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Jason and Alex debate about math versus maths

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Jason: man! I wanted to trip you up! MATH
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Wordcount: 547
Topic: Deleted Scene (Daily)
Points earned: 300 and 150 for proof
Cabin: Fairy Tails

The Boy In The Striped Pajamas

It was raining, and Bruno rushed through the woods. His boots squelched in the mud as the rain blurred his vision. His boots were so heavy that even walking was a workout. Every step felt like he was going to sink down the layers of soil. His lungs burned, desperately gasping for the rushing cold air that tasted like pine trees and old clothes. He was trying to help Shmuel find his father and return as soon as possible to avoid too much trouble and be a typical boy.

Today was not necessarily a nice day, but he figured the rain would just disappear and he would be safe enough this evening. And, of course, there was the difficulty of explaining why he was so filthy and muddy. Bruno wondered as his legs tired out, like once when he sat in one position for too long. His stomach churned from the feeling of floating, snapping him back from reality as he fell. His boot stuck to the mud, slipping his little foot just right out. He tripped and fell down in the mud.

“No, no, no, no,” Bruno muttered under his breath.

He managed to pull himself up and lean against a nearby tree. Bruno gruesomely observed his injury—blood covered by the gloomy mixture of mud and branches. His teeth clenched together as he turned his leg. He tried to stand up, but the pain was unbearable. Mom, he thought. His tears mixed with the rain. But he gathered himself and lurched his way to Shmuel.
Shmuel was waiting for Bruno when he arrived.

“Did y—oh, what happened?”

Bruno collapsed to the ground.

“I fell, I can’t stand, Shmuel,” Bruno replied. His desperate need for air numbed the pain in his knee.

“Do you still want to find my Papa?” asked Shmuel. Bruno nodded quickly.

“Of course,” he said. “What do you think is the reason I came here?”

Shmuel took out his “pajamas,” revealing a second one inside. He tossed it over the fence for
Bruno; it landed onto the fence instead.

“Can you grab that?”

“I can’t stand,” Bruno said, still gasping.

Shmuel tried to grab it, but it was too high. His body was way skinnier now.

“I can’t reac—” A figure approached.

“Hey!” the man screamed.
Shmuel turned around.
“You need to get out of here now!” Shmuel ordered Bruno.

“What?”
“NOW! NOW! NOW!!”

Bruno tried to run, but all he could manage to do was crawl. He started to walk, and then with all he had left, he started to run for his life through the woods. He tried to look back, but Shmuel was already being swept up in a crowd. Shmuel looked back once, his eyes filled with terror Bruno didn’t fully understand, before he disappeared.

Bruno lay in the mud, sobbing in his arms. He waited for hours, calling for Shmuel, for his parents, for anyone.

It was that same Commandant who found him as the sun set. When Father scooped Bruno into his arms, his eyes drifted past his son to the fence. He saw the horror of war. He saw the creation of a killing machine. And he realized exactly what he had been working for—and how close he had come to feeding it his own son.

Son of the King || Stormlight Archives fanfic || 1936 words

He was, as always, abandoned.

Gavinor Kholin was four years old; his mother was insane.
He had a hard time realizing it at the time, of course. She was just his mother. Sometimes she did things other people found scary, but she was the queen. Queens were supposed to be a little scary, weren’t they?
But then came the day when everything went wrong. People were angry at his mother — his father came and argued with her — but his memories of that encounter were blurry, because he’d been backed into a corner at the time, cowering behind his mother’s dressing screen. She had given him over to something terrible, visions of madness. He’d clutched his toy soldier, surrounded by the awful red spren that showed him hideous and terrifying things. And he’d cried, quietly, fear trapping him. Insubstantial hands clawed at his head no matter which way he turned, forcing him to watch the horrors they showed him. He didn’t know how long he sat there before a man with a knife came and chased the spren away. The man had tried to pick him up, but terror was still pumping through him, and he’d screamed, scrambling back. And then his father had found him, even though the day had been so twisted and wrong that he initially flinched away from his touch. But then he was being cradled in his father’s arms, still clutching his toy soldier. His father had come for him. His father had saved him.
There had been people with swords — the Parshendi had come — there was fighting and chaos but his father held him tight through it all until a man with hatred in his eyes had arrived—
Daddy, no—
Screaming and scarlet—
Daddy—
That was the day his father, the king, died.

He had lived with his gram and grampa ever since then. His gram was beautiful, with thick black-and-gray hair, and soft when she held him. His grampa was rough and battle-worn, but he loved him too. Or so Gav had thought.
In the end, neither of them were any better than his mother. They left him, crying and terrified, alone.
His father wouldn’t have abandoned him. But his father was gone.

Gavinor had never intended to end up in the strange place full of memories. He just hadn’t wanted to be left behind again. He’d snuck away from his nursemaid to the basement where his gram and grampa had gone, watching. They were doing something down there, making something that spilled an unearthly light from the rip it had torn in reality. Lift was there, too. The older girl understood Gav in a way that adults didn’t sometimes; she was interesting, and she had taught him their secret handshake. She had told him sometimes it was okay to not obey. But this time, she hadn’t seemed happy that he’d taken her advice. Apparently this had been one of the times he was supposed to obey. He had started to leave, reluctantly, but then the light started pulling. It pulled Lift — it pulled his gram and grampa — and it pulled him. Yanked him straight from the world he knew into the reality where nothing was right and would never be right again.

Gram and Grampa called it the Spiritual Realm; they found him there, after a while. Gav had been stuck reliving the day both his parents died, forced to relive their deaths over and over and over.
Daddy—
The red spren had been back, and his mother had been back, and he’d wanted to scream but he hadn’t because there was no one to hear him.
His Gram explained that it was just like a story, the strange things they were seeing. His grandparents had pulled him from his past into visions filled with strange people and places, but she had assured him it was just like Shallan’s lightweaving stories — it wasn’t real, they were playing a game, reliving a reality that had already come to pass. Games were okay. Games were just pretend. He had played in the stories with his grandparents for a while.
And here, in the Spiritual Realm, he could hear a voice. It told him everything would be all right, it would protect him. He knew that voice. He trusted that voice.
It was, after all, the voice of his father.

Odium was in need of a champion.
His predecessor had no sense of flair. He’d been going to use some traitor soldier against Dalinar in the contest for the fate of Alethkar, but that was boring. Expected. And it wouldn’t hit nearly as hard as his former friend deserved. No, in order to win this contest, he would need to crush the king, heart and soul.
And…
He smiled to himself.
He knew just how to do that.

Gavinor had believed the visions were just a game until he saw his father on the floor, pinned by his grampa.
He’d stared in horror as Grampa fought Daddy — his daddy — throwing him to the floor, then smashing his breastplate. It may have been a vision, but all of the visions had really happened. This had really happened in the past.
“I didn’t mean to hurt him, son,” Grampa said. But all Gav could do was stare at his father, beaten and battered on the ground, tears blinding him.
Not again. Please not again.

Why was Grampa trying to kill all those people? He didn’t understand. The visions had shown him terrible things, things that shook him to his core.
And now he was back. Back in that day.
He would never escape it.
Gram was there with him this time, but even though she picked him up, she let go too. Something yanked him from her arms right before she stepped through the tear in reality that led back to the real world, and placed in her embrace a sleeping little boy with his face. But that wasn’t him, it wasn’t real — she walked through the light back into the real world — he cried out for her to stop, why didn’t she realize she no longer held him but an imposter — she never looked back.
And then she was gone.

He had cried, then. Scared. Alone. Abandoned. Trapped in the worst day of his life.
But… no, he wasn’t entirely alone here. The voice was back, the voice of his father. The voice that told him everything would be okay.
He looked up, face tear-stained. The red spren scattered, and the noise of the commotion quieted.
“D-daddy?” he sniffled.
A moment later, he blinked the tears away, and disappointment flooded him. This was not his father. This was an old man with a kindly face, short and wrinkled. He smiled at Gav. “No, son. But you miss him, don’t you? Your father?”
That voice. That… was the voice he’d been hearing. Gavinor wiped his face with his sleeve, nodding.
The old man’s face softened even further. “He was a great man, you know. A magnificent king. And Dalinar… your grampa…” He shook his head. “He’s always wanted power, you know. He’s always been hungry for that which isn’t his.”
Yes. His grampa had hurt… had hurt his father, the king…
“He’s done so much harm,” the old man continued, staring off into the distance thoughtfully. “Caused so much pain. And for what? Unchecked, he will destroy the kingdom of Alethkar. It would take a hero to stop him. A champion.”
His gaze returned to Gavinor.
“How would you like to be a champion, son of a mighty king?” the old man whispered, extending a hand. Gav took it, small fingers clinging to withered ones, and the man’s smile deepened.
“My name is Taravangian,” the old man said. “Some also call me Odium.”
And, hand in hand, the prince and Odium left the vision.

In the years that followed, Gavinor trained. And learned.
The extent of his grampa’s — of Dalinar Kholin’s — atrocities stretched even further than he’d thought. He’d killed his first wife. He’d almost killed his nephew, Gav’s father. And everywhere he went, he left a trail of misery and pain. Odium showed him vision after vision of the past, and every one of them sickened Gav further. Storms, the things this man had done. Someone had to stop him, something he understood better and better the older he became.

The city burned.
Gav watched the vision play out, coughing as he inhaled smoke.
This was his grandfather’s legacy: a city destroyed, his own wife a victim to his savagery. Destruction and ashes.

His father lay on the floor, eyes wide and terrified. Above him, Dalinar loomed, anger sharp in every line of his face. He had tossed Gavinor’s father around the room, breaking him like a willful child faced with a toy that wouldn’t do what he wanted it to.
This was his grandfather’s legacy: a good man bullied into submission, forcibly bent to Dalinar’s will. Fear and pain.

He watched the day he himself had entered the Spiritual Realm, seeing with fresh eyes the frustration on Dalinar’s face when he discovered his grandnephew. He recognized the meaning behind it now in ways his younger self hadn’t — couldn’t.
This was his grandfather’s legacy: a man intolerant of circumstances that went against his plans. Anger and abandonment.

Gavinor wrapped his hand around the hilt of the sword Taravangian had brought him, falling into one of the stances he’d been taught. In the vision, he attacked, and imagined that he faced his grandfather for real, not just the simulacrum of him that existed in this realm.
Odium had explained to him how it would work. In the Spiritual Realm, time passed differently; what had been twenty years for Gav would have felt like merely an hour to those in the real world. Gavinor would be Taravangian’s champion in the contest between him and Dalinar, the contest for the fate of Alethkar. And Gavinor would win — win back his kingdom and his life from the man who had done his best to destroy it.
He finished the battle with a decisive sweep of the sword, and the vision faded to nothing. He stood alone in the chaos of the Spiritual Realm, breathing hard, victory still thrilling through him.
Odium appeared, walking around him slowly. He wore a satisfied smile. “Yes…” he said. “I do believe it’s time.”
Finally.

Odium had told Gavinor the terms of the contest as soon as he was old enough to understand. He and Dalinar would both choose their champions. If Dalinar’s champion won, Odium would withdraw to the kingdoms he already held and leave Alethkar to him. If Odium won, he would claim Alethkar — and Dalinar’s soul, binding him to service as an immortal. Gavinor would rule under Taravangian’s guidance, restoring his father’s kingdom to its former glory.
All Gavinor had to do was win.
“Are you ready?” Taravangian asked, standing with hands clasped behind his back. Gav met his eyes, firm and resolved.
“I am.”
The Spiritual Realm split open as light began to spill through, light from a world Gav hadn’t set foot into for twenty years. Gripping his sword, Gavinor Kholin stepped through to save Alethkar — to, at last, give it the king it needed.

Behind him, Odium allowed himself a moment of triumph. He had done well by the young fool; the confused child had, guided by his hands, matured into an angry young man, practically begging to be molded to Odium’s purposes. He was the perfect weapon to use against Dalinar.
And he smiled as the final piece of his plan slid into place.
Click.

(Characters are from the Dream SMP. This is somewhat inspired by the “Sally Can Wait” animatic by Piedpiperrr on YouTube.)

TUBBO’S DOCK - NIGHT

Fundy is walking slowly down the deserted path, heading towards his house on the water. He stops to look over the side of the dock, seeing his reflection.

FUNDY: Man. Have my whiskers always been that gray? Losing a life must finally be catching up with me.

There is a moment of silence as he continues to stare downward, seemingly unable to tear himself away. Eventually, he takes a deep breath, looks up, and speaks again.

FUNDY: It’s worth it, though. Things are gonna change after this! Things are gonna… they’re gonna be better.

A flurry of bubbles in the water causes him to look back down.

FUNDY: What—

SALLY, popping up from the water in humanoid form: Fundy! Are you okay? What is happening in L’Manberg?

FUNDY, startled: M-Mom?

SALLY, swimming towards him: Fundy, you have some explaining to do! You lost a life?

FUNDY, taking a step back: Oh, heh. You, ah, you got my letter, then, I take it?

SALLY: Yes, I got it. And then you don’t send anything for a week?!

FUNDY: I’ve been- This conflict has been keeping me busy. Sorry, Mom.

SALLY, calming down a bit: Are you sure you’re okay? You were nonchalant about in your letter, but that’s one of only three lives, Fundy! It’s a big deal!

FUNDY: I know, I know. But it’ll all be worth it to save L’Manberg. That why I was out here, actually… I have some supplies to store in my house.

SALLY: For Pogtopia?

FUNDY: Yes…

SALLY: Just- promise me you won’t get yourself killed again, alright?

FUNDY: There’s going to be a war, Mom. I can’t promise anything. And…

SALLY: What?

FUNDY: Why do you suddenly care so much? You haven’t been here for any of it. Not since I was a pup, anyway.

SALLY: I’m sorry, Fundy, but a salmon’s gotta migrate, dear.

FUNDY: There was no one here for me.

SALLY, regretful: If I had known that your father—well, I shouldn’t say that. But I wish you had stayed with me. Do you even- do you even still remember how to shapeshift?

