July 2023 SWC Writing Megathread

Hello and welcome to the official SWC writing thread! This thread is for any SWCers to share writing so we don't all have to make our own writing threads. Additionally, the second post of this thread will be a sort of “masterpost” of rules and info about SWC for campers <3

Please read through the first post of this thread whether or not you have read it before - our rules are changed and edited every session as we work on improving SWC! Yes it's long, but all of this information is important for you to know, because we share the forums with the rest of Scratch! If you have any questions afterwards, please ask me or another host on our profiles - that way it's easier for you to get a response without clogging up this thread <3

What you can put here:
Any writing you do during SWC (whether daily, weekly, word war, writing competition entry or just your own writing) can go in this thread! You can either make a new post per piece of writing, or make one post and edit your new writing into it - either is fine!

Please try not to have conversations or chat here - you can post writing, give critique and discuss others' writing but if off topic conversations happen here, it's likely the topic will be deleted or closed by the Scratch Team. We'd like to avoid that. <3

Remember to check any writing you post to make sure it does not contain any personal details or private information. If it does, you can either edit out/change the details or not post the writing! Stay safe online ^^.

Ways to use this forum:
There are two main ways to use this forum - but other ways are okay too!

Making one post and editing your new writing into it. If you use this method, please edit new writing into the top of your post, so it's easier for leaders to find!

Making a new post for every writing piece (you could also include an optional “table of contents” post which contains a list of writing pieces and links to them!)

Reporting posts
Please don't hesitate to report other posts if you feel you need to! Valid reasons to report posts include:

- The post shares private information
- The post contains rude/offensive language
- The post makes you uncomfortable
- The post is spam or off topic
- The post does not belong in this topic
- The post otherwise breaks Scratch's guidelines or makes you uncomfortable

When you click report, you will be provided with a comment box to explain why you reported the post - and please do so! It helps the forum moderators understand what you want them to do.

On the Scratch forums, there are lots of reasons you can report things other than that they're inappropriate. Reporting is not trying to get the user in trouble, picking on the user, or going behind their back - it's simply helping to keep the forums organised, tidy and scratch safe. You won't get in trouble for reporting a post that doesn't need reporting, as there are no rules as to what does and doesn't need reporting. So it's fine to report posts that don't belong in this thread, are off topic, or are spam as well as inappropriate posts.

Discussing people's writing
It's completely okay to respond to and comment on people's writing here. However:

People won't necessarily see your responses to their writing, because they don't get a notification when you quote their writing. Instead, you can comment on their profile, either commenting on their writing there or saying something like “hey! I responded to your writing piece here: <link>”

It's also fine to give critique to others' writing here, but make sure to give the person the link to your critique!
Also, please keep in mind that not everyone here will want critique on their writing! Make sure to ask permission before giving anyone critique.

To get the link to a post, right click the top left corner of the post, where it says the date and time it was posted. Then click “copy link address”, and paste the link wherever you need it:



Personal writing threads
Personal writing threads will be allowed this session! However, please only make one forum topic for just your writing - put it in the "Things I'm Making and Creating" forum, and use that topic for the whole of this SWC session. This means not creating a new topic for, say, your writing competition entry, and certainly not creating a new topic for each writing piece, as this is a nightmare for forum moderators and other people using the forums.
It is still highly recommended that you use the megathread in order to be considerate to other forumers! Having a lot of different writing topics makes it harder to find other topics, so please consider carefully whether you'd be willing to use the megathread before creating a personal topic

Other Ways to Share Writing
Not everyone wants to share their writing in the forums, and that's fine - here are some other places it's okay to share your writing!

You could create a new scratch project (perhaps on an alternate account if you don't want to share writing on your main account!) and share your writing as an in-project comment, in the description and notes and credits, or pasted into a costume using the text tool.

You can take a photo or screenshot of your writing and either put it inside a scratch project or upload it to cubeupload, then share that link. You will need an account to use cubeupload, but it's a safe way to share images and the Scratch team allows it.

Please note that blankslate is not allowed. If you don't know what it is, it's a writing sharing program that we used to use frequently in SWC but is no longer allowed because of its lack of moderation.

Do not attempt to bypass Scratch's filter in order to share writing on sites that are not allowed. Not only are these sites banned for a reason, but you will get caught if you attempt to share links to them on Scratch. Proof shared via other sites will not count. Cubeupload is the exception to this rule, as it is allowed by Scratch in order to share images on the forums

Thanks everyone, and happy writing!

(Many thanks to Kat, Sun and Honey for writing the megathread post in previous sessions)

If you believe any of these rules shouldn’t apply / should apply differently for a specific case (e.g. adding a daily when this guide says not to), take it to the hosts! We’re happy to deal with edge cases and/or disputes on an individual basis. Questions about these should be taken to your leader or a host's profile, not asked here

Rules with a ⚡️ next to them are new this session! Please pay extra close attention to them.

TLDR

• Only literary words may be added - see the first section below for a full description of this!
  
• Leaders may ask for proof of writing if they believe the amount you're adding is unrealistic.
  
• You must give an explanation of what you were writing when you add words. Leaders will not add words without this.
  
• You may not add more than 10,000 words at once.
  
• Dailies and weeklies must be commented in the Main Cabin before they end, even if the description has not yet been updated.
  
• Proof for dailies and weeklies must be shown on Scratch. There will not be exceptions to this rule for having inappropriate writing.
  Proof of winning a word war isn't necessary - they're run on an honor system.
  
• Please do not escalate arguments! Simply stop responding and report any offensive comments.
  
• Make sure not to take cabin rivalries too far and remember that the point is to have fun!
  

Adding words

You can add words whenever you write literarily using your cabin’s word counting method - this will most likely mean commenting the number of words you wrote in your cabin’s word counting location (this will likely be a studio but could also be a forum, profile or project!) as well as a summary/brief description of what you are adding. (E.g. “+503 words for part of an essay”.)
Your leaders will add these words to your total.
We keep track of words during SWC as they make up part of a cabin’s total points at the end of the session as well as acting as a motivation factor for campers.

*See a list of things that count below:

What counts

• Roleplay - As a guideline, you should be somewhat in character and there should be description of actions in addition to dialogue
  
• Fictional writing
  
• Non-fictional writing
  
• Literary journal entries
  
• Writing in another language - if you’re unsure on how many words to add because the language counts writing in a different way (e.g. character counts in Chinese), Google Translate it to English and use that word count. We hope that this will be close to the number of words it would be in spoken language, but if you have a different suggestion, please let us know!
  
• Schoolwork - essays, assignments that include literary/analytical writing (such as worksheets requiring analysis of parts of a novel) but not note taking or non-literary writing such as writing out math problems
  
• Giving critique (but only the words you wrote! If you gave 1000 words of critique but 300 of those were quotes of the original writing, add 700 words)
  
• Stream of consciousness writing
  
• Vents/rambles
  
• Formal emails that are longer than a paragraph
  
• Explanatory SWC dailies that are longer than a paragraph
  
• Words from comics
  
• Parodies (so long as it’s mostly your original thought)
  

As a general rule, if it contains your original ideas, it counts.

What doesn’t count

• Notetaking
  
• Texting, commenting, etc.
  
• Copying another person’s writing
  
• Translating
  
• Writing thing out from memory / copying things out (e.g. copying out a textbook, lyric spam)
  
• Code - even if using a text based programming language!
  

Needing proof

• If your leader thinks that the amount you’re writing is unrealistic, they may ask for proof or choose not to add it.
  
• You must outline what you were writing when you add words. Your leaders will not be allowed to add the words otherwise! (a sufficient outline could look like: “365 words were from an english worksheet, 1946 were from working on my novel, 568 from the daily, 2868 from working on an essay”. Be aware that a timespan for the writing is not a sufficient outline!)
  
• If you are uncomfortable sharing proof for writing, that’s okay! Exceptions to giving proof (even for large blocks of writing) can be provided on an individual basis and you will have better luck getting one if you cooperate and are willing to give partial proof and detailed explanations/descriptions on what you’ve written. Other solutions to this can include giving a leader/host proof in a discreet location (on scratch of course - this could be editing an old forum post or putting it in a comment inside an old project).

Reserves

• Reserves are words that you don’t add right away.
  
• Only up to 10k words may be added at a time, regardless of whether or not you share the writing.
  
• An exception may be granted if you were unable to access Scratch for over a week. Please contact a host if this is the case!
  
• All words become reserves after camp is over in all timezones.

Activities

• Activities must be submitted before they end in UTC, even if the Main Cabin description has not been updated yet!
  
• Campers and leaders are expected to give all required proof for weeklies and dailies, and it must be submitted on time to earn points.
  
• Proof must be provided on Scratch, and all writing must be Scratch appropriate if you need to provide proof for it. Photos of writing count as proof, and may be shared using a Scratch-approved image host.
  

Dailies

• If you have a question about a daily, ask in the main cabin! Hosts and/or leaders will make a judgment on this - if you’re a camper, please refrain from answering any questions that are subject to interpretation (clarifying rules and such is fine!), leave it to the leaders and hosts please <3
  
• Extensions for dailies are unavailable as there really isn’t any point in granting them given the low point value and short timeframe of dailies.
  

Weeklies

• If you are uncomfortable sharing proof for a weekly, you should contact the hosts or your leader as early as possible. Exceptions to giving proof can be provided on an individual basis and you will have better luck getting one if you let us know early (as opposed to simply refusing to give proof when trying to add your weekly). Other solutions to this can include giving a leader/host proof in a discreet location (on scratch of course - this could be editing an old forum post or putting it in a comment inside an old project).
  
• If you have queries about a weekly, try to wait until a host or member of the daily team can clarify.
  
• Extensions for weeklies can be granted on an individual basis. You should let the hosts know as early as possible and you can discuss it with us from there.

Writing Competition, Word Wars, & Cabin Wars

Information on these events is provided as time progresses during the session. However, if you have any questions beforehand, you’re more than welcome to reach out to a host with them!

⚡️ Honoraries

Honoraries are people who are NOT participating in a session of SWC, but are invited by a leader to hang out in a cabin as an unofficial member and boost morale and/or have a role in the storyline. However, they are restricted from doing anything that leaders would typically do, such as adding words. They may not be listed in the cabin description.

If you would like to partake in a different cabin's activities or storyline, you can ask that leader if you can do so. This does NOT make you an honorary. Rather, you are just a member of a cabin who is participating in the activities of another cabin. The leader may agree or refuse (and they may decide how much of a role you can have and which of the activities you may do), and you are expected to be accepting of any decision they make. Leaders are also not allowed to list people who do this in the cabin description, and they cannot make any further contributions than completing the activities.

Anyone is welcome to hang out or boost cabin morale in other cabins at any point. Do try to be the most enthusiastic in your own cabin, though — your fellow campers will appreciate it!

Please see this project if you have more questions.

Arguments and Drama

• If any links to leader discussions are leaked, please ignore the comments. If it can be classified as spam, you can report the comments, but please don’t mass report with multiple accounts as that can lead to alerts from the ST.
  
• If you get into a fight with anyone, it’s best to stop responding so it doesn’t escalate. You can ask your leader or a host for help. Of course, report any offensive material you see as part of such an argument (e.g. projects calling people to report a specific user or people speaking badly about others).
  
• Please take care to not take cabin rivalries too far! Using this tone indicators guide can be helpful in ensuring that no one’s feelings get hurt. If you do feel that someone has gone beyond friendly jokes, you can remind them that it’s just for fun, report the comments, or ask a leader/host for help, depending on what you feel fits the situation!
  

Thanks for reading all of this! Again, if you have any questions or believe there should be an exception, please comment on a host's profile, not in this forum

niko's writing

2213 words

dailies

daily 1
daily 2
daily 3

weeklies

additional writing

goals

THIRDD
FOURTHERRR

Weekly 4 (2514 words)

Verse 1 (52 words)

I’ll start on my way up
Long days in the sun
Only for the rushing of water
To wash it all out
Everyday it’s the same grind
I’ll be on top of the world
Only to fall all the way down
But I’ll keep on trying
For the rest of my life

Aspect of World Building (403 words)

The fantasy universe my story takes place in has a magic system that allows certain characters to perform fantastical miracles. The magic is more understated than a lot of fantasy worlds. It’s mostly fortune telling and herbology rather than wizards shooting fireballs from their hands. Magic is usually inherited from one’s parents. It often follows genders in the sense that a mother with the gift will pass it down to her daughters but not her son. The same goes for fathers passing magic to their sons but not daughters. Of course there are some exceptions and people can be born with first generation magical abilities. It is very rare though. An individual with no magical parents but two magical grandparents also has a decent chance of inheriting the skill. Most individuals are only born with a certain type of magic and it is not necessarily the skill of their parents. One of these skills is divination which would allow the user to see glimpses into the future. This is aided with objects like runes and crystal balls. Another skill might be herbology which allows the user to utilize herbs in healing and other spells. There isn’t really a set limit in the number of possible magic skills and skills are unique to the person and may cross multiple disciplines. Magic can be physically draining for the user. Particularly magic that requires mental strength like divination. Magical endurance can be built up much like other forms of endurance. Magical users are pretty uncommon in the main character’s native country as well as the one above it. However, the third established nation in the world is known for widespread magic. Additionally, there is a nation of mermaids that live off the coast of the main character's home country. Mermaids are considered magical by default due to their ability to breathe underwater. There is a well known spell that can temporarily give a mermaid the ability to live on land as well as one to allow humans to live underwater. These spells can only be crafted by the most experienced spell crafters. Some mermaids also have additional powers of water manipulation that they can use to mess with ships. Mermaid scales also have magical properties and are unfortunately sought out by some human hunters. The human governments do consider this a serious crime and are working to eradicate it after a long history of mermaid hunting.

Pre Chorus (36 words)

I won’t let it stop me
Won’t let my story end
I won’t let it stop me
It’ll take more to make my end
I won’t let it stop me
I’d like to see them try



Tragic Ending for a Character (599 words)

The crack is deafening. Morwenna’s crew cringes at the sound but she cannot waste a second covering her ears. Running from her post to assess the damage, she immediately identifies the large rock the ship had hit. Morwenna’s sailing is nearly flawless but the raging storm is proving to be a worthy opponent. A large wave had thrown their boat into rock and the resulting crack in the hull was staggering.
“We’re going to have to abandon ship!” Morwenna yells over the pounding rain. Her crew looks at her incredulously.
“Are you kidding?” One shouts, “We’re miles from shore!”
“We all know I don’t kid.” Morwenna glances across her drenched and exhausted crew. “You’re all pirates, you should know how to swim,” she tells them. Granted, the current monsoon was no typical swim. The crew would have to brave massive swells for miles to get to safety. Not to mention they were already hurting from a long journey and little sleep.
The ship gives a sudden lurch. Morwenna throws open the trapdoor to reveal gallons of water filling the belly of the ship.
“Okay that’s enough chit chat!” Morwenna shouts over the roar of thunder. “Everyone off the boat! The nearest island is a small deserted one just over two miles to our north. I’m not leaving until everybody’s off.” Reluctant crew member’s gather whatever belongings they think they can carry and say their prayers before dropping into the whirling depths. Thankfully the summer weather has left the water with an almost palpable temperature. However, the pirates have to constantly duck below large waves to avoid being thrown.
Morwenna equips herself with her lightest sword, carefully securing it in such a way that it won’t cut her while she swims. She collects as many jewels as possible for the pouch she wears around her neck. This’ll go towards purchasing their next ship, if they ever get that far. The ship is dangerously low in the water and Morwenna is knee deep in sea water as she exits the captain’s quarters.
She makes a quick scan of the ship to ensure she really is the last one on board. To her dismay she finds one crew member still on board. It’s the young crew member they recently inherited in a trade with another ship. The girl sits off to herself, shaking and clearly petrified. Morwenna offers her a hand.
“Come on now. The sooner you get it over with, the better.” The girl shakes her head.
“I’ll never make the swim! I don’t have the stamina.” The boat is sinking lower and lower into the water. Morwenna yanks the girl to her feet with both hands.
“Look around kid, you’re going to end up in the water either way. It might as well be on your own terms.” The girl still looks nervous so Morwenna reassures her, “I’ll be right behind you.” After what felt like an eternity to the fast-paced Morwenna the girl jumps from the ship. At this point in the wreck it’s not a very long jump.
Morwenna moves to jump after her but is thrown by a huge wave suddenly overtaking the ship. The wave throws Morwenna right into the rock that hit the ship. Cursing, Morwenna tries to swim away from the rock only for the mast of the boat to come crashing down on top of her, effectively pinning her to the rock. The girl looks back only for Morwenna to insist she’s right behind her. This would prove to be her last words as another wave sends boat debris crashing into her skull.

Chorus (50 words)

They can try to steal my thunder
To lock it in a jar
Like a lightning bug in summer
But you can’t contain my spark
The glass will surely crack
And I will rise again
Blinded by my lighting
They’ll never see again
They’ll hear my thunder loud and clear

SWC Fanfiction (517 words)

I stood at the front of the Tragedy cabin. Glancing around the elegantly decorated orphanage themed room I saw anticipation on my camper’s faces. They knew as well as I did that it was time for cabin wars. Ideally, it should be easier the second time around. I chuckled thinking back to all the rule clarifications from the first cabin wars two weeks prior. However, the second cabin wars did present a new challenge for Tragedy. This time, we would be going in as first place and as a result, with a big target on our backs.
Once I finish reveling in our current success I step forward to indicate to the campers that it’s time to speak. At my side is Sofi, my loyal co-leader. The campers quiet their side conversations to a whisper. In the front row I see the most active campers, eager to write. There is Silvi, Sofi’s little sister who writes diligently, especially for her age. Next to her is Cherry, the novelist who saved us last cabin wars by soloing several wars on their own. I also see Pepper, a responsible camper sure to keep everyone on the same page. I clear my throat.
“I’m sure you are all aware of why I called you here. We are mere minutes away from the second and final cabin wars of this session. Same drill as last time folks. Only difference is we are entering these wars in the first place. I’d like to keep it that way. We haven’t lost a war yet and I don’t intend to start now.” A little corny, I know but there wasn’t much else to say. Luckily Sofi chimes in.
“Feel free to ask us any questions you may have! Cae will be on for the first couple hours before having to sleep. I’ll be on after that until Cae is back.” Leave it to Sofi to remember the important stuff. Our meeting is abruptly ended by the clock chiming midnight. Cabin wars have begun.
Pepper dashes off to war with our sworn enemies, Historical-Fiction. It’s not just that they are at the top of our enemies list, they are also our biggest competition. It’s a rivalry for the ages as we have been back and forth with them for first place all session.
Back at our home cabin I am surprised at the lack of wars. We end up going a couple hours without a single war. This is especially surprising considering our rank and long list of enemies. By the time we do get a war my shift is nearly over. I write 1000 words on my own but have to call it a night. It’s impossibly past my bedtime and I have to force myself to go to sleep with an unfinished war in the cabin.
I woke up the next morning to great news. The ever-impressive Cherry has once again pulled through with thousands of words written on their own. They are truly some kind of miracle worker. I happily greet my campers, looking forward to the remaining hours of cabin wars.

