July 17th, 2026 Daily:

Emojis: Turtle, cowboy, rain cloud

It was another rainy day, and Gurtle the turtle was utterly sick of it. Honestly, though, who wouldn’t be? It had been raining, by this point, for four days straight, and that was entirely too much rain. Gurtle had plans, and he was not going to let the rain ruin them today. No, today he’d go ahead whether the weather would cooperate or not.

Today, Gurtle would experience the wonders of being a cowboy.

But it’s important to backtrack. Why did Gurtle even want to be a cowboy? I’m sure that’s what you’re wondering, and if not, I’ll give you the answer to the question regardless.

One year ago, Gurtle’s best friend, Skog, had brought him to the rodeo as a gift for his birthday. At this point, Gurtle knew next to nothing about the art of being a cowboy, and he was just excited to see the drama—and, of course, spend a bit more time with his good friend. But when Gurtle got there…well, it was something else. There were kids riding horses and doing jumps, brave riders attempting to ride bulls, and even braver clowns trying to distract the bulls. He was amazed; how could something so beautiful and magical have existed for so long without his knowledge? It was then that he set his mind upon one thing: One day, he would become a cowboy.

Of course, being a turtle and becoming a cowboy isn’t easy. For starters, most people don’t know how to train a turtle to cowboy, so instead, Gurtle had to do a bit of research on his own. He read up about the techniques for horse riding, the terms, the equipment, and spent hours practicing and perfecting his “yeehaw!” Finally, with one year of cowboy theory training under his belt, he was ready to become the cowboy he had wanted to be for so long.

Unfortunately, the rain only added to the stress. For starters, the visibility was low, so Gurtle had to do his very best to squint through the falling droplets. The horse was also exceptionally cold, not quite as used to water as Gurtle was. When the horse shivered in the rain, Gurtle had the thought that this might be a very sheltered horse—both literally and figuratively. What kind of creature hadn’t experienced a little water before? A water animal by species, Gurtle was appalled.

But nevertheless, Gurtle rode on. Though it did take him a series of leaps to get onto the horse before he had to call Skog over to give him a hand, because as mighty as Gurtle the turtle was, he was also not very tall, nor could he jump particularly well.

He was so close! It would only be a matter of time before he was a real cowboy….

And then Gurtle fell off the horse.
~
Word count: 471 words

July 19th, 2026 Daily:

Madison was utterly sick of Jude. Since the very start of the school year, he had been asking far too many questions to the teacher and disrupting the class, and more importantly, they weren’t even about important things! Every time he’d ask a question of his history teacher questioning philosophy or the relevance of history in the world today. Alright, maybe she was being a little too tough; they were, she supposed, important subjects. But really, right before their biggest test of the year?

What really got on Madison’s nerves was when he began to ask questions only to answer them himself, purely because he wanted to advertise his knowledge about everything to the rest of the world. Typical Jude. She’d known him since preschool, and he’d always liked to think that he was above the rest, but for a while, she had at least been able to tolerate him. Not anymore. Now he’d gotten truly insufferable.

“But do you think,” Jude said, “that we’re approaching another civil war? Do you think that this is as bad as it’s ever been?” Madison tuned out the rest of the questions that followed, but she sure didn’t miss the expression of utter exhaustion from their teacher.

“Can we finally get back on track?” someone interrupted.

Finally. Someone definitely needed to take Jude down a notch.

Slowly, as she twirled her pencil between her fingers, she came up with an idea for the perfect revenge. Ha! Imagine that. A flurry of excitement sent her home from school to the florist.



“Are you sure these are the ones you want? I could get you a more…traditional bouquet, if you’d like,” the florist said. “Or perhaps you’d like to consider the meanings?”

“Oh, I have,” Madison said with a slight grin.

“The hydrangea means show-off,” the florist confirmed. “That’s what you want?”

“Yes. Exactly that.” That, she thought, was the perfect way to describe Jude: a show-off. Of course Jude would know what it meant; he did so like to collect random knowledge.

The hydrangeas. The jonquils. The poppies.



The next day, Madison concealed the small bouquet in her backpack until she got to history. They’d be a little crushed by then, but she decided it was alright. They weren’t meant to be anything other than vengeance for all those times Jude had gotten on her nerves, and besides, it would be the ultimate disappointment, because she knew what his first thought would be.

“Jude! Wait up!” she called as he left the room after class. He turned and gave her a look. Madison and Jude hardly ever talked.

“What’s going on?” he asked.

Madison pulled the flowers out of her bag. She’d give him a minute to think he was the object of her affection or something stupid like that, but then she’d let him down without warning. She couldn’t wait.

Sure enough, Jude looked Madison in the eye and said, “Well, I’m flattered, but…”

Jude’s friends interrupted: “Ooh, somebody likes you.”

“Oh, Jude,” Madison responded with a tilt of her head, ignoring the friends. “You don’t get it, do you?” Sweet, sweet revenge, making him look like the fool. “You didn’t look hard enough. I got these ones specifically for a reason, and I just know you’re smart enough to figure out what they mean.”

A look of dismay crossed Jude’s face. One of Jude’s friends had his camera out and was recording, and he stepped closer to the two of them as realization dawned upon Jude.

“You think I’m arrogant,” he said, referring to the jonquil. What a tame one he chose to share. “A show-off. Egotistical. And…” He paused. He didn’t know what the poppy meant.

Madison smiled at his confusion. “Among other things,” Madison said, and walked away. She couldn’t wait for him to figure out that she’d practically sent him a death threat.
~
Word count: 644 words

July 20th, 2026 Daily:

Dear Earth,

I have watched you for centuries, so I understand you. What it is like to circle something endlessly, to be the object of service and not glory. I understand you in that respect.

Of course, you, at least, have a companion in me—a sidekick, perhaps. I follow where you go. Imagine, though, what it must be like to have no companion of your own, to forever be relegated to a position of inferiority. Do you understand what that is like?

To you, Earth, it must feel like you are the center of everything. People remember you in their protests. Not all of them, but enough for it to matter. I am in your orbit, a part of you, a specification. To all the astronomers, I am one of many, still requiring a descriptor establishing me as Earth’s moon. Earth’s. Belonging to you, as always.

At least you do not have to worry about your status. As a planet, you are remembered. Life outside your world will commemorate you because you are worthy: large enough, full enough, the followed and not just the follower. On the other hand, I know how you regard the moons of Jupiter—namely, you rarely do. If that is your attitude, imagine what theirs must be toward me as well. Am I worthy of remembrance? Not more than what matters about you. Earth’s moon, and never my own.

I do not say this to complain, of course. I will be forgotten, and that is a fact I must come to terms with on my own. But I say this in service of another point: what you do does matter.

Earth, I have a message for your people.

You who live such short, ephemeral lives strive to make a difference yet give up so easily, believing that no real change can be made, that nothing you do will truly matter. To believe so is entirely wrong.

You are not as lasting as any of us, perhaps, but has something’s temporary nature ever limited its ability to make a difference? What do you remember? Surely, things have changed from your memories, regardless of whether or not you know it.

You may not be destined for greatness; we can admit that safely. But oftentimes, the greatest things come not from the search for greatness, but instead, a lot of hard work and a bit of luck. You are lucky enough to be born into the place you are, and your lives may be short, but to limit by unbelief is what diminishes your impact, not the length of your existence.

Unlike me, dear people, you are the ones paving the way. You are not mere followers, and don’t you forget it. Push the limits and tear down the walls. You are more than you know.

Do not underestimate yourselves. You have the power to be remembered. Use it. Use it. Use it.

With much love,
Moon
~
Word count: 488 words

July 21st, 2026 Daily:

Dear Polar Bears,

Your reign of terror has just ended. Ours is just beginning.

For years, we have found writing motivation from the daily and weekly prompts that you’ve written. Countless writers have been brought back from the depths of a lack of writing motivation, and we have you to thank. These dailies and weeklies have inspired us at our lowest and prevented us from giving up on the thing we love for years, and for that, we are endlessly appreciative.