FUNDY: …No. I don’t think so, anyway. I haven’t tried in a long time.

SALLY, sorrowful: I… I’m sorry, Fundy.

FUNDY: Do you- do you think things’ll get better after this?

SALLY: I don’t know.

FUNDY: I love you, Mom.

SALLY: Love you too, dear.

Sage stared off into the distance. Clutching her ever-faithful dagger, she tensed when she heard the all too familiar sound of branches crunching. She whipped around, expecting to find some kind of beast. Alas, it was only her younger sister, Claire.
“Oh my stars, Claire! You nearly gave me a freaking heart attack. I thought you were a beast or something!” Sage snapped, shaking her head.
Claire rolled her eyes. “Yeah,” she muttered, “and here I was thinking that you always thought I was a beast.”
Placing a hand on her hip, Sage sighed. “You know what I mean, Claire.”
Claire grinned and stuck out her tongue. “Anyways,” she said, “what are you doing out here?”
Sage shrugged. “Exploring.”
“Yeah right,” Claire said, “you’re never just ‘exploring’. You’re hunting, or crying, or—”
“Crying?!” Sage interrupted. Claire shrugged.
Sage took a deep breath. “I’m here because supposedly there’s this super rare plant that only blooms like once every hundred years!”
Claire gave Sage a look. “Seriously?” She asked, “A plant?”
Sage sighed but didn’t try to defend her case. She knew that it was hopeless.
“Well, if it is just about a plant, then it s a good thing I brought some friends.”
Confused, Sage looked around the forest. “Where?”
“BOO!”
Sage let out a scream as her friend Jane tackled her to the ground.
“WHAT THE HECK!” Sage yelped, pushing Jane off of her, then (once the moment of panic subsided) hugged her best friend.
“What are you doing here?” Sage asks, incredulous.
Jane grinned her gap-tooth smiled and exclaimed, “Claire asked me to come help!”
Sage shot a look towards Claire as if to say, ‘really?’. Claire nodded and Sage grinned.
“Awesome!” She said.
“So…” Jane started, “Are we going to go search for this mysterious plant, or what?”
Grabbing her two favorite people’s hands, Sage said with as much confidence as she could muster, “Let’s go find it.”

Sea Magic || 2000 words

Never trust a kelpie.
Maisie adjusted her camera’s zoom, twisting the lens gently. The sea sparkled before her, somehow both mythic and playful, and the sun glinted off blue waves. She crouched in the grass, long blades tickling her ankles, as a salty breeze caught up locks of her hair and twisted its fingers through it.
Eilidh poked her in the back. “Come on, camera girl. We need to get back.”
Maisie rose reluctantly, staring out over the cliffs. “It’s gorgeous here,” she said longingly, sliding the cap over her lens. “You’re so lucky.”
Her friend followed her gaze, lips folding together. “Aye, it’s beautiful,” she agreed. “But it’s dangerous, too. There’s old magic here, older than bones.”
Maisie’s grip tightened on her camera. “Ah, well, magic is what I came here to shoot,” she said, waggling it.
She had been hoping to get a smile out of Eilidh, but the older woman just shook her head, red-and-gray curls bouncing. “Aye,” she repeated. “But some things are better left alone, lass.” Gray eyes shifted to hers. “I know what you’re looking for.”
Maisie saw no point in replying. She’d made no secret of the fact that she hoped to add a portrait of a sea horse to her collection. It would go well with the unicorn she’d managed to snap just the other day, white mane tossing as it ran. The ocean and the land, wild and free, both pinned up on her wall over her bed at home. Her index finger reflexively stroked the shutter button.
Eilidh sighed, and her friendly grin finally returned. “Well, I suppose if you’re to be a crazy magic photographer, a crazy magic photographer you’ll be. You’re worse than those storm chasers, you are.” She started down the path that wound down the cliff. “Come on, lass, we’ll be late for dinner.”
Maisie followed, but not before sneaking one last glance at the sea — and she could have sworn, just for a moment, that she saw a flash of black limbs churning, a tangle of seaweed and mane.

She returned to the cliff the next day, but whatever sunlit magic had infused the sea before was gone; it heaved and writhed today, gray with mist. Maisie’s skin prickled with goosebumps, and she wished she’d thought to bring a sweater.
“You look cold.”
Maisie turned, somehow not surprised when her gaze collided with a pair of amused green eyes. The young man dangled over the edge of the cliff as though he owned it, oblivious to the drop below him. Pebbles rattled down as he swung his heels. He gave her a sharp grin, damp strands of dark hair tangling over his forehead, the nape of his neck. His accent was even more pronounced than Eilidh’s — older, somehow.
“It’s a gray day today, lass,” he continued, smile widening. “One might wonder what you’re out here for.”
She motioned to her camera. “I’m a photographer.”
He scooted a little closer, pretending to inspect it. “Aye. And here—” he swept his hand out at the view, which was, admittedly, rather dreary— “we have the beautiful, bright sea in sparkling blues and greens. Lovely.”
“I don’t just shoot sunshiney days,” Maisie said. She wouldn’t have come to Scotland if she did. “Mist is… I like mist too.”
“Ach, well, as long as you’re happy,” the young man said, swinging his heels harder. “Is there anything in particular you like to take pictures of best?”
She felt, for some reason, that he already knew the answer, that he wanted to hear her say it. That he wanted her to come to the hazy conclusion that had begun forming in her mind the moment she saw him. “Yes,” she said, adjusting her camera strap around her neck. “I’m a — I photograph magical creatures. Magic. I take pictures of magic.”
“A dangerous hobby for a lass like you,” he mused, but his green eyes still smiled. “There’s nothing the fae love so much as a bonnie young girl.”
That was definitely seaweed in his hair. “Been going swimming?” tumbled out before she could stop herself. “It’s a rather chilly day for it, isn’t it?”
He met her eyes, and she swallowed, and his lips curved upwards again. “Aye,” was all he said. “I like it best that way.”
There was no point in pretending anymore. She held up her camera. “May I?”
The young man — the kelpie — pretended to think. “I’m not to my best advantage on the cliffs,” he said. “I look better in my natural element.”
She stuffed down the sudden, insane desire to let him lead her down to the shore. “I’m not such a fool as that,” Maisie replied tartly. “I’ll shoot you here or not at all.”
He swung himself fully on to the cliff, sighing in disappointment. “Ach, well, if you insist. Another day, perhaps.”
She raised her camera.


Eilidh gave her a suspicious look at breakfast a few mornings later. “You’ve been spending a lot of time at those cliffs, lass,” she said. It wasn’t so much a question as an opening, one Maisie refused to take. Her friend didn’t always understand her mania for all things magic, and if Eilidh decided the cliffs were too dangerous, she’d do her best to stop Maisie from going there.
“They’re interesting,” Maisie said, swallowing the last bite of toast and standing. She picked up her plate and walked over to put it in the sink, which gave her a convenient excuse to avoid meeting Eilidh’s gaze.
The woman grunted, unconvinced. “There are strange things on those shores, Maisie,” she said. “Things it would be well for you to stay away from.”
“It’s a good thing I like strange things, then,” Maisie said lightly, ignoring the second half of that statement as she grabbed her camera — and a sweater.
When she dared to sneak a glance at Eilidh, the older woman parted her lips as though to say something else, but finally just shook her head. “Be careful,” she said, worry lacing her words.
Maisie gave her what she hoped was a gentle, reassuring smile. “I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about me.”
Then she left before Eilidh could change her mind and drag her back.


The kelpie was waiting on the cliffs when she got there, in his customary position: legs hanging over the edge, heels swinging freely in midair. He glanced up as she arrived, a grin slanting across his lips. “Have you decided to come down to the shore?”
She gave him her sternest look, although she feared it wasn’t really that stern. “No,” she said firmly. “The answer is always no. Sit still and look pretty, seaweed boy.”
He complied, turning his head to look out to the horizon and show her his side profile. His hair was, as always, wet — and, sure enough, there were strands of kelp tangled in it again. She wasn’t sure whether they actually grew from his scalp along with the hair, or whether they just got caught in it. She didn’t plan to get close enough to find out. He might be friendly, but he was still a kelpie.
She snapped a few shots, moving around to try to get the best angle, stopping a few times to adjust her camera settings. “You’re quiet today,” she noted. Normally he chattered with her playfully as she worked, green eyes bright.
He hummed in the back of his throat. “Maybe. The sea’s calling more loudly than usual.”
She followed his eyes to the waves below, gray and foamy as they crashed against the sand. Maisie was no sea horse, but even she could feel it: a distant, wild siren’s song ringing from the churning water. The air was thick with mist and magic today.
She lowered her camera, sliding the lens cap on. “I’ve got enough shots for today. You’re welcome to go back.”
Green eyes slid to hers. “Will you go with me?”
Her throat tightened. Usually he said it with a laugh and a smirk, like he already knew what her answer would be, like he asked it just because he could. This time, though, his lips were uncharacteristically straight, and the merry twinkle in his eyes had flared into something brighter, hotter. This time he asked it like a real question.
She slammed down the wild impulse to say yes again. That way lay madness. “No,” she said instead, proud of how steady her voice was. “The answer…”
Maisie lost her ability to speak for a moment as he leaned closer, expression still intense.
“…Is always no,” she managed to finish, backing away.
His gaze returned to the sea, and she directed her own eyes to the ground, because it was safer than staring at him. She was afraid her answer might change if she did that for too long.
“Ach, well, suit yourself, lass,” he said, and when she looked back up he was gone.


Neither of them spoke much the next day. Maisie took her shots mechanically, and he posed just as stiffly, usual smile gone. She slid her lens cap back on after only a few minutes, pretending to shiver — which wasn’t really so pretend after all, as it was even chillier today than it had been the day before, with a light drizzle soaking her even through the sweater. “I think we’ll call that a wrap for today,” she said. “I’m cold. And I’m sure you want to be getting back to the sea.”
She wasn’t sure what made her add that last part.
He reached out and grabbed her wrist before she could pull away, green eyes searching her face. His skin was cold and damp, but not in a repugnant way. More like he’d just emerged from the ocean — which he had. This close, she could smell the wild tang of sea water that clung to him.
“Please?” he whispered, and goosebumps that had nothing to do with the weather pebbled her flesh.
She’d have to refuse again, as much as that was starting to pain her. But cool lips met the corner of her jaw, and suddenly it was a lot harder to remember what she was supposed to say.
“No.”
Her cheek.
“No.”
He hesitated, lashes dipping over his eyes, so close she could see the water still beading on their tips, before his mouth found hers. He tasted like salt, sand, and magic.
She’d intended to say no again, she really had. But this time, what slipped out instead was “Yes.”
He took her hand, and led her down to the sea.


Waves splashed over her feet as Maisie approached the surf, heart pounding. The water was violent today, smacking against sand as though to remind those watching what it was capable of doing.
She turned to find the kelpie staring at her with a strange smile, still on the sand. Slowly, deliberately, he waded out in the water towards her.
She lifted her chin, raising her eyes towards his. They were greener than she’d ever seen them, as though he held an infinite ocean in his irises.
He bent his head towards her, lips grazing her ear.
“Thank you,” he whispered, and kissed her again, and then he yanked her into the water.


Eilidh paced up and down the shore, worry tightening around her lungs with every breath. Maisie had left the house hours ago; now the sun was dipping down lower, embracing the horizon, and she’d found no sign of the girl. Crazy lass, flirting with magic. It would catch up to her someday.
She paused as she saw something black in the water, breath catching as a wave gently tossed it up onto the shore.
A waterlogged camera, strap hanging limp in the sand.
She knelt beside it, water splashing around her knees.
When she raised her eyes to the ocean again, she could have sworn she saw dark hooves, a mane tangled in seaweed.
Never trust a kelpie.

Thank yous <3

To Snowy:

I had such a fun time with you, with our chaotic planning and the session itself! It was so amazing to get to know Clair Obscur from someone who is so obsessed with it - as I’m sure everybody knows! I admired your dedication to our cabin so much - you were so detailed in all of your planning and made everything so lovely for our cabin - from updating the QOTDs so frequently to the storyline activities! I’m really sad to have to be leaving this session a few days early, but I’m sure you’ll manage fine <3 Thank you so much for being such a lovely and fun person to (co)lead Dystopian with and I hope to see you around! <3

To Skylar:

I was so excited when I found out I’d be co-leading with you again this session! Action was so much fun, and this session was just as fun as that! Like Snowy, your dedication was so admirable, especially with the beautiful designs you did on Canva <3 Thank you so much for being such an icon to co-lead with <3

To Dystopian:

I absolutely loved co-leading Dystopian this session, and you guys were so dedicated with all the dailies, weeklies and so on! We have been near the top of the leaderboard for most of the session, and we survived Cabin Wars with all of our wars won, and none halved (I think??). It was so lovely to get to know some of you more, through the QOTDs and just chatting to you! Thank you for being an amazing cabin!

hiiii im super excited to get started critiquing this <3 ill mostly be focusing on what you suggested in your notes

The Troll and the Two Sisters

Once there was a girl and her sister, who were orphans and lived with their old grandmother in a small village. They were very kind and good and helped her often. Old Grandma sent them into the woods one day to pick berries for a pie; she could not go herself as she was weak and unable to walk too far.

I like this a lot! I think the sentence could be slightly rewritten to make it sound a bit more flowy, like “once upon a time, there was a girl who lived with her sister and grandmother in a small village.” i also think calling all the characters “the _” meanwhile the grandmother isnt called that is sort of throwing me off consistency wise!

They were walking down a winding path lined with waltzing ferns and murmuring grass when a loud, rhythmic thumping startled them, and they looked up straight into the glimmering eyes of a large troll. He was an ugly creature: skin like rough gray stone and long, tangled hair the color of slime. Shining jewels of deep purple and red were set into his forehead, wrists, and ankles. He stank, too; like wet dirt and rotting plants. The thing towered over the sisters, who knew that he was the legendary troll of the nearby woods, feared by all and said to eat anybody he thought looked yummy.

