Outline for SWC's Fourth Weekly

Freytag’s Pyramid: (1023 words including exposition)
Exposition (367 words): The events of this story take place in the crownlands of the pond sprites, the crownlands of the river sprites, and the road between the two. The two crownlands are enemies (for no reason), with each side feeling dislike, jealousy, and other general negative emotions towards the other. This is in their nature. The main creatures in this tale are sprites, which are, at least in this story, fairy-like creatures that are known to be short-tempered and bickersome (fairies are more level-headed and rational). Tart, one of the four main characters, with whom the story starts off, is a teen half-sprite, half-fairy whose parents work in the royal kitchen (both of his parents are sprites, with his mom being his biological parent and his dad being adoptive). He is polite and well-behaved because of his upbringing as the child of royal servants, and knows proper etiquette, but he also has a wild side. As a kid he was allowed free range in the kitchen and the hallways near it while his parents worked (the royals seldom went down there so nobody was worried about getting caught being “improper”) so he spent his days exploring and playing with the other servants’ children, sometimes sneaking into the library and towers to read. Niel, who appears as a main character in the rising action of the story, is Tart’s younger cousin (adoptive dad’s sister’s daughter)(she is around 8 years old in human years). Her parents are also palace cooks. Her childhood is similar to that of Tart’s. She is, like Tart, well-mannered, and is also incredibly clever and charismatic. Forg is the third main character introduced to the story. It is a big green frog. No one knows Forg’s origins as it does not speak. In truth, no one knows what it is thinking - if it is at all thinking - but nevertheless, Forg is very valued by everyone around it. Ick is the last main character introduced to the story. They are a river sprite. They grew up in a little village on the outskirts of the river crownlands. They do not know anything of etiquette and instead are talkative, sarcastic, and adaptive. Oh, they’re also Tart’s love interest.
Setting: the events of this scene take place in the palace of the pond sprite royalty.
Characters: The story starts off with him, with several side characters like his parents, his friends Eemph and Thorf (who are twins, and are slightly older than him), and several other servants.
Plot: Tart’s parents send him to bring the royal family their breakfast, and he overhears the queen ordering the palace guards to get ready to march to attack the neighboring crownlands of river sprites for having stolen something. The guards warn the queen that they would surely lose this war with great casualties, but the queen ignores them. Tart is greatly bothered by this because his friends Eemph and Thorf would get sent away to war. So he (with permission from his parents) decides to go to the river sprites’ crownlands to try to get back what was stolen.
Rising action:
Setting: This part of the story takes place on the road. Tart traverses through the forest and marshland near his pond to get to the river.
Characters/Plot: When Tart leaves the castle, he realizes that his bag is really heavy and decides to look to see what he brought - apparently, Niel had snuck into his bag. Obviously, he has no choice but to take her with him, as they are too far away from the castle and have no time to stop the war. Soon afterwards, Forg is introduced to the story and becomes one of Tart’s and Niel’s new companions. When they get to the river sprites’ kingdom, they meet Ick, a river sprite who agrees to help them (just for fun, they were bored in their well-off crownlands and wanted an adventure).
Climax:
Setting: The events of this scene take place first in the river palace, which stands atop a beaver’s dam, then in a clearing near the river.
Plot: The group of four try to sneak into the river palace, but get caught. All seems hopeless as even Ick’s knowledge of the place and Niel’s lying skills don’t seem to be quite cutting it until Forg pitches in and convinces everyone that they’re supposed to be meeting with the river royals and that the meeting had been scheduled a few months prior (without even speaking!). So they meet up with the river royals, and Tart accidentally tells them that the pond sprites are planning an attack, which makes the river sprites start getting ready for war to intercept the attack. To not get thrown in the dungeons, Tart and his friends must improvise, so they tell the river royals that they are on their side and start “helping” them get ready to ambush the pond sprites. As the two armies march towards each other, Niel talks to some river sprite merchant and finds the thing that said river sprite had stolen: literally just something stupid like some pottery or something. So just as the war is about to begin, Tart talks some sense into everybody and tells them that they’re being petty and fighting over nothing.
Falling action:
Setting: Still on the battlefield.
Plot: Everyone feels kinda bad for starting this whole ordeal with the war. Ick proposes that the two crownlands open up their borders and minds and start trading with each other. Everyone likes the idea, especially since Forg (no, I haven’t forgotten about it!) would oversee this trade.
Resolution:
Setting: Tart is back at home. He has been promoted to top advisor. Ick is in the river crownlands. They have also been promoted to a high palace position. Forg and Niel travel together between the two crownlands, helping merchants and finding ideal trade routes and village locations.
Plot: Tart and Ick write letters to each other (also they’re dating!), and Tart feels happy. His parents are proud. The royals acknowledge they were wrong and ask him to critique other aspects of their rule. It’s all great and stuff. The end.

SWC's Fourth Weekly (1/3)(The whole story is 4,234 words)

Tart stumbled sleepily into the royal kitchen, which was, as always, bustling before the crack of dawn. Stoves were already set on full heat and breakfast was being cooked for over a hundred servants in the palace of the rulers of the pond sprites.

Tart yawned. Though many of the cooks were up and ready, most of their children—who lived, learned, and played in the servants’ quarters with their parents—were still sleeping.

Stretching and yawning again, Tart routinely took a basket from one of the counters and started chopping up the fruit in it.

By 8AM, the smell of steaming porridge and fresh smoothies filled the air. Breakfast was ready.

“Tart!” a warm voice called.

His mom gestured to one of the four white carts. On it stood a silver tray with a bowl of porridge adorned with mint and blueberries, hot coffee, and a plate with raspberry tarts… the infamous treat his mother had named him after. The recipe had been passed down from his great-grandpa to his grandma to his mom, and soon would be to him. He breathed in the scent wafting from them. This was what love smelled like.

“Take this up to the queen, will you?” his mom said. “Grand hall. Be quiet, she’s in a meeting.”

“Yeah, no problem,” he answered. His mom smiled briskly, then turned to instruct a new, young cook how to use the bread oven.

Tart took the cart and left for the grand hall.

After a few minutes of traversing the long, twisting hallways, he quietly walked into the room the queen was in. There was no meeting, but she was angrily conversing with her advisor. Tart slowly rolled the cart towards her.

“They are terrible, brutal savages that deserve to be punished for such disrespect!” The queen was saying. “We have done nothing to them, have been peaceful this whole time, and they think they can steal from us? They are practically asking to be attacked!”

“Don’t you think it to be… a bit unwise, perhaps, to attack them? They have a much larger army and better resources,” the advisor pleaded. “Our army will be done for!”

Tart pretended to look busy, shifting the plates on the tray, while listening in. The pond sprites would attack the river ones? He was no army general, but there was no way that would end well. Besides, his friends Eemph and Thorf were in the army…. Tart thought back to the time he’d shown up to watch them train. Yeah, they were cooked.

Meanwhile, the queen continued: “Tomorrow at dawn we shall march for the river sprites’ crownlands!”

Tart left the room feeling an incredible sense of dread coming over him. The queen was often silly, but she was very stubborn. If she said she’d do something—you could count on it to be done.

Tart sighed. He knew there couldn’t be a war. He knew he needed to stop it.

After all, he was the hero in a story, so if he didn’t act accordingly and stop the big impending conflict in one day and rescue everybody from certain doom, what kind of story would that be? Ugh, I don’t even exist in the real world, and here I am, saving my home for the entertainment of some big tree-colored giants sitting around in their beds all day, switching from phone to computer (whatever those things are) and back again, he thought. Whatever.

He went back to the kitchen to ask his parents if he could go (because yeah, he was just a good kid like that).

* * *

By noon, Tart was ready to leave. His parents had said their goodbyes and kissed their kisses and had already managed to reprimand him about being reckless on the journey before he had even stepped foot outside the palace. He had a map that would guide him to the river and his backpack was stuffed with leftover tarts from the kitchen. So, at last, Tart left to begin his journey.

* * *

Walking through the city hadn’t been hard—it was a downhill walk all the way to the other side of the pond, but his feet were already tired and his back ached from the weight of his backpack. Surely the treats in it couldn’t be that heavy, right? Perhaps he just needed to work out more. Eemph had always pointed out his flimsy arms…. Ugh, he missed his friends already. The thought of them encouraged him to keep going. He was doing this for them.

By the time he reached the marsh just across the pond, however, he was panting like a dog on hot days (he had had the terror of seeing the horrendous creature a few years back when it had run out of nowhere and sieged the city until its much-bigger-yet-much-less-terrifying companion had taken it away. It took months to finish repairs!). Finally, he sat down to rest. At this rate, I’ll never get to the river in time, he thought in despair. He opened his backpack to take out a tart… only to find there weren’t any left!

In their place lay a little curled up sprite, sleeping.

“Niel!” Tart cried. “What are you doing here?”

Niel opened her eyes and stretched, getting out of the backpack.

Tart stared in horror as his eight-year-old cousin jumped and clapped her hands in delight. Auntie’s going to kill me, he thought.

“I heard you were going on an adventure so I thought I’d provide you some company,” Niel explained innocently. “You wouldn’t find your way out of a paper bag by yourself, but you’d never let anyone come with you! What else was I supposed to do but look out for my dearest family?”

Niel batted her eyes and hugged him to really sell her act.

Tart wasn’t falling for it.

“Niel, your family’s at home. You need to go back to them,” Tart said, but he knew she’d never do that, and his precious time was ticking. Niel knew this too.

“Fine, stay here. I guess I have to take you with me now,” Tart rolled his eyes, then changed his tone to a sassy one to joke with Niel. “But you’re wrong about me never getting a companion. I’d take the first one I’d see.”

“Then take that forg!” Niel pointed to a big, green, slimy frog a few feet away from them.

“It’s pronounced ‘frog’,” Tart corrected, then did a double-take. “You want to take it with us?”

“Yes, I want to take that forg with us,” Niel insisted, running up to the frog and hugging it. It seemed too flabbergasted to move.

“You never know what might happen when you underestimate others,” Niel pouted. “Maybe the forg could be the one to stop the war. Have you ever thought of that?”

At this point, Tart had had a long day, so he just went along with it.

“Fine, let’s take Forg with us cuz why not?”

* * *

The sun was already setting when Tart, Niel, and Forg finally heard the sound of the river churning. They were tired from walking all day, but their pace quickened nevertheless. Excited at reaching their destination and very ready for a good night’s sleep, they practically crashed into a figure standing just around the corner of the big tree root behind which the river and the village near it were visible.

“Whoa there!” The sprite they had bumped into jumped back, sending them a dirty look. “Who do you think you are and why are you here?”

“Uh…” Tart began. He hadn’t expected to run into anyone so fast and had had no time to construct a proper response. “We’re here on special business from the neighboring crownlands. We need to talk to the royal family. Do you know how to get to the palace?”

The sprite cringed.

“You’re from the pond? Ugh. That’s disgusting. And why do you need to go to the palace anyway?”

Tart tried to step around the rude river sprite, but they blocked his way, chuckling at his feeble attempt to get out of answering.

“We’re here because something was stolen from our crownlands and we’re here to ask for it to be returned.”

“What was stolen?” the sprite pressed on.

“We don’t know,” Tart said through clenched teeth. “May we please pass through?”

“Why do you want it back if you don’t know what it is?” the sprite asked.

“Because there’s going to be a war if we don’t get it back,” Tart said, seething.

For the first time, the sprite was quiet. The four stared at each other. Niel hugged Forg, looking nervously between her cousin and the stranger. After a minute, the sprite broke the silence.

“So… you want to barge into your enemies’ castle, blame them for trespassing and stealing you don’t even know what from you, and then have them apologize and stop the war that your crownlands are starting?” the sprite stared at them.

Tart gulped, feeling guilty for having been so annoyed by the questions a minute ago. Now that it was put into words, it actually sounded pretty bad.

“Cool, I’m in,” they said to everyone’s surprise. “I’ve got nothing better to do. All the little fishies have grown up and left, and it’s superrrrr boring. I’ll show y’all my home. We’ve got an extra bedroom for any spontaneous guests like you guys. My name’s Ick, by the way. Ixaldir the sixth, to be exact. Tomorrow I’ll take you to the castle. Come on, don’t be shy, follow me. I only bite occasionally.”

Tart wasn’t sure if they were joking, but he followed anyway.

That was close, he thought. Phew.

* * *

It had been a fifteen-minute walk to Ick’s house, which stood as a small building with a roof of leaves and walls of stacked-and-glued stones—a design similar to those of the houses in the pond sprites’ villages but shorter and with no moss growing on the walls. On the inside, the house felt crammed but cozy.

Tart lay down onto the stiff bed and immediately fell asleep.

* * *

Tart awoke to Niel jumping on the bed, Forg sitting next to him and staring at him with its big eyes, and to Ick yelling “rise and shine, everybody, we’re infiltrating the castle today!”

He glanced outside, then groaned. There wasn’t a glimmer of light out.

He got dressed and went to the kitchen. It was small, and the dim light of the lantern only made the place feel more depressing. Tart felt a gaping hole in his chest. For the first time in his life, the kitchen he was in was empty.

So he found the pots, pans, and ingredients he needed and started to cook.

* * *

(2/3)

“Are we actually breaking into the palace?” Tart asked Ick, horrified.

“Well, duh,” Ick huffed. “That’s what I said this morning, didn’t I?”

“I thought you were kidding,” Tart grumbled. He didn’t like the idea, but he doubted that the guards would just open the palace doors and let them happily skip in, so he didn’t object.