Bridge based on “Fortunate Son” by Creedence Clearwater Revival (60 words)

I will never be the lucky one
I will never be a son
Since birth I am a daughter
Expected to be one thing
I blossom into another
I will never be a son
But I am the perfect daughter
Fortune isn’t on my side
But I am alright on my own
I’ll be alright all alone
I’ll be alright

Futuristic Version of the First Object to my Right (401 words)

The future is especially kind to sleep. Obviously, more automations leave humans with more time than ever to dedicate to sleep. Everyone basically guessed what direction mattresses were going in. Even in the 2000s one might be able to find mattresses with cooling capabilities and buttons allowing you to change the angle of the mattress. What most people didn’t expect was the advancements in pillow technology. Pillows are an often overlooked aspect of sleep but anyone who has ever slept without a pillow can vouch for the debilitating neck pain they experienced the next day. One might argue there was no room for advancement in pillow production. Afterall, how far can one take what is essentially a sack of feathers? However, there was the age-old complaint about the warm side of the pillow. Often when wishing someone a good life one might say, “May both sides of your pillow be cold.” In the future, this is actually a reality. Cooling technology inside the pillow allows the user to customize the temperature of their pillow to the exact degree. This may seem impossible while maintaining the soft and flexible nature of the pillow. This is made attainable by a pocket of engineered air trapped in a highly flexible bubble at the core of the pillow. This air is able to be heated and cooled by bluetooth connection to the bubble. Around this bubble is an engineered silk that is perfectly soft while allowing temperature to pass through it seamlessly. The best comparison would be to a one way mirror because heat from inside the bubble passes through perfectly but heat from the user's head is not transferred. Temperature controls are not all that the new pillow designs have to offer. The pillow also contains two compact but highly powerful fans. They are not uncomfortable thanks to the silk but they allow the user to customize the height and angle of the pillow. That’s right, the pillow will be genuinely hovering above the bed in order for the best sleep experience. The fans work both ways so the pillow can be flipped over. The firmness of the pillow is also customizable due to changing pressure in the interior bubble. Finally, for ease of travel, the pillow folds in on itself to the point of being pocket sized. It is perfect for bringing on planes and other travel. Pillow also comes in customizable scents.

Chorus Repeat (56 words)

They can try to steal my thunder
To lock it in a jar
Like a lightning bug in summer
But you can’t contain my spark
The glass will surely crack
And I will rise again
My feet hit the warm grass
I stop to smell the flowers
Basking in their fragrance
Before heading on my path

It was all a Dream Narrative (340 words)

The first thing I noticed was the light sheet on my legs. I suppose this is an expected feeling when waking up. But the sheet felt lighter than usual. What I noticed then was the distinct lack of hair on my legs. I never cared much for shaving. It was a pain in the butt and it made me feel like I was submitting to the patriarchy. Not to mention, I wasn’t particularly good at it so my attempts often ended in bloodshed. All this just meant it was odd that my lengths were shaven. I couldn’t remember doing that.
All this line of reasoning had led me to conclude that I was not going back to sleep. My mind was far too active for unconsciousness. Reluctantly, I forced my eyes open but had to shut them once more. I rub at them aggressively before reopening them only to confirm what I had seen the first time.
This was not my bedroom. At least, not anymore. The lavender walls and blue-gray carpeted floors revealed this to be my childhood bedroom. I was back in the house I had left behind years ago. I recognize my old dollhouse on the table next to me. I knew for a fact it was supposed to be locked away in a basement miles from this house.
The next thing I noticed was my hands. They seemed to have shrunk substantially overnight. The scar from my 12th birthday party was missing. Determined, I pulled myself out of bed in search of a mirror. I cursed my younger self’s lack of vanity because there was no mirror in my childhood bedroom. I cautiously walked through the hall to the bathroom. The entire house looked like I’d ever left.
I looked in the mirror. I was greeted by the face of a seven year old me. Suddenly, I heard footsteps in the hall.
“What are you doing up, honey?” It was my mother. I was seven years old again, the last ten years had been a dream.

| Path 1: ANCIENT, Prompt 2 | Path 2: PAST, Prompt 1 | Path 3: DAY, Prompt 1 | Path 4: FUTURE, Prompt 2 |

Daily July 28th (313 words)

They deserve this. They deserve every bullet I’m about to shoot at them, every sword that will be brought down on their heads. Want to know who didn’t deserve it? Me. Not me now of course. Thirty year old me has earned himself a gunshot wound or two. It was eight year old me who didn’t deserve it. Didn’t deserve to watch his father die. Dying for the simple crime of getting lost. My father ventured a little too far out to sea and the sea creatures made it clear that his punishment would be to never return. Mermaids are not the victimized innocent race they are portrayed as nowadays. They are ruthless man-hunters with no regard for human beings. But the government is entirely and fully under their spell. The sentence for killing a mermaid is life. The mermaid who killed my father swims free. But if the government won’t do anything about it I will. It’s a simple plan really. The merman who killed my father was a prince when he did it. He is now a king and much harder to get to. Therefore, I have resigned myself to an easier target. His daughter. The princess has recently had a baby girl. She’ll still be weak and if I’m lucky I may score a two for one. My dear first mate is quite gifted in the art of potion crafting. He should easily be able to whip up a spell that will allow me to breathe underwater for long enough to retrieve the women. Sure the mermaid government will chase after me. The human one as well. I am not worried about it. They are my ultimate bargaining chip. No government body would dare draw near me with a sword held to the royal mermaids neck. What will I do then? The world will just have to wait and see.


Bi-Daily July 25th-26th (425 words)
In the style of @ap0l0

First, there was a dot. A mere speck on the horizon. Growing, slowly, steadily. Eventually, taking shape. A ship.

It was the biggest boat I’d ever seen. With giant sails and a mast that parted clouds. I was rarely caught off guard by things like boats - I’d been living by the port my entire life. I was undeterred by cruise ships, by cargo ships, even yachts were commonplace.

This boat was none of these. This was a full-fledged pirate ship. Fully stocked with canons on the deck, a jolly roger on the crow’s nest, and a crew full of angry, greedy pirates.

This was not going to be a good day.

At that moment, Henry, the old blind man I was living with stepped outside.

“Wonderful weather we’re having.”

I frowned. “There’s pirates here today, Henry.”

The older man seemed unfazed by my declaration. “Back in my day I’d take on pirates with one hand behind my back!”

I take him by the hand and lead him inside. His worn skin is leathery in my still springy young hand. I have only just shut the door when the sound of cannons sounds outside.

The vibrations rang in my ears and I winced at the sheer volume of it. I tried keeping my voice steady as I spoke to Henry.

“Everything is alright, we’re heading to the basement now. I’ll guide you down the stairs.”

“I’m blind not deaf.”

I help Henry down the stairs slowly, one step at a time. I work to keep my breath even as to not relay my fear to Henry. He felt it anyway. That man has the ears of an elephant.

One step.

Another.

We moved agonizingly slow as I willed myself to stay calm. I could hear pirates on the streets then. They were loud - cursing, shouting, and destroying property.

After what seemed like ages we reached the floor. It was cool and damp. The smell of mildew permeated the air.

“It’s okay Henry, we’re safe now.”

“Again, blind. Not deaf, and certainly not stupid.”

Henry was quite the charmer.

He continued. “Listen to me carefully. Go and hide under the stairs. I’ll sit here. The pirates will think I’m the only one here and won’t even look for you.”

“But-”

“No buts. They’ll be here any second.”

Reluctantly, I went and crouched under the stairs. I was shockingly well concealed.

Henry took his seat in his rocking chair on the opposite end of the room.

And that is where he sat when our door was broken in.

Weekly 3 (1709 words)

Part 1 (305 words)

Part 2 (316 words):

Nathan lived in the sort of medium-sized town that was too small for an orphanage but big enough for a church. One might hope the church would be somewhat effective in picking up the slack from the lack of an orphanage but that was all Miriam. Miriam was the kind-hearted old lady who lived on the outskirts of town. It was her who welcomed the young orphan Nathan with open arms. In return, Nathan worked hard in Miriam's tailor shop, often working with tougher materials like leather that required more strength than Miriam had in her advanced age.
It was during a usual everyday's work that Nathan heard the commotion. A crowd was forming in the town center, a mere 50 yards from Miriam's storefront. Now, a crowd was never good news in a time like this. Best case scenario is an execution that, while gruesome, doesn’t hurt more than one person. The other types of crowds are angry riots, brought together by revolutionists who wish to break out of the oppressive feudalist society. Those tend to get a bit more messy. Next thing you know the king’s army is in town and it takes days to get the bodies off the streets. There had only been a couple of those in Nathan’s lifetime.
Luckily for Nathan, this gathering turned out to be the first kind. A gallows stood tall in the town center. Nathan allows himself a moment away from his work in order to see the gallow’s next victim. Puberty was in full swing for Nathan so when he stood he was able to see over the heads of many around him. The soon to be hanged person was a woman. She was young, only about thirty or so. She had dark hair and a chiseled face. Nathan didn’t have to ask to conclude the crime was witchcraft. She fit the profile almost perfectly.

Part 3 (529 words):

The execution was brief. After a few minutes of fervent “Hang the witch!” chants it was over with. What was odd about this is that the body was taken away almost immediately. Normally convicted criminals are left to hang in the town center as an example for others. This time the body was gone almost within the hour. This did not make it any less surprising when a dead woman walked into town to give a speech.
“Hear ye, hear ye!” The no longer dead woman calls, “My name is Delilah but you can call me ‘Your lord and savior!’” Nathan once again looks up from his work, this time in shock. The woman continues. “You all saw me dead in the square but I have once again risen! This is the second coming. Those who follow me now will be greatly rewarded in heaven.” Nathan cannot believe his eyes. The woman he saw as a lifeless corpse is now alive and well. At her side is her executioner. He begins to speak as well.
“You all know me as Micah the executioner! But I have been converted by the way of our lord! I have seen the error in my ways and now serve the one true god, Delilah!” Delilah then chimes back in.
“Those who wish to live out their holy lives come follow me! To a new kingdom!” Nathan can’t help but feel compelled to do exactly that. The world has never been kind to him but here is his chance to be a part of something important. He doesn’t doubt Delilah's story because he was certain in what he saw. However he would feel guilty abandoning Miriam who has been so kind to him. As Delilah is leaving a moderate sized procession follows her. She stops in front of the young boy.
“Don’t you want to be saved?” She looks at him with compassionate eyes and he cannot help himself.
“Yes.” And he leaves with her without so much as a note for Miriam.
The group sets up camp across the river from the town. Miriam is convinced Nathan was kidnapped against his will but she is not strong enough to make the journey over the river herself. The group is gathering support and making plans to institute a new kind of religion.
Delilah is situated at the head of camp in a large tent. Nathan approaches this tent with the intention to ask if he could leave to check on Miriam. He knows it is not wise because the king’s soldiers are instructed to capture anyone from the camp for heresy but he can’t help but worry about the old woman. The conversation Nathan hears from inside the tent is not what he expects.
“I’ve got them in the palm of my hand.” He recognizes the voice as Delilah’s.
“Aren’t you worried they’ll find out?” That voice is Micah’s.
“You did an expert job at that fake execution. There is no way anybody finds out. We are finally going to get some justice in this country!” Nathan cannot believe what he is hearing. The woman he gave up his life for is a fraud.

Part 4 (306 words):

Nathan is filled with rage immediately and elects to take action. He impulsively storms into the tent. Much like his earlier decision to follow Delilah there is not much thought involved.
“How dare you?!” Delilah turns to face the door, shocked.
“Child, what troubles you so?” Nathan ignores her feigned concern, seething at her motherly act.
“I gave up my life for this lie! How dare you pretend to be God.” Delilah abandons her facade.
“I’m just as real as he is! I’m just as real as any God anybody believes in. Do you really consider a God who teaches that any independent woman is a witch is a good God! They’re fairy tales! So I do not feel any guilt at all.”
“I’m going to expose you for what you are, a fraud!” With that, Nathan ran out of the tent with Delilah following close behind.
“She’s a fraud!” He yells with Delilah cursing behind him. They receive a lot of concerned looks from those around them. Some of the onlookers seem to understand what Nathan is going for and agree with him. Unfortunately, he stumbles on a tent post and Delilah is able to grab him. She has him pinned to the ground and he is amazed at her incredible strength.
Nathan hasn’t quite completed puberty yet so he struggles to throw her off of him. The crowd is in a frenzy, ripping the tent down and shredding the canvas. Delilah has her hands around Nathan’s throat when he hears a familiar voice.
“Get the hell off of him!” A swift kick to the rib cage knocks Delilah off of Nathan and she groans in pain. Looking up, Nathan is shocked to see Miriam.
“What? Miriam? How?” Nathan sputters. Miriam slowly bends down to meet Nathan’s eyes. Then she slaps him across the face.

Part 5 (253 words):

“What was that for?” Nathan shouts, outraged.
“I’ll ask the questions, young man!” Miriam interrupts, “Where do you get off running away with crazy people? If you would just have asked me I would’ve knocked some sense into you then and we could’ve saved ourselves all this drama!”
“I’m sorry Miriam! I wanted to be a part of something real! And it did really seem like she came back from the dead!”
“You’re an idiot. You know that, right?” Nathan nods sheepishly.
“How did you get across the river?”
“I built a boat, like a normal person. I took my time instead of diving headfirst into the waters!” That was the end of that conversation.
In the coming weeks the duke was forced to call in the military to deal with the riots. So many people had given up so much of their livelihood to follow Delilah. Delilah was hung, for real this time. It was an even bigger spectacle than the last.
Nathan went back to working for Miriam. Although she kept a much closer eye on him and he didn’t get many breaks. The church was forced to make some reformations as well. Namely, they were a bit more hesitant to hang people for witchcraft. However, generations would forget about Delilah and it would be many years before hangings for witchcraft were abolished. Nathan spent some time in the library learning about cults and how to avoid them. This was mostly thanks to Miriam’s insistence as well as her death stare.


Daily July 20th (335 words)

What good is an unbreakable bronze club when you aren’t wearing shoes? This is what the great Orion contemplated on his deathbed. Well, deathbed isn’t a particularly apt description. More accurately, Orion was lying on a death pile of dirt. His two faithful dogs were by his side. The larger dog was pulling at his clothes in a desperate attempt to force the dying man to his feet. The smaller looked at Orion with knowing eyes. How did he get there? Now that is a fair question because in life Orion seemed impossibly strong. He was an exceptional hunter. While most hunters relied on tools like sharp swords or precise bows Orion hunted with only a dull club. He relied on sheer strength built up over many hard years of training. He was noted as being exceptionally attractive. Many even described him as the most handsome man to walk the earth. All things considered, he wasn’t entirely a man. Orion was a demigod by birth. His father was the great god of the sea, Poseidon. His mother, Euryale, was daughter of King Minos of Crete. Orion seemed to have almost the perfect life. However, he remained humble. He did not let the fame that came with being the most attractive man go to his head. He continued to hunt, even though his good looks and royal connections could supply him with all the wealth he needed for the rest of his life. Perhaps this is what motivated the gods themselves to take pity on him when his death was less than honorable. When one thinks of things that might slay the great Orion, one does not contemplate a certain arachnid. But, as the story goes, Orion met his untimely demise when he stepped onto a scorpion. The gods saw what a good life Orion was living and pitied the undeserving end he met. They allowed Orion, along with his two dogs, their place in the sky. They lived on as constellations for all to see.

Weekly 2 (2038 words)

Part 1 (1011 words)

Morally Gray Characters: A Workshop
By Cae :)
Idea from @Rlove10

The never-ending fight between good and evil gets to be so boring sometimes, doesn’t it? Characters who only see in black and white can be so one dimensional. Enter the morally gray character! In this workshop, I will be explaining exactly what a morally gray character is and how to write one! Let’s begin!

Part 1: What is a morally gray character?

Most characters you encounter in media are either good or evil. Characters that are inherently good will spend their time trying to save the world or other heroic pursuits. These heroes are often selfless do-gooders who abide by strict moral codes. On the other hand, you have evil characters. These villains are often the reason the world needs saving in the first place. These archetypes are fine, but real people are a lot more complicated than that. Some people aren’t motivated by good or evil. Instead, they act however they see fit, sometimes good, sometimes not. In literature and film we call these characters morally gray.
For a better understanding of this, let’s take a look at the origin of the term. Morals refer to a person’s standards for behavior and beliefs. Your own personal morals tell you what you should and should not do. I imagine everyone reading this believes it’s wrong to kill an innocent person. That’s a moral! The word gray refers to an inbetween state. The color gray is neither black nor white in the same way that a morally gray character is neither good nor bad.
Despite this, a lot of morally gray characters gain a reputation for being evil and self-serving. The way I like to combat this stereotype is actually with a Harry Potter analogy! Hogwarts students sorted into Slytherin are often considered evil. However, the trait used for sorting students into Slytherin isn’t evil, it’s ambitious. Slytherins are highly goal oriented, meaning they will achieve their desires by any means necessary. If their goal is to take over the world you can see how this can be problematic. However, this isn’t the only goal a person can have! Characters can have goals like protecting someone else or learning an ancient secret. Slytherins, like morally gray characters, aren’t defined by what their goals are. They’re defined by the lengths they are willing to go to achieve them.
To finish out this section I’m going to include some examples of morally gray characters you might recognize in order to get a better idea of what they are. Sticking with the Harry Potter theme, Snape is a morally gray character. He flickers across the boundary of good and evil because the interests he’s really serving are his own. He may turn out to be a good guy in the end but that doesn’t mean he didn’t terrorize some children on the way. An example of a morally gray main character would be Jack Sparrow from the Pirates of the Caribbean. Being morally gray is almost an inherent part of being a pirate. Throughout the movies, viewers will see Jack do things that are both compassionate and caring, as well as conniving and devilish, depending on his own interests at the time. Finally, no list of morally gray characters would be complete without everyone’s favorite vigilante crimefighter, Batman. Sure, he has a very strict personal moral code but he also breaks countless laws including, but not limited to, assault, breaking and entering, and property damage.

Part 2: Writing Morally Gray Characters

Okay, now that we’re clear on what morally gray characters are, let’s get into writing them! The most important part of writing a morally gray character is giving them a reason to be morally gray. One of the main problems writers run into is making their characters morally gray for the sake of being morally gray. To overcome this, you need to give your character a reason for the way they are. Perhaps your character has a traumatic past that left them jaded and cynical. Maybe your character is a villain but they actually have a pretty good point. Whatever the reason may be, your character has to have a source for their morally gray nature. This may also require you to shed a layer of mystery in order to reveal your character's motives.
Another important aspect to consider is your character's flaws. Morally gray characters are often heavily flawed but there is a way to take this too far. You don’t want to take the flaws so far that your character is irredeemable but you also don’t want them to seem like just another good guy. When your character does make a morally questionable decision make sure you explore the implications of that. How does the character feel about what they did? How do the other characters around them react?
A great way to showcase your character’s morally gray nature is through a moral dilemma. Force your character to make an important and difficult moral decision. Morally gray characters are often able to make the decisions that other characters aren’t strong enough to make. A typical hero might not be able to justify sacrificing one life for the greater good but your morally gray character might. It’s okay to let your morally gray characters wrestle with their decisions. They don’t have to be unquestioning in their morals in order to be morally gray.
You can also consider giving your character a story arc. This isn’t required but it certainly adds an interesting dimension to your story. A lot of writers have the tendency to make morally gray side characters stagnant. This is fine, but often a waste of a great side plot. Don’t shy away from giving your morally gray characters conflict and character development.

That’s about all I have to say on writing morally gray characters. I hope you found this workshop helpful and feel inspired to create a morally gray character of your own. Morally gray characters are a great way to add an extra dimension to your story and raise important moral questions.

