Ok my writing thread horray!!
Mysteryyy yesssss

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Writing competition entry

Shadows of Luminosity
by theleapingleopard
1110 words

(BIG thanks to @booklover883322 for giving amazing critiques and helping me so much with the dialogue and flashbacks…. <3 AlSO if you don't get the boulder references, search up Sisyphus (Greek Myths) and you'll be enlightened. Anyway, hope you enjoy this jumble of my brains - )
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I stare up at the darkness, at the endless ocean, the infinite depths of emptiness; at the heavens, which are peace and pandemonium at once; layers upon layers of eternal chaos and everlasting tranquillity: each shade with a beguiling transience as a multitude of hues, darker and darker, layer on top of each other until sapphire blue morphs into obsidian black. The wandering intonations devour all luminosity, giving way to an oppressive weight - almost supernatural in its heaviness. Yet, the dangerous love of the darkness seems protective, shrouding me with its emptiness. Protecting me because it is me, because darkness is in everyone, just as stardust is in everything. Everyone is part of the night sky - part of the darkness, part of the stars.
Stars, those blazing jewels, with such beauty metamorphosing into deformed monsters or distorted heroes, because humans decided that they should be so - because humans decided that everything should be filled with our stories. But the fact that they chose both the monsters and the heroes… It just shows that everyone is both good and evil.

Eventually, though, the layers reverse again - lighter and lighter until liquid copper forms a crown on the horizon, heavy with beads of gold; blazing bright to announce the melancholy presence of the day. The sun, succumbing to the moon in their endless battle, mocks me with its grand entrance of bitter daylight, taunting me and tormenting me. The flames that now burn on the horizon will destroy everything. Nothing good ever comes once the sun rises - only anguish.

A haze falls on the city below, lulling it into false security. And, as the final tendrils of sunlight reach up into the sky, revealing the whole sun, the boulder rolls down. Just as it does every day. I look down at my hands: grimy, calloused, scratched - the boulder is my enemy. All around me, pinnacles of ice jut from the floor, from the cliff, from everywhere. They reflect the enchanting colours of the sky - the aureate glimmer and the bronze shine, the blues with indescribable depths and undulating shades. They turn the ice into jewels. But the ice mimics knives, to remind me that I’m being punished. To remind me that the boulder isn't my true enemy.

I sigh, before touching my hands to it.

“N-no… what the - I thought you’d be better than this. I didn't think that you would… no…” She stalked closer, angry lines forming on her face, the disbelief, the pain, the horror in eyes turning to disgust. “You betrayed your family!” She turned her back, crossing her arms in pure fury. “You know they didn't want this for you… they didn't want you holding… that… that…” She stuttered. “Thing.” She turned around, tears slipping from her eyes, spilling down her cheeks. “What were you thinking?” Before a word was said, she ran. Ran from me.
And because I knew her secrets, I had to follow. I had to convince her. “Come back here! I just don’t want to join the ranks of all the naïve idiots in this world: I want to fight, I want to use this!” I slammed the gun down on the table. At that, she spun on her heel, sharp, mid stride. The look she gave me made me stop in my tracks, “No, on the terrorist climate extremist group - whatever they call themselves. Whatever they’re called, they are eradicating humanity.”
A sardonic bout of laughter came from her lips. Her head shook with disbelief. “No they’re not. You’re just scared.” She crossed her arms and started to stalk away from me. Walking, with pure calm, away.
“And you… you’re just one of them, aren’t you? You’re one of the idiots who are destroying everything. I -” I could feel a lump in my throat, could feel tears beginning to gather in my eyes. I couldn't believe she betrayed me, I couldn't believe anything anymore after that moment.
“You what? Doesn’t matter anyway, but you do know that everything you say is wrong, right?”
“It’s not, I, I loved you. I trusted you. And, honestly, I don't want to shoot you but I will.” I wiped the tears from my eyes and tried to appear strong.
“Oh, I very much hope you won’t.” From her inside pocket, she revealed a gun. She threw it in the air, catching it with perfect precision. My hand flew to my mouth, “And, for your sake, I hope you still trust me. Because I think you’ll need to, or, likely scenario is, you die. You’re never past having to trust me, for good or for bad. But, oh, you’ll regret that you ever did.”



And I did. Lifelong torture really makes you regret something. Having to roll a boulder up specially manufactured ice, so it survives the sweltering heat, every day for your whole life really makes you think you’ve made some bad decisions. Being punished for eternity is agonising.
And the sun setting is my only relief. So, every night, when it comes, I relish it.
I stare up at the darkness, at the ephemeral ocean, the fleeting solace, wishing it will last forever.
But it won’t.
Because the climate activists, the ones who went rogue and extreme, destroyed everything. They ruined everything even more than it was ruined before, the moment they overthrew the government. Now everything is chaos - no laws, no order, no human rights or morality. They ruined the Earth too: the nights are getting shorter now, nobody knows why, and the days are getting hotter. It’s getting harder to breathe, and you can always see the sea, even in the middle of a continent.

But why is it me getting punished? I ask myself that all the time, even when I know the answer.
It’s to prove a point.

But I’m going to beat them. I’ll roll this boulder up the slope, all the way to the top, and then I will fight them. I will use every last bullet in the gun that I concealed in my jacket.

Every last bullet, for a fraction of what used to be called freedom. For a fraction of what used to be our world. That’s what drives me to not give in, to not give up. I watch the darkness turn into light every single morning and I loathe it, but it shows that it can happen - that darkness can turn into light, even in a ruined world. So, every night, and every day, I look down at the darkness that dwells in the city, and I convince myself that it is fleeting.


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WEEKLY #4

Part one:

The characters I got were (1) an introvert over 60 and (2) an ambivert from 1-10.
My setting colours were light blue and pink.


