of my bed (if youre standing in front of it, facing it that is) is mty other ikea shelf thing, its a 1 by 3 though! The top shelf is for night essentials, chapstick, lotion, that kind of stuff, the middle is for my pillowcases, and the bottom is for my stuffed animals!!! My comforter is really fluffy and soft, but its super hard to clean as well. And i’m sort of a germaphobe, so it grosses me out a bit but its fine!!!

Well, i guess thats about it. Excuse my ranting, and, even when the session is over i’d love to continue writing to you!!! Though no pressure if you dont want to <3 i hope you’ve had a good week or two since i last respond… again, so sorry about that!! I completely lost motivation, but i can practically smell the finish line now, so we’re in the home stretch. Alas, this condlues my letters for this session! I hope to see you soon, and i hope you reply but no worries if youre busy <3 have a super great day bea!!

Paranormal bulletin task- 204 word prediction for So Long and Thanks For All the Fish

Trying to guess where the hitchhikers guide is going is largely futile, however, I am estimating that in ‘So Long and Thanks For All the Fish’ Ford, after seeing that the entry has returned, would go back to earth to find Arthur, and how the earth managed to reappear would either never be explained or play a central role in the plot. Not to forget that vengeful tooth-bat creature and the mice that still want Arthur’s brain. I’m guessing that the bat-creature will definitely make another cameo, either as someone else Arthur has accidentally killed, or another ‘in dream void nightmare cave statue visit’ type thing. Since I have no other guesses, and by theory of Occam’s razor (which is a horrible way to predict H2G2’s plot, but I only have one guess so it's all just a dingo's kidney to me) I’m going to guess that this story would focus on how the earth came back, while also including the drunk girl in it as well. The mice did mention they were working on earth 2, but I’m assuming that’s not the one Arthur found himself on, as it had already been revealed that it was very different from earth 1, namely the ‘lovely fjords’ Slartibartfast was supposedly building in Africa.

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↻ ◁ II ▷ ↺

◪ Noͦ 26
Wordcount: 420/400
Topic: Deleted Scene
Points earned: 300+150 for proof
Cabin: Cyberpunk

In The Cruel Prince, Lady Asha burns the letters Cardan sends to Jude in an act of asking for forgiveness. Hold your breath for this, not one letter- no, not two letters- no, not THREE letters- FIVE DISTINCT LETTERS. You do not know the insurmountable rage I had felt when this had been revealed. So here is my beautiful addition to what happens to Lady Asha and why she should have never been created in the first place.

—

Cardan sat at his table, writing his fifth letter to Jude. Was he stupid for exiling her? Yes, absolutely, because now he was extremely lonely and had no idea what to do. Did he truly think that Jude would be able to see through his riddle? After all, she was so incredibly smart, one of the reasons he had married her. So, ultimately, this should be no problem for her. Maybe she was ignoring him on purpose.

Did he want to overcome his big, fat ego and enter the mortal world himself to find her?
Absolutely not. That was a bridge he would not cross. If Jude didn't want him, she could stay away from him all she wanted. That would be her fault.
…
Actually, no, this was torture. He needed her back by his side. Cardan was probably the number one yearner on the booktook website (“Huh,” he thought to himself. “What is booktok?”), And he immediately made his way to the magical postal system. After putting his letter in the bag, he turned around for a split second just to make sure it was there, before catching his own mother holding a lighter up to the letter.

“Mother!” He shouted, pulling out a bazooka that Lady Asha very much deserved throughout this entire series from his back pocket. “What are you doing?”

“Okay, stay calm, son.” Lady Asha was very confused at the sight of the bazooka, putting the letter back down in the bag. “I was just doing it for your safety.”

“My safety, as if!” He scoffed, aiming the bazooka at her face. “You left me to feed from a cat when I was a baby!”

