21 bidaily part 2


chosen poem by ava (rhyme scheme words originally picked by me): My heart will lament / But my soul will be hollow / The gray will accent / The dying swallow / It can't fly from cold / So it lays, rotten / Till it collects mold / Weighing but cotton / It will wash upon my shore / Yet I will not return to before

625 words

she dreams of spring. it is at first hazy image, a wild and strange amalgamation of different springs gone by, shifting and fading, swimming before her eyes. But then: quite suddenly, it is as vivid as life.
the meadow is what comes into focus first. she sees wild grass that stretches desperately into the blue abyss, with sunlight dancing upon this rippling green sea and smearing dabs of colour across it.
flowers that bear the weight of a whole sky.
It is like a canvas, she thinks, and the canvas is framed on all sides by an audience of trees. everything sways gently. young trees with pale, peeling, bark bend to the will of the soft wind, strong still but playful. like a babbling brook, movement travels ever through the dense roof of leaves. new growth. new growth that does not yet know how to behave. it is free.

betwixt these trees: the swallow calls. its mother over the hills and meadows - a speck in the open blue. return! return! she will do, she does. they will eat, they eat. too young yet to know the journey, but it sees the travel in her wings. It sees a different land, laying there right behind her eyes. One day, she says. one day.

dreams evolve. summer comes, hot and furious, it burns the field red and raw. the swallows fly high above the horizon, dancing a secret dance. in and out in and out of the sun's long arms, they dive and rise and rise and dive like something wholly unearthly. It seems as if they are perhaps bits of meteors plummeting through the atmosphere.
older than a chick, it does not know far in the world, but it knows of it further now than just the scent of salt air on motherly feathers. Looking over the trees and the mist, knowing one day. Itching bones. bones hollow, formed for freedom. it will be soon.

when the leaves turn, it is older still. the sky is low, a grey cover held taut over the trees. Rumbles on the horizon and a threat to tear wide open. wings that repel a downpour, it is protected, suspended in the air. Yet still, dragged down - it cannot go. Not yet. Before winter. But time is not eternal. All the leaves are dead.

The grey splits, black and white. snow falls before an ink black page, whole days now lost, consumed. It is time. She looks to the southern sky - the swallow should be gone. Far above the salt, it flies toward the warmth.

But… it is not. There it lies, unmoving on the shore. Here, the memories flicker, blur, perhaps her own tears as they fall in fat drops to join the sea. A melancholy silence where birdcall should be, just the slow lapping of the tide. well, it will never see outside these coasts.

A grey grows upon it, slowly slowly, and so too in her heart. Half rotten creatures both.

Insides are filled with cotton now. where flesh and blood once filled gaping cavities, it is soft and full of sand. Lungs absent, but no matter, no breath to take. Bones elsewhere, silently removed. Skin scored open, sewn back together with only the love of a creator, a repairer. A finder of lost things?

She wakes tearful. A pain in her chest. She cannot remember why, but she finds herself moving in the dark, compelled towards the desk. There. she goes to the skull, picks it up from the surface, holds it gently in her sweating palms, stares at it for a little too long. She stares until she forgets where she is. It is so delicate, she cannot believe it is real. Where has it been?

Weekly 3 - science fiction worldbuilding
2105 words

Part 1 - sci-fi element/technological advancement
(306 words)

The dead phone: when a person dies, their consciousness can be extracted and uploaded onto a huge server and subsequently retrieved through something called the Dead Phone. The service is heavily regulated and controlled, but it allows people to speak again to those who have passed away. When called, the person is supposed to “wake up” in a painless, senseless state, except for their hearing and ability to speak. No physical body is needed to communicate as they are able to project their thoughts and exact voice through the line. However, the longer these consciousnesses remain in contact with the world through the dead phone, or the more times they are called upon, the more they are “worn down”. Memories are lost, sense of identity and self is lost, and slowly the ability to string together the words at all fades and communication is no longer possible. The consciousness has “expired”. Sometimes this can be within half an hour, sometimes someone may last for months of calls. It seems to depend on how they were in life.
Glitches and slips can also happen within the server - consciousnesses can be melded together or misplaced and confused for someone different. Additionally, since this new technology was introduced, certain groups of people have begun to create unauthorised deadphones, hacking into the servers, and infiltrating digital storage facilities containing huge amounts of data - this data often being the entire identities of deceased individuals. They often provide “black market” calls to people who cannot access a call legally for whatever reason. These are dangerous and can possibly corrupt the consciousness of the subject: and also potentially damage the memories or mind of the person listening, as the deadphone requires a link into the receiver's mind in order to transport the thoughts directly there.


Part 2 - sci-fi worldbuilding
(324 words)

The dead phone service is the result of years of slow discoveries and technological advancements, existing in a world which is essentially earth but set in the far and distant future.
Unexplained deaths are no longer a significant concern in society, for obvious reasons - although occasionally of course there are cases where the victims themselves are confused or disorientated and an investigation must still be carried out.
There is much discourse surrounding the ethics of using the deadphone. Some believe it is confusing and distressing for individuals when their consciousness is being retrieved from the server, and that those who have died cannot give consent for this process. As it is, there is no way to opt out of being automatically uploaded onto the server (the rationale given for this is for official and medical investigations that may need to be carried out unexpectedly), you will automatically be able to be ‘accessed’ by the dead phone once you pass away. There are large groups who are strongly against this, starting protests and riots to try and fight against it. They also make the point that
Others believe that when a call is made through the dead phone, the ‘consciousness’ received is not even a true representation of the person who died, and is essentially a copy taking on a false identity.
Since the breakthrough/invention, many religions and religious organisations have either disbanded and crumbled (as their ideologies were entirely blown to pieces by it), leaving only small cult-like sectors left, or they have completely condemned and spoken against it on a moral, philosophical and scientific level, some even believing that it can corrupt and get in the way of being able to reach an afterlife, “nirvana”, or otherwise divine state after death. Many believe it goes against the wishes of their creators or any kind of enforcers of the natural way of things that they may worship.



Part 3 - cross-world travel
(783 words)

( short plan : character unfamiliar to the world wakes up, learns about the dead phone and is initially disturbed by it but eventually is drawn into using it )

At first, when she had explained it to me, I was horrified.
Now.. It is ever so tempting.

I had looked at her with wide, glistening eyes.
“But.. it runs out? And then you can't ever speak again?”
“No. They don't “run out”. They don’t have an effing battery,” she had said, quite abruptly, as if I had offended her pride, “It just gets worn out, you know, like anything else would. It's perfectly natural. Like– like a human body does! Get it?”
“but isn't it like…” i began to whisper as if we were not the only people in the room, alone together, “like killing them again? them dying, for a second time?”
“No. It's not like that at all.”
“How?”
She had bitten her bottom lip, “Because it's not.”
There was a silence in which I had no idea what to say. She had seemed tense, perturbed by my presence, intolerant of my ignorance. I had opened my mouth , to - apologise, I think? But then I had closed it. My thoughts had been interrupted.
I had sensed her try to soften a little,
“Listen. It’s not… It's not killing them again. Maybe it could feel like that to you. That's your own issue to deal with. Just a consequence of grief. To them, it’s just… nothing. They’re already dead, okay? If we don’t talk to them, it’s not keeping them alive for any longer. They’re the same amount of dead. It just keeps the possibility open for talking to them again in the future.”
I think for a moment.
“I think that’s what death is though, to me.”
“You think it’s what?”
“The concept of, you know, ‘never again’. A possibility being closed off for good.”
“Right. Well,” she had hesitated, “well, you’re not right. You’re wrong. But it’s alright, it’s just a side effect of your times, I suppose.”
“Alright then.”
“It doesn’t matter anyway. No one you know will be in the server, so you don’t need to worry about it. You’re not talking to any of the ones you knew, even if you wanted to. They’re all gone for good.”

That was months ago. May as well be lifetimes, I think to myself. Just after I woke up here.

Things have changed.

I need to make a call.

I find myself now in this darkened room, hovering above the machine. That document. What I learnt. Nell. I can speak to her. So many months. It scares me how the time has passed. I would have done anything to hear her voice again. Even one muffled recording. A single laugh. Hell, a scrap of photo.
I can speak to her.

My mind returns to the letter. The letter, and its arrival. It keeps replaying, I can’t stop it, and i don’t know whether it’s a painful memory or not. The thud onto the floorboards, interrupting the dark stillness in my hallway. The drop in my stomach mimicking the fall from the door, before i even knew what was in there. She’s in there. She’s in the server. And I never knew.
I don't want her gone forever - even though i thought, up until now, that she was already. I’m scared. But I need to speak to her.