Part 2 (579 words)
Based on a workshop by @smalletoe on writing a complex villain

“We aren’t so different, you and I.”
Morwenna had just taken a wooden plank to the face after a less-than-graceful landing on her enemy's ship.
“If you’re referring to the way I just face planted on your boat I have to say I agree,” Morwenna spat. Doyle chuckled.
“This is exactly what I mean. Do you think heroes go around making snide remarks and hijacking people’s ships?” Morwenna pulled herself up to her feet, ignoring her nemesis’ comments. She unsheathed her sword with a swift motion and held it at the ready.
“If you think I came here to chitchat you’re mistaken,” She growled. Doyle did not ready his sword in return.
“Let the record show that the great hero, Morwenna, drew her sword first against an unarmed opponent,” Doyle held out his empty hands in front of him before continuing, “You may think you and I are different but deep down we’re both pirates. I’ve seen you plunder shops and seize ships. I know you think you’re doing it for the greater good but there’s blood on your hands, Morwenna.”
“I would never do the things you’ve done. Now draw your sword.”
“You young people, always in such a rush. If you think about it you really owe me one. I was very generous to you after your ship went down-” Morwenna cut him off.
“You were the reason our ship went down.”
“Silly girl, pirates should know not to sail out into storms.”
“Yeah right, and just let you get away? What do you take me for?’
“You put your crew in danger. You were reckless and it led to their capture.”
“I’m not putting up with this from you. Now you can either let her go or I swear I will kill you where you stand.” Morwenna stepped forward menacingly.
“And what makes you so sure she wants to go with you?” For the first time in this conversation Morwenna faltered. Doyle continued, “Go on, see for yourself.”
Morwenna did not need to be told twice and angrily stormed over to the trapdoor which led to the underbelly of the ship. Throwing it open she saw her dear friend and crewmate, Cordelia, underneath Doyle’s right hand man, locked in a passionate embrace.
“Get the hell off of her!” Morwenna shouted. She did not give the boy time to follow this instruction before she violently threw him off herself. She was winding up for another punch when Cordelia grabbed her hand.
“Morwen, stop it!” Morwenna could’ve easily ripped her arm from Cordelia’s grip and
continued her beating but she did not. Instead, she addressed Cordelia.
“How dare you? All this time I thought you’d been kidnapped and you’ve just been
outhere snogging the enemy!”
“It’s not like that! I-”
“Did you ever wonder where we were? We were thrown from the boat in stormy seas
and you were just perfectly happy fraternizing with the enemy who may or may not have killed us?”
“Morwen I know you better than that. You're the perfect captain and a capable swimmer. I knew you wouldn’t let anything happen to your crew.”
“Yeah? Well clearly I don’t know you at all.” Morwenna turned to leave. “I’m going now,
with or without you. Consider yourself lucky I don’t kill Doyle up there and let you two lovebirds sink.”
Morwenna walked away and Cordelia did not follow. Nobody spoke but Doyle gave a
light chuckle as Morwenna climbed back onto her own ship.

Part 3 (448 words)
Critique for @extrovertedd

This is such an immersive way to introduce your readers to a character! For starters, I love the hook. The first sentence is immediately attention grabbing in that it is super unorthodox. It really had me wondering where you were going with that so I had to keep reading!
Feel free to disregard this next bit as it is super nit-picky but I think you could be more conscious of the way your writing can become cliché. For me, I feel like the whole “it transported her to a simpler time” thing is a little overdone. That isn’t to say that you shouldn’t do it but when you’re tackling a concept that a lot of writers use you need to make sure you have your own original spin on it. I think you did that a little bit with the window association but it did feel like something I’d read a lot before.
Again, super nit-picky (I wouldn’t be doing this if you hadn’t told me I could) but I’m not sure what you mean by “windows are temptations”. I don’t think the word temptations is necessarily the best word to use right here.
When you’re editing I’d love to see you keep the phrase “window corner”. It really adds a unique voice to your character and reminds the reader that she is still youthful. All the bad things going on in her life are magnified when you remember she’s only a teenager and having to deal with it all.
Okay, I swear this is the final little word choice thing. I’d replace “jungle of Viv’s room” with “jungle that is Viv’s room” however that could just be personal preference.
In the future when you’re sharing this with someone it could probably benefit from a trigger warning. The mentions of domestic abuse are definitely enough to warrant one in my book.
When you say “In the time it takes for a volcano to erupt” I’m actually not sure if you’re referring to a really short time or a really long time. I’m no volcano expert but I believe the buildup to an eruption is rather long although the actual time of active eruption could be pretty brief.
I actually really like the way you go through the events for the rest of the piece. Particularly the way Viv converses with her mother is very realistic and emotionally charged. The callback to the window discussion in the beginning is a nice touch.
Overall I think this is a great way to show off your character's personality as well as her current situation. I think this sets the scene very well for a short story or even a full novel.

Daily July 14th (410 words)

I probably should’ve seen this coming. They’re pirates, of course they drink! I don’t know what I was expecting. I figured being underaged they would avoid taverns. Watching the five girls in front of me saunter into the bar I realize how foolish I was expecting pirates to have any regard for laws. The bartender is entirely unphased by our arrival. I’m sure they come here often. Morwenna orders a round for the crew. I’ve only ever had one drink before. My older brother had given it to me promising it was juice. It was disgusting and my father later yelled at me for drinking.
Morwenna thrust my second ever drink into my hand and I nearly choked trying to drink it. It was bitter and left a warm feeling in my throat. The pirates mocked me for my clear lack of drinking experience and my inability to identify even the most basic drinks by name. I’m disappointed in myself. If I want the crew to respect me I need to prove to them that I’m as mature and knowledgeable as they are. Instead, I come across as a child who needs a babysitter.
I shake the thought out of my brain. I’m fine, I just need to adjust my attitude. I’m away from my father now and I have friends my own age for the first time in my life. Sure, they’re pirates with no regard for the law or any moral codes for that matter. I can make this work. I realize that I’ve never been this confident before. I survived a day on a boat with total strangers. They didn’t throw me into the north atlantic yet, so I am seeing this as an absolute win. It’s the most interesting thing I’ve ever done.
Then, another thought creeps in. Am I missing my father? The man who didn’t even care enough about me not to trade me for pennies with a band of pirates. I keep convincing myself I’m going to round a corner and see him, glaring disapprovingly. He’d call me a heretic and I’d have to resist the urge to kick him in the teeth. I force myself to think of something else. I think of our dog. The only one treated worse than me in our household. I feel the guilt of leaving him with my father eating away at me. I doubt he’ll survive the week without me sneaking him scraps of food.

Daily July 13th (656 words)

The crew went weeks without hearing from Cordelia. Morwenna is pacing back and forth across her mentor’s study, something she does often these days.
“Morwen!” The captain’s thoughts are interrupted by Astrid’s excited shouts.
“Can you come back later? I’m busy.” This was entirely untrue but Morwenna would rather die than admit she didn’t have something to do.
“You’re gonna want to see this!” Astrid was insistent. Begrudgingly, Morwenna opens the door to find Astrid holding a brown envelope.
“You interrupted me to hand me the mail? It’s probably just another death threat, burn it.” Being an infamous pirate Morwenna did get a lot of those.
“No, I think it’s from Cordelia!”
“That’s not possible-” Morwenna stopped herself. It wasn’t possible because Cordelia never learned to read or write in english. Her native tongue didn’t exactly have a written format either. If this letter was from Cordelia, Morwenna was sure she wouldn’t be able to understand it. In fact, she couldn’t even think of anybody who would.
“Never mind,” Morwenna says, “Give it here.” Pulling a small blade from her hip, Morwenna carefully slices the brown paper. Inside she is surprised to find three dried flowers. The first was pink with rounded petals. The second was bright yellow with an odd bulbous shape and a long stem. The third was a duller yellow with ragged edges.
Morwenna is a lot of things, but she is seldom confused. Yet, standing here holding these flowers she has never been more lost. Regaining her composure, Morwenna turns to Astrid.
“Go get Thea.” Thea is Astrid’s twin sister. If anyone in the crew would know how to interpret three dried flowers in a brown envelope it would be her. Morwenna had never given flowers much thought. As far as she was concerned, flowers were the least useful plant one could grow. They provided no nourishment nor any other practical purpose. But here she was, with a missing friend and nothing to go off but a pitiful stack of flowers.
“You wanted to see me, Morwen?” Thea enters, pulling the door shut behind her.
“Yes, let’s sit.” This was new. Morwen rarely wanted to do anything seated.
“Astrid told me about the letter. I’m not sure how helpful I’d be at deciphering code.”
“I wish it was code, Thea.” Morwen lays the three flowers out on her desk. “Any idea what this might mean?” Althea gasps at the florals in front of her.
“Fascinating,” Althea says, still in awe of the flowers.
“Yes, my first mate who’s been missing for weeks sending me flowers is just so bloody fascinating.” Althea ignores Morwen’s signature sarcasm.
“I don’t think this is a magickal matter, Morwen. It’s rumored that royalty use flowers to convey secret meanings, floriography. I don’t know how Coredelia would be able to achieve that though, no common person has been able to decode the flowers.” Morwenna frowns.
“Thank you for trying, Thea. Send in Iris when you get a chance, we’re going to try to trace this envelope.” That was not what Morwenna needed Iris for but it turns out Morwenna is keeping secrets for a lot of her crew. A few minutes later, a determined Iris rushes in. Morwenna greets her.
“Tell me, princess, what do you know about floriography?” Iris’ former princess status was known only by Morwenna and didn’t often come up so Iris is caught off guard.
“Uh, what?” She answers. Morwenna gestures to the array of flowers in front of her. “Oh!” Iris gasps, “I’m a little rusty.”
“Just try.”
“That pink one, it’s a peach blossom. It means ‘you hold me captive’.” Morwenna nods intently so Iris continues. “The dull one, that’s a rhododendron, meaning ‘danger’. And that last one is a trefoil, meaning ‘revenge’. I don’t understand though. Who would want revenge against Cordelia?” Morwenna understands loud and clear. She stands up briskly.
“Come, I have to pay a visit to an old friend.”

Daily July 12th (168 words)

As you faded out of this plane of existence the first thing you noticed was an immense blackness. No, no, no! This was all wrong. There couldn’t be endless nothing after death… could there? This thought was quickly quieted by a warmth spreading around you. At first you assumed this was the comforting warmth of heaven engulfing you in a warm hug. However, the temperature kept rising and you soon realized this wasn’t just warm. It was hot! Boiling! Scalding! You opened your eyes to an unlikely sight. There, in the middle of the flaming hell scape, was a young girl.
“Are you …the devil?” You ask.
“Technically, yes,” She replies, “But we like to keep it casual around here so you can call me Cae.”
“Why am I in hell? Was my life not pure enough?” Cae laughs at your question.
“You mortals, always so concerned with purity. You did fine, darling. But every once in a while God lets me pick out a few special helpers.”

Daily July 11th
Song is Night Shift by Lucy Dacus

The first time I wrote in a cabin war, I hardly slept a wink

I mistakenly stayed up extra late

I was let down by my cabin mates

I’m doing fine, trying to derail my one track mind

Reaching my word goal in record time

But I can’t help but think of the points lost in the war that was mine

Am I a masochist, resisting urges to ignore every war

Call it a day and leave?

Why did I come here? To sit and watch the clock tick by?

What was the plan? Write every word and then again?

I feel no need to rewrite but I might as well

But let me write some more, see how it feels

Add my last words and leave before the sun goes down.

Type for hours in the dark feeling all hell

Don’t read my work, forget you ever saw me online

You don’t deserve what I regret

Don’t deserve to sit through my poor attempts

Now bite your tongue, it’s not work critiquing all I’ve done

Take back what I wrote

Can’t lose what I never had

I feel no need to rewrite but I might as well

But let me right some more, see how it feels

Add my last words and leave before the sun goes down

Write for hours in the dark feeling all hell

You got a real life, so I’ll take the night shift

And You’ll never see me again, I’m writing

In five hours I hope the words read like sonnets

Streams of midnight consciousness

You got a real life, so I’ll take the night shift

And You’ll never see me again, I’m writing

In five hours I hope the words read like sonnets

Streams of midnight consciousness



Weekly 1 (1563 words)

Part 1 (300 words):

The Highest Depths begins with an old man trudging through a field dragging a fishing net behind him. The field is grassy and slightly sloped and the sky is overcast. The old man hoists his fishing net into the air, holding onto it by the end. The next panel reveals a plethora of fish above him. They come in a variety of shapes and sizes and are seemingly floating in the sky. The old man’s net catches many of them.
The old man sits on a rock and pulls the fish he just caught out of the net. He takes them out one at a time and transfers them into a bucket. Afterwards, he walks home with the bucket of fish in one hand and the empty net slung over his shoulder. The man’s home is in the middle of the field, apparently isolated from most other people. It is a small and humble cottage with a little fence around it. Once at home, the man places each fish into its own separate fish bowl. Fish tanks cover every available surface in the man's house, including the floor.
The next panel cuts to the old man sitting on the beach smoking a pipe. He is surrounded by many of his fish tanks containing singular fish. A headless figure in a diving suit approaches him. The old man holds up two fingers as the headless suit reaches forward. This could signify an exchange of ownership of the fishbowl. The diving suit places one of the fish tanks where the head would normally be. This results in a diving suit with a fish in a bowl as the head.
The fish, now surviving as the head of the diving suit enters the ocean, to see birds swimming along the bottom of it.

Part 2 (403 words):

Entering my house after a long day of work, I was surprised to hear the soft sizzling of something cooking. This may not seem all that surprising, but you don’t know my mother. She’s a stay at home mom, has been since I was born. My father is very successful as the sole provider of income for our family which allowed my mother to fall into the role of a full time parent as soon as I was born. She took on the role gracefully, except for one thing. She hates to cook.
If you were to ask my mother about cooking she would tell you she doesn’t cook, she just heats things up. This is very true. Everything my mom cooks can be boiled down to simply heating something up. She buys preformed hamburger patties at the grocery store so that all she has to do is set them on the stove. This is true of essentially any meat she makes. Our local grocery store has a section full of meat entirely preseasoned. She boils hard, crunchy pasta out of plastic bags, rather than carefully forming the dough herself. She also frequents the frozen meal aisle.
She doesn’t have a real reason for hating cooking. The whole ordeal just isn’t her cup of tea. Thus, you can imagine my surprise when I walked into the kitchen to the delicious smell of fried chicken. You see, my mother is a southerner at heart. Born and raised in Georgia, she moved up north to live with my father. As a child, the only memories I had of her cooking were of fried chicken.
I could watch her carefully make the batter by hand in a ziploc bag. She would put the raw chicken in the bag and shake it up to get them nice and coated with flour. It wasn’t anything crazy but it was the most I ever saw her involved in the kitchen. Then, of course, there was the signature sizzle. The chicken sat in a pan on the stovetop sizzling away in the oil. You could easily hear it from my bedroom upstairs. This part probably isn’t necessary, but it was always delicious.
As an immature child my favorite part was always the crunchy bits. However, I would always eat the chicken too. I could put myself through basic chicken in exchange for the crispy crust and my mothers good graces.

Part 3 (456 words):
Motif: The conch
Note: I have not read this book so I am making things up

Then, with the entire group looking at him, Jack thrust the conch toward onto a rock and it shattered into a million pieces. A brief silence hung over the others, soon followed by shouts.
“What’d you do that for?” One boy yells.
“Are you trying to drag us back into anarchy?” Another adds.
“You know, maybe he’s right guys,” A third chimes in. Without the conch the boys immediately begin shouting over each other. Inevitably, a punch is thrown and the meeting devolves into a brawl. Jack manages to get a lot of the worst of it and maybe it was deserved. He was the one who broke the conch after all. During the chaos of it all he eventually manages to slip away into the dense vegetation of the island.
The shouts of the scuffle are still audible as Jack stumbles into the clearing. Utilizing a small pond as a mirror, Jack assesses his injuries. He has a black eye and a bloody nose as well as countless scrapes and cuts elsewhere. Jack elects to wash his face off in the puddle, unsure of a better treatment.
The cool water is a relief for his damaged skin. Jack feels the sudden urge to open his eyes and when he does so he sees the conch resting on the bottom of the lake. He reaches out for it only to be yanked back.
“Man, what the hell are you doing?” It was a boy Jack hadn’t spoken with much before, a younger boy named Mike. However, Jack was preoccupied with the conch. He ignores Mike and scrambles back to the water's edge to look for the shell, only to find it had vanished.
“Nothing,” Jack sighs, “What do you want?”
“I was hoping you’d want to come and take some responsibility!” The boy shouts, exasperated, “Only to find you here trying to drown yourself.”
Jack gives a forced chuckle. “Responsibility? What for? It's just a little fight, they’ll be over it in an hour. It’s not like we haven’t fought before.”
“I wouldn’t be too sure about that,” Mike responds, “Someone lit the camp on fire.”
“They what?!” Jack yells, but he doesn’t wait for a response. He’s already taken off at a sprint back to the beach. When he gets there he sees a fire ravenging the camp they had worked so hard to create. Weeks of progress completely destroyed.
“You’ve got a lot of nerve coming back here,” Simon growls at Jack. In a flash, Jack is beaten up and lying near death at the water's edge. The last thing he remembers is a shell washing up on the shore. It’s a conch, and a figure bends down to pick it up. It’s Mike.

Part 4 (404 words):

An old man trudges dejectedly through a grassy field. His posture and expression portray a certain level of lifelessness. He hoists the net he carries on his shoulder into the air where he is able to catch a variety of colorful fish. This is a surrealist element that is recurring throughout the comic. Here, the sky acts as though it is the water and thus, has fish flourishing in it.
The old man then relocates the fish from the net to the bucket in order to transport them to his home. The old man’s isolated house shows that he is likely lonely like many old men are. He partakes in a less and less popular profession, fishing. He also does this in solitude. Therefore, spreading the fish out all in their own separate bowls could be in order to keep him company. The fish make his small house feel full, and add a splash of color.
In the next panel the man is seen sitting sadly on the beach. He is smoking from a pipe which could also reveal his age. The lack of other people around reveals that he may be struggling to sell his fish. It reveals something about the man’s character that he sells live fish as though they are intended to be pets. Typically fish are sold dead and for consumption so the old man is clearly more compassionate than most.
The man’s sadness is likely caused by his unsuccessfulness in selling his fish. His small house and worn clothes reveal he likely does not make a ton of money. The headless diving suit approaching him represents another person who is lacking something in life. The old man and the diving suit have a symbiotic relationship in that they both gain something from the exchange. The old man gets the money he desperately desires while the diving suit gains fullness with the fish tank serving as a head.
The diving suit then submerges itself in the ocean. It is ironic that a fish would need to be contained in a tank underwater but it makes sense as in the universe fish are found in the sky. Underwater, it is shown that birds fly along the ocean floor, thus drawing a parallel to the beginning of the comic with fish flying through the sky. Essentially, the birds and the fish have swapped places, giving the whole comic strip a fantastical feel.