“Okay, that's true, but the cat's milk was pretty tasty lowk-”

“Yeah, I've had enough of you,” Cardan then blasted the bazooka, once and for all ending Lady Asha and blowing her into outer space. Jude receives the letter, she comes back home, and EVERYBODY LIVES HAPPILY EVER AFTER AND CARDAN DOES NOT TURN INTO A SNAKE
xoxo

TAKE NOTES HOLLY BLACK

March 26- What We Do In The Shadows Deleted Scenes- 897

1.
A girl in blonde pigtails lead a small gaggle of younger kids up to the house, this supposedly abandoned house, with occupants never seen walking in the daylight, celbrating halloween for the first time since anyone could remember? Prime dare material, and Elle had fallen prey to it as she lead her group up the steps. She knocked on the door, summoning all the cheery pride she could muster, when the door finally opened, casting warm light onto her and her troupe of campers, she was met with two strange looking men. One of them was dressed very convincingly as an old fashioned kind of man, and the other- well. He had funny hair, she supposed. “Trick or treat!” her voice was backed by a choruc of toddlers, “Oh!” The old fashioned man seemed delighted, “Vladislav- we have our first tricking or treating!”
“Here.” said the man with funny hair, as he took a handful of candy and chucking it at the kids. “Enjoy your cand-” as he was to finish his words, a crash was heard above them, and all the lights in the house shut off. The whole thing was lit only by the flickering jack-o-lanterns in the front door, although they definitely looked more mauled than carved. That one on the left just looked like someone took a bite out of it. As this thought hit elle, so did somthing else. She saw something pale, thin, with large bloodshot eyes, and too many too big too sharp teeth for a normal sized mouth. Elle screamed aloud, but found the ground disappearing below her feet as she seemed to rise upwatds and begin flying. This brief but magical experience ended a lot faster than it began, and Elle was dropped.

2.
A voice rang out from the basement, “Deacon!” overly singsongy for the film of anxiety that punctuated every letter. “Deacon! If you- if it would not be too bothersome, can you bring the spray bottle downto me? Petyr got out of his tomb again and the cabinet is too- well I can’t qvite reach-” a green plastic spray bottle flew past Viago’s head and smacked into the wall behind him. “-oh thank you Deacon! That’s very kind of you, but I still can’t quite- well you missed me by just a little bit and-” Viago’s words, stilted with an overly cheery inflection stopped abruptly as, for the second time in what was a far too narrow timeframe, a small -someting- hit the wall behind him. As the brown furry somthing smacked into the wall, a burst of smoke revealed- “Nick! Hi Nick, I think Deacon sent you here to just give me a little bit of a hand- if you could just pass me the, okay. Thank you, Nick.” Now that Viago held the bottle in his hand, he knocked on the trapdoor below him “Hi Petyr” he said very gently, as if baiting a cat “Petyr, Deacon, Nick and I have talked- ” Nick groaned in pain “-And we all agree that you’re being a little bit disruptive- to, well to the house, and since we are all staying inside today and, I’ve been cleaning and you’re just being a little bit intrusive, I think, Petyr. Because- you see, I do need to clear out some of your leftovers, the floor is not the best place to leave spinal columns, Petyr, and if you do not behave nicely and get back in the coffin soon, I have the spray bottle, held- holding in my hand, Petyr.” a very aggressive hiss met his ears. “I do not wish to resort to violence, Petyr, but you leave me very little choice,” Viago stepped back and let the trapdoor swing upwards, immeadiately pushing the nozzle of the bottle into the gap and spraying a mist of dilute holy water down into the basement. The hissing intensified as Petyr felt the faint, freezing sting, backing further into the basement. Upon hearing this, Viago opened the hatch further, keeping the nozzle ahead of him, spraying and backing Petyr into the corner where his coffin was. After succesfully forcing petyr into the tomb. Viago, still holding the nozzle of the bottle ahead of him in ptotection like a gun in a horror film, pushed the heavy granite lid back into place. “We did it! Deacon! Nick! Petyr is back in the tomb! Hooray for the flatmates!”

3.
Despite all the trouble with Nick and the spray bottle and that, Viago did end up putting off the cleaning of for at least another decade or so. I mean- he was busy! Either way, they needed to move the heavy granite tomb to clean under it, the needed to stop Petyr from attempting to escape and getting fried to dust, and they needed a supervisor, in case things got ugly. The tomb was the easiest of 3 problems to solve, they simply combined their efforts and moved it out into the front yard. As for the second one, simply put, the lid to the tomb had been bolted to the body of it, meaning that Petyr should stay nice and put. Last of all, Stu. Stu was a little sqeamish and wasn’t quite interested in power washing blood, sweat, tears, bile, urine, stomach acid, and a variety of other unspecified bodily fluids off the floor of a concrete basement. His loss.