Tart, Ick, Niel, and Forg were perched behind a rock near the river that overlooked the palace, which was apparently built in a beaver dam. From their vantage point, the group could see… maybe twenty guards. Their wooden armor looked stronger than the pond sprites’—which was made out of pieces of glass and metal found in the pond—and their silhouettes looked more buff than those of the pond sprites’. All the more reason to stop the war, Tart thought with a shudder.

The plan was, as Tart had explained a moment ago, to cover themselves with a leaf they had found on the way, jump in the river, swim towards the dam, and climb up into the bounds of the palace. While the side of the dam was heavily guarded, objects like sticks and flowers floating down the river were common and would likely go unnoticed.

Technically, it was doable.

With the disguise, the party stepped into the water, Niel sitting on Forg’s back and each of the older sprites holding onto its sides.

“I’m cold,” Niel complained.

After a tiresome ten minutes of swimming, they finally reached the wooden wall. It seemed they had gone unnoticed… for now. Life isn’t all cupcakes and rainbows, however. It’s kind of suspicious that it was so easy, isn’t it?

Ick and Tart gave Niel one final push as she climbed over the wall. Then they hoisted themselves up. Forg sat a little ways below, eating a fly as if it knew not a worry in the world—which it probably didn’t.

Suddenly, Niel spoke to someone on her side of the border: “Oh, hello.”

Her voice sounded small and dull. Tart felt his insides clenching as he looked down. Seven guards stood, looking at them. They had been caught, and judging from the guards’ expressions, they were in big trouble.

“Lovely day for a swim, isn’t it?” Niel continued, her voice full of life again; but it was too late for tricks.

“You’re coming with me,” one of the guards said.

Tart looked back. Climbing into the river was not an option. Now that they had been seen, they were cornered.

Ick mumbled something under their breath, jumping down reluctantly. Tart followed.

“Let us explain…” Tart offered.

But no matter how hard they tried, the guards wouldn’t listen to their explanations. They pleaded for a chance to see the royals, but nothing worked. All was lost. They would be thrown down into a dungeon in a beaver dam, rotting doing nothing while his friends fought the well-dressed, buff river sprite army.

Come on, what kind of story is this, Tart thought in these moments of confusion. Where’s the magical solution to the problem? Where’s the savior? When are the guards going to say, ‘oops, sorry, we were mistaken, you can absolutely pass through!’ Hello? Narrator, I know you can hear me… make things work out, please!

Oh, well, what do you know? Just then, Forg, having finished eating its fly, jumped out from behind the wall like a glorious knight in shining armor. It let out a great big belch. The roar of a tiger. The fire of a dragon. The poise of a beast that knew that it was, in itself, a majesty. All eyes bulged. All mouths gaped. Everyone stood there, stunned.

“This is… the one who wishes to speak with Their Majesties?” a guard asked, straightening their uniform.

“Yes, it is,” Niel quickly answered. “And you refuse to give it the respect that it deserves!” She leaned in closer and whispered: “It’s something of a duke in itself, you know.”

“We’re so sorry for this inconvenience. We were mistaken. You may absolutely pass through,” the guard that had spoken the first time said. “Let us lead you to the guest chamber, and we will see when the royals are available. We will tell them it is urgent.”

Niel smiled and curtsied. She walked over to Forg, who had been surrounded as if by its own set of bodyguards.

“Thank you,” she said, and skipped along with the little crowd. Ick and Tart followed.

* * *

Tart walked around the room, pretending to look at the paintings on the walls so as not to show Niel that he was worried, but his eyes glanced over the elaborate canvases. Ick, on the other hand, sat in a chair in the corner of the room, eating grapes from a bowl. They were worried too. Niel could feel the tension, and glanced back nervously at the two every few minutes. They had been waiting for hours. It was nearly noon. The army would be arriving soon. They had an hour, two at most, and they were wasting time.

Only Forg seemed to be relaxed. It had been pampered by the servants and was now sitting atop a pile of cushions with its usual confident air, several different moisturizers freshening its skin. It glowed now even more than it had down at the dam wall.

“That’s a nice shade of brown,” Ick commented.

Tart looked up.

“What?”

“The painting. It’s… very beautiful,” Ick elaborated half-heartedly. They reached for another grape, only to find that they had eaten all of them.

“More?” a servant offered.

Ick shook their head.

“No thanks, it’s ok,” they managed.

After several more minutes of madness, a knock sounded on the door. Finally.

The four were led to the throne room.

* * *

Two thrones rested against the back wall of the big room. The walls, painted a baby blue with patterns of swirls, contrasted against the red carpet leading up to the royals. Tart, Niel, and evidently Forg were used to this entourage, but Ick couldn’t help but let out an “oh, wow” at the sight of the grandeur.

The three sprites walked forward. Forg hopped gracefully in front.

“Welcome,” the king said as they approached. “You say you have… urgent matters?”

“Permission to speak, Your Majesty?” Tart said as he bowed. The king gave a nod, so he continued. “I am Tart, the son of servants in the palace of the pond sprites. This is my cousin, Niel”—he pointed to his right—”and this is my friend Ick”—he pointed to his left. “Ick is from your crownlands, and, upon seeing the importance of our visit, agreed to journey with us to speak with you.”

After a brief pause, Tart continued: “And this Forg. It comes from its own crownlands the name of which we do not know and is its own ruler. It has graciously gifted us with its time, for it too knows of our troubles.”

The queen leaned forward, studying her guests.

“And what are these troubles that you speak of?” she asked.

Tart steadied himself. Pick your words carefully, he reminded himself.

“You see, Your Majesty,” Tart began. “Something was stolen from our crownlands by one of your subjects not too long ago. Our queen has not taken kindly to the theft. She is angered by the disrespect. She demands an apology, and wishes for the stolen item to be returned.”

“And what is that thing that was stolen?” the queen again inquired.

“Unfortunately, we know not, Your Majesty,” Tart said. “We were hoping you had more information on it. If not, then a mere apology would be appreciated all the same.”

Tart hoped his pretty words would overshadow the fact that his words were only half-truths. He did not know whether the queen would accept an apology and he did not know the value of what was stolen.

“We have been rivals with your crownlands for some time now, and have had the… pleasure of meeting your queen several times,” the king said, drawing out his words. “So my question to you is, does your queen know what was stolen?”

This had not occurred to Tart. Surprise mixed with confusion showed on his face for half a second, but that was all it took for the facade to disintegrate.

“We are sure she does, Your Majesties,” Niel chimed in. “But she has not shared this information with us.”

“It seems she did not send you at all,” the queen said. She had landed right on point.

“Look, there’s going to be a war if you don’t do something about it,” Ick pleaded. “An apology is all that’s needed. Is that so hard?”

“A war?”

The royals exchanged glances.

“A war?” they pressed.

The four stayed silent. They had messed up big-time. And no fabulous frog could save them now.

* * *

In the rush to get ready for battle, Tart, Niel, and Ick had been forgotten. Even Forg was no longer noticed by the servants dashing around.

“What do we do now?” Niel asked. Young as she was, she understood that this would have consequences larger than “a week with no candy.”

“We need to get out of here while they don’t see us,” Ick answered.

So the disheartened team left the river sprites’ castle. Already, thousands of tiny footsteps could be heard from the direction of the pond. With no better options, the team hurried towards the sound, hoping—or whatever you call that feeling when you no longer have hope but continue trying just to pretend you do—that they could still do something.

* * *

(3/3)

The armies stood facing each other.

From his place at that very tree root where he had met Ick less than a day ago, he could see Eemph and Thorf. They stood tall and strong, but he knew that in reality, they were not made for fighting.

They were not ready for the war that was ready for them.

“So what do you have to say for yourselves, little pickpockets?” the pond queen yelled from her side.

“Pickpockets?” the river king intercepted. “How dare you insult our honorable crownlands? It is you who is the scoundrel. Always trying to take more and more for yourself. Don’t be greedy!”

The jeers continued. Voices rose, and with them, the tension. Niel plugged her ears. Even Forg seemed to be feeling down. And Ick…

Tart’s eyes darted around, trying to find them.

“They’re there,” Niel said, reading Tart’s expression. She pointed to the river sprites’ army.

Tart’s stomach fell, and his heart skipped a beat. Yep. Sure enough, that was Ick. Dressed in river armor and carrying the river flag.

He felt the blood drain from his face as his friend’s betrayal sunk in. Tart stumbled, light-headed. It’s ok, he calmed himself. You met them a few hours ago, what were you expecting? Tart took a deep breath, forcing down the anger and the hurt. It’s their decision, and this is their home. Of course they would choose their home, with their small but familiar kitchen and their beloved tadpoles.

Wouldn’t you do the same?

But as Tart studied the two armies, separated by nothing but a few feet of grass and a whole abyss of hate, he realized that he wouldn’t. There were no sides to be chosen. The sprites on both sides looked identical—perhaps not in clothing or weaponry or even build, but their faces both showed determination masking doubt.

He didn’t even know who was right and who was wrong anymore. He didn’t really care.

A hand on his shoulder jolted him out of his thoughts. It was Ick, talking excitedly. Tart stepped back, his face expressionless. Or perhaps it simply could not show so many expressions at once.

“What?” he mustered.

“The thing that was stolen, I found it!” Ick said in a hushed tone. “Tart, it was a tart!”

Tart stared at them dumbfoundedly.

Ick gave a frustrated sigh at their companion’s unresponsiveness.

“I went to go talk to some of the river sprites, and one of them confessed to having stolen something,” they said. “It was a tart. They stole a tart!

Tart grinned. So Ick had not betrayed him at all. They were trying to fix this.

“That’s it, can you believe it?” Tart was saying. “All of this over nothing!”

Tart tackled Ick in a bear hug.

“Come on!” he told the group. “We can stop this.”

They ran into the middle of the battlefield. The jeering stopped, but the weapons did not lower. The sides turned their hateful gazes towards the four in-between them.

“You are all petty, greedy, scornful, ignorant fools!” Tart screamed. “You are fighting over a pastry!”

Whispers passed around the crowd, but nobody backed down yet.

“It’s my family’s recipe. We’re cooks, bakers, chefs,” Tart explained. “I- There’s nothing to fight over! It’s nothing! It- I can share the recipe with all of you. Then everyone can have as much as they want. No theft needed. No apologies. And most importantly, no wars. Not over this, not over anything.”

* * *

“Hey, we make a solid team,” Ick said, sitting on the tree root.

A week had passed since The Tart War.

“Yeah! Partners for life!” Tart whooped, which earned him a weird look from Ick. Realizing his mistake, he quickly added: “I mean ‘for life’ but not necessarily ‘in life’- I mean not ‘in life’ at all… it doesn’t even have to be ‘for life’… I meant in this moment, right now… yeah, you know what I mean….”

Smirking, Ick punched him in the arm and turned away. They seemed to be blushing.

The two sat in silence for a bit—well, as close to silence as it can get with sprite children (including Niel) running around chasing a big, green, slimy frog around.

“Hey, if you ever want to visit, or keep in touch or anything…” Ick trailed off.

They looked at Tart, then pulled out a piece of paper and a pen.

“Here, lemme write it down.”

They wrote something. Then they scribbled it out. Then they wrote something else and scribbled that out too. Laughing, Tart tried to snatch it from Ick.

“No, I’ll just give you another piece of paper, I have more at home-” Ick protested, but Tart had already snagged it from them.

Ick rolled their eyes as Tart read the little paper:

House 562, Village By The River, River Crownlands.
Thank you for being the grain of sugar in a sea of salt.
Your friend, Love, Your partner,
Ick ———————–>

“I think this one’s fine,” is all Tart said as his eyes coursed from the paper to the united crownlands of the pond and the river sprites.

And they lived happily ever after. The end.

Flower Daily: SWC November 2025


“You’re leaving,” Zinnia said. Her thin braids swayed as she shook her head sadly.
“You knew I’d never stay,” Sweet Pea answered.
“Yeah,” Helichrysum whispered. “I knew.” The words tumbled heavily from his mouth. His face, turned away from the others, bore a tear streak that only he knew of.

Spring, but not the kind people romanticize. Winter had ended, the snow had melted, and birds sang. Water droplets glistened on the grass; a rainshower had just pelted the town, and the air smelled fresher than laundry. Yet there was a gloominess in the atmosphere.

Since Pea moved to the neighborhood several years ago, the trio had grown close. Every football game, you could find them in the back, laughing at this move or that. Friday nights were designated for trips to the movie theater, and Sundays for monopoly–most of their arguments stemmed from there; what else would they have to quarrel about when they practically lived as a family? They joined book clubs together and went to each other’s concerts, plays, and games. Underneath all that, however, fears remained of Pea’s nature….

Nevertheless, Chrys had dared to hope. What’s wrong with a little bit of poison, huh? He thought bitterly. Let me just submerge myself in it. Let me just ignore all the signs. Attachment doesn’t fare well with departure. But no, I had to fall in love. He quietly sighed. He was going to lose the one thing that he had.

As a young kid, his parents were ready to give him the world. They’d tell him they loved him and would always stand by his side like a wall. He could always count on them. He trusted them and loved them with his entire heart. Each excuse was dismissed as easily as dust getting brushed off the shelf until gradually, the “sorry, I’m busy” and “sorry, I’ll do better” turned into “it’s your fault” and “shut up, you’re trying to be manipulative.” Pea and Zin had given him a second family. A loving family.

One that was now getting torn apart.

Silence wrung as loud as a bell condemning to execution. But can you kill a ghost? Zin thought.

