SWC
Weekly 1 – Part 1 – 652 words

The thing about ShimmerStarr, is that it is a very rare place to be, and still, to have been. Those who visit it often never return, and those who do rarely contain memories of their time there. But once you’re there, it is a nice place to be. Walking around the island in just a simple walk will catch you glances from coast to coast of white washed waves crashes onto cliffs, the occasional burst of water shooting over the top. The tall-treed forests, full of pines and flowers of every kind dotting the mossy floor. Dandelions, roses, a spot of color in just the right shade, the right spot. It feels almost perfect. Except those who inhabit this land are certainly not, sent here because of the darkness in their hearts, their unwillingness to change.
Most creatures live in the outdoors, amidst the forest, or in caves. Only a few structures dot the landscape, dilapidated stone walls of prior castles, covered in vines that hide their true sense of purpose. Underneath the leaves, on the bare walls, lie certain carvings of the meaning of this place, what it is to be set here, and how to escape.
No one has ever seen these, though, choosing to stay relaxed and come out of their shell on their own time. To see their magic on their own time.
Yes, they do have magic, it’s written in their veins, passed generation to generation, commonly skipping a few relatives. It shoots from the stars, each constellation giving hope to another, endless possibilities of how these constellations mix and spread. It is imbedded into the very core of this island, in every plant that grows, in the solid foundation of it, standing strong after hundreds of years, no casualties.
Despite this magic that makes them strong, makes them this way and unique, they choose to stay closed off from each other, hermits, one might say. There is no hierarchy, every man is for themselves, but there is no fighting, it might as well be harmony. They understand each other’s pain and guilt, without talking, as it is the magic that speaks.
However, they do know a certain culture, a wordless on at that. The only sound uttered on this island is the harsh wind, the swaying trees in that breeze. Even newcomers have this voice in their head, telling them the right way to act. But if they wanted to speak, they couldn’t: no vocal cords. These people simply don’t interact, solitary ones, but if they were forced to, through sheer necessity, they use this language of creating symbols and signs with their hands to communicate.
The concept of death does not exist in this world, well, on this one island. Everyone who lives here is immortal. One might think that gives them power, but does it really if they don’t know they have this starlit power. Similarly, there is no religion, no god, those who are aware of the stars’ power, commonly pray to them in thanks, but not for aid and assistance. Since the majority of the ‘community’ or the individual people do not know about the stars, they hold no religion, just space in themselves for what they believe is right and space to change.
Everyone who inhabits this island has attempted to leave, at least once, with no luck. This is the spell they have yet to discover, that to leave, they must change for the better, and no one has yet to accomplish this.
But the most important thing that must be known, is that this world is for the dreamers, those who have done wrong and must change, yet they don’t know how. This is the world they visit when they are asleep, to return to reality upon awaking, with no memory of their night. This is for them, to have a chance to change before it is too late.