A/N: I'm falling asleep. I can't touchtype and wrote like 30% with my eyes closed, If you're wonderinf about the typos, I just- yeah. Motivation is still low. Motivation Mango t=pleSE. WWDITS 2014 is just one big sh_tpost and I only really felt like writing crack/chatfics (because LOW MOTIVATION) so uhh- eah. I think I did okay with Viago's dialogue though? His voice was just bouncing around in my skull. Silly little german man I guess.


Main post- you know the drill

Weekly 4
2582 words

I read for half an hour for one of the parts of the weekly! I was going to insert a picture, but it's too late in the day for me to be bothered <3
I really wanted to keep with the Camp-Half Blood theme, so we’re going with that!

“Three must find another one,
Another half-blood to carry on,
For numbers in these lands are weak,
But only one can this treasure seek.

Go forth into the treacherous cave,
Where a serpent lies in its dormant grave,
Awaken the serpent from its sleep,
And find the half-blood that it keeps.

The half-blood will be called on a journey of their own,
A journey with monsters they must face alone,
Poisonous toads will hinder their way,
A golden apple, treasure, will be found,
To keep the half-bloods before they are downed.”


Rachel woke with a start, her heart pounding wildly in her chest. She was light-headed, and when she tried to sit up she fell back down, her head spinning. She hauled herself out of bed, tottering ungracefully towards the sink. She splashed freezing water onto her sweaty face, sighing with relief as her head and sight cleared.

Rachel frowned. There was a funny taste in her mouth. Smoky, also like vegetables?

Then she realised what had just happened. She had received a prophecy - hence the green smoke. In that case, she’d probably been out for a whole day. This time the prophecy felt different. There was something in her gut, telling her she was a big part of this. She had to be part of whatever this prophecy was to do with.

_________________________________________________________________________

Rachel sat opposite Chiron, listening intently as he recited the prophecy to her. His face was dark and serious as he finished the prophecy.
“I think our numbers are depleting. There are less and less half-bloods each year. We’re going extinct, Rachel. We have to keep our generations going - the world needs us. Do you know what worldwide situations half-bloods have saved? It was a Hephaestus kid who came up with the COVID vaccine. That was a big thing.”
Rachel was burning with curiosity.
“What does the prophecy mean? Golden apples and toads?” Rachel asked, “The gods barely even create half-bloods anymore! How will this treasure help?”
Chiron furrowed his brow and scratched his chin, his hooves pawing the ground nervously.
“Well, I heard of a story from a long time ago. When the gods were so desperate to have their power on earth that they created a magical fruit. Anyone who was related to a half-blood, even from centuries ago, could eat that fruit and inherit, or share, their powers.”

Rachel glanced at Chiron.
“Do you mean the golden apple that caused the Trojan War?” She asked, tilting her head in confusion.
He shook his head. “This is a different golden apple. It is guarded by poisonous toads.”
Rachel nodded. “Right. Makes total sense. Back to the prophecy. Are we going on a quest?”
Chiron paused for a moment before answering. “Yes, I believe that will be necessary. However, the prophecy seems to hint that where you are going is somewhere utterly treacherous. The Caves of Delphi. They are guarded by a dormant serpent, who has been asleep for centuries. You will have to wake this serpent in order to destroy it so you can get to the other side.”
His expression was distant and stormy when he finished, an anxious look in his eyes.
“We need to find others for this quest,” Rachel told him, “Percy and Annabeth are away, bringing back a half-blood from Oklahoma. We need to keep back strong people to defend the camp. We need strong people for this quest. Who should we bring?”

Chiron trotted out of the door towards the Dining Pavilion. Rachel had to jog to keep up with him, until they reached the long colonnade, heaving with half-bloods vying for good seats on the benches. They waited until everyone had their food, and then Chiron cleared his throat.
“We have a new prophecy. A new quest. This quest will take you to the Caves of Delphi, where a dormant serpent lies guarding a half-blood who will keep our Greek generations going for years to come. We need three brave campers to volunteer for the quest.”