For some reason im actually having a hard time visualising the troll? I think the contradictory adjectives are making it somewhat confusing, instead of juxtaposing it. Glimmering -> ugly, shining -> stank i feel like makes it a little.. Off somehow? Also the scents dont really seem like things that smell that bad, mud doesnt really have a smell and i dont know what a rotting plant smells like, so maybe go with a more well known smell like rotten flesh or just “death”?

The girl's sister trembled as she stared up at the troll. She did not want to be eaten, and he looked awfully hungry. She imagined his sharp teeth, glistening with spit that was probably venomous, and his huge arms, which could launch her into the air and straight into his gaping mouth. The sister took a tentative step back, away from the troll.

This is kind of nitpicky but i would probably just say “the sister” or “her sister” for lack of repetition sack! Again this is nitpicky but the sentence “she imagined his sharp teeth, glistening with spit” doesnt really make sense to me? Like if she sees the teeth covered in spits, its not imagined, and if she doesn’t, you could get rid of the comma and make it sound more like an imaginary thing not a real one if that makes sense?

Unlike her sister, the girl had a good heart filled with compassion and bravery. Though he was terribly ugly and she was afraid, she asked the troll politely if he knew where to find some good berries. The troll answered yes, he did in fact know just where to go.

Her sister pulled on her arm, trying to leave, saying, “please, he's going to trick you. He'll chomp our heads off and munch on our toes for lunch!”

The girl looked steadily up at the troll. “You don't know that,” she told her sister. “Just because he seems scary doesn't mean we'll die.”

The sister was afraid, and she was stubborn. They went their separate ways; the girl with the troll and her sister on her own.

I really like this part!! The only thing i would maybe change is shifting it away from her having a “good heart” more towards bravery, i dont actually know what the moral lesson at the end is but this sort of sticks out to me as being brave for the sake of being called good.

The troll led the girl down a tangled path to a clearing in the woods full of thick strawberry bushes. A sweet, floral smell hung in the air. The girl picked as many as she could find, and she returned home that day holding a basket brimming with ripe, plump fruit.

Her sister came back late that evening with only a few shriveled berries. At the scent of a freshly baked strawberry pie drifting out of the cottage, she crept towards the window and peered inside. Old Grandma was giving the girl a big hug, and thanking her for the mountains of fruit she'd brought home. A bitter shadow uncurled within the sister's stomach, and she tightened her fists before going inside with her handful of raisins.

I like this part too!! My only note would be the very subtle perspective shift between the narrator and the sister, when i feel like it should be formatted more like “the girl was inside, getting a hug, while the sister watched from the window” sort of like reformatting it to be from the narrator’s pov since presumably the girl is the main character!!!

The next morning, dewdrops lounged on blades of grass and warm brown chickens clucked and bobbed around the sunny yard. At breakfast, OId Grandma told her grandchildren, “I'd really love some walnut cake today. Would you two be dears and go into the forest for me to find some walnuts?”

And off they went again, down the same winding trail, leaves and pine needles crunching softly beneath their feet, where they ran into the same troll. This time, the girl eagerly asked for help, her sister stood sulking to the side, and the troll once more replied that he knew exactly where the best walnuts were. Again her sister refused to go; she was still afraid of the troll and now heavily disliked him too.

When they returned to the village that day, the girl had brought a basket bursting with big, wrinkly walnuts with thick green shells. Her sister had found only a handful of tiny nuts. Old Grandma gave the sister a smile that seemed just a tiny bit pitiful. The walnuts snapped and crumbled as the girl chopped them up for the cake, then stirred them into the batter with a wooden spoon. Within minutes, fat slices of golden brown cake sat on plates around the kitchen table. The sister's heart crumbled as she took a bite—it was soft and rich and melted on her tongue.

I like this part a lot! You can feel the growing sense of the story, which is really similar to fairy tales—strangely i see the resemblance most to the boy who cried wolf, with the repetition of events until something inevntiable changes to flip it on its head. Good job here!! I would maybe just change “within minutes” to “and soon enough” or something similar, otherwise it feels almost too quick? But tharts just nitpicky so dont mind me lol

On the third day, Old Grandma woke up and said, “I want to make some mushroom soup today. Would you children go into the woods for me to collect some mushrooms?” and off they went yet again.

The thing that had quietly been spreading throughout the sister's heart had now consumed her whole body. This time, the sister was fed up with the troll's help, and she silently followed the girl and the troll as they walked through the trees. The sister watched them gather mushrooms, making sure to stay still and breathe slowly so she would stay hidden. And when the girl thanked the troll and headed home, her sister stayed behind and chased the troll all the way to a strange looking hut built into the side of a cliff: his home. It was made out of logs and moss and stones, piled up around a slight cave to create a shack of sorts. She jumped out of the trees, yelling to reveal herself, and stood as menacingly as she could in the doorway. The thing inside her roared.

Again this is nitpicky but i would separate the end of the girl going home into its own sentence before the sister attacks, otherwise its kind of confusing to read almost? Like you could easily skip over it on accident so just a simple reformatting could help a lot here!!! Also the last sentence, the thing inside her roared, i would maybe edit lsightly because im confused if that made her roar or if it was more of an internal thing!!

The sister began to lob stones at the troll. They made a sickening crack as they collided with the creature's skin.

“Thanks to all your help—” crack! “—you evil monster—” crack! “—my sister is bringing home all of these—” crack! “—baskets full of berries and nuts and mushrooms—”

“Is that not a good thing?” the troll inquired. Crack!

“Now Old Grandma likes me less!” she burst out. The sister looked at the floor. Her fingers, wrapped around another rock, hung limply by her side.

“I'm sorry. I just—I was trying to be kind. It's lonely, you know, out here with everybody in the village afraid of me for no reason at all… I'm sorry for helping.” the troll apologized.

At this the sister felt very bad for the troll, and she thought for a moment before an idea popped into her head, and she made him a deal. “How about this,” she said, “I can be your friend. I'll visit you and be nice to you and keep you company. And I'll even bring you some of the mushroom soup we're making tonight! And if I do that for you, will you please stop helping my sister?”

Hmmm I feel like this completely one eighty of the sister’s feelings maybe need ssomehting else behind it? She did already know both that he was willing to help and that he hadnt hurt anyone yet, so i dont understand this completely reversal of feelings. I feel like the better solution would be to have her ask for something the sister doesnt have, so she can bring something new home too!!

The girl had realized something was off when her sister did not come home, and taken a guess as to where she had gone. She was just arriving when the sister had proposed her deal, and at this she could stand no more. The girl leaped out from her hiding place and said, “that's ridiculous! Troll, don't listen to her. You can come for dinner with us tonight, and we'll be your friends and tell everybody in the village that you aren't really terrifying. And you,” the girl said as she turned to glare at her sister. “You could have come with us, you know. But you chose to believe the rumors and fear this wonderful troll just because he looks a little frightening!”

The sister bit her lip and nodded quietly. The shadow in her heart wilted into dust. A moment later, she thought of something. “The sun is still high in the sky. What if,” she began, “we go back to the place where the mushrooms are. All three of us. And I can help pick them, and Old Grandma can make tons and tons of mushroom soup. We can all have some.”

The sky was light indigo and splattered with streaks of cotton-white clouds. Old Grandma stood stirring a big pot of mushroom soup. She had been nervous at first, but the children reassured her that he was a
very respectable and kind troll. Lacy curtains fluttered in a gentle breeze that carried the earthy smell of the soup outside, where her granddaughters were setting the wooden table in the garden. They covered it with a checkered cloth, put a pot of tulips in the center and clean spoons and napkins at each place. Then, at last, the four of them sat down, each with a steaming bowl of mushroom soup. The sister brought the spoon to her mouth. She slurped the salty broth and bit into hot, meaty mushrooms. The sister watched the troll fumble with his spoon and manage to eat some soup, and she saw him smile brighter than the sun.

The End.

I like this piece a lot, but the ending feels a bit rushed to be honest!! Im guessing the lesson is something along the lines of “dont judge a book by its cover” but i dont really feel like i got a sense of that? Im sorry, i hope this isnt rude! In the first half, the girl seems like the protagonist, but in the second half the sister does. I think it would be best served with having one, preferably the sister, so we can get more of that story element! I also think it could be interesting to have another example of this lesson (if I was right about what it is) where there is maybe another creature or person who looks innocent but does mean things and leads of them astray. Anyway, take my advice with a grain of salt, this was really fun to read so great job!! <3

Word war with Tilly

Prompt: Life. Complex, simple, and yet, so mangoey // Time: 7 min // Words: 311

Also, I'm sorry I didn't do a very good job, I'm tired.

“Life. Complex, simple, and yet, so mangoey,” Julia smacked her lips as she took another bite out of the mango pie.
“I never actually knew there was mango-flavored pie in the world. I just wish we were eating it for a different reason. Not because it was about to give us magical powers so we can defeat an evil wizard,” Calypso sighed.
“It only takes a single slice, then we can get to the real action and slay those guys. First, we need to prove worthy or something like that,” Cameron smiled at us both.
“I wish we had our dragons.” Calypso finished her pie slice and pictured our dragons, flying away into the distance, being led by enemy soldiers as they went. They needed to get them back, but first, they would have to survive without them. It was like a card out of the villain’s cliché playbook: steal the dragons.
“Hey, wait a minute, you guys didn’t tell me what kind of magical powers we were gonna get from this stuff, what is it? How will we know? How long does it take?” Connor started to freak out.
“That is a good question, which I have no answer to. Sorry… We should’ve found out more before we tried it….” Julia said, digging into her second piece.
“We are fools.” Calypso slouched and pushed away her empty plate, staring at her bow hanging on the wall and trying to think of good battle strategies they could use.
“Well, too late to know, we got this.” Connor’s mood seemed to be changing very fast. Pessimist to optimist, optimist to pessimist. That's quick.
“Wait, guys, is the wizard in allegiance with the giant army that was attacking us?” Julia asked with her eyebrows raised.
“YES!! You didn’t realize that before?!?!?” Connor replied, obviously astounded at her dumbfounded expression of utter dismay.

“I'm no good at poetry, but here goes

Summer's gone
No more warm sunshine. Oh, how I miss the way the sun felt on my face
No more clear, bright blue skies. Oh, how I miss the beauty in something so simple
No more fun trips to the beach. Oh, how I miss the roar of the ocean
No more sweet aromas. Oh, how I miss the scent of peaches and roses
No more starry nights. Oh, how I miss staying up late and watching the night pass by

I like this! To be honest, it feels repetitive in the way that isnt intentioned. Obviously there’s what’s meant to be the same “no more _,” “oh how i miss” but it feels like there is one too many lines to be the perfect amount of repetitive if that makes sense!

Summer's gone
I miss how the sun would swirl all around me
I miss how the clouds always formed something fun
I miss how the salty ocean air made my heart leap
I miss how the flowers bloom big and bright
I miss how the stars twinkled against the midnight sky

Again samr thing with five lines when it should be four (imo), also me sort of rhymes with leap but fun doesnt really rhyme with anything so it feels a little off! Still like it though <3

Summer's gone
Fall is here
School is here
I am here
This is the last year
You are not here

To me this doesn’t make a lot of sense? How could it be the /last/ year that summer isn’t here, both as the person and as the season? From my understanding the person is dead, so it wouldn’t make sense for her to come back, and if the season wasn’t there this year the premise for the poem almost doen’t quite make sense? Just a thought though!!!

Summer's gone
There were plans to finish school
There were plans to graduate at the top
There were plans to get a job and work well
There were plans to make plans
There were plans for the rest of life

I think this would make more sense as “there would be” instead “there were” because we’re talking both about the person and season at this point i think, so “there were” make sense for the lack of Summer but not the lack of summer if that makes sense.

Summer's gone
Why did you have to leave?
Why did you have to break me?
Why did you have to go away to never return?
Why did you have to make this hard?
Why couldn't it have been me?

I like the style of 4 of one line and 1 of the last but its also kind of throwing me off. Not really important though, so do what you think is right!

Summer's gone
You'll come back next year, but you'll never return to me
You'll make others smile, but you'll never see me happy again
You'll make others come out, but you'll never see me leave the house
You'll make others warm, but you'll never see the cold exit my face
You'll make others make new memories, but you'll never see me let go of the old ones

I like this part, no notes!

Summer's gone
I miss you
No one can replace you
No one is like you
No one is as special as you
I…”

I don’t think the quotation mark makes sense in this context unless it was something she said to him!

A drop of water splashed onto the paper.
“Oh, the heck am I doing?” Jack muttered to himself. He patted the spot dry, and a drop of water fell onto his hand. Only then did Jack realize he was crying. He wiped his eyes with the cuff of his sleeve.
Taking a deep breath, he picked up his pen again. It hovered over where he left off, but it never came down. After a moment, he dropped the pen and buried his face into his hands.
A knock came on his door. Jack's Mom poked her head inside just as he lifted his head to see who it was.
His Mom gave a weak smile, “Mrs. Carter is here. No rush, but we're ready when you are.”
Jack nodded and managed to croak, “Thanks. I'll be down in a minute.”
His Mom gave a small nod and closed the door, leaving Jack alone again. He picked up his poem. It sounded like anything but a poem to him. But he would be the only one who knew what it said. No one else had to know.
Picking up his pen again, he finished his writing.

This is kind of nitpicky but when you’re crying, there are usually other signs besides the water? Like your nose stings, you can feel it irritate your eyes (because its salty) so i think having that description would enrich this part! Something like “my eyes stung and a drop of water hit the edge of the paper.” because in my experience, you dont really cry without noticing? Idk maybe other people are different, like i said this is nitpicky!!

“I loved you with all my heart.”