Bi-Daily July 6th-7th (344 words)

They say the first break-up is always the worst
I’ll end this relationship in a hearse
I’ll close my eyes to meet death halfway
Not sure if I’ll ever be okay

I can’t remember but I won’t forget
The way I felt that night you left
You were nothing but cruel
And you wanted me to just be cool

But I’m not cool

I’m warm from long days in the sun
I feel the heat of loving someone
I never could walk the line
The warmth of her hand in mine
I’m glad that you’re still okay
But I can’t help but be this way

We were young and clung to love
Longing for the briefest hug
You came into my life so fast
That your exit left a gash

I can’t remember but I won’t forget
The way I felt that night you left
You were nothing but cruel
And you wanted me to just be cool

But I’m not cool

I’m warm from long days in the sun
I feel the heat of loving someone
I never could walk the line
The warmth of her hand in mine
I’m glad that you’re still okay
But I can’t help but be this way

Now hot rage bubbles in my soul
I just had to let you know
Even now that I’m alone
I still cannot be cold

I can’t remember but I won’t forget
The way I felt that night you left
You were nothing but cruel
And you wanted me to just be cool

But I’m not cool

I’m warm from long days in the sun
I feel the heat of loving someone
I never could walk the line
The warmth of her hand in mine
I’m glad that you’re still okay
But I can’t help but be this way

I’m warm from long days in the sun
I feel the heat of loving someone
I never could walk the line
The warmth of her hand in mine
I’m glad that you’re still okay
But I can’t help but be this way

Daily July 4th (411 words)
Scene: That one scene in Prisoner of Azkaban in which we discover Scabbers is actually Peter Pettigrew
Twist 1: Characters share injuries (@savebats)
Twist 2: Every time any character says the name of an object/person, it appears in front of them (@Isauree)

I could hardly think over the sound of Sirius and Snape bickering and the pain from Ron’s broken leg that I could somehow also feel. Hermione was making desperate attempts at appeasing Snape but he seemed too far gone. In a panic, I decided to disarm Snape with expelliarmus. Unfortunately, Ron and Hermione had the same idea. Ignoring the now incapacitated Snape, we continued our discussion with Remus.
“Didn’t you ever hear, Ron?” Remus began, “The most they ever found of Peter was his one missing toe.” Much to everyone’s horror an old decaying human toe appeared in front of Remus and fell to the ground. Hermione was the first to speak.
“Did Peter’s toe just appear on command?” She asked. At that moment the toe disappeared on the ground and reappeared in front of Hermione.
“What in Merlin's beard is going on?!” Sirius shouted, only for an old gray beard to appear in front of him.
“Okay, let’s be smart here,” Remus interjected, “Everyone needs to stop naming objects. We’ll need to ask Dumbledore about this.” I wish I could’ve taken a picture of the look on his face when Dumbledore appeared in the shack with us.
“Well this certainly isn’t my office!” The old wizard mused, “I wasn’t expecting to see you Sirius.”
“We can explain!” I began, only to be cut off by Sirius.
“I’ve always found actions speak louder than words,” Sirius said, ripping Scabbers out of Ron’s hands. Ron tried to hold on but I felt the quick slap of Sirius swatting his hand away on my own hand. We really needed to figure this shared pain thing out.
Sirius quickly used the spell required that Scabbers was indeed Peter Pettigrew.
“Bloody hell.” Ron would quickly come to regret this when a bleeding ball of fire appeared in front of him and landed in his lap. I screamed as though the burn was on my own flesh. The portal to hell opening up proves to be quite inconvenient for everyone involved but Dumbledore, level-headed as always says this.
“I wish I had my wand.” Surely enough, Dumbledore’s wand appears in front of him.
Peter interrupts, ‘You can’t hurt me, Lord Voldemort will kill you all!” That went about as well one could expect it to. Next thing we knew the Dark Lord himself was standing in the shack with us.
“Well *,” Sirius said. With that we were joined by a large pile of human feces.

Daily July 2nd (391 words)
Words: bird, ecstasy, whimsical, below, song
(courtesy of @AsteriaTheNightWing)

Morwenna stumbled through the bramble, cursing profusely. We’d been trekking through dense forest for hours and even my level-headed captain was beginning to show signs of strain. That was until we heard a low humming. Quiet at first, it soon grew in volume.
“What is that?” I wondered, enchanted.
“It sounds like humanity,” Morwenna grumbled in response, “Let’s go, I’d kill for anything that wasn’t a plant right now.”
If Morwenna was one thing it was practical. She certainly wouldn’t be caught wandering through the woods in search of some magical hymn. Everything always had to have a purpose, a practical one. While Morwenna rambled on about the futility of human existence I began to recognize the humming as a song. It wasn’t a song I could name but it was eerily familiar.
As we approached the noise got louder. Morwenna’s excellent navigation skills had led us almost perfectly in the direction of the source. After shoving one last bush out of the way we saw it.
“A bird!?” Morwenna shouted, indignantly.
“Hush,” I hissed, “You’ll scare it off!”
“I’d bloody well like to after all the trouble we went to,” Morwenna retorted, drawing her sword. I had to grab her other arm to restrain her from chopping the poor things head off.
“Come on,” I said, “It looks like it wants to take us somewhere.”
Morwenna grunted in disapproval but allowed me to lead her slowly in the direction of the animal. As if on cue, the bird took off and started flying away at a slow, deliberate pace.
After fifteen minutes of walking, and lots of complaints from my companion, the bird stopped at the entrance to a cave. Morwenna turned to me.
“You’re high if you think I’m going down there,” she told me. I took a minute to look at the cave. It had an almost whimsical charm to it. Little mushrooms in red and purple lined the entrance and crystals were abnormally frequent on its stone walls. The cave was clearly sloped and looked as though it would lead far below the surface of the earth. Normally, this would frighten me, but standing there in that moment I felt a certain level of ecstasy.
“Let’s do it,” I told Morwenna. She frowned, but began lighting a torch.


1k Word Introduction
Alright, thousand word intro here I come! This is actually the first time since school got out that I’ve sat down and written something over a thousand words long so this is very exciting. I was pretty lazy during June so I’m very ready to get back into it. I will admit it is kind of tricky to get back in the habit of capitalizing my I’s. I definitely can’t write a thousand words about ice cream so this is going to be mostly general introduction stuff but I will try to work an ice cream paragraph in somewhere.
With that out of the way… Hello! I’m Cae! My pronouns are she/her and I reside in EST. I’m an American high school student and long time scratcher. This account I’m on is actually my fourth account I believe. The first was created when I was in 5th grade, almost seven years ago. I got pretty into Scratch right away and spent far more time on it then most of my peers in school. I first joined Scratch Writing Camp on this account in March of 2020. I’ve done most of the sessions since then but I’m pretty sure I missed a couple. This session is somewhere around my tenth but I’m not entirely sure. I was a camper for basically all of those sessions with the exception being last July where I led Fantasy with Juli and Rea.
That’s basically all of my Scratch information so I suppose I should touch upon some real life hobbies. I’m a long time math enjoyer, which might be surprising with how much I enjoy writing. I like math to the extent that I’m on like three different math teams. I’ve already completed all math through AP Calc BC so if anyone needs any homework help I’m your gal. In addition to all those math teams I spend my spare time practicing various instruments. I’ve been playing the piano and reading sheet music since I was six years old. In 6th grade I picked up the alto saxophone for middle school band. In 8th grade I decided I needed to add a string instrument. However, I had some sort of individuality complex that motivated me to choose the banjo instead of the guitar. Sophomore year I transitioned from alto saxophone to tenor saxophone at the request of my band director. In May of this year I purchased a lyre in order to live out all my mythical bard dreams. These instruments take up a significant portion of my free time but I wouldn’t change it for the world. I participate in a lot of various other clubs during the school year but my last major hobby is tennis. I’m not good enough to make my school tennis team, because I go to the best girls tennis school in the state, but I still enjoy playing casually. During the summer I play three or four times every week and it’s good that I do because otherwise I would not exercise very much.
In addition to hobbies there are some other things worth mentioning about my real life. I live with my parents and younger brother. He is a middle school boy and no offense to any middle school boys out there but he is hopelessly annoying. The day I’m writing this is the day after he hosted a sleepover in our house and I am very exhausted from listening to their screaming all night. I haven’t had dogs or cats in years but I do own two guinea pigs. Their names are Stella and Petunia and they are obnoxious. I love my pigs but I would highly recommend thinking twice before getting some of your own. They * on a near constant basis which is quite the hassle to clean up.
Next, I’m going to talk a little bit about myself as a writer. I’m really quite pitiful when it comes to completing projects I start. My major goal for this summer is to finish some sort of novel in order to include this accomplishment on my college applications. At this point I have two stories bouncing around in my head so I’m going to spend this month trying to bang out a rough draft. I’m very much a planner when it comes to writing. I can’t bring myself to write anything if I don’t have the entire plot laid out on a document somewhere. I’m the type of writer who could tell you the major historical events of the last thousand years in my fabricated fantasy universe. I know the backstories of even minor characters since birth. This method keeps me organized but I can see how it sometimes gets in my way. I spend a lot of time doing things that aren’t writing my story.
Now it’s time for a little work in progress introduction. The novel I’m going to be primarily working on this summer is a currently untitled book about a gang of young female pirates. It is set in a fantastical world that features mermaids, psychics, and other impossible things. The main character is from a small fishing village. She has seemingly endless siblings and a father who is far more concerned with turning a profit than any of his kids. This is so true that he ends up trading his daughter to this pirate gang. Luckily for her they are pretty friendly, if a little gross. However, they have a lot of enemies and the main character quickly gets roped in.
Alright without further ado here is the ice cream introduction. As an ice cream sundae I would consist of three scoops. Two of them would be coffee flavored because I have a borderline dangerous caffeine addiction. The third would be butterscotch flavored. Butterscotch is often overlooked and usually more palatable to the elderly but is secretly the superior flavor. That last part is a joke, mostly. The sundae would have slightly too large chunks of waffle cone in it because whoever ordered it just couldn’t give up that good cone taste, even to get a sundae. Waffle cones are also a little more rough around the edges than just straight ice cream but very enticing for the right audience. Finally, there would be two, still connected by the stem, maraschino cherries on top, because I am a raging lesbian. Don’t ask me how those two things are related, they just are.

SIXTH!!

links for this session:
✎ musical stories (requests are open!!)
✎ the longgg thread with all my writing :)
✎ the cabin i’m leading (contemporary ftw!!)

Seventh?

eighth hehe

Table of Contents: Rockie’s SWC July 2023 Folder

Dailies:

Daily 1: 1251 words

Daily 2: 760 words

Daily 3: 570 words

Daily 5: 242 words

Daily 6/7: 309 words

Daily 9: 449 words

Daily 11: 303 words

Daily 12: 157 words

Daily 13: 447 words

Daily 16: 0 words :D

Daily 17: 413 words

Daily 18-19: 503 words

Daily 23- in main cabin comments and I’m too lazy to find it lol but 102 words I think

Daily 27- in main cabin comments also xD

Weeklies:

Weekly 1: 2053 words

Weekly 2: (1829 words total)
Part 1: 765 words
Part 2: 639 words
Part 3: 425 words

Weekly 4: 2899 words total

luna post luna post

project weekly four | 24-30 july

| Path 1: FUTURE, Prompt 3 | Path 2: DAY, Prompt 2 | Path 3: PAST, Prompt 1 | Path 4: ANCIENT, Prompt 2 |


song (296 words)

up on the wall, up all around, all i could think was
what if i fall
what if i tumble from way up here, and never come back up
what if this song means nothing to you, or me
and what if i fall, from your memory and mine
what if this tower, once so strong and sturdy…

down below, up above, how my poor heart yearns for love
down below, up above, trace the clouds, connect the stars
down below, up above, hold tight, don’t drop your crown

see me, how i’m over the moon
let me sing above the moon
hear me, hear me sing and follow deep beneath the wave and
see me, far above the moon
but i can’t keep it going on
i can’t let the lights grow dim or break or hurt or—
but how does the moon go on?
how many miles it runs and how i must go on
am i over the moon?

is there any use of going along with all the day and all the nighttime
must i keep on dancing when the moon falls down
when i’m on the ground, in the streetlight
and you’re standing there, standing there
we watch each other, across the street and underneath and inside out
i wonder
are you dancing there or are you still…

watching me, how i’m over the moon
let me sing above the moon
hear me, hear me sing and follow deep beneath the wave and
see me, far above the moon
but i can’t keep it going on
i can’t let the lights grow dim or break or hurt or—
but how does the moon go on?
how many miles it runs and how i must go on
am i over the moon?


story (918 words from two prompts)

the ticking was beginning to unnerve frey.
at first, she counted each passing second, minute, hour, amused at the innovative machine that measured them so accurately. one, two, three, four days passed, and the novelty wore off. she stopped her counting, turned her mind elsewhere, but still the ticking ticked on. what did the machine’s owner call it? a lock? no, that wasn’t it.
there was no sign of hugo and charles adrian, not as far out on the horizon frey could see. her waiting, it seemed, would continue. she sighed.
in these days, frey had eaten nothing, drunk nothing, not even risen from her position to stretch her legs or get a better view. the young apprentice had never thought she could accomplish such a feat, but now it didn’t surprise or amaze her. she left behind those emotions, kept her eyes open, slept not a blink.
frey had never been so deep in a state.
but that ticking…
it was an imperfection, a stain on her mind’s otherwise perfect peace. a reminder of the passing days, of her many impossibilities. and she had, foolishly, kept it there, all the time.
a timekeeper, that’s what it was.
“a clock,” she whispers.
her voice was hoarse. she was suddenly made aware of how dry her mouth was, how her throat burned, how her stomach screamed for sustenance.
and she is no longer in a state.
for the first time in nearly a week, frey rose. her body was sore, all over, deeply sore, but more rested than she had ever felt before. her mind filled immediately with worries, fears, emotions of all sorts, but it too was awake and aware, more deeply than ever. it was so right, even with a creeping sense of something terribly wrong.
hugo. and the young lord. where had they gone? why had they not returned?
unsettlement had burrowed deep into frey’s sleeping mind, and now attacked her awake. she comes alert, eyes scanning the horizon, heart pumping, awareness so keen it hurt. dread, oh dread. she will be sick if she doesn’t get it under control.
frey had never been in a state before, let alone one that lasted a week. so she was sick. it was far from pleasant, even on a completely empty stomach.
and still the clock ticked on, with no sign of stopping. tick, tock, tick, tock, tick, tock, tick…
her next decision was where it would all go wrong for her, for the remainder of her poorly used life. quite the sadness it gives me to share it with you now, even from so far in the future. even knowing the inevitability of this all. only with distance, can the two of us watch our poor hero’s downfall without collapsing in a heap of weeping. poor frey. she deserved better. she deserved the love that could only be given to kings, to legends, to myths. her name whispered through time, as adrian’s will be. as hugo’s might have, had he not forbidden it. she was the truest of the three, the best. but that decision, that terrible choice to go on when she could have turned back, could have returned home, could have become anything — that possibility she held within, those abilities, how can anything be so tragic? — but no.
i shall withdraw my thoughts now, return to frey. the clock was still ticking.
“stop, stop, stop, make it all stop!” frey yells, to her own body’s dismay. but it’s a relief, to her mind. and no one around seems to hear. at least, from what she can tell.
but you and i, we know this is what will cause everything to go wrong. we know the truth. we have read that bradbury story — no, sorry, i am pulling you out of the story, and that is not my job. we must get back to frey. but still, she invited me here. perhaps that is the real world-shattering decision, allowing a narrator such as myself into her life. no. it can’t be. this must be it. though i will be arriving to the narrative soon.
her eyes stay on the horizon, over which comes a figure. for a moment, she dares to dream that hugo has returned, that he and the lord are okay, but no. it is only one figure, there is no second. she dismays.
she broke the clock, then. is that the fatal mistake? perhaps.
but no more ticking to rattle her brain, to wake her from her state, to distract her. and no need for it either, as i approach her quickly.
“frey,” is my only greeting. we have never met before.
“stranger.”
“how do you know my name?” i ask with a smile, a laugh. i throw back my head. i make myself die, then come back. oh dear, being in a body is so strange. frey became unsettled.
“what is this, what are you trying to do to me?” she asks, and i shifted the tense again. no, i don’t think i am very good at this. maybe i should skip past this, to the good part. her decision, that was letting me into the story. and i would go on to change everything.
there is nothing she could do, nothing her friends could do. not that they would, if they could. but either way they were on their own paths to tragedy, their own finalty already spelled out in front of them.
oh well! nothing i can do about it.


tragic ending for favorite character (510 words)

(hugo, alvis, and rejean already have canonically tragic ends, so here comes one for my beloved dahlia. this is going to hurt.)

the witch’s garden bloomed bright, happy colors. gladness, of a happy ending. blaise had returned, their whole family was together. oh, the beauty of it all. the perfection.
dahlia would be happy forever, with her beloved back in her arms, back from the impossible edge of the world, back out of the plot, out of the tangled threads of society, back in the secret love of her heart.
she was blind to the storms on the horizon, to the way the scholar’s breath trembled, to the darkness gathering beneath the vines. shadows are always starker, always blacker, where the sun shines her light brightly.
dahlia was an optimist, always, and she believed her life already included enough tragedy, that she would never need to endure loss again. such was not the truth, only wishful thinking of a witch whose life was already so beyond her control. she had no idea, then, just what horrors were still in store for her.
(the writer struggles to go on, knowing what they must do. and yet, they must write on. this is not the ending, this is not what lies in store, and yet. they must write it even so. the writer weeps.)
dahlia delighted in what she had, and never forgot to be thankful for it. she cared for her plants, for her family, for her beloved. she filled them with the very same love that held the whole earth together, the love that traced mountain peaks and chased rivers down, and found the end of the world. she loved as the adventurer she was at heart, and she loved as she moved on from that chapter of her life’s story.
she knew this was the good ending, this was her fairy tale. dahlia and blaise, blaise and dahlia. may the word of the gods protect them.
fickle things, the gods. refuse to keep their promises, but that is just their nature. maybe they know no better. maybe dahlia— maybe blaise should have known better, should have double checked those wards. but the scholar errant wished only to travel no longer, to teach and grow old and be happy and loved. no one can blame her.
(the writer chokes. how do they go on? how do they get out of here?)
dahlia would never blame blaise. her flower. her midnight secret. her one, her only.
(now must be when it happens. the writer can hardly bear to go on. they will need fluff after this. they will need to delete it all.)
the orange was the first hint. quiet, careful, creeping marigold. the same flowers that warned dahlia once, now again.
and blaise’s hand in hers, tightening at the sight.
“my love?” it is a whisper, a plead, a final hopeless gasp. blaise had died before. she knew what came next. and yet, the terror in her eyes. the scholar had not seen it coming.
the bargain made. the soul sold. pass hands from one greedy wind to the next. those terrible gods.
(the writer cries. we leave dahlia to grieve alone.)

ancient worldbuilding (412 words)

i <3 worldbuilding for my main work in progress

the world of universities and the home of charles adrian is the ancient forecomer of the eventual kingdom of cabrines. its mountains are short and worn down, and it is located on the southern part of the continent. the universities are like city states, each having their own lord and senate and academic focuses and culture. they are connected to each other with roads and treaties of knowledge exchange. the disparate universities are united during a time of plague, when much of their population is wiped out and the only path to survival is union. the name of their uniter was soon forgotten, however, when the whole area comes under the rule of the rojan empire, in a crusade to retake the homeplace of their founder and god, rojan. they regain independence in the following dynasty, though remain closely connected to the northern empire, and their kingdom is far weaker than it would have been otherwise, with much of their material riches going towards the rojan empire.

the northern coast of the same continent is mountainous and cliffy, and is where the mythical cave of songs is located, to which rejean and hugo travel in their main plot. this whole land is sparcely inhabited when they reach it, but an far ancient civilization is thought to have crafted the mountain range as a boundary to keep out invaders. as a result, the land is barren and arid and terribly difficult to live off of. rejean and hugo reach the cave of songs, and rejean enters never to come out again. he is believed to rise with the sun, as rojan, the sun god, to found the rojan empire. in reality, hugo, whose name would be forgotten just as the kingdom of cabrines’ name was, spread word of his beloved rejean and founded several small states, that would eventually set out to conquer rojan’s homeland and become a continent spanning empire.