Let me start with a story.

At the beginning of this SWC season, I was completely running out of words. I had motivation, no ideas I wanted to write, and subsequently, I hadn’t written in months. I thought I would do the dailies and weeklies purely for the glory of it, but I soon realized that the dailies and the weeklies brought me a certain kind of joy. How many other writing prompts really force you to sit down and just write?

Initially, though, I was still largely disinterested in writing, thinking it was perhaps a phase I was growing out of. However, that all changed when the mixed media daily came. I found myself thinking I’d take the easy way out and just write a simple poem to meet the word requirement. I was wrong. What started as a poem became a definition, a reverse poem, and a book dedication, and it remains one of my favorite pieces I’ve written in a long time. For the first time in ages, I was inspired to write, to edit, to create, and I have the daily team to thank for that, truly.

But now. Now there’s odds no daily team to grant us the sweet reprieve from writer’s block that we once found in these periodic writing activities. Motivation is at an all-time low, and we’re losing the magic and joy of writing. Why? Because nothing inspires us. Why? Because we’re lacking in these activities from the daily team that shape our writing habits.

You know what a dictatorship looks like. You know what great looks like—you’ve experienced it all. And now, I pose this question to you: What is a dictatorship if not a period of fear and a lack of joy? Is that not what we are facing now?

We are amidst a time of uncertainty, where the future of SWC ands writing and joy itself sit at your feet. We depend on your kindness, and while you may be hungry and tired and recovering, we remind you that we are one. We stand with you on recovery, and we implore you to stand with us as we fight the joy-stealing institutions as we search for words that make us whole. Stand with us, dear Polar Bears, and we will gladly stand with you. In this time of rebuilding, we must work together to create a solution that works for both sides, not just today, but tomorrow and every tomorrow after that. We aspire to be a society of collaboration—isn’t that a major part of SWC’s mission?

We urge you to go off strike so we may write and find joy, and we believe that in a world filled with the joy of writing, more people will be willing to find solutions to work together. We can improve this place, but we need your help to do it. Don’t send us into another dictatorship; send us into a bright future.

Sincerely,
Snowy
~
Word count: 574 words

July 22nd, 2026 Daily:

“Okay,” my chemistry teacher says as the bell announcing the start of class rings, “today, our attendance question is, ‘What’s one unpopular food opinion you have?’”

That was about to be the start of something horrible. Unpopular food opinions. Well, for starters, as an incredibly picky eater, I often am criticized for my highly particular food choices. My dislike of pizza for the tomato sauce (that one is valid, never mind what my sister says). My hatred of hot dogs (they’re just poor excuses of sausages). My belief that chocolate fondue is overrated (it is; cheese fondue is so much better). All of these and more were definitely upsetting to many normal eaters, and I was fairly certain that all of these would be considered “unpopular food opinions”.

Around me, the class listed their opinions. Some typical, like “Pineapple belongs on pizza” (and itd converse point) and such. Some more odd. Food combinations that defied expectations and dislikes that provoked outrage. It came to my turn, and I realized I was about to add to the latter list.

“Well,” I began, stalling for time as I mulled my own opinion over before deciding on an answer, “I suppose I don’t like mango. I get a lot of hate for that.”

My chemistry teacher, who I knew was an avid fan of mango from the “What’s your favorite fruit?” question a few classes ago (don’t like fruit much in the first place), looked appalled. I can read the horror on his face; how can I possibly not recognize the gravity of what I just said? How can I be so silly as to not realize the magnificence of the mango?

Shockingly, though, he turns a blind eye to my mango defacing, just this once. He calls the next person on the roster, and I breathe a sigh of relief, having been passed over and spared by the guardian of mangoes—my chemistry teacher.
~
Word count: 321 words

SWC July '24 Weekly Three
Total word count: 2,090 words

Part One:

General premise: The disillusionment with a place the characters once loved, told in dual timelines to show the continuity and change (I sound like a history essay) of the town. Maybe even have the now timeline go backwards slightly to keep this cycle present?

Mostly told in moments/fragments of different lives that tell the story of a town losing its beauty, homesickness for what was and what never existed, and a reckoning with childhood innocence vs. the things we begin to see as we grow up

Opening:
The place from Charlotte’s perspective as a child, idyllic and free: Stories about sibling drama in the backyard and riding bicycles—short bursts of memories that show the joy once existing in the place (then)

Rising Action:
Now: Driving past run-down buildings, the introduction of an outsider who calls the place home who thinks what a shame it is that the place is falling into disrepair (juxtapose with Charlotte’s perspective initially)
Then: Business in town is booming; technology industry there is rising—it’s the place to be
Now: Discussions with parents about how people need to get out if they don’t want to get stuck in the small-town life forever; there’s nothing great there, so the dreamers are leaving
Then: What summers look like—the places to be and the get-togethers, how the town was all Charlotte could ever have dreamed of
Now: Growing further from grandparents, perhaps? Or maybe conversation with the people at church where things are “different” elsewhere—code for strange. The food is bland, and every country in Asia is the same.
Then: Charlotte grows up, fear around town because of crime rising
Now: Staying at home for most of the day instead of going out, because the protagonist is realizing that there’s only so much to do in the little place before they get bored
Then: Charlotte’s dreams are getting bigger, and she’s getting restless
Now: Visiting again, practically living there, and it’s going to be wonderful for the narrator to finally spend more time there
Then: The small-towners are happy, and Charlotte realizes that this isn’t going to be a life she’ll ever really fit into anymore

Climax:
Then: Charlotte leaves home for the city, doesn’t look back

Falling Action:
Now: Charlotte’s daughter (the narrator of the now sections) is young again, and like Charlotte, she fondly remembers the town as her favorite place. She hopes to live there when she’s older. The place, in her mind, is still beautiful, and Charlotte wishes she could see it in the same way.

421 words

Part Two:

Zooming in:

I don’t mean to pass the middle school; it’s completely by chance that I ended up here after missing my turn. But while it’s just another route for me, my mom’s face brightens. A small smile pulls at the edges of her lips for the place she once knew so well, and her eyes grow unfocused for a moment as she loses herself in the memories.

The notice for “10 MPH MAX” and “DON’T DRINK AND DRIVE” remind me that it’s a school zone. What an odd thought. Between the faces of the elderly that populate the church and the grocery store crowds, I’d have guessed that there weren’t many kids at all.

We get out, and my mom shows me to the pool. While the grass outside is green and well-kept and inviting, the pool is anything but. A black gate towers over me, as if warning me against entering, but doing an even better job of deterring me is the water.

The pool is made with that rough cement, none of those fancy tiles in decorative pools. This one is all function—or it was. Now, algae covers the surface making the water look more green than anything else, and the tools to clean it lay forgotten on the ground next to the abandoned lifeguard’s chair. Everything screams disrepair, from chipping paint to left-to-weather water to the whispers of what could have been there amidst what is not.

Zooming out:

When Charlotte was younger, Echo Ridge was all she could have dreamed of. She had friends who’d surely be in her life forever, a big house, and all the time she could have ever wanted. A small town like Echo Ridge might have had fewer places to go, but her world was confined to the state lines, and even more, the borders of her town. Who knew if there were things she was missing? Quite frankly, who cared? The corner of the world that mattered was Echo Ridge, because everything was Echo Ridge and Echo Ridge was everything. To Charlotte, there was very little she even knew she missed.

As Charlotte began to think more about college, though, the world grew rapidly. Echo Ridge wasn’t forever, and Charlotte would have to leave the only place she knew. Driver’s licenses meant state borders couldn’t contain, and aspirations meant getting out. Once, she might have thought this to be the worst possible outcome; she’d imagined staying for the rest of her life, and this threw a wrench in all her plans.

But Charlotte had grown up, and Echo Ridge hadn’t grown with her. The tiny size of the place, which once had made it so homey, now made it constricting. The longer she stayed, the more she began to realize that her dreams lay outside Echo Ridge, and the world that was once everything now seemed very near nothing at all.