I have a list. But I am holding it so tight that it rips, just slightly.
The cold in the room hangs heavy around me, thick and suffocating. I’m shaking, physically shaking – I cannot do this, I think. My head is burning. Everything in my brain says no. But my hands move without me.
I’ve blinked and I feel the metal plate cold against my face. This is happening.

I feel her in my mind. A split second and I feel like I am in another world. She’s there. This isn’t real. This is not real. She’s there!

I cry out to her,
“Hello?”
“What?”
She sounds so young, so lost, so confused. I almost cry.
“Nell! Nell! I can’t…”

But the rest fades, diffuses into a fog.

Who?

I cannot remember what she says next. Only what it means.

She does not remember. She does not remember.
Not me. Not her.

Flashback to the fall. The thud of her body on the ground. Thud of her head. A beautiful, gorgeous, ever so fragile head. Cracked like a songbird’s egg, a fall from the soft nest. Her neck twisting in a way it should not be able to.

She remembers nothing of before it.

My own tears choke me.


Part 4 - sci-fi story
(685 words)

I know this is dangerous. Oh, I am well aware.
I could not care less.

“Why’d they deny you, anyway?” Tee asks me, as we sit there together on the rusting metal bench. A chill sweeps through the tunnel, and we shudder.
I hesitate at the question, staring down at the run-down train tracks that lay before us, and she looks suddenly uncomfortable, desperate to swallow back her words.
“Only if you want to say, I mean. If you think it would be OK. I just mean… God, I’m sorry – please, ignore me. I’m sorry, I really shouldn’t have asked–”
“No! No, it’s okay,” I interrupt to reassure her, “It’s just.. Well. I’m not too sure, really. But, uhm, I think it’s to do with, you know…”
I find myself trailing off, my throat dry and sticky all of a sudden.
“What?” her eyes glisten with a worried curiosity, “Sorry. I don’t actually know what you mean.”
“Well, you do. It’s like… the things he did. You knew about them. Before he died. He was involved in those things, the really bad things. Like… I’m sorry. I can’t really say it more than that, I cannot even think about it. But I think that’s why they denied me, that they won’t let me speak to him - he’s too, like, important I guess.”
“Why does that mean you can’t speak to him?”
“They might need to. Or at least, they think , or tell us they might need to. To ask him things,” I say, and bitterness grabs my tongue, “Honestly. What the hell. The last person he'll ever speak to is some random awful person grilling him, treating him inhuman, never knowing who he really was. Not his own flipping sister. They think that's OK.”
I close my eyes and breathe deeply. We sit in silence for a minute, but I can feel Tee still tense by my side, her thoughts whirring in her mind so fast I can hear it. I can tell she wants to change the topic, but has no idea what else there is to say. All the words have been drained out of the stagnant air. I feel a little sorry for her. Finally, she speaks again:
“Where is it, anyway?”
“Where’s what?”
“The, er, thing. For our call.”
“Oh, ah. I’ve got someone who’s going to meet up with us in just a moment. Just wait here a little longer.”
We don’t have to wait for long after all. It’s barely been a minute when we hear the long-rusted groan of a heavy metal door being opened, followed by the rhythmic thud of footsteps.
Let's go.

I can barely see the man walking in front of me, so I am following the satisfying tap of his shoes on the stone beneath us. Tee is following along as quick as she can behind, my hand wrapped tight round her thin wrist. I end up tugging her whenever she slows. I don't want to hurt her, but I do not trust myself to break contact with her for a minute - I am scared if I stop touching her she'll be gone before I can blink, and I never will feel her skin again.
This landscape is entirely alien to me, and yet I feel a strange sense of deja vu. It's like I am remembering a life I have seen in films or books, things that are echoed in the world above, ghostlike, but that I have never truly seen until now.
It is a subterranean maze, a whole world beyond my scope of knowledge, and I am quite honestly enthralled.

We are almost there. The metal of the door in sight. The man turns, and a purple reflection from somewhere in the tunnel flashes in his eyes for just a second.

“Remember. Not a soul knows about this, okay? You are not here, I am not here, and this did not happen.” His voice is coarse and leaps around the hollowness of the tunnels eerily. I am ready.

“Of course.” I agree. We step through.

Daily 23
(317 words)

Cliche/trope - single tear moment lol, dead parents/orphan

A single tear escaped her blink and rolled down her cheek as she sat there on her bedroom floor, clutching the photograph close to her chest. Her prized possession.
The floor was hard, and cold, but she couldn't feel it – not through the burning pain that twisted deep into her chest. In the centre of the battered frame beginning to splinter at the sides, beneath the layer of partially cracked and permanently dirty glass, were her parents.
The photo was badly worn. Yellowed, creases running all across it, fraying at the edges, if it were not in a frame it would easily be mistaken for scrap and thrown away without a second thought. The thought terrified her, so she kept it close to her, on her person at all times possible. She was filled with an anxiety when apart from it that nothing on the earth could even attempt to ease until she had it in her hands once more. It was the only thing left.
Her biggest fear was forgetting their faces. And so she studied them intensely every night, fearful and watched all the while by the moon.
Late at night, on nights like this one, she got the photo out and simply sat there staring at it. Though she would never admit it to the others, and she looked around paranoid all the while that someone was watching or listening in on her, in truth she often spoke to it. And sometimes maybe a little tiny part of her expected a reply.

In the photo, they were smiling widely and waving up at her. Plastered on her father's was a wide, gap-toothed smile which was a mirror image of her own. The corners of her eyes creased just like her mother's when she laughed and when she cried. They creased now.

Daily 24 - description without sight
410 words

They tell me it is dark, at this time. I wouldn't know.

The rain hurts, relentless as it pounds down and hits my skin; it's like being pelted with rocks, a shower of the things hurtling towards me from the edge of a crumbling cliff. Coarse hair hangs thick and wet around my face. Ugh. The feeling makes me want to tear the very skin of my face off. It feels like the rough limbs of a great insect on me, clinging fast to my flesh.
Shuddering, I try my best to tie my rope of hair behind my head with the scrap of silky ribbon I have left, fumbling first to untie it from around my wrist. My hands are shaking wildly. In all honesty, the shivers are not just from my repulsion at the sensation - it's flipping cold out here.
Icy water continues to rush down my neck and my spine in thick streams into my clothes and, i am convinced, into my bones and veins too. A pit of dread in my stomach opens. I know that once the cold is there, it is very hard to get it out.
My heart is very loud.

I find myself suddenly very aware of my stillness, and the water beneath my feet seeping deep into my shoes and socks. it's only a puddle but I feel that I am sinking, deep deep deep deep down to be swallowed into the earth. In quicksand. I must move – i'm already soaked, and quite frankly, if i stay here I don't think I will ever be able to move anywhere else again.

The city is stiff to move through, heavy with cold and with barely any room left for air between the solid pillars of water in the downpour, but I am flying through it. If i could see, i am sure there would be bright, curious lights illuminating the stone pavement, guiding me and gently glowing, providing me a delightful illusion of warmth. But… as it is, the night is raging at me. Thundering, howling, heaving, and sending sharp corners to meet me at every turn. My lungs, when not gasping for a space while the rain tries its very best to pour into them, fill with a mysterious viscous gas - it cannot be oxygen - which I feel is made entirely from despair.

Everything smells of dampness. And dripping stone. It makes me sick.

Critique
720 words

Hellooo! Firstly, I want to apologise for the wait, i'm so sorry about that! I did not mean to make this so long aha i am very sorry :’) That said, welcome to my critique, and let's get into it <3

So, my overall impression is that I think this is a really such a strong short story, i love your writing style and also how you've mimicked traditional fairytales. It's so good and very effective. It was really enjoyable to read and I think this has such a strong narrative “voice” of an old fairytale. It's fantastic

Now, I'll try to address each of the things you noted! In terms of description..
Something you do really well is how clear it is to read, we're never confused about what's happening and we can picture the scenes really clearly. In my opinion this can sometimes be an overlooked part of imagery/describing a story in favour of making the words sound/look pretty on the page, but that's no good if you can't imagine the image in your head. So really well done on this :]
To improve, I would recommend trying to incorporate some more sensory detail and “layers” into the writing! For example, you currently don't use many senses except sight, having some descriptions involving touch/textures, sounds, smell/taste (this one could be really good and evocative since your story revolves quite a lot around stuff like the berries/nuts/soup), etc, would i think really make the writing feel richer.
You could also use a few more language devices like metaphors, similes, and personally i think especially personification - I think this is really “fairytale”-like. An example could be even just changing something like the “whispering grass” from the description of the wispy grass. Another literary imagery thing i see in fairytales a lot could be some very exaggerated and overly vivid descriptions.