She had long accepted the fact that Pea was leaving, perhaps even before Pea themself had really known. More watchful and less naive–or perhaps more wary–than Chrys, she had seen Pea’s uneasiness unfold in real time. The slight aversion of eyes, the barely-noticeable tension. At least now there will be no more torment waiting for the inevitable. It was only a matter of time. It’s alright.

Although, of course, it wasn’t. Zin had never been able to connect with anyone like she had with them. She had other friends, of course, but it wasn’t the same. She didn’t truly care for them, and they didn’t care that much for her. The taste of melancholy filled her mouth and lead–her lungs. Her dark, sad eyes contrasted the world around her; they were dry. She had cried over this for many nights already, and she had nothing left to give.

“I’m sorry,” Pea said. Zin looked up, snapping out of her pondering. Chrys wiped his cheek and turned. The three looked at each other; one with desolation, one with heartache, one with guilt.

They had first felt it two years ago–a pang of agitation. It had grown until they couldn’t ignore it. They had to leave, and they couldn’t look back. Of course, Pea loved their friends and the place they had gotten to know so well, but that was the problem. Everything and everyone was so familiar. Past mistakes, no matter how tiny in relation, haunted them, and with each passing minute the days felt more and more like a time loop. Pea had to keep moving. They couldn’t stop. They knew that.

They all knew that.

Inspired by Word Wars!


THE STORY OF THE SPARKLING POND

“I told you we needed more glitter,” Sparkles said.
Doug turned his head very, very slowly.
“We… we needed more glitter?” He looked around, delirium in his eyes.
“But we’re drowning in it.”
He laughed, then gagged and proceeded to cough. The glitter had gone up his throat.

They were, in fact, drowning in glitter.

I suppose I should start from the beginning. Melissa had made a bet with Mark who had made a bet with Numk who had made a bet with Sprig who had made a bet with Sparkles that Sparkles would not be able to lift the big log by the pond using glitter, and glitter alone. Sparkles, being Sparkles, naturally said that she would, and Doug got roped into it, like always. So, for over a month, Sparkles gathered glitter everywhere she could find. She bought tons at every store she went to, waltzed door-to-door asking her neighbors (or, well, everyone in town, really) for whatever they had, collected any sprinkle-like dust from her shelves… I think you can see that she was pretty intent on winning. So finally, the big day arrived when the log was set to be raised to the heavens (or, you know, at least a centimeter off the ground). A crowd gathered to watch the procession.

The whole operation comprised of a rope being tied around the log, connecting to a crane-like structure with a (really terribly huge) sack (that Sparkles had made all on her own from hundreds of bedsheets, quilts, and air balloon cloths) on the other side. It was into this makeshift bag that the glitter was poured.

All seems cool and harmless, right? Just a big ol’ sack o’ glitter and a mighty fine piece o’ wood, ammiright?

Bit by bit, the sack became heavier and heavier and the ropes drew tighter and tighter. The wood creaked. The audience gasped. Sparkles pranced around, nervous. With each second, there was less and less glitter remaining to be poured, and the log was still not off the ground. What if it didn’t work? What if it was all for nothing? What if she would have to do the dishes for the next three months for Melissa, Mark, Numk, and Sprig!?!

“Look! It’s rising!” Someone screamed.

Indeed, it had lifted by a few millimeters. Now, if it could only lift a little more…

The log rose higher and higher. Seven millimeters. Eight. Nine… With the last few grains, the log ascended further. 9,4 millimeters. 9,7. 9,9…

Haha, yeah, no. Not to bust the tension or anything, but the log never made it to ten full millimeters. Sparkles didn’t win her bet.

You see, the ropes weren’t tied well and there was nothing securing the structure in place. Before the log could reach a centimeter’s height off the ground, the knots slipped and the log fell and the scales tipped and the sack spilled and every last little piece of glitter spilled. And, well, like I said before, the log was by a pond. So everything landed right. Into. The. Water.

Sparkles, hysterical and with tears in her eyes, jumped in to save her precious granules. Doug, more frightened rather than sad, jumped in after her to keep her from doing something excessively stupid (as if gathering several kilograms of glitter wasn’t already enough. He failed there, didn’t he?). Several other pixies fell in, and one particularly enthusiastic one waded in and began to make a glitter angel with a look of pure delight.



So, that brings us back to the present moment. Sparkles and Doug sat on a rock in the middle of the sea of gleaming glistening dazzling glinting glowing glimmering shimmering sparkling rainbow glitter.

“You know, a few buttons over here and some nice picnic tables over there might look nice here. I may not have won, but I created something beautiful. I think I’ll call it… the Sparkling Pond. Get it?” She turned excitedly to Doug. “Cuz it’s my name and it’s a pond full of sparkles?”
“Creative,” Doug muttered. “Someone save me now please.”
Sparkles laughed and turned back to the Sparkling Pond.

Then she too started coughing because my goodness that’s an awful lot of glitter.

November SWC Weekly #3


Part 1:
I have a LOT to do, and the earlier I start, the better. I gave myself a day on Saturday, then again today, but I feel like I need to start doing things because otherwise the work will pile up again and I won’t be able to complete everything in time. My reasons for not doing my work:

• Boring
  Too long
  Feels like it’s too much and makes me feel stressed
  Makes me feel overwhelmed
  

These are the main reasons. First off, although I’m not actually doing anything fun right now anyway, I don’t want to start my work because it’s boring, and I know that once I start doing it, more and more will come anyway. That flows into my other reason: there’s soooo much to do and I have limited time, and I don’t even want to start to plan doing my work because then I’ll just see how much I have again and get even more stressed and overwhelmed, so I’d rather not think about it. This “I’ll just ignore it” attitude is only stressing me out even more though, making me procrastinate further so that I won’t have to face the stress, discouragement, and boredom. Coming back to the boredom… there’s a million things I’d rather do than math or ELA! Writing, drawing, cooking, just watching TV or otherwise not doing anything meaningful. I’ve already had so many things piled onto me and my brain needs time to decompress! But I feel like I don’t have that time.

• To feel less stressed, I should probably do my work so that I can feel that at least some of it is getting done.
  To feel less overwhelmed, I should probably continue to do my work so that I’ll see that there is less and less for me to do.
  To make it take less long, I should do it slapdash at first and only then correct it later so that even if it’s not perfect, it’s done.
  To make it less boring, I should look at it a different way: the book I need to read for ELA is actually an interesting book (as I’ve heard) and the accompanying assignment will earn me words for SWC; the math homework I need to do, while is a lot, will at least be finished and will likely earn me some words as well, plus I could make it interesting (make it look nice, maybe?); the French homework that I have will also earn me words for SWC and is pretty easy, so it will give me instant gratification from completing a bunch of assignments in a short amount of time and will make me feel happy.
  

Overall, the things I listed above can be combatted with rational thinking. Although they may feel boring, stressful, long, and overwhelming, they will actually not take that long if I don’t procrastinate and will feel less and less stressful and overwhelming the more I do them. Plus, they’re not thatttttt boring. They don’t have to be – not with the right outlook!



Part 2:
I’ve tried many things to help stop procrastination, and while they sometimes work temporarily, I have a problem with commitment. So, using a combination of making goals, exercising, spending time with family, rewarding myself, and encouragement, I’ll try to consistently make sure I meet my deadlines with ease and without stress.

One of the things that motivates me the most is a reward system–such as SWC! I love the idea of counting my words or getting points for sleeping (something my friends and I implemented for a while; I won a lot eheh), and the small dopamine releases I get from such things greatly motivate me.

Here’s a list of steps of what I should do to help myself stay motivated:

• Every month, I’ll create a list of goals for myself to achieve. For example, write 6,000 words for ____ project or get at least 95% in French.
  Using these goals as a basis, I’ll create a point-based game where working towards each goal will bring a certain number of points (as well as daily tasks such as eating breakfast or drinking two cups of water), with marked spots of achievement.
  One of the daily goals that I’ll create is exercising. 20 minutes a day of at-home exercises could be worth ___ points, and 30 minutes on the treadmill could be worth ___ points.
  I will also spend time with my family. I generally don’t like distractions in my area of work, but I can tolerate them. What I cannot tolerate is being alone for long periods of time, even if it is merely emotionally and not physically alone. So, I should strive to spend at least a portion of my afternoon actively talking with my family.
  I should also use encouragement. For this, I can write down a list of things that I’m proud of myself for or that I feel happy / grateful about throughout the day. I should also, while planning using the Pareto Analysis from part 3 (because yes I did the weekly out of order), write down some encouragement for myself (such as a few compliments or a brief pep talk) so that I feel happy and replenished.
  

Part 3:
To help me with time management, I chose Eisenhower’s Matrix and the Pareto Analysis. I know for a fact that Blocking does not leave me with enough flexibility and the Pomodoro Technique doesn’t quite help me with my procrastination.

Why would Eisenhower’s Matrix and the Pareto Analysis help me?

• I have several leadership positions and there is often a lot of things to do and limited time to do them. The Matrix (hehe) would help me identify tasks that are important and those that are not and do the things that actually matter rather than those that don’t give me anything.
  Going hand in hand with this is the Pareto Analysis. To defeat procrastination, I can use this to identify the problems that are limiting me (not unlike what I did at the end of part 1 of this weekly) and journal to make sure I know how to get over the problems that limit me and get done everything that is important.
  

What are these methods and when to use them?

• Eisenhower’s Matrix: Draw a rectangle divided into four parts, and create a sort of chart that shows the importance vs. urgency of the tasks at hand. The upper left rectangle should contain the most important, most urgent tasks, and the lower right–the least important and urgent tasks. Based on this, decide which tasks can be discarded or done later and which ones must be done first. This should be created throughout the day, with tasks added and sorted throughout the day.
  Pareto Analysis: This should be used to look at the things that may cause me to procrastinate in order to eliminate those problems. State the reasons I may want to procrastinate, what the reasons against those reasons are, and what I should do to resolve those reasons. I should take ten minutes every day after school to make sure I am able to complete everything without procrastination.
  

A Scarlet Winter
Writing Comp Entry for November 2025 SWC
(1300 words)

TW: The following writing has mentions of d3ath! This story is written in the style of Gothic Literature, so please be mindful of that.


“Uncle!” little fragile heart fluttering, the young Emma sprang from her position at one of the windows that glared out of the vast living room and ran through the dark halls, on floors of deep mahogany with gracious carpets of fur, squished between walls lined with large paintings made with the daintiest of details on one side and tall, identical windows framed by rich velvet curtains on the other. Her soft footsteps echoed through the whole house as she reached the huge wooden door, a heavy brass doorknob enhancing its menacing look, which separated her small warm-blooded form from the bitter snow outside.

“He’s here!” The boy that had spoken was a few years Emma’s elder, with large glasses that covered most of his face. His brown hair and big brown eyes identified him as her brother, Theo. He had appeared on the grand stairs and was now dashing to the entrance.

Nearly knocking each other over, the brother and sister, barely lifting the heavy lock on the door, sprinted out of the house towards one of the few visitors, and in fact the only one other than the surly servant that drove their uncle’s coach, that the children had ever bore eyes on. The man that got out of the carriage, which had just pulled up to the old, overbearing castle, was tall and stern, but his face became a valley of wrinkles as he scooped the children up into his arms.

“My, how ill-mannered the young have become!” He joked, “They won’t even let me put down my bags after hours of weary travel!”

There were two reasons for the uncle’s coming, with the first being that he greatly missed his brother and his niece and nephew, and the second being that the mother and father of the children were required to take an urgent trip regarding business and whatnot and were too mistrusting to even keep nannies in the house to look after the youngsters.

Oh, how he twirled the children around in his arms. He was their sun in the darkness of winter - and if anyone had asked him, he would have answered, quite earnestly, that they were his too. Despite the rareness and briefness of his visits, the two sides were inseparable while together.

Some greetings and goodbyes later, the parents were well on their way. The rest of the day was filled with board games, storytelling of adventures of gallant knights and ruthless dragons, a tea party that nearly turned into a fist fight between the two kids, and a walk in the snowy woods.

“Look, Uncle! There’s a cardinal! Do you reckon it’s admiring my dragon?” Emma laughed, brandishing her figurine at the bird on the branch several feet away.

Soon the glowing orb in the sky set. The wind brooded outside, berating the leafless trees and smashing furious snowflakes into the window. But inside, all was safe and sound. The uncle had just prepared a dinner of leftover mashed potatoes and turkey when Emma gasped. Her toy dragon had been left outside to listen to the chirruping of the cardinal. She had to go get it right away!

“It’s dark and freezing out there. You’ll get lost.” the uncle said.

“Oh, please,” Theo argued, “We’ve been to those woods thousands of times. She’ll be fine.”

So the girl slipped on her boots and, with just a thin dress and overcoat to shield her, walked outside.

Theo and his uncle finished dinner. Emma was still not back yet. With a command from the adult, the two got dressed and went looking. The ice crystals tore at every bit of exposed skin they could find until it was pink and numb. The clouds covered the moon and the stars, but the white snow reflected enough light for them to see… to see a small red dragon lying on a mound not far off. The companions ran towards it.

One second they were there, and the next – they weren’t. The illusion of a ‘tiny’ mound had been created by the falling particles. In reality, the hill was larger as it opened up to a slight valley on the other side. Where snow met ground at the precipice, a thick layer of ice had formed – a dangerous ruse. Both of them had fallen for it. The uncle tumbled down, ice colliding with his body. He halted at the bottom, aching all over. Theo was luckier. He too felt pain, but his landing was softened by something lying on the ground.