Character 1: Patricia Stewart (300 words)


Patricia is aged 70, but throughout her long life she has always loved people. She has always loved to be an onlooker on people’s beautiful lives, but she never really liked to get involved with them. She’s always loved to sing, not in a showy way, but sweetly, softly, for herself. The only time she sings for anyone is as a lullaby. Her wife passed away just before her 65th birthday, the day before their 5th wedding anniversary. They had been lovers for life, and her death left a gaping hole in Patricia’s caring heart. Without love, she became lonely, vacant from the world, however, she found great happiness in discovering the simple beauty of the world closest to her home and caring for others. She spends much time wandering fields, and has become known by some as ‘the gentle ghost’. Patricia is very generous, selfless and calm.
She lives in the small village of Stockwlyne (pronounced ‘stock-willne’), in a cottage she has occupied for the entirety of her life. She never had a real job - instead sold handcrafted and hand baked items at the local village market every Saturday, becoming renowned for her skill. Because of this, she is very well respected in the local community, as well as being a devoted Christian many believe has never sinned. But, despite appearing like a sweet old lady to many, Patricia grieves every day of her life and is very lonely. She is secretly angry at the world, her way of expressing it being to block everyone out even more than before. Inside, she has a lot of emotions - and a lot of love - that she has kept inside for years, and with no one to talk to, she has been teetering on the brink of depression for a long time.

Character 2: Ella Brown (300 words)

Ella is only four years old, but has had a lot of things happen in her life already. Her dad died a week after her birth, and 3 years later, her mum followed. The death of her parents, even though she was almost too young to comprehend it, left a scar on the child - making her smiles never fully reach her eyes, making her seem wiser and more solemn and melancholy than other children. She was informally adopted, since her parents had never registered her birth fully, but never started school. Instead, she spends most of her time outside, amongst the flowers. She loves animals - whenever she sees a bird, butterfly, woodlouse, rabbit or any other creature, she shouts out with boundless joy and stumbles after it. She gets immense happiness from her sense of hearing: birdsong, wind, the sound of rushing water, singing… They are the things that truly bring happiness to her. Ella is a curious, adventurous girl who is growing up to be immensely kind. Despite her adventures, she is very dependent on her few loved ones and the trauma of what happened with her parents subconsciously drives her decisions. Ella enjoys meeting new people, and likes to play with other kids, however she prefers smaller groups and easily gets tired and frustrated on the rare occasion she plays in larger groups.
She is a very emotionally mature child for her age, as people often remark. She is curious and creative, liking to discover new things and then creating elaborate fantastical stories to explain them. Some children think she’s ‘weird’ and often talk behind her back, but many adults think she’s very mature and interesting for a child of her age. But whatever people think about her, Ella ignores them, and displays her quiet, calm, gentle side.


Setting: (158 words)

A meadow lies before you, wildflowers swaying gently in the wind. All shades of pink, all species of flower, rippling in unison: bright tulips, pastel daisies, all shades of heather and every other pink flower you can visualise. They all sway under the power of the warm breeze. The sky, it’s the most perfect light blue, cloudless and perfectly still. If you were looking up at a sheet of glass, or a painting, that represented the sky, you’d see what you see now, in the meadow. The flowers sit on the top of the hill, spilling down far below, almost endlessly - until the pink morphs to green and hills stretch to the horizon. The only imperfection in the purely natural landscape is a small, sweet village, with a stone church and thatched rooftops. Otherwise, all there is is pink and green, and blue above. The meadow is the most beautiful place, as far as the eye can see.


Freewrite: (443 words) and carrying on story:
From the game: / make one of your characters speak gibberish / your character does something that is against what they would usually do / Your character falls unconscious. What happens when they wake up? / include three similes and a metaphor in what you've written so far / have a balloon carry a strange message / a character follows a trail of something /


Pink flowers ripple under the feet of two - a young child and an elderly woman. Soft, sweet singing leaves the mouth of one and reaches the ears of the other.
The sky, it’s the most perfect blue imaginable - cloudless, perfectly still, as blue as a blackbird’s egg - and is seen by many. But only the two experience it from the meadow.
“I'll sing you a song about flowers in spring… I'll sing you a song about birds on a wing…” the voice hums, almost in a whisper, as quiet as the breeze. The girl smiles. Yet there’s a flicker of something else in her eye: a subconscious grief. The woman has that grief too, but hers has been buried inside for a time. Together, arm in arm, they wander through the heather and tulips, the daisies as pink as candyfloss and foxgloves, bright pink bells,, taking in the view from their sanctuary. The flowers seem to stretch endlessly, until the pink morphs into green and rolling hills stretch to the horizon. The only imperfection is the village, down to which the flowers cascade, spilling down the hill in a waterfall of pink.
“Come, Ella, look! A -” The old lady, Patricia smiles as she calls.
“A, um, a butterflap, a, a, butterfly! It’s a… butterfly! Look!” The girl, only just past a toddler, runs after it, laughing with joy.
“That girl… you’d never guess her parents are dead, hey?” Patricia whispers to herself. “You’d think I’m her granny, wouldn’t you, Mar? They’d think we’re her grannies…” She trails off her thoughts before she ends the sentence. “But we’re both orphans of love… This meadow is our orphanage.” Tears start to slip from her cheeks, thinking about her dead love. And when Ella arrives from her butterfly-chasing adventure, she wipes them away and starts singing, as she only does for herself and for those she loves. She only allows herself to cry when the girl’s curiosity kicks in. The rest of the time, she cares for the child as if she is her own. “We’re both orphans of love… Children of the meadow.” She murmurs under her breath.
Every day, when the sun sets, a golden glow descends on the meadow. The pair savour their evening meal, before watching as the blue turns to gold, to indigo, to black. By then, the girl is fast asleep, but the woman sits. Sits and thinks about the past: about her renowned stall at the village market, about her renowned reputation as a Church-goer, but most of all about her wife… her dead wife. “My lifelong love, my - Oh, Mar, I miss you…” she whispers to herself, afraid that she’ll wake the girl and inflict more grief onto the child. “Life’s just not fair, is it?”
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“Life’s tipsy, topsy, lovidig, nonsecal, yothages, oh… framtijig… dethages…crimpathogemms… it’s all just craginp….” Almost a chant, yet a string of random syllables. .
“What are you speaking?” The little girl laughs.
“Nonsense, love, gibberish.” Patricia shakes her head, “It’s just my age catching up on me…”
“You’re not that old…”
“Oh, darling, I’ve had my life.” And all of a sudden, she bursts into tears, “I’ve had it, it’s over because she’s gone… not even you can replace her…” Tears stream down her cheek, screams spill from her mouth, “It’s over!” she cries. She sobs and sobs until she stops. She feels Ella, hugging her tight. One more tear falls, before a hint of a smile flits over her face. “Oh, love. I - you’ve filled the gap in my heart.”
Being young, all the girl replies with is: “Weird. I never saw any holes in you… Hm, you’re wrong.”
Patricia and the girl laugh.