I think the theme/moral is totally clear (to not judge by appearances, not be jealous, treat everyone with kindness & value community/connections) without directly stating it which is super great.
For the sister, I think its mostly pretty clear what's going on for her, but if you wanted you could add a little more depth to it and that whole conflict. for example, you could make us understand a bit more about her internal thought processes and feelings and why she thinks/behaves how she does by dropping things in early? this is probably terrible but hopefully it gets the idea across lol, but there could be some prior jealousy with the grandma and sister like “she smiled, but deep in her chest, something bitter began to sprout” and gradually build up. It might make her outburst of “Now Old Grandma likes me less!” seem a bit more paced/make more sense for her character. Or, it would be good to delve more into her fear and what exactly she imagined the troll to be like, or what she is scared of. I think any of that kind of thing could make the story feel less flat and more interesting :> ( although, I know it is a kid's fairy tale so I'm aware the morals can be possibly portrayed pretty cut and dry traditionally)

I'm not too sure how to suggest changing the ending to make it darker, but for the whole atmosphere through the story, you could emphasise the troll's danger more; try and build up the fear and tension and use some more vivid and frightening descriptions. You could also make the sister trapping him feel like a more serious and extreme act somehow and add in a bit of “horror” and drama about how far shes going to go.

For the title i don't really have too many suggestions, sorry <//3 The current title seems fine : D the only thing is maybe instead of ‘the children’ I would have The Two Sisters and the Troll or just The Sisters and the Troll.

Please do feel free to take all of this with a huge grain of salt, it's all my opinion and I am by no means an ultra amazing author ehehe, i'm aware a lot of what I say might be actually be intentional for the piece etc but I hope you found it somewhat helpful !! <3

Edited for CWs/TWs: please be aware that this piece covers quite heavy topics relating to mental health, and also features dissociation/derealisation. If you are not in a place to read something heavy, that's totally fine - click off this! <3



to those who are other.


like the water, like skin



The cliffs are louder than my thoughts. This is why I come here, again and again, staring down at the waves that break themselves endlessly into white noise. My bones are weak, and so I must plead with the stretched grey sky that has room for things that don’t fit inside a skull. If I stand close enough to the edge, I can narrow the world into wind and chalk and salt corroded edges. It’s a kind of comfort that no other place can offer.
This is why I come here.
I am not tempted by the drop. I must remind myself.

The birds circle, eerie, in the pale open skies, and I watch them as I always do. I sit with my hands buried in the grass and my feet hanging, suspended above the cold-water abyss, but I’m careful. Despite myself, I have always been careful. They are all far away, screaming and laughing into the white void, except for one. Perched up upon a narrow jut of rock a few feet away, one of the birds is looking straight at me. I find myself staring back at it, an oddly unafraid creature. Not a Bonaparte’s, as I had first thought, but a little kittiwake. Maybe it sees inside me, and all the inhuman-ness of me, and knows I will not hurt it.
Like a sudden warm pool of sunshine spilling through the canopy of a woodland, an inexplicable sense of understanding washes over me, the sense of being seen. There’s something so odd about this bird. Its unnerving stillness, the way it is watching me a little too deliberately. I want to reach out to it and hold it between my palms, though I know it’ll fly away.

I call to it, and when it blinks at me, I feel the flutter of my own eyelids somewhere else, high above the cliffs.

The ground seems to shift beneath me, and I am filled with a feeling I have never felt before. I can’t name it. But I am instantly drawn in. Again, I close my eyes. I think of nothing but the bird. And for a moment, I am sitting on the cliff no longer.

Far, far below me is the fathomless sea. I see myself too, a tiny figure too close to the edge. From up here I can see everything, I can follow the coast until it curves around into the mist like a thin white scar.
Yes, maybe this is not real, maybe an imagination, but it is euphoric.

–

I am under ten thousand tons of dark water. Down here it is cold in a way much deeper than the familiar chill of a desolate moorland. It is a cold that has worked itself deep into my veins and that I don’t think I will ever be able to get out. Silvery fish with human eyes glide past me, and dark shapes grow and shrink on all sides of me. Something vast, older than the earth, makes its way toward me…

I wake with the taste of salt thick on my tongue, my throat raw. Maybe screaming, or swallowing the sea.

The ‘nightmares’ began a week ago.

Every night feels heavier, increasingly confused. Something more. Today is the first morning I notice the blood.

My sheets are damp, clinging to my skin. I barely register it - I’ve given up changing them. My hair feels horribly coarse and falls in thick ropes around my face, skin sticky with salt.

I check the windows again, convinced once again that the sea has crept inside somehow, and soaked into my things.
It’s tight. The glass is cold and dry beneath my fingertips.

I see it then. It’s only a little, but there is an unmistakable dark smear now seeping through my pillowcase. Aware all of sudden of the metallic tang on my tongue, I lift a hand to my mouth and when I draw it away again, it comes back bloodstained. My lips are split, and my gums ache dreadfully.

My hands, too - I see it when I hold the doorframe, and leave it eerily handprinted. They are oozing little beads of red, from tiny cuts all along my palms and my knuckles, as if I have scraped them across something rough.

Still, I prefer these dreams to the ones which they replaced.

–

I go to the birds - the bird - every day. I can stay in the daydream of sorts for longer and longer each time. It’s so vivid, so real. I can’t stop.
I’ve noticed when I return to my own eyes, things are darker and blurrier. Sounds are distorted too. That’s okay. I trust that I can always see again once i reach the cliffs.

–

It is the early morning when she calls me. The light has only just begun to leak in from behind the horizon, and everything looks soft to the touch. All the colours of the surroundings are peculiar, as if I have stepped into a polaroid photograph.
The noise entangled with my dreams, it takes me a while to brush them away and pick up the phone. It doesn’t help that for the first few long moments, I can do nothing but sit and stare at it. I watch it. Ringing.

“Hello?” my mother’s voice comes crackling through the screen.
“Hello,” I croak, and the word comes out sounding strange. A primitive sound, that is not a word at all. I realise I have not heard my own voice for weeks. I’ve had no reason to use it.
She breathes in sharply, and when she breathes out it is a stream of consciousness entering my ears, “Oh my god, I’ve been so worried. Why haven’t you been answering me? What’s going on? Please, I just wanted you to let me know you’re okay. I was getting desperate, I was about to call the authorities. The hospital. I was so scared, you know, you can’t do this. Please tell me what’s going on–”
She pauses for breath, but she doesn’t start again.
“Nothing, mum. I’m fine.”
“I don’t think you are.”
Pause.
“I am.”
“Why didn’t you answer me?” her voice is slower, softer now.
I look at the little red symbol on the screen, that tells me I have ignored what my mother has tried to say fifty-seven times now. Have I heard these already, late in the kitchen at night, staring up at the ceiling? Maybe. Memories swim around my brain. No. I don’t remember that.
“I did, now.”
She sighs. I can see her face in my mind. Bitten lower lip, dark beneath her eyes.
“I could come up,” she says, “just for a little.”
“That’s not necessary.”
“I think that maybe it is.”
“I’m just tired.”
There is a silence from the other end of the line.
“You’ve been ‘just tired’ before.” she says, quietly.
The words land heavier than they should; I feel a twist of sickness and anger in my chest.
“I’m not.. It’s different.”
“I want to come and see you. You’re not in the right place to be alone right now.”
“No. I’m not letting you come.”
“Please,” her voice sounds gentle and calm, but I can sense the layers of anxiety rippling out from underneath.
“I said no.” I hang up without awaiting a reply. I switch off my phone and put it back down on the side. I stare at it for a long while, feeling ill. I listen to the ringing until it stops.

The cottage feels smaller after that.

–
Flying into white darkness, diving beneath a black field. For a moment, I’m not sure if I am watching it or remembering it as my own experience.
–
I’ve stacked the books in front of all the mirrors.
Dust hangs in the air, but at least it's got them off the floor. Ignoring the feeling of dread and despair sitting deep in my core, I gaze around me. Still, more clutter than I knew I owned gathers in the corners of every room. The clothes I’m wearing feel like part of my flesh now. Dishes pile up in the sink, but I don’t remember the last time I ate. It’s fine - I've simply not needed to. Vague impressions of hunger linger round me at times, but they are gone before I remember what I am supposed to do about them. Besides, last time I looked, all the food in the fridge was covered in an ominous grey mold.

At least I won’t have to see my reflection anymore, I think. I caught sight of it hours ago, the first instance in a long time, and the sickening feeling hasn’t left me yet: there was something terribly wrong with it. Someone else stared back behind the glass, their skin pale, flesh carved hollow like the cliffs carved by years of cruel sea, eyes dark and deep and mournful.

I will calm myself, later, I will go to the only place I feel I belong.