Reading the whole thing, with his eyes lingering on that last line, there was nothing else he could do. He folded the paper and sealed it in an envelope.
Standing up, he took one last look at the only photo that stood on his desk. It was a framed photo of a beautiful teenage girl. Curly, golden blonde hair that fell around her face, big, bright sky blue eyes that sparkled endlessly, skin tanned from many days in the sun, a field of freckles splattered across her face, and a smile full of teeth that shone like the stars.
Jack picked up the photo and whispered, “I would have asked you to marry me. Instead, I'm going to your funeral,” Jack paused, “I hope, someday, I will see you again. I love you, Summer.”
Jack set the photo down. As he left his room, he kept his eyes on Summer until he could no longer see her.
As Jack reached the bottom of the stairs, his Mom asked “Are you okay?”
Jack took a deep breath and nodded, “I'm ready.”

Some aspects of this confuse me a bit, like my assumption was that they were in high school? If theyre graduating uni i would probably specify that!! If they’re graduating high school why would they get married? Sorry, again this is nitpicky but you asked for critique so here you go <3

Some other (really small) things, I would change “he kept his eyes … until the door closed” because imo that just makes more sense! Also having the mom ask “are you ready” would be more fitting for his response, but it could go either way! Also, mom when used as to refer to someone’s mom is not capitialized since its not a proper noun, the only time mom is capitiazled is when someone is using it as a “name” <3

this was really nice to read, please remember to take my advice with a grain of salt!!! Great work!!

critique for rei || 391 words

Before getting to my main notes, I'm going to go through the story with some grammar notes and tweaks! Apologies in advance for how blunt they sound, lol.

I do not know where I am, but I know I should not be here.
A bright light pulses through my eyelids. I cover them with the palms of my hands, knowing the light wasn’t there a moment ago.
I recall being drowned in darkness, kept in a viscous stretch of time where I was neither alive or dead. Yet, there was nothing before.

No comma is needed after “yet” here

My mind seems to profusely deny any other existing memories previous to the darkness that had consumed me. I refuse to believe that darkness is all I know. It’s as if everything else has been erased.



There was nothing but the sound of papers being shuffled, and her heart pounding against her ribs.
“Layla Roberts. You will be labeled subject 04. You will not have a name. You will not know your age. You will not know where you are, but you will remember. The first time, you will remember.”



I do not know what I look like.
I drag my hands from my eyes down my cheeks, pulling at my skin, then removing them completely from my face and holding them up to the light. My skin is ghostly white, the color of ash. The color you turn when you’re dead.
I drop my hands.
I’ve awoken no more than a few minutes ago, but already, I feel as though I’m familiar with my surroundings. I turn my head. I’m splayed out across a small cot, situated in the corner of this room. I’m blanketed by a white sheet. The low ceiling and walls are white. The door, blended in with the walls, is white. Yet, I know where it is. It sits comfortably in a spot of shadow where the light is too weak to reach, smothering the ability to see where the edges sit. After all, it has no knob, and the hinges aren’t visible either. But I can feel that it’s there, beckoning me to come closer.



Her hands clenched, folding into the fabric of her jacket to suppress their trembling. He continued to speak.
“The second and third time, you will also remember.”



My gaze drinks in the rest of the room. Although, there isn’t anything to look at.

Here I would actually combine these two sentences, and move the comma after “although” to before it, after “room”

There are no windows to tell me anything about what's outside the room, and even the single lightbulb, hung from the ceiling, struggles to stay on, flickering once every few seconds.
My attention falls to my clothes. A thin, white dress drapes across my body, outlining the shape of it subtly.

Very minor tweak here, but just for flow purposes, I would move “subtly” to before “outlining”

I am sick of the color white.
I rise from the bed, my fingers reaching for the shadowed portion of the opposite wall. My nails, long and chipped, slide themselves towards the cracks between the door and the wall. It’s as if they naturally know where to go.
I press into the wood, pulling the door towards me. My eyes, momentarily, fall onto the side of the door where my fingers were situated. Scratch marks line the edge of the door, crawling up and down the wood and carving into the space where I’d grafted my nails into. I drag my hand back.
The tips of my fingers are bleeding.



“The tenth time,” he said, “you will remember.”
She burst. “Then what the hell am I doing this for?! Why so long?” Her breath quickened, clawing against her throat. She could feel the world caving i-
He places a hand on her shoulder. “The hundredth time, you will begin to forget. Every time you remember, you will eventually be put to sleep. Your body and mind will not age. But your memory will wither.”



I am not surprised to be greeted by darkness. I was not expecting anything more. The light from my room describes it as a long corridor, but it does not reach far enough to tell what lies at the end of it. Several doors are faintly sketched out by the light. I assume they are locked, so I do not try them.

This last sentence jars me a bit, since she was clearly curious enough to try her own door, despite the possibility that it could have been locked too. It's not a big enough issue that I would say you need to change it, but perhaps you could come to the conclusion by having her try one door, for example, and then move on once she realizes it's locked, and the others probably are too.

The darkness reaches out to me, cradling my body, and guiding me from the all-white. Am I simply unable to retain any emotion? Any shred of fear?



“You will play out the same events again and again.”



My legs carry themselves into the darkness. My heartbeat does not even quicken.



“You will be paired with a man, subject 05. He is to forget as well.”



I drag my hand along the wall.



“Loneliness will devour you if you are to forget on your own. We are to preserve your will to live, even when-”
She grabbed his arm, squeezing it like she squeezed the following words out from her lungs. “That is too much time! I can’t play this game thousands of times while I wait for the day I forget. I can’t-” Her throat felt like it was being ripped apart and grated against as she shoved down the urge to burst out crying.
He sighed. “Listen, Layla.” His gloved hand removed hers from his arm, doing it with a subtle revulsion. “You already agreed to this. There is no going back now.” He adjusted the glasses sitting on his nose.
“Whatever it takes to forget, right?”




My feet stop at the sound of weeping. It echoes through the hall, a sound so melancholy and desperate that it haunts me. The sound rings through my head, weaving into the patterns of my brain, slithering into my veins and across my body, leaving shivers wherever it goes.
I cannot tell where the sobbing comes from. I cannot see. “Hello?” The word slides off my tongue like honey. My fingertips fly to my chin in surprise, unaware that my voice is soft and light. The moment is quickly replaced by an unsettling fear of the silence that follows.
Several seconds go by with more extensive silence, besides that of my breathing. And then I am drowned in light.
At the end of this never-ending hallway, a pale, fluorescent light seeps through a crack in the dark, tumbling over the floor and walls before kissing my feet. It matches that of the room I’d awoken in. I run towards it on impulse, curiosity, and a strange familiarity that floods my senses, erasing all the novelty from all that surrounds me.

But I stop.

What am I doing? My gaze remains fixated on the entrance of light, and the pensive shadow that enters the corridor, dashing in my direction.
Where the hell am I? What am I running towards?
My body controls me, moving with almost an excitement in each step I take.
But I do not know where I am going, or who I am going towards.

Reality slams into me. Or rather, a body does, crushing my ribs and shoulders, and clutching me in something similar to an embrace. But I do not feel embraced. I look down to a man burying his head into my shoulder. I’m torn in two; not only am I confused, rotting in a state where I cannot control anything that happens to me, but I also feel a swelling urge to melt and wrap my arms around the man. But I don’t.

He looks up at me, a smile growing on his face, but tears threatening to spill from his dark eyes. They look tired, almost worn by age, but he retains a youthful appearance.
His hands slide from my back and latch onto my arms.
“Layla,” he rasps, his voice hoarse. “It’s been weeks since I’ve seen you.”
The word jumps out at me, striking me in the heart. I stumble, but he pulls me back.

Layla.
“Get off of me,” I breathe. The hesitant smile that was blooming on his face vanishes instantly. Although it’s hard to see in the dark, I can derive the look of grief settling into his features. His eyes, holding mine so steadily, are a dam, holding a river of tragedy and horror from bursting upon me.

“Layla, do you remember me?” His words are a soft plea, but I do not know what, or who, they are pleading for. I do not register what he is asking me.
Layla. It’s something I should know. It bites my mind, sinking a pain into my skull that sends me reeling. My hands fly up to my brain. Layla.
What a strange, strange name. I do not like how it sounds.
“Do you remember?” The man asks once more, his voice lining desperation. His voice is buried under the turmoil that plagues my head.


I do not want to remember.
I do not want to remember.
I cannot remember.
I should not remember–

“Subject five.” An authoritative voice fills the space, muting all the commotion within me. “You have bypassed all my warnings.”
I watch dread consume the man’s face as two figures emerge from one of the doors lining the corridor. Their features are masked, and they are dressed in identical suits.
“No,” is the first thing he says, a whisper. Then a flood of despair escapes his mouth. “Please!” He is addressing me. I am frozen. I cannot feel myself. It’s as if I’m trapped outside my body, watching the world topple over before me. I am left in more confusion than I started with.
Who am I?
“You have to remember!” He begs me, grabbing my hands. “I’m doing everything to save you! Layla. LAYLA. Please! You have to remember. Pleas-”
He is cut off. “Subject five. Continue, and you will be executed. You are interrupting the procedure. You have already failed our tests. You are not forgetting. Do not interrupt the other subjects.” I am unable to determine where the voice comes from.
Why won’t I react? I stare blankly at the situation in front of me. I want to fight the urge to save him. And at the same time, I want to save him. But I fear that it’s wrong. I will only die as well.
But why won’t I react?
“Layla-” Their gloved fingers trap his mouth so that all his words are swallowed down.
Layla. It circles in my veins, in my bones, entering my cells. It alters the very genes that describe me.
“Layla.” I do not track the name slipping from my mouth, but my eyes finally lock with his. My heart lurches, its rate accelerating quickly. A smile sets his face ablaze as they grab him by the waist and drag him from me.
The voice that flooded the hall speaks again, disapproval layering the tone. “Subject five. You have just set back the procedure several months. You are to be executed now.”

Oh.

“No.” I don’t even realize when the tears start sliding down my face. “No.” I don’t even realize myself saying the words. I’m out of touch. But he cannot die. “Do not do this to him.”
I cannot forget. Who he is. The gaps start to fill themselves, stacking unfinished pieces of information back into my broken knowledge. I can hardly remember his name, but he cannot die.
“Subject four, you will forget.”
My shouts and protests fill the hall, growing louder as I remember more. The barrier between remembrance and forgetting is blurred.
He is dragged from my reach. He cannot die. He cannot die.
My thoughts are loud, as are my words. But as he cannot die, turns into, I must not forget him, I know I have failed.
I have failed myself. I have failed Layla.
My neck is grabbed and a needle is shoved in, and I have failed.

When I awake, there is a machine hovering over me, threatening me with a blinding light. I expected this.
“Subject five is dead,” someone says. I don’t even remember his true name.
I close my eyes.
He is dead.
God, I want to forget.
I hear a faint humming, and the light swallows me whole. I don’t fight. I don’t scream. I am to be erased.

And with that, I finally accept.

Final note here, but I would add an “it” after “accept.”

Layla is dead.

Hi Rei! Reading through your story, I enjoyed it a lot, and the plot made sense to me, for the most part. A couple questions I do have are why, exactly, Layla is in this facility or prison; I can't quite tell from some of the dialogue whether this was voluntary or not, as it is mentioned once that she agreed to this process. That in itself could be an interesting angle to play — why would she agree to such a thing?
Second, on more of a craft note, I noticed that there were contractions, and the sentences tended to be phrased more formally. It's fine, since you were clearly going for a serious tone, but if overdone this can lead to your writing feeling too stiff — almost forcefully formal, if that makes sense. It's completely up to you, but I think you could get by with some contractions here and there. Anyways, other than a few areas I already touched on, the rest of your grammar and flow is looking good!
I was able to follow and understand the story without confusion, other than the questions I noted above, and overall I think you did a really good job! I don't have any other note here, so I'll wrap this critique up — thanks so much for letting me critique! Your writing is vivid and haunting, and I would absolutely read more short stories from you <3

Weekly 4
Words: 2373

Intro
Words: 208

She sat on the bench, freezing and bored. Alina had once again been dragged to her older brother’s hockey game. Even the blanket on her legs and the overhead heater did nothing to warm her up as she tried to flip through the pages of her book with gloves on.
“Go Ben!” her mom cheered from beside her.
“I wish I had headphones,” she said to herself, backing up further from the glass so she could rest her back against the wall.
Soon she would be back at home in a cozy hoodie, sitting in her cozy little reading nook… she couldn’t wait. The glowing white numbers of the scoreboard ticked down little by little. Third period. Almost done. The whistle blew and the numbers stopped ticking down. Great, someone was injured. She tried to remind herself to be nice as she clapped for the person as he was escorted off the ice, but it was hard when she was freezing cold.
As soon as the numbers began counting down, she let out a breath of relief. Her brother’s team was winning… or maybe they weren’t… were they red or blue? She couldn’t remember. Ten seconds left… 5… the final buzzer rang and she leapt from her seat.

Prompt 1: New Opportunity
Words: 414

Once they had returned home, Alina opened up her computer to go back to writing. She was happily chugging along, her characters acting out the story in her head, when she received an email. As soon as she read it, she screeched.
“What is it, Alina?” her mom yelled from down the hall.
“Come here, mom! I just got an email!”
She heard her mom approaching and she entered her room.
“Alright, dear. What is it? Read it to me!”
“Dear Alina Romantov, we found your submission for the Young Authors Literary Contest absolutely wonderful and we are pleased to tell you that it has been selected as the winner of our contest. We will be publishing your piece in your literary magazine next quarter and would like to invite you to a week-long writing workshop retreat beginning in two weeks’ time! Sincerely, Purple Publishing Team, Young Authors Literary Contest division,” Alina squealed.
“Oh my goodness, that’s wonderful, sweetie! Is there anything else in the email?” her mom said, giving her a warm hug.
“A few more technical details. It says the trip to the retreat is fully paid for! I’m so excited! And I won’t even have to miss any school, since it is during spring break.”
“Wow, Alina. This is big. I’m so happy for you!”
“Thank you so much, mom.”
They hugged again, then Alina forwarded the email to her mom. She tried to keep writing, but she was just too overjoyed. She decided to go for a walk, since it was warming up outside. There was almost no more snow and it was warm enough to go out in sweatpants and a hoodie, which she did.
As she walked through the neighbourhood, her excitement only grew. Her talents as a writer had been recognized, and soon she could have a literary magazine with her name in it.
Over the next week, she began to pack and plan her outfits, food, projects, everything that could be planned out was. She bought new notebooks and charged her computer before tucking away the charger in her suitcase.
When the day finally arrived, she tucked her travel pillow around her neck and set off for her gate in the airport. Boarding the plane, she realized that her dream was finally becoming a reality. Soon enough, she would be at the writing workshop doing what she loved all week. The thought kept her up with jitters through the red eye flight, but she didn’t mind.

