Scratch Writing Camp Writing Sharing Thread (March 2022)

Milkysplash

Skylar/Milky's SWC Writing ~ March 2022

Dailies

Daily 1 - 404 Error Not Found, does not exist
Daily 2 - https://scratch.mit.edu/discuss/topic/582424/?page=21#post-6083886 (Wrote 333 words about garlic bread)

Weeklies

Weekly 1 - In the works

Other

Cabin Wars {DATE}

Last edited by Milkysplash (March 2, 2022 20:17:55)

“are you sure you're not jewish?” - howard, tbbt

If you made it down here, if something's hard, rember, it's not rocket science.
- - -
out of contextness

i actually feel sorry for a traffic bollard, bbc news you are too good at your job

“Ground?”
“Plane?”

yeo - I MEAN YEP NOT YEO I DID NOT SAY YEO YOGURT
- - -
*jams to the Every Tube Station Song*

SqueakyBird520

Daily 2
(From the perspective of a mask after school mandates in my area are lifted.)
Some of us are lucky.
Others of us are not.
Either way, all of us are being used less often.
Here, they've lifted the mandate for us in schools. Can you believe that? Three out of four of the people in this household need us just for that most of the time. And they're going away in some stores now, too! The daughter in this household, those are the only reasons she leaves the house. I've heard rumors from Mask 1-W, who was her favorite last year, that she once only left her room to eat and go to school.
But that doesn't matter.
The girl is a traitor.
Back when we were required, she always wore hers correctly and never had it even below her nose. Sometimes she'd remind people to keep theirs up.
But now, no longer. She stopped using us, and now we have less purpose.
As I watch her get ready for school, I turn to my friend, Mask 26-G, and whisper, “At this rate, do you think the pandemic might be…stopping?”
26-G would have shuddered if they were human. “I have no idea. But if they are, 34-O, we'll start going extinct.”
That wouldn't be good. Just the thought of it, being useless, gives me nightmares. Because what will we be for, if not to just prevent illness?
If we have to wait another century for another pandemic in order to exist again, I swear I will scream. Why can't I just be recycled into something more useful? I'd be a lot more hopeful if we were recyclable.
But alas, we are doomed to be masks without use.
“Why does the pandemic keep going, anyway?” I asked 26-G. “I mean, they have vaccines and other stuff.”
My friend had clear annoyance in their tone when they said, “What do the humans call them? Karens?”
“Why are their names all Karen?”
26-G sighed. “I don't know. None of us know. But at least the humans still have hope.”

(347 words!)

A squeaky door that also happens to be a bird

And a theatre kid-

Milkysplash

Life of a piece of garlic bread (can we not question this? Thank you.) ~ 333 Words!
I am a piece of garlic bread. Not Gaelic Bread, that's a whole other thing entirely. Garlic bread. It's pretty easy to tell why. I have garlic on me. Garlic is my hair. Not a topping, but- a hair. I think it makes me anthropomorphic, but I still haven't gotten out the fact that I am food. I am sustaining people.
And eventually, one day, I'll get eaten too.
All I can do now is wait for my creator to open her garlic bread stash and take me out.
I have narrowly missed being eaten a few times.
Okay.
It's not that bad.
So the day starts like any outher day. The store cupboard of garlic bread is opened. I'm edging ever closer to the front. I see the face of a girl look in and pick up a piece of garlic bread. One of my good friends. She takes another.
And another.
And another.
Seriously, this girl cannot-
And then I feel a new sensation, something that I only have felt a few times before. It's soft on my hard surface, and picks me up like I'm nothing. I feel the rush of wind, the feeling of flying and then I get chucked into a small brown bag.
Really!
I sit in the bag, snugged against my friends waiting for my fate to come to me today.
I sit there for ages and think, is today going to be the day?
Well, I guess I just have to find out.
As I sit in the bag, I feel movement coming somewhere and then I see the light of day, the rushing of air as I feel the same sensation clasp around me.
I hear murmurings in the background, I think they've deemed me “bad” and are now discussing what to do.
Then I hear a clicking sound, and I see the blackness before I get thrown out and down straight to the ground, landing on my face.
I had just be defenestrated.

“are you sure you're not jewish?” - howard, tbbt

If you made it down here, if something's hard, rember, it's not rocket science.
- - -
out of contextness

i actually feel sorry for a traffic bollard, bbc news you are too good at your job

“Ground?”
“Plane?”

yeo - I MEAN YEP NOT YEO I DID NOT SAY YEO YOGURT
- - -
*jams to the Every Tube Station Song*