–

On first waking, I thought I had sleepwalked here up onto the cliffs.
But I don’t think I had ever returned to the cottage at all. Not from last time. The air is biting cold, below zero even - I've been out here all night, my body should be close to giving up. Yet, somehow I am unbothered. It won’t matter for long, something tells me.

It is a tremendous effort to even raise my head. Indeed, I have grown weaker and weaker than ever these weeks gone by. I stumble to my feet, feet that are no longer my own, dragging myself up through what feels like thick tar hanging in the atmosphere.

The bird is there. Behind me, it gives a melancholy cry. Its eyes flash briefly in the dusky light, bright and human. Across the moor is a pin-pr/ck of light, the lights left on and scattered through the front glass window of my lighthouse of the land. Somehow, somewhere deep inside me, I know I will not see inside those stone walls again.

In the other direction are the churning dark waves and the step into nothingness.

I need to go back, I know that. But I can’t help it. I want to feel it again.
I try to recall what it felt like to be entirely inside my own body, but the memory has already thinned, like a dream dissolving in daylight.
With the last of my energy, I close my eyes and prepare myself, readying my decaying muscles. I run wildly into the dark grey sky - I am unsure whether it’s day or night - and I am not careful.

I am weightless. Far below me, a tiny dark figure is consumed by waves. It is not my concern.

–

word count: 1984 (including author's note)

a/n:

title is from ‘change’ by big thief.

so, what is this? maybe it's a bit weird!

I have previously described this, shortly, as “A surreal piece about someone becoming a bird.”
But of course it's not as simple ;-) my goal is for there to be many many layers there to delve into for my stories like this one, if anyone so desired.

While writing, i was aiming for this to be an extended metaphor for mental illness/chronic illness and dissociation, and on some level how struggling people are perceived and treated.
however, I guess it's evolved into more than that and i would LOVE to hear people's own interpretations of the piece. Additionally, the “supernatural” transformation narrative itself is very special to me!
I wanted to weave in themes of addiction, transformation/change, isolation, obsession, and escape to this story.
But also to have created a story that stands by itself and left a dreamy and strange atmosphere on the page :-)

photograph at the top of the page taken by me

Daily 25 - memory lane/previous memory book subthemes

I chose underwater and space : )

You can interpret this however you want. I am not sure if i know what anything i do is even about anymore. Opening line inspired by the fact that i am indeed feeling strange today

I am feeling strange today.
Above me, the fish spiral. On the bottom of the ocean floor i lie, and I am fading in and out of consciousness. I am not sure how long i have been here. I know it has been a while. It is rather a peaceful existence, but i find myself wondering if there might be something else. There HAS been something else. I know there has. Before this - but, as the water ripples gently around me, i can’t for the life of me remember what it was.

They nibble at my skin. The fish, i mean - although i feel that something deeper, too, is also gnawing slowly away at me. It comes away - the tender flesh that is me - but there is more and more of me beneath. It is all very strange, very strange indeed, but at the same time i remind myself that this is perfectly normal. Perfectly normal. It has always been like this. It has never been any different at all. The fish must eat.

As i watch, the dappled sun spots that have been sinking through the water towards me since the beginning are slowly fading away. It’s a familiar sensation, as if this has happened every day, and yet i cannot find within myself the knowledge of what this means, what comes next. Do i even know what a day is? I’m not sure. How on earth do i know that this state of being is not just it, forever and ever and ever? Do i even know what earth is.
There must have been something else.

Nevertheless, the water darkens, and i can no longer even see the fish. I know they must be there, but there is just darkness all above me.
And then the lights.

One by one, the stars are turning on. I don’t know how i know what a star is, but i do. The air is suddenly much less dense, and i am no longer feeling the rushing and rippling of water round my ears, laying on my back in the middle of the sea.
I am still suspended - still floating - but it is an altogether different kind of a feeling.

I am floating through space.
I see it now - the nebulaes and galaxies, making themselves visible to me, each taking off their long black cloaks and unveiling from the darkness like actors coming out from behind a stage curtain. I feel part of something huge and vast, though i am not sure why.

I am simply a witness, in reality. I do not know what is happening, i only know that i can see it and that it is strange. That everything is very strange today. Today.

I am feeling very strange today.

I am swimming through the depths of space, and there are fishes here.

Daily 26 - deleted scene
(487 words)

TV show is BBC Ghosts - created by the six idiots c:

Alison and Mike are sitting in the kitchen, at breakfast. There are no ghosts as far as Alison is aware. Suddenly, The Captain phases through the wall behind her.

The Captain, from over Alison’s shoulder: Hallo! Good morning to you, Alison! Now-
Alison, choking on a piece of toast: OH, my god!
Mike, lowering his spoonful of rice krispies, whilst raising an eyebrow: Ali are you alri- wait. Ghost?
Alison: Yeah, don’t worry, it’s just – God, Cap, I’ve told you. You can’t just keep coming up from behind me and startling like that. Please, how many times do I have to say this?
The Captain, disgruntled: Well, forgive me, young lady, but one cannot exactly tap you on the shoulder now, can I?
Alison frowns at him.
The Captain, distractedly, suddenly eyeing Alison’s plate: Good Lord, jam AND butter? Do you have permission for that?
Alison, raising her eyebrows: No… It’s not the war anymore.
The Captain: Ah, my apologies, that is quite besides the point. Ahem - anyway, I have an important request to make if you would be so kind as to listen.
Alison: Cap. I’ve barely woken up. You know I actually have to sleep, right? I don’t just do it for fun like you lot. I’m trying to finish my breakfast. If only you knew how busy I was–
The Captain: Right, right. Right you are. Fine. Take a second. As much time as you need. I’m waiting.
There is a pause. Alison picks up a piece of toast, and begins to eat again.
The captain taps his stick on the table and rocks back and forth on his feet, impatiently.
Alison, sighing, dropping her toast and slapping her hand down on the table: Okay! I’m sorry. Yeah, okay, go on. What do you want?
The Captain, pleased, immediately launching into a spiel: Right! Okay, here is the mission, listen closely agent: See, I must obtain a, ahem…
The Captain lowers his voice, speaking quickly: We must obtain a special K-9 operating unit for important morale purposes, as a matter of urgency. As soon as possible. This afternoon would be ideal. However, although not optimal, it would be adequate to, if it must be delayed, delay it to Saturday. You got that? Jolly good.
Alison, blankly: What?
The Captain, whispering, cross: Good Lord, young lady, I can’t be repeating every message – why, enemy ears may be listening!
A pause.
Alison: Alright. Mmm. So, basically. You want a dog. Is that what I’m hearing?
The Captain, alarmed: Hush now! Alison! You really must understand this whole confidential ordeal. But, essentially, yes, the message could be interpreted in such a way…
Alison, laughing: Where has this come from all of a sudden?!
The Captain shifts back and forwards on his feet for a few moments, seemingly deep in thought.

Daily 29 - background character
502 words

My chosen background character was one of the horses pulling the carriages from beauty and the beast! ;D

A piercing cold was hanging heavy in the air that night. Under my thick hide, my bones felt brittle.
I knew there was something happening, or something going to happen, as the day's sun fell and the moon welcomed itself - something out of the ordinary. I didn't know what, confined within the small and decrepit stone stablehouse, walls rife with creeping vines, but i knew there was something. I could smell it in the air.
Tirelessly, I pulled hard on the rope that tethered me into my prison. The fibers stretched as far as they could, but refused to snap. The metal post heaved under the strain, bowing and pulling from the earth, but that too did not budge. Nevertheless, I repeated it, throwing myself again and again at the gate until I truly could no more; my muscles ached and burned from within, and would no longer even function as I commanded them. I had to accept the defeat at last. I could not escape from there. Not that night at least. But that night I yearned for it most. It laid like a weight within me: yes, I was fed and watered. But I would never again get this freedom to see what was becoming of the world.

I closed my eyes for but a second and when i opened them it was darker.
I was standing, facing out into the air. The so called enchanted trees loomed into the sky spilling all above and in front of me
It must have been later. Though i do not remember the sleep, the air was different, and everything fell much closer. Intimate. Perhaps I could see the outer worlds happenings, after all.
There was something strange, lingering around the castle - moreso than what always lingered - like a scent of something sinister to come. Yes, it could have been simply the peculiar silence of the snow as it swallowed all the noise that sunk into it: an eerie, artificial silence, that was! But I thought not. Something else.
I was sure.

It was then that I saw her. Wrapped tight in her pure, pale cloths, a shawl round her shoulders, she was on the path between the trees. Up to the castle she was coming. A surge of regret spiked itself into my heart. No! Not up to here! Not to the master! This girl, whom I had never encountered ever before, had suddenly claimed a large chunk of in my heart and lungs. They grew tighter, knotted, as if felt her step into this land of frost and forever winter, that I knew she would never leave. I whinnied and neighed wildly into the wood, but she could not hear me as I echoed into it.