“Are you ok?” The uncle breathed. The boy could only nod in reply. They had to get back up again. They had to keep searching.

…Didn’t they? It finally dawned on him. Theo’s stomach filled with dread as he rolled over to see what was under him.

To look upon those eyes that he had not once wished to never see again.

A shriek pierced the night, a dagger ripping into the clouds above, shredding everything that could not escape its wicked wrath. The boy scrambled back as the man stumbled forward.

Emma was dead.

The wind howled louder, a hungry wolf. It cried and it screamed at them. Your fault. All of this. Your fault.

The uncle thought back to how he had let little Emma – the dear, poor, little Emma - go outside in the snowstorm, alone. His conscience reached deeper, deeper, to his own wife and daughter. To the last time he had ever seen them, before the nightmarish fire. They had been at a talent show in his daughter’s school. He had not wanted to go – he had more important things to do than watch such foolish performances! - but his wife, Laura, had forced him to. Then she had told him to smile and look happy. Scornfully had he strutted out of the room. He had watched his daughter’s face fall but done it anyway. Knocking into a shelf with his shoulder as he turned, he had walked off, leaving his loved ones behind in tears. Little had he known, the lamp on that shelf had cracked and leaked oil from his carelessness, and would later catch fire and trap them there, sucking the last breaths out of their lungs. It was his fault.

Meanwhile, the boy saw himself kicking his sister a number of weeks ago after she had broken the ship that he had carved. He had known that it was entirely an accident and she had not meant to hurt him, but he had been angry. He had wanted to show her how he had felt. He thought about how he had called her ugly and dumb and told her that he never wanted to see her again so many times. How he had wished for her death. How she had cried afterwards. How he never apologized. Not ever. It was his fault.

They wallowed in their remorse, not hearing or seeing a thing but that guilt.

They were there all alone.
Alone with those voices; those awful, wrong choices.
At their fancies and missions, the voices responded with derisions –
how they leered with decision – at those long-gone ambitions,
all those honeyed apparitions that invaded their dying visions,
that each begged for conniption at the dreadful contrition.
Oh, the cruel incision!
Right or wrong conviction?
Horrible division!
Petrifying scission!
Nothing but crimson shards would be left in the snow.
It would be

A scarlet winter.

When the parents would come home the next day, they would find an empty house. They would think nothing of it. Perhaps the uncle had taken the children outside? But the minutes would tick by into hours, and the earth would start devouring the sun. They would realize that something was wrong, and they would go searching for their family.

They would find them.

Thank You Letters for November 25 SWC <3333

Everyone
Well, first off, I’d like to say thank you to everyone in this session of SWC. You guys are all so amazing, unique, and interesting people, and truly wonderful friends <333333 No matter if I talked to you a lot, a little, or not at all, you made my day brighter just by existing and filling this camp with your presence. This month, which is usually one of my least favorites (as Lune knows), was so fun! I am so happy to have spent it with all of you. Hope you guys have a great winter, and I can’t wait to see y’all in March!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
*barfs a bunch of glitter and confetti and little floating hearts in goodbye (for now)*

Magreal
A special thank you to Magreal!!!! THIS IS THE BEST CABIN AND IT IS SO MAGICAL AND MYSTICAL AND WHIMSICAL (lol)!!! Ik I didn’t participate much in the storyline (sorry!), but this cabin was so fun nevertheless. Cabin Wars were insane. 19 wars in one day, and over 50k words overall!! Can you believe it? Our spirit really showed!
I can’t thank Magreal without thanking our cabin leaders. Thank you @chueythecat, @yumetopia, and @TokoWrites for making our cabin feel cozy and fun. Love you guys <3333
I’m so glad I got to spend this session with you guys. Though we won’t all be in the same cabin again, I can’t wait to see y’all in March!!!!!!

Moss, Alana, Rockie, and Ave
A special thank you to the hosts! You guys made this session so amazing (like always). The weeklies were all so fun (I will definitely be doing the ones I didn’t finish this month sometime later hehe), and there were so many interesting dailies (many of which I also regrettably had to save for later :sobs: ). Anyway, THANK YOU SM FOR HOSTING SWC THIS SESSION!!!!!

Clev
Hiii Clev! Well, what can I say? THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THIS SESSION AND FOR INTRODUCING ME TO SWC IN GENERAL! This has been such a fun experience and it has drawn us infinitely closer. Every sarcastic reply to my comments is a treasure, and our competitions on the most sleep, the most words, etc. are soooo funnn! I’d also, like always, like to thank you for just being my friend. You’re funny, unique, and kind. ‘Nough said, you already know how much I value you. Keep being awesome and THANKS FOR THIS SESSION SEE YOU AGAIN IN MARCH AND IN-BETWEEN!

Sage
Hi Sage! It was so fun talking with you this session! Whether it was roleplaying about your allergies and fireballs, chatting about your word count and life, or brainstorming deep questions for people and theorizing about your personality, hearing your writing voice (XD) was such a highlight of this session. I looked forward to every message, which was often humorous and filled me with warmth <3. That being said, YES, I WOULD LOVE TO KEEP IN TOUCH AFTER SWC! I hope you have an amazing, super awesome winter (which I will hopefully get to hear about). Thanks for this session, mi amigo!!
P.S.: Thanks for adding me to the lint cabin! EEK!!!

Zephy
Hi Zephy!! You are such a cool person! It was so fun talking with you this session! I loved hearing about your friends, hobbies, school, and family! It was so interesting to read about your world; I didn’t know we had so much in common . If you would want, I would be so happy to continue talking with you over the winter. Either way, so excited to see you next session, and thank you so much for this one!!!

Starrii
Starrii!!! I am so happy that we got acquainted this session! I hope all your drama gets resolved </3. You are such a nice, awesome person! Anyone would be lucky to have you as a friend and I’m sorry that your former friends don’t see that. But enough about the bad! On the bright side, you will always have your SWC friends. Even though we may not know you in person, we care about you either way. Keep me updated on your situationtionships. I’m always here to hear you out or cheer you on if you need it. Anyways, thanks for your presence in SWC this session! Can’t wait for March yippeee!!

Toko
Hi Toko! Thanks for keeping track of words this session and for adding my endless comments (heheh)! Well, first and foremost, I must say, MAGREAL FTW!!! Congratulations on writing soooo many words this session. If we win (which is totally a possibility eek!), it will be in huge part because of you! And if we don’t, then THANK YOU EITHER WAY FOR THIS SESSION! Hope you have a super great winter! See you next session!

Eva
Hi Eva!!! It was so fun to keep track of the time in-between messages with you lol. I’m so glad that I got to meet you and get to know you a bit more this session. I will absolutely read The Sinclairs Mysteries, The Wycherleys, and The Night Circus! I hope we can continue talking (and counting time in-between messages ofc) even after SWC. Either way, I’m so excited for March!! Thank you for this session!!!

Squidy
Hola Squidyyyy! Thanks for being here at this session!! It was so amazing to converse with you and to see your presence here at SWC. It was also really fun guessing at your personality XD. Ik we didn’t talk too much, and I’m hoping that we can get to know each other better next session. Until then, hope you have an awesome winter!!!
P.S.: I love ur pfp, it’s so sunshiney and the colors go so well together!

March 2026 SWC: Weekly 2, Part 1: 514 words

Short Story Outline


The previous day, a special weather event occurs where there's rain, the sun, and a rainbow all at once. This isn’t totally elaborated on, it’s just a simple fact of the story: what starts it all. The next day, all the flowers in the meadow wake up. The main character (a dandelion) wakes up first. It lives in a meadow by a small river in a nice park in the town. It stretches, and breathes in the nice, post-rain air. It’s beautiful. It shakes off the droplets from its leaves. Then, it notices that there’s a ladybug near it and tries to pick it up but is unable to because it is (seemingly, usually) rooted in place. But then it takes a step forward and picks up the ladybug. Looking down at the insect, it realizes that it–the Dandelion itself–has feet, and very loudly screams, waking everybody up. Chaos ensues for the next several minutes. Once everyone has calmed down, they all start asking what they’re going to do and what has happened. One flower proposes that since they feel fine, it must not be anything serious and although they’re not used to it, they could give something new a try, right? Like we haven’t seen what’s outside this park, yk? Then after that the dandelion goes to the river and rides the ducks and they float down the river and then go through some pipe because apparently there’s a waterfall and go through the pipes and end up outside of the back of a building and they go in after a person through the back door and it turns out to be a cafe and they go to the kitchen and realize that they’re thirsty so they start soaking up coffee through their roots and then a person sees them and gets scared and they overrun the coffee shop because they’re all caffeinated and then they meet a cat and run all the way back to the park. Then, fast forward 6 months later and they have signed a deal with that same cafe to bring them ingredients and appliances of theirs in exchange for some of their own ingredients (pollen, honey, berries, flower petals) and the flowers run a small yet successful cafe business there in the park and raise money for conservation of the environment because they saw how bad the sewer was and stuff and the end happily ever after!
Elaboration on the fast-forward scene: dialogue of customer exchange with some of the flowers buying their home-made things. From the pov of the dandelion, we see the buttercup leading an empowerment yoga / meditation class for flowers and humans, helping them. Some of the flowers are playing with kids and dogs, some are splashing in the river with the ducks. The dandelion had met a duck too and become friends with it. The city had become super beautiful, gentler, calmer, happier, with people planting hundreds of flowers, expanding the park, and an ecology and botany becoming important. Emphasis on sweet, bright, happy, gentle feelings with a side of adventure and excitement.

March 2026 SWC: Weekly 2, Part 2: 2000 words

Pretty Petals, Tiny Toes, and Big Bravery


The previous day had been weird.

The morning had started out as per usual, with a few joggers and dog-walkers out in the park under the shy morning sun. But by noon, clouds had gathered, and it seemed like there would be a storm. They passed, however, and it wasn’t until 6 p.m. that it started to rain. A certain static hung in the air, as if the sky was trying to fight gravity and lift the clumps of dirt, leaves, and little pieces of garbage up lying around into the air.

This was merely a tiny fraction of the oddities that happened that day, though.

At sundown, the cool rain was lit up by the setting sun; thousands of pieces of amber seemed to fall to the Earth, soaked up by the fresh soil. A rainbow appeared in this potion of water and light, glittering with mystery and the promise of something magical.

But it only seemed like it, of course. It wasn’t actual magic, right?

* * *

The dandelion yawned, stretching in the blissful post-rain air. It looked around its familiar spot amidst the meadow of wildflowers. To the left were the blackberry bushes. To the right, the big willow, draped over the river. Often had it imagined drifting through the park and exploring the most obscured corners of it.

A tiny red dot caught its eye.

A ladybug! It thought in delight.

It reached to pick up the lovely creature, but it was too far away.

“Come here, my lady,” it whispered, careful not to wake the other flowers.

The dandelion reached again. This time, it picked the insect off the grass with ease, as if it had somehow gotten closer.

Wait… how could it have gotten closer?

Confused, the dandelion looked down. It wasn’t the ladybug that had gotten closer… It was the dandelion itself. Its roots were no longer in the ground.

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!” The dandelion screamed at the top of its lungs, instantly forgetting that everyone else was still sleeping. “I HAVE LEGSSSSSS!!!!”

The dandelion could not recall exactly what happened for the next several minutes of its life, but it knew that the meadow dissolved into chaos. Some flowers screamed, some cried, some ran around, fell down, then ran around more. It did not know how much time had truly passed, but eventually, most flowers seemed to have gotten over their initial shock and things had mainly quieted down. Now, the flowers were mostly inspecting their new appendages or sitting in stupor. A few quiet sobs echoed here and there.

“Whatever will we do?” the daisies whispered amongst themselves. “How could this have happened? What now?”

Nobody had a clear answer, so the other flowers merely shook their heads and looked around for an answer.

Finally, a young buttercup stood up, and said: “I know what we’ll do!”

Scrambling onto a nearby bench, it continued: “We can’t just sit around and mope all day. This isn’t the end of the world. We’ve just grown legs, is all. We see humans and dogs with legs every day though, so how is this any different?”

The general crowd seemed to agree at first, nodding, but some were still unconvinced.

“It’s very different!” Someone shouted out. “We’re flowers, not animals!”

“Yes, but…” the buttercup intervened before the flowers could lose hope again. “But haven’t you ever wondered what’s outside this meadow? This park?”

The dandelion looked towards the willow. It had seen ducks under it. It wanted to meet one…

Many flowers seemed to think similar things, as they nodded.

So it was decided. The flowers split up: half went with the buttercup, and half stayed in the meadow.

The dandelion, naturally, went with the first group. The group’s first adventure would be swimming down the river.

After getting acquainted with the water, splashing a bit on the shore, they went in. Some jumped, flopping on the water; some stepped in cautiously. But soon enough, all of them were enjoying themselves, floating peacefully down the river. The feeling of the cool water up against their petals, the sounds of the park nearby… It would have been a strange sight, if anybody had seen it; half a meadow of flowers moving down the watercourse, coloring the river almost as bright as the rainbow from the afternoon before.

As they floated on, however, the water flow got faster, and a certain noise coming from the end of the river got louder and louder…

Wait. The END of the river?

There was a waterfall! This was a classic mistake for a lot of tiny magic people in stories, but of course, having read no stories, the flowers hadn’t known that.

“Help us! We’re going to get washed awayyyyyyy!” a daisy could be heard yelling as it careened over the edge.