The campers started to whisper to each other, the Ares campers jostling each other excitedly, some of the others with nervous faces.
Rachel nudged Chiron.
“I think I should be part of this quest. There was a feeling in me - I have to go, Chiron.” She whispered urgently.
He nodded silently.
“Rachel will be our first volunteer for this quest!” He announced.

Some of the campers cast dirty looks at her. She shuddered, trying to ignore the tears that appeared at the corners of her eyes. She held her head high as the campers grew louder and louder.
“I volunteer!”
Rachel glanced up curiously. It was Eli, a camper from Hephaestus. Rachel smiled. She liked him. He was very stoic, very calm, and very practical.
Chiron seemed to like the idea as well. “Very well. Rachel and Eli are our first two. We need one more person.”
A girl with olive skin and braids stood up.
“I want to go,” She said, a little timidly.
Phoebe, daughter of Athena. Reserved, creative and smart. Chiron gazed around the Dining Pavilion, at the campers assembled in front of him and smiled.
“We have our three.”

_________________________________________________________________________

Rachel sprawled over her bed, poring over ancient books that she had hauled from the Athena cabin. She had one day. One day. That was all the time she had to prepare. Then they were going to Delphi.
The pages were coated with dust, and every time she flicked to another page, it billowed up into a large cloud, making her sneeze. She had found as many books as she could on the Serpent of Delphi. The pile of tomes in the corner of her room was concerningly high, tilting this way and that.

She had traced her fingers over pages filled with detailed inked sketches of monstrous serpents, baring their fangs dripping with poison, facing down mortals and eating them whole. The serpent was a muddy yellow, its scales dull, its eyes a brilliant green, its tail dotted with dagger-like prongs.
She turned the page and found word swimming in front of her. “The Mortal who Escaped the Serpent.” She read. “A young boy, barely old enough to write, was travelling through Delphi with his parents, to visit a great festival in Athens. He stumbled off the path and into the serpent’s jaws. Yet somehow, he disappeared. He had slipped into the serpent’s lair, and beyond to a bountiful land with the Golden Apple, guarded by poisonous toads. He is said to have grown up amongst these animals, learning how to feed himself and hide from the serpent. He is believed to still be there, to this day.”

Rachel grinned. This was the person they were looking for. A boy - maybe nearly a man by this time - who would keep the half-bloods going for centuries longer. A half-blood who could grant power to hundreds, thousands of people around the world. This was who they had to find. If he could escape the serpent, so could they.

_________________________________________________________________________

Rachel yawned, moonlight filtering into her room at Camp Half-Blood. She noticed a strange silhouette in the doorway.
“Who’s that?” She mumbled through another yawn. The silhouette came closer. It seemed to be slightly horse-shaped.
“Chiron,” came the answer. “I have something to show you. Meet me in the attic.”
Rachel rolled her eyes. She had only just fallen asleep. She stumbled after Chiron, hoping he didn’t notice her unicorn pyjamas.
“You should get centaur pyjamas.” He told her over his shoulder. She sighed. Oh well.

They clambered up the creaking stairs towards the attic, Chiron struggling in his centaur form. Rachel slipped past him and opened the door. She hated this place. It was creepy. She thought of the oracle that used to be there, mummified. She hoped she would never be like that. She heard hooves trotting behind her.
“Follow me,” Chiron ordered, heading towards the opposite wall, behind where the old oracle used to be. He lifted up a box and stepped on a floorboard which clattered away across the room. A staircase shimmered into view, the singular space of a floorboard widening into a whole room.