“Here, look, a pretty flower!” Ella bounds up to Patricia, “I’ve never seen one of these before! What is it?”
“Oh no, oh no…” The lady shakes her head as she looks down at the poppy Ella holds beneath her nose, “Not those…” And falls into darkness.

When, hours later, she opens her eyes, blinking in the sunlight, overwhelmed by the sudden vibrance of the pinks, the first thing that she notices is the absence of the girl. “Ella? Ella… Where are you, dearie?” She called weakly, her voice low. “Where…?” She surveyed the meadow, squinting around until she saw her, searching for poppies. Whenever the little girl found one, she would rip it up with a battle cry and bury it in a pile of mud.
“Take that, evil flower!” She screamed, tears running down her rosy cheeks. “You made her gone. Don’t like you. Evil…”
The old lady is touched. “I’m not dead. I’m here!” She calls, regaining her strength, “I’m here!”
“Good, I was…”
“Scared? I know, so was I.”

It’s a few days later when the balloon comes. It’s bright green, as green as emeralds. It lands at Ella’s feet. The old lady is curious. Ella decides to pop it, with much delight. But as she does, a small piece of paper flies out of it.

YOU CAN’T HIDE FOREVER. THEY CALL YOU ‘THE GENTLE GHOST’ BUT ARE YOU REALLY GENTLE? OR IS THERE A DARKER TRUTH TO YOU…? COME AND I WON’T TELL THEM…

The note makes the old lady’s heart beat. Her mind starts whirring. Then she sees the trail of blue. “Um, Ella, sweetie, you stay here, alright? I’ve got to do something…” She follows the trail, step after step, her knees and back agonising her. She follows it, down, down, down. All the way to the village.
A man stands there. He smiles warmly. He gestures for her to follow him.
After a few minutes of walking, Patricia and the man arrive at a house: weather stones in all shapes and sizes, fitting together like a jigsaw make up the walls; hails and straw and sticks form a thatched roof; jade green ivy creeps up the walls and into the doorway. They walk into the house.

A woman stands there. As old as Patricia, as kindly looking as the man’s smile. “Hello Pat…” She looks down on the floor, guilt flashing over her wrinkled face, “I’m sorry. I didn’t have a choice.”
A look of pure shock and disbelief crosses Patricia’s face, “Margret? Mar, I… What? This can’t be real?” She bursts into tears before stumbling towards the other woman, “But, you’re… you’re dead…”
“No. I’m so sorry…”
They embrace, tears streaming down both the lover’s cheeks.
“What happened?” Patricia pulls away, confused.
“It’s a long story. But I think you deserve to hear it.” Margret sighs, “So. Before we begin, I just want to say that I always loved you. From the moment we met until now, my devotion to you has never faltered. But once we got married, people were horrible to both of us. You just ignored them, but you were always braver than me… It just got to me. They got into my head. And it was almost our anniversary, our friends had that big meal in the restaurant planned - remember? They’d booked us the table by the window, so we could watch the people go by, like you love to do, and they’d got balloons… I should’ve been excited, but, oh, I was so scared of what people would say. I couldn’t do it. I still loved you and I didn’t want to let you down, but I just could not take it any more. So I got a friend to tell you I was dead, and I ran away. I’ve always been smart, always been a trickster, you know that. So I ran away and started my own life, in the countryside, alone with nature - a bit like you. I lived in the hills for years, but there was always something missing - you. So, I had to come back. I found out about you and the girl - Ella, right? I’ve heard she’s a great little kid - and decided I had to find you again. I couldn’t live without you. So I got this man here to write a sinister little note and send a balloon and a trail, which you obviously found. I’m so, so sorry. But, Pat, if you can forgive me… I still love you and I’m ready to face the world, if we’re together again. We can raise the girl together and be a proper family. We can live in your meadow, the three of us. I love you, and I’m sorry I was too cowardly to put up with people.” Tears slip from her eyes.
“Oh, Mar… Of course I forgive you, stupid. I always have done! I love you, still, always, until we die. You’re the bravest person I know…”

They live in the meadow, the three, amongst the flowers. They sing together, they grow up and grow old as a family. They are the reunited orphans of love.
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Weekly 2:

TOTAL = 2378 words

Part 1, my total - 351 words
COLLAB STORY (with the amazing @Buddie_Helper)

Violet: The sky was a brilliant blue. The sun was shining brightly. The leaves rustled softly to the calm breeze. Ava, and her friend Emma, were excited. They both simply couldn't wait!

Me: Today was going to be perfect: a day, just the two of them, enjoying themselves at the beach. Ava pictured the golden sand sparkling, before the endlessly stretching sea.

Violet: They both got together and skipped to the beach, planning what to do. ‘maybe we could make HUGE sandcastles!’ Emma said, picturing a huge sandcastle, and she was in it, with a crown, like a queen. ‘And maybe we could collect seashells!’ Ava said. She was fond of collecting them, she had a whole collection.

Me: “Yes!” They both said in unison. Suddenly, the sound of the splashing waves grew louder: they were almost there! “Race you!” Ava laughed, before sprinting forwards, her legs carrying her faster than ever before, the excitement pushing her forwards, the warm wind on her back. Emma laughed, shaking her head as she slowly jogged behind, “I'm saving my energy for the swimming!” She called. But Ava didn't reply. Instead, she screamed.

Violet: Emma froze. “Ava?” She called, worried. Emma ran to see what had happened. “AVA?” Emma screamed, not able to find her. Emma looked everywhere, calling her name. Finally, she said, “okay enough with the jokes Ava, come out!” She said. She was expecting Ava to come out from somewhere, laughing, but surprisingly, no. Emma started to get scared, when she suddenly spotted something in the sand.

Me: Amongst all the scattered footprints were 2 lines unlike the others - fresh, looking as though they were caused by someone dragging someone else. And she could have sworn she saw a figure carrying another, swimming around to the next cove… “No, no… Ava…” she started sobbing as she collapsed on the sand. That’s when she saw the note.

Violet: Emma picked it up, trembling. She opened it. Inside, in rather scrawly writing, it was written, ‘COME TO THE CAVE TO GET YOUR FRIEND BACK’ Emma started at the note in horror. What? Which cave? Emma looked around. Ahh, there was a cave near that road… so she had to walk there. Emma ran towards the cave. It took her a few minutes though. She stopped when she arrived. She took a deep breath and walked in, and yelled, ‘HELLOOOO?’