The flowers thought they were all goners, but luckily, there was something sticking out next to the water.

“Over there! There’s a tunnel!”

After several grueling, horrifying minutes, the flowers were all – except for that one daisy, oof – assembled in the tunnel: or rather, the sewer. The smell was terrible, but the flowers had no noses, so they trudged on in the soppy darkness.

The place was like a maze! Each corner held a new mystery, and each turn only led to more turns. The flowers got lost immediately. And with their sense of direction went their cheerfulness. They plunged into despair.

We’re never getting home, are we? the dandelion thought. This may not be the end of the entire world, but it is the end of us. We’re trapped underground. We can’t get out. There’s no way.

That wasn’t any way to think though! If everyone gave up at every challenge, what would life be like? There would be no hard work and care. There would be no town, no community. There would be no houses, no schools, no buildings. There would be no parks. No flowers would grasp soil in their roots and rise. Nothing would grow. The world would be magma and air. And if those gave up too, then the planet would just be a cold wasteland of nothingness.

The dandelion didn’t like nothingness. It meant emptiness, and emptiness meant no water stored in its vacuoles. No water, no life. The flowers simply had to continue. There had to be a way. There always was.

“Keep up the good work, everybody!” the dandelion said, surprising itself with the sound of its own determined voice. “Looking good Rose! Nice legwork Aster! Keep going guys, we’ve got this!”

After what seemed like eternity, the group finally saw a light amidst the darkness.

“OH THANK THE GRASS!” a clover wailed. “THE SUN HAS NOT ABANDONED US! WE ARE NOT TRAPPED IN NEVERENDING NIGHT! WE ARE NOT BURIED IN THE DEEP UNKNOWN! WE ARE FREE! WE ARE FREE! PRAISE THE LIGHT! PRAISE THE LIGHT!”

But upon climbing out of the sewer, the flowers nearly climbed back in as water spouted at them.

“IT’S THE WATERFALL AGAIN, RUN!!!”

False alarm! It was just a lawn sprinkler. Everyone was alright (and had gotten a good shower after that sewer, yuck).

The flowers turned, ready to face what was next.

Before them stood a great big wall with a rectangle in it, and beside that big wall, two other walls, one blue, one black. Suddenly, the rectangle flung open – it was a door – and the flowers scattered in fear. But a human walked out, so everything must have been ok and the rectangle and great big walls – which were just the back of a building and two garbage bins – weren’t so scary. The human threw the big white bags she had been carrying into the bins, then walked back inside, swinging the door open again. It started closing very, very slowly. Slowly enough, in fact, for the flowers to enter the building and find themselves in the back room of a coffee shop!

The human was gone, but sounds of whirring machines and conversation could be heard coming from the front of the cafe.

“Onwards!” a salvia declared, and the flowers marched to the front room.

The cafe was cozy, with a light, cheery atmosphere. The customers chatted as the baristas made their drinks.

The flowers looked amongst each other, realizing they were thirsty too. Luckily, there was a machine filled with a brown liquid right above them. The flowers climbed up the cabinet, standing one on top of the other and using teamwork to solve their height problem. After pouring the liquid in a few cups, they soaked their roots in it, drinking.

A barista turned to get something. Weird, she thought. Why is there suddenly a bouquet here? DO THESE FLOWERS HAVE LEGS?

Flabbergasted, she leapt backwards, screaming as loudly as had the dandelion that very morning.

The flowers shrieked and jumped up as well, but it wasn’t because of their legs or the human – the species of which they were accustomed to. No; a cat was staring right at them, ready to pounce.

“RUNNNNNN!!!!!!!!” a yarrow bellowed.

Realizing that the cat was about to attack, the second barista yelled: “No, Twinkletoes, no!”

But it was futile. The cat dodged the humans and chased after the flowers.

So they ran – ran like they’d never run before. The brown liquid – which turned out to be coffee, surprise-surprise – and their fear gave them superspeed, and in no time, they had outrun the cat and gotten back to their beloved park.

Ah, home sweet home. But what an exhilarating adventure!

* * *

“What would you like to get here at the Blooming Buffet?” a goldenrod asked enthusiastically.

“Hmm, everything sounds so good,” the customer said. “What would you recommend?”

The goldenrod blossomed as if it had been waiting for that question its entire life.

“We just got a new coffee machine gifted from the local cafe, which makes the most delicious brews, we’ve got some fresh honey from the bees, and Daffodil just baked a batch of poppyseed cookies,” it said. “Buuuut, I’ll let you in on a secret: the lavender ice cream is my personal favorite!”

“Well then I’ll have to try that,” the customer replied. “I’ll also have a dozen cookies.”

“Coming right up,” the goldenrod replied, turning to ready the order with a huge grin.

The dandelion, overhearing the interaction from the bench, looked up and smiled. Closing the notebook in which it was writing its novel, it beheld the sight before it:

On a nearby hill, the buttercup who had encouraged the flowers to be hopeful when they first realized they had legs, situated on a stool, stood in the “tree” yoga position, with several flowers and humans mimicking it. The flower had started an empowerment yoga and meditation class. Many of its participants often came by even on days when there was no class just to chat with the positive fellow.

Letting its eyes drift down and left, the dandelion looked at the playground, where the daisies were playing with the children. They dotted the equipment like specks of confetti that constantly ran around. The daisy that had gone over the waterfall had been found and was there with the rest.

Some other flowers were splashing in the river or climbing the willow’s long branches. Several ducks passed by under. The dandelion waved. They were its friends now.

The town flourished. Hundreds of flowers had been planted in the streets and the park had been expanded by double. A new philanthropy and ecology program had been launched, making sure the environment and all the town’s dwellers were cared for.

This story has a happy ending, the dandelion thought. It looked around again. You know, flowers are like people: they (magically) have legs, drink water (and coffee), and grow. They grow. They just need a bit of sunshine, determination, and optimism. After that, anything is possible.

The dandelion looked up. Water droplets fell from the sky. The flowers would grow tonight.

March 2026 SWC: Daily 20: overall WC: 540


Author's note: the first poem is my favorite out of these three. I was writing these while angry at my mother, and the poem inspired by Lune's words was the one I wrote last, after I had calmed a bit. I struggle with feeling unheard and unsupported by my mother, which often sounds and feels awfully stupid - like at least I have a mother and she's not a monster or anything so I should stop complaining, right? - but it does affect me a lot. When I was younger, she gave me a lot of promises, like that she'd always be by my side or that I would always be able to talk to her about anything, but as I grew older, I realized that she wasn't keeping any of them. I tried to tell her how I felt and that she was hurting me by doing certain things but she always took it as criticism and told me that I was trying to manipulate her or get in the way of her and dad's relationship by crying. As time wore on, she made more and more promises but it became more and more apparent that she wasn't even trying to keep them anymore. I stopped talking to her. Now, I hide in my room. I hope to move as soon as I am old enough to and not have to talk to her again for the next several years. I do hope to eventually rebuild our relationship, at least somewhat, because I still do and always will love her at least to an extent, but I know that either way she'll never change and the best thing for me to do is to distance myself from her. I guess these poems kind of reflect that. Well, at least my feelings make for more or less decent writing, amiright?


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

Give me one last moment of bliss -
One final, steadying breath -
Before I jump into the abyss -
Before I drink from the Lethe.
It'll be just like a kiss;
Oh, tuck me in, softness aneath.
I could finally forget the hiss
As I watch the river freath.
A symbol, I am, like the fleur-de-lis,
But you saw me as nothing but an ignominious death.


Clev - alone, believe, throne, child, ghost, wild, hiding, stage, shining, walls

I set the trap and wait, alone.
All this just to force myself to believe
That someday I will have a throne.
I'm still a kid, yet such a child,
I wonder if when I grow up, I'll be a ghost.
Or maybe I'll be a broken animal released into the wild:
Scared, in hiding.
Don't pretend it wasn't you who set the stage.
Do you like the way I'm shining
As bleakly as the yellow walls?


Melody - lick, fire, sick, dire, flick, admire, click, flyer, kick, liar

I hold my breath and stick out my tongue to lick
A little bit of “everything you could ever want,” yet it burns like fire.
I'm nauseous, although I'm healthy, I feel sick.
I cry out into silence, then just cry; my situation is dire.
You walk past me, and with a careless flick,
You make me fall. Have you come to admire,
My broken state of mind? Click,
They take a picture and put it on a flyer
As I bite and scream and kick,
“You promised me, you liar!”

March 2026 SWC: Weekly 3 (with extension): 1/2 posts



FYI: The different parts of this weekly are interwoven into one big story and they are not in order, but each requirement is met  

Bit of a warning: while some of what I wrote is technically kind of relatively scientific, NONE OF THIS WAS SPECIALLY RESEARCHED AND THERE ARE A BUNCH SCIENTIFIC FALACIES IN THIS TEXT (like, they don't even get a lot of rain even though they had a bunch of explosions so obviously there's a bunch of evaporation of the water and melting of ice, duh??), SO UNDER NO CIRCUMSTANCE SHOULD THIS BE USED AS ACTUAL SCIENTIFIC MATERIAL (basically just don't hate on me if this is totally wrong and would never happen irl because yeah, it probably wouldn't, but I didn't care enough to research everything). Anyway, enjoy the story!


The story:

[part 2 of the weekly]

“The world had dissolved into flames. Ok, that might be a little dramatic, but this is definitely not the Earth that humans knew 50 thousand years ago. Humans themselves as a species have not evolved all that much; mainly it's because a lot of our world really was destroyed in the Great Awakening, so we have had to learn how to survive and rebuild. It was mainly the physical bits - the buildings, the agricultural systems, the power lines, the wind turbines - that went down. With them, most of the communications system and television networks went down as well, and people had to adapt. Billions died: some from the cataclysms, some from starvation, some from the noxious gases that followed the big event. On the bright side, the third world war was prevented, and humans did not destroy themselves! That's good! Now, no countries exist, just interconnected stations that share supplies, advice, and communication. You can travel from one to another using either treacherous voyage paths created or by going out there yourself. But if you go out there alone, you'll likely die either due to an unexpected weather event, volcano explosion, freak accident, or beast attack. So don't do that, children. Now, let me explain how everything happened from the beginning…

”It was 2125, and political tensions were building. A second cold war between several of the major countries in the world had just ensued, so each was stacked with new and improved weapons to annihilate each other. More technologies were being built to prepare for war. Well, one day, the testing for one such “advancement” went wrong, and the thing exploded a little too close to a supervolcano. The supervolcano, in return - already hot from the rising magma in its chambers - exploded, too. You can probably guess where I'm going with this. A bit of a chain reaction was set into place and, as the magma spewed out as lava, other volcanos also exploded, which eventually led up to another supervolcano exploding! That makes two! Welp, let's just say we're lucky that Earth didn't fall apart completely. But the consequences were still severe. The tectonic plates started moving dramatically, and new continents got formed when existing ones merged or ripped apart. The planet got covered in heavy toxic gases and was submerged in winter. The sun could not be seen for thousands of years, and most plants - including our food - died. Some plant species were able to be preserved due to lamps that humans had that could mimic the ultraviolet radiation that the sun provided. Humans also used such lamps for themselves and took vitamin D to keep their bodies as healthy as could be. They used special shelters and gas masks and suits to prevent inhalation of the gases. Over time, the plants, humans, and animals that survived evolved to need less sunlight and to be able to better filter oxygen from the rest of that gunky stuff in the air. They had lungs that took in oxygen directly from the air. They didn't even have any gills like we do! Isn't that funny?

“I'm getting ahead of myself. It took a while for them to get there. By the time those evolutions had occurred, humans had created stations such as the one that we're on right now where they could live without the fear of suffocating or starving. Most of these bases were built on what was the most stable ground they could find, usually near the edges of continents but away from the coast, which was floodable. By filtering the air and using plants as a natural oxygen generator, people could survive in the new harsh conditions. For the first several hundred years, practically nobody went outside. At least, those that tried to often didn't make it back. But as time went on, people were able to finally map out their new environment more and, well, here we are!”

The woman finished the story and looked around. A group of about ten five-year-olds sat around her on a cyan carpet. Behind them stretched out the station: plants and trees grew around the sides and in the middle of the large white dome-shaped structure - one of several in the station. A few windows stretched on the roof and sides, two layers of thick glass separating the safe world inside from the chaos of the outdoors. Several people sat at computers on the far end near the giant door that led to the other domes, and several more stood by the planters, gardening. Upkeep of the plants was incredibly important, and one of the most valued tasks given to someone.

Suddenly, there was an uproar from her little crowd. Several people looked up.

“Grandmother, look!” a little girl with black hair and plain brown clothes exclaimed.

The grandmother turned. She had been seated in front of a big window- A window that was now filled with the sight of a ghastly creature the size of what people back then would have considered to be the size of an elephant with large, strong legs, short arms, a beak lined with teeth, and small beady eyes. The children gathered around the window, but, cautious, didn't go near. This was a good continuation of the lesson.

“That's a tylodor. They are some of the biggest, most dangerous predators here. Who can tell me why they're dangerous?”

“They are really fast and hunt people,” a little boy with short brown hair and khaki clothing said.

“That's right. They can run up to 50 miles per hour. Scary, right?” the grandmother said.

“Cool,” replied the little girl that had spoken up earlier, stepping closer than the others.