SWC
Weekly 1 – Part 3 – 825 words

TW self-hate, mentions of one specific type of death that i can't write

The people of ShimmerStarr are new to this whole thing called technology. It just happened to be brought into this world by a broken dreamer. It was the first time the people have come together, and possibly the last, because as you know, they are very much solitary folk.
Let me tell you a little story, the one about the technology crisis.
It all started with this girl, this broken dreamer named Bee. Now, Bee was her nickname, called only by her closest of friends, and she was known to the rest of the world as Bri, and to those who either hated or didn’t know her, Brynnley. She was a broken dreamer, as you know, prone to causing misfortunes on others, but more specifically herself. She hated herself with a burning passion, one that caused her to wallow in self-pity and self-hate, staying in her room for days at a time, only coming out for the occasion bite of food.
Well, like all others, except for those few insomniacs, she slept, a reasonable amount every night, if not more than those around her. It was her escape from the world around her, the one she terrorized. So this one particular night, she kept her bedside lamp on as she slept, night fears plaguing her, the thought that death might come before she could take her life by her own hand. When she slipped into the dream world, our world ShimmerStarr, the lamp came with her, being the reason she was asleep. It was one of those cute night lights, a glowing pig. The first light ShimmerStarr had every seen. Well, electric light, not the stars and moon, or awfully bright sun. She carried this lamp with her as she explored the island, unsure of what to do, of what this world was. And with it, she drew curious followers, though wondering about something else, this magical source of light.
When she turned and noticed her followers, she attempted to move her mouth but quickly realized she couldn’t communicate that way. Setting down her light, she moved her hands forward, explaining as best as she could what it was with no real memory of how it worked.
But, as if the light heard her non-existent words, it disappeared, a little circle rising out of the lamp and up into the sky, floating out all the way into the ocean. Bee and her group of followers ran across the rocky terrain and gnarled tree roots to the nearby cliff to try and catch the light. It was a sign, their signal of hope, they couldn’t let it go.
Though they also couldn’t do anything to get it back, it was like a floating lantern, or a bird, flying just out of reach. And these dreamers couldn’t dream of any solutions to get it back down. They solemnly sat on the dusty floor, legs hanging over the cliff and dangling into the ocean below as they watched their only light float away. It was no longer any form of technology or electricity at this point, pure magic. And that’s when they realized. Maybe they had magic too, and they could use it to get their light back or at least create new ones. This light had come from one of them, from Bee. So why didn’t the others have magic too?
Signing with each other to form a plan, they set up a test zone for Bee to attempt to summon more light. She didn’t like the attention, but once she realized it was for everyone, not just her, she became more comfortable, knowing she wasn’t being selfish. And if she could try to help, then, yes, of course she would do anything she could.
Standing in the center of the circle these others had created, she inhaled, imagining a world filled with light, faint memories of a previous life, glowing buildings, light filling every window, glittering streetlights and car headlights. Eyes closing on her next inhale, her thoughts grew stronger, these memories. Letting out one last exhale, she opened her eyes. But instead of seeing the darkening sky of the setting sun, all she could see was light. It wasn’t blinding, simply bright like a warm embrace. She was splitting that one light into many, so the whole community could share this joy.
She and the others took once last breath in and out together, their magic mingling into a more powerful substance, and with a breath out, they pushed it across the island, little fairy lights and glowing lanterns populating their island. They no longer had to fear the night, they could embrace it, living in the light.
But this one act of community wasn’t enough, they returned to their solitary habitats. Though they made sure to keep one thing in their minds. If lost, they could always summon a way out, this help, all they had to do was turn to others and ask.

SWC
Weekly 1 – Part 4 – 862 words

TW: self-hate

You’re homesick for a place you don’t even know, a place only in your dreams, aren’t you?

Reaching over to flip off her lamp, Bee hesitates, wondering if tonight is the night death will come for her in her sleep. She moves her hand back, deciding to leave the nightlight on just in case. Closing her eyes, she pulls the blankets over her head, quickly falling asleep and into the dream world.
Her dreams aren’t the usual type, they are those of a broken person, one who visits this new world at night to heal and restore to a new self. The catch is, she has no memory of her dreams when she wakes. She does not know that she is healing, meaning she could tip off the edge before it is too late.
You shattered glass once again becoming whole, but you are not aware of that, aren’t you?

As she falls into her dreams that night, she feels a twitching in her hand, the one holding onto her light. Her savior.

She opens her eyes to her dreamscape, surprised by the views she sees every night with no further recollection, moss studded trees, gnarled roots buried into the warm dirt, the unopened grave, soon to become one. Bee took one step forward, examining the tree on her right. It was broken, just like her, except she didn’t know it yet, the faint red lines crisscrossing the tree’s bark a sign of deathly poison, about to spread to all the neighboring trees. One sick creature to harm plenty others. It was how Bee felt, the only one of her kind, she thought. Except there were many like her and this island was proof of it.

Leaving the tree alone, she walked down the narrow, rocky path to her usual habitat, a fallen log that marked the entrance to her secret cave. Passing through the doorway, she looked around at her familiar, yet unknown belongings, and her eyes caught on something new. Her sister. The one you might have thought was perfect, the one who had no reason to be here. She wondered if her sister was a dream, after all, she was in a dream world, but she knew that couldn’t be possible. Everyone else in ShimmerStarr was real, they had some identity in the actual world. So, this had to be her sister.

Just a year ago, things were so different, you were both whole, complete wonders of a person, weren’t you?

“Alia,” Bee signed, her hand forming a new sign, one that hadn’t yet been used in this land, one for her sister’s delicate name.