Me: Her heart beat began to race. Her breathing quickened. She began to shake, her mind began to cloud and hide her thoughts in panic, in fear. But then she saw her - shivering, bedraggled, tears slipping down her cheeks. Ava. “Oh my g-god… Emma… I -“
“You scared me to death.” Emma ran forwards, sobbing, to embrace her friend. “No! No don’t, Emma, honestly. Trust me. You’ll… you’ll have to join me and the sentence will double for both of us. I’m so sorry.” “The sentence? Join you? What’s going on?”

Violet: ‘Wait I don’t understand-' Emma said, her voice trailing off. She gazed at Ava for a few minutes. Ava went on crying. ‘Ava- Tell me what’s going on.' Emma said, softly, and scared.

Me: “I’m sorry, Emma. My whole life I knew that this would happen… I did something really bad when I was very little and I was told that I would be taken one day, when I wanted to leave the least, when I loved life the most… and I would be a slave for 10 years. A slave to the mer people. I’m sorry, Emma, I love you… but never say you don’t believe in mermaids.”



Part 2, total 510 words
CHARACTER

Name: Sophie Sadler
Age: 13
Species: Human

Personality - Sophie is a smart, dedicated character with an amusing sense of humour and several quirks: begging for food and naming objects she likes, amongst others. Despite this, she is also a very caring friend. She can become stubborn, moody and sarcastic when she gets annoyed, often seeming bitter and sarcastic for a prolonged period of time. She is very dedicated to schoolwork, and cares a lot about it - and about beating her friends (although her banter with them often goes too far). Although she is a fairly confident person amongst her friends, classmates and teachers, she can be socially awkward and prefers not to approach or speak to people she doesn’t know. She appears to not care much about her looks or what others think of her; additionally, her few closest friends are very important to her and Sophie always likes to be around them. She gets on with most people, however once she has a negative opinion of a person she’s not likely to change her mind about them, and she also doesn’t like the idea of her best friends leaving her, although she doesn’t make it clear whether this is real or a joke, another of her quirks.

Wants, hopes and strengths - Sophie really wants to be successful, and to have a stable life. She has clear talents, such as maths and logic-based subjects, and likes to be the best at what she knows she is good at. She really just wants to exceed her personal best (and often beats herself up about it when she doesn’t) and has goals that mostly revolve around beating someone else's score or personal best - she doesn’t like losing, unless it’s to her friends. She hopes for a secure future, with a good job, a good education, and to be well liked. Another thing she really wants is good relationships - with her family, peers and teachers - as well as to help people, even though she enjoys laughing at pathetic fights or arguments between people she knows really won’t harm each other. One of her biggest strengths, even though it comes across as annoying occasionally, is her competitiveness, which leads her to always try her hardest. This leads to her being very successful, and rewarding herself when she does well. Sophie also admits her weaknesses and knows what she is good at, and what she isn’t, as well as being able to figure out the strengths and weaknesses of others.

Dislikes and fears - Her biggest fear, without a doubt, is failure. She can’t stand the feeling of not being good enough. But what she dislikes even more than that is people who don’t care when they fail. She just detests people who don’t try, people who are arrogant, more than anything else, people who think they are better than they really are. She also hates when people have the wrong opinion on other people, or on herself. Another fear of hers is being abandoned by her friends: she can’t stand the thought of being without them. She also has some social insecurities so is slightly scared of talking to strangers.

Part 3, 403 words
SETTING

The story will occur on a dangerous stretch of coast - with raging seas the colour of a sky before sunrise, of the chaos of a kingdom before a copper crown lays itself on a ruler’s head. The cliffs, jagged and perilously steep, look as though they were forged from obsidian. Wind, like a barbed whip, thrashes at the ground, at the cliffs, at the barren land above, as hail like bullets tumbles from the eternally dark sky. The small area by the sea seems to be in its own world - a constant, raging storm. It is hinted in myth and legend that the area emphasises all traits of a person, both good and bad, yet, once a decade, there is a night when all will be calm. The stories say that the storm and the magic will both disappear for those 24 hours, turning it into a strange sort of retreat for people who are brave enough. The area is known as Obsidian Cove by many, the Savage Shore by others; they all agree that bad things happen there. Above the cliffs lie a wasteland: expanses of withering bracken that grasp upwards like gnarled fingers; strange fossils of unknown creatures; cracked desert land, where no water penetrates. Strange hazy mist hangs over the area, making it impossible to see your hands, or recognise the person right in front of you… The mist brings a salty tang, and creates an echo of all noise - turning the wind and the sea into sounds like agonised wails and melancholy screams. Yet it also brings an eerie beauty to the place, setting a golden glow over the darkness, and causing bright lights, like stars, to appear floating in the clammy air. These orbs illuminate the darkness. Though, despite the strange beauty of the place, it all disappears once anyone ventures close to the cliff edge, leaving the darkness of the rock and the viciousness of the sea all to be seen. But even in that viciousness, silver flecks lie, iridescent lights in the darkness of the sea, giving it a beguiling beauty, even when you can hear the sounds of it slashing against the rock. The line of coast is an enchanting, dangerous place where looks are deceiving, if you can see through the mist, and the barren wasteland, filled with emptiness, changes into a raging sea beneath a looming cliff in a matter of metres…


Part 4, 152 words
PREMISE

Your main character is on a day out with a group of friends. The weather is perfect, and everything seems to be so much fun. Everyone’s feeling adventurous, and they decide to venture to a new place (whether within a certain place, e.g. a theme park, or just generally, whatever fits with your setting), imagining they’re explorers. Imagining that they will all claim this newfound destination, together, as a team. They’re a close group of friends, who know where each other stand on certain topics - they know what will cause any friction between them. They know what will cause arguments, what will turn them against each other. They get on amazingly, and everything seems to be great. That is, until the heat causes them to decide to be experimental, and a friendly ‘debate’ goes too far. They soon find out that it’s all fun and games, until the banter turns bitter…

Part 5, 1014 words
BRINGING IT TOGETHER
(Character by @–Scratch-Camp–
Setting by @ScarletTheArtist
Premise by @Stormy_brook
Thanks you three for amazing ideas! I modified them a bit to fit together but they're pretty much the same!)
NOTE: please don't read if you don't like slightly dark themes, it's quite… strange

Thick, fraying ropes sit in my pale hands. The beautiful chestnut horse trots before me, the gilded wheels spin. Wind is blowing through my hair and all I can see for miles is undulating green. I smile, shouting out, before the time on my watch tells me I have to get back. I sigh, knowing my duty, and turn the carriage around before I reach the boundary. The horse trots back to the ice palace’s gardens.
A man stands there, smiling with a manic cruelty, with a dark glint in his amber eyes and a crossbow in his hand. It’s pointed towards my mother. She stands across from the garden, looking at the flowers the colour of jewels, standing with perfect posture in her beautiful dress. I freeze, as does the horse, before anger consumes me: a mixture of terror, rage and shame engulfs me as I beat the reigns against the horse. As I tell it to go faster than it ever has before, straight forwards. Straight towards the man.