She's going to be a vulcan one day, the grandmother thought, half smiling. It was a dangerous job, albeit necessary. They traveled outside the stations, sorting out package delivery problems, finding spots of technical communication fails, collecting samples for scientists from environments far away, and mapping out new territories or changes in existing ones. They were the only ones who voyaged to other stations, if necessary, and that received not only education in engineering, science, mathematics, programming, and other such things, but also physical training. Although it was perilous, however, it was also the most exciting job.

* * *
[part 4 of the weekly]

“Aww, shucks,” Millo said, stomping on the brakes and skidding across the scorched Earth on her motorcycle, then flooring the gas again as the tylodor tripped past her. “Booyah, sucker,” she whispered through her mask, focused on her escape.
Adrenaline filled her veins. This was supposed to be a simple sample collection, not a full-on mission. It would take a day at least to get back to The Dome with the two of these things stuck on her tail. Food was scarce, and they would continue to track and hunt her, desperate to survive. She would have to divert and find a different route to go around them.
Millo pressed on the gas again, full throttle. It was dangerous to go at such speeds on the rocky terrain, but after several minutes, she had lost the tylodors. At least for now. She had a few minutes to come up with a plan. Slowing, she breathed out. To her right stood a sleepy volcano, sunken halfway from the force of its previous ire, and to her left, a cliff. The motorcycle rolled to a stop.



Millo looked out over the charred plateau. The ground was black from dried lava. The air hung a heavy reddish hue, like always.

Millo closed her eyes.

She breathed in.

Her gills, positioned on her neck and on the sides of her torso, filtered the harmful particles hanging in the air like miniscule bubbles of harm, keeping them away from her lungs. Oxygen was scarce, but her body was adapted. The mask she wore helped with filtration and the entrapment of the gas as well.

A sigh.

Ashes fell onto her exposed arms like confetti. Her skin pores stayed tightly closed most of the time, and the smooth surface of her flesh let the particles slide down. It felt a bit like snow, but warm instead of cold and toxic instead of life-vitalizing. She was tempted to take off her mask, stick out her tongue, and catch the little sprinkles with her mouth.

Another breath.

The world smelled of rotten eggs - sulfur - and burnt pancakes; though, Millo didn't know how either smelled, as food was never let to go rotten or get burned at the station. Besides, the smell had been present for her entire life, so she wouldn't have known the difference anyway.

A chuckle.

There was a soft ‘shhhh’ omnipresent, echoing from the plateau down below. Occasionally, a grumble and rumble could be heard from small rocks tumbling down the volcano. Her own breathing sounded through her mask. Otherwise, it was silent, at least for now…

[continuation of part 4 of the weekly]

Millo opened her eyes and jumped up as an alarming noise snapped her out of thinking. Something between a squawk and a roar sounded again: it was a viyusa. The birds were something like the ancient pterodactyls that inhabited the earth around 66 million years ago. Same size, same love of meat, same giant teeth…

Although she liked learning about creatures, seeing these beasts from afar - or not seeing them at all, really - was enough for her. They were the only things more dangerous than tylodors.

And this time, she couldn't run; she could only hide.

“Over here!” a voice yelled from the bottom of the volcano.

Millo climbed onto her motorcycle and sped towards the sound. 50 meters left, and then 40, then 30, 20, 10… For a second - ten was what it felt more like - Millo was weightless. Then she skidded on the ground, landing next to her bruised motorcycle. The vehicle had fallen as the terrain near the volcano had gotten rockier.

“Watch out!” the voice screeched hysterically. With a scream, Millo sprinted to the person waiting for her and slipped into the crack at the base of the volcano, falling onto the floor, as a viyusa landed behind her, squashing the motorcycle.

Eventually, the bird flew away, finding nothing but metal.

Millo got up from her place on the ground. She had overcome the initial shock and now felt only curiosity. Before her stood a girl with brown hair, yellow eyes, and dark, greyish skin. She was likely the same age as she, and slightly taller. This was a stranger, but it was a stranger that had saved Millo's life. It was safe.

“I'm Loren. And you are?” the girl said. Before Millo could answer, Loren's eyes, previously showing apprehension, widened and she shook her head, continuing: “Where did you come from? How is this possible? Why are you wearing a mask?”

* * *

March 2026 SWC: Weekly 3 (with extension): 2/2 posts



* * *
Loren led Millo down the tunnels of her home.

Apparently, Loren was one of “the volcano people.” “We live in volcanos,” she had explained. In fact, her society had been living in the volcano for so long that they had adapted to the toxic fumes better than any human that Millo knew, having specialized breathing mechanisms, skin, and even second eyelids like fish to keep them protected. While living there, they had built tunnels inside and under the volcano where they resided like moles, only coming out of their home occasionally - which was why the volcano people and the inhabitants of Millo's station had never met despite living so close to each other. But, after all, the volcano people had no need to come out. The structure they had built contained technology, engineering rooms, and other equipment for self-sustainment, just like The Dome. They didn't grow any plants or house any animals for dairy, but they did make synthetic food. Either way, they were living a life that looked no worse - and definitely no less fascinating - than that of Millo's.

Loren kept walking until they reached a set of grand doors. As she pushed them open, the dimly lit hallways gave way to the bright light of a magma chamber.

Millo gasped. Her jaw just about fell to the floor at the sight she beheld. Yup. Definitely no less fascinating, she thought.

Loren smiled. “Do you like it?” she asked, as if there was any doubt that this was not the most incredible thing Millo had ever seen.

Millo just stared.

* * *
Millo spent the next two days in the vast caverns under the sleeping giant, learning about its civilians, its environment, and its technologies.

Her mask was cleaned and she was fed and given a tour. The food tasted terribly unfamiliar, but not necessarily bad… She still preferred The Dome's plants though. Everything else looked just as alien yet just as interesting.

As she walked through the many rooms with her guide, Millo noted that the lizards that she had often seen as she collected samples from other volcanos in the area seemed to be kept here as pets. They're really cute, she thought.

The people were friendly; many came up and greeted her, stopping their everyday activities and offering help or guidance in their home. Many stared, but how could she blame them? She was just as incredulous at having met them as they were at meeting her.

* * *
One and a half years had gone by since their first interaction. The volcano people and the dwellers of The Dome had built a railway connecting the two homes, and tours, visits, and exchange classes and programs were now getting set in place. The volcano people helped propel The Dome technologically, and The Dome dwellers helped them in exploration and in establishing communication with other stations. It was a mutualistic relationship: a beautiful thing.

Aside from those things, the two were working on another project together, with Millo and Loren right at the center…

“You ready, my love?” Loren asked. She was outfitted in a spacesuit and helmet.

“Ready. You?” Millo said, looking over. Loren's legs shook like two overcooked noodles.

“I don't know.” Loren's big eyes wandered the magma chamber; the same one she had led Millo to when they had first met.

“Hey, we've checked the engineering, run tests, and performed simulations dozens of times,” Millo said. Her tone was stern yet comforting. She had on a spacesuit and helmet of her own. “Now we finally get to go into space. Isn't that so…”

“Insane?” Loren offered.

“Intriguing,” Millo replied. “It'll be an adventure. Besides, if our ancestors survived the earth nearly falling apart, we can succeed in our little mission.”
A boy from The Dome came up behind them.

“We're all ready to go,” he said. “All ready?”

Millo looked at Loren, who gave a quick nod.

“Yeah,” she said, returning the glance. She was frightened yet determined. “Let's go.”

Her frown curved upside down as Millo kissed her. Together, they stepped into the spaceship.

* * *
The Earth looked gorgeous from space. A giant blob of swirling black and red just floating in the open.

* * *
[part 3 of the weekly]

Millo and Loren had been sucked into a wormhole on their space voyage and carried out to some weird planet that was swarming with humanoid creatures that had no gills and wore no masks. Oxygen suffocated every corner of the environment, and the air stank of an excess of plants. After a few minutes, the two figured out that while Millo could, potentially, breathe the oxygen-full air, Loren couldn't, so they decided that Loren would stay at the spacecraft to set out their next course of trajectory and Millo would go to gather information about the world they had landed in.

She walked through the streets of a town - an actual town that was out in the open - until a crowd of the humanoids caught her eye. She walked towards it.

“Hi, terribly sorry to bother you,” Millo began, talking to a humanoid standing in front of two green gates. She was uncertain whether they spoke the same language, but she had to try. “What is this place?”

The humanoid she had picked out from the crowd, who stood by some bright green entrance gates, answered: “This is the Woodland Zoo! It's free admission today, so you can come on in if you'd like!”

“Uhhuh,” she said, still cautious. He had a funny accent, but they could understand each other. “Would you mind being a little bit more specific?”

“Chicago. In Illinois,” he said. Seeing her puzzled expression, he added in a half-joking tone: “You know, like, America? Earth? Year 2060?”

Millo felt she could faint, but she just smiled politely. “Right. Thanks.”

“Hey, do you mind me asking, where's you accent from?” the human called after her.

“Earth,” she replied with a chuckle of disbelief.

She walked forward among the crowd and the animal habitats. One in particular caught her eye.

“I've always wanted to see an elephant,” Millo said to no one in particular, leaning on the guardrail and looking at the large grey animal in wonder. It looked back at her with intelligent brown eyes.

The zookeeper, in turn, side-eyed her with his. ‘CLARK,’ his badge read in bold red marker.

“Well, glad you finally got the chance to see one,” he said, amiably enough but with a furrowed brow. “Do you not go to zoos often?”

“No, we don't have any zoos,” Millo answered. She thought back to her home planet. They housed some animals, like sheep, goats (mag)cats, and dogs, but they didn't have the space or the resources to house actual zoos. She looked around. The facility could've fitted an entire station in it.

The year, as the person at the front had stated, was 2060. Everything was calm at the moment, and no one knew that a giant explosion would ruin everything in a short 65 years. Although perhaps it would never come. Perhaps this world was different, and not merely a time capsule of the one that Millo had come from. Maybe this was an alternate universe altogether. Perhaps she had traveled through reality, not time.

She hoped so. It looked far too happy and sunshiny to ever be smothered by weapons and volcanic fumes.

There must've been something about Millo that looked strangely off in this modern Earth. Looking at the odd girl next to him, Clark found himself saying, “Wanna feed one?”

Millo turned, surprised. All the signs said not to feed the animals. But hey, if the zoo guy said she could, she'd take her chance - after all, she couldn't get kicked out if she was doing what she had been allowed. Besides, she had dealt with things a bit more dangerous than the elephant. She could deal with feeding the beautiful creature.

Clark led the way to a special hidden door and opened it. Several kids oohed as the two stepped into the enclosure.

“Can I do that too?” Millo heard a kid ask his parents.

“No, you're way too little, you'll get stomped on!” his dad replied jokingly.

Millo followed Clark towards a small dark grey elephant. Each step echoed in her ears, matching her heartbeat. She breathed in and held her breath as she took the elephant's food and reached her hand out.

“This is Mila,” Clark was saying. “Don't worry, she's super friendly.”

The elephant took the food with her trunk right out of Millo's hand.

“Hi Mila,” was all she could say. “I'm Millo. Isn't that funny? We almost have the same name.”

She made a sound, sending air from her mouth, and moved her head in a nodding motion.

Millo didn't believe in fate; otherwise, she would have stayed at the zoo forever, just standing there with the elephant all day. Instead, she fed the elephant the rest of her food, said her goodbyes, thanked the zookeeper, and left. Before she walked away, she looked back. Mila was still watching her. She raised her trunk and flared her nostrils as if waving. Millo smiled ear to ear and waved back.

* * *
“I'm back,” Millo said cheerfully as she stepped into the spaceship.

“Good, you're just in time,” Loren said from behind the controls panel. Just thirty more minutes, and we'll be able to set ourselves back on course.“

”Just thirty more minutes plus lunch, and then we can leave,“ Millo said. ”I'll tell you all about this planet, and-“ she laughed, unable to contain her joy. ”-and you've got to hear about my day!"

* * *
Sitting in the space pod as Loren and she traveled through the wormhole, Millo pondered the occurrence. One of her biggest wishes had been fulfilled: she had seen a real live elephant. Moreover, she had talked to her. Of course, the elephant said nothing in return, but the way she had swung her body, shaken her head, and held her trunk meant thousands of words.

Chuckling, Millo thought: Those eyes… They could melt ice, the way they radiated warmth like a beautiful, jarring sun in the midst of an ashen sky.

She was happy she had gotten that magical moment of fulfilling her dream. It was odd how such a seemingly insignificant moment felt so important. She would remember it for the rest of her life. Nevertheless, she was happy they would be returning back to her Earth. She was happy she hadn't stayed. The sun shined dimly, temperatures ranged from freezing cold to scathing hot, and breathable air was scarce, but it was familiar and beautiful.

She and Loren soared back out of the wormhole into the deep blue sea of space soup. They'd be reaching home soon.

March 2026 SWC: continuation of daily 20: Pirate Themed


Author's note: These pieces are about Barnacle the Pirate (whose description you can find below), but they symbolize more than that. Barnacle's attitude in the face of trouble or rage bait (this is one of the rhymes in the second poem XD) shows incredible inner strength and the confidence that one will endure anything that may cross their path. After all, the journey is what matters, so you might as well enjoy it.
Thank you to Herm for the rhymes in the first poem (sea, blue, ship, etc.) and to Saffron to the ones in the second one (weird, beard, peered, etc.)!