478 words total

Part Three:

From Charlotte’s perspective:

I take her through the halls of the high school as if it’s still the place it was. But she doesn’t know what it used to be; how could she? And in some small ways, I grieve the perspective my daughter never saw. Echo Ridge High was more than the small town high school, the catch-all for students in the area who had no place else to go. It was home.

The walls are plastered with the achievements of students across the last thirty years, because unlike at her school, not enough has happened here recently of note. Stacy went on to inherit her parents’ business. Heather runs the café down the road. None of this excites her the way her friends, eternally competitive and pushing for the top spot, do, and I can’t blame her for it. Objectively, it was mostly to tick off the box. High school diploma: complete.

She sees the years of history and watches the town age, but she has no concept for the life that used to be here.

From Charlotte’s daughter’s perspective:

It’s a wonder my mom didn’t dream of getting out before she did. The pool has fallen into disrepair, something that once could have been wonderful. The classrooms hold only the bare necessities, and the pictures show graduating classes a fifth the size of mine.

It’s hard to believe that this could ever have been fun for her.

Of course, I bring my city perspective to a place that’s anything but, so what should I know about growing up in a small town? Still, it’s hard to look at this place and think of anything but boredom. Hard to look without wanting to get out.

Part Four:

Then: Charlotte

Welcome to Echo Ridge, where everyone knows everyone, and your business is the town’s business.

Charlotte Johnson had never known anything but the rural northeast town she’d been born into, and frankly, at ten, she didn’t want to know anything else. Everything she could imagine fit into the town, and even then, the majority of it fit between two places: school and 54 Oak Street, her home.

54 Oak was Charlotte’s parents’ pride and joy. They’d spent much of their thirties considering investments and making improvements to make it a worthwhile purchase, and it had paid off—that is, once they made it past the first few winters. Charlotte’s heard this story many times before: It was early on, January, and they hadn’t been able to afford heating the whole house. Instead, Charlotte’s parents slept in the living room with the fireplace on, cradling the newborn and hoping, hoping, hoping it was enough. Now, Charlotte knows nothing but heated bedrooms and sibling rivalry, and her parents do not fear the winter quite so much.

As the oldest, Charlotte could boss her younger brother and sister around. “You both need to find my shoes!” she demanded when her brand-new, all-the-rage, expensive sneakers made it into a hole in the swamp, never to be found again. They endured cut lips and near-punches and fighting, but at least it was entertainment enough when the TV wasn’t on.

They rode bicycles in the backyard and stacked wood in the cellar, and whether they knew it or not, they were happy. There was a kind of joy that came with the simplicity of Echo Ridge. The world was small, yet it was far more than enough.

Now: Addie

“Watch out!” my mom yells as I nearly run a red light. At the last second, I slam the brakes and barely miss the intersection. I’ve passed the stop line, but we’re not dead, so that has to be a good thing.

Not that she’s pleased either way.

“Sorry about that,” I say as we pull out when the light turns green.

She’s silent for a minute before telling me, “Alright, you’ll take this next right.”

We pull off into the parking lot, and I lower my speed. “Here?” I confirm, possibly a little late.

“Yeah, okay. Now park in any one of these spots.”

I do as she asks, then turn off the gas. “Are we getting out here?”

She opens the door in response, and I follow suit.

“I want to show you something,” she tells me as we begin walking.

I stick my hands in my pockets. “Where are we going?”

“You’ll see.”

The glass doors of the building shake as my mom tests to see if they’ll open. Metal letters spelling out “ECHO RIDGE HIGH” adorn the building’s doorway, so given that it’s a school, I’m not surprised that the doors aren’t open in the middle of July.

“Maybe they’re all locked,” I suggest, but just after I do, she finds the door that’s still open. “I guess not.”

She laughs, and then she tells me, “After you,” as she holds the door open.

“Are you sure we’re allowed to go in?” I ask, ever the rule follower.

My mom smiles, a hint of mischief lighting her eyes. “Well, no one said we couldn’t!”

The door creaks as it shuts behind us, and my mom leads me across the linoleum floors and last the lockers to classrooms.

“My history classroom looked something like this,” she says, nodding to a room full of desks and chairs with otherwise few furnishings. “I bet your classrooms look a little nicer.”

I nod, because how could I imagine anything more boring than this? It looks like the thing in movies, the place where rebellion brews and the source of textbook reading misery.

“It’s okay,” I tell her, my opinion unwarranted but necessary to relate.

She leads me past the walls of photos, bragging of one of the state’s few—if not only—Olympic champions, the names of this year’s graduating class, and the pictures advertising the theater productions severely lacking in actors.

My mom sighs as we head back the way we came, our tour of the small school lasting only a few minutes. “There used to be so many more kids here.”

It’s hard for me to imagine. From what I see, my sister and I are practically the only kids in the area, and we don’t even count because we’re only visiting. But my mom knew this place at a different time, got to see it when it was still what it used to be. Before it started to fall apart under the threat of new opportunities, better places, and industries automated.

“Here, I’ll show you the pool,” she tells me, and we walk to the outside area.

“I didn’t even know there was a pool here,” I say.

“Oh,” she starts, “it’s not open anymore.” There’s a hint of sadness to her voice, and I remember how she told me she used to do swim team. All that was gone, then, too.

“Why did they close it? I would have used it.”

“Not enough people anymore.”

“Oh.”

The water isn’t clear like I expected; it’s been made murky by algae collecting over the years. The tiles aren’t shiny anymore, just work, much like the rest of the town.

I say, “It’s kind of sad.” What it is, I don’t know, but my mom nods.

“It is.”

911 words

Penpal Letter to May (7/22/2026)

Hi, May!

No worries about the wait! I know you’re a very busy person, and life > SWC anyway.

Congratulations on finishing all the things!! That feels like a sufficiently vague word to be the catch-all for all of this. Seriously, though, that’s awesome, and I’m so proud of you <333

I promise I’m sleeping! I do try to go to bed around midnight, so I’m not one of those crazy SWCers that stays up all night- And unfortunately it’s not the same thread anymore (nooo), but I did choose the Hobbit Hole as a nod to your profile and the future life you said was your dream. I think I need to reread/rewatch LOTR. Well. I actually started reading LOTR when I was like ten (this was just after we watched the movies), and I might have even gotten to book two? I don’t remember. Then my poor little pea-brain got awfully confused by his language, so I never finished reading the series.

That’s about right! High school consists of four years for us—9th–12th grade—otherwise known as freshman, sophomore, junior, and senior year (in that order).

Slkdfjslkdfj, the British system is so confusing to me, haha- I always am like “Wait, what does college mean for you all again?” because I have a tendency to forget. The “usually” is also not giving me much confidence in my abilities to distinguish, but oh, well. I’m pretty sure that junior year/11th grade for me is your Year 12!

The time is passing insanely fast, and every so often it hits me, and I’m like, “I’m closer to turning 18 than I am to when I turned 15,” and let me tell you, THAT’S such a crazy thought because 15 doesn’t feel that long ago at all. I’m thinking of double majoring, but I don’t know precisely what subjects/paths yet. Currently, my main choice is neuroscience and linguistics, but who knows? I guess we’ll see about that.

Ooh, that sounds so fun! How are the kids? I can imagine it’s pretty chaotic, though I’m sure they’re very cute as well. Going to their graduation sounds adorable, but I can see why that would be bittersweet </3

I’ve never heard of that series, actually. I will have to check it out! As for Project Hail Mary, I really need to get around to reading and watching it. Almost everyone I know who watched/read it loved it (save for my dad and someone I interviewed), so I’ve got to get around to it…eventually. My TBR is increasingly long.

I’m currently reading two books—Ruta Sepetys’s new book, A Fortune of Sand, and The Gilded Blade. The former is better than the latter, I think, but I’m also not too far into A Fortune of Sand yet. Or The Gilded Blade, actually. I popped into a bookstore in a different state last month and happened to find a copy of A Fortune of Sand that’s signed, and let me tell you, May, the way I squealed- I’m the proud owner all of Ruta Sepetys’s books, all but one of which are signed. My biggest claim to fame at the moment <3 I also just finished If We Were Villains yesterday, which was quite entertaining! I have to write my review for it afterward, but I definitely enjoyed it.