“Cindy Corda! What on Earth have you done?” Realisation crosses her face, “murderer! Guards, murderer, she… My… daughter… murderer… You are not my daughter, I loathe you and I never want to be associated with you ever again. You are not my daughter. You are a murderer, you hear me? You are a criminal, never forget it.”
But the way the law worked is that she was banished, her and dad, and I was put under my Aunt’s control.

I’ve hated my mum ever since. And my dad, because he didn’t do anything. He didn’t care.
I was punished, in a way, though. I was put in charge of the palace gardens, for life. I was brought up to be under the control of the monarchy - a member of high society, but imprisoned inside gardens with flowers you can never pick: if you do, you’re arrested. I’ve considered it - I think that this imprisonment is the word punishment - and I want to be a lawyer, not a gardener, not a princess. I’m smart, I don’t want to waste my life tending to stupid flowers everyone is scared of. If you pick one, you’re arrested. You’re killed. I’m also imprisoned inside myself… the memory of what I did, what was an intelligent decision to protect my mother, still haunts me. More now than ever before, 6 months since my… crime.

“Murderer!” A chant, a symphony of voices led by the cackling of my mother, laughing at me, terrified of me. “You are not my daughter!” She laughs, before turning and walking away into the darkness, “You are a murderer, Cindy…” Out of the darkness, a man with a dark glint in amber eyes smiles. “Oh, hello, dear.” Something about him seems familiar - the smile, the eyes - but I can’t place it. “I’m coming, Cindy, I’m comin’ to get you. Ha! Such fun… Oh, and remember, you’re a murderer, sweetie. And you see, thing is, bad things happen to murderers. Just givin’ you a heads up, love, so be prepared!” With a cackle of laughter he reaches out towards my throat, grasping towards me, smiling with a certain savageness…

I’ve been having dreams for a while now. But they’re just that - dreams. Stress from the accident, from keeping it inside. It’s just that, I know it. But he looks familiar, I swear, he’s the man I -

It’s a week after the dreams started. I’ve become paranoid, I feel like there’s someone watching me, all day, all night. I find myself looking under the bushes, glancing at the roses out of the corner of my eyes and thinking that it’s the red cloak the man was wearing the night I killed him (if he’s really dead - that’s the thought I’m scared to think). The dreams have turned into daydreams and hallucinations, always at the forefront of my mind.
“Ah, the murderer. Um, Cindy.” Everyone just refers to me as that, or worse, “I know it’s kinda dark, but, uh, the roses need trimming… The ones on the corner of the driveway. The ones, you know, where you…”
“Where I ran the man who was trying to kill my mother over? Yes, I know. I’ll do it, fine! Whatever!” Normally, I try to be polite - I’m renowned for it - but lately, the paranoia has gotten to me. I’m completely different.

Slowly, I make my way over to the bushes, the ones I’ve neglected. I’ve bribed the lower ranked servants to cut them for me, I’ve used all the good reputations I’ve built up to try and ignore what happened. But today there’s no choice - I have to do what I’m told. It’s night too, so no-one but me is out. Anyway, it means no-one will see me cry, hear me scream…There it is. The bush. Roses such a dark red in the absence of light, just clinging to the last shades of colour before they go into black. Thorns so sharp they could cut anyone. In the day, the bush’s silhouette looks like a rack of knives on the stone walls of the palace.
I lean down to inspect the base of it, where the biggest thorns are. I feel a hand around my mouth, a cold sensation on my neck. I see darkness, and a darker shadow in front of me. I feel a hand stroking mine, grasping me and making my hand tear the stem of a rose, picking one. I hear the words of my nightmares: “Hello Cindy. Bad things happen to murderers. But not if, like me, you have very valid justification. Not if no-one discovers you. Not if they think the victim just went mad and a thorn has stabbed them, and died of blood loss on their own in a cold, dark, palace garden they're in charge of. And not if the person who’s found dead is found with a rose in their hand that they’ve picked… Tut, tut, tut, Cindy. Two crimes. And here I am having heard good things about you. Well, it doesn’t matter now, does it? Goodbye.”


________________

Hi, I have a doubt that if we have written somethjng in other language so how will in be counted? Number of words in translation to english of number of words in the language itself?

*This will be updated over the session
Hey! This is Reva, I go by she/her pronouns. I am in Mythology :] Hoping to have a great session with you all!

✂ - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -




✎ 1st March
✎ 3rd March
✎ 4th March
✎ 8th March
✎ 9th March
✎ 10th March
✎ 11th March- No Proof
✎ 12th March- Roleplay Day- No Proof
✎ 13th March



✎ Weekly 1
✎ Weekly 4



✎ 1
✎ 2
✎ 3
✎ 4
✎ 5
✎ 6



✎ Writing Competition Entry



✎ Other

INTRODUCTION

Hi, I am Purvi. I am an Indian girl. My timezone is IST and I love astronomy. I am passionate reader and this is to keep a track of my writings. I am in Dystopian.

Thank You!

Note- I was not able to add many of the writings here as they were in form of comments or were handwritten so proof had not been shared or were lost in this thread.

Word Count- 1168

DAILIES

1. 1st March 2022(introduction of me)
2. 5th March 2022 (Your dream superpower)
3.
4.


In cabin work

1. 1st March 2022(dystopian future)
2.
3.


WEEKLYS

1.
2.


WRITING COMPETITIONS

1.


WORD WARS

1. A misunderstood case (Won)


OTHERS

1. Weekly #2 incomplete
2. Weekly #1 incomplete


Thank you for seeing this. I will appreciate it if you read my writing. Please comment any suggestions of feedback on the thread and share its link to me or share directly on my profile. I am comfortable to any feedback bit please do not give feedback if you do not like and you cannot tell what you did not like… Please tell what you did not like too.