Barnacle the Pirate:

• long bushy beard and kind eyes
  strong but calm, balanced, and unruffled
  wise, unselfish, kind, humorous
  loves life (is generally a happy and optimistic person)
  loves meeting people, philanthropist
  his name symbolizes the simple ease of his state of mind (the way barnacles lead a simple life of living based on the tide)
  

Poem 1:
The fog encroaches on the sea,
Visible is less and less blue.
I hold steady my graceful ship.
The fog coats my arms, sucks into my throat, and permeates my eyes with its milky swirls until I cannot see.
Until the weather clears, I am free from sight. I am a pirate; I am always free.
Now, fear and anxiety are merely men I once knew.
My mighty vessel tilts, and I tighten my grip,
Patience, steadiness, calmness, confidence is key.
Obscured are the challenges and conquests like lie ahead. My view
Is that of alabaster. My sails, soaked with water vapor, drip.
I am a pirate. My life is like the sea: I traverse troubled and calm waters. I was not made to flee.

Poem 2:
It looked me up and down, disgusted. “You look weird,”
it said. “Shaggy as a yak, you are. Better cut your beard.”
I squinted and, at the thing, I peered;
Then a “BOOM” sounded (it was my laugh),
Which wiggled and shook our raft.
I said: “My friend, you are a small person, your body just your stage.
”You insult me so, you wish to see my rage?
“I have caught bigger fish than you; your use could be of bait.
”I'd swallow whole the fish you'd lure, and after I had ate,
“I'd sail off to meet those that are worthy of my wait.”

Weekly 4:
“Believe me, you want her on your side,” a villager said.
I stared at him blankly, then turned my head to stare at her: an old granny that stood in a knitted sweater, holding a cane and a purse of treats. Grandma Ma, they called her. I turned back to the villager.
“You do realize that I am climbing up a mountain,” I said.
“Yes, that has a dragon at the top,” he said. “She'll be a perfect companion!”
I looked back at the granny. She seemed fit enough, with sprightly knees and a determined expression on her face. Then I shrugged.
“Ok.”
I already had a goat that I had bought in a bar trade – you know how those go – in the first village I had visited, and a talking magical apple named Lady Gala that had been gifted to me (probably just to get rid of it, since it was SUCH a yapper) in the second village, so why not a granny from the third village, too?
I should probably give you some context. I am on a quest.
I hadn't meant to get chosen for it; quite the contrary, I hadn't even known what was going on! You see, there were some contests that the potential fighters had to go through, like hopping over a wall barrier, solving puzzles, running a race, and getting rid of the local wasp hives (this was part of the test, but I think it was more so done to finally get those little menaces to society finally off of the town bakery), along with a few others. Everything was very ornate and colorful, so I, having missed the start by going fishing, stumbled into the contest and thought it would all be fun and games! I am very competitive, so I tried reallyyyy hard… and then won. Oops.
“Take a look at this person,” Sir Evelynn had said. “Of all-” Sir Evelynn paused, counting, “-22 of you, he came out the champion. Honor him now if it so happens that he does not return.”
“Huh?” I had asked, frowning and staring at Sir Evelynn as if she were a peacock (we all know those are just myths and don't actually exist though, right?).
“Do you back down now?” she asked, misinterpreting my expression of confusion as one of fear. That struck a chord. I was too proud to accept fear, especially over something I did not even know of!
So I had said: “Never!” then added: “But uhh, return from where? Go where? Honor what? What are we doing?”
Apparently, I had inadverently signed up to be the “courageous warrior” – more like ‘distracted idiot – help steal Sir Evelynn Nayu’s golden flamango back from the dragon that lived up on the mountain on the horizon.
To get up on that mountain, one had to cross three villages, a wide, burling river, and an enchanted forest where trees talked and flowers walked, then you had to traverse a trail winding up the mountain, and then, to get up to the tippy top where the dragon's lair was, you had to climb a steep cliff. After all that, finally, you would get there, but that was only the beginning. You had to be in and out the cave without the dragon noticing. Luckily, it was half deaf, as the village had found out when they tried to blast music at it (long story, don't ask). Unluckily, it had an excellent sense of smell and sight, both in the light and the dark, so it could easily track intruders. And if you were caught, well, sucks for you! The dragon would get a treat that night. I guessed aside from having amped out sight and smell, it also had a pretty good sense of taste, since it had so far eaten most of our cattle and rabbits, plus a few humans as a snack. Unfortunate choice of meal, but I couldn't blame it. I liked eating food too; that was our second similarity, between the dragon and me.
The first? Oh, well, allow me to introduce myself, then.
“Hi, I'm Dragon,” I said, coming up to Grandma Ma. “We set towards the mountain in ten minutes. Next on our course is the river.”
“Wonderful, darling,” Grandma Ma replied. “Can't wait for the adventure to start!”
In ten minutes, we were already on the road in a farmer's wagon. She would take us to the river, and we could cross the river on a boat. The only catch was that there was a waterfall only twenty meters downstream from the location where we could cross. But we would get to that later!
The apple chatted with Grandma Ma as she fed the goat some hay. After a bit, we were there.
Grandma Ma hopped off first, followed by the goat – the two really seemed to be bonding – followed by me with the talking apple in a little sack attached to my belt.
After saying our thanks and goodbyes to the farmer, we got on the boat.
This had to be timed correctly. If the goat and I paddled slightly up the current yet towards the opposite shore at two big paddles per second, we could make it.
In other words, we probably wouldn't make it. But we had to try!
“Ok, everybody,” I began. “This is going to be hard, but we can do it!” (this was a lie) “On the count of three:
one, t- WOAH!”
Grandma Ma used her cane to push off the shore. The boat disembarked before I had finished counting. Whatever. Who cares about being ignored?
I pouted but began paddling nonetheless. Soon, the goat and I were panting like ultra fluffy dogs in an arid desert. Worst of all, our efforts weren't making a difference anyway. Despite how hard we were trying, we were floating downstream towards our doom. The waterfall was at least a 30-meter drop.
“BAHHHH!” the goat and Lady Gala screamed in unison.
Even Grandma Ma looked uncomfortable.
“Well, at least I'll go out uniquely,” I heard her mutter over the growing sound of churning water. That didn't help to calm my nerves.
“HELP US!” Lady Gala screeched in a final attempt to save us.
Her pleas seemed to, surprisingly enough, have worked. I may have mentioned that on the other side of the river was an enchanted forest? Well, guess the trees felt bad for their fruity sibling and decided to help. One particularly large pine tree stretched itself, tilting its long body towards us. At the last second, the four of us grabbed on – or at least, those that had hands grabbed on. The pine had extended itself a little too far, gathering too much potential energy, and we were thrust out of the water like rockets from a launchpad.
“THANK YOUUUUU!” Lady Gala yelled as we careened through the air.
The rest of us just screamed.
We crashed into the ground on the opposite side of the forest, whose inhabitants slowed our fall with their branches.
“OOF!”
The air was ripped from my lungs, and my vision went dark. Several seconds passed before I regained consciousness. I lay there, looking up at the blue sky through which I had just flown. We were in a clearing between the trees and rocks. We had fallen like boulders, but at least we hadn't fallen onto one.
Fortunately for us, we were now already out of the forest! Unfortunately for us, we were now all bruised and aching. Well, I was all bruised and aching. Everybody else, including, miraculously, the apple, seemed to be doing just fine.
“My, you look a little rough. Pie?” Grandma Ma asked in an ever-optimist tone, looking up at me from the bed of flowers she had landed in. They twirled around her gently, offering soothing words of encouragement as Grandma Ma got up.
“I think I'll pass,” I croaked from my own place in a rotting log that was stuck in mud. The rotting log kicked me.
“Hey, careful there,” Lady Gala warned me from her place in my sack. “You almost ruined my rosy cheeks!”
I rolled sighed in a mixture of annoyance and pain, got to my feet, and hopped to the dry, clean land next to the mud puddle. I brushed myself off as the others looked around.
“Behhhh,” the goat said. I decided to name her Gina, to mark her accidental purchase. She nodded her head and pranced along towards a tiny path at the foot of the mountain.
“Good going!” Lady Gala said. “You've found the trail! Onwards!!”
We proceeded up the hill. Lady Gala, angry with the “careless” way I was treating her, now rode on Grandma Ma's shoulder. Gina trotted happily ahead. I limped at the end the short procession, still recovering from nearly having become a pancake.
After a while of walking, I started listening into the conversation ahead. Grandma Ma was telling Lady Gala about herself and the adventures she'd previously been on.
“After training with Ms. Luciola, I became a ghost hunter on the Glacier Coast. That's a cold outstretch of land way down South. It's said that it's so cold because of all the spirits there. I worked there for four years, seeking and trapping malignant ghosts. It was a messy but rewarding job. Many of the peaceful ghosts were just as welcoming as the local people!
”I quit after a group of pirates came by, though. There were too many to fight off, so I made a deal with them instead. I'd join their crew and guide them to some of the diamond caves in the area, and in turn, they would leave the village alone and take me on their voyage. We swam from shore to shore for the next two years. Eventually, I got off in a city in the desert and became a barterer. That didn't last long – I wasn't a very good businesswoman, and my bones craved action – so I joined the ninjas there and worked with them for 14 years. After that, I did some side hustles for a decade, then finally landed my final job as one of ten protectors of a big sacred temple in the tropics of Oreolia. Thousands of worshippers made the perilous journey just to see the site with their own eyes, and I got to live there!
“Now I'm retired and go on side quests for fun! I've been living in that village for a few months, and many a time have I seen the dragon's shadow darken the clouds. So excited to finally get to see it!
”Thanks for taking me, brother of the dragon,“ Grandma Ma suddenly said with a turn, catching me off guard.
”Sounds like I'm lucky for having you with me,“ was all that came out in surprise. ”I mean, you're the coolest!“
Grandma Ma smiled and winked.
”I just started walking on my journey and didn't stop,“ she said. ”That's what set me apart from the others. Just keep walking, climbing, crawling, swimming, and you'll have as much a fun life as I.“
I considered her advice. It seemed simple enough, the way she had put it. If you didn't think about the fear, preparation, or obstacles that lay ahead, and instead cleared your mind and fastened your pack, you really could do anything. All it boiled down to was sheer determination and strength of will.
I looked at Grandma Ma, but through new eyes.
”I'm walking now, aren't I?“ I said with the beginning of a smile. ”And now… Now comes the climb." 