This makes it sound like I’ve been reading a lot. Unfortunately, that’s not the case. I have been so busy, even though I’m on break *sobbing*

Honestly…the difficulties of novels are so real </3 I wish you the best of luck, and if you ever want to bounce ideas off someone or need someone to yell at you/otherwise motivate you, I’m right here! I wish you great inspiration, motivation, and passion for an idea that occurs all at once.

I have also barely been writing lately. I’m on a mission to do all of the dailies and weeklies, as I have been for a while, but to be honest, I haven’t written too much I’ve been proud of in a while. I did write one daily that I quite liked—the mixed media one! I did a definition, reverse poem, and dedication, though I need to edit it because there’s like one line of the reverse poem that doesn’t work since I was rushing to submit it on time. It’s on my to-do list; it’ll get done at some point. I’m working on my main entry for the comp now, and it’s an interesting idea, I think? Though I don’t know where to neatly end it off, nor do I entirely know how to write it. I’ve got my fanfic concept figured out, but I’m currently living in denial for the actual writing part because I have no idea how to write that either.

YES, IT WAS SO FUNNY! Another great scene—the second flurry scene of their newest special, “A Brilliant Bonce”. It’s absolutely masterful. (I also did not know what “bonce” was until I looked it up because of this scene. I guess you learn something new every day!)

The party quirks where Tom was horrible was so funny because he’s usually so good at it, and it was hilarious to see him take AJ’s spot as the most confused on stage.

Being back in the US is really different, I think. In general, the culture is very different, but where we currently are specifically is also a lot less crowded, whereas Singapore’s a very densely populated city, so that gives it a really different atmosphere as well.

I did my driver’s test on Monday, and I passed! I’m so pleased. Apparently, my three point turns could use some work, and I need to be more decisive as I’m taking turns (and generally go a little faster), but otherwise, I did okay? Which is good. Either way, I passed, and hopefully I’ll never have to do another driving test.

Seven days a week?? Wow, that’s a lot- What do you do on weekends or when the kids don’t have school? Is it mostly lesson planning or something else?

Studying Python is alright. It’s nice because I have the Scratch background, so I get the logic behind it; it’s just the syntax I have to learn.

As for the SAT, it’s actually not too bad. A solid 80% of it is stuff I can do with 8th grade/Year 9 knowledge, so it’s not like I have to learn too much, just practice the things I already know. It is for university admissions! Although not every school requires the score for it; I think a lot of the public schools are trying to move to a test-optional policy? Not that I would entirely know, though. I haven’t been keeping up with that part because I plan to take it either way, as some of my current top choices do require it.

I am, shockingly, feeling decent about the recital! Of course, I’ve still got months ahead of me to actually panic, but at least I’m playing a song I love, so I’m actually more motivated to practice and play it well.

Waittt, that’s so cute <3 I hope the kids realize what a wonderful teacher I’m sure you are! It’s clear you love it and love them, so I think that probably comes through.

That’s all I’ve got for now!

Sincerely,
Snowy

July 23rd, 2026 Daily:

The end. The beginning. They are one and the same.

They wanted to believe that they were everlasting, so they chose to believe in me. Immortality, they believed, was bliss, so they shaped me according to their religions and embedded me in the sky, a commemoration not of the strength of one bird but of the strength of humanity—the supposed strength, that is.

I came first from the fire, made from the rage and passions of flame, feathers woven together from the dangerous beauty of the sun and stars. I emerged in their Eternal City a hero, for I had survived the fire the way they could not, yet all I had done was exist. They wrote me into their history and built myths about my existence, changed their currency so I appeared on their coins, as if immortality was something to be monetized. A purchase of bread no longer was just that; instead, they’d be trading their immortality, a constant reminder to conserve and believe. How simple that could have been.

They took a liking to me because, when the hunters tried to kill me, I returned to the fire from which I came and fought with my claws until I tore a crack in the world and emerged, whole, forged anew. They loved me in the same way they feared me: with a kind of reverence, cautious yet utterly enthralled.

I became their symbol, an object of the poets. This bird, this phoenix, could defeat death. Why couldn’t they?

Or so they believed. I knew the end, just like I knew the beginning. Beginnings rush to ends and ends return to beginnings. I did not disappoint them with the truth: these parallels only go so far.

I understand them. They built me up solely to put themselves on a pedestal, all in service of self-glorification, and I was the embodiment of them. They tied themselves to me, and as they invaded with spears drawn, they hearkened back to my legends. They stared at the sky and believed they could face anything, that they were invincible, immortal, one and the same with the bird made of fire.

They didn’t see then, so I did not tell them. Rome would not rise from the ashes the way I always have, and their dreams of an Eternal City were nothing more than blind adoration from poets. Empires rising. Empires falling. But, they believed, Rome would be a constant.
~
Word count: 407 words

July 24th, 2026 Daily:

I am so close to the water. So close to home.

Every so often, the ocean rises toward me (an oddity to watch it from land), sea spray adding to the droplets in my cup, bringing me ever closer to the water, yet I am still eternally far.

I could jump. Maybe, I could make it, if I timed it as the water came in at the perfect moment, or maybe I could wait until this thing fills up enough for me to swim out.

When it was happening, I thought the worst part would be the beginning. What must have been a human walked into the water, searching desperately for entertainment. It was smaller than usual, must have been a child or some otherwise tiny human, but it towered over me all the same. I tried to swim away; I tried. But then it chased me right into another person, and I was trapped in the very place I had tried to escape. They scooped me up with their cup and laughed, and my world was suddenly much, much smaller than it had been for a while.

If I could have screamed, I would have, but my voice registered only as bubbles, to their delight. They wiggled their fingers in the tiny space, trying to pet me or something equally stupid, and I kept trying to swim away, but there was nowhere to go. Between the surface of the sand and the surface of the water, there was only just enough space for me to fit fully underwater.

After a while, they grew tired of terrorizing me, a relief then, when I hadn’t been thinking about what would come. They began to pack their things up, and I thought that at least it’d be done then.

Evidently, I was terribly wrong.

They discarded me in the cup, just far enough from the water that the waves never pulled me out but close enough for me to hope that they would. I am so close but so far, and they could have taken the extra two steps to put me back where I belonged, but they did not.

The worst part is the waiting. I have been waiting for hours, and I fear the ocean may be too far for me to reach again.
~
Word count: 384 words

July 25th, 2026 Daily:

You might have had smoothies before, but this one is unlike anything you’ve ever had. You’ve tried bananas. You’ve tried strawberries. You might even be so adventurous as to try…blueberries.

But are you adventurous enough to taste the all-new, highly rated (and highly nutritious!) towel smoothie?

Yes, you heard me right! A towel smoothie, the invention of the century—scratch that, it’s the invention of the millenia.

Anyway, let’s dig into all the reasons why this towel smoothie is something you’ll want to dig into.

For starters, have you heard of the nutritional value of towels? Little did you know, but humans actually need the fibers towels are made of to survive? This is, in reality, the reason many people don’t live as long as they could. Oftentimes, people tend to forget that they need these fibers in order to survive, so they lack the quantity necessary for a long and healthy lifestyle. If we all started drinking towel smoothies, we’d definitely boost that number, and actually, we’d all live to a hundred years old!

Alright, but maybe living to be old isn’t your thing, or maybe you’re just a little leery about consuming towel fibers. Which is somewhat valid, but seriously, why wouldn’t you want to hit a hundred? Either way, it’s important to mention that these towel smoothies are also just about the most delicious thing you’ll ever have the good fortune to taste. Our towels are nice and sweet and juicy—the real best fruit of the crop—and we ensure only the top quality for our customers. This makes our towel smoothies a burst of flavor, and consuming them is an experience that stretches your mind and consciousness, that inspires you to realize that you are more than you ever thought you were.