Thank you once again!
Purvi


#DystopianFTW ×1000000

ꕀ dailies.

↺ march 1
↺ march 2
↺ march 3
↺ march 4
↺ march 5

— ➴ —

ꕀ weeklies.

↺ week 1
↺ week 2
↺ week 3

— ➴ —

ꕀ competition.

↺ insert here

— ➴ —

ꕀ word wars.

↺ insert here

— ➴ —

ꕀ other.

↺ insert here

Rea's table of contents

Dailies 1) ..March 2nd ~A Friend~.

2) .March 6th ~thank you dear forest~..

Weeklies:

Writing competition:
Writing comp. entry– Hello….

❂ Blue's March 2022 SWC Table of Contents ❂

Hello!
If you followed my bread crumbs here, I welcome you, fair traveler, to my candy abode. There are snacks here too, but I guess you should trust your judgement on that one. If you just so happen to be a normal individual who has come across my thread, a belated welcome to you as well. This is my fifth session in SWC and each time I've been in a different cabin. This session I'm with the Lords, Ladies, and Overlords of Terror in Horror Cabin. Spooky!

Alright, see you around. I have bread crumbs to leave and sagas to oversee.

❂ Stats ❂

>> General:

Dailies Completed: 6/31
Weeklies Completed: 0/4

Word Count: 4,358/ 30,000

>> Word Wars:

Wins: 1
Losses: 4

Win Percentage: - - -
Lose Percentage: 60%

Total Words from Word Wars: 1,063
Number of Word Wars Participated In: 5

❂ Dailies ❂

>> March 02
>> March 03
>> March 04
>> March 07
>> March 08
>> March 09 (Completed; No Writing Required)
>> March 13 (Completed off Forums; No Post Required)
>> March 14
>> March 17
>> March 22

❂ Weeklies ❂

>> Week I
>> Week II
>> Week III
>> Week IV

❂ Word Wars ❂
This will be a collection of all of the Word Wars during this session. I expect them to be short in length unless my opponent wants to, or is comfortable with a long round. They will be shared on this post, rather than a series of individual posts, like with my dailies or weeklies.

March 7, 2022 (12:41 AM in UTC Time) || Word War w/ @mossflower29 || Words: 150 || Outcome: Loss
Yōsuke spent a peculiar amount of time at the sea. Even in the dead of winter, when the snow coated his eyelashes and his clothes, he found himself sitting along the shore. The man wasn't sure where the fascination originated from, in all honesty, it was just an indescribable pull that drew him there with every spare moment of life. On this particularly, foggy morning he arrived with the intention of photographing a new portion of the landscape he found in the crag of a overhang. The salty water washed in and out as he squeezed through the thin crevice, mindful of keeping his camera well above the water and safely tucked away from potentially cracking against the uneven walls. In a moment's time, he arrived on the other side. A secluded little tide pool greeted him. The overhang, kept the snow the creatures inhabiting the place cozy and particularly…

- - - - - - - - + - - - - - - - -

March 7, 2022 (9:41 PM in UTC Time) || Word War w/ @Basic_Potato || Words: 190 || Outcome: Loss || Prompt: “Gosh, I wish I was you.”

He often found that his eyes were drawn to her. Glued and stitched to her form as she walked with indomitable power and confidence. She could befriend anyone and talk a storm up with quietest of kids. A spark of envy ignited him and, yet, he couldn't help but adore her too; Caught in her web and patiently waiting for the worst to come; The fallout - the imminent devouring. She knew. She knew it would be an eventual occurrence, she was neither strong enough or driven enough to outrun the grasp of fate. So, instead he supported her and clapped dutifully when she won another award, certificate, or praise. She deserved it and he knew she deserved it. The tricky thing about a spark, however, is that the following flames are often the hardest to put out. He ignored the pain clutching at his heart with every clap of his hands and every smile his sister shot him. There she was again, surrounded by a crowd of friends and adorned in a newfound medal. And all he could do was stand in the sidelines, “Gosh, I wish I was you.”

- - - - - - - - + - - - - - - - -

March 11, 2022 (10:39 PM in UTC Time) || Word War w/ @Whimsy_lux || Words: 242 || Outcome: Win ||

From her childhood, she knew she was meant to be born in a different galaxy - not here and not not now, but on one, far, far away. It was instinctual, like those around her were one with her, and not; like things were familiar and yet things were out of place. When she was five, she was gifted a nice little astronomy kit and suddenly her nights were spent in the front yard, peering through the shadows of the trees to try and match up the guide to the real thing. Since then she committed to the near universal childhood goal of being an astronaut. It burned through her, the feeling of being here and not amongst the stars. That she couldn't have been born just a few years earlier and been old enough to be training for all the programs she reads about online. So, instead, she spent her time excitedly pointing out the constellations to anyone who would listen. Learning so quickly and passionately, she became the go-to-professional by the time she reached third-grade. At around the same time, she devoted herself wholeheartedly to studying the sciences and mathematics (blegh!). I mean, what astronaut couldn't do basic arithmetic! The thought made her laugh, and so she studied ever harder to memorize the times-table and learn long-division and so and so on. Science, on the other hand, was still as fun as it had always been. All things alien and new.

- - - - - - - - + - - - - - - - -

March 13, 2022 (9:29 AM in UTC Time) || Word War w/ @Scarlett_makesart || Words: 227 || Outcome: Loss ||

He had noticed a sort of icky creeping in the depths of his soul - like tangled vines slowly absorbing his heart and intertwining themselves between his ribs. It was a heart clenching feeling, as if he should rot or succumb to his nostalgic desires. He wasn't sure when the feeling was born, nor really sure for what he had become nostalgic for. He wasn't particularly old as far as things went. Being recently turned thirty, might have been the cause. Though, he hardly ever thought much of his birthday in the first place, starting now would almost be dumb, without any sense of the word. Although, he supposed he had always been the ‘dumb’ type. He shrugged and he began to scroll on his phone again. Getting from work and heating over the leftovers from the dinner he bought from the restaurant down the street had been his routine, for, how long now? Long enough that his mother would call him up if she ever found out, he supposed. His father would give him a good scolding for leaving his apartment a mess too, he guessed. Well, there was always something to complain about in someone else's life and always something to complain about in one's own life as well, often correlating. Man, he was too young to be nostalgic and way too young to be philosophizing.