“Welcome to the secret lair.” Chiron announced proudly. He let Rachel in and followed her. Rachel found herself in a dusty plain room, scattered with crates and boxes. It was quite narrow and long, stretching the length of the Big House.
“Why are we here?” Rachel asked. It seemed like a pretty reasonable question.
“Ah, yes!” said Chiron, as though he were just remembering. “I like to call this the Secret Lair for a bit of drama. But all that’s in here is some resources for your journey.”
He made his way over to a crate brimming with shards of glass and daggers. He pulled out a mirror.
“Rachel, you are our Oracle. We know that you can communicate with us through an Iris message, but that costs. If you look in this mirror and say ‘the Big House’ then you will receive direct communication to me.”
He handed her the mirror and moved onto another box.
“This box contains some of our most prized weaponry, created by Hephaestus campers when Camp Half-Blood first came into existence. You and Eli and Phoebe can take your pick.”
Rachel took the box, her legs buckling under the weight of it. Chiron turned towards the door.
“That’s it?” She demanded incredulously. “You woke me up in the middle of the night for that?”
He shrugged.
“Yep.”

_________________________________________________________________________

Rachel stood outside the Delphi shrine to Boreas, the North Wind, alongside Eli and Phoebe. They had become a good team over the past few weeks. They had braved monsters that entered their path, they had found safe travel towards Delphi, they had become good friends. Now they needed means of travel to the Caves of Delphi. The caves were surrounded by thick undergrowth, with sharp thistles and poisoned ivy.

They needed to negotiate with Boreas, the North Wind god, to allow them to the caves. He was their only option. Rachel had no other ideas for what they could do if he refused.
“Come on, let’s go.” Rachel told the other two, walking confidently up towards the shrine. She dug some Monster Munch out of her bag and a handful of grapes and placed them on the shrine. She gestured for the other two to do the same. Eli offered a piece of stale bread and some Mini Cheddars, and Phoebe offered some squished pain au chocolat.
Rachel knelt in front of the shrine.
“Oh, Boreas, mighty god of the north wind, brave soul, courageous leader, and, of course, my absolutely favourite god, please will you grant us passage to the Caves of Delphi for our super important quest which relies on the future of all half-bloods. Accept these generous offerings we have given up to you, great Boreas, and we beg you, please allow us to travel to these caves!”
Rachel finished her speech, panting. She could only hope it would be enough.
Phoebe cast her an amused look. “That was… amazing.”
Rachel grinned at her. “I know - I have extra persuasive powers, especially when-”
Poof!
Rachel jumped.

Boreas stood in front of them, his dark hair swept against skin so pale it was almost translucent. He was munching on a packet of pickled onion Monster Munch.
“It was the Monster Munch that convinced me,” he said through a mouthful of potato. “If you have another packet then your wish is granted.”
Rachel gritted her teeth in annoyance. She had eaten the last packet on the way here with Eli and Phoebe.
“Boreas, great god of the North Wind, we have no more Monster Munch. However, we have plenty more to offer you. Would some Mini Cheddars take your fancy?”
Rachel held out a crumpled packet towards him hopefully. His face was wrinkled in disgust.
“Mini Cheddars? What sort of person do you think I am?” He demanded indignantly. “What else do you have to offer me?”
Eli stepped forwards, his reddish brown hair standing on air in the wind. It seemed particularly strong around Boreas.
“I have another offering for you, Boreas. A great sword, hand-crafted by the sons of Hephaestus. This sword is created from both imperial gold and celestial bronze. Its strength is unmatchable.”

Boreas inspected the sword, a small smile playing on his lips.
“Yes, I will take this. However, it will take one more thing to convince me.”
This time, it was Phoebe who stepped forwards.
“Boreas, sir, I know how you love your entertainment. I am friends with the sons and daughters of Dionysus, who mix the most delectable bottles of wine in all of Greece, even the world. I would be happy to offer you an unlimited supply of these in exchange for travel to the Caves of Delphi."
This time Boreas nodded. “Deal. Stand behind me.”


Boreas raised his arms, and gusts of wind caused leaves to twirl in the air around them. Rachel stumbled, bracing herself against the gale that was battering her.

Then she was in the air. It was magical. They were flying, being carried on the wind, weightless. She closed her eyes. The air cushioned her, pillowy soft. She opened her eyes and saw Phoebe and Eli whooping in joy.
“We did it! Now all we have to do is fight a serpent!” Eli yelled, punching the air.

Right. That was all they had to do. Fight a serpent.