You also might have heard of konjac towels, a special kind of edible towel. If the towel fibers of “normal” towels really aren't for you, you can try these! These, in fact, taste quite a bit like crepes. They add some incredible texture when you blend them up in your smoothie!


Towel smoothies are smoothies with substance. They contain the things of fruit that keep you full, and they have the fibers necessary to sustain you—not to mention they have a unique and inspiring texture and flavor. Once you try it, you’ll wish you could have a towel smoothie for every meal!


But honestly, why couldn’t you? We sell our towel smoothies in bulk as well, if you’d like to get some to last you for every meal for the next six months…though if you drink them constantly, it might be a little less than that time! So, go on and try the towel smoothies.

Head on down to 14 Hazard Street, and you’ll find a free sample of the towel smoothie, but make sure to come early! We’re a first come, first serve kind of business, and this limited edition deal is going to get snatched up pretty quickly.
~
Word count: 494 words

July 27th, 2026 Daily:
Speaker One
Speaker Two
Both

Night falls, and I draw closer to the deep end once again,
and I wish you would seek something other than the dark.
You have dreams, I know you do, but
I have not seen you chase them in a long time.
I have forgotten the feeling of reaching,
for I am bitter that these dreams have disappeared,
and I do not love the way I once did.
You can love again;
your soul is not gone the way you think it is.
Somewhere along the line, I lost
a heart and a mind, but you remember me
from only a time of simplicity.
And we can return—
You can return, I promise.
These treacherous waters only go on for so long.
The waves lap at my feet, and I think
it must be lovely to disappear,
but I refuse to let you sink, no matter what you say.
You must know somewhere that this is not the only way,
must understand that it does not have to end this way,
nor does it have to end at all.
All I see are endings and dead ends, and
I once tried walking, but there is nowhere to go.
I wanted to remember an exit, a better kind,
but there is only one way:
to go deep.
Believe me, I am here, and
mirror mazes do not have to be your last breaths.
Do not speak in code; I can take the truth.
The truth is far too harsh for you, and if I speak,
I will break you in the way I have—
You will not break anything. You never have.
Listen to me,
I am here
for not much longer.

I know it’s true, I will believe it—
And I have forgotten how to believe—
There is something here worth saving.
~
Word count: 302 words

Hi, Eris!


I finally watched Enola Holmes 3 tonight, and yeah, definitely agree with you on the romance part. I think they’re super cute, but please leave the wedding to the fanfics and just give us a slow burn or something instead- I don’t know, it felt like they were trying too hard to please the fans, but it ended up kind of backfiring (at least in my opinion).

Secondly, on Malta, yes. I somewhat agree here, anyway. I think that they probably wanted the pretty scenery (because there were a LOT of those shots), but I think it took away from what Enola Holmes is, which I didn’t love. However, I did think recognizing the colonization with the storyline and making it not just British-based when Britain has impacted so many other countries was cool!! But I don’t think they devoted enough time to that part of the story too, so that part was a little bit of a letdown.

Moriarty had SO much potential to be interesting, but being bribed and stuff did NOT feel like it was that much in character, and I do think they could have expanded on her role a little more so it was more morally gray as opposed to “evil supervillain with a somewhat justified reason for her actions” because it felt like they were trying too hard to make her morally gray but didn’t quite accomplish it the way they needed to? This is one of the reasons why the confrontation scene in EH2 was one of my least favorite ones, haha- It just felt like she could have been so much more than that.

I bet Mycroft leaving is kind of because a) he wasn’t as big a character initially, and b) they don’t want to have to pay Sam Claflin for a minor role, especially given that he’s a bigger star (I think).

My dad wasn’t as big a fan of the addition of Watson as I was, but I quite liked his character. That was one of the strong suits for this. I did also feel like people kept in character, which was good, but it was more a problem with the storyline than anything else. I think they were trying too hard to make it Enola Holmes 2 that they ended up with something entirely different, if that makes sense.

All this being said, though, I was pretty sure from first the teasers, then the trailer, then others’ reviews that it wasn’t going to be as good, and I think part of that has to do with that the actors have moved on a bit, and again, they wanted to please the fans to the extreme. I didn’t have super high expectations going in, so I’m not terribly disappointed, but I am sad. I’ve been an Enola Holmes fan for like…maybe five years? I was definitely there for at least a few months, probably at least six before the second one came out, but I don’t know exactly. It’s been a while. It’s always sad when the thing you used to enjoy so much doesn’t live up to what it used to be (or at least in your head). The good thing is that I still love the second one, so I’ll just rewatch that and the first one when I really need my Enola Holmes fix.

If there’s a fourth, I’ll probably watch it anyway just because I’ve been watching the series for so long, and I’m hoping it will be a better note to end on. Otherwise…we’ll see, I guess.

Anyway, moving on now.

I will probably spend not very much time on responding to the rest of this because I have sooo many things to do again (screaming), but I’m not sure how many chances I’ll have to respond before the session ends because I’ll be heading back to Singapore soon.

I usually crochet clothes, gifts, or amigurumi. I’ve done some shirts, two sweaters, a short sleeve cardigan, and a shrug for clothes, off the top of my head, and I’ve made my friends things like a folklore-inspired bag (she’s a big Taylor Swift fan), a crochet chicken, and a crochet crow. I really like whales, so I want to crochet myself a whale at some point. Also a duck. Ducks are the perfect size to hug; I’ve always wanted to hug a duck.

I honestly don’t love crocheting amigurumi (other than the fact that the product is super cute at the end) precisely because I can’t stand keeping stitch counts in order and whatever, hence why I prefer to just do rows instead when I can.

I assume the reasons for the passports and economic ties is because you can live in that country where the economy is good or on the rise or whatever? I’m not sure. Again, a lot of this information is from my parents because I’m not super well-versed in all this yet.

Math DOES get harder over time, but you also get more of an understanding of it, so it goes hand in hand alright! And even if it takes time, you’ll get there <3

My understanding of the SAT is that it is kind of a big sit-down exam? At least based on the practice ones I’ve taken. It’s like three hours long in total, four different modules, but they do offer it once a month or something like that, so you can choose when you want to take it. The slight flexibility is definitely nice!!

As for Python and stats…well. I actually really don’t know. I’ve had the same question, but I fear I don’t know enough about coding to really understand it and its ties to the stats part, but hopefully I’ll figure out the reason later?

Aaa, wait, that’s so cool! Your whole family could be a band together or something. That’s so much fun, klsdfjsd- Anyway, yeah, music theory sounds like a pain (and it kind of is initially), but once you get the basics down, it’s actually pretty fun, in my opinion. Definitely a good skill to have, also because it makes listening to music more interesting! I love listening to songs and dissecting them.

Ah, self-guided activities makes total sense. I like both them and museums, personally! Well, I have a love-hate relationship with museums because they’re so interesting that I want to/feel like I have to read everything, but then I have no time, so I’m a really bad person to go to museums with because I spend wayyy too much time in any of the rooms. This summer, we went to a museum, and I’d spent over an hour in the first room, and then I saw the sign saying, “You’re 5% complete!” and was like, “Oh, dear.” Great museum, though.

In Vietnam, I’ve been to Hanoi, Hoi An, Mai Chau, Da Nang, and Nha Trang! I loveddd Nha Trang and Hoi An, but the rest were super fun as well!

I highly recommend reading and crocheting on the flights!! I do that a lot, and it’s great; I get so much reading in on the flights. Crocheting is harder because I can’t bring scissors, but it’s nice if you can get a project that doesn’t require them as much.

Oh, no! Well, I’m a little late to this, so I hope you’re feeling better now…? But good luck on your end of years; that sounds insanely stressful </333

Yeah, okay, so based on what I hear from my friends at church (they go to SG schools), it doesn’t seem like it’s set up to make students have much fun at school. Like I feel like there’s a lot of knowledge, but there’s less of a priority on application and also on learning to love learning, especially outside the classroom, you know? Like you shouldn’t have to spend 90% of your weekend (or whatever) on classwork because while grades and school are important, they’re also not entirely the end-all either, and you can learn a bunch of other cool things by getting out and pursuing what you love. That’s my take, anyway, but I guess I don’t have any firsthand knowledge, so I don’t know for sure.