alacia is the land to the west of the continent, a beautiful and peaceful and fertile flatland of forests. it is the land from which hugo comes, though he sometimes doesn’t know it, as well as the main stronghold of magic. the people live communally, and share their knowlegde more freely than those in the universities. they fight fiercely against the rojan empire’s attempts to conquer them, and the rojan soldiers never try after their first campaign. alacia remains a mystery to outsiders.


all a dream narrative (258 words)

the world was beginning to fall apart, and honestly i was useless standing in the middle of it all. i wished that i could actually do something, but nothing came to my mind. so i turned towards you, and this is what you said.
“when the bubbling seas come closer than the dawn, and when the song you always sing comes to an end, and when your hope is over, that is when you can open your eyes.”
and i think, well that is a strange thing to say. why would i need to open my eyes, when they are already wide open, already staring into yours, so deep and blue and beautiful. you, somehow, know my thoughts. maybe — can you read them?
“i can indeed.”
that is not strange to me, however this lack of surprise certainly is. it unsettles me, momentarily, until i can shake the thoughts from my mind. well. the world still falls.
i am still useless, can you believe it?
“yes, i truly can.”
of course you can. there is something about you, something that stretches far into the past, far beyond what i can guess, you are something solid and true and unchangeable and—
“i’m you.”
you’ve never interrupted me before.
“i didn’t exist before, before a few hours ago, before you created me, and whispered to me what you need to one day know.”
and what is that, i wonder? because certainly i cannot think of it. the world ends, i am useless.
“but you’re not.”
but i’m not?
“wake up.”

cabin intro daily | 12 july 2023

Question everything, that’s what the gas station attendant told you. Or, at least, that’s what you remember hearing. Come to think of it now, those moments in the air conditioning are a blur in your mind: you can’t recall the attendant’s face, the station’s brand, or even where it was.
// You take note of this, but keep your eyes on the road. Ahead of you stretches orange and blue, meeting at the horizon, only interrupted by the black of the pavement and the white of a scattering of clouds.
// The perfect day for a drive, you know, but something is off.
// Then you see it in the rearview mirrors — a caravan of convertibles and airstream campers, speeding after you from a distance. You slow and pull over, to let them pass, but to your dread and surprise they do the same.
// Out of the leading car step two travelers, who walk over to you. “Hello,” says the first. “Traveling these roads alone is ill-advised.” “But we’re going this way too,” continues the second, clearly the leader. “Want to join us?”
// You remember the attendant’s words as you reply, “yes.”

sleep daily | 9 july 2023

Various schools of the university view sleep differently, as do different universities across the southern region of the continent. However, our story only concerns this one university, in only particular more populous schools, so that is where I will be focusing. Also, it must be noted that I have not named the university, and I am not sure when I will. For now, having it as just “the university” works for me.
Generally in the university, high levels of education mean high understanding of the importance of sleep. As such, sleep is generally valued highly and not getting enough sleep is seen not only as unhealthy, but disrespectful to yourself, your peers, and your opportunities to be a learner. Furthermore, sleeplessness is associated with zaniness or craziness, and often a character in a play is shown to be sleeping poorly as an omen that something magical or unnatural will happen concerning them soon.
This superstition of a sort is actually backed by fact, not sleeping will bring you closer to the spirits that make up the magic system, and will make it easier to commune, but also easier to get lost in communing. For this reason, the school of devotion does not officially condone going for over forty-eight hours without sleeping, though the most power can be accessed at twice that. However, many professors will wink and nudge their students towards later nights and longer breaks between sleeps to get them more acclimated to the spirits. More than this even, the students of devotion are exceedingly competitive much of the time, and hours without sleep is one thing they will compare nearly constantly.
The school of health, which has a general distaste for students of devotion, particularly has a distaste for this practice, as going into a state while largely untrained and without much sleep to pull you back into your body can leave you unresponsive and needing of their care.

lit-fi & illu-fi weekly number one | 3-9 july 2023

part one (331 words)
based on “sinking” from once upon a picture

⠀that’s not what He said would happen, noah thinks bitterly. he is an old, brittle man, trapped on a sinking ark, an ark that cost him his entire life, practically. everyone said he was crazy, and now he’s beginning to think that perhaps they were right.
⠀so here he is, on the wreckage of a sunken, failure of a wooden ship, a giant wooden ship, now mere crumbs, with hardly anything to show for it. the sky and the sea have blended into one gradient of green and dark gray and light, and he cannot see the sun, nor any land. he believes it all must be covered by the rain. oh, the horrible rain. and he can count the animals that are still with him, stranded. is this a worse death, he wonders? is this something that is horrible that he has forced upon them, or is this better for them? he cannot imagine how it would be any better. he sees a few animals still in the water — a zebra, a frog, though he looks to be doing alright, a cheetah just barely holding on, and some horned thing as well. the anteater appears to be swimming along alright, so his worries turn to the stack of animals upon the wreckage. all manner of landlife has found themselves squeezed into this very small space, and he wonders for a moment if maybe, just maybe, they might make it through. he squashes the moment of hope. he notes the animals that have made it through with him — a (possibly amused?) giraffe, a very exhausted looking rhino, a creepy elephant, a walrus (why is he aboard the boat, instead of swimming with his brethren? noah wonders), an expressionless penguin, a hippo, a rather depressed polar bear, an unidentifiable horned creature, an unidentifiable fuzzy creature, an orangutan, a sort of oversized rat, a male lion, a mythical creature whose name escapes him, and a rather angry tiger.
⠀he fears for his life.

part two (974 words)

you really don’t remember anything from that night? i feel li— hugo. you should know what happened that night. you should know what you did, for me.
that’s not okay, it’s not okay, for her to just take something like that away from you. something that… well, that night matters a lot to me. i think it does for you to. sorry, i shouldn’t be getting so overwhelmed like this. could i just… can i tell you about it? i think you should know. yes, you should know.
it was just after we left that first town, you remember what happened there right? yeah, so we were leaving there, and you were saying bye to that other boy, and i was feeling jealous because we’d hardly talked since leaving the university and here we were in a world that had more to offer you than i did and here was this guy who had something in common with you. i saw him slip you a piece of paper.
i saw you blush.
i know you remember this, i just want you to hear my perspective. so i got to thinking that, hey this kid can’t just steal my best friend from me! he can’t take my— my hugo from me. no one can take you away from me, i promise.
so my plan was, i would write you a letter. not just a letter. a ballad.
i would use my education for something good, and tell you how i felt. i would blow you away, cease your thoughts about bierk, or whatever his name was. i would rekindle that friendship, whatever we’d lost—
what did we lose, hugo, why did we lose it? why did we waste our time, searching for— i don’t know. i don’t know what i was thinking. but then, i was finally seeing clear. i needed to win you back, show you i still loved you.
i still love you.
the letter, yes, the letter. i still have it, around here som— oh, here it is. only a few lines. terribly shakey penmanship; i was a mess of emotions, and besides we were on that wagon— why am i trying to justify my handwriting to you? it doesn’t matter. as you can see here, i never finished the letter. the ballad. whatever you want to call it. we stopped early that night, because you said you sensed frey coming. so i lost hope, yeah?
i shouldn’t have, i know that now.
we set up camp. you volunteered to cook, so i made myself scarce. theoretically, i was gathering firewood for the winter night ahead. and theoretically, for me, i was continuing to compose my grand gesture. but neither was the truth. no, i was doing nothing helpful, not even remotely.
i was trying to remember the last time you said my name.
and i couldn’t. i loved the way you said my name, two soft syllables, like you regret even thinking them, like they were poison, but the sweetest poison. perhaps i am trying too hard to be poetic. but i do love hearing you say my name, hugo. truly. so it hurt my heart to realize that you hadn’t said it, at least not in the month since our journey began. since my journey began, and you chased after me. i was in a pathetic state, wandering that new growth. it’s a wonder nothing awful happened then.
i started muttering your name. hugo, hugo, hugo, hugo, hugo, hugo. i think i collapsed on a stump, full dramatics, convinced, somehow, that you hated me. which makes no sense, how would you have traveled miles on foot to follow me into nowhere, into an uncertain future, when you had such a grand one laid out in front of you, if you hated me?
anyways, i was out there an hour. i collected not even a twig of fire wood. and i headed back to camp, all in shambles.
you had just about finished up, and were making some apologies about the lack of authentic ingredients or the like, but really i wasn’t paying attention to your words or the delicious smell from over the fire you’d somehow conjured. in the light of the just-set sun, you were radiant. i couldn’t look away from you. i somehow did.
i thought, i’m in love.
so cliche, i’m sorry. but looking at you, thinking about the terrible past month, the realization simultaneously filled me up and broke my heart. how many broken hearts can a poor lord take in a day?
you were still fussing over the meal, clearly didn’t notice my puffy eyes and tear-stained face. honestly i didn’t care. just as i reached for the letter, the utterly incomplete record of my thoughts and feelings, you set down a plate in my lap.
you smiled, that uncertain, perfect smile, and offered pleasantries about the day. you said something about the weather, i replied that it’d been perfect. you complained about the roads, i nodded in agreement. you didn’t question my quiet. and you seemed nervous, about something. not sure how i noticed, with everything going on with me.
i eventually asked about the meal. you winced; you were worried i would say something bad, i think. so i reassured you, tried to reassure you, it was very good, and what was it? so you smiled and explained.
i committed that smile to memory.
you said, quite excitedly, that the town we’d passed through was an alacian settlement, that you’d never met alacians before and struggled with that aspect of your history, that beiroc had gifted you a recipe, that you hoped i liked it. i re-examined the dish laid before me. the colors, the flavors, the textures; all so you. i smiled, you smiled back.
“thank you, hugo.”
“and thank you, rejean.”

part three (402 words)
continuing the first excerpt from hamlet

what comes next is undoubtedly tragic. unthinkable, truly. but not unexpected.
asleep in a bed of roses, the king dies.
his last breath goes unnoticed. the wilting blossoms do not care. the bustle beyond the walls goes quiet as well, for the falling sun signals a time of rest. yet dark is when evil roams, its thorns latching deep. already, this thorn has pricked, killed, with vicious poison.
the king’s corpse begins to decay, more quickly than would be expected. the flowers take root, called on by the promise of unnatural nutrition. rot, the rot of a dying empire, a dated dream, permeates the bedchamber.
the maid who finds him faints.
no longer can this thing be called a king. nor a man. this is a monster of some unknown proportions. florets twist out from its eyes, nose, mouth, ears. one ear bursts with them, a grand bouquet of decay and new growth.
the queen screams when she hears of it.
a horrific omen, promising doom for the emperor. without its fruit, without the sweetness of the future, how would the empire live on?
word travels quickly across the kingdom, to ally and enemy alike. all dare to travel closer, to get a sniff of the rotten king, to take a bite from the ruined fruit. feelings all about sour as the king’s brother takes the throne.
his son, in particular, feels cheated out of his rightful heritage.
how did his uncle climb to the top? misdeeds must be involved, he figures, and the monster descends upon him. whispering through the voice of petals and pollen, worming its way into his thoughts.
avenge me, says the flowering creature. let me grow, it truly thinks.
the young prince waters the creature, cares for its insidious blossoms and creeping vines and thorns and roots and all. the creature begins to flourish, to grow in its power, to sour the young prince’s disposition. he grows jealous and envious and proud, and refuses to let anyone in.
he perished, terribly, mere months after the creature’s creation. but the creature lives on, grows on, goes on, and terrorizes.
what once was a noble king, now a terrible and dreadful being of nothing but evil. once pricked by the thorn, now a living breathing pricker with thorns beyond imagination.
and to think, it’s all to blame for a poison, a bed of roses, a kiss, and that’s all.

part four (413 words)
writing this on less than an hour of sleep on an airplane, and finishing it hours later dehydrated, dizzy, and 15k steps deep, let’s see whether the symbols will symbolize

the rain has stopped, but the sun is gone. the sky is only grey, the sea is more of the same. the ark dashed against rocks, noah’s purpose crushed and sunken by the very same waves meant to deliver him. he cries out in destitution, shakes his fist at the sky.
why, he pleads, why tell me to prepare, why offer to save my soul, only to display to me such profound terror, such a nightmare of unthinkable proportions, and abandon me here, a lone human?
why, Lord?
He is silent.
noah decides he must help himself. the first order is to take control of the animals. before, his God had calmed them, led them to the ark, kept them peaceful. but whatever faith had done that seemed to have disappeared with the sun, and now the remaining predators were at each others’ throats.
he works to steady their tempers, gentle their cries, bring tenuous hope to their hearts. he wonders, if they truly are the only life left, how long until they’re all vying for the kill again. he ceases his wondering, and sobs, he tears falling to the slowly draining sea.
its color now has lightened, he notices, and seems to be reflecting light all strangely, all warped. it seems almost forgiving, he dares hope for a moment, before his reflection ripples, and he is brought back into himself. he thinks how he forgot what it means to drive a team together.
he wonders if he ever learnt.
the sky darkens once more, and noah’s frustration only grows. what does this mean, he ponders furiously. why me? why this fate for me?
in an instant the answer struck him, clear as day. this is not an omen of doom, a punishment for wrongdoing. this is a reminder, of what he forgot and must remember, of what he may never have known but must certainly learn now. this is his team, this is his calling. he will lead them into a bright, hopeful tomorrow, with Him guiding them all along.
and so the work must start now, with the animals calm, and the sea calming, and its level now very nearly back to something resembling normal. he sends out the animal his Lord told him to before, a dove, and receives back an olive branch.
he watches land rise from the sea.
and the sky is no longer grey, but a grand splendor of color. a rainbow, hung up in the sky.

song bidaily | 6-7 july 2023

a call and response folk song about the founding of the rojan empire

have you ever heard the tale? heard the tale of the boy who walked the mountain and never came again?
—no we’ve never heard the tale, tell us now the tale of the boy who walked the mountain and never returned home
gather round, attend the myth, learn the myth of the boy who calmed a storm and disappeared into the wind
—come friend, come brother, come sister, father, mother, come hear the myth of the boy who calmed a storm and disappeared into the wind
just a simple boy, born leagues and leagues away, traveled far and wide, to find the song and the distant truth
—what happened to the boy, the simple young boy, who traveled far and wide, to find the song and the truth?
he walked the wide open meadows, he climbed the craggy peaks, he looked out upon the sea
—did he speak to the creatures there? did he sing to the mountains? did he swim into the deep?
not just yet, dear listeners, don’t get excited, for he was just a simple boy, looking for the song and the truth
—but did he? tell us now, tell us now, what he did there? why he walked the open meadows and climbed the craggy peaks and looked out upon the sea?
you know already, children, to save us all, to save you and you and you and you and me
—but why’d he save the children, and not the creatures, or the magic, or all three?
please remember, little listeners, this was just a simple boy, how could he try to save all three?
—he was just a simple boy, yet he traveled far and wide, to find the song and distant truth
indeed, thank you for listening. now hush for the moment, i must tell you the most important part
—shhh, shhh, we must hear the most important part!
our young hero’s name was rojan, which is where we get our grand empire’s name comes from
and rojan had a friend, whose guidance he would never forget or turn away
these two friends, they reached a cave, alone and injured, but so glad to be alive
the simple young boy entered the cave, and rose with the sun
—did you say, he entered all alone, and rose with the sun?
he entered the cave, just him and a song, and rose that next morning with the sun
—now we know, now we’ve learned, of the boy who traveled far and wide, entered a cave, and rose with the sun

smoothie daily | 5 july 2023

⠀sprinkled with warm memories and distant nostalgia, this homely smoothie is sure to catch your eye. its color finds a balance between old and new, and it shifts with every movement of you. it seems to be growing, changing, but the core concept stays the same. you can’t help but reach for it, can’t help but want a sip. the first sip is everything: the exhilaration your father spinning you around in his arms when you were only two or three, the humble pride of your mother teaching you to bake and you being great, the simple fun of chasing your siblings in the park. but with the second and third and fourth sips, the flavor deepens. abstracts the memories, into one lovely sensation of home. you sink into it. you try to capture it in words, but ultimately fall short.
⠀for this is something that cannot be shared through words, only through actions. it is a call to action, it is a call to drop what you are doing and check on your relations. to ensure that your family continues on, healthy and happy, but more importantly knowing they are loved.
⠀all contained in a smoothie. you can hardly believe it. you take another sip, and smile.

bi-fi fanfic daily | 4 july 2023

“chunk”: uncle ben dying canon event from the spiderverse movies
twists:
⠀+ they realize a book/show/movie is being made about them during the scene (TrellD)
⠀+ the main character, in the climax of your scene, forgets what they were doing (criminal-intent)

something was wrong. petra could tell — every atom in their body was screaming, standing on end, furiously shaking with anticipation. they tasted blood, a sign they’d learned long ago meant something terrible was coming.
⠀petra braced for the worst.
⠀nothing happened.
⠀so they took in their surroundings, hesitantly at first. the streets of hell’s kitchen were quiet, at least for eleven at night. in the east, only a few blocks from this old church’s roof, they could see times square lights shining. hudson yards, billionaire’s playground, burned brightly from the west. two hubs of activity, action, possibility.
⠀appearing empty yet fully lit, their operation headquarters were less than a block away from this convenient roof garden perch, in an art deco skyscraper petra’d purchased with their own money. nothing was wrong.
⠀their dread hadn’t gone away. nor had the taste of blood.
⠀staying perched on the roof’s edge, a gargoyle in black and green, petra pushed out their perception, searching for … they weren’t quite sure. anythi—
⠀oh no.
⠀they scrambled to find a grip on the brick as their whole reality began slipping away. it couldn’t be true, it couldn—
⠀not if they had anything to say about it.
⠀breath in, breath out. benny wasn’t gone yet. they were going to save him.
⠀they swung into action. and even now, in the midst of what could be the worst hour of their life, it felt so right. so cinemat— so empowering.
⠀leaping from building to building, soaring through the neon of times square, they chased their sense of him. was he still in the library? why was he there so late at night? it was so wrong, everything was wrong.
⠀petra landed in the center of bryant park. a wide shot of them, looking up. a close up of their closed eyes, sq— they smelled blood now. a searing headache crept up out of nowhere and tore their sense of reality away— red and black flashed, lines of action racing across their face. pain, scorching pain. hands on head. shaking.
⠀then nothing.
⠀what were they doing here, in this empty park? they blinked, once, twi
⠀LOOK OUT
⠀petra spun around, eyes widening, despair deepening. the main branch library was gone. a gaping hole in its place.
⠀they heard laughter, from somewhere inside. and gasps, from somewhere beyond. perceived two men, where the library once stood. and an entire audience, an entire several of you, from elsewhere.
⠀“ohnn, you made it!”
⠀what was benny doing here?

truth or dare daily | 3 july 2023

truths…
your silliest fear? (-KenzieCamps-)
⠀rejean — i can’t bear the communed. i know they can’t hurt me, and that they are by definition “wholly pious and good,” i’ve just always thought they are so creepy. particularly to think that hugo could be like that one day…
⠀hugo — fish. i am irrationally terrified of fish. i think it’s because the carekeepers used to serve fish whole, with the heads still on. bonechilling, for a five-year-old. though it could be a result of something i heard while young, but can never quite remember. something about ghosts in the ocean?
what is one lie you know is not true but continue to believe? (Firetender)
⠀hugo — i was lied to a lot as a child and i always knew it. i was different from the other kids, because i looked different, and spoke different, and didn’t know their jokes or songs or games. so i knew that when the carekeepers said i was just the same as the other kids, no matter how much i wanted to believe it, it was a lie, meant to placate my questions and calm my nightmares.
⠀rejean — we were nine. or, no, it was hugo’s tenth birthday. and no one else was celebrating it. so i said we should run away together; clearly no one else cared about him. i said i loved him more than anything. and i told myself it wasn’t true, i loved my people more than i loved him. sometimes it hurts less to believe that, than to face the truth.
something you (the character) has never told anyone. (Whirlygig)
⠀rejean — i would do anything, genuinely anything, for hugo fent. and it scares me. also, i was the one who threw oris out of the clock tower, not hugo. guess i was taking the fall for him, even at age eight. or maybe i just wanted credit.
⠀hugo — my earliest memory is of my birth mother. i don’t remember anything about her, excepting her laugh. it’s so intimate, so purely maternal, it’s never even occurred to me i might share it with anyone else. so they assume i have memories of before, and ignore any attempts i make to connect further with my past.
what’s your character’s least pleasant memory from before they were ten? (Rey_venclaw)
⠀hugo — i imagine it would be my mother’s death, if i could remember that. otherwise, the day i first tried communing. i was so confident, if you can believe it; i really thought i was special, that it would be easy. it wasn’t. it broke my heart. i don’t know who let me try that at only nine.
⠀rejean — i had a very pleasant and privileged childhood, particularly before my painfully annoying younger sister’s birth. so maybe that? the realization that… no, my parents never cared for me more than anything else. the university always came first. then it has to be that time with torlin, when i didn’t do my algebra homework.