coolgirl100-

Daily 2:492 words

I lie facing up on the wooden desk, staring at the white sloping ceiling above. My life right now is always like this, staring at the same old ceiling on the same old desk. But I didn't mind. I think a lot about things like my past, my present and my future.
In my past I was just manufactured and I was all new. I was sold in a shop. I was kept on top of a windowsill. And I was there for many decades. I started getting old. My glass got dirty around the edges and scratched in the middle. The frame around it got dirty as well. Nobody would ever bother look through me. Not until a girl came and needed me. She has short, auburn hair and a pale orange dress adorned with tiger stripes. She wanted to investigate the strange substance that had mysteriously appeared in the night. She had started to polish me so I'm able to magnify things more clearly then she held me up close to the substance. She held me at different angles of the substance and muttered under her breath. Finally, she said:
“Definitely cat vomit. Made several hours ago in the night, and to be hovered up before it sets into the carpet.”
That was my past.
In my present, I'm now lying on a wooden desk staring at the white sloping ceiling above me. Sometimes the girl would pick me up to polish me, or to look through me, but other than that she would be more focused on the computer the big shining screen and the clickety-clack keyboard. She would draw pictures, play games, write stories, so on and so forth.
This is my present.
In my future, I would maybe be packed away in a box, then be unpacked in a entirely different house. Or I might be sold again in a garage sale, in another shop, or somewhere. Wherever I'm being on sale in, I'll always know I'll be sold to different people, and I may never see the girl again. And then by the time I'm too old to be going about in places, I'll be thrown in a bin or skip then to have my last trip. The trip will be to a landfill. On my way there, I'll think about my past, and the good memories I made.
That is my future.
Now, you must think: Well, your past was quite boring, sitting there on the windowsill. And your future is quite sad, being taken to a landfill. Well then, my present is probably the nicest out of all of them, so I think about my present the most. And you should too. Live in the present. Make the most of it. Reflect on the past behind you and look towards the future in front of you. I am a magnifying glass and I hope my story will help you find the meaning of yours.

Last edited by coolgirl100- (March 2, 2022 20:23:22)

Lolll what a scrumdiddlyumptious signature

-Galatic_Planet-

Main Cabin Daily (March 2)

POV of a Backpack
The earliest thing I remember is being shut into a dark room and staying there for what seemed like years (It probably was more like days). The trip was bumpy and unpleasant. It was loud and I couldn’t get any sleep (not that I really need it). The only thing I did have was my friends. We were all cramped tightly into the pitch black room. We would “talk” and have interesting stories together. But one day, we were jiggling and bumping around more than usual. Eventually, there was a very bright light shining down upon me and my friends. Then there were these things reaching down for us. They were like circles with long sticks jotting out. The last thing I remember of this memory was that one grabbed me.
Alas, I am here on a child’s bedroom floor, suffering. Every day I am picked up, thrown onto a bed, get stuff shoved inside me, and then sling around the child’s back. I am forced to bear wrappers, ripped up homework, and endure the stink smell of sneakers after gym class. I enter a building everyday, for the most part, and then get trapped inside a dark space.
Every once in a while the door opens to the space I am in, and I see Julian (my “owner”, I don’t like accepting the fact that my life relies on him). When I see him it either means that it’s time to get out of the dark room or that he’s just here to reach into me to get something that he previously shoved into me. Two words: not pleasant.
Sometimes, I get a break. Those days are my favorite. I can finally rest from carrying 17 billion books everyday. That takes a lot of effort. You might not realize it, but I can get exhausted to! But anyways, the days where I get a break means that I have very little stuff in me and I don’t get thrown around as much as before. Often times, it’s quite relaxing.
Occasionally, water falls from the sky. If me and Julian are outside when this happens, then he but me on his head! LIKE DUDE! I do not appreciate being wet. I don’t like feeling soggy. It’s like when you, humans, fall into a pool with clothes on; the unwanted soggy feeling.
My life can be torture but fun at the same time! I love it when I get brought somewhere fun and not shut inside somewhere. Like when Julian goes to camp. He fills me up with toys, and clothes sometimes, and then we would go to a place in which I knew was fun. In this place I would just stay by a bed, unmoving, relaxing. I be quite nice.
Another case of this is over the summer, I’d very doing nothing for about 2 ½ months (Well exceptions being camp of course)!
And that is my life. Well except that I am still existing, and probably will last for a long time; most likely in someone’s basement. Forgotten.

510 Words

Howdy do!

StarKitten_Writes

Fanfic cabin Weekly: Crossover of 2+ fandoms: PJO x Hunger Games

(This is not done, it is to be continued. I wanted to post it so I didn’t have it on my plate of stuff to do. Also, I wrote the song myself. I know it’s not the greatest, so please don’t criticize.)