For university: My dad’s university isn’t my top choice, though it’s definitely one that I’d be happy to attend! I would have a slight advantage getting in there, though, because he still does some stuff with the community, I think. But yeah. It’s an option I’d be happy with, but there are other places I’d rather go! Also, universities are SO big; I don’t think I realized quite how big they were until I started touring and was like, “These are practically cities.”

There is plenty of driving theory!! I mean, over here, it’s nowhere near as complicated as in Singapore, because Singapore is just so much more dense than where I am. My test for the theory portion was pretty chill; I did it online from Singapore, hahaha- But I assume the Singapore one is more of a thing…? I think my mom had to actually go in when she did the theory test to convert her license, if I’m not wrong.

Also, I passed my test!! Which is nice because I now no longer have it hanging over my head.

YAYYY, HAMILTON! I love that musical so much, oh my goodness, always happy to listen to rambles <3 Hahaha, what a way to discover the musical! I knew about it because it was super popular in my grade like seven years ago, I think? So I watched it during COVID, forgot about it, then relistened to the soundtrack and became obsessed.

Going into a phase is the realest thing ever- Mine usually last more like months (at least), but their all-consuming nature is incredibly relatable.

Nooo, you need to convince your friend group to watch it! We all know it’s so worth it <3

It’s so sad that you missed it, sobbing- But I guess you probably wouldn’t have known at the time? Still, hopefully you get to see it live at some point because it’s such an experience.

Ooh, those are such good songs! I agree with you on liking the rap songs because they’re a little more different and interesting, and also the meter on it is just sooo satisfying! Like “knight takes rook, but look, WE ARE OUTGUNNED—” is one of my favorite lines ever because it just sounds so pleasing. Also “a manumission abolitionist, give me a position, show me where the ammunition is” is incredible rhyming/assonance/whatever the word for it is. My favorites, of the top of my head, are My Shot, You’ll Be Back (it’s just so silly), Right Hand Man, Wait for It, and I think Hurricane might go in there for the beauty of the song mixed with the staging and everything? That’s just the coolest scene ever. I’m sure I have a lot of other favorites that I’m just blanking on at the moment, haha.

I learned Wait for It on piano a while back (I might have told you this before, too lazy to check), and it’s so fun to play <3 If/when you get around to playing, you should totally spend some time learning chords and playing melodies by ear because it opens up so many opportunities! I say this because this is how I learned Wait for It. I can’t be bothered with practicing actual scores sometimes.

Glamping is so much fun! So is camping, but I haven’t done proper camping since COVID. There’s this really nice campground like two hours from my old home, and we went there a handful of times and absolutely loved it. I’d love to go back, but unfortunately we don’t live anywhere remotely near there anymore, ahaha- I did have a lot of fun! It was a nice break.

Okay, this ended up being MUCH longer than expected, so I’m going to sign off now! Have a great day <333

Sincerely,
Snowy

Writing Comp Entry

The train station is the same in every way that doesn’t matter. It’s still the same grubby place it always was, and the people still hold their heads up high and walk quickly, like they don’t see you. And yet, like everything, the bad years pose a dichotomy: It’s an underground haven. It’s a relic of worse times. As always, she tries to reconcile these facts as she traces the familiar path to the piano at her exit for the first time in years.

She used to be someone in this station. Unlike at the conservatory, when she played, everyone would stop to listen. They thought her a master and dropped her coins in thanks for her talent.

No longer, though. She stopped playing when the planes came.

But today is different, a new day—isn’t it?

Passersby ignore her as she plays a simple C-major scale, and the bite of ordinariness stings as she realizes what she is to them: just a person who aspires. She begins an étude only to miss half the notes in the arpeggio. She shakes so badly she can hardly hit the pedal. You’re better than this.

Three tries later, she cannot remember that one chord, so she packs her bag and heads for the exit, making every attempt to shrug off the disappointment.

An older woman stops her before she reaches the outside. “Pretty song. My grandson played that one once.”

“It’s Chopin,” she mumbles. He used to be her favorite. The pianist closes her eyes, and the sound of footsteps receding tells her the woman has left.

Now, there is no skill in the talent she once had. Her wounds are two years old and mostly healed, but she still cannot play. Even now, she is losing so many things.



The empty space in her apartment still glares at her, but she does her best to find different hobbies. Instead of playing, she walks laps around the park, and if nothing else, it distracts her temporarily from the many empty places.

It’s like an imperfect cadence: unfinished, incomplete. Like so many stories, she thinks, and involuntarily, her thoughts wander to that Good Friday so ironically named.

“You’re the pianist, aren’t you?”

The voice comes from behind, and she turns to find the old woman from the train station.

“I…wouldn’t say I’m a pianist.” Reflexively, she encircles her right wrist with her other hand. It’s not broken anymore, not in a physical way.

Once, maybe. Not anymore.

But the woman shakes her head, saying, “Nonsense. If you can play, you’re a pianist.” The pianist tries to formulate a response, but the woman speaks again first, her voice softening. “What’s your name, dear?”

“Sophie,” the pianist says.

“I’m Estelle.”



When spring comes, Sophie finds herself walking all the more frequently. She passes Estelle on almost a daily basis, but it takes another month until she greets the familiar stranger.

“Hi,” Sophie says after finally garnering the courage.

Estelle turns to face her. “Hello, dear. How goes the practice?”

It doesn’t, she thinks. There’s more money on her desk than there has been in ages, but it came at a cost. “I haven’t played in months.”

“Ah, well, it always takes some time,” Estelle tells her.

Sophie shakes her head. “I sold it. For the money.” True in part, but the piano housed more losses than her parents’ income when they bought it for her. Either way, she’s better off rid of it.

“Such a shame,” Estelle responds, and her words sound genuine. “You could play mine, if you’d like. I’d be happy to have you for dinner; I could do with a little company now that…now.”

Taken aback, Sophie responds on instinct. “Maybe another time.” Estelle is practically a stranger, after all.

She leaves quietly soon after, but in the days that follow, she finds her way to the park bench, and she and Estelle share in silence for a while. Paris is rebuilding around them, and Sophie only sits with the past. She suspects Estelle does the same.

Estelle asks Sophie several more times to join her for dinner, but she never pushes when Sophie refuses. It takes weeks for Sophie to notice the loneliness that hides behind Estelle’s warm eyes, but finally, when Estelle invites her over, Sophie agrees.

“Oh, how wonderful!” she exclaims. “Tomorrow, then?”

Her days are free of commitments now, so she nods despite instincts telling her all the things that could go wrong. As an afterthought, she adds, “You should invite your grandson. He could play something, maybe.”

A flicker of something crosses Estelle’s face, but it’s gone too quickly for Sophie to place it. “Oh, he’s awfully far away now,” she says, dismissing Sophie’s suggestion with a wave of her hand.

“Maybe one day,” Sophie tells her.

Estelle only nods.



“You came!” Estelle says as Sophie walks through the door.

Sophie tries to leave her second thoughts at the door, and instead, she fixes a smile on her face. “I came,” she echoes.

“Well, come in. Dinner isn’t quite ready yet, but make yourself at home, dear. I’ll be out shortly.”

Sophie dusts off the mud on her shoes before stepping inside Estelle’s apartment. The place is cozy, lived in, but even the warmth of the room isn’t enough to negate the loss that pervades all of Paris.

Estelle’s piano sits in the corner of the room, sheet music still standing on it. Fantaisie-Impromptu. Sophie loved that song once, back when playing was still a comfort.

“You play?” she calls to Estelle.

Holding a steaming bowl of potato soup, Estelle emerges from her tiny kitchen. She glances from Sophie to the piano, then recognizes the sheet music. “Oh, no. That’s all my grandson’s. He used to visit quite often. Would play for me from time to time. Keep me company and all that.”

“It must have been nice,” Sophie says.