- - - - - - - - + - - - - - - - -

March 13, 2022 (11:51 PM in UTC Time) || Word War w/ @striing-lights || Words: 251 || Outcome: Loss ||

Logistically, she knew she was lucky to have a job that she enjoyed a majority of the time, but as of late she couldn't help but count off the time before she could clock out. Maybe it was the winter blues? To be frank, she loved her job, she had gone for college to get the appropriate degree, paid the fees and graduated in the Top 20 of her class, and yet, she still couldn't escape the boredom that overtook any job when the novelty and ross-tinted glasses shattered. It was inevitable, she guessed. The same feeling had been followed her during college when she had taken on a few part-time jobs and those weren't nearly as enjoyable as being a graphic designer, as she was now. Honestly, she had nothing to complain about. She had a nice yearly pay, her boss was amiable enough, and she got paid leave throughout the year. She sighed as and she adjusted the vector shape again. Man, she hated using Illustrator. She had used it throughout high school and college, and she still hated using the program as an adult. Maybe she could have looked just a little bit closer for a another job that could bypass the accursed program. Well, she could have become a traditional artists, she supposed, but she was dreadful at managing herself without the looming pressure of a corporate boss or professional breathing down her neck. She shuddered at the thought of all of the apologetic emails she would…

- - - - - - - - + - - - - - - - -

March 14, 2022 (1:05 AM in UTC Time) || Word War w/ @YorkiesAreAmazing123 || Words: 242 || Outcome: — ||

There were some feelings, she found, that could encapsulate a broad variety of her experiences and still not be enough to convey the exact expression of her emotion. Other times, she found that only one word could describe her blistering, boiling feeling - whether passion, love, anger, or otherwise. It was weird that emotion fostered it such an absurdly inconsistent manner, or perhaps, rather than her emotions being the oddity, she herself was the root of the problem. She liked to think it was a fair mixture of both, for who was one without their emotions every step of the way? She knew she an emotion tween anyway, it was preached to her the day she cried over seeing a butterfly caught in the web of a spider. Minor things caused a ruckus of emotion, sometimes the largest things left her abundantly disinterested. Perhaps it was a matter of sympathy? Pity? Empathy? She wish she could explain it, justify her feelings with every word in the books - no matter the language - until, someone, anyone, understood her outrage over the matter. Then, again, that was an emotional thought in the first place. She sighed, and rolled over. Her midnight thoughts, usually already extravagant in natural, were particularly biting in nature as of late. Maybe it was growing pain? Maybe she just had something strange to eat before bed? Who knew honestly? The answer was perhaps as much as a mystery as the questions themselves.

- - - - - - - - + - - - - - - - -

March 14, 2022 (8:29 PM in UTC Time) || Word War w/ Shadowssong || Words: 58 || Outcome: Lose ||
I usually write a short story during my word wars, but for this one I'm not particularly feeling the urge to write anything. Which is a bit strange. I think all of my creative juices were stolen from today's main cabin daily, honestly. I wrote about a town that celebrates Pi Day, but I wrote it like a …

- - - - - - - - + - - - - - - - -

March 15, 2022 (6:42 PM in UTC Time) || Word War w/ @Whimsy_lux || Words: 223 || Outcome: Win
Her schedule was a simple one. Well, she says that, but to any other individual it would be chaotic. I mean, who couldn't follow her itinerary. It wasn't too difficult. She just had to be awake at 5:30 AM, off to her first college class in the morning, attend her normal high school class immediately after, leave at lunch time to work until 3:00 PM, and then return to school or elsewhere to meet up with whatever after school activity she had. Man, now that she thought about it, her schedule might be a bit particular. Not terrible, of course, not, but not fantastic either. I mean, her eye had been twitching a lot recently and she almost fell asleep in her fifth period math class recently. But, I mean, her schedule is fine. Right? There's no way she's overworked herself. In hindsight, maybe she should have scheduled her college classes for the afternoon so that she could sleep in and comfortably manage being up late working on a last minute project. I mean, she had completely forgotten about an assignment recently. Completely and utterly forgot about the assignment and it's heavy one-hundred point value. She still groaned thinking about the feeling of dread she felt when she opened up her online gradebook. Geez. So, maybe she's overworked at the moment.

- - - - - - - - + - - - - - - - -

March 19, 2022 (7:45 PM in UTC Time) || Word War w/ @i_like_kotlc || Words: 266 || Outcome: Lose ||
There were some benefits to working in a bakery, even though small he would gladly take them over working in any other fast food service. Sure the hours were long, often having to come in early to begin baking, and sure he was often tired driving home, but it was good work. His clothes, more often than not, carried the sweet scents of the baked goodies home and he often found flour somewhere in his hair. It was the simple stuff. He couldn't hate the job even if tried, even on the days when customers were particularly moody or demanding. Just the other day, for example, this mom had called in demanding a cake and an excessive large batch of cookies. While he generally would have been glad to take the offer, receiving the call two hours before closing and with the deadline a day later was hardly something he was excited about. So he declined, of course, and then he was verbally reprimanded for ten minutes about his lack of customer service or whatever. He couldn't win with those types, but he still found he liked the job. It was nice. On the good side, he got to deal with people who were excited to surprise loved ones. Last month he got to write a series of weird messages on a cake as two people sent 4''- 10cm cakes back and forth. He couldn't tell you why they were doing it - each message more cryptic than the last - but he hoped it was in all good jest. If not, it sure was an expensive argument.