& dare!
Write at least 200 words about a character in a restaurant (PixelDucko)
⠀emmerson ash has no idea what he was doing.
⠀not that it is his first experience so far out of his depths. in the two and a half months since being let go as the apprentice portraitist for the house of elm, he has tried many a sore-fitting job across the university. first a week minute keeping for the court, then a brief stint as a student of devotion, next a period of shepherding in the hills just beyond the university’s border, followed by some ill-spent time unemployed. he got to see places within the university’s walls he never known existed, meet people intrigued by his rumored past, but nothing yet pleased him enough to stay.
⠀the pasta restaurant is no different.
⠀perhaps it is his confusion at every word that comes out of his boss’ mouth, or his constant urge to eat the tomatoes instead of cooking them into mush, or just his desire to be back in the studio. he knows only one thing. this will not end with him being an incredible cook.
⠀if only the lord would realize — he could never be happy until in the studio, brush in hand, colors and compositions swirling in his head. no time soon. that much emmerson knows.

five random words daily | 2 july 2023

using “sepia, trove, ironic, sordid, martyr” from silvxrywaves

“oh, so that was your great idea?”
“yeah, what’s so wrong about it?”
“oh, oh, the irony, oh it’s killing me, oh diana, oh—”
“shut it, like you thought of anything better.”
“well, you know darling, you know my mind is just a—”
“trove of genius, yes i know, darling.”
“i love it when you call me that.”
“and i love it when you keep your eyes on the road.”
“oopsy! you’re right. so, tell me more, tell me everything, i simply must know how it all came to you.”
“it didn’t. come to me, that is. i worked hard on it, wasted hours sorting through old sepia-tones.”
“but it worked!”
“it worked beautifully.”
both quieted as the motorcycle crested the hill. stretched out before them was a tapestry of bucolic landscape, laid out in such a manner as to steal all breath from the pair. they simply smiled, locked eyes, and sat for moments in comfortable silence.
the plan was working beautifully.
the moments passed, and the sun beckoned them onward to the horizon.
“but…?”
“but what? am i meant to complain about our sordid circumstances? make myself a martyr? darling, those days are behind us now. look to the future, shining ahead so bright you probably shouldn’t quite look. and look at me — not literally, i beg you — i’m here, holding your hand.”
she was there, holding her hand. a reassuring presence, a reminder, a promise.
“yes. i know. diana. thank you, for coming.”
“i couldn’t let you drive of all alone.”
she loved her, and she loved her back. though, perhaps, i need not tell you that.
i think you may already know.
“and tonight? tonight, when we reach whatever town we come upon first, we will celebrate!”
“to all our tomorrows!”
“and to the present as well.”

1k intro challenge | 1 july 2023

hello! i’m lio (they/them), a queer enjoyer of fantasy, boygenius, and coffee. this session of scratch writing camp is my tenth and i am so excited to be coleading literary fiction. i would be an ice cream cone with one scoop of peppermint and one of coconut because those are my favorite flavors hehe!

okay so you want to hear a little more about me! let’s go in stages, shall we?

starting with the second sentence of my shorter intro, i’m queer and a lover of fantasy, boygenius, and coffee. i am non-binary which is super cool; this identity has furthered interest in lgbtq+ history, besides my existing passion for justice, equity, and stories. speaking of stories, my favorite sort, whether to read or to write, are generally fantasy, especially high fantasy. possibly my favorite fantasy series is the locked tomb, a series made up of gideon the ninth, harrow the ninth, nona the ninth, and the to-be-released alecto the ninth, with the tagline “lesbian necromancers in space.” what could be better?
{insert segue here} i also really like boygenius, a supergroup made up of the musicians lucy dacus, julien baker, and phoebe bridgers. i recently got the chance to see them perform live on tour and was absolutely blown away. of their songs, my favorites are, in no particular order, true blue, satanist, not strong enough, and bite the hand. i also enjoy musicals just like many fellow swc’ers, with falsettos, hadestown, and sweeney todd being my most enjoyed. other musicians i listen to often are lord huron, mistki, and the head and the heart. i also love the across the spiderverse soundtrack and the movie in general.
{another segue goes here} so you might wonder how i am going to write very much about my love of coffee, but you are underestimating my ability to make the strangest of connections. yes, i love coffee, and i drink it in many different forms, but one of the reasons i love it so much is because of the less than ideal amount of sleep i got in high school. i love coffee, but i love sleep more <33 sleep >>> !! anyways i am no longer in high school (i graduated yayay) and i will be entering my first year of college in the fall, so i will probably continue loving and consuming coffee just as much (and for the same reasons). i think i’m going to study geography, because it includes an overlap of many of my interests, and also study some creative writing as well, for obvious reasons.

speaking of creative writing! oh hey i actually did a segue wow! i really like writing, and now i would really like to ramble on for a couple hundred words about my favorite projects because when else will i get the opportunity to shove them down people’s throats? lovingly of course hehe
my longest on-going project is a novel(la?) titled aubades to the sun, which follows a young student as he travels across the world with his best friend / crush and watches him transform from a lordling into a god. despite writing the first chapter in february 2021 and continually working on smaller stuff with the many characters throughout the world, on top of plotting out a draft of the entire story early in 2023, i have not even remotely finished this story, likely because of the other projects i’ve been working on. with a society entirely consumed by academics and knowledge, and structured in small university-states ruled by lords and housing several schools in various disciplines, the vibes are very dark academia fantasy. the most important characters in this story are hugo, torlin, and “rejean” / adrian. hugo is the narrator, a mysteriously orphaned, curious and introverted student of divinity at the university-state, who struggles with both his magic and his feelings for his charismatic childhood friend. torlin is hugo’s mentor, the head of the school of divinity, an important figure of authority in both the university and the magical world as a whole, along with being an important uncle / older familial figure for hugo. charles adrian (called “rejean” by those closest to him) is the son of the university’s lord, a confident and easy going young lord who ultimately fails to live up to his family’s expectations concerning his leadership, academic intelligence, or courage in the face of war calls. there are, of course, other characters and settings, but far too many to detail in this intro.
a project i might have more passion for (or at least have worked on more recently) follows a character i made about two years ago, a pirate by the name of alvis dumar. what interests me about alvis is their willingness to do anything to get what they want (specifically power, motivated by their ultimate desire for revenge), and how this directly leads to their own downfall. they are an awful person, but such a fun character to write. when i originally conceptualized a novel following them, about two years ago, i did not plot out anything. i never really had a plan for what i would write about them, just that it would end with their ultimate downfall.

yes well i am running out of time to finish this challenge (i say having wasted a lot of time just clicking through various websites when i could have been writing this intro but i am a procrastinator what can i say?). anyways! this has been fun writing and i hope that you did not read it all the way through because honestly it is not very well written, nor does it contain anything actually important about me. i’m cool, that’s all you need to know. and i like boygenius, that’s important too. and wow, i never even mentioned that i am the number one lit-fi rights advocate, when that is such a big part of my swc personality! well, now you know. goodbye now!

hello lio :0

woooo first page :DDD

edit: let me emphasize that a bit more.

WOOOOOOOOOO FIRST PAGE LET'S GOOOOO :DDDDD

val's vintage vacation is awesome yo *mic drop*

1k word intro!!!

Good evening everyone! Or technically morning as it is now officially 12am! If you haven't met me before, I'm moss, I use she/her pronouns and live in the PST timezone, and am leading Sci-Fi: Galactic Invasion with the marvelous Miss Moonlit! <3 I'm super excited to be participating in my sixth session of SWC (and fourth as (co)leader!) and am really looking forward to getting to know you all!
A good place to start with these is usually hobbies—I can ramble on about that for quite some time ;D Some of my current favorite things to fill up my free time with are reading, writing, and drawing. Some of my favorite books are Six of Crows by Leigh Bardugo, Caraval by Stephanie Garber, Little Thieves by Margaret Owen, Nimona by ND Stevenson, and On a Sunbeam by Tillie Walden. I'm always happy to talk about any of these, let me know on my profile if you've read them (and if you have not please go do so immediately /hj)! As for writing, some of my favorite genres to work in are fantasy and realistic fiction, though I've also been writing some sci-fi recently for short stories (including my writing comp entry last session!) and cabin planning purposes. I mostly write short stories, but have made three novel attempts over the years (two for NaNoWriMo that reached about 15k words (which was my goal!) and another that barely went anywhere), and am going to be pursuing a fourth this session! This one is about a girl who discovers that she is an Illusion, someone with the power to shift into another realm, called the Illusory! However, the ruler of her city, as well as a group of loyal Illusions, hunt down everyone who has these powers, and she must escape, or be forced to help them build a contraption that will block off the Illusory forever. It's a bit hard to explain at the moment, hopefully that makes sense! Anywayy, the third interest that I mentioned was art! I got into that last February after participating in my first SAC session and have been pretty hooked ever since. I mostly draw cats and other small four-legged creatures, but I've also been trying to figure out humans, which is somewhat working! I'm also doing artfight for the first time this year, which I'm really excited about—my username is the same as on here ;D
Another interesting thing about me is that I'm homeschooled, which I love because it gives me lots of room to explore my interests! Some of my favorite subjects are math (specifically geometry, which I did this year—it was so fun!), linguistics, and of course English/writing. I'm also learning Spanish (level 3A!) and Esperanto (kind of dropped off on this recently, oops…), which has been a lot of fun! I am also fluent in Aurebesh (the code language used throughout the Star Wars movies), and working my way towards fluency in Naxian (a code language I created for Sci-Fi ;D)! One of my other favorite activities is robotics! I was on an FTC team last year, which was a challenge where we had 8 weeks (I think) to design, build, and code a robot to complete a specific task, which in this case was picking up cones from stacks and depositing them on top of poles of various heights. I was team captain, programming lead, portfolio wrangler, and driver—the team was made up of mostly twelve year old boys who preferred to sit around and talk about soccer than do much to help out, so I ended up with a lot to do… It was very stressful towards the end (especially when we found out three days before the competition that we needed to make a five minute long presentation xD), but ultimately a lot of fun—I learned so much about working with others! Unfortunately, my family moved a couple months ago so I won't be on the same team next year, but we've found another one in the area that seems like a great fit!
As I mentioned earlier, this is my sixth session of SWC! I've had a very even assortment of roles over the last year and a half—I've been a camper twice (Nov 2021 and March 2022), a co-leader twice (Nov 2022 and March 2023), and a leader twice (July 2022 and July 2023)! I'm not going to list all of the cabins that I've been in, but if you for some reason want to know them, they're listed in my leader app from this session. As well as leading, I'm also on the daily team this session (as well as last session!), which has been so much fun! We've got a lot of very exciting activities planned over the month—I'm looking forward to finally sharing them!
Speaking of dailies, I should probably answer the question that is the actual daily from today! Even though I came up with it in the first place, I have given it absolutely no thought up until now, haha… First of all, I would probably be in a bowl—I find cones quite messy, which I am (usually) not. My ice cream sundae would likely have two scoops—mainly just so I can fit the flavors that I want, but some people mentioned scoops demonstrating their height, and that also fits since I am pretty tall! My top scoop would probably be chocolate—it seems relatively warm and friendly, which I also try to be! On the bottom of my sundae, I would have a scoop of lemon ice cream (or gelato—lemon gelato is amazing xD), which, while slightly more sour, can also be sweet and refreshing in its own way. Additionally, the strange mix of flavors (though they're not incredibly strange to me, they're actually one of my favorite combinations haha) could represent my relatively weird mix of interests. My sundae would be topped with caramel sauce (simply because it's delicious) and a mango slice (of course.).
Alright, I think that's it for tonight—I just passed 1k words, meaning I have completed the challenge for the fourth session in a row! Thanks to anyone who actually read through all this–as usual, it is quite rambly and m-dash and parenthesis filled…hope you enjoyed it regardless!

:3
will make this pretty laterrrrr

Daily 1:
If I were an ice cream, I’d be a lot of different flavors combined into one waffle cone. The waffle cone would have the edge dipped in chocolate and rolled in rainbow sprinkles, and the ice cream would have pop rock folded into it with more sprinkles and nonpareils on top. There’d also be sorbet along with the ice cream, and on top of the ice cream there’d be whipped cream and a cherry (and some chunks of cookie dough). The cone wouldn’t have a stand because it would float in midair (magic) and it would never run out of ice cream (and it would never melt, of course).

what is this i have found… *raises eyebrows in swc*

gasp hi! :0

Ooh, hello hello :0 claiming!

the first half of my swc writing can be found here

welcome to my swc sharing post! CD, they/them <3

daily, jul 19 - 424 words


Peanut Butter and Jam. It was a famous pair. But today, these world-known companions were fierce rivals.
Peanut Butter had never really liked Jam. They were too sticky, too sickly, too sweet. They were too purple or too red or sometimes even too orange. And worst of all, they made a great pair.
Everybody loved it when Peanut Butter and Jam worked together. And for good reason- they always came out with some kind of ingenious invention or spectacular show for all the condiment world to see. The telephone, for example, was an idea sparked when Peanut Butter needed to communicate with their sibling Chunky faster, so Jam lay down and Peanut Butter spoke through Jam. Humans hundreds of years ago then saw this incredible idea and stole it, the unoriginal thieves.
The world loved Peanut Butter and Jam- but to Peanut Butter, it seemed like they liked Jam more. Jelly was always nice and kind and sweet to the other condiments- they were a perfect performer, the very face of the duo. But to Peanut Butter and their close relatives, they were the very epitome of horrible. Unnaturally sweet, with a perfect smile. Ugh. What couldn't Jam do wrong?
That's why Peanut Butter was so, so ready for this fateful game of cards. It was the perfect opportunity to take out all their negative feelings AND prove to the public that they were not only as good as Jam- they were better. The condiment world would finally give Peanut Butter the proper respect they deserved.
Meanwhile, Jam was thinking almost equally malicious thoughts. They knew how much better at public interactions they were than Peanut Butter and they loved it. They loved being the sweet one, the most beloved of all condiments. This game of cards would be easily won- just another day of being better than Peanut Butter.
In fact, though almost nobody knew it, Jam had been the one to come up with the idea of a Peanut Butter and Jam sandwich in the first place. That's right- Peanut Butter's most famous role was given to them on a silver platter by none other than Jam themselves. They would never admit it, but Jam knew that Peanut Butter would never get over being in Jam's shadow constantly. It made them bitter and consistently a beast to Jam and the outside world. Oh, Peanut Butter. If only you'd learn that you were making yourself your own enemy.
Jam smiled their famously sticky smile and placed down four aces. They had won again.

weekly, ends jul 30th - 3,029 words

tw terrible writing and gore and death blah blah

Song, 1- 55/50 words



A constant drip of rain,

On a tarnished metal bridge.

Where fallen lay there, slain,

And survivors might well jump the ridge.

It stands the test of time,

But one day it shall fall,

The memories forgottten,

Will finally end us all.

The memories forgotten,

Are what made the bridge fall.



Prompt- Fleshing out an aspect. 443/400 words



Aspect- Exports and trade

My land, Manal Nir, borders the coast of the Sea. They are a reasonably prosperous land, despite being located in an arid desert, which is commonly associated with an absence of anything that could be used to support life. They have a very large fishing industry- indeed, this civilization is famed for its prowess in anything to do with living on water. They are home to incredible sailors, be it fishermen, adventurers or people in the navy. They are also advanced when it comes to technology, having not only very adaptive ships and boats that fit perfectly for their jobs but a plethora of them. They export large amounts of fish, other luxury sea life and ocean products. Very recently, it was discovered that the desert around Manal Nir is rich with metals and minerals. They have begun mining gold, silver, iron and copper from the ground and exporting it. They do keep a percentage for themselves- for weaponry and other practical uses as well as for research and machinery. The Manal Nir are big on technological advances and are always trying to improve some aspect or another of life or warfare. They’re home to some world-known scientists, one of which recently developed a new type of warship that they have not yet publicly tested. The Manal Nir are decent livestock keepers but aren’t famous for having rich soil or an abundance of crops and farming. They are able to grow basic crops for within the city but certainly don’t export much to the rest of the world. Manal Nir do import many crops, vegetables and fruits to the city, both for public consumption and for luxury for the wealthy. Due to their aforementioned prowess in all to do with water, the Manal Nir have very quick and efficient shipping lanes to their trade partners. They are usually able to trade for anything they need that they can’t get or grow themselves, however, occasionally storms or other natural weather systems will sabotage their ships and lead to shortages of certain products all throughout the civilization. As well as this, the Manal Nir are not without enemies that send privateers to destroy ships, and rogue pirates are an issue for many cultures around the Sea. The Manal Nir do rely on imports so can be hit hard by and severe shortage of a specific product. Their solutions to this are to either give their ships forms of protection or send out more ships to bring back products. For obvious reasons (money manufacturing ships and likelihood that the new ones will be destroyed) the Manal Nir tend to lean towards the former option more often.



Song, 2- 56/25 words



Though we are all doomed to remember,

We won’t let that stop us from forgetting.

Though we are all doomed to remember,

The memories we all need will be chosen.

We are doomed to remember!

But is it so really a curse?

Is it a curse to remember, or,

To forget- which one would be worse?



Prompt- Write a tragic ending. 759/500 words



Sophie didn’t know if she could take any more.

What kind of a month was this? The loss of her mother, the drama between Lara and Josiah which she got dragged into, the stress of her grades and now some kind of never before heard of major storm across the country? Sophie had already been struggling with herself in her mind beforehand. The added worries of everything else going on were becoming too much.

The day that the storm was meant to hit was a strange one. People didn’t shout across the street, instead beckoning familiar faces over and talking in hushed whispers. Stores shuttered their windows and locked their doors. The bright, blue sky was unnaturally still and silent- the familiar sound of twittering birds and other wildlife was noticeably absent. Sophie tried to spend time outside- the outdoors always calmed her down- but the wrongness of everything kept her confined to her flat. Until, that was, about five in the evening.