Tears streaming down her face, Alia ran forward, burying her head in Bee’s stomach, her bear stuffed animal trailing behind her. Bee wrapped her arms around her sister, tears beginning to fall from her eyes as well. She couldn’t believe her sister was here. Bee had always tried to take the blame from Alia so she wouldn’t ever feel the same way as Bee, but she supposed, it just hadn’t worked out. She felt so bad, wanting her sister to never be anywhere near this broken world. She didn’t want her sister to broken, that was Bee’s job as the eldest.

The two broke apart after a moment, and Bee decided to make the most of her sister being here, wanting to find ways to help her become whole once more. She grabbed hand pulling Alia after her, as they wandered back into the woods. She signed an explanation with her other hand, and began to point out little details in the landscape as they walked.

“The cliffs are that way, we should visit them at sunrise, the view looks even more spectacular then.” “That part of the forest is where we first discovered light. See this lamp over here, that’s what started everything. And now I bring it with me every night as good luck.” “Everyone here is immortal, we can’t die in this world. But when we awake, we forget all memories of this place and return to our normal lives.”

But you’re still broken, aren’t you? And you can’t do anything about that.

Throughout everything Bee told her sister, she was careful not to mention anything about the shattered glass. About being broken. It was the easiest way, to mend yourself without knowing there is something wrong. And she didn’t want to think about her sister being broken. Bee knew, deep down, that it was her fault. And as she felt that thought, something inside of her began to crack, her glass heart shattering even more, despite the work she had done to fix it.

They made their way to the cliffs for the sunrise, resting on the edge of the rockface, legs dangling over the crashing waves. Alia leaned on her sister, the two of them embracing in a much-needed hug.

As they smiled with each other, they both stirred in the real world, awaking with no memories of this night except for one. They had each other.

That was one thing that was true, and no one could do anything to change it. This you both were sure of.

wip

SWC
Mar 6 – 481 words – 450 points

don’t question this, it’s really weird lol and completely fake. idk what the actual myth is, i just made this up on the spot. don’t question the bad writing either, i speed ran this.

long long ago, before humans existed on earth, and animals ran wild, goats decided they wanted more power. in fact, they wanted to become a zodiac sign. sure, goats might not have been as power as the other zodiac animals like rams or bulls, but they felt like they deserved a special time of year, just for them. one goat in particular, milli really liked this idea. she wanted to be famous! the only problem, she didn’t know how to make this happen.
one day she woke up with a great idea of how to make this happen. she gathered a group of her goat friends to discuss the plan, and then they set off.
they were going to secretly steal the moon, return it, and tell the others that since they did a great job of saving everyone from the lack of light, they would be granted a zodiac sign in their honor. the one flaw in their plan, there were other stars, and there would be some trace of light at least, causing the others to think it was simply a new moon. after all, they had yet to find out how to track the phases of the moon.
they set out on the night of a full moon, deciding that the bright light of the moon would block out the stars. however, that meant that they would have to be extra quick with their stealing.
they packed their supplies, making sure to attach some wings to their backs. once the sun fell that evening, they took off, heading straight for the moon. prying it from the sky, they sprayed it with a shrinking potion so it would fit in milli’s bag and they could flee.
once the light disappeared from the sky, they speedily began flying back to earth, hearing the calls of the sky patrol.
within near minutes, they saw the patrol following them, but cloaks hid their bodies so nobody knew it was the goats. moving as fast as they could, they made it back to earth in the nick of time.
by the time the sun rose the next morning, an announcement had been sent out, warning people to look for the moon.
milli and her goat accomplices headed to the palace to return the moon, and once it was back in the sky again, they were profusely thanked, and granted any wish they wanted.
as milli was about to ask to become a zodiac sign, her guilt got the best of her and she confessed the plan. however, the rulers weren’t angry at her, rather they were relieved that she admitted what she had done wrong, and even then they granted her wish of the goats becoming a zodiac sign out of respect for her.
and that is how the goats achieved their place in the sky, alongside the moon that they once stole.