Prompt 2: Learn Something New
Words: 501

When she arrived, she realized she still had much to do. She met her taxi and went to the location of the retreat. They told her housing would be provided. As soon as she was installed in her hotel room with its double bed and a bathroom she didn’t have to share with her brother, she looked at the schedule.
There was a mini workshop coming up on how to write memoirs, so she changed and decided to check it out.
She padded through the busy, bustling halls of the venue. Forty nine other youths had been selected for the conference as well as fifty adults, so there was no shortage of people milling about.
She entered the room her map told her the workshop would be, her Purple Publishing Team tote bag swinging at her side and filled with her computer and notebook. Taking a seat at the big, circular table in the centre of the room, she inspected the others who were already sitting, and the man standing at the front. He must have been running the workshop. His button down and tie contrasted nicely with his knitted sweater. He looked like a kind grandpa. The others were watching attentively, ready for the workshop to begin.
“Hello everyone, thank you for coming! My name is Seth and I will be leading the memoir workshop today,” the grandpa guy said. “I assume this is the first workshop you have attended for most of you, so how it will work is I will explain how to write a memoir, then help you by going around with tips. At the end, if you would like to read your writing aloud, you will be welcome to.”
Alina had never written a memoir before, so she was excited to start.
“To start a memoir, you must reflect on your personal experiences. Often, memoirs have a life lesson or end goal that you have learned through a specific experience, so it may be helpful to think about that. It’s also important to keep in mind that a memoir might not follow a distinct story path like other forms of literature. It’s important to keep it truthful to what actually happened, or at least your perspective of what happened. One last tip is that memoirs are different from autobiographies. You don’t want to tell a long, sprawling story about your entire life, but rather describe a pivotal or important event that has shaped you in a new and better way,” Seth said.
Alina, who had been scrawling down notes, now opened her computer and began to draft her own memoir. It was a super amazing experience, made even better with the tips she had learned from Seth. He reviewed her writing and gave her even more tips, sharpening her prose until she felt like her memoir might have been even better than her literary magazine submission.
“Thank you so much,” she told him after the workshop had concluded.
Now it was off to the next adventure.

Prompt 3: Secret Lair
Words: 422

After more workshops and a terribly long orientation presentation that she was forced to attend, Alina retreated to her room feeling hungry and tired. She decided, after slipping on a comfy oversized T-shirt, to go find something to eat. Her orientation leader had been going on and on about the cafeteria, so that was where she planned to go. She loaded her tote bag with her wallet and left room to fit her leftovers if she wanted to take them back to her room. She pushed open the door and left it locked behind her, but as she slipped out into the hall something else caught her eye. All of the doors were painted a drab grey, and they all had the same structure. Gold handles and a peephole, around six and a half feet tall.
Straight ahead, across from her room, was a five foot tall door, painted white to blend in with the hall.
“What could that be?” she said out loud, approaching the door.
She knocked, but no one answered. It sounded hollow inside. She turned the small white doorknob and entered the dark room. As she walked through what appeared to be a hallway, lights flickered on beside her on the walls. The walls had vintage, floral wallpaper that gave Alina a sinister feeling as she kept walking. This was like a hotel, this place was probably just for staff.
“Hello?” she called out.
“You shouldn’t be here,” came the reply, low and much too close.
A hand clapped over her mouth and dragged her into the darkness. She struggled, but they pulled her through a narrow opening in the wall into a dimly lit room. It looked like an interrogation room, two chairs separated by a table. An obnoxiously bright lamp was creating all the light, but it only went into one place: Alina’s eyes.
“What is this place?” she asked once the person had locked the door behind them and put her in a chair.
It was a woman who she had seen working there before, pencil skirt and blazer.
“This is the spy agency. The government deployed us to watch the conference. We can’t have any sensitive documents getting out.”
“Not much of a spy, are you? If you’re just telling me that?”
“It’s okay. You won’t really have much time to tell anyone else.”
The lady stood from the table and walked towards the door.
“Goodbye Alina. I hope you enjoyed your stay here.”
With that, she left and closed the door behind her.

Prompt 4: Make Food

HELP WHY IS THE PICTURE SO BIG

Prompt 5: Music Features Prominently
Words: 587

A screen buzzed to life in the corner of the room and began to speak.
“Alina? Have you been taken by the spies?” came a voice through the screen.
“Yes,” she said, scrambling over to the screen and trying to keep her voice level.
Her mind was spinning. What was happening to her? She began to cry.
“There is a way out!” the voice promised. “Just listen to my instructions.”
Alina inched ever closer to the screen, her only hope of surviving.
“You must sing a song, but not just any song. You must sing The Girl in the Bubble from Wicked: For Good (registered trademark),” the voice said, starting to sound suspiciously familiar.
“Jeff Goldblum is that you?” she asked, mind swimming even more.
“Uh… no. Sing the song if you want out, kid.”
She couldn’t think straight enough to say no, so she launched into the slow ballad. She loved to sing, but there was no way she could hit those Ariana Grande high notes. She felt bad for Jeff Goldblum and anyone else who may have been listening as she was sure to shatter their eardrums with her attempt and inevitable voice crack.
“For the popular girl, high in the bubble!” she sang, flinching as her voice cracked and reached heights she had never thought possible.
She finished the song without as much struggle, but she was absolutely sure she hit a grand total of zero notes. Oh well, singing wasn’t for her but at least she was going to survive.As she concluded the song, the screen crackled to life once more.
“The door has been unlocked for you! Escape from here, Alina!” Jeff Goldblum said.
With a grin and a sniffle, Alina pushed through the door. She let out a breath. What a weird day she had had. Outside the door waiting for her was—
“Jeff Goldblum?” she screamed, not knowing how to feel that he was really there.
Why was he there, anyways? She was fairly sure that she was dreaming by now.
“It’s me! You’re not the brightest, are you? This whole ploy was a setup to see if you were brave enough to join the spies. The door was unlocked the whole time. But thanks for the performance.”
“Oh boy. I must have been more tired than I thought after that orientation. How did I fall asleep?” Alina laughed.
Jeff Goldblum’s face darkened. He meant business.
“Oh, Alina. You’re not dreaming. We cannot recruit you to the spies, especially since we were going to place you at a singing conference and…” he rubbed his ear like it hurt. “After that we know you wouldn’t be the right fit. We have to wipe your memory.”
“What? No! I have to go back to the conference… and my family… what will they think? Oh my gosh!”
Alina began to run down the hallway, but Jeff Goldblum was blocking the side she had entered through. Though, now the door had been closed. Had it been locked, or was it another ploy?
“Alina! We will just wipe your memories from after you came here! Nothing before! We promise!” Jeff Goldblum said, out of breath after chasing after her a couple paces.
“I guess that wouldn’t be so bad. I am so sick and tired of this place, anyways,” Alina said in an attempt at humour.
Her voice came out all strained and wrong. A few minutes ago she was afraid for her life, and now Jeff Goldblum was threatening to erase her memories.

Conclusion
Words: 241

“Perfect,” he said. “Just come right over here and you’ll be back in your room before you know it.”
“Well, do you have any food first? I’m starving,” Alina said.
“Right this way.”
He led her deeper down the hallway into a room filled with trays of food. After she ate, she found Jeff Goldblum again.
“I’m ready to go back to my room and my author conference that I’ve been looking forward to for weeks. I’m so done with this place.”
“The only new thought you’ll have is that you hate this place to ensure you won’t come back.”
“Great, because that’s how I feel now.”
“Here’s my memory serum,” Jeff Goldblum said, reaching into his pocket and retrieving a green bottle. “You just need one swallow!”
“Did you steal this from the wicked set?”
“Don’t tell Universal. Just drink the stuff.”
“Farewell. I hope I never come here again.”
“Drink the stuff.”
“Calm down.”
She took a swallow from the green bottle and everything went black.

When she woke up in her bed in the morning, she felt strangely groggy, like she had been up too late last night. She couldn’t quite remember what she had been doing yesterday. She remembered being hungry and going for food, but after that it was a blur. Oh well! She had a busy schedule ahead of her filled with workshops and writing and fun, and she couldn’t wait to get to it.

Hi Zy! I just wanted to say that I really liked this piece. It was very neat to read, and it had a lot of interesting vibes! I know it sounds weird but you managed to keep the piece very “gray” throughout the whole thing, which felt very, very fitting! I liked the vibes of the whole thing a lot, but there's just a few things that I would change. But this is all my personal opinion, so take it with a grain of salt, and feel free to completely disregard it all! My feelings won't be hurt, I promise! So, here goes!

From the drive there, when we pulled into the parking lot of an ashy building, to the drive back, when the sky threatened to open up and cry for us.

I'm a serial comma overuser BUT I think it flows slightly better with a comma (or maybe a semi-colon?) to separate the thought/idea/point a little better! It feels less choppy to me this way.

I screamed and I screamed and I cried and I cried and it all fell on deaf ears.

I think “on” flows a bit better than “to” but that might just be a personal opinion!

When the car drove up to her house…

Not entirely sure who “her” is supposed to be? I'm assuming a relative, or a foster parent, or maybe even a family friend? From the vibes of the story, it feels like it's intentionally left vague, but a little bit of detail would be nice!

The truth is a funny thing.
It can break you or fix you, hammer or superglue.

This is a neat line. I like this a lot :]

I only know the ones who are in pieces…
I feel like the sentence is a little choppy without the who are added in the first line. Again, might just be me being nitpicky. But other than that I thought that the rest of this sentence was really good!

And I flick the lighter back in forth between my fingers, staring at the anemic house in front of me and imagining I can hear the walls themselves, dusty and forgotten, to let them rest.

I think you meant imagining? But I really like this sentence! It feels very balanced!

Smoke has never smelled so sweet.

Personally, I think that it would flow better without the word “the” beginning it, but that's probably just me!

Overall, this is a very good piece, and your “excessive use of the word and” doesn't feel all that excessive to me. It feels perfectly balanced with every other word in this piece, and it all fits in and ties it together quite nicely, methinks! And yes, I do think the title fits the piece !

- - -
(362 words w/ quotes, 340 w/o quotes.)

Word War with @z3phy_th3_cr4zy

618 words // 10 min // no prompt

Ellia rubbed her hands together as she stared at the paper. She knew there must be some secret message in between the lines that she was missing. She flipped through her journal of clues from past missions, but nothing seemed to help. She didn’t know if she would be able to decode the message and save her brother.
The message seemed normal; it seemed like a normal, friendly letter from a cousin or relative, but that was not so. Her brother was fighting in the Wizard war, and it came from him. He had sent a warning a year ago that if he sent a normal-seeming letter, then she should worry for him.
And she was sure worrying. Every night, she would sit and try to find a message in the letter. She knew that letters he sent would be read and looked at carefully, but letters he received would not be. She started writing a letter to him. Carefully and steadily.

Dear Tylor,
Please include a keyword to decode your message in the fourth word of your first sentence in your next sentence. I need to make sure you are okay, and if you need help, I need to get it to you. Please reply fast.
Ellia

She knew it was charged per word, so she wrote deliberately, but all she cared about was that it got there fast and in time for him to be saved. She waited days and days, and finally, a week later, she got a reply. The code word was cry. After hours of trying, she cracked the code. All the men in his troop but him had been captured and taken by the Wizards. He was alone, having hidden inside a cannon. He couldn’t get back home and couldn’t save his men; he didn’t want to do this, but he had to resort to magic. He needed my help, and he needed it badly.
I scavenged around for my stuff, grabbing a spell book, my wand, and my gold watch. I started running out of my house to get there. I untied my horse and was on my way at top speed, galloping across town. My brother needed my help. My brother needed my help. It was going through my head over and over and over. My brother desperately needed my help. He hated magic, and so he wasn’t a fan of my talent for it, but finally, he needed me to come, and he wasn’t going to change his opinion on magic when he was saved by it. I clenched the mane of my horse as I rode, heading straight for the mountains. Beyond those mountains, I wasn’t safe any longer. The war was beyond those mountains. That’s how I was still alive. I lived in protection, behind three huge, magnificent, snowy mountains. Hard to cross, and though that meant I couldn’t ever see my brother, it also meant I was safe from being attacked. Now I had to cross the mountains that a whole army couldn’t get across. Yay. I looked at my watch and paused it. Time paused; I had infinite time to get across, as long as I didn’t need to ask a human for anything. But I still had to do it, and though time wasn’t a problem, I wasn’t a climber, and I wasn’t a soldier, and those are what you need to be to cross these mountains.
I started climbing, steady and fast, along the hard rocks. Every step counted for something. It counted for my brother. My brother, who is alone and not able to get home. My brother, who needed magic even though he hated it. I took a deep breath.

Weekly:

Moyra steps into warm room, the scent of cinnamon rolls, donuts, and other sweet smelling things still lingering in the air. The shop had closed for the night long ago, and things were mostly dark, the only light was from the moon, which spilled in through the open windows. Honestly, it didn’t make things feel much better. The light only made her feel vulnerable, as if someone was about to see her, being were she wasn’t supposed to. She didn’t usually sneak in after hours, especially not on such clear nights, just when she needed to… be away from everything. The bakery was quiet after hours, and it felt safe and warm, and most of the time the darkness wrapped around her like a blanket. Plus, there usually were some goodies left over in the back. Really, she was doing them a service, since any baked goods that were left would be tossed into the trash can come morning, and they were still perfectly fine. A tad stale, perhaps, but still delicious. So she would sneak in, just for some quiet, and perhaps a pastry, and before she left she’d stuff any remaining goodies into her pockets or down her shirt. And tonight, she really could use a pastry.