I saw now. Her pure, cold-blushed face. Towards the roses, she was going: I observed, sufferingly, unable to do anything more.

Weekly 4 - SWCea Of Monsters :-)

I have no clue what this is. Alice in wonderland vibes? mayhaps?
Word count: 2348 words


1 - at least 200 words - beginning

The skull was not the right shape.
Briar crouched down to examine it a little closer: she was used to skulls. Every day for the past however-many-years that she remembered, she had scoured the undergrowth for hours, doing nothing but simply searching for them. It was a fully mind consuming activity, the pure focus acting as an entry of sorts to another whole dimension.
Her palms sank into the soft moss as she leveled her eyes with the thing’s hollow sockets. They angled slightly upward, as if whatever it had belonged to had spent its life peering into bright skies.
She found herself and the skull eye to used-to-be-eye.
She knew what they looked like. The deer, birds, foxes, badgers, hares, even the mice - the mice which seemed like little more than tiny broken eggshells fallen from a bird’s nest at first glance - but she did not know what this thing was. It looked like not one of them.
What was this?

She picked it up and it was damp between her hands. She turned it over, slowly, in her fingers, nails caked in soil and with dirt deep beneath. In a slightly murkier light, it might have passed for a deer, she thought. A horribly deformed one, perhaps, but still a deer.
But it did not.
Here, now, it was undeniably just that bit too much wrong.

2 - at least 400 words - new opportunity

She did not know how long she had spent just staring at the skull, scrawling note after note into her field books, but it was growing dark when she awoke to the world again. A sea of crumpled papers, scrappy post-it-notes and a vast array of different notebooks lay before her, some of them now half buried in the decaying leaves. Empty ink cartridges and notebook jackets accompanied them. She had come to the end of her paper. As she blinked dreamily in the dusk light, something crunched behind her.
She looked back at the unearthly item in front of her. It was, and she knew that it was - but it didn’t seem the same.
She felt, somehow, that it was alive.
She had set it down on the soft mud of the forest floor, investigating it from each and every angle, but now she picked it back up again. She pressed it right up close to her face. It was cold on her skin, and she did not give a second thought to any illness that might lurk in the earth.
The weight of it in her hands felt far too heavy, much heavier than it should have been - heavier than any other bone she’d held had ever been. She traced the shape of the bone structure with her finger, faint grooves branching out across every inch of the otherwise smooth surface, like the arms and roots of a tree. With a rush of intrigue, she noticed that there were growths at the base of the skull.. things that could possibly have been construed as antlers, though they appeared more like gnarled branches of an ancient tree sprouting out from bone.
This skull was from something hidden, a world she could not access, and it was leaking through.
“Show me,” she whispered, and even as the words left her lips she was completely unsure what, or who, she was talking to. Or even asking.
And yet.
Something answered.
It was not in the form of words, but something deep inside her chest was speaking to her, telling her things she could never comprehend, and now she was moving too – walking, running, flying, swimming, skipping, tumbling, falling through the trees and through the foliage that shrank and grew wildly. And then, she saw.

A whole world revealed itself to her, that she had never once even imagined. The trees, everywhere she looked around her, were moving and breathing. Every one of the animals and plants that she saw were a part of one another.


3 - at least 300 words - makes enemy

She wandered the place, a place once oh so familiar, as if in a dream. Everything she had seen thousands of times before was now so new and full of wonder. As for time, it had seemed to stop entirely. The woodland watched her as she walked, stepping ever so carefully amid the undergrowth. It was curious but distant. She had been welcome, perhaps it was true, but she was still an alien. The creatures creeped and then rushed around her, fascinated and yet still fearful.
The green shadows seemed to go on for a long time. She felt as though she was in a tunnel. A peaceful tunnel, but nonetheless, the claustrophobia would set in for anyone if you gave it long enough in a place like that.
The hours, minutes, seconds passed strangely.
Then, out of nowhere, like a little lamp of glowing light in a dark winter’s street, a clearing spread out before her. She found herself, unaware even of the muscles in her legs working, moving towards it. Sunlight spilled suddenly over her shoulders. It felt tangibly heavy for a moment, as if she was in danger of collapsing beneath the weight of it piling onto her back.
She stood and blinked into the brightness.
For some long beautiful moments, it was the most euphoric place in the universe. Birds chirped faintly and the flowers buzzed.
Then.
The sickness set in. A deep and twisting sense of despair.
“You should not be here.”
The voice seemed to be coming right from within her ribcage, echoing through the earth. It was deep and mournful, but what scared her most was the anger. She had angered something deep, and she could tell.
The world seemed to shake at the edges as it hollered through her brain once more,
“You should not be here. You are not welcome here. We do not want you here.”

You must leave.

Briar’s eyes were dragged towards the corners of the forest clearing. Things seemed to be fraying at the edges. Fading. Breaking.
She turned around, breath almost stolen, and tried to run.


4 - at least 400 words - adopts creature

Like a dream again, now turned nightmare, the air quickly became a thick tar. She could not run. She drifted through the branches feeling deeply ill and lost, in and out of consciousness, reality and fiction unsettlingly mixed.
She cried out and no voice came.

It happened. Like an explosion. All of a sudden, she was being ripped limb from limb. Something burst sharp and violent through the foliage, spraying plants and soil and even the strange but so beautiful living creatures, torn and broken everywhere across the surroundings. The air smelt in less than a second of charcoal and metal and rotting meat. In her lungs, she felt a flower, blooming, filling where she had to breathe and screamed into the emptiness more forcefully than she knew her own lungs were capable of. The flower broke her skin, vines twisting rapidly through the flesh, and then in an instant it wilted. Curling in on itself like some dying spider, it browned and faded away, the vines breaking off and falling limply to the forest floor. Everything stopped as suddenly as it had started. The quiet which it left behind was deafening.
Briar lay motionless.

Nothing in the wood moved.
There was nothing in her head, at all. She wondered, was this what it was to be dead? It seemed like that.
Ever so slowly, the thoughts were returning. Things began to swim within her head. Still, she was scared even to think them too loudly, although they rippled out in spite of her attempts to quieten them. Not a nerve in her body twitched. The blood in her ears was audible, the loudest thing she had ever in her life heard. The loudest sound in the entire world.

Something brushed across her hand.

Until that moment she had all but forgotten even of the presence of her hand. The fact it was attached to her body at all felt utterly impossible. But something awoke. The thing, whatever it was, brushed - no, walked - across her hand a second time. Yes. It was a creature with feet, walking on her. A tiny thing, perhaps made of the shadows, but the feeling was distinctive.
Her eyelids opened.

What looked like a mouse, or some manner of small rodent anyway, stood staring back at her. Its eyes were beads of pure black, wet and shimmering. On its back, amidst the scraps of grey-brown fur, she noticed that something was sprouting. An array of different sized mushrooms were growing right out of its skin.

((5 - actual activity - go outside/do craft/read book :-D

Seagull-note: for this I went outside for leave from my unit and took many photographs of birds with my new (since 2 weeks ago!) camera :} i then spent much time messing around and experimenting in a RAW photo editing software for the first ever time ))

6 - at least 500 words - character negotiates with someone

It remained in the palm of her hand, as she slowly shook herself more alive once again, out of her strange stupor. Her mind was clearing, slowly, though fuelled with fear - she realised that she had to get out of here, back into the forest that she knew, the one where the dreams and nightmares only strayed around the edges. Where the fauna and flora stayed distinct from one another. She found with a jolt of horror that she barely remembered it, though she was sure somewhere in the back of her mind that it had not been that long at all. She felt like a different person.

The mouse-mushroom-creature trembled in the cold air, still perfectly static in its movement, although looking as if it was poised to run at any moment if it needed.

“Please,” she breathed, “I need something to help me out of this place. I don’t think i will survive to ever make it out of here, if i am left alone. I don’t know why I’m speaking to a thing like you. I don’t know what you can do. But I need something other than me. I can’t go back there.”
Back there. Her own mind. The wilderness of it.

The thing tilted its head up at her. It gave her what may or may not have been a look of understanding, she thought. She decided that it was. Either way. The mouse did not run away. She curled its silky, warm body into her palm and picked it up as she extracted herself, too, from the soft mud floor, holding it close to her chest as carefully as she possibly could. It filled her slightly with strength, strength she knew she would not have alone. Basic control of her own mind and body, something she would never take for granted again and which she was ever grateful to it for restoring in her. Her hands were shaking. Thank you, she said in her mind and hoped it could hear.

She was ready to walk, into somewhere unknown - anywhere. But the air was heavy.

That entity. Again. It was here.

This time it really would be the end, would it not?