Critique for Yume @yumeverse
445 words

Opening thoughts: I’m really interested to read this and see your position on legendary frying pans! Maybe it will convince me to go eat some well-needed breakfast by talking about these frying pans, and in connection, food! i think i'm going to go through this paragraph by paragraph, so i'll post your writing in those snippets, and bold the parts i'm going to focus on

“yume,” you ask, “i think you’ve rambled quite enough about the teacher who wouldn’t let you into choir for five years straight, how bout something else for a change?” well then, we shall write, for the one and only, legendary frying pans.

I’m sort of confused by what this phrase connects to - like one and only legendary frying pans or do you mean this is the one and only time you are going to write about legendary frying pans. Maybe clarify if you can?

what exactly about frying pans, you ask? especially, coming from sleep-deprived swc-ers who want nothing more than wordsprinting until they are forced to fall asleep by the mango-devouring night? get ready, cause you’re about to hear it.

“wordsprinting” - I read this as words-printing and was a bit confused, I had to go back and reread the sentence twice before I realized it was word-sprinting. Maybe add a dash in between the words like I did to clear that up? Or it could just be me and my bad reading skills lol

“mango-devouring” - YES I LOVE THIS! no comment just mangoes. I like how you give the night imagery that isn’t necessarily relating to the night but it still completely makes sense!

“cause” - Just a detail oriented comment, I think on this “cause” and the “bout” in the previous paragraph, maybe but an apostrophe before it to show that you’re cutting some letters out of a word not using it as a different meaning - like ‘cause and ‘bout if that makes sense. I can tell that the voice of this piece is supposed to resemble someone speaking, but I feel like it’s a bit easy to get lost by thinking that the “cause” and “bout” are different words or not technically real words.

frying pans can be incorporated into almost anything you wish (mind you, this is absolutely not a wordsprint at this point, i can tell you that i;m actually slowing down and talking the time to think. proves that frying pans are indeed legendary, since why in the galaxswc would i ever stop and think when trying to write at top speed for cabin wars?), such as our dailies and weeklies, which, aha- you saw what i did there earlier? only serves to further prove my point.

Small detail, I think you meant an apostrophe here instead.

this is the official note: the frying pans are taking over our writing as a whole. you will most likely be seeing random frying pans frying- i mean, flying around (tounge twister, huh,) in the main cabin, sometimes appearing in daily or weekly submissions, or maybe even the writing competition, probably the biggest highlight of the session. wait- even better, what if frying pans make their way into the memory book?

YES! I honestly read this as “random frying pans flying - I mean frying around…” back to voice, I really like how this resembles a speaker’s voice even though it’s not outwardly dialogue!

frying pans are the reason we’re still awake and writing, and pushing us to continue working towards that looming war posted on our cabin a while ago. i think it’s pretty clear to us all, the significance of frying pans in swc can’t be doubted.

Personally, I have to argue that this is the working of the magic mangoes but frying pans do give us something to write about! And maybe they are equally magical as mangoes!

Closing thoughts: Argument-wise, I think this is really strong, as someone in swc who loves frying pans, this makes sense to me, though it clearly wouldn’t to someone not in swc, but I feel like that’s the point - inside jokes! Overall, like I’ve previously mentioned in a few comments, but I really like how you incorporate voice, writing it like a speaker even though it is not apparent as dialogue. This convinced me to go make myself breakfast of a fried egg on a frying pan

Word war with fini - 245 words

They say you are a traitor, but you don’t possibly know what you could have done wrong.
They seem like they are scared of you, but you have done nothing wrong. You’re just trying to survive, exactly like they are. So why should they hate you, when you have done nothing wrong?
Nothing is wrong, isn’t it?
Or could something be wrong with that. Maybe you are not actually normal. But you don’t know that, do you?
You are scared of hurting them. You want everyone to be fine, dancing among dandelions in the cool rain. But no one is like that. You have to understand that no one is perfect, and that includes you.
Nothing is wrong, isn’t it?
Everything is wrong, you have lost yourself in your dreams, the dreamscape of where you go when you are broken. So you are broken, aren’t you? Maybe that is wrong. Or maybe nothing is wrong and you were supposed to be broken all along. It’s the way of life, isn’t it? But what is fate, exactly?
All these questions, no answers. Is that what is wrong then, this imperfect world?
Or is it you.
Or is it humanity as a whole, us people who hurt the earth more than we help is?
But is that so bad, so wrong? To just do what we’d like, no apparent consequences.
So are you a traitor for thinking this, that we, humanity, are the cause of this destruction?