(209 words)

new opportunity
Today had been rough, filled with irritating people, so Moyra headed to the back of the bakery very soon after entering the bakery, careful to avoid the creaky floor boards, simply out of habit (perhaps she had been here at night more then she’d like to admit). No one can hear you. No one else is here. No one knows you are here. No one knows you have ever been here at night, when you are not supposed to. She reassured herself, trying to ignore all the thoughts saying what would happen if someone knew she was here, and stealing the baked goods, no less. The back smelled even stronger, with the scents of donuts, and cupcakes, and cookies, and pies, and other desserts, breads, and spices all mingling together into a delicious concoction of smells. The back had only one window, which had its blinds drawn closed, so Moyra need not worry about being seen. At least, not through that window, anyway. She didn’t want to let herself think about the idea of someone else being in here, watching her. On the counter, five yummy looking cinnamon rolls sat there. She grabbed one, and took a large bite out of it. The cinnamon-y dough is perfectly baked (and only the tiniest bit stale), and although cold and crunchy, the frosting is sweet and perfect on top of the cinnamon roll. Delicious. She only wonders how good it would have been fresh. She spots something white-ish and rectangular, with pictures on it. A piece of paper. A flyer, perhaps, based on the fact that it looked like it had words and pictures on it. Moyra picks it up and reads it, although with difficulty, with the little amount of light. Free Baking and Cooking Lessons! it reads at the top of the page. Saturdays, at the park! It had more words on it (and a great deal more exclamation points), but that’s all she could really make out in the low light, other then some illustrations of the park and various baked goods and baking equipment. Huh, that could be fun. I do like baked goods. Learning how to make my own does sound pretty good. Moyra thought as she stuffed the rest of the cinnamon roll in her mouth, then stuck the flyer in her shirt for safe keeping, and stuffed the four leftover cinnamon rolls into her pockets.

(400 words)

Learns something new
It was Saturday, and Moyra had turned up at the park, for the lessons. Despite how nervous she felt about this, she buzzed with excitement. She was going to learn how bake things! And then she could eat them! She stood around by a tree until she saw some people setting up what looked like a cooking class. She walked over “I’m here for the free baking lesson?” She said, rather awkwardly, holding out her flyer to one of the people setting up. The person blinked, and looked at the flyer for a moment, and then their face broke into a grin. “Yeah! You’re in the right place! Come on over, we’re just setting up.” Moyra tentatively followed. “I’m Julie, and you are…?”
“Moyra.” Moyra said. “Well, it’s very nice to meet you, Moyra. Here’s an apron. Baking can be kinda messy” Julie laughed and smiled. She smiled a lot. A few other people were walking over to the class, and donning aprons. “Alright, class!” Said a person who seemed to be in charge “I’m Carol, and today we’re gonna bake chocolate chip cookies.” Carol said, hands on her hips. “So, to start, let’s get out our ingredients. I’ve got ‘em set out on the table” Carol pointed to a table. “There are instructions there as well. Let me know if you need any help at all.” So Moyra grabbed her ingredients, and following the instructions, she started making cookies. Multiple times, she got stuck, and Julie had to come over to help her. “And then we mix the chips in.” Julie instructed. Moyra poured the chips in, and then she scooped them onto the baking sheet, and placed them into the pop up oven they had out, and set the timer. After several minutes (in which Moyra drank some water), the timer dinged and she pulled out the cookies. “You’re gonna wanna let them cool a bit first.” Julie said, as Moyra reached for one “Oh, right.” After a minute or so, Julie pronounced the cookies cool enough, and Moyra grabbed one, and bit into it. “MMMMMM….” The cookies was chewy and perfectly soft, and the chips were melty and warm. “Yum…” Moyra savored it. “…Can I have one?” Julie asked “Oh, yeah! Of course! You were super helpful.” Moyra said “I couldn’t have done it without you”
“Oh, you did most of the work, I just helped occasionally.” Julie said, taking a cookie, and biting into it. “Oh, yeah, these are good. You can take home the recipe, if you like.” Julie said “I think I will.” Moyra said. Well, now I now how to make cookies.

(439 words)

Finds a secret lair
Moyra hadn’t meant to go back to the bakery that night, but somehow, she had ended up there. As she walked through the kitchens, running her hand along the wall. Her fingers grasp something, a loose piece of wall. She stopped, and felt it. Somehow, it felt… strangely deliberate. And for some reason, she honestly didn’t know why she did it, but she pulled on it. And then the wall slide open.
A large opening sat in the wall, door like. Could it be a secret passage? There were stairs in it, leading downward, so it must’ve been deliberate. So against Moyra’s better judgement, she began walking down the stairs.
It was dark. Not dark like she was used to in the bakery, but dark. Like the sun’s light had not touched these walls in ages. She ran her hand along the wall (it was made of stone, unlike the welcoming wooden and brick of the bakery) as she descended the stairs. She seemed to walk down the stairs forever. Maybe these are just magic stairs that DO go on forever. She thought, before she suddenly felt the stairs level out, into floor. She felt around the walls, it was so dark she couldn’t see a thing. Then, her hand felt something. A light switch! At least, she thought it was one. Only one way to find out. She flicked it on. The room was suddenly illuminated with the light of one hanging bulb in the center of the ceiling. It wasn’t very bright, but compared to dark stairs she’d be wondering down for ages, it was blinding. She blinked heavily for a minute, as her eyes adjusted. Once they’d finally adjusted, she looked around. The walls were made of what looked like black stone, and crates and bags and boxes filled the room. She walked over to one of the crates, and brushed off a dusty label. BURNT CACTUS FLOUR. She looked to another. CONCENTRATED GOLD JUICE. She turned at bag on the flour. GROUND STARDUST, SPECIALLY SELECTED. Strange… These sounded like baking ingredients, but not any she’d ever heard of. Frankly, they sounded like some kind of weird ingredients in a fantasy story. She continued to look at the crates, bags, and boxes. Some weren’t labelled, but the ones that were all had the same sort of strange names. FREE RANGE UNICORN HAIR. Read one. MOON ROCK CANDY. Read another. What was going on?

(406 words)

Character Negotiates
Suddenly, Moyra heard footsteps approaching, and knowing she probably wasn’t supposed to be down here, she dashed and hid behind some large crates. Someone walked into the room, she recognized them as bakery employee. She hunkered down behind the crates more. “I know someone’s in here. Come out, come out wherever you are.” She called. Moyra debated what to do silently. “If no one comes out right now, I’m going to look for you, and trust me, I will find you.” Moyra decided that if she came out now, maybe whoever it was would less mad. Unlikely, she thought, as she climbed out from behind the crates. “There you are. Are you the one who’s been snatching old food, too?” The person said. “I— What— H-How did you know?” Moyra asked, stumbling over her words. “Did you really think no one would notice the missing baked goods? We end up with leftovers, and a lot of the time, they disappear overnight.” Perhaps she had snuck into the bakery a lot. “I-I don’t know!” Moyra said, slightly panicked. “Calm down, it’s not like you’re getting arrested or anything” They said “I-I’m not?”
“That food was gonna get thrown out in the morning, anyway. Although it really isn’t ideal for you to be sneaking in all the time. Not sure how you got in, anyway” They said “You’re not really supposed to be down here, either, but I guess I’ll let it slide.” They said, looking around “Heh, you’ve probably been here enough, you’re practically an employee.” They joked
An idea struck Moyra “Could I?”
“Could you what?” The bakery employee asked, quirking an eyebrow. “Be an employee” Moyra responded. “We could negotiate something” She said. “Hmm. Can you bake?” They asked “A little.” She said.
“Well, I guess you’ve been around here enough. Tell you what, as punishment for sneaking in here too much, you can bake for us” The person said, saying the last part about it being punishment jokingly, and then smiling “I’m Alex. Welcome to the team”
“Moyra” She said, shaking their hand. “What’s with all the weird crates and stuff?” She asked “Special ingredients” They replied “We do a fair share of baking for magical people, and they like their familiar ingredients, plus they just make the normal food taste better. It’s a little like secret spices, I guess” Alex said, shrugging lightly “And we keep them down here, because, well, if normal inspectors saw these, they’d have questions, and they aren’t exactly the kind of people who should be dealing with, like, magic ingredients, you know? Plus I guess the dark is just better for some of ‘em, and it’s a lot easier to store them down here, where there’s more room, and they’re not getting in the way when we don’t need ‘em.”
“The first part of that only kind of maked sense. But okay” Moyra said. She felt excited, she was going to get to help out at her favorite bakery! “Come on, I’ll show you around the bakery.” Alex said “Although, you’ve probably seen most of it yourself, by now, anyway.” They said in a silly kind of way, smiling.

(527 words)

ending
So Alex showed Moyra all around the bakery, even though she’d seen a great deal of it already (other then the secret magic ingredient storage area), and she helped out at the bakery, and learned to bake there somewhat, and she continued to go to the free baking lessons in the park, on Saturdays, and Julie helped her and taught her how to bake, and Alex did too, and Alex and some other bakery people taught her about the special magic ingredients, and how to use them, and her and Julie just would hang out, because they became friends, and Alex was pretty nice too. (She ended up telling Julie about the special ingredients, and her night visits to the bakery, and everything that happened, even though she wasn’t really supposed to, because she trusted Julie, and Julie was better at baking then her, anyway, so she really deserved to know.) And she didn’t really sneak into the bakery much anymore, because she was happy, and had friends there. And even when she did, she didn’t really have to sneak in, because she had keys, and was aloud to be in there. Plus, she didn’t need to go in there to get baked goods, or anything, because she could them make her own, whenever she wanted or needed some.
“You know, this all turned pretty well” Moyra told Julie one day. Because, well, it had.
The End.


(237 words)


(All together it is 2218 words.)

March 29 daily // 523/400 words // The background character I chose is the unicorn in the library in Escape From Ever After. Literally has two optional lines of dialogue, one of them only showing up if you have a specific character out in front of him. So, pretty much a background character, even if he isn't from a movie.

Just another day at work. Coffee and desserts to start it off. And y'know what? Today's Wednesday. I'm gonna treat myself to a mocha, I'mma need the pick-me-up.
Not at all that my job is horrible by any means. It's refreshing leaving the meadows for… non-green pastures? Grey carpets? Either way, I make money, and it gives me more of a purpose than being hidden behind trees and shootimg rainbows at strangers that pose a threat. I've got tasks. I've got my owm chair. I've got a specialized mug for the coffee machines that says “Don't talk to me before I've had my coffee”. What's not to love?
…I suppose it's a little mind-numbing. All the emails, all the backspacing from my hooves clicking the wrong keys. But it's all fine. Ever After Inc has all these lovely workshops to work through these issues. “How to fit into office life regardless of species”, “How to email your colleagues with all efficiency and zero personality”, “How to come to work with a smile”, and of course who can forget “How to do overtime without wanting to bash your horn into the keyboard.” That last one's real helpful. Always recommending that one for folks.
Though the best part of my job is my lunch breaks. We're given a 15 minute lunch break in the middle of the day, and I spend it in the workplace's very own library. Though I may or may not find ways to extend those 15 minutes into an hour or 2. It's real easy too. Just claim you're doing research on how to expand the company or how to make improvements while in reality, you're stuffing 5 donuts you stole from the cafeteria into your mouth. It's kinda shocking theh don't have a workshop for it. I'd make one myself but it ain't so cool if everyone's doing it.
I must admit, the library's pretty darn peaceful too. Rarely anyone coming up to you, no noisy computers, cushy chairs, mandated silence. Of course it would make the library a nice place to be. Though there's the rare time that peace is disturbed by overwhelmed colleagues.
Yesterday, I believe it was, some allegedly new employees came up to me, and I started talkimg about just how lovely it was that Ever After Inc offered such a cozy library to us employees. Though, the green fella (not too sure if she was some sort of winged lizard or what) randomly started shouting at me, claiming it was her library. And her castle. Not sure what she was talking about. This was Ever After Inc's property. So, I did my usual. Boasted about the company's workshops, handed her a pamphlet, and went back to “researching”. I do wonder if she ever ended up taking up those workshops.
I'm pretty sure those fellas went through the telepagers after our conversation, and during work hours too. Must have business with another branch. I only use it for committing to and from this lovely job. Speaking of that, oh no. I'm gonna be alter. Better hurry off or there won't be any coffee left for me.

↻ ◁ II ▷ ↺

◪ Weekly Noͦ 4
Points earned: 5000
Total Word Count: 1998
Cabin: Cyberpunk

Before you begin the weekly, write 200 words of anything you like to begin your story.
Wordcount: 269/200

Continuation of Weekly 3's story

“You!”

“Listen, I can explain-”

Freska shot into her newly bought apartment and slammed the door shut, panicking. Why was her luck so awful? What had she done to deserve this (other than sneaking through the borders without a permit, stealing a man's pouch, and buying a house with money that wasn't hers)? How had she managed to by the house right next to the man she had stolen from?

Sharp knocking came from the other side of the door. “I know you're in there!”

“Of course you do, you saw me running inside!”

“I want my money back!” Gray's muffled voice came through the door. “If you don't give it back to me, I'm going to report you to the enforcers!”

“Okay, man, we all know you're going to report me whether or not I give it back!” She protested, looking around the house for an escape route. “Plus, I kind of already used all of it on this house-”

“ARE YOU CRAZY?” Yes, she was, a little bit. “Do you know how much was in that pouch?!” She looked around her kitchen while Gray shot profanities at her, finding two odd-looking… lemon cutters? Who knew why they were part of the furniture package? Were those even lemon cutters?

“Enough to buy this house permanently instead of paying rent!” Freska shot back, jumping out of the window and grabbing onto the glass with the lemon slicers before she could convince herself otherwise, grabbing onto whichever unlucky soul lived in the house of the windows she had scratched down.

She'd just pay them back with more stolen money later.

You've chosen to embark on the quest. Write 400 words where your character receives a new opportunity.
Wordcount: 517/400

Okay, this was a pretty bad idea.