My hand shook as I touched the window of the train. I wasn’t here. This wasn’t possible.
Every year before the reaping, the demigods of District 11 held a ceremony honoring Tyche, the goddess of luck, hoping that she would be pleased and spare us from the Games. But luck had finally run out, because here I was.
I remember walking up on that stage, praying to my mother, Athena. Praying for wisdom and strength to make it home. But seconds later, another variable entered the complicated equation of survival: Arin, son of Apollo.
Arin volunteered before another boy’s name was even drawn from the reaping ball, and he was at my side before Venus, District 11’s escort, could do anything about it. Her long, electric yellow hair swooshed as she’d spun to face the tall boy who had rushed past her.
“I volunteer.” Arin had said, his amber eyes locking tightly on her strange purple ones. Then, his voice lower, he’d turned to me, gripping my shoulders. “You’re not going to the Capitol alone.”
That’s how we came to be here.
Arin holds my hand under the table, which is laden with expensive Capitol food that no one has touched. Our mentor, and older woman named Marigold, stares at us from across the table. So does Venus.
“You’re excused.” Marigold says to Venus, breaking the long silence. Venus flushes angrily, but exits the train car, leaving us alone with Marigold.
“Lark. Arin.” She meets our eyes as she says our names, but her eyes stay on Arin a long time. Many people’s do. Arin got a bit of his looks from Apollo, so his complexion is more alike to caramel than the darker tones that are normal in District 11. His eyes are lighter too, amber instead of brown or grey. Many people say that the Capitol is the only place where no two people look the same, which is typical. The Capitol has everything.
“What are your strengths?” There’s no beating around the bush with Marigold, you can understand that with every annual interview on television, or even seeing her buying a loaf of bread. Straightforward,blunt, to the point.
“I can sing well, and throw things with accuracy.” Arin is underselling himself, and he knows it. But with two demigods in the fray of the Games, you never know what’ll be noticed, even with the Mist.
“I’m pretty smart.” I say. “And I can throw a punch when necessary.” I’m actually an extremely good strategizer, as well as excellent with any form of hand-to-hand combat. And Arin is also a great healer, another trait from Apollo. He really is best with music though. Even though our talents are being extremely undervalued, Marigold smiles grimly.
“You two have a good chance,” she says. “But I won’t believe it until you prove it.” She turns to Arin first. “Could you sing a bit?”
Arin closes his eyes, and begins to sing a sad, simple song that is often sung when a harvest day has gone long, and the workers are tired beyond all weariness:
‘When the wind blows us down
And the trees’ branches shake,
The world’s giant frown
Leaves young hearts to break;
They won’t hurt you
My loved one, kindest of souls,
For I’ll be your shield
‘Til my body lies cold.’
Arin’s voice is haunting, even after a single verse, and Marigold stares at him, her mouth open slightly in shock. Tears blur my vision, not because of his voice, but because of the way his calloused hand gripped mine as he sang. I am his lover, and he means to defend me to his final breath.
“That’ll draw sponsors.” Marigold says at last, her wrinkled hands grabbing a slice of bread from one of the platters on the table, which Arin and I still haven’t touched. “And if you can throw even half as well as you can sing…”
Arin took a glass cup, empty, and threw it across the train car. It sailed the full twenty feet before breaking against the small window in the door. The crash made me and Marigold flinch, but Arin didn’t even react. Judging from his expression, it had landed exactly where he’d intended.
“Good.” Marigold turns to me.
I withdraw my hand from Arin’s, clench it into a fist, and look for a target. I snatch a round orange from the bowl, toss it into the air, and punch it as hard as I can. It follows the path of Aring’s cup, and slams against the window. The glass breaks, joining the shattered glass already littering the carpet.
“Well done.” Marigold stands and exits the train car, her curtain of white hair rippling behind her.

(To be continued…)

Kat - she/they
SWC November 2022 - Hi-Fi ftw!!!!!