The path had ended. We beheld the cliff, the final stop before the dragon lair. It seemed even steeper and taller from there than from below, but I stood taller as well, back straight and head held high.
“Actually, I don't think climbing is a good idea right now, we should probably hide-” Lady Gala started saying but was cut off by Gina's fearful “BBEHHHHH!” as she was kidnapped by a giant scaly figure with big teeth and leathery wings that seemed to have come from out of nowhere and disappeared as quickly as it had come.
Our information had been incorrect. The dragon's cave was not just at the top of the mountain. It spanned the entirety of the cliff.
And right down next to us, the dragon had a secret lair.
Gina's braying echoed through the hollow rock. The three of us charged in after the perpetrator, running into the dark and jumping over the rocks, making our way up the through the twisting tunnels. The sound got quieter and quieter, and the echoes that remained only confused instead of leading the way. We were left surrounded by the dark emptiness of the unknown.
“Sugar,” I cursed (I would have used a stronger word, but I didn't want to upset Grandma Ma; she may have been cool as ice cream, but I still wanted to leave a good and behaved impression).
Not that that mattered, since Grandma Ma had lived with sailors- err, well, with pirates.
We waited several minutes for our eyes to adjust. There was a dim purplish glow from some bioluminescent mushrooms, but the cave looked otherwise pitch black. Sharp crystals and rocks stuck out from the walls, ceiling, and floor, making it hard to walk. I noticed some weird goop coating the ground near us. I scooped some up. It smelled horrendously of rotten eggs or sulfur (it was probably sulfur, but who knew?). Perfect. This would cover our smell. I took the apple from Grandma Ma's shoulder and splatted the goop all over her.
“EW!” Lady Gala protested. “YOU PSYCHO, THAT'S DISGUSTING!”
“It's for your safety,” I retorted. “If you get eaten, your beautiful pink skin will get broken down in stomach acid, meanwhile this is merely temporary.”
Grandma Ma and I rubbed the goop all over ourselves as well, then continued trekking through the tunnels, weaving in and out of crevices and caves and painfully slowly progressing upwards.
I wondered how Gina was doing. I doubted the answer was ‘good.’ I decided not to think about it.
After several hours of walking and a few breaks of dozing in some of what we considered the safer locations, we started hearing a deep, raspy snore coming from ahead.
Between its bad hearing, our goop, and its sleep, we had eliminated all the senses that could have helped the dragon find us. We needed to take advantage of this.
From the darkness of the tunnels, we emerged into another giant cave. Giant holes dotted the walls and ceiling, exposing bits of the sky. A glowing white orb hung in the air; it was nighttime, and the moon was out. The bright rays of the sun softly reflected off its pearly surface.
In the middle of the cavern lay the dragon.
“Behhh,” a weak bleat sounded.
“Gina!” Grandma Ma exclaimed. Handing me Lady Gala, she continued in an urgent tone: “I'll make sure Gina's ok, you two find the golden flamango. Quick, hurry!”
She ran over to help Gina. Aside from some scratches and perhaps a bit of trauma, she seemed alright.
After a few minutes of scouting the area, Lady Gala spotted the item we had been looking for: the golden flamango.
“Over there!” Lady Gala said. “I see it.”
We were done with the quest, but when we turned to leave, we realized our only exit had been blocked. The dragon had shifted and was now covering it.
I asked the obvious question: “Now how are we going to get down?”
Several minutes passed as we bickered amongst each other, trying to figure out a solution. At a certain point, however, we stopped. Something felt off. We turned.
The dragon had awoken.
We must have gotten so carried away that we'd completely forgotten about our other, slightly bigger problem. We were in an enclosed space with a living breathing dragon; HELLO??!?
It growled. The noise filled the room, suffocating our very presence. I wanted to respond to it, to protest. Was this really the end? After everything, our quest was over, but not with the happy ending that we'd hoped for. I wanted to go back to the waterfall. Alas, I was stuck in the cave.
I looked up.
The moon was so beautiful tonight.
I don't know what I was thinking. I guess I must have been exhausted from the hike up the maze on the inside of the mountain and shocked from the sudden turn of our luck against us, but I opened my mouth and let out a long, thin whine that traveled outwards onto the walls.
The dragon tilted its head, trying to hear it.
I let out another sound, pushing it out from the depths of my chest. All the happiness of the journey, allt he truiuymph we had felt, everything, all of it, meant nothing anymore. I stopped, then started again. This time it was a song, There were no words, just feelings. My despair. My guilt at dragging my friends into this. My shame at having not fulfilled my village;s expectations and failing. I felt like a big puddle of nothing. Soon, I;d be a big pile of bones.
I sang louder. Then liuder and liuder and louder.
The immense chamber sung back at us, expanding the sound until it seemed like an infinite dimension of its own. My voice was being pulled out of my very chest as I let go a final cry of yearning and sadness. The moon was a heaven descending upon us. Angelic singing brimmed the cave, spilling out like fruit from a cornucopia.
A new howl joined the thousand others that collided against the cold grey walls. I snapped from my entrancement, my voice falling abruptly back into my throat as I left the chorus. Eyes blurry from staring at the glistening moon, he looks over to the source of the new noise.
It's the dragon.
The dragon, it's singing.
I looked at it with new eyes. It looked back, cintinueing its mournfyul song.
It was alone, I realized. there was nobody else that talked to it, hung out with it, comfotrted it, love it. The sound Each village it flew to rejected it. I had never felkt that kind of pain. Perhaps I woudl never udnerstand what it had gone through, But I udnesrtood that I could help now.
I sang again. Our voiices rang together. The moon seemed dimmer than a shadow in comparison to the warm glow that filled the dragon;s home.
The sound crescended. Tne villages below could probably hear.
The dragon raised its head, and I did the same.
The song fklowed, filling our hearts and reberbertaing through our bodies.
My voice caught, and I laughed, yet tears spoilled out from my eyes.
The dragon gave one final howl.
We stood there, the dragon and Dragon, looking at each other.
Nect thing I knew, we were on the dragon's back, flying back down to our village, The air around us was fresh and charged, like after a rainfall. Had it rained?
The dragon vdiisted my village many times since that night. Every tiem it came, the peopel no longer cried in fear or hoisted their swords or yelled nasty things, The vchildren no longer were herded into their homes – save only to get to sleep or do their schoolwork after playing with the dragomn so much. It had becoke a part of our lives,a nd we had become a part of its. It was gardetfula nd no longer ate our livestoicka and surrounding animals (much).
Afterwards, i, kjust liek Frabma Ma had predictred, went on lots of new adventures. And you know what? The dragon came with me! We tercveeled the world tiogetehr, jist the dragona nd Dragon. And just for the humor aspect, we decided that “HUman” would be a fitting name for it.
Anyway, everyone lived happily ever aftera nd was able to get a happy ending. Human;s home no longer ever was cold or sad or depressinga nd became a hub for people to visit it! A bridge was built over the river (about time!).
Grandma Ma moved again, getting a lovely beachsdie villa where she lived with Lady Gala – who had fallen in love with and married the golden flamango! – and Gina (plus, oviously, the golden flamanago). and everybody vsiited each toher ayyyayya.

July SWC 2026: Expansion of a Word War: 600 words + notes
Credits to emberzz_ for the prompt (first phrase of the story)!

Warning! There is some imagery that may be disturbing! Nothing too graphic or g0ry, but the piece is written in a darker tone so just beware of that.



Frankenstein's Monster, in Pieces and Parts

“I thought I lost the only part of you that I had left.”

“What part?”

The part you thought up? The part you saw me as for my entire life? I was here the whole time. I was always here, waiting for you to realize that you had me… Waiting for myself to feel like I had you.

You wasted both of our time, pretending I was someone I wasn't. The second I gave in, you fled into the cavern of your mind, leaving me to trust-fall off a cliff with no one to catch me.

So many tales of bravery you read by my bed… Perhaps it is those tales that taught me to distinguish cowardice and cowards amongst people; you are one such craven. You promised you would stand behind me, by my back, like a wall. The second I turned, however, you stabbed me and then crumbled. When I was vulnerable, exposed, to you – for you – you coldly deemed me unsatisfactory. When I cried, you manipulated me by claiming I – a child – was manipulating you. My tears fell, unwiped, with an empty bowl by my face to be filled by them.

You are a liar. There are too many broken promises.

As my soul bled, you did not heal me, instead bringing disease into the wound. Now there is a gaping hole of sadness, eroded like the orange arches that we saw in happy times of our past.

Deep down, of course, you knew that I would never be what you wanted. But you wanted it so bad you didn't care. I am sure that you regretted your parenting, how you instilled in me confidence when I was still compliant. It would have been easier if I was more dependent on what others thought, wouldn't it?

Tell me, what part of me did you lose?

It seems that you would rather clutch at tiny fragments of what I could have been instead of loving what I am. I am nothing in your eyes but a failed part of your parenting. You wish to start over, but you can't, so you leave me and pick up a fake version – a doll of the child you never bore.

When do you think you lost me? Where? Was it at school, where I made friends with the ‘wrong’ people? Those people love me more than you have or could. Was it in my room, where I spent all my waking hours? No, I took refuge there after you showed me that was safer. Where did you lose me? I'll give you a hint: you blame me, but it is not I who ends up making excuses. It's almost funny, except…

It hurts to know you never really loved me.

You know, they do say, “if you love me, let me go.” I wish that you would let go of your delusions. If you loved me, you would let the doll you created go. You would not keep me so close to reinforce my suffering – that is not love. If you cannot let go, then I will have to do it for you.

I am your monster, Dr. Frankenstein – if Frankenstein could not see he was the scientist. You cut me up in pieces, so I stitched the parts up nicely so as to be presentable to you. I am no seamster, some stitches may have come apart. You did not lose those parts of me – I did.

The dull banging on the door still haunts me, doctor; you never apologized, just made more excuses and promises you did not keep.

You lost the only part of me you had a long, long, time ago.  

July SWC 2026: Word War w/ April: 183 words for the word war + 232 extra that I wrote after that
Credits to essayist for the prompt!


Earth awoke to an uncomfortable sensation it had never experienced before. It was almost like being pushed out of a bed, with the blanket ripped off from you.

“Hey earth! It's gravity,” a voice sounded nearby. “I'm taking a break.”

Sleepily, Earth replied: “Alright, see you.” It didn't want to be awakened yet. The morning had just begun – at least, on some parts of the planet.

Nevertheless, Earth opened its eyes. Wait… Gravity was taking a break? But that would be disastrous! What had it been thinking? Earth had to do something to stop it!

As Gravity lifted itself higher from the ground, Earth shouted: “Wait! Have you looked at the weather forecast for today? Is there any fun volcanic activity happening? Maybe a hurricane or two? Ooh you know what, maybe we should look at what the humans are doing, what if something's going on today?”

“You go ahead,” Gravity answered. “You can tell me about it when I get back. I'll only be a few days, just taking a quick vacation, you know?”

Clearly, that hadn't worked. ‘Darn it,’ Earth thought.

(End of the word war. After this point, it's just stuff I added after the 5 min.)

“Well what are you going to tell everyone that relies on you?” Earth stuttered, trying to guilt Gravity. “I mean, the fish can't breathe in air, and water won't stick to the ocean floor without you! Actually, there won't even be air without you! Nobody will be able to breathe!”

Gravity seemed to be disheartened a bit at this statement but didn't lose its resolve.

“Yeah, but I've been here for billions of years for them,” it said. “I deserve a break. And if not now, then when? Besides, like I said, it's only for a few days. Humans will probably survive as a general species. Evolution can continue from there.”

It continued floating away, leaving Earth feeling more and more desperate. It wasn't just anxious though. At this point, it was angry.

“You know what?” Earth screamed, “Respectfully, I don't care how you feel! You have a job, and by deserting your post, you're letting all of us down, me included. Get back down here at once, Gravity! You aren't going anywhere!”

Gravity stopped, stunned. It blinked once, then twice, as if just now realizing what it was doing, then slowly started settling back down.

“You're right, I'm sorry,” it said. “I have a responsibility, and I'm going to fulfill it. Thanks, Earth. Who knows what would've happened if I'd left?” It continued, looking a little happier: “And plus, I didn't really know where I was going, anyway. The sun? Too hot. Mars? Too red. Pluto? It's so small it's not even a planet; there's nothing to do there! Down here, I can always enjoy the nice beaches of the Caribbean, the pretty streets of Italy, the cool aesthetic of Tokyo… It's so nice, it's a vacation in itself!”

Gravity smiled, jolly once more.

Earth, in turn, sighed in relief. ‘Phew,’ it thought, ‘that was a close one!’

July SWC 2026: Word War + Continuation of the Story: 825 word

Homicide, Best Friends, and Tea Parties

The frogs sat by the pond, twiddling their toes in the murky greenish water. Algae dotted the pond. Lilies grew like pink little stars. It was the afternoon, and the frogs were feeling pretty lazy. A fly landed on the log near one of the frogs. The frog was about to leap at it and eat it but thought better of it. After all, it felt kind of bad for the fly and it didn't want to get up from where it was.

“Hey fly, how you doing?” it said instead.

“Woah, hey there Freog,” the fly replied in a funnily deep voice. “I'm good… assuming you're not going to eat me?”

It eyed the frog suspiciously, fluttering its wings nervously.

“Nah. I'm just chilling right now,” the frog replied.

Seeing that the frog had no intention of getting up or taking its tongue out (its secret weapon), the fly seemed to relax a bit.

“I see,” it said. “Nice day today. Nice weather.”

“Yeah, so sunny out.”

“So, what you been up to?” The fly asked another question.

“Well, idk just swimming around and napping and-” here the frog paused and glanced over at the fly guiltily. “-And eating some of your siblings. I actually have one of their wings with me.”

The frog pulled a torn wing out of its imaginary pocket and gave it to the fly.

A few seconds of awkward silence passed as the fly examined the wing. The frog pretended to study the clouds so as not to look at the fly.

Suddenly, the fly gasped and cried, “CALEB?!”

The frog jumped in its seat as the fly turned to it, its eyes filled with horror.

“Caleb?! You ate CALEB?! Dude that's my cousin's husband's mother's sister's in-law nephew. The fam's gonna be devastated! What the heck, man!”

All the frog could do was shrug and say, “Sorry for your loss, my bad.”

The fly wasn't letting the situation go though. It was furious.

“Yeah, you know what? It is your bad. You killed my in-law relative in cold blood, and you have the audacity to sit here and ask about my day. That just ain't right, man.”

“Look, I said I was sorry,” the frog retorted. “I didn't know it was someone you knew! Besides, I eat plenty of flies every day, it's nothing personal!”

“Oh, so I'm just a number to you now?” The fly sniffled indignantly. “I thought we had something going for us. A connection. An understanding. I thought we could even be friends! I was gonna invite you over for tea after this!”

The frog bit its lip, feeling humbled yet honored.

“Really?” it asked shyly.

“Naw, well not anymore! We don't got nothing between us now! ” The fly buzzed back. “Matter of fact, next time you go murdering flies, I bet you gonna eat me and not even recognize me!”

Now it was the frog's turn to gasp, appalled at such an accusation.

“Me?! You?!” It stuttered. “I would never! Fly, you're the best friend I've ever had. Nothing can make me forget you. Not even hunger.”

“Aww, you mean that?” The fly said, letting go of its defensiveness. After a beat, it seemed to remember why it had been mad, though, because it quickly said – “Well tell that to Caleb!” – and flew away, buzzing angrily.

“Yeah, you know I will!” The frog taunted from the log, its feelings hurt. “Cuz he's in my stomach at this very moment!”

The fly, unable to take those insults, turned around and flew back to the log.

“That's just mean,” it said, pointing one of its six limbs at the frog. “He was the bravest, strongest soul I've known, other than my ma, my sisters, my third-cousin-removed Herb, my aunt's boyfriend, and my aunt's boyfriend's friend.”

“Alright, I'm sorry,” the frog said to the fly. Then it put its head down and said to its stomach: “You hear that, Caleb? I'm sorry.”

“Ain't funny,” the fly mumbled, feeling a bit better nonetheless.

The frog frowned, sad it had hurt its new friend's feelings in the first place.

“Yeah, I know,” it said. “Can you ever forgive me?”

A beat passed as the fly thought about the frog's question, then answered, “Yeah, I guess. It happens, man. Sometimes I can't even tell my own nieces and nephews apart! They look identical!”

The frog just chuckled, scared to say anything else that would be offensive. The fly looked cheerier now, though.

“Hey, and if you want, you can still come over for tea,” the fly said, elbowing the frog playfully. “There won't be no flies for supper, but my mama sure does make a mean lily jam!”

“I'd be delighted!” The frog replied, its spirits uplifted. “See you at six?”

“See ya!” The fly buzzed, taking off into the lazy sunny afternoon to prepare for the tea party.