Now, Freska was stuck in freezing snow outside the very expensive house she had just bought, which was currently inaccessible. She'd spent so much money on it, too. She weighed the pouch in her hand, feeling only half the weight as before. It was a little foolish, actually. Why did that guy keep his money in a pouch instead of his neural bank like everybody else? Did he think he had some sort of drip or something? It just made him far easier to rob, and thanks to the sages for that.

She wasn't here only for a new place to live, though. She also came here to find herbs for her grandfather back in the lower grounds, which didn't grow at all there. Here, the small herbs grew in larger clusters as one approached the heaters. The only problem was that she didn't know exactly how they looked. She was scared that if she asked someone what a Stoneshure looked like, they would 100% know she wasn't from here. Or maybe nobody here knew what they looked like either.

“You!”

Oh my god, had he jumped down the elevator shaft? Gray's hair looked like it had been run through five sandstorms, and he looked pretty angry. Freska squeaked, starting to run through the streets, getting odd looks from others walking on the cobblestone. Alley by alley, she took different turns, trying to shake him off, but she ended up hitting smack into a dead-end.

Right. This was a city.

“S-Stop,” Gray was panting, hands on his knees. Freska felt the same, leaning against the wall. Who knew such a cold place could make her feel so hot?

“Listen, I've already spent like half the pouch,” she groaned. “I can't give it back to you.”

“That doesn't mean I still can't report you to the authorities,” he accused. “You're from the lower grounds, aren't you?”

“And so what if I am?” She wiped off the sweat from her brow. “I'll only be here for like a month or so, can't you leave me alone till then?”

“Give me one good reason to,” Gray narrowed his eyes. Freska racked her brain, trying to figure out what to tell him, before something dawned on her. She squinted at his face. “What a second… I remember you!”

Gray blinked in confusion. “What?”

“You were the one who came to the lower grounds without a permit last week!” Freska gasped in outrage as he turned pale. “You're such a hypocrite!”

“Keep your voice down!” He hissed, eyes darting around. “Yes, so what if I did? Nobody actually uses permits to go to the lower grounds anyway, what's the point?”

“The point is, for such a stickler of the law, I'm sure you wouldn't mind if I snitch about you too.”

“Okay, okay,” he seemed to go paler at her words, turning around to make sure nobody was there before leaning down to her height. “I won't tell anybody about you if you keep your mouth shut about me. Deal?”

This was absolutely spectacular.

“Deal.”

You've chosen to research monsters. Write 300 words where your character learns something new.
Wordcount: 342/300

“You're looking for Stoneshures?”

When Gray had forced her to get on the elevator, she had let out a very embarrassing scream, the zero gravity making her head spin. He had shushed her violently when people around had stared at her outburst judgmentally, shaking their heads.

“Yes, I need some other things too,” Freska nodded, opening the rucksack she had bought with her. Apparently, Gray had gone to the lower grounds without a permit because he had wanted to research them. He could have technically gotten a permit easily, but it would have been reported to his father, who did not want him anywhere near there. According to Gray, he loved researching the terrain- he did not, however, love the people. In agreement to help her find whatever she needed so she could get out of here, she would tell him about the lower grounds for his research. “For my grandfather.”

“Does he like researching too?” He asked curiously, watching her pull out books.

“No, he's sick,” Freska shook her head. “We know a way to make a cure, but it will take materials from here.”

Before Gray could say anything else, Freska opened the book to reveal the photos placed neatly in the plastic folders. She didn't even know why she had bought it along with her, but for some reason, she had wanted to. Gray gaped, flipping through the pages. “How many are in here?”

“I think around one hundred and fifty, maybe,” she mused. The landscape was dark and gray in the lower grounds. She didn't really know why he was so enamoured with it. He looked up at her with a plea. “…Can I get these?”

“For a price.” Ever the one to make a benefit from a situation, she listed out prices for each photo he pointed to, watching him pull out more and more coins from his pockets. By the time he was done, Freska had gotten enough to refill the half-empty money pouch. “You are an absolute scammer.”

“Good to do business with you.”

You've chosen to feed Mazasa. Write 400 words where your character stumbles upon a secret lair before you move on.
Wordcount: 407/400

The next week, Gray begrudgingly agreed to come help Freska search for different plants. He had bought a fat flora encyclopedia over to her apartment, opening it and putting small marks on the pages she needed. When she had tried to dog-ear them, he had given her a glare that rivaled the heaters.

“Where are we going now?” Freska asked him. He opened the heavy book, arms already struggling to hold it for so long. He flipped through the pages, finding the specific flower. “We have to search for Rustips,” he said, pointing to the blue-petalled flower. “It only grows in caves, so we're going to have to look for some.”

“Where are we going to find caves in a place like this?” Freska speculated, trying to take the book from him, but immediately passed it back when she felt the weight. “I thought every part of the upper grounds had been taken over by infrastructure.”

“Of course you would,” he scoffed, earning her glare. “There are caves around here, just on the very outskirts of this place. We'll have to search for one where they grow.”

The two of them started to trek lower and lower, the higher grounds slowly shifting downwards. The further they went, the greener the grass looked, away from the heaters in the centre of the higher grounds. It was then that Freska could see the terrain starting to become rocky, not unlike where she had come from. Where Gray was struggling, she scaled the ground easily.

“Slow down, I found one,” Gray panted, pulling her back and pointing to their right to a small cave. Making their way to the cave, they immediately hid behind the entrance, covering their mouths.

Were those sages?

All the citizens knew the sages as the ones who had been born when the sun still existed, and they were very old. Apparently, all the rest of the people were still babies, and most had been slain for some reason. The sages ruled and decided who was a higher ground or lower ground resident. So why were they talking at a place like this?

“The veil on the sky will fall soon,” the one in red robes spoke. Freska and Gray carefully peered their heads out from the corner of the cave.

“The veil on the sky cannot fall,” the purple-robed one gritted his teeth. “Humanity cannot see sunlight again.”

What was happening here?

You've chosen Charybdis. Go outside for thirty minutes to complete this prompt (and, if possible, include a photo of something you saw in your weekly! The photo is NOT required, though.) If you're unable to go outside for any reason, read a book or do a craft for thirty minutes.

I scrapbooked FOR SEVEN HOURS BRO

You’ve chosen to trick the cyclops. Write 500 words where one of your characters tricks someone else.
Wordcount: 529/500

Freska glanced at Gray, trying to see if he was hearing the same thing as her or if she was just imagining it. Maybe she had misheard them? But looking at his face, she could tell that she wasn't the only one who had heard that sentence.

Humanity cannot see sunlight again?

“Our experiment must go on for longer,” the green-robed one seemed to agree, sitting with his back to the two of them. All five sages sat in an arc away from them, but some of their peripheral visions were scarily close to being able to see them.

“The experiment has gone on for almost a century,” the yellow-robed one spoke with a sense of boredom, toying with her nails. “I think our hypothesis is correct by now. Now that the experiment has been confirmed, we should lift the veil. I miss tanning.”

“Are you trying to revolutionize against the great sage?” The red-robed one hissed at her. “Are you trying to say the veil is not a blessing?”

“N-no,” she sat up straighter. “No, I apologize.”

Gray took a small step back, holding on tightly to Freska. But even that slight movement caused all five heads to snap in their direction.

Oh no.

Before they could even blink, five staffs had been pointed at them sharply, all five crackling with electricity. Freska gulped, stepping closer to Gray, trying to make herself seem smaller against the tall man. Her eyes flicked down to the ground, looking at the blue-petalled Rustips that grew from the ground, so close she could grab them if not for the staffs.

“Who are you?” the red-robed one snarled.

“We're new recruits,” Gray said calmly, fear masked behind something impressive. Freska had no idea what he was talking about, since the lower grounds weren't really that amicable or on speaking terms with the sages, but she nodded along with him. What on earth was a recruit?

“As if,” the green one snapped. “What sector?”

“Kula,” Gray said. “Kula sector. We were lost, since we were told to meet in a cave with blue flowers, but we must have stumbled upon the wrong one. We're so sorry.”

For a moment, Freska was about to sob and beg for forgiveness. There's no way everything he said was actually correct. So anybody could imagine her surprise when all the lightning staffs were brought down. The five sages sighed with relief, as if happy they didn't have to go through the minor inconvenience of slaying somebody.

“You pesky kids,” the yellow one muttered to herself. “In my opinion, none of you should even be recruited for our mission. You're not trustworthy.”

Freska quietly picked up a flower while Gray bowed his head in apology, moving the grey hair out of his eyes when the blue one observed them, trying to find out if they were lying. Freska put on her same poker face, the one she had used when sneaking past the guards without a permit.

“We'll take our leave now,” she said, as if she truly believed she was a recruit (or whatever Gray had said), grabbing his hand and walking out of the cave.

You did it! You completed your quest! You must write 200 words to end your adventure.
Wordcount: 203/200

They walked in silence, walking and walking until they had found another cave with blue flowers (and making sure there weren't any people inside). Slipping in, they released a breath they didn't know they were holding.

“What the heck?” Freska whispered, leaning her forehead on the wall. “What was all that about?”

“You're asking me as if I know,” he muttered, closing his eyes. “That was terrifying. I'm never helping you in anything again.”

“Does that mean the darkness is fake?”

Freska and Gray looked out of the cave slowly, up at the sky. The dark layer that they were so used to, which pushed humanity to the brink of starvation, before newer inventions had started to pop up. Was it true that they were in some sort of experiment? Was there actually sun up there? Freska hadn't been born when the sun was out, but she heard it was like a heater that touched her skin everywhere, keeping her warm during the first twelve hours of the day.

Breathing out again to calm each other, they looked at the singular, wilted flower in their hands, and then to the abundance of Rutips at their feet.

“I assume we should pick these?”

“Absolutely.”

Daily march 29- 536

“You’ve reached the local Wellington police department, this is force member- yes ma’am?”

“A noise complaint? Thank you for calling but-”

“Screaming? Well that’s certainly of concern.”

“We’ll send a member to that address.”

O’leary received a page at 8 pm. She made it to the eerily silent property at 8:30. She rang the doorbell with officer Minogue behind her at 8:35 after looking into the woods. A strangely dressed man answered the door.

“You will not notice anything out of the ordinary.” The words seemed to sink into her mind. Well obviously.

“I certainly hope not, mister-”

“Viago.”

“Mister Viago. I’m officer O’leary and this is Minogue-” The shadowing officer gave a little wave, “I hope you won’t mind letting us in so we can take a look around, make sure everything is up to code.” The walls looked damp and mildewy, definitely old. Safety measures had to be taken, smoke detectors, plumbing, electricity, a lot could go wrong with a house as old as this one seemed.

The stairs creaked as she climbed them. That was probably off too, should get an inspector on that, she thought. And something else was definitely off, if only she could-

“What’s that smell?” She almost recognised the metallic, salty odour that wafted through the house.

The man- Viago. Viago turned to her with wide eyes and opened his mouth to speak.

“Barbacue sauce.” He finally said after too long a pause.

Now that she thought about it, the smell was barbecue sauce, or at least, closer to barbecue sauce than anything else that came to mind. Which wasn’t much at the moment, olfactory processing signals slipped out of her brain like water off a duck. She liked ducks.

Turning into the kitchen and shooting more glares to the camera crew following them around, she took stock of the kitchen. The sink was piled high, plates and glasses covered in a runny red liquid, clearly not the mark of someone tidy. Although she did seem to be in the middle of something. One man was tucked into the corner of the room like a spider, another seemed to have frozen midair while attacking him, and a third was dragging him down by the ankle. Perhaps it was a new variation of poker? Either way, she wasn’t the fun police.

“Hope you gentlemen are having a good evening,” she addressed the three in the kitchen,

“Oh yes, lovely” responded the one on the ground. O'Leary decided to give them the briefing since they were all here.

“I’m officer O’leary, and this is my colleague Minogue. We received some noise complaints, one neighbor reported screaming from this address, we’re just here to keep the peace.” All three men gave a nod of understanding, and she dipped her head in a brief acknowledgement of their understanding. And yet- something was off. About this whole scene. The men, the kitchen, the camera crew, the dishes, there was something she was missing.

“Wait.” Minogue directed his flashlight upwards, and all gazes snapped to him.

“This smoke alarm-” he gestured to the rustic-looking device on the ceiling “-when was the last time you had it replaced?”

Ah, so that’s what it was.


Main post

weekly 4 ☆ swcea of monsters
2230/2000 words

─────────────

part 1 ⋅ story beginning ⋅ 298/200 words

it had not been a very good day for the animals of the fairfax petting farm. specifically, bessie the cow. it was officially off season: the majority of the cold and long winter had come and passed, and they had just finished off their round of nativity story-telling courses, so the travelling farm was finally about to take its well-deserved rest for january.

or so they thought.

turns out, the prime minister of mars had ordered for them to go and visit the aliens for the remainder of the month. you see, aliens have only mainly interacted with the human species, and they wanted to see what other animals were like. as you can guess, the news didn’t go down very well with the other animals.

“harrumpf!”, harrumphed peony, the pony used for riding lessons. “i was so looking forward to not being sat on all day. don’t baby aliens weigh like, a thousand kilos or something?”

“i doubt it,” yawned bertie the wise old pig as he stretched in the mud. “maybe you did, though.”

peony tossed her mane and harrumphed once more.

now, you’re probably wondering why bessie was having the worst time out of all them processing this.

well, if you didn’t know, i guess i’ve got to tell you.

see, the aliens on mars, they only drank chocolate water. which sounds disgusting, because it is. and bessie knew that her going over to mars would only mean one thing: they would discover chocolate milk.

bessie had no idea how chocolate worked, but she had come to the conclusion that, judging from the logo of a carton she had seen someone drink out of, the only way to acquire chocolate milk was to turn a cow INTO CHOCOLATE!

bessie most certainly did not want that.

part 2 ⋅ new opportunity ⋅ 519/400 words

soon, the day of the journey rolled around, and all the farmyard animals gazed out of the truck windows in curiosity ad they neared the site of rocket launch.