This time, the voice sent shocks of searing, burning pain everywhere around her body as she heard it booming into her ears somehow from a place inside.
You are not supposed to be here.
You were never supposed to be here.
You are not supposed to be here.
You were never supposed to be here.
You are not supposed to be here.
You were never supposed to be here.

She felt the ground again, too close to her.

“Please,” she cried, her voice rough and raw, “Just let me leave. I want to leave, I did not know I was entering – and I’m so deeply sorry. But now there is nothing I can do!”

You are not supposed to be here.
You were never supposed to be here.

It was not working. It was not listening. Not hearing her.

“Please – I’ll give you something in return.”

You are not supposed to be here.
You were never supposed to be here.

But then it changed.

What can you possibly give.

She closed her eyes tight and tried to push a thought, anything, through what was left of her tattered mind and towards her lips.

“I have things to give.”

7 - at least 200 - ending

When they found her at last, Briar was close to gone. A small wild mouse was found licking and nibbling at her fingers, almost frostbitten - careful not to draw blood, it seemed almost as if the creature was simply trying its best to keep them warm.
It had been a week. It was a shock to many that she was even still alive, but she was expected to make a recovery in hospital in the coming weeks.

The search had been chaos. Her workbooks had been found 3 days prior, scattered all over the trail path almost ten miles from where she was found. How she had got there, no one exactly knew, since she seemed to have been unconscious for some days already when discovered comatose, far far off the tracks, deep into the thicket. No one knew what had happened, and least of all Briar.
Not only did she remember nothing from her days missing in the forest, but, despite the doctor’s best efforts and no real injury or damage to her eyes, or any organic reason they could find, as far as anyone could tell she would be blind for the rest of her life.

The same mouse seen at the scene was discovered stowed away in her boots the following day. Upon her request, and owing to the fact that it will not seem to integrate back into the woods, she is permitted to keep the animal as a pet.

Red

A POV of the wolf in Little Red Riding Hood.
Word count: 896 words
Content warning: violence(animal attack)/implied assault. Nothing is too graphic i think i scratchified it <3

–

My coat is rusting. In colour and in smell – they say they smell the metal, taste it in the air. Blood. It will stain my fur forever, long after the rain storm has rinsed me clean. They do not let go.
I have seen far more violence from them. Friends, lovers, dead from simply a second of anger. That is the difference between them, and I. I will do these acts only to feed - to sustain the cubs, that each day grow bigger and yet weaker, unable as i am to provide for their growing frames. I kill because I must, and i kill with dignity. The deer carcasses I drag to our table slit cleanly, and picked dry, not a bit of them wasted. Everything returned to the earth. Not like them, I do not kill for anger.
I do not.
Except once.
It overtook me.

That day at noon. On the path, the girl in red came. Curious, only curious, i followed through under cover of the trees. i did not intend to harm her, never would i dream of it - oh, she was but a child! I am not monstrous. I care for my children and i will care for my sister’s children, beast or man, always.

She did not see me, and i always intended it to stay that way. She stumbled through the wildgrass, kicked pebbles along the trail and coughed the clouds of dust away that formed. And i was much entertained to watch. Her childish playfulness, her naivety, her pure way of looking upon the world was a great pleasure to observe. I slunk between the trees happily planning never to make myself seen.

But then he came. The man.
He stunk of smoke, and drink, and burning leather.
Stronger to me than to his own people, I knew that. Still.
Immediately I did not like him.

They had stopped on the path then, and so i stopped too. He was speaking to her with rancid breath far too close to her face. It would make anyone’s eyes water.
A pause - an anxiety radiating from the child, the previous whimsy and carefreeness gone. Every word and movement i could tell had become a frightened calculation in her mind. He laughed a nasty laugh at something and coughed smoke into her face.
And then he was touching her. Grabbing her. Rough hands digging hard into her little shoulders. Her pretty face was twisted, terrified, as he silenced her. He was taking and taking, and i realised with horror that he would not stop - continued his evil, taking further and further a precious body that did not belong to him for his own dreadful wants. All because she was alone, no one there.

No. She was not alone.

Out of the trees i came. Bones bared. White teeth there and hungering to rip into something.
The man? I did not care to break him open cleanly. He had made something dirty of himself long before I got to him - what point was there preserving his dignity when there was nothing there left to preserve. I tore him apart and he was everywhere, and i did not care. It was what he would have wanted, I’m sure, his filth infesting everything he touched. Now he was truly touching everything in the area around him, seeping into the ground, and he’d probably never truly leave that place either. It was a beautiful satisfaction.

Then i saw. At the very end of the path, a blur: moving towards us.

Grandmother coming to meet her.

She did not see it as it happened.

She saw me, upon them. The child. The man. The flashes of red, the child’s soft coat, accented with blood.
Her words spilled from her mouth in a strange stream, tumbling out peculiar and warped, fear and repulsion staining every syllable.
No! She screamed, Get the rifle! Get it! Get it! My darling, come here! Come here! He has saved you from the wolf! God bless us, God bless us. Poor soul. Oh, pour soul! A hero! A true hero.

Now the child was crying, harder and louder than i had ever known a child capable of crying.

The grandmother held the girl tight, but then saw me. I was slowly slinking into the shadows behind and suddenly i was frozen. She stared intensely, her mouth open, with wide and scared eyes.

The rifle! Where’s the rifle! Joe! Help!

The next moment, i found myself staring down a dark tunnel. A pale haired man stood behind it, seemingly from nowhere, but the ring on his finger matched grandmother.
I knew these things, i knew what they were. Tunnels of death.
I turned on my heels and ran back to the trees - the forest floor exploding shortly behind my hind legs as i bounded away.

I will know what happened. And i do not regret what they think of me.
They can say i am rusting. That my fur is red.

He smelt worse; and certainly he does now.

Still. I went back, when they all had gone to their beds in their cabins, and the children ate well that night.

–

Tis the final day. THANK YOU NOTES!
1140 words

People included specifically: Zy, Yume, Lyra, Hope, Silvi, Tilly, Storm, Mouse, Leopard, Waterfall, Chuey, Alana, Alia, Chocolate, Vi, Ava, Luna

I may write more later - I was having trouble thinking of and remembering everyone to write to, since I honestly want to write individually to every single host, leader, co, and camper but I feel that mayy not be entirely feasible…

Thank you so, so much to absolutely everyone who made up a part of this SWC - it was absolutely fantastic and would not have been the same if it was missing even a single one of you people. However, I have written some thank you notes to a few people in particular :}

Zyzeryko
Zy - ZY. Where do I start, this has been the most fun I think I have ever had in a session of SWC, and I don’t think it’s just recency bias aaha, this month truly has been fantastic. I am so, so grateful that you asked me to join you to come co-lead in Cyberpunk (NOW FOREVER KNOWN AS CYBER RATS YIPPEE), you did such an incredible job as cabin leader and every single bit of planning, silly conversations with you and activities were so much fun. I feel like I’ve made such an amazing friendship and I’m so thankful for it. Who knew one small reply to a project could make such a difference in life and turn into such an amazing, wonderful month? Also I am delighted that you are a fellow shark enthusiast/obsessor/worshipper. Also also… we are #Tallestcabin REAL

yumetopia
Yume - Yume! Likewise, I have absolutely loved every moment leading alongside you too, it has been so so so much fun. I feel like I've made so many new connections with people this SWC session which makes me so happy, and I will especially treasure our amazing leading team - I could not have asked for a sweeter person to co-lead with!!

Lyrids, Euphoriafall, silverlynx-, Gentlestorm
Lyra, Hope, Silvi, and Storm - Ahhh. All of you were my absolutely amazing penpals, and I am so, so happy you were! I have not written that much here because /hopefully/ lol by the end of the session I shall have written each of you a final letter of your own, but I had to include you in the thank you notes too of course <33 I regret so much not getting the time to write more letters to everyone, but it was absolutely amazing, every single one I sent and received made me smile. I’m so glad for this new feature of SWC, it was wonderful !!

-BookDragon-
Mouse - Mousey!! You are, as always, an absolute joy to be around in SWC, you’re just the sweetest and epicest person (and also an actual supernatural being in terms of how much you write, lol?!) and I would love so much to interact with you more <3 Thank you for joining forces with the cyber rats during the Great Rat Invasion and offering up your fabulous mouse powers :-D

aleapingleopard
Leopard - Yes I already wrote you a note ehe, but honestly we’re all going to miss you so incredibly much - SWC really just won’t be the same. Thank you for being such an incredible leader in the past November session (Thriller won in our hearts fr) and thank you for being an amazing person and friend :}

129waterfall
Waterfall - You’re genuinely such a lovely and funny person to interact with and I treasured all of our silly interactions this session, it was so much fun to talk to you! And yes, in spite of the adding wars………… I’m still sorry that absolute chaos and stealing points you were about to add bwahaha IT WAS AN ACCIDENT I SWEAR :{

ChueyTheCat
Chuey - THE HAIRY SNAILS ICON. I’ve loved getting to speak to you more this session, it was so so nice! You are so wonderful and chaotic and funny. I also especially loved discussing our writing pieces with each other, it was so nice and your kelpie piece was so cool and has made me also very inspired to draw inspiration from more folklore/etc so thank you :0. And again, erm, sorry for the adding wars as we drew near to the end of camp ehehehe.
Do not eat rats.