puppycutest

Carla - a short story of 1238 words
Carla looked up at her grandmother. The little six-year-old had been wondering where her parents had went for days. They said they were going to the store, and they never came back.
“Where’s Mommy and Daddy?” She asked, frowning. Her grandmother sighed, and small tears formed in her sea blue eyes.
“Sweet Carla, your Mommy and Daddy, they- they went to a better place.” Even though Carla didn’t know exactly what her grandmother meant, she understood the impact of the statement. She whimpered as she buried her face in her grandmother’s black dress.
——
6 years later
——
“Good morning, Mr Finch!” Carla greeted the old man as she ran to deliver the mail to the neighborhood.
“Good morning, Carla.”
Carla grabbed a fresh bread roll from the outside market and threw some change at the merchant.
“Keep the change!” She yelled. She only had 3 more newspapers to drop off. She said hello to everyone, finished her bread, then, once she was done, she hurried back home to start her morning chores.
Carla began to sweep the floors quickly. She wiped the counters, then went to go feed the dog.
“Carla, go clean your room, it looks like a hurricane!” Carla’s aunt demanded. Ever since Carla’s parents had died in the hit and run on Nelson Street, and after her old caregiver, her grandmother, died when she was eight, she had been kept at her aunt’s house. She very much liked it in the neighborhood. It was full of new friends and places to explore.
Carla ran upstairs to her room, and assessed it quickly. Her floor wasn’t that bad, it just had some clothes and books spread over it. She would put them away, then vacuum. She needed to make her bed, then clean the surface of her dresser, mirror and nightstand. Then, she would be done!
As Carla began to clean her room, she heard guests already coming in. Carla and her aunt were hosting a Thanksgiving potluck. Her stomach growled as she imagined what all the guests would bring. As she though about food, she remembered the cupcakes she had put in the oven before she went mail delivering.
“Oh shoot! I forgot to take them out!” She exclaimed as she hurried downstairs. As she greeted the guests, and ran towards the oven, her aunt stopped her.
“I got the cupcakes handled. Forget about your room, go change your clothes and brush your hair. Wear your fall dress.”
Carla mumbled a few thank yous and ran upstairs to get dressed. She threw on her orange and red dress with leaf patterns, put on some black stockings, and some Mary Janes. She brushed her teeth and her long, brown hair. She braided it into waterfall braids, then applied lotion all over her skin. She sprayed some perfume, and she was done. She ran downstairs to go help her aunt with the table. When she asked her aunt what she could do to help, she was instructed to organize the table before the guests sat down. As Carla set and organized the table, there was a knock on the door. Carla walked over to the door and opened it with a creak. There was a tall man with a blonde beard standing there. She hadn’t seen him around the neighborhood.
“Hello? Can I help you?” Carla asked, smiling. The man however, was frowning.
“Is there a Carla Amanda Willowskier here?” He questioned in a deep voice.
“Yes, this is her.” Carla replied in confusion. Why would someone need her?
“Can we please talk? Outside?” He asked, his frown getting deeper.
Carla nodded yes, and she stepped outside. As soon as she closed the door, the man glared at her.
“Give me the money.”
“Wh-wha- huh? What money?” Carla nervously said, pressing herself against the outside of the house. The man was scary, after all.
The man thrust a finger in her face, causing Carla to blink furiously.
“You know what money I’m talking about. Who are your parents?” He asked, stepping closer. Carla got goosebumps.
“Hey, look. I’m gonna go get my aunt, and-“ “No! Who are your parents?” He yelled, interrupting her.
“M-May Carter Willowskier and David Willowskier. B-but-” She hesitated.
“They died in a hit and run, yes I know.” He said, stepping even closer. Carla whimpered, inching towards the door. Who was this man?
“Nuh uh uh. If you aren’t going to give me the money, we’ll have to try a different way.” The man grabbed Carla’s arm and began dragging her to his car!
Carla had the sense to let out a big, loud scream. A few moments later, Carla’s aunt came running outside. She saw a tall, blonde man dragging her niece down the front stairs! She ran over to the two of them and snatched Carla away.
“Get off my property and don’t you dare come near my daughter- I meant my niece again! I know you’re mad about the inheritance, but that is no excuse for you to hurt your own niece!” Carla’s aunt yelled in his face. She ran inside and slammed the door shut.
“Carla, my dear, are you okay?” She squeezed Carla tightly and muttered a few Bible verses.
Carla wiped her eyes. She was okay, just startled. Who was that man, and what money was he talking about?
“Auntie Lila, w-who was that? And what money was he talking about?” Carla looked up at her aunt. Her aunt sighed.
“I guess it was about time I told you. Let’s go upstairs.” They muttered a quick excuse to the potluck people, who were busy talking, and sat on the corner of Carla’s fluffy bed.
“Your mother and father were very wealthy. They owned a multi million dollar company before they died. They both had written their wills early, and they both agreed to sign all their money off to you when they died.” She took a deep breath in. “When it was the reading of the will, your Uncle James was extremely unhappy that his sister’s millions had all gone to a tiny little baby. So he tried to find you, and possibly harm you to get the money, many, many times. Such as this time. Carla, we never told you, because we knew your parents would want you to grow up like a normal child, but you have four million dollars in your bank account at the moment.” Auntie Lila admitted.
“Wh-Wha- Huh?” Carla stared at her aunt as she processed all the new information. Auntie Lila nodded.
“So you’re telling me, that was my uncle and I have 4 million dollars?”
“Yes I am. But please, Carla, don’t act any different because of this information. You are a wonderful child and I don’t want to spoil that by telling you this-“ Auntie Lila was interrupted by a hug from her niece.
“Auntie, I don’t care how much money I have in my bank account, I’ll still be the same old Carla.” They shared a hug for a moment until a voice came from downstairs,
“Lila! Where do you keep your napkins?” They both went downstairs, and while Auntie Lila helped Mr. Finch, Carla sat down to eat up before the food got cold. As she enjoyed the food and chatted, she thought about how her life had changed by the recent events, but how it had also, well, kinda stayed the same.
The End.

Hi! My name’s Jojo! I would love if you could check out some of my newest projects!

I go by she/her, I’m a girl, I like pink and yellow, and I happen to be very good at debating. I’m a proud Aries.

-ThePugPerson-

SWC Daily:

2nd of March

I sat there off and unbothered like a great oak tree in the calm tranquility of a mysterious forest.On the inside I feel almost digital,technical like I’m some sort of…robot.”Where am I?” I ponder wondering if I should open my eye.Suddenly, I hear footsteps and muffled talking so I cautiously open my eye to see what is going on.As I look around, my vision is of a neat, fancy room with blue sofas and silver pillows and right in the middle of it..children.They stare at me as if I’m an alien who just landed on this here planet and look excited and wondered by me.After a few minutes of glaring at each other, an adult suddenly comes into the room holding some sort of torture device that they called a “Remote Control”.They pointed it straight at me and pressed a large, red button at the top…Suddenly, an light of electricity zaps through me and I can feel them changing me and sort of rearranging my body.The adult clicks a button and my body begins to talk like there are little people inside of me.All I can hear is, “Peppa pig oink oink” coming from me.The two well-groomed children just kept on staring at me ,or the tiny people in me at least,sitting on their fancy sofa’s,eating snacks and just watching.Watching me all day without even moving and again all I can hear over and over is “Peppa Pig oink oink!” It’s driving me insane.I must do something.I try to take control over my body and the only thing I could do is make it stop for a beautiful,silent second…For the next days all they did was sit and stare and the exact time each day watching me like a hawk and every day different tiny people came to entertain them.I just couldn’t stand this torture every day and sometimes every night when the adults came.I had enough so I simply didn’t wake up for them.They tried each day but I just simply wouldn’t get up.So, they dropped me off here at a TV store where there are others that look like me and think like me.