“It was.” Estelle clears her throat. “You remind me of him.”

Sophie dips her head in a nod, but she’s unsure how to respond. With thanks? Perhaps. But she never knew Estelle’s grandson, and she hardly knows Estelle, too.

Luckily, Estelle spares her from finding a proper answer. “Supper is just about done,” she says, and she sets the potato soup on the table. A few moments later, she returns from a second trip to the kitchen and sets a bit of simmered beef on the table.

“It’s nothing too fancy,” Estelle says, and the words sound like an apology.

“It looks wonderful,” Sophie reassures her. A pause. It’s more food than she’s seen on the table all at once since before. “I still think, sometimes, that we need to save it for—“

“I know,” Estelle interrupts, as if she can’t bear to think of it. “I do, too.”

We wait in line for hours. We’re freezing and hoping, and I haven’t had anything fresh for ages. Hunger has become eternal, and it seems impossible that a time before this existed.

Sophie pushes the memory away because indulging in this thought will lead to more she must not remember. She fills Estelle’s bowl and then her own, and just before she starts, Estelle motions to her. “We’ll say grace,” Estelle says.

Sophie, for so long, had forgotten prayer, believing it was not enough to save. Good Friday had proven that much.

But there’s a certain comfort in listening to Estelle thank the Lord for His goodness, even if she wished that goodness had come earlier. It reminds her of simpler times.

“Amen,” Estelle ends, and Sophie echoes the word, making the sign of the cross.

They eat in silence for a while before Estelle asks about Sophie’s family. Her siblings, her parents, are they well?

Reaching out for them, screaming, and who knew stone shattered so easily? A congregation hears of mercy, and we are struck down.

My wrist. Vaguely, I register once again that it must be broken, my dreams with it.

My parents. Maria. My lips form their names, but I can’t breathe and I don’t see them and I am still begging for mercy on their behalf, and is it too late for—

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Sophie mumbles, shaking her head and pushing her plate away ever so slightly.

“I’m sorry,” Estelle says quietly, and she reaches across the table and squeezes Sophie’s hand.

“It’s okay.” And it’s not, but what else is there to say?

The rest of dinner passes in awkward half-conversation, small talk as they dance around the gaping holes in their hearts and homes. Sophie learns two things: Estelle’s husband, she learns, passed away from a heart attack before the Great War, and her daughter’s family no longer lives in the city. In the same way Sophie refuses to speak further on her family, Estelle’s face is guarded as she mentions all this, and Sophie can’t help but feel that, in some way she does not understand, they are the same.

“It’s nice to hear the robins singing again,” Estelle remarks after a, a hint of wistfulness creeping into her voice. “Even if they’re no good at it.”

“It’s nice to hear anything other than the planes,” Sophie says before she can stop herself. Under the table, she wrings her wrists, then grits her teeth at the joints’ stiffness.

Estelle, oddly enough, laughs. “You’re not wrong.” Then, “It’d be nice if they could hurry up on the rebuilding so we don’t have to think about it as much.”

The buildings are falling and I am falling and everything is falling to pieces. It is my own Pompeii.

Searing white-hot pain as I trip, running, am not fast enough to miss the column tumbling. I would call out if I could, but all I can think, numbly, is that I will never play again. Selfishly, I don’t think of them—not as much as I should.

Sophie wishes for something much less attainable; she wishes to return to a past complete with the people now missing from it.

“You alright, dear?” Estelle asks.

“Just…memories.” Her voice fades on the last syllable, a diminuendo, and she hates how weak it makes her sound.

It only takes Estelle a moment to put it together. “Your family?”

“My sister. My parents.”

Estelle doesn’t try to comfort her, for which Sophie is thankful. Instead, she responds, “My grandson.” Shadows cross her face, and all at once, she seems ancient.

“Far away,” Sophie whispers, remembering Estelle’s earlier words.

“Very far.”

To name the tragedy is unbearable, and the few words are enough acknowledgement and mourning for the both of them; they have grieved for two years already, and it is time enough. The pain, now, has dulled, leaving just the hollow space.

“How old was he?” Sophie asks.

“Seventeen.” Estelle clears her throat.

So he was younger than her.

“He enlisted on the day of his birthday. I was so proud,” Estelle continues. “Still am, though I wish…”

Condolences, Sophie knows, mean nothing, but she offers them anyway. “I’m sorry.”

The older woman presses her lips together. After a second, she stands abruptly. “Well, I ought to bring the dishes in.”

“I’ll help.” Sophie takes her plate and the rest of the soup to the kitchen.

With the table clear and the stars out, Sophie can think of little else to say, so she grabs her coat and settles on a simple, “Thank you for dinner. It was nice.”

Estelle’s face bears a hint of a smile. “It was my pleasure, dear. Come back again, alright? My door is open.”

“Thank you,” she says again.



The path on her way home takes her to the train station piano again, but tonight, she walks past it. She does not attempt to play, but one day, perhaps, she will, when her wrists and soul have healed. Not tonight, but eventually.

For now, the city is rebuilding and Sophie has eaten. And while it has not changed anything, really, there are doors open, and that is enough.

Questions for critiquers:
• Do you find the ending too fast? If so, how would you recommend slowing it down a little more?
• Did you find the sentences to be too rhythmically similar? (e.g. Too many simple sentences)
• Do you think the amount of passive voice in this is a problem? Did it read awkwardly to you?
• What are your thoughts on my characterization and dialogue between Estelle and Sophie? What, if anything, do you recommend changing/doing to improve?
• Sophie doesn't play piano because of a combination of things: her wrist injury and the trauma of the day when she got it. Does that come through clearly enough?
• Estelle initially invites Sophie hoping she'll play the piano there; however, at the dinner, there's little mention of Sophie playing, largely because I imagine she wanted to avoid it after the train station debacle—plus, they got lost in conversation instead, and it became too awkward to stay much longer. How, if at all, would you suggest I clarify this?
• I intended to leave some amount of mystery because both Sophie and Estelle prefer to avoid their grief and the past. Have I overdone the mystery? Is it clear enough what happened?

Hi, Seagull!

Reading is indeed very amazing. I feel you on the reading slump part—I planned to catch up on my reading over the summer, but that has unfortunately not happened because I’ve been otherwise occupied and stuff, which is sad. My to be read list is ever-increasing, and I have not done enough reading to compensate. 35 books is pretty good!! I’ve read 32, if you count the one that is a full length book but just isn’t on Goodreads. I also set myself a goal of 100 books…we can struggle in catching up together. Sobbing. It’s so weird because last year I got like 140 no problem? So I really have not been reading much lately, if that’s not already obvious.

Aaaa, The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes was such a good movie! I’m so pleased with the acting, and I’m so impressed that they managed to portray Snow’s character as well as they did in the movie, given that in the book, so much of his character comes through in his internal monologue.

You should definitely read If We Were Villains whenever you get a chance! It’s advertised more as mystery, but I’d say it leans gothic, except a slightly more realistic type of the genre, perhaps? I don’t know. Either way, very fun, very entertaining.

Nooo, the sadness of limited library collections </3 It's so sad when you want to read a niche book and can’t find it anywhere.

BABEL!! I LOVE BABEL SO MUCH. You already know that, though. Anyway, please do ramble, and feel free to randomly drop your thoughts because I love rambling about R. F. Kuang and anything she writes, ahaha

I haven’t actually read any of the books you mentioned, but my dad loves Flowers for Algernon, and he keeps recommending it to me. It’s definitely on my list, but it’s just a matter of when I get around to it- And also The Secret History, because it sounds quite interesting, and apparently it’s got some similarities to If We Were Villains? So I’ll definitely have to check it out eventually. (Also, all the books…that’s so real. I could talk about my favorite books forever.)

I haven’t actually read too many short story collections; more often, I read them individually. Do you have any favorite stories from the collections you mentioned?

Ahaha, I have heard…mixed things about American Psycho. So. Noted. I wish you luck on getting through it. What’s We Were Forbidden about?