-NightGlow-
Alana - Ah, the suspicious butterfly! The icon! Alananana I can’t thank you enough for the wonderful session. You put so much into this for us and it was so much fun! You’re such a joy to talk to and I wish we got to interact more but every conversation I did have with you was wonderful, you make everything so full of whimsy and joy and you’re genuinely such a sweet person. Plus the cabin antics were extremely magnificent.
Oh, and the rats appreciated the rat acceptance mwahaha ᓚᘏᕐᐷ

–tranquility
Alia - It’s been so so lovely talking to you more this session, you’re such a talented and incredible person. And, thank you so much for everything you’d done throughout camp. All the activities you helped put together were so incredible and fun and truly made SWC what it is, and I absolutely loved being part of the polar bears with you! :}

Chocolate_camps
Chocolate - I admire your chaos and silliness so much, you bring SO much life to SWC! I would love to talk to you more. Do not appreciate the rat eating however and the war against us :{ oi

VioAquaCat
Vi - it was an honour to have you in cyberrats this session, you brought so much to SWC and you’re such a cool person, it was tons of fun working towards wars with you too in cabin wars!! >:-D

Icebunny11
Ava - Ava, thank you so much for everything, it was genuinely so so so amazing to have you in cyberpunk! And CONGRATULATIONS we slayed completing our every daily and weekly goal ahhhh >:-D Also, you did so amazing in cabin wars, it was so much fun working together and getting them all by some miracle completed, i swear you carried the cabin!! I am so incredibly happy that I’ve got to become a friend to such an incredibly cool awesome person <33

sweetcakefamily
Tilly - I loved chatting with you this session, thank you so much for being around and being your amazing self - I feel like you were always there in the main cabin to chat to, never letting anyone go ignored and it was so nice!! It was so much fun interacting with you! You are so sweet and so funny and creative <33

–Artsy_Alt–
Luna - SHORT
(/j. sorry, I had to ;-D You’re another person I would really really love to know more. You seem so sweet and fun to be around, thank you so much for your joy and chaos - we love you Luna you shorty.)

-Seagull :}

oh em geeeeeeeeeee it's almost time for the return of this

Daily #1 - letter to future self. 378 words

Dear future Seagull,

So . How is it going? I just realised that i'm going to have to vague this up a lot.. but that's okay, you'll get what I mean: you're me! :-)

First thing's first, i'll tell you about life right now. The weekend hasn't been the greatest ever, but things are looking up a little. Right now I am lying on the bed, making beaded fish and bracelets for me and.. what should we call you best friend?.. platonic wifey, watching Buffy the vampire slayer and chatting to said wifey! Very much a good evening. I have just finished to kill a mockingbird and the next book on the list is star of the sea, which I've just picked up and started! Oh and i got tickets to That Thing a couple of days ago, so that's really exciting! And i have just installed No Man's Sky, which i am so incredibly excited to play. It's actually still just loading up now, at this moment - how is that? I hope you've played it by now!

Now time for more questions. Firstly - have you finished Buffy yet? I hope so, but i doubt it somehow… why does it always take us sooo long to watch TV series?

Secondly, did you see wifey on saturday? Did you see her every weekend since then??? I hope so! Did you make your stuff together, set up your Thing with your crafts, write your story together, and sort out the Stuff? Or did you laugh maniacally for 2 hours like the time previously? Either is fine with me, if i am honest.

How was the trip to college? I'm very nervous even though we're not even allowed to go for another year, so I hope it was good. The future's scary lol.

And how is the Thing going in The Place? I desperately want to get out of here, did we make any progress on that yet? You better be writing back that we got a freedom date although I know that's highly unlikely lol.

Also, did you participate in art fight? Did the cabin plans all work out for xeno-fi?

I hope you're less busy now - i'm so tired! And how many more books have you read?

Cheerio,

Past seagull xx

Daily #2 - misheard song lyrics, 539 words

Yesterday I Woke Up Stuck In Limbo


Real lyric from “everything in its right place” by radiohead - yesterday I woke up sucking on a lemon

Misheard lyric - yesterday I woke up stuck in limbo


When I try to think back to my childhood, I cannot. There is nothing there at all. Blank. Nothing. A space where it never existed,

But isn't that the case for so many? Is it normal? Did something happen to me as a child? I don't seem to think so, but then again, I guess that's kind of the point.

But last year does not exist either, which is stranger — I'm not a child anymore. I try and think back to a month ago, and I cannot. A week ago and it's not there. Not even two days ago. There is a problem.

See, I am starting to believe that I was created yesterday. It is as far back as I can go.


I blink my eyes open and they are stuck fast together with sleep.

The sky looks especially infinite.

Soft, lulling waves are gently pushing me to the shore, until I realise that there are no waves and no shore. There is no water at all. And actually, I am not moving at all. I am only just becoming aware of my body, it seems, and I am so still that I may as well be a stone sculpture. Or a corpse.

I feel simultaneously terribly tired, and the least tired I have ever felt in my entire life; an odd feeling for sure, but strangely enough it makes perfect sense to me in this moment. I have just been running — or maybe swimming, perhaps even flying — more intensely than I ever thought my body would be capable of. Every single one of my muscles has burned and burned, pushed past every limit and is now left crumbling and atrophied under my skin. I feel that I will also never have to sleep ever again. The sleep I have just left behind lingers around my face, bothering me somewhat - as if I am a poor horse being swarmed by flies - but it tells me distinctly somehow that this is a goodbye. Farewell. My internal organs may be tired, struggling to keep from sleep, but my head never will be again. I've surpassed it, that dream filled fog and I won't see it again.

As I am recalling it, something else comes back to me. It's… a memory of a memory. I'm remembering standing in that nothingness, and thinking back to how I got there. The yesterday before yesterday.


Bright lights, like the hospital room I know I must have been born in. That is all that I remember at first.

But it's like I am being born backwards. The beginning of life in reverse. Is that death? Is it the same thing? I don't know. I'm not sure, and somehow that makes me inclined to believe I am not dying. For some reason, I have always thought that if I died I would know. In my heart, even before I went - I would know for sure it was time. That hasn't happened. And yet, it seems that this experience could be little else.

Daily #3 - interview with another swcer

Total: 1063 words

Excluding Starrii's words: 792

Starri Interviews Seagull

Starri: Greetings! I'm Starrii from the SWCity Times. I'm so glad to have you here today! On that note, how about you start by introducing yourself and briefly telling us about your SWC journey?

Seagull: Ahh, hello! Greetings to you, too, Starrii - it's a pleasure to be here! Yes, of course – well, I'm Seagull, and I'm taking this interview on behalf of the Xeno-fi woodland, today. As for my SWC journey.. ooh, it's been a long one. I had my first session all the way back in July 2020, I think it was, in Horror cabin with Sini, Evi and Piano. It was such an amazing experience, I really did fall in love with SWC at first sight because of that cabin. After that, I participated quite a few times more as a camper, and loved it, but eventually I sort of disappeared from scratch. In around 2023, I came back and had my first experience with leadership, being a co-leader! It was incredible but I did disappear from scratch again not long afterwards. That brings us to now… 4 sessions ago, I joined SWC yet again on this new account and was determined this time to be an active and passionate member of the community. I believe I've succeeded. Immediately, I fell in love more than ever with swc. My first two return sessions were as a camper, but I quickly became incredibly active and so happy to be part of it, I decided it was time to make another co-leader application. And i was selected for Cyberpunk! I am still so grateful for that opportunity, that month was one of the best times ever. When it was finally time for the next session coming up, I was filled with ideas and motivation, and was determined to lead my own cabin.. and also to found the newest cabin genre, xeno-fiction. To my surprise and delight, me and my cabin idea were accepted, and i was able to bring them to life - and here we are! At the start of that next adventure :-D

Starrii: That was very insightful, Seagull! We really appreciate your dedication to SWC to return after two to three years. Additionally, our reporter, Starrii, has been investigating the Xenofiction cabin. The art and storyline are gorgeous indeed ;D What prompted you to come up with this idea? And this is slightly unrelated, but how did you discover SWC?