Amplified-

Kassie's SWC Tracker

Dailies :

March 1st :
does not exist

March 2 :
Of course, they give me to the five-year-old again. My chances of being dropped and shattered are now greater than ever. The young boy's mother grabs me from his sticky hands to spoon vegetables that will soon be thrown across the room onto me. Being a plate isn't the worst thing you can be. You get washed whenever you're used. You're needed and won't become one of those useless objects nobody ever thinks about. But the downsides do cast my kind in gray light. I'm soon later pilled with rice and curry sauce all carefully separated as to not cause an issue. The mother places me carefully in front of her son and hands him a fork.

He immediately uses his hands to shove the rice into his face and dips his fingers in the curry licking his hands before picking up the fork and using his little fingers to push the rice onto it. He smashes it into my and clangs it against my smooth surface. As he finishes his rice and curry he starts chanting more instantly. As he does he pounds his fork repeatedly into the table rattling all theof us plates and glasses on it. The feeling is quite unpleasant.

His father coddles him and tells him to eat the vegetables the rest on the untouched side of his place. The toddler doesn't seem to enjoy the idea and hits the tab;le full force and slides me and his veggies across the table to his mother. The dog waits at the floor besides him expectantly as he waits for the food to fall to the ground. His mother pushes the plate back in front of the young boy and takes a stab at the vegetables. She smiles and tells her son how yummy it is and tries to force it into his mouth.

After trying and failing for ten solid minutes. Both the mother and father give up. I'm thrown along with the rest of the used dishes into the sink to be washed and dried for use soon again.

March 3 :
The brushes clattered into the cup of water on the table turning the water an even more murky shade of green. I carefully pick up another brush clean and unused. It's bristled thin and brown just waiting to be dipped into color. I smile at the thought and turn to my palette.

The canvas in front of me is half done already after working on it for only a few hours. The sketching took me only forever, but it was worth it. My brushes stroke the white out of my sight and blend the colors as perfectly as ice cream on a hot summer day. The deep hues of blue and purple swirl in the mix in the background as the light green fills the leaves of a palm tree to be.

The first layer and more rough base is complete and I carefully grab it by the edge and place it by the windowsill. I let the colors dry for the rest of the afternoon and by the next morning, it's back on my canvas. Although now I'm delicately holding my pencil sketching around the areas defining them.

I finish my simple work to pick up a large brush and dip it into a sweet shade of blue. It hits the canvas in one smooth motion perfecting the sky. I finish the palm trees shading them lightly with a darker shade of green and leave the canvas to find a sponge. I go to the cabinet to search for one and find a rounded one clean and ready to use.

I take it back to my setup and pour a heaping of white paint onto a small paper plate. I lightly dab the sponge into it and use it lightly against the dried paint of the canvas adding creamy white clouds to the sunset-colored sky. I start with a small cloud and then another until the page has just the right amount.

It's almost done, but I still have to place it back by the windowsill as I let the paint dry. I pick it up an hour later and shade the clouds shades of red, pink, and orange. Completing the painting process. I admire my art quietly and grab a bin or markers to outline the trees.

I uncap the marker with a thick point and outline the trees one by one switching the markers I'm using on occasion to better fit the look. I find a fine tip marker and sign my name at the bottom with a smile on my face. I have an open spot in the gallery for it since I just sold another piece on the same canvas size days earlier.

I step down the stairs and walk through my art gallery and find its spot. I put a label on it and name it ‘Palm Trees in Paradise’ along with the price. I straighten it and take one final look at it as I turn away to go back and start a new project, to fill another open spot.

Weeklies :

Weekly #1 :
To Be Completed

Last edited by Amplified- (March 3, 2022 20:46:01)

Join Camp Pinelake Today!!

ashxmed_

March 2nd - Daily (I tried to write a haiku)

Mother rocks us to
sleep, humming softly, until we drift
off, asleep. She places us into

Lullaby’s bed, and tip-toes
to her room. Lullaby and
I sleep through the dark, scary night.

We awake the next
morning, when mother picks us
up, it’s breakfast time.

Mother made pancakes,
one for you, then one for me,
Lullaby feeds me.

We finished eating,
Mother carried us outside.
Playground here we come!

Mother drops us in
the swing, forward and backwards
we go, swing, swing, swing.

Mother helps us exit
the swing. Lullaby tumbles
into a puddle.

Splashing, Lullaby
tries to find me, finally
coming to save me.

My fluff is now wet,
soggy, and covered in mud.
“Wash time,” Mother says.

Seperated from
Lullaby, I cannot stop
thinking lonely thoughts.

As the years go by,
Lullaby makes new friends and
starts liking new things.

Her friends make fun of
me, and tease her because she
still cuddles with me.

I always listen
to what she has to say, and
help her anyway.

We still have good times,
but not always like the past,
Lullaby and I.

Gradually we grow
away, no more tea parties
or picnics with dolls.

No more fairies, or
stuffed animals. My baby
Lullaby has gone.