I just finished The Gilded Blade this morning because I’ve been following the series for like three and a half years at this point, but to be honest, I don’t think TIG is as good after the second book of the main series. That said, I did really like the Lyra arc, which is the main reason why I kept reading (and also because I kind of had to conclude it after all that time). Anyway, I have more thoughts on this, but given it’s the last book in the series, I will hold off in case you haven’t read it and plan to read it.

I generally crochet clothes, gifts, and some amigurumi! I’m working on a sweater right now, and I’m about halfway done with the first sleeve. I will need to finish that today, though, because I’m going to be traveling back to Singapore, and I don’t want to bring all my crochet back with me, because I don’t really have the time to crochet in Singapore either. Unfortunately, this means that I still have another panel to crochet over the winter and then I’ll need to sew everything together, so let’s hope I don’t lose motivation for this and quit partway through this.

I am here to tell you that crocheting sweaters is not so bad! I highly recommend doing it while watching TV or something—that’s what I do. It’s a little bit of a project, but it at least doesn’t require me to think that much about it because I’m generally just repeating the same one or two stitches over and over again.

Crochet taxidermy—that sounds like the coolest thing ever, aaa- I would love to see pictures if you’d like to/have any to share! I usually don’t do anything realistic because I have no motivation, and I generally dislike crocheting in rounds because I hate counting my stitches more than I have to (and moving the stitch marker is really irritating to me for no reason). I do, however, have plans to crochet myself a life-size and hopefully somewhat realistic duck at some point, maybe over the winter or next summer. It’s been a lifelong dream of mine to hug a duck (they’re so cute and are like the perfect size, salkdjfsl), but unfortunately, live ducks are a little less of a fan of being hugged than I am of hugging them. Hence, crochet duck.

Ooh, I’d never heard of the strawberry stitch before, but I just looked it up, and it’s so cute!!

You are so crafty, Seagull- I totally want to get into more beading because they would make really nice gifts, but as for the rest of it, I fear I’m not quite artistic enough or motivated enough. But I have always loved the idea of scrapbooking, haha.

Also, sewing! I want to get back into sewing—I used to do it more. But I’m not entirely sure where to start, and I often can’t be bothered to follow patterns, sobbing- What kinds of things do you sew?

And we’ll count photography!! Photography is awesome. I’m not very good at it, though. Do you do more landscapes or close-ups, or…?

THE XENO-FI PICTURES ARE SO SATISFYING. I feel like Xeno-Fi is the only cabin I’ve ever seen where everyone has a profile picture? So hats off to you <333

YES, neuroscience is so cool!! And I don’t know too much about either zoology or astronomy, but they seem so so so cool, and I’d like to know more especially about astronomy. Congratulations on completing your astronomy GCSE! It’s super impressive that you self-studied it entirely on your own, so you should feel really proud of yourself <333 And regardless of how the marks look, you’re still so smart and awesome and wonderful, and! Hopefully you’ve learned a lot, because that’s what matters.

What kinds of zoology jobs are you considering, if any? I fear I don’t actually know what many of them would look like.

Ragamuffins are so cute <3 I remember liking them when I was a lot younger (before I got my cat), but I initially thought we would get a shorthair instead, so I didn’t think a raggie was on the table.

Socks! It’s such a cute name, aslkjdlskf- And why Boca, out of curiosity? (Half Bengal, too—does he act like a wildcat? There’s a Bengal in our neighborhood that spends most of the time prowling around the area). Awww, pet mice, too <3 I will say that I am genuinely terrified of mice when they’re surprising me, but pet mice are really cute, actually. How do Socks/Boca get on? Also, two aquariums? Whoaaa. Do you have a lot of fish as well, then?

A PET AXOLOTL? That’s just about the coolest thing ever

Yeahhh, blue whales are so big, but they’re also super majestic! Honestly, whales in general are just so majestic, which is part of why I like them. This is probably a fairly typical response for favorite kind of whales, but I might go with a narwhal, ahaha <3 They’re so silly and whimsical! Though I enjoy artistic depictions of blue whales and gray whales slightly more because, again, they’re so majestic. I would absolutely love to go on a boat and see them, because I feel like that’s the best way to enjoy it. I may or may not actually have done that before—I forgot. But I’m pretty sure I’ve seen dolphins on the water, and I’ve definitely seen a bunch of seals when I still lived in the U.S.! Speaking of which, seals are also some of my favorite animals. I love harbor seals because they’re so friendly (one practically came up to me once when I was swimming), and harp seals are so so so cute and fuzzy and adorable and asldkjflsdkf I love them. I need to crochet a seal at some point, too.

My friends went to New Zealand a few months ago, and they were swimming at the beach and just happened to spot some orcas in the water, which is awesome. Not just one, too—I think they saw three or something?

I just looked up the Greenland shark, and whoaaa, they’re so cool? Their life span is something else, ahaha. I’ve only skimmed one article so far, but I will have to read more on them later; I can see why you think they’re really fascinating.

Badgers are so silly and cute <3 And awww, Tractor sounds lovely, as do Bramble and Tiny and the others.

I will be honest: I have consumed none of those pieces of media. But I know there’s a lot of Superwholock stuff, and given that I’m a BIG fan of the British Broadcasting Corporation’s adaptation of Sherlock, I recommend that you complete the fandom trio and watch that one as well, if you haven’t already. (Help, it doesn’t let me abbreviate the name of the corporation.) Sherlock is definitely my favorite TV show, but I also really like Silo and Severance! I’m mostly in the Sherlock fandom out of all of these, though; I don’t spend that much time in the other fandoms.

My friend loves Hannibal, and she’ll send us stuff about it or fanart she’s made, and sometimes she brings it up randomly in conversation, haha- Though she’s unfortunately moved, so I don’t get to see her as often anymore ( She comes back to visit us every couple of months, though!

As for books, I’m obviously in the Hunger Games fandom and the Poppy War fandom as well! I’m probably in a lot of others there too, but that’s what comes to mind right now.

Other fandoms include Shoot From the Hip, Hamilton, Clair Obscur: Expedition 33 (you probably know this; I talk about it a LOT), and if you want to count music artists, then a bunch of those as well. Speaking of which, that’s a perfect transition into music

Those are super cool genres!! My favorites are indie, pop, and folk, but I also like a lot of crossover/subgenres like pop-rock, indie folk, folk-rock, alt-pop, etc. I am not a fan of metal, and I generally don’t like rap (except for Hamilton and one other artist), but other than that, I’ll probably listen to most things.

I love love love Gracie Abrams and BLÜ EYES; they’re definitely my favorite artists. Following closely behind are Noah Kahan and Erin LeCount for sure <3 And for my favorite band, that’d probably be Daughter.

Of the artists you listen to, I probably listen to Phoebe Bridgers the most! I want to get into her more, though—any specific recommendations? And Paramore! I have not listened to a lot of their songs, but I absolutely love Crave, and there was a while in February where that was on repeat for me.

I had a wonderful time camping! We saw a porcupine in the forest, and I think it might have been my first time actually seeing a porcupine? It kind of just waddled around, and it was so funny.

Being in the U.S. is so fun! Seeing as I lived here for ten years (okay, not where I am right now, but in the country), it’s like going back to a culture that I’m much more familiar with. We’re kind of in the middle of nowhere at the moment, but it’s nice to be with my family (we’re with my mom’s parents now, and my cousins are decently close by).

I PASSED MY TEST!! Also, I promise driving isn’t so bad; it sounded really terrifying to me as well, but it’s actually much easier and intuitive than you’d think. Good luck in advance for whenever you can learn to drive, though!

Waittt, wildlife rescue would be so cool, and rabbits and hedgehogs? That’s adorable. I hope it works out as well!

Sorry to hear that you’re a bit ill; that’s never fun I hope you feel better soon <3

I’m alright at the moment, currently stressing about many many things because the summer is somewhat close to ending and I also need to finish writing comp entries and whatever, but we shall get through it.

And thank you for getting through my letter as well! This is a lot of words. I appreciate your patience, ahaha

Sincerely,
Snowy