Seagull: Honestly, it's not even a matter of dedication at this point, I truly don't think I would be able to leave SWC forever if I tried, haha! It's so important to me. Ooh, I always appreciate a reporter doing their research ;-D – and, why, thank you so much for your kind words! Well, animals have always been my biggest interest and love in the world, and that extended to the books and media I consumed. As a young child, I became fixated on stories told from the perspective of animals - dogs, cats (warriors anyone?), horses (I loved Black Beauty) - but ESPECIALLY those of wildlife! One such book and film was watership down. I think this franchise in particular definitely shaped my ideas for the xeno-fi cabin this session. I loved how the rabbits had their own kind of lore and way of viewing humans, vehicles, etc, percieving them as monsters and such, and how the whole society and animal “religion” was invented for them, I thought it was so cool. So, I suppose I took a lot of what I loved from there, and mixed it around with other sources and experiences of my own living near a lot of nature and woodlands to make it my own unique story. For example, I wanted to include a whole ecosystem of animals rather than just a population of one species, incorporate a lot of a “found family” vibe, and I wanted to have them experience different troubles along their way in a sort of typical “hero's journey” type storyline! As for how I discovered SWC, I believe it must have been back in February of 2020, when I saw that someone I followed was taking part in it. I didn't really understand what it was at first and was too scared to sign up lol (I think I thought it was some kind of Official scratch organisation), but of course, next time it rolled around, I did!!

 

Seagull Interviews Starrii

Seagull: Hello hello, Starri! Welcome in - thank you so much for joining us today. I'm Seagull, interviewing you as part of the SWC Express magazine. Let's get into it, shall ae? So, firstly, would you mind telling us a little bit about your story and how you got to where you are in SWC?

Starrii: Hello, Seagull! I'm super glad to be here- it's always been my dream to be interviewed for a magazine- and here, you're interviewing me for the SWC Express? Delightful! As to your question, no, not at all! I would be very glad to.answer that. My very first session was quite recently- just a year ago. It was in Bizarro Fiction July 2025, where I was led by Kiara, Clev and Sophia, when I signed up as a backup. It was to my great fortune that I was sorted into my first preference- something that I usually haven't experienced. Moving on, this was followed by Gothic November 2025, which was another iconic cabin After that, I thought that I ought to have a shot at applying as a co-leader in March 2026. To my immense joy and surprise, I ended up getting chosen to co-lead Magical Realism! That was a truly magical (;D) experience for a first-time co-leader. In May, I applied again, and I'm co-leading Real-fi : a new adventure begins! I haven't led TCTWNW (or camped in it) before.

Seagull: Wow, well, it seems like you've been around with us for a lot longer, for sure, Starrii – you've brought so much to SWC in the year you've been a part of it! It must have been an amazing feeling to be sorted into the exact cabin you wanted, especially as a backup: you know, it's like the universe was telling you “join swc! we need you, it's epic” , huh? ;-D speaking of which, throughout your experience, what has been your most favourite memory in SWC so far?

Word war - 180 words

They say home is were the heart is. Unfortunately, I left mine in our old apartment. It's an odd feeling, not having one. I have this deep sense of fear that everyone else somehow knows. That they can look at me and tell right away that i have an empty gaping hole in my chest, right where it should be. That my ribcage is redundant, protecting nothing, only a dark moist space.

I know they can not. They can not see inside me, they can only assume that like everyone else, i have a heart inside there. But alas. I feel their stares all the same, every day that i live. They are watching me and judging me, asking where oh where did it go? How am I alive? In my opinion, i am alive through a matter of pure spite.

Sometimes i fear that someone will find it in that old apartment. Like something by Poe, it will drive them mad through the floorboards until they rip the house apart and find it there waiting for them. Then what will they do with it? I feel that somehow, it would still hurt me. I don't think that

Life On Mars “Epilogue” - 380 words


Sam spent a lot of his time sitting alone, consumed by his studies, these days. It was terribly quiet. It couldn't be good for a person - and, evidently, it had not been. On the emptiest of nights, the events of 1973 - or 2006, whatever you want to call it - returned to him. It was getting more and more often, slowly worse and more distressing too. Sometimes he still thought that he could still hear it: things from the real world, trickling back through. But surely not. He had died properly this time. Surely.

Annie was growing concerned. She rambled at him when he came home at last, often late at night, “Sam - I don't like this. Please, don't spend so much time there. I don't. Even Gene doesn't! Well, Gene's Gene, but.. you know what I'm on about. You don't even have any cases, i don't know what you do in there. It's like when we first met, Sam, you were so strange, so.. scared all the time. We've built such a nice life for us here now, I don't want you going back to that. It's scaring me.”

All she got back was a dissociated nod of his head, or the occasional, “hm,” “yeah” “i'm sorry, i'll try.” If she was lucky. And then he was collapsing into a disturbed sleep.

And then he went back day after day.

The lights would flicker, quite innocently, and he would be up in a flash. Jumping out of his chair, immediately on high alert, as if someone had just broken through into the offices: they never had. And nothing ever went further than the lights flickering.

Sometimes he told himself he was dead forever this time. But sometimes it was the opposite… that he never had been at all. None of that had been real. He had merely dreamt of that other world he came from, all those bizarre futuristic devices and systems he recalled using, they all came from a sick and fevered brain - after all, the mind is the most powerful tool.It just couldn't have been, really, it was so silly to think so. He tried to convince himself of this fact over and over. But, well.. it never truly seemed to sink in.

The Graveyard Shift - 533 words screenplay

The scene: a hospital corridor. It is late at night, the time is 2:11 am.

A nurse is sitting by herself at the nurse's station. She has long dirty blonde hair, very pale skin and dark prominent eye bags . She is staring blankly at a computer screen. The only sounds are the ticking from a clock on the wall behind her, the tapping of keys on the keyboard, and the beeping of medical machines from the different hallways lined with beds.

A few minutes pass in this way. Then, suddenly, footsteps can be heard coming from down the corridor.

The nurse gets up from her seat quickly and looks around to find where it is coming from.

NURSE

Hello? Hello..? Is there anyone there?

She gets up and walks to the top of the hallway where she thinks it came from.

NURSE (speaking as loudly as she can while keeping her voice to a “whisper”)

Hello? Do you need help? Does someone need assistance?

Growing more and more concerned, she walks into the corridor and attempts to switch the light on. It stays dark. She switches it back and forth many times and nothing happens.

NURSE

Wait there, don't panic, I'm getting someone to help me out.

She goes back down the hall outside to the nurses's station to discover that the lights have turned off there, too. They will also not turn back on. She heads towards the staff break room in an attempt to find one of the other nurses on the night shift. She knocks on the window vigourously. No reply. She then opens the door.

NURSE

Hey! Kate? Are you in here? Anyone? Are you on break in here? I need assistance out in the beds 10-16 bay.

She walks through the room and quickly realises no one is in here.

Gettihg very worried, she walks back out and picks up the phone at the nurses desk to find out where her colleages are and find out about the powercut. As it begins ringing, after she has dialled in all the numbers, the line suddenly goes dead. She drops it onto the desk with a loud thud and curses under her breath.

She is rummaging in a draw for a torch, when she hears the footsteps again. They are right behind her. When she spins round she cannot see anything there.

NURSE (echoing)

Hello???

VOICE (sounding very faint and far away in the distance, not visible)

Help!

NURSE (looking around frantically in surprise)

Who's there? Who is that? Okay. Stay calm lovely. What do you need help with?

VOICE

I'm sick!

NURSE

It's okay, you're in the right place. I'll get you some help. What's the matter right now? Could you tell me where you are?

VOICE

I'm suffocating. I'm not breathing.

NURSE

Well, I can hear you nice and clear. Don't panic. Could you tell me where you are?

VOICE

I don't know. Somewhere dark. Very small. I can't see.

NURSE

Yes, don't worry love. There's just been a powercut. It'll be okay. I'm trying to come to you. What did you last see? Before it went dark?

VOICE.

I last saw dirt.

word war - 173 words

“i think i owe you an explanation.


Well, this is it. the place you've been for the past 6 months? it's… it. this is death. the afterlife. heaven, hell, paradise, nirvana, whatever you want to call it. the great gig in the sky. the final frontier… you've reached it. aren't you happy?”

She stood there, mouth wide open.

“No. Of course i'm not… why the hell would i be happy?? I don't want to be dead. and I'm.. i'm not dead. i'm alive. i swear to god i am not dead and you are trying your absolute hardest to make me go actually insane. i don't know why but you're doing it. this is not fair at all. you're only saying all this rubbish to me to make me go crazy, to make me stop trying. but it won't work, i'm going to get out of here no matter what, okay? don't think you can stop me just like that. i'm not easy.”

i looked at her, an expression of pity and a