In her place, sits a
new, older version of her.
She’s still the same, though.

Different outside,
but the same on the inside.
Where has she run off?

Different, new friends
Always on technology,
Never sleeps with me.

My pale pink fluff is
getting old and dirty, my
long ears have been bit.

All the hard days I’ve
been there for you, why are
you not here for me?

All of the sad months,
I’ve held your hand, where’s the hand
I’m supposed to hold?

All these long years I’ve
stayed by your side, why have you
abandoned me now?

Through all the tears we’ve
shed, and all the happiness
we’ve shared, where are you?

322 words <> back to contents

'ello i'm ash, i'm the *new* editor of The Scratchly Gazette

SeltzerWater1000

Seltzers 1/2/22 MC Daily
(I have no clue what this is and why it exists)
+332
The Balled of a Bench

I am brown, wood,
Old, misunderstood
In middle of green I am bark
While you take an evening stroll in the park
I get sat on time and time again
While I provide a place to rest your head
While I sit here on the edge of death
Death
What is death is it when you have no purpose
Purpose
To have a use to someone in the world
Use
What is my use

To be a home for the homeless?
A matchmaker with no thoughts?
I am worn down to dust
And even then I do a lot
Is that my use?
To be there for you is that why I am here
On this planet
So you, people can pass by thinking I am only something
Something for them, something with no purpose other than to serve
What is this place
This selfish world
A place where everything and everyone is for anyone
But themselves
A place where nothing can be to just be
A place where inanimate objects don’t have a say in their use
In their purpose
We are put here to serve to be yours

But

I am an unthought about necessity in life
Who am I cause I cannot die
I keep living on day after day
Just to not be able to say
I kinda wanna die not gonna lie
Don’t worry I will keep on my
brown coat of paint
Even when its late
And let you lean on me
For everyone who passes by to see
For parents watching their kids in the baby swing
For you listening to this symphony
For me so I can keep on being
To be the greatest you will ever see
To be the thing I was built to be
To not lie in a pile of dump
And have a purpose in this world it's become
A place of ruthlessness of death
A place where a bench can be the only place to rest your head

Last edited by SeltzerWater1000 (March 2, 2022 20:45:20)

DashingDiamonds

==== Daily, March 2 =====
'Write from the perspective of an inanimate object'

I am a penny
I know what you are thinking-
Just another story of a penny-
Pretty generic, I know
Can’t help who I am.

My story started in the Philadelphia mint factory-
I don't know what the year was-
But I knew there was something wrong.
My face was distorted, my print broken.
I was a laughingstock
A broken glass
A nobody

I was taken out and put in circulation
It didn’t take long till I was in a register
No one took a second look at me.
At least-
My broken face-
my erroneous self-
Wasn’t looked at.
Maybe being alone was better
I had to think like that-
I was all alone.

I was finally taken out of that register-
Placed in someone’s wallet,
Go to new places.
I imagined a place-
A place with other pennies like me-
Perhaps, I would find a home
Perhaps I will find a friend.
I dared to hope-
Dared to glare-
Into a happy ending.
I shouldn’t have
I only made things harder for myself

Out of the wallet
And into the light
It took one look-
and the person threw me into the air
I was flying
For a fleeting moment-
There was happiness.
It didn’t last.
Next thing I knew
I was in the gutter
I was there for years
Unable to move
To speak
Unable to die
Not even fully able to live
Alone

It didn’t last forever though
Nothing lasts forever
A little girl picked me up
She didn’t throw me
That was the first spark of hope
In a long time.

I was put into another wallet
I was scared
Scared I would be
Stuck here.

The next day
I was put on a microscope
Inspected
Stared at
Then I was polished
Couldn’t remember the last time
I was that clean.
I kept expecting something to happen-
Something unlucky-
But for once,
It was just good.

I soon learned-
I was a rare coin
Its true,
I was a error-
My surface was distorted-
But for the first time,
I realized that was a good thing.

“Sold!” The man chided
“To the man in the striped tie
For twenty thousand dollars!”
I was sold-
People fought to own me-
I was special.

I was kept in a collection
I never got tired of it
I’m still not tired of it
The best part though-
Was with other coins like me.
Not being alone.

I suppose I should give
A cheesy moral now.
All i have to say-
Is you will find your people-
You will find your place
No matter how hard it is.
I did

So will you

Last edited by DashingDiamonds (March 9, 2022 23:01:33)

SeltzerWater1000

Seltzer’s In Cabin Daily:
+117 words

The Fish in a Dish who couldn’t grant a Wish

Fish in a bowl. Put in a hole. Hoping there will be no toll. Decided to fly away. For the day. Far away. It didn't want to stay. It wanted to find a home. So it could eat a bone. On its own. Out in the cold. Doing that was very bold. I tried to stop it but its mind was sold. On flying away. It might be gone for a day. But hey. Its just a fish, it could fit in a dish. Heck, it can’t even grant a wish. So what's so special about a fish? Not much but *swish*. There goes the wind. Oh and there's the fish. Flying back home to its dish.