Clouds had been slowly swirling in for most of the afternoon, but it had really begun to get dark around an hour ago. And Sophie’s mood had darkened with the skies.

She got more and more nervous. She knew that she would probably be safe in her room. She knew that the storm would last for a few days at most and then pass, leaving behind damage and stories to tell faraway relatives, but she was terrified. Perhaps it was the idea that she had no control over what was going on- that the storm was wild and untamable and would do what it liked. Or perhaps it was the fact that throughout it she would be alone.

Alone. Alone in what could be the most devastating event of the decade. She couldn't face that alone. But she lived by herself, in a cheap flat near town. She would be alone. Her pets wouldn’t be any help- they would be ten times as shocked as she could be. She couldn’t call anyone- communication lines would surely go down the second the storm unleashed its power. She would be alone.

No, thought Sophie. I can’t be alone. I have to leave.

Hurriedly, she grabbed a bag and her necessities and swung the door shut behind her.

The sky was a deep slate grey and thunder growled ominously in the distance. Sophie called a taxi. She was surprised when it picked her up.

‘What are you doing still driving with the storm?’ she asked worriedly.

‘What are you doing, going out at this time?’ the driver shot back gruffly. They both shut up for the rest of the ride.

Sophie got out down the street from Keisha’s house. Keisha would take her in. Keisha would make sure everything was okay. The rain had begun at this point, hurling down buckets of water at speeds that shot the droplets down like bullets. Lightning flashed and thunder roared. Sophie staggered through the rain.

Keisha was sat at her window, gazing out at the storm from the safety of her warm home. What a feat of nature.

Sophie was knocked back by fierce winds. How did the storm get this bad thick swiftly?

‘Keisha!’ she screamed. ‘Keisha!’

Keisha didn’t hear her- how could she, through a wall and torrential rain? - but she saw the bedraggles, hunched over figure of Sophiee outside.

‘Sophie,’ she murmured. She got up sharply and threw her boots on. She opened the door and stepped out into the storm.

‘Sophie!’ she cried, fighting the wind. She had to cross the street and get her inside. She couldn’t let Sophie be taken by rash decisions and violent attacks of nature.

‘Keisha!’ Sophie shrieked, seeing Keisha running across the street. She staggered up and outwards. Her arm was outstretched towards her friend.

A bright light appeared out of nowhere on the edge of her vision. It got bigger. It got closer. It sped through the rain, the massive, hulking metal vehicle it was attached to looming in the distance

The collision happened in slow motion. Sophie screamed. Keisha turned. The car thrust into Keisha, knocking her lifeless onto the ground. Her body skidded across the road to the side of the street.

‘No, no, no,’ Sophie said, eyes wide with shock. ‘Keisha.’

She ran as best as she could through the rain, reaching Keisha’s sodden form. She was limp. It was Sophie’s fault, for being so reckless, for being so stupid…

She hollered into the clouds; her voice instantly lost to the world. Nobody ever heard her cries.



Song, 3- 85/50 words



If you try and hang in there, just a little longer,

Hanging from a falling bar won’t make you any stronger.

Forgetting if the bridge had fallen might just pull you under,

Doesn’t the idea of the unknown fill you with wonder?

Your only choice is to hang in there, everybody crowds you,

Don’t you feel better with the memories around you?

Maybe it’s an act of selfishness, and you’re to proud to,

Admit that if you’d gotten lost that no-one would have found you.



Prompt- SWC Fanfiction! 750/500 words



CD reflected on how far the cabin had come.

From their initiation in the seemingly endless maze of the kid’s play structures all the way to the infamous rooms they were in now, the cabin had progressed far. They’d come together to make difficult decisions under the pressure of never returning to the normal world again. And they’d never once been too weak to progress, always pushing each other, always building each other up throughout their journeys. CD was pretty sure that some fast friends had been made during this experience, and they were glad about it. Who knew that a messed-up reality controlled by an omnipotent being could have the same effect as a mum’s yoga class?

The kids play place had been really cool, a suggestion by CD’s friend and co-leader, Ash. Ash had pointed out how well it had encompassed the idea of liminal horror- how it was seemingly endless, how you could never quite tell if you were alone in it (excluding the cabin themselves, of course), and the whole nostalgia aspect. It was full of bright colours dimmed by time and memories, full of areas that felt familiar, but that you couldn't possibly have visited before. That was liminal horror.

The first vote of the horror cabin was pretty split- some people wanted to go down the slides, and some wanted to climb into the empty abyss that wasn’t the ceiling. But in the end, the cabin picked the slides. Honestly, that would have been CD’s first choice as well.

When the locations changed for the first time, CD was kind of sad to leave the original behind. It would be full of memories- how the horror cabin came together. But now they were in the poolrooms- and you couldn’t help but be excited for that.

The cabin was calmed by the toxic salts that gave the waters their sickly teal colour. They wandered through knee-deep water that rippled constantly as if there were currents within these white-tiled walls. Eventually, though, they could take no more, and chose to risk their lives by diving down into a deep pool of water.

CD had conveniently neglected to mention the plague that could reside in these waters. Whatever. Everyone had turned out fine.

CD chuckled when they remembered their friend. They’d introduced Constance to SWC in the other reality- CD could actually move through realms at will- and Constance had been hooked. They ended up somewhere other than these badly recorded levels, however, delving instead into a magical realm of silver waters and long pond studios.

The red corridor had been a certified favourite. People had been glad to escape the eerie threats of the previous levels and to actually know that they were in immediate danger. Funny. Being chased by unknown creatures that would catch up to you if you looked at them wasn’t CD’s idea of fun, exactly.

There was the option of taking doors that might lead them elsewhere, but the cabin decided to plough through and sprint for a full five days before reaching a blinding white doorway that led to…

Nowhere?

That wasn’t quite right, as Horror soon found out. They soon found a town that was similar to the play places in that it was slightly nostalgic. But the cabin was too creeped out to really appreciate it- the town felt like that place from A Wrinkle in Time, just… wrong.

They left as soon as they could by entering one of the brightly painted buildings. And then the cabin was split up and left… truly alone.

Sure, in other places it had felt like there had been nobody else there, but at least the cabin had had each other. Now, each person had to navigate a maze of dimly lit corridors by themselves. The horror cabin were nothing if not brave and persistent, however. They powered through and reached a mysterious doorway, only to end up- literally- in the backrooms.

This was their last decision. Today was their last day in this reality. CD was watching as the cabin finalized their ideas within themselves, not knowing that this decision was a stand-in. They were going home. Only tomorrow, the cabin would return to the reality of SWC. The day after, the session would be over. This incredible month of journeys with amazing people would be over.

Sure, it would be nice to get out of these liminal spaces. But CD wasn’t quite sure that they wanted this month to end.



Song, 4- 63/60 words



Maybe words will write themselves, and food will do the cooking,

As you leave it on the shelves, and your eyes will stop looking,

Leave it be! It’ll bake itself! But only if you stop,

Final steps be left goodbye, the country’s in a flop.

But let it go,

Just let it be,

Your vote was never what it was meant to be.



Prompt- Futuristic foods. 420/400 words



Food in this strange world tends to be genetically engineered for maximum health benefits- people are known to have inhumanely boosted immune systems or brains functioning in overdrive after ingesting the meals prepared these days.

A common breakfast found in this time could be compared to avocado toast for us now- but the chefs of the future would likely find that analogy quite insulting. Their food far surpasses the quality of the best toast known in the modern world.

Rather than a small snack or quick meal, as is common amongst our time period, avocado toast in the future world is a fully-fledged course featuring most- if not all- nutrients and minerals needed to power through the day. The bread is always freshly baked to the customer’s liking- indeed, if you wish to have avocado toast in the morning it is often neccesary to call the restaurant or baker the night before to ensure that they have bread for you. Expensive luxury restaurants can require booking weeks or months before the visit. You place your order and give your personal nutritional details, and they’ll spend weeks cultivating your chosen meal exactly as you need it. They’ll also ensure that everything is prepared precisely how you like it- if a restaurant doesn’t get an order to a customer’s perfection, they are often disgraced and shamed upon.

After ensuring that your bread is ready, you must specify the breed of avocado that you prefer. The avocado farming industry is a large one- everyone has a favourite. Customers will often give details of the exact harvest they want their avocado to be reaped from. Picky eaters will give the avocadoes directly to the restaurant before their visit.

Other toppings are also common on avocado toast. Eggs- duck, quail or even chicken- will be cooked in what’s known currently as a poached manner. They always feature the perfect texture of whites that truly soak up the delectable flavour of the toast. The yellows are more vibrant than the sun itself, exploding when cut into a flood of pure taste. Salmon is also often cut into either perfect cubes or thin strips that fit nicely in the mouth with the taste of the meal. It’s always caught fresh that day- often at the restaurant’s fishing service- and is a lovely pink.

There are many other things that can be put onto avocado toast, but these are the most common. It’s undoubtedly one of the most delicious meals of the time. Now, that’ll be 153,698.99 please.



Song, 5- 85/50 words



If you try and hang in there, just a little longer,

Hanging from a falling bar won’t make you any stronger.

Forgetting if the bridge had fallen might just pull you under,

Doesn’t the idea of the unknown fill you with wonder?

Your only choice is to hang in there, everybody crowds you,

Don’t you feel better with the memories around you?

Maybe it’s the tree you never planted; you’re too proud to,

Admit that if you’d gotten lost that no-one would have found you.



End prompt. 262/250 words.



I gasp and fling upwards, smashing my head on the top bunk. Roxy… I left her. I left her for a lie.

Rubbing my sore brow, I try and recall what had happened. He left… or disappeared… and called me to save him. He made me come and get him. I had trusted him. And he had been a lie.

I remember. The Pizzaplex. It had fallen into disrepair years ago, after… after Gregory had escaped it.

He'd been stuck under it, and only days after he’d escaped with a dismantled Freddy head, a massive, never-before-seen earthquake had shaken the entire town. The Pizzaplex, being mainly comprised of somewhat shabby architecture and concerning breaches of planning regulations, had been destroyed in the wreckage. Despite the massive, ‘WE’LL BE BACK SOON!’ signs they’d displayed, there was no sign of anyone except graffiti artists and teenagers trying to prove that they weren't scared of the terrifying rumours having entered the Pizzaplex.

Except Gregory. Who had entered, gotten stuck, and called me to help… except he hadn’t?

I had just… woken up?

All of it… half of Monty, all of Eclipse, paranoid Chica, headless Freddy and poor, poor Roxy. They’d all been a dream?

And that bunny thing… that glitchy bunny thing… what was that about?

I shake my head. I need to check if I am going crazy.

Later that day, I get my Mum to drive down to the Pizzaplex. She looks confused, but I insist. The Pizzaplex looks… the same. Worn down. Battered up. Nothing seems to have happened.

What on earth?

First page?? :00
Reserving post <3

here ahh <3

hey I’m pepper! welcome to my lovely writing basement where you can find all my writing for swc and/or proof of other writing! enjoy your visit!
writing progress : 3,871 / 7.5k
writing goals : 1/2 dailies, 1 weekly, win 3+ word wars

Dailies

July 2-
Audacity, sea-urchin, swivel, evening, exotic- write 300 words
We decided on our last day of vacation that we should go scuba diving. We packed up our things and loaded them onto a van. The van pulled up to our beach cabin, and as the driver rolled down his windows he screeched. People turned from their activities and gasped. They scrambled around, grabbing their things, then booked it inside the nearest motel. I looked at my parents. “So what we’re foreigners?” I seethed. My mother waved her hand around dismissively. “It’s how it is,” she sighed. The driver smashed on the gas and skirted away. My dad glared at no one in particular. “They have no right to treat us this way,” he grunted. My sister rolled her eyes. “The audacity!” “Oh just let it go. We’ll walk there instead. We won’t get to the ocean until evening, but we can make it work,” my mother replied. We picked up our luggage and began to walk. I noticed a gift shop on the way and walked inside. The people swiveled their heads and mumbled amongst themselves. They pressed against the wall to let us through and I could see tears welling up in my moms eyes. ‘How could they do this to us?’ I thought. ‘Just because we’re not the same as them? Just because we look different?’ I looked at the various items in the shop and refused to buy anything. Their /things/ were too much of a representation of them. I turned to go when I saw a mirror. I knew what I looked like. I knew who I was. A monster. I was a monster in the eyes of mere mortals. If only they understood. If only they looked past the slimy blue scales, the purple horns, my multiple green eyes, the zig-zagged stripes across my body, and saw me, saw us, for who we really are. We might be monsters on the inside, but we are exotic and extraordinary on the inside. We care for people, we love them, we enjoy fun activities and vacations. But instead, they view us as a disgrace. A horrible beast that doesn’t belong. And hey, maybe we don’t belong, but treat us as if we do! Treat us in a way that makes us feel good about ourselves. We can’t step outside our cozy planet Jureptunisc without being judged. I’m sick of it. Sick of people staring at us because we’re not like them, taking one glance and deciding we’re not good enough. I turn away from the mirror, frustrated with the way everyone perceives us. Instead bI see a sea-urchin. It’s blue like me and has a silly grin that makes me smile. I grab the urchin and bring it to the counter. People don’t judge him, his silly grin proves it! I make up my mind almost instantly. No more judgement. I buy the sea urchin and use it as inspiration. People don’t judge urchins, so I’m making it my mission to show the world to not judge a monster by its scales.
506 words

July 3-
dare : write 300 words on how horrible swc is @essayist
I open the main cabin and choke back a sob. Once again, the daily hasn’t changed. Sure, it wasn’t /exactly/ time for it to change, but I want to grow my writing, and fast! SWC is SO not very good oh my stars! Can’t you see, I don’t even have good punctuation and a ton of run-on-;()sentences with crazy unnecessary items of thingys that I don’t need and all the stuff that now I’m just ranting now. Clearly, it’s not working for me and I can’t seem to figure everyting out andIforgotwhatthespacebaris! The weeklies take so LONNNNNG oh my goodness it’s crazzzyyyyy. AND I don’t even have good wi-fi but swc won’t wait for me to finish the daily!!!!!! I JUST NEEDED MORE TIME BUT IT CHANGES AHAHAHAHAHAHHHHHHHH. IF ITS TO GROW MY WRITING THEN I NEED MORE TIME TO DO SOOOOOO AAAAHHHHHH! I HAVE SO MANY RED UNDERLINES THAT I NEED A SPELLING CLASS BUT FOR SOME REASON SWC DOESNT OFFER THAT!!! THEY DONT HAVE A ROMANCE CABIN YET SOBBBBBBBBB…. Z z z
ALSO, EVERYONE IS SLEEP DEPRIVED AND SWC CAUSED PEOPLE TO ONLY EAT MANGOS AND STAY AWAKE TOO LATE FOR 8 HOURS OF SLEEP! I AM SUPER SLEEP DEPRIVED WHICH CAUSED MY PRINCESS HAIR FACE TO NOT BE PRETTYYYYYY AHAHHGAGAHAHHHH! SLEEP DEPRIVATION IS A SERIOUS THING PEOPLE!

anyways, swc is also sooooo bad because there is too many leaders and good cabins to choose from in camper signups! it makes choosing so harrrrddd sobbbbb
I can’t choooooseeeee ahshxhhshahshjd

NOW IM ONLY AT 250 WORDS AND RUNNING OUT OF THINGS BECAUSE SWC HAS PROVED TO BE TOO GOOD EVEN THOUGH I DONT KNOW! KORA WHY DID YOU GIVE ME THIS DARREEEEEE! I LOVE YOU BUT WHY? ANOTHER REASON SWC IS KINDA GOOFY! THE DARES AND TRUTHS ARE SILLY SOMETIMES AND OVERLY HARD AND NOW IM RANTING OUT OF CONFUSION TRYING TO REACH THE 300 MARK OH MY GOODNESS GRACIOUS!

I CANT DO THIS ANYMORE KORA!!!! SWC IS MY LIFE AHHHHHAHAHAHSHAHAHHH I LOVE YOU SWC! I LOVE YOU HOSTS AND LEADERS!!! WHY WOULD I EVER HATE SWC OMS NOOOOOOO I LOVE YOUUUUUUUU <333333333333
353 words



July 4-
July 4-
write a 400 word fan-fic using
> every character has wings - @Drawing_Dragons28
> everyone’s voice is switched to someone else’s @RLove10
scene : abuse that ends mother/daughter up in hospital (One For the Murphy’s)
Characters :
Carley - Isla
new char (Isla’s sister) - Audrey
Mother - Lindy
Dennis - Roy Lee
Mrs. Murphy - Mrs. Grano
I flutter down the stairs and open the pantry door. I look around eagerly, then with a sigh, grab a cereal box. Mother rolls her eyes as I pour the milk into my bowl. Isla is already at the table, also eating the stale, sugary, breakfast. Roy Lee, our step-dad is outside as usual. He appears to be fixing the gutter, or something else of the roof. Isla twirls her spoon. “Can we get something else other than Cheerios for breakfast? At least a different cereal?” She asks. I swivel my head and look at mother fearfully. Mother’s wings twitch in irritation. She slams her fist on the table, eyes glittering with rage. “You want new cereal?” She spits. “Buy it yourself! All I do is provide for you greedy girls and I get nothing but complaints in return!” I look down at my cereal, thinking about the empty pantry, then how mother said she provides for us. I shake my head somberly. Mother narrows her eyes. “Don’t shake you head you stupid brat! You don’t pay the bills, you don’t waste your money on greedy children!” I swallowed my bite, then rose from the table. “Maybe I don’t.” I replied. “But at least I have a job. I earn my money. I don’t steal from strangers at 11pm like you do. I have friends.” Mother let out a frightful scream. She grabbed Isla’s wrist and slammed her on the ground. “Isla!” I cried. Just then, Romeo, our lab, rushed between mother’s legs to greet Roy Lee, who was coming inside. Mother toppled to the ground and gave me a sharp look. “Look what you did to me!” She hissed. “Me?” I answered. “That wasn’t my fault! It was Romeo!” Mother held Isla to the floor and balled her fist. “Isla fly!” I whimpered. Roy Lee shoved Romeo out of the way and grabbed a vase. “No! Roy Lee no! Isla! Isla fly!” I sobbed. Hot tears streamed down my face and my vision blurred. How could I do this? My stupid gosh darn questions is adding another bruise to Isla’s poor body. I collapsed on the ground, my breathing going in short, raspy gasps. Everything went black, the vase cracking being the last thing I heard.

“Audrey honey?” Mrs. Grano called. “Yes?” I replied weakly. “The police officer wants to see you. He says your not in any trouble. He just wants to ask you some questions. About the- incident.” I rolled out of bed, agony and depression following me. Mrs. Grano smiled as she saw me walking down the stairs. “Where is he?” I mumbled. “By the front door.” I walked to the door and the officer grinned at me. “I just need to ask-“ “Questions. About Isla,” I interrupted. After a short pause, he nodded. “Let’s sit outside shall we?” I followed him out the door without a word.