_________________________________________________________________________

Rachel charged towards the serpent for what felt like the hundredth time, plunging her dagger into its side. They had caused some damage so far, crimson trails trickling across the floor. Phoebe had taken a blow to the head, and was lying dazed on one side of the cavern. Eli was creeping up on one side of the serpent.
Rachel knew what she had to do. Distract the serpent. She waved her hands in the air.
“Hey, serpent!” She screamed. “Over here!”
The serpent swung its mammoth head towards her, its tongue flickering between its pearly white fangs. In real life, its scales were actually red, glistening and glittering in the shafts of sunlight that filtered through the mouth of the cave.

Fear rushed through her as the serpent lunged towards her, its pupils dilated in fury. She stuck her dagger out in front of her, in a desperate attempt to protect her. Then she heard a triumphant shriek. The serpent’s eyes glazed over, making misty and distant, before its heavy body began to tumble to the hard dirt floor. Rachel scrambled out of the way just in time, gazing in awe at the huge beast they had just destroyed.
“We did it…” she murmured in shock. “We did it!”

She raced over to Eli, who was shaking in terror, his face a ghostly white.
“I k-killed it-” he gasped through tears. “It nearly killed you!”
Rachel took him by the shoulders.
“We have completed our part of the quest. You did amazing. You saved my life!”
She wrapped her arms around him, and then heard a groan from the corner.
“It’s dead,” said Phoebe.
Rachel nodded happily. “How’s your head?”
Phoebe rubbed it. “Could be better, I guess.”

“Who are you?”
Rachel turned around and saw a boy of about seventeen standing over the limp body of the serpent.

It seemed like their quest was far from over.

Daily March 26th
Words: 436

Int: Just inside the door of the Upland house.
MOMSIE retrieves a letter from the floor that had been slipped in. She walks through the upland house with a smile on her face into GALINDA’s pink and princesslike room.
MOMSIE: Oh Galinda! Something came for you in the mail!
MOMSIE holds a letter with a wax seal from Shiz University.
GALINDA: It came! Oh thank Oz, I was wondering when it would come!
MOMSIE: I knew it would, my dear.
POPSICLE: They’d be fools to not accept you.
GALINDA opens the letter and begins reading dramatically.
GALINDA: Dear Galinda Upland, the faculty here at Shiz University have reviewed your application. We are writing to inform you that we found it phenomenalocios and would like to invite you to attend Shiz University this upcoming year! Most sincerely, Madame Morrible.
MOMSIE, POPSICLE and GALINDA all celebrate, GALINDA squeals.
MOMSIE: I knew you could do it, my dear! You will do amazingly at Shiz.
POPSICLE: Congratulotions my dear!
GALINDA: And from Madame Morrible herself! I hope she will invite me into her sorcery seminar.
MOMSIE: I know she will!
POPSICLE: There’s no doubt in my mind.
GALINDA stares out the window wistfully in the direction of the university.
GALINDA: The semester starts in merely a month, I must start packing right away if I want to have time to get a whole new wardrobe! What do you think people wear to university?
MOMSIE: I believe there is a uniform.
GALINDA: Oh, I know. I’ve seen it. It was atrocioufying. And most Hideodeous. Light blue with a different shade of darker blue, almost grey! And stripes! Can you imagine? Stripes are so out. And grey is so boriful. I must have something… pink! It has to communicate my professionalism. A blazer? Pencil skirt? What do you both think?
POPSICLE: I’m sure whatever you decide to wear will be beautiful dear.
MOMSIE: Yes, I’m sure. You have quite the eye for fashion.
GALINDA: I hope I have time to make an adequate design!
MOMSIE: Right. Do you know if any of your friends have been accepted?
GALINDA (as though she has more important things on her mind, dismissive): Yes, I believe Pfanne and Shenshen have been accepted. They sent me letters last month to tell me.
POPSICLE: That’s wonderful! You’ll have lots of fun with them. I know I had fun when I was attending Shiz.
MOMSIE: We’re so happy for you, sweetheart.
GALINDA: Thank you, Momsie and Popsicle. Now, onto more important things. I must pack!
GALINDA shoos her parents out of her room and closes the door.
END SCENE