Last edited by SeltzerWater1000 (March 2, 2022 20:54:02)

BlackWidow412

My Cabin daily
A love poem (NOT TO ANYONE)
You can send it to people if you want ❤❤❤❤❤❤ (just credit me)

You were and are my everything
Onto you, I will always cling
The warm feeling of being in your arms
That to me could come no harm
Every day, you take my breath away
I can’t keep my passion for you at bay
Every part of me you did enhance
In Love’s silly wild dance
Your crazy style
Your warm bright smile
You filled me with childish glee
And fantasies of you and me
As my great, true love unfurled
You became the light of my world
Forever you will have a place in my heart
That has been struck by Cupid’s dart
You are always on my mind
Constantly thoughtful, always kind
You, I will always love
A love that I can never get rid of
I don’t know what I’d do
Incomplete if not for you
My love for you just grew and grew
Always, always, I love you

pixel-doodles

Daily for March 2: 415 words
Curses. That little toddler is coming downstairs again. Three year olds are my biggest enemies. Just tall enough to reach me, but their minds aren't developed enough to figure out what I'm for. But mostly what I'm not for. She's running into the kitchen, so energetic I could have sworn she's connected to some sort of power source for the majority of her day. Her older brother is with her this time–he did the same thing when he was three also. Come on, Caleb… it's hero time. Speak for the ones who are unable to speak; communicate for those who cannot. How poetic. But obviously, this negligent boy doesn't have the mental capacity to care about a little old light switch that's been sitting on this wall for way too long. After all, I only provide light to the most important room in the house; the living room. Let's make a deal: you keep letting your sister turn me on and off over and over, and I'll turn on at night while you sneak your video games and reveal you to your parents. Sound good? No. Well, how foolish of me to stay optimistic. And what do you know, Kasi is bouncing into the room again like she's on a trampoline and stares at me in wonder. Don't you dare… and there it goes. Turns me on. I muster the effort to send my regards to the light bulbs overhead… but too late! The girl has already turned me off. So the light bulbs turn on, and before they can even take a breath, they go black once more. And on again. “My deepest sympathies,” I scribble on a little electrode, “the girl has struck again.” And send it over. I watch it go all the way up, they turn on, and… why do I bother? They go black as soon as Kasi flicks my switch. And she turns me on again. I send a blank electrode because at this point, it's not even worth the effort. The light bulbs go on. She flicks my switch off. They go black. And she turns me on. I send, “I hope you have a good time during their vacation scheduled for July 26 to August 3. Mark it on your calendars.” It goes up, and they turn on bright. Just when I brace myself for her to turn me off again, she waddles over to the couch and starts hitting her brother. I admit, he deserves it.

#poetryftw <33

BlackWidow412

My Cabin daily
A love poem (NOT TO ANYONE)
You can send it to people if you want ❤❤❤❤❤❤ (just credit me)
I posted this twice by accident and I don't know how to delete it sooo

You were and are my everything
Onto you, I will always cling
The warm feeling of being in your arms
That to me could come no harm
Every day, you take my breath away
I can’t keep my passion for you at bay
Every part of me you did enhance
In Love’s silly wild dance
Your crazy style
Your warm bright smile
You filled me with childish glee
And fantasies of you and me
As my great, true love unfurled
You became the light of my world
Forever you will have a place in my heart
That has been struck by Cupid’s dart
You are always on my mind
Constantly thoughtful, always kind
You, I will always love
A love that I can never get rid of
I don’t know what I’d do
Incomplete if not for you
My love for you just grew and grew
Always, always, I love you

Last edited by BlackWidow412 (March 2, 2022 20:56:02)

cheeseloverwv

3/2/22 - SWC daily #2 | writing from the perspective of an inanimate object
My life flashes before my eyes - or at least it would, if I had eyes. That dumb dog has gotten me out of the dishwasher again!
It’s tough being a piece of cutlery. Humans abuse us nonstop: dull our edges, scrape us against plates (ugh, the noise!), put us in their germy mouths without any concern for our immune systems… I could go on and on. The time I was dropped down the garbage disposal was a definite low. But this… this is just sad.
I’ve been a part of the family for a long time. I was created in a factory, then packed into a fancy wooden box with all my siblings and shipped to a store that was drowning in fake opulence and smelled like former grandeur. I don’t really know what happened, because it was very dark in that box and I couldn’t see, but the box tells me that a young couple came in one day and bought the whole set, including me. I was indignant for a while - how dare someone buy and sell silverware like pieces of trash! - but this family was nice. They used us for nice, non-disgusting food and washed me till I shone.
Then the kids came along.
At first the daughters used the “childproof” silverware. I felt those baby forks and knives’ pain, but mostly was glad it wasn’t me. Then, the kids got bigger. I was continually dropped, gnashed against teeth, dropped in the disposal on multiple occasions, but I endured it for the love of this family that had given me a home. At least I had a purpose, I thought.
That was all before the dog.
I’d heard the children talking about how they wanted a dog time and time again, but judging by the parents’ amused reactions, I thought they were never going to get one. I was horribly wrong. One day, the father came home holding a brand-new puppy. I was horrified. I had endured so much on the behalf of this family, but this was the last straw. I thought, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad?
Wrong again! Just two days after this dog arrives at his new home, he comes over to the open dishwasher. “Slurp, slurp, slurp,” he starts licking the dishes. His tongue is warm, and slimy… disgusting. I do have at least a little bit of dignity, after all. Then, he closes his needle-sharp teeth around my prongs and carries me out of the dishwasher. I cry for help, but nobody hears me. Or maybe they aren’t listening; humans don’t seem to care that much for the cutlery that enables them to eat while maintaining decent manners.
The dog takes me under the table and chews on me for a while. Eventually, the mom does find me and pries me out of the dog’s mouth. She dries me off with a towel and looks me over.
I’ll never forget what she said next:
“This fork has teeth marks over it. Someone could cut their mouth on this.”
They never saw me again.
Word count: 514
New total: 1407