“First off, just tell me everything you remember.” I shake my head. “No can do.” “And why is that?” “I don’t remember anything.” “You were there,” the officer pressed. “Yeah, so? I told you I don’t remember. I’m too busy wallowing in my sorrow.” He tapped his foot impatiently. “Well if you could stop for just a few minutes…” I stand from my chair to go inside. “ “Aurora, please.” “Audrey,” I correct. “Audrey. Roy Lee and Linda are in prison. Isla is in the hospital. If you cooperate, then this will be much easier. Tell your story, and I’ll tell you everyone else’s.” “I don’t want to hear their story.” “Not even Isla’s?” He got me there. After a slight hesitation, I spit it out. “I walked downstairs to eat breakfast, opening the pantry for breakfast. As usual, there was only Cheerios. I sat beside Isla with my food, then she asked for something different. Mother got super mad, and I didn’t help by arguing with her about money and crud.” I stopped, agony coursing through my veins. The police officer flashed a crooked smile. “Go on,” he said gently. “Mother grabbed Isla’s wrist,” I choked. “Then slammed her to the ground. Romeo made mother fall, then she blamed it on me. In anger, she abused Isla. She hit her-“ I began to sob again, tears falling from my eyes so fiercely, I turned away. “Mother hit Isla, because I was being stupid. Because of me.” I broke into another fit of weeping, my body shook so intensely, the officer went for his walkie talkie. “Roy Lee came inside and grabbed a vase to throw. I fell and wail for Isla to fly, the escape Mother and Roy Lee, to save herself. But I don’t know what Roy Lee did to Isla, I just heard the vase cracking. Is Isla ok-“ I didn’t finish. A strange feeling overtook me and I began to speak words that weren’t mine. Roy Lee’s words. He said, “I threw the vase at Isla. I wanted to save her. It was me who put Lindy in the hospital. I smacked her until she couldn’t breathe. Until she passed out. That’s when the police arrived. That’s why we’re in prison.” The wave of Roy Lee left my body, creating a hole in my soul. I cried. I cried until I couldn’t anymore. “You’ve been a great help Audrey. Thank you for you time.” He left me on the porch to cry, to let it all out, and soon Mrs. Grano came outside to comfort me.
912 words

July 5-
write 200 words about a smoothie containing an object on your left - my dad
I grin as I put my father into a blender with other smoothie ingredients. I jump on the counter to shove him in a far as possible. “You’re going to have so much flavor!” I exclaim eagerly. He stares at me, uncertainty sparkling throughout his pupils as he shakes his head. I dismiss the anxious vibe with my hand, then pop on the lid. “Why are you doing this exactly?” He asks me. I search my thoughts, finally realizing the purpose of ‘Father Smoothie’. “A daily,” I say without a care in the world, clicking some blender buttons. “One of those writing things that you blabber about all the time?” I nod with a slight twitch of irritation. “It’s different-“ I shake it off. “In you go! After I drink you, I’ll be able to fix everything in my way, mow the lawn just ever so perfectly, and write books that are to die for!” A crooked smile forms across father’s face. “Of course Pepper, blend me up!” A happy tear slides down my face. I push the blend button and multiple strange noises arise from the blender. It powers off, steam coming from the top. My dad is still in there, perfectly fine, well, except for the terrorized look on his face. I open the lid with disappointment, then pull him out. I puddle of smoothie sits beneath him, and I notice his mustache is completely gone. “‘Father Mustache Smoothie!’” I shout happily. I quickly slurp up the drink, barber hairs flooding through my veins. “Magnificent,” I whisper.
259 words

July 8-
cabin wars!

July 9-
write 1200 words on you characters sleep habits, each hour you slept subtracts 100 words - I slept 10 hours, going to bed at 11, waking up around 9 = 200 words :>
Aurora is a character in a story I haven’t shared yet. She is a bat/rat/human hybrid and doesn’t get much sleep. During the day she is in her cave chilling out. At night, she flys through the sky until sunrise, sneaking in a few hours of sleep around the beginning of the day. Aurora lives in a cave, and occasionally sleeps on the cliff/ledge, her wings spread out and her belly facing the sky. Most of the time, she heads to the back of her cave in the shadows to hang from a ledge. She doesn’t travel at all, not wanting to leave her only safe place, so she has no need to adapt to other sleeping methods. Aurora doesn’t like to sleep during the day incase of any visitors (backstory needed to fully understand :sob, but of course, like /EVERYBODY/ (*cough cough* swcers, notice the word everybody), she needs sleep. After she is done flying around, she takes a quick nap, then goes back to monitoring the cave. This repeats everyday, monitor, fly, extremely short sleep, and repeat. She usually gets 2 to 3 hours of sleep each day, 4 to 5 if it was a long, tiring day.
exactly 200 words :3

July 10-
critique! 162 words for 200 points :]
critiqued @tapdancer707 ‘s writing
the project can be found here :>
you asked for general thoughts so here we go : THIS IS SUPER AWESOME! I love all the feelings that are portrayed in this piece, the anxiety, relief, and everything else in between. It’s easy to picture everything happening, and I can feel how Kaitlyn feels because of how well you described her emotions and showed them through her actions. This was quite a treat to read, and I’m so glad I got to! You’ve done a fantastic job showing instead of telling, which is my favorite part in writing. Moving on to things to improve upon, near the end, specifically here ; ‘I do my best to shut out my thoughts and just take in what’s happening around me, like I did outside, but it’s a lot harder when the room I’m in and the people I’m with are constant reminders of what’s to come’ and here ‘I immediately feel a spike of nervousness just from hearing my name, because that means I have to actually respond- but it’s just Lily, who’s always in a spot near me and Emily and who might be the nicest human being in the world’, it feels a bit run-on-y to me xD /nm If you could separate them into 2 sentences each, it would be easier to read and help the flow. (This is just me, it might be perfectly comfortable to you and other possible readers ) Other than that, this is an absolutely stunning piece of writing! Well done!
162 words

July 12-
write a short blurb between 100 and 200 words of a cabin storyline
For Romance :
You find yourself beside a river, a man offering his hand, leading you into a boat. You take it, a feeling of warmth flooding your vision. You float on a river, close enough to land that you can still see streetlights. Eventually, he drops you off near a cafe where two people greet you. “Welcome to the café,” one lady says to you. “I’m Pepper, this is name, and we’re the café managers! Come on in!” She has rosy cheeks and sparkling nails. You take her offer, the tender atmosphere persuading you to go inside. As soon as you step foot in the coffee shop, you see dozens of people laughing with their partner, holding hands, and having a good time. The lights are turned down low, and instantly you decide that this will be the best month of your life.
140 words

July 13-
language of flowers daily! <333
write 400 words using 2-5 flowers :]
wood sorrel - joy
fern - concealed love
fuchsia - anxiety
camomile - energy
quaking grass - agitation
rough, REALLY ROUGH, outline : a story of 2 lovers in a town where your feeling are shown by the flowers that decorate your clothes and/or hair
Fuchsias speckled throughout my hair as I ran through the village streets, my hands tightly clutching the mail that I was supposed to deliver 14 minutes ago. I found myself inside of a large neighborhood, scanning each address for the house I need to get to. Eventually I found it and knocked on the door, trying to come with an excuse better than ‘I slept in late’. Nothing came. A man answered the door, and when he saw his mail in my hands, crumpled and folded from running, quaking grass sprouted from his boots. “S-sorry sir,” I mumbled. He looked me over in disgust, then saw the fuchsias in my hair and softened. “No problem, just please /don’t/ let it happen again,” he mumbled, attempting to smooth out some of his letters. I nodded, and quickly ran from the front porch as he shut the door. I turned, something catching my eye. A fern fluttered down from the door, landing softly on a welcome mat. I grinned happily, then continued my work, sprinting to the next houses.
A WEEK LATER
I awoke to my alarm clock ringing and with a big yawn, I sat up sleepily. I looked at my clock with tired eyes, suddenly springing out of bed, camomile glittering on the sheets. 9:00!? ‘I’m gonna be late!’ I thought, quickly throwing clothes on and running out the door. My boss stood outside the apartment doors, more quaking grass growing throughout his hair. “Late. Again?” He asked me, raising his eyebrows. I gulped, bracing for yet another lecture. “You’re fired.” A feeling of dread swarmed through my body. I choked back a sob as he walked away. The clicking of his dress shoes taunting me, spitting words of hate. “Are you ok?” A voice asked, catching me by surprise. I wiped my eyes quickly before facing him. “Oh- uh yeah.” He tilted his head in confusion. “Doesn’t look like it.” A smile crossed his face. “Wait,” he whispered. “Aren’t you the lady who delivered my mail late?” “Probably,” I squeaked, more fuchsias sprouting, once again in my bangs. A fern dropped from his pocket, eyes sparkling with love. I stared down at it, picked it up and handed it to him. “Is this yours?” I chuckled. His eyes widened and he snatched it up quickly, shoving it back into his jacket pocket. A fern grew from behind my ear, clearly visible, and relief crossed the man’s face. Wood sorrel began to smother our clothes, and he reached for my hand. “Hungry? I know a brunch spot.”
427 words

July 16-
character aesthetic! wooo!
https://scratch.mit.edu/projects/874930322

July 17-
make an emoji combination and write a story of 300 words using your combination. used the zipper face one and the lines face one xD
TW : d3@th, murd3r, gh0sts, kniv3s, bl00d, etc.
I stare at Miss Brink’s chalkboard as she teaches, the numbers in each math problem only confusing my brain more. I look down at my shoes instead, fiddling with my pencil. “Myra. How about you give it a shot.” I look up at the chalkboard again and realize I haven’t been paying the least bit attention to the lesson. “Uh,” I mumble, scanning the math on the board anxiously. “Can you repeat the question please?” Miss Brink sighs. “Myra you’ve got to pay attention!” The kids sitting next to me start snickering and I ball up my fists. “What was the question?” I ask again, narrowing my eyes. “2n - 48 + x is what?” I rack my brain, trying to find the correct answer, but I can’t. “I don’t know.” Miss Brink nods, clearly disappointed, then looks around the room for someone else. She calls on Bea, who spits out the answer so fast she could’ve beaten a race car driver. Teacher’s pet. Classic.

Finally, when the dismissal bell rings, I grab my stuff and walk home. On the way, I stop at a gas station market, hoping to have enough spare change for a snack or two. I snag some chips, and continue my journey home. Just as I turn the corner into my neighborhood, a fierce pain shoots from my lower back, through my entire body. I let out a scream, falling to the ground in agony, and feel around my back with my hand. My fingertips brush against a handle, then blood. I grab the handle and pull it out, sending more affliction into my back. A knife. Someone stabbed me with a knife. Blood begins to pour out of my back, making a pool beneath me on the sidewalk. My vision goes blurry, memories flashing before my eyes. Mum, taking me out to dinner, dad, playing ball with me in the backyard, my dog, who sleeps with me at night, his warm fur comforting me on the worst of days, the news last night. The news? “Cereal killer in town, be careful, stay inside,” they had said last night. I shrieked once more, hoping someone would find me, anyone at this point, someone to save me. I sobbed, tears falling down my face so rapidly, it had also begun to pool on the ground. Next to the blood. The blood that I was almost out of. I could feel my soul leaving my body, a big weight coming off of my shoulders. It was almost satisfying, satisfying to die. A strange thing, yet a true thing. I wandered the town as a ghost, no one saw me, and no one heard me. I wanted to speak. But my words were trapped, getting forced down, unable to make a sound. ‘Will I be like this forever?’ I wondered to myself. ‘Is this really the end? Sitting around as a ghost, wanting more but getting nothing?’ A feeling of dread overcame me, swallowing me in it’s wrath. This is the end.
504 words

July 18/19-
take a bizarre picture (pb&j playing cards/the new Jack and The Giant beanstalk) then use someone else’s picture and write 400 words about what it depicts
stole Moonlit’s picture :3
check out my pictures here! xD

Act 1
DIDDLY
*sits on yarn throne*

SERVANT A
Is there anything you want King Diddly? Some leafy green snacks perhaps?

DIDDLY
No thank you servant. I’m happy sitting on this book yarn throne that human made me. It’s quite comfortable if I do say myself. *smiles and waves at Moonlit*

SERVANT A
*nods and leaves with a bow*

*curtains close and a few hours pass*

Act 2
DIDDLY
*reading the book beneath him*

SERVANT B
King Diddly?

DIDDLY
Yes servant?

SERVANT B
Would you like something to drink? Lemonade or a refreshing soda maybe?

DIDDLY
No thank you servant. The human Pepper has made me my own yarn crown. That will satisfy me until the other servant comes back.

SERVANT B
Of course master. Shall I ring your bell for the servant?

DIDDLY
I think I’ve got it thank you. *winks and waves hand dismissively*

SERVANT B
*nods and leaves with a bow*

*curtains close and a few more hours go by*

Act 3
DIDDLY
*pretending he has a mustache with the yarn*

SERVANT C
*winces* Would you like some exercise my king?

DIDDLY
No thanks! I’ve gotten a mustache! What more could I need? *stomach growls*

SERVANT C
Are you sure? You don’t want any food?

DIDDLY
*sighs* I suppose I could take a salad.

SERVANT C
*grins* Of course. Anything else?

DIDDLY
In a quickly manner says: Ok ok, ditch the salad, hit me with a medium rare pork chop, a brownie freshly out of the oven, a bowl of ice cream, oh! And a large glass of Mountain Dew. Yep. That’ll do it! *lays back in his throne*

SERVANT C
No problem. *waves goodbye and prepares food*

*curtains close and the sun goes down*

Act 4, The Final Act
DIDDLY
*fiddling with book pages and yarn*

ALL SERVANTS
*come in carrying mountainous trays of food* Here you go sir. Enjoy.

DIDDLY
*gobbles it up ravenously* Whispers: Tasty. *lets out a loud belch, stomach growing rapidly at the amount of food he swallowed* Yep. That’s the stuff. Hehe.

*lights dim. curtains close. applause begins*

King Diddly, the cutest furry creature in existence, enjoys long days sitting atop his throne. He rules over a village called Doo Diddly, filled with many different adorable, furry creatures like him. He has a tragedy when it comes to food, and all his servants love providing for him. King Diddly eats nothing all day, then just before the sun goes down, calls for a massive meal. It puts him in a food coma. He goes directly to bed and sleeps like a beautiful baby all night.
434 total

July 20-
write 300 words on how a constellation came to be (my choice - Camelopardalis, a giraffe constellation)
“Elopa, come here darling,” the queen of the colony announces. Elopa turns from her conversation and nods, giving a quick goodbye and walking towards her aunt. “I’d like to talk to you,” she whispered to Elopa. “Mhmm-” They trotted away from their colony and found a spot in the shade. “You need to go dear,” Queen Equinox brought herself to say. The pain in her voice was unmistakable. It waved up and down, cracking tremendously. Elopa tilted her head. “What is it Noxi? Why do I have to leave? What did I do?” She asked, her voice tight. Queen Equinox gasped. “You did nothing my sweetness! It’s for another prophecy. Engraved in the stone cave, it says, ‘For the time will come, where life teeters on the shoulders of one, to save the desert, or to make it fractured, is decided on his heart. You have the choice, just make the journey, give all life your endless mercy, or leave us all abandoned and worried, for the world shall end, it’s a simple question of when.’” she recited. Elopa shook with fear, her knees giving way, causing her to fall to the ground. “El!” The Queen shrieked. Two days of her men came running over, pulling her up awkwardly. Elopa’s eyes fluttered open, sparkling with anxiousness. “Yes,” she muttered hoarsely. “I shall go.”

El found herself alone in the Sahara, surrounded by silent waving grass, the only hint of sound being the occasional screech of a bird or buzz of a fly. She bit her tongue, holding back tears. ‘Why did I agree to go?’ She thought. ‘How do I know it’s even me? What if I fail my colony, never see them again?’ She shook the thought away. ‘I must see them again. I have to finish this journey.’ She walked on, suddenly wondering what she was looking for. “Remember,” Queen Equinox had said to her before she left. “The lions have our power. They have the stone of life. That’s why they reign over all.” The queen’s words rang through Elopa’s ears, giving her the motivation to keep walking, to power through. Days and nights past. She kept walking. The hot, scorching sun beat down on her for hours. She kept walking. Eventually, she saw a massive rock in the distance. The lions’ kingdom. Elopa picked up her pace, finding herself face to face with a lion, demanding to see the stone. “The desert depends on it!” She screamed. “If you want to live, give me the giraffe’s stone!” The lion bared his teeth and let out a low growl. Luckily, the king shooed him away, wanting to talk with El. “What is it you want? Your stone?” He said mockingly. “The giraffes wish for their stone back? How cute. We’re the top of the food chain here. We hold the stones!” He growled, scraping his claws against the boulder beneath them, making a terrifying scratching noise. “If you want your stone,” he whispered. “You’ll have to fight for it.” It was then and there that Elopa decided the king was dead meat. She charged at him, only to swerve around him, snatching the stone in her mouth and running away as fast as she could possibly manage. A bird flew near her, frantically trying to catch its breath. “I’m a friend of your mother,” it gasped, struggling to keep up. “I’m here to help.” Elopa nodded, not breaking a stride. The lion was close behind, his entire pride following him, rage engulfing them all. “Distract them,” she mumbled to the bird. “You’ve got it!” She couldn’t beat the lions, and she knew that. She ran and ran, gaining back a little bit of confidence, until suddenly her feet tripped over something beneath her. A lion. The stone flew out of her mouth and she collapsed onto the ground. The lions tore her apart, her blood spraying across the ground, staining the grass a nasty red color. “Bird,” she whimpered. “Bird-“ Luckily, she saw him retrieve the giraffe’s stone, snatching it in his talons. His eyes grew sad as he fluttered in the sky. “I’m sorry,” he called. “There’s nothing I can do.” But Elopa was already dead.

“We hold this ceremony today in hopes that our mighty ancestors accept Elopa into the stars with them. She died sacrificing herself to the lions. All for our survival. With final best wishes, we send her to you with gratitude. Thank you for sending you to us.” Queen Equinox’s words rang through the night as stats began to dot the dark blue sky. “New ones will show tonight!” She announced. “The proud stars of our beloved Camelopardalis!”
777 words

Weeklies

Word Wars
@Lizeus10salmon 3 mins you know we love you, but when it comes to cards…
Total word count : 118 win
I sit at the table with my parents and let out a groan. “Fatherrr,” I mutter. He has just layed down the final card, winning the game and sending me down to fetch the dead. Mother chuckles as she opens the door. We’re from the Underland, and every time the dead have to cross the river, father challenges me to a game of cards. He cheats! I know he does. “You know we love you,” mother whispers as I go. “But when it comes to cards-“ I slam the door before my father can finish. I kick Cerberus’s dog dish in the water, angry that he helps win every time by peeking over my shoulder. It clearly …

@dolphin numbers - sorry :sob:
5 minutes - no prompt
We walk into the hotel, the atmosphere feeling of love. I take her hand, my newly engaged fiance, and together we attempt to find a nice dinner for the night. In the corner of the hotel, I notice a steakhouse. “How about that?” I ask her anxiously, hoping her response is positive. “Sure, steak sounds good.” I let out a quiet sigh of relief as we find a table. A waiter comes to us quickly with some menus. “The special tonight is,” he pauses, looking over the menu with his finger. “Ah, my trunk!” This startles us, but we don’t have time to be scared. The waiter grabs us by the neck and stuffs our heads into different bags. I hear my partner scream, and I try fighting back to get to her. No luck. He throws our entire body into the trash bags and carry us outside like we are indeed just a bag of trash. I can hear my partner flailing around and shouting like crazy, and I try whispering comforting things to her, hopefully making her stop. The oxygen is beginning to run out, I helplessly pry at the bags opening, trying to get some air inside. No more luck either. I sigh, realizing that was a bad idea, as it got rid of the only breath I had left. My vision goes blurry, eventually blacking out, my last thoughts being, I hope this isn’t the end.
240 words


Other Writing
Skyfall Writing Camp Proof : link to thread
Other Proof oohhOHOHhhoohhHoO nowhere yet :>