- - - - - - - - + - - - - - - - -

March 22, 2022 (9:34 PM in UTC Time) || Word War w/ @ayid_7345 || Words: 109 || Outcome: Lose ||
Realistically, he knew there would be inevitable consequences for his actions. He had calculated in the risks, but somehow he hadn't anticipated this tragedy - perhaps hoping for a smidge of morality from an inhuman lot. He had been naive. Blindly so. He had anticipated being burned at the stake or drowned, or hung, or tortured or any other option the King so pleased for his actions, but accusing his mother of his crimes was not what he had anticipated in the slightest. His feet were bare and caked in dirt. He was filthy and tired and yet he had returned to find the town crowded in the square. Waiting…

❂ Writing Competition Entry ❂

Of Curiosity and Folly

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>> My Previous Year's Forum Logs <<
November 2021

Claiming this post I guess XD
===
Hey there! I'm Ellie and I have almost no idea how this works I can't wait for this, it's my first time. I go by she/her pronouns, and I'm a huge fan of writing, drawing, cats, and Nintendo (yeah, bit of a gamer). Oh, I forgot, I'm part of the Dystopian group! But, this ain't important, let's get to my writing stuff:
===
Word Count:
—————–
(I think) 1,322/20,000
===
Dailies:
———-
March 1st: https://scratch.mit.edu/discuss/post/6081351/
March 2nd: https://scratch.mit.edu/discuss/post/6081506/
March 3rd: (insert link here)
and so on and so forth…
===
Weeklies:
————-
March 3rd-9th: (insert link here)
March 10th-16th: (insert link here)
March 17th-23rd: (insert link here)
And because of my lasiness, insert rest of text here
===
Word Wars:
—————-
Number I've been part of:
Won:
Lost:
Extra info:
===
Writing Competition:
—————————
Nothing yet
===
Others:
———-
Also nothing yet
===
If I've missed something or seem like I've got the wrong idea on something, let me know, I'm still learning about this ^-^

I have a writing thread that I've been using for a while for all the writing camps on Scratch, am I still allowed to use that one? (I'll gladly use this, it'll just be easier for me to find when I need to share proof quickly)

ScarletTheArtist wrote:

I have a writing thread that I've been using for a while for all the writing camps on Scratch, am I still allowed to use that one? (I'll gladly use this, it'll just be easier for me to find when I need to share proof quickly)

you can use it as long as you only edit one post in the thread- posting even in an old thread can still bump it up.

Here's my link: https://scratch.mit.edu/discuss/topic/571028/
This link was approved

crxchetinq- wrote:

ScarletTheArtist wrote:

I have a writing thread that I've been using for a while for all the writing camps on Scratch, am I still allowed to use that one? (I'll gladly use this, it'll just be easier for me to find when I need to share proof quickly)

you can use it as long as you only edit one post in the thread- posting even in an old thread can still bump it up.

Alright I'll decide whether to use this one or my old one in a bit

11007567 wrote:

Here's my forum: https://scratch.mit.edu/discuss/topic/571028/

hey, do you have permission from the hosts to have an individual forum? ^^

Hello! My name’s Blue, they/them, I’m in the Fantasy cabin!

+ Feel free to critique my work! +

- - - Main Menu - - -
- - - My Writing Project
https://scratch.mit.edu/projects/653390731/

- - - Total Word Count:
2818/5,000
+383 words (In-Cabin Daily march 1)
+466 words (Main Cabin Daily March 1)
+513 words (Main Cabin Daily March 2)
+679 words (Main Cabin Daily March 3)
+244 words (Main Cabin Daily Pt 1 March 8)
+533 words (Main Cabin Daily March 10)
(Goal: 5,000 words)

- - - Main Cabin Dailies:
March 1st
March 2nd
March 3rd
March 8th (Part 1, I couldn't finish pt. 2 in time )
March 9th
March 10th

- - - In-Cabin Dailies:
March 1st

- - - Weeklies:

- - - Cabin Wars:

- - - Word Wars:

- - - Other:

Hi! My name’s JoJo, and this is my SWC writing table of contents! Feel free to read my work, comment or critique on it, or just start up a convo! My cabin is Hi-Fi :)
⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰
Main Cabin Dailies:
March 2nd
March 3rd
March 4th
March 7th
⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰
In Cabin Dailies:
⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰
Weeklies:
March 3rd-March 9th
⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰
Word War Proof and Info:
⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰
Writing Competition:
⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰
Other Writing:
Carla
⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

✯Introduction✯

Hi! I'm Sofi, and my pronouns are she/her. I'm a proud member of the Non-Fi cabin, also hoping to join the fiblings tri-war! All my writing will be organised into scratch projects, so this is where the contents is. Non-Fi for the win!

✯Word Count✯

2659/10,000

✯Table Of Contents✯

Dailies:
2nd March
3rd March
4th March
5th March
6th March
Weeklies:

Writing Competition:

Other Writing Stuff:

In Cabin Dailies
2nd March

Word Wars
#1 - 7th March

*Introduction*

Hi! My pronouns are she/her. I'm in Hi-fi!

*Word Count*

0/6,000

*Table Of Contents*

Cabin Dailies:
3/1: https://scratch.mit.edu/discuss/topic/582424/?page=12#post-6080782

Dailies:

Weeklies:

Writing Competition:

Other Writing Stuff:

-MyNewAccount- wrote:

11007567 wrote:

Here's my forum: https://scratch.mit.edu/discuss/topic/571028/

hey, do you have permission from the hosts to have an individual forum? ^^

Sorry, I didn't know. I changed it. Thank you!

Celes's Swc March 2022 TOC
┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄ ✄
ˏˋ°•*⁀➷
Word Count┊4k/10k

┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄ ✄
ˏˋ°•*⁀➷
Dailies┊March

March 1
March 2
March 3
March 4
March 5
March 6
March 7
March 8
March 9
March 10
March 11
March 12
March 13
March 14
March 15
March 16
March 17
March 18
March 19
March 20
March 21
March 22
March 23
March 24
March 25
March 26
March 27
March 28
March 29
March 30
March 31

┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄ ✄
ˏˋ°•*⁀➷
Weeklies┊March

Weekly 1
(I didn't finish the third and fourth part so I had to just link my favorite part I actually did do lol
Weekly 2 (*insert date*)
Weekly 3 (*insert date*)
Weekly 4 (*insert date*)

┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄ ✄
ˏˋ°•*⁀➷
Word Wars┊March

Word War 1 (won or lost)
Word War 2 (won or lost)
Word War 3 (won or lost)
Word War 4 (won or lost)
Word War 5 (won or lost)

┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄ ✄
ˏˋ°•*⁀➷
Writing Comp Entry┊March

*insert entry link*

┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄ ✄
ˏˋ°•*⁀➷
Other┊March

*insert links*

┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄ ✄

11007567 wrote:

(#100)

-MyNewAccount- wrote:

11007567 wrote:

Here's my forum: https://scratch.mit.edu/discuss/topic/571028/

hey, do you have permission from the hosts to have an individual forum? ^^

Sorry, I didn't know. I changed it. Thank you!

it's fine, hehe ^^