Stingray

❝You may be right // I may be crazy // but it just might be a lunatic you're looking for.❞
-Billy Joel

Luna-Lovegood-LOL

main cabin daily ⍋ 03.02.22
word count: 334

its blade, their will - 03.02.22

Held in a valiant grasp, a cobalt blade ignites from the hilt. It hums with a searing heat, elegant, and graceful in its poise. It slices back and forth, incising metal and bone alike in the name of the greater good. It’s the only thing it’s ever known.

Swinging from a leather belt, the saber is a spectator as it watches its virtuoso perform grand feats of the Force. The saber is not of utmost importance to the consular, for they are a secondary solution to the consular’s preference of peace. But when its emerald beam is let into the light, it is vigilant, precise; wavering by a hairsbreadth as it’s controlled at the will of its master.

The crimson blade is filled with rage as it slashes and tears apart flesh and blood, leaving blackened scorches and bodies in its wake. Its core is fueled with the burning agony of the dark side, imposing an looming, uncontrollable danger to be reckoned with. The dark side holds no mercy, nor does its weapon.

Known best as to be wielded by the most legendary of the greats themselves, the amethyst sword shares an affinity to both the light and the darkness. Red and blue, dark and light, evil and good packed together into one. Ruthless and principled, the warrior possessing the blade strikes with relentless force by the will for glory. The blade goes along, for what else would it ever be meant to do?

Deep in the heart of a gleaming hilt lies a kyber cleansed of the poisonous roots that run deep through the world. The white rapier glows bright, pure, free. Fighting for neither the light nor the dark, but simply, for life.

. . .

Whether these lives sabers wished to lead is an enigma, but such a truth may be insoluble as well. Brought to life, each imbued with unparalleled cruxes of kyber, but inevitably mindless, obedient soldiers, held at the discretion of their overlords.

Because in the end, its blade, their will.

author’s note: honestly not my best work, but it’s only the start of swc! the idea is to improve :) the concept for this daily was the perspectives of different types of lightsabers. apparently, different colors mean different things!

a jedi wielding a blue lightsaber generally uses the more physical side of the force, ae. lightsabers and whatnot.
a jedi consular (green lightsaber), on the other hand, relies more on the intangible side of the force, mind tricks and stuff!
red lightsaber is sith/darksiders, fueled by anger and hatred. that one’s well established :)
purple lightsabers signify someone who grazes the edges of using both the light and dark sides. albiet being very rare, i believe there are both light and darksiders who have purple lightsabers- mace windu being the most iconic.
white lightsabers (AHSOKAAA) signify a pure kyber crystal; or neutrality. not a jedi, not a sith, just a force wielder in harmony with life itself.

there are more than that- but i thought that was interesting! rather than directly telling the story from the perspective of a lightsaber, i tried to subtly personify it by giving it human/life-like factors- “filled with rage,” “ruthless and principled,” “deep at its heart.” i also just tried to give each lightsaber a different “personality” if that makes sense.

the idea behind this is that lightsabers aren’t just inanimate objects brought to life in this case, they’re forces of dangerous power, mindlessly controlled by “overlords-“ the force users. i used words such as that and phrasing like “it’s the only thing its ever known” and “what else would it ever be meant to do?” to try and showcase this. i don’t think i depicted it as greatly as i could have, but i enjoyed playing with the concept :>

i feel like i always have cool ideas in my head but when i make them a reality they never reach full potential :sob:

i’d also like to credit @mossflower29 and her fandom fanatics writing comp entry, which contained the original concept of a lightsaber being brought to life! <3

also the fact that the author’s note is longer than the writing itself is absolutely hilarious xD

Last edited by Luna-Lovegood-LOL (March 5, 2022 23:55:11)

☾ luna (she/her) ┆ entp-t ┆ writer ┆ violinist
★ fantasy swc for the win!

take up arms, take my hand, let us waltz for the dead

FirestarForReal

test
*how to delete*
*scratch team or scratch writing camp people if you can delete this please do~~~*

Last edited by FirestarForReal (March 2, 2022 21:05:28)

robert32131

-MyNewAccount- wrote:
Ham19-01-2011 wrote:
(#8)
seasiide wrote:
Ham19-01-2011 wrote:
Can I make a table of contents to organise all my writing? Like:

Daily #1
Daily #2
Only if it doesn’t get linked to another thread. ^^ Someone please correct me if I’m wrong
(So sorry if this counts as off-topic !! qwq)
So it can link to a post in this thread?
I think this would be allowed don't quote me on this xD

high wycombe taxi

Discuss Scratch