“wowwwww!!!” squealed jenna the chicken. “i have NEVER seen a rocket before! i have NEVER seen this before! what a ONCE IN A LIFETIME OPPORTUNITY!”

“once in a lifetime, indeed,” bessie slowly agreed. wait… does being turned into chocolate mean you die?

“tough luck for you, jen,” sniffed sparkles, the farmhouse cat. “this is only my 44th time flying in this particular space rocket. of course, i don’t expect any of you to relate.”

the other animals groaned in annoyance as sparkles smugly licked her paws.

far too soon, the truck slowed to a stop at the foot of the rocket-ship. mr bruno, one of the workers at fairfax, leaned out of the window to discuss something with one of the NASA workers.

“i wonder what they’re talking about,” remarked the lamb, martha, as she snuggled down next to her mum, dotty. all heads swivelled to trent, the last member of their group. as the farm-dog, he was the only animal out of all of them that could at least understand a small percentage of the english language, even if that was only a few random words.

his ears pricked up as he leaned forward. “i think… they’re talking about food? though, to be honest, humans ALWAYS talk about food.
to me, at least.”

their questions were soon answered as mr bruno hopped out of the driver seat, and opened the door. he put his translator around his neck, and, through the very think accent, bessie managed to make out this:

“the rocket departure has been delayed for about 30 minutes. the staff here said you can go graze on the fields if you want.”

which, of course, made the animals very happy. this was supposed to be their holiday time. and grazing on the field was practically the best vacation you could get.

bessie’s mind was somewhere else, though. she had begun to think of a plan…

as the group trotted towards the fields, bessie pulled dotty, her closest confidante, to the side. “hey, dotty,” she mooed under her breath. “could you cover for me while i escape this place? i can’t go to mars. the furthest cows are supposed to go is jumping over the moon. plus, i’ll most likely get turned into chocolate. okay? thanks. and tell everyone else i say goodbye.”

she turned to leave, but dotty shouted after her in shock. “excuse me, WHAT?”

peony made sure to swish her mane exaggeratedly as she turned around to see what caused the commotion.

“it’s none of your business,” mumbled bessie.

“harrumph!” came the reply.

dotty turned back to bessie. “running away? got can’t be serious. have you even thought like, twenty minutes ahead? what’s a cow going to do in the middle of nowhere? how are you going to escape unnoticed? and why on earth would you get turned into chocolate?”

“okay, fine, i won’t run away.” hissed bettie.

“for now.” she added, as an afterthought.

part 3 ⋅ researching ⋅ 305/300 words

“oh, don’t be silly,” said dotty, through mouthfuls of grass. “there’s no way someone could turn a cow into chocolate.

“are you sure?” asked martha, trotting up to her mum. “do you really know that? how do you know that? you’re not the leader of the universe. i think it’s very real!”

“erm, okay,” agreed dotty. “i just don’t think that there’s any reason as to why they would want to turn bessie into chocolate, dear.”

she gave bessie a look, and in that moment, bessie felt like she was talking to her mum, not someone she regarded as a cool older sister.

“i thought you were my mum for a second there,” bessie said. she didn’t really have anything to add, so she chewed on some grass. “but let me tell you why they’re planning on turning me into chocolate. it’s because they only drink chocolate water there. and everyone knows that chocolate milk is better. so they’re going to turn me into chocolate so i can get chocolate milk.”

dotty’s eyebrows shot up, and she tried her best to hide a smirk. “do you really think that?” she asked.

“um, well. i don’t know,” bessie replied. “sparkles told me. and i didn’t believe it at first, either, but you never really know what aliens are like, and they might have the technology, you know? plus, sparkles said that she had seen them turn a cow into chocolate before so they would definitely do it again…” bessie paused for a second.

“okay, considering that it was sparkles who told me, i guess that wasn’t true.”

dotty hummed in approval. “at least you finally came round to your senses. though i’ve got to admit that i’m surprised you don’t know how chocolate milk is made- don’t you know that the chocolate part is added after?”

part 4 ⋅ lairs & lasagna ⋅ 403/400 words

“oh my goodness. phew!” gasped bessie in relief. “you have no idea how worried about that i was.”

“no, i think i could tell,” dotty replied dryly. “oh, look- mr bruno is gesturing for us to come.
let’s go before trent tries to heard martha and i away.”

bessie swallowed nervously. even though she knew now that she probably wouldn’t be turned into chocolate, the idea of going in a rocket still terrified her. and, well, space
seemed quite terrifying too. wouldn’t she need like an astronaut suit or something?

it probably wouldn’t fit her though - unless they had a suit for a cow. which wasn’t very common. bessie had never worn a suit.

the animals cautiously clambered inside the rockets, noah’s arc style. when mr bruno was satisfied that they were all safe, the rocket began to lift-off.

“well, i’m going to sleep,” announced sparkles. “don’t any of you bother me.”

“but-where are you going to sleep?” jenna couldn’t help but ask. “there’s not really anywhere that comfortable, unless you don’t mind lying in the floor.”

none of the other animals would have minded to lie in the floor - in fact, the floor was the comfiest place to lie. but sparkles was, well,
sparkles. she gave jenna a look of disgust.

“ew, no. i’m going to sleep in the basement!”

basement? as far as bessie was concerned, rockets don’t have basements. with a sigh, the group of animals followed sparkles down a dark tunnel.

“sparkles…?” asked peony, “why are we, like, in the rocket’s walls?”

sparkles just ignored her. “look. here we are!”

”and… what was this place exactly? thought bessie as she turned the corner, it’s probably- oh. wow.

because they had just entered what seemed to be a secret lair. bunk beds decorated the bright hand side of the wall, and beanbags, cameras and food were scattered around the rest of the room. most surprisingly, though, was the poster that covered the entire back wall. the caption read “OUR LEADER WILL RETURN”, and the person’s face, smiling on the poster, was none other than… mr bruno?

it seemed to click at the same time. everyone gasped.

“what?” asked jenna. “what is it? WAIT. i know the person on that poster. I KNOW WHO THAT IS. i just… forgot. wait. who is that again?”

“mr bruno…” the wise old pig gasped, “is bruno mars! the leader of all martians!”

part 5 ⋅ go outside

i went outside for a few hours (doing sports)!

part 6 ⋅ tricking the cyclops ⋅ 502/500 words

all of a sudden, a person popped up from under the pile of beanbags. mr bruno. or rather, bruno mars. he clapped his hands happily, and the door to the basement swung shut behind them. “it took you quite a while to figure that out, didn’t it?”

slowly, the animals nodded. they weren’t sure whether they should be alarmed or happy. was this a threat?

“well, that would make sense, because i was tricking you all along!” mr bruno laughed and clapped his hands some more. “i’m obviously not bruno mars - i’ve never even been to mars!”

bessie laughed politely, and all the other animals nervously tittered along. they weren’t really sure if he was being serious or not. they didn’t really know mr bruno well enough for that. he was just their driver and occasionally someone who took care of them.

“but… why?” asked peony, which was a fair enough question.

“yeah… what’s the point of you pretending to be bruno mars?” bessie mooed.

“to distract you. because we’re currently floating in space. and, well, i don’t really know for sure, but a lot of you definitely looked stressed out before boarding. especially you, bessie. though you seem fine now. so yeah. i know that if you knew that you’d freak out-“

all the farm animals promptly started freaking out. specifically, a very fussed little hen.


OMG! WE’RE IN SPACE! WHAT ON EARTHHHHHH!!! WE’RE NOT EVEN ON EARTH!!!!!! AAAAAAAAAAAAH” screamed jenny, and everyone became dead silent, turning to her.

“uh.. ahem.” she mumbled, though it was clear that she was still VERY panicked.

“it seems like you’ve forgotten that we ARE actually going to mars, jenny.” the wise old pig groaned, and laid down on the floor. “besides, mr bruno is right. you HAVE started freaking out, and that would have distracted the ACTUAL astronauts in charge of driving the rocketship.”

he turned to mr bruno. “i am actually quite impressed by you, though. managing to fit a WHOLE secret lair inside a wall is quite a big feat. how did you do it?”

mr bruno shook his head, smiling. “what do you mean? i didn’t make this basement. i’m just a chill guy who likes to volunteer to take care of animals in his free time.”

“well, if YOU didn’t build this… then who did?” sparkles asked, involved in the conversation for once. “because this is my 45th time on this particular rocketship, as i’m sure many animals here are aware, and i have never heard anything about a secret basement being built in the walls, so-“

“it was me who built it,” a voice said, and from under the bunkbed came out none other than the REAL bruno mars. he looked exactly like mr bruno.

“brother?” whispered mr bruno.

“you’re BOTH called bruno? WOW! i have never heard of anything like that before! now i have experienced EVERYTHING.”

and, for once, bessie felt a little bit of gratitude towards sparkles, who immediately retorted with a “shut up, jen.”

part 7 ⋅ the end ⋅ 203/200 words

bruno mars grinned sheepishly. “hi, mr bruno. i guess you’ve been wondering where i went off to?”

mr bruno nodded. “something like that.”

“well, i was really nervous about having all of these animals over to my planet, you see, and so i wanted to give you all a warm welcome, and get ourselves introduced before you served on mars, so things wouldn’t be so overwhelming. so i reached out to sparkles here, who-“

sparkles swished her tail. “see? he chose ME over all of YOU.”

bruno mars frowned a little - he couldn’t understand what sparkles was meowing. anyway, he continued speaking. “uh, who i instructed to lead you guys here to the secret lair that i built in the rocket’s walls. to be honest, this rocket has pretty thick walls. and yeah. that’s it. everyone happy?”

bessie nodded, glad that she wasn’t going to be held hostage by a pop singer/alien leader. martha smiled at bruno, and leant against dotty, who said, “i appreciate the thought. slightly unconventional idea, but i guess that was just a taster for what’s to come on mars, right?”

the other animals agreed, except for one particularly stubborn pony. all peony said in return was, “harrumph.”

Critiquare- 730

Initial thoughts and questions:


The storyline seems very isolated, and the reader doesn't know much about the surrounding world (I'm aware this is part of the weekly, but if read as a standalone for the competition, maybe put in a little more context? (psst. sneaking some in by having Kiori mentally complaining about the view they lost might be a nice way to get it in there.)

We used to be able to see the concrete pillars, thick copper pipes and neon lights choking out the windows and strangling the towers like vines, now though, all I can see is this *bleeping* billboard and its boring *bleeping* little grid on the back.

Kiori and Kato's relationship immediately read as siblings or close friends, I really love the casual banter during the play-wrestle that seems ironic with the silence and the tension of the billboards.

Billboards, gods, new creations and eyes. This whole piece does a very good job of creating an invasive atmosphere- the idea of being watched, and the well-incorporated nod to Kiori having some secret to hide immediately raises the stakes. The feeling of ‘being watched’ could definitely be leaned into a little bit more between leaving the balcony and approaching the hideout, by stretching out that moment, more tension could be added, and it could foreshadow that something bad is about to happen.

Kato is a feline-adjacent creature(?), is Kiori similarly a feline-adjacent creature? They have arms and can pull hair later in the story, and something is mentioned about Kiori ‘Changing form’. are they shapeshifters?
- This won't necessarily be an issue for all readers, just something that was nagging at my visual interpretation, is there any way to elaborate on their anatomy (if it's unfamiliar from a human standpoint) or use more specific language?

Specific notes:

“Well, I hope it gains many holes to a degree that it would no longer exist… What are they going on about the divine about?“ She crossed her arms. Her sister shrugged.
”Not like you can do that without drawing attention to all of us…”

Rereading, I can tell that Kato is saying Kiori putting holes in the billboard is too attention grabbing, but the two-part statement followed by just one answer initially confused me, especially because the part of the conversation that was dropped both came second and was posed as a question.
It might be clearer split up like this:

“Well, I hope it gains many holes to a degree that it would no longer exist.” She crossed her arms. Her sister shrugged.
“Not like you can do that without drawing attention to all of us…”
“I said ‘hope’.” Kiori retorted “plus, what are they even going on about ”the divine“?”

She remember that last time they had brought some games to play with.

You could establish the hideout as more of an intimate place by making it noticeably theirs, by adding more homely elements (a carpet, a chair) or something that Kiori can find familiar (A wooden pallet that she always sits on), or just specifying the games (they'd brought a deck of cards here last time, maybe someone cheated, maybe Kiori sees the corner of a card she'd tucked to win the last hand peeking out from under the plank where she shoved it) something to root the characters to a more intimate hideout makes it feel all the more invasive when someone's setting off bombs outside.

It was quiet. The only sound that Kiori heard was her own breathing. It usually didn't bother her the silence here, but… she felt like she had eyes peering at her from the back of her head. It was likely just another one of those annoying billboards, always set her off. There was one the last time they had gone there.

This moment could be drawn out further to make it eerier and add to the atmosphere:
Kiori strained, but all the could her was her soft panting, air whistling past her teeth.

“eyes peering at her from the back of her head” is overly wordy and makes it seem like the eyes are on the back of her head? Maybe "The back of her head felt , as if someone was peering at intensely from some far off distance.“

”always set her off" could be changed to the present tense (always setting her off), to imply that the billboards are not only a constant in her life, but also that she suspects that the thing currently * her off is another billboard.

The door slammed. But she was inside, and there was someone else with Kato. Bursts of light coupled with explosion sounds came from outside. She mustered up the courage to look. Kato was injured but fighting. Kiori had never seen Kato fight before. They never had to. She had to get out of here.

If the door just slammed shut, is there a window that Kiori is seeing Kato through?
'Bursts of light“ as opposed to ”explosion sounds“ feels a little inconsistent, maybe ”Bursts of light coupled with the sounds of explosions?"

Otherwise, I love this passage.

The glass had to be ample distraction for her to make a getaway.

This bit confuses me, did she break a window on the opposite side of the room, distracting the attackers with the noise as she escaped? Or did she simply leap out of the window and hope the broken glass would stop them from following her? I'm having a little trouble following Kiori's train of thought.

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