SWC
Mar 10 – 304 words – 500 points

What exactly is the sun? A burning star in the sky, giving light to those beneath it? Some magical source of power for those creatures that seem to thrive in the day, and hide away at night?
Yes, that must be it, those humans. Those diurnal humans, who mistreat the earth for all it does to them. It grows for them, thrives. It gives them light, food, water, shelter, anything they could think of and possibly need to survive. That is, not any so-called ‘manmade.’ Nothing is manmade, all stemming from the earth. But we wouldn’t possibly build anything to hurt us. It is the humans that put together those evil inventions, tossing them and their waste back into the earth a few months later, bored already of those silly little toys. And it’s us who face the consequences.
We were once bright little sunflowers, but as time passes, our field is growing smaller and smaller, we’re disappearing one by one. And those of us who do remain, we’re losing our color, turning moldy and brown, no more mirroring the bright sun, which too, is losing its warmth.
And the soil beneath us, where we dig our feet, that is rotting too. Those lithium batteries and that, what’s it called, climate change, right? It is causing erosion and deforestation, big words we wouldn’t otherwise dare to say. But this needs to be said. Just look at us, and what we once were. Would they like to live on an earth like this, one that’s falling apart. It is losing its greenery, its nature. Even its very lifeline the sun. Growing smaller day by day, its energy being sucked up by humans’ inventions. It is not natural. And in a few years, humans may be just like us, if they keep acting like this. Recklessly.

SWC
Mar 12 – 272 words – 250 points

Thanks to @Hot-Mocha for the title “a storm’s heat”

A Storm’s Heart
You might think that storms are just parts of nature, spontaneously formed, completely normal. But everything your parents have taught you from the age you were born, including how storms work, is not true.
Nothing in nature was originally nature. You probably have heard of the underworld, but that’s not where the bad creatures go. It’s what they tell you to make you less scared. Though, to be honest, the underworld does sound almost as scary as the truth.
The place where they take you when you die isn’t a real place, rather, it is a figment of your imagination.
You may have heard of how storms have eyes, yes? Well, they have hearts as well. Isn’t that surprising. And guess what, so do trees and flowers, they have hearts too. Wonder why? It’s because they are humans. Sorry to share the truth, but it was something to be told.
Everyone needs to know what happens when they die, whether they have been bad or good, where they go.
Right, I did not tell you about the good people. There are very few people deemed ‘good’ or have no sins. Of course, we all have committed sins in our lives. That is kind of the point of them. But these lucky ones, there is such thing as heaven for them. Though when you think about it and compare the two, reincarnation to eternal boredom, which one sounds better to you?
So that is how I found my way here, this storm with a heart. We have feelings too, and we see everything you do to hurt us, unknowing of a storm’s heart.

SWC
Weekly 2 – Part 1 – 581 words

Rules used: don’t use said, ‘normal’ length sentences
281 words
“Hey, come here Alia, it’s going to be okay,” Bee affirmed. She smiled through the tears streaming down her face, matching her little sister’s. She wrapped her arms around Alia as her sister buried her head into Bee’s stomach. Alia’s left arm dangled loose, holding her stuffed bear by the ragged bow around its neck.
Alia sniffled, “It’s never going to be the same. Why’d she leave?”
Lying to her sister in hopes of cheering her up, Bee responded “It wasn’t Mom’s choice. Sometimes nature calls; just like it brings us together. Come on, let’s go to the playground to push Caroline on the swings.”
Alia perked her head up, “YES!!” she exclaimed, forgetting all about her dead mom. She lifted her stuffed bear Caroline onto her shoulders as she grabbed Bee’s hand.
After a few minutes’ walk, they reached the park, and Alia scrambled on to the swings. Her tears had dried, but the ones on Bee’s face were still there, invisible. They began to fade though, as she pushed Alia back and forth, Caroline perched on her lap. It was easier, Bee thought, to take care of someone else, rather than having to come to terms with your emotions.
“Push me higher, Bee!” Alia called, laughing through her no longer existent pain, “Caroline wants you to!”
Bee smiled, “How high should we fly?”
“To the moon!”
“To the moon and beyond, I think you mean. Ready? Let’s go!”
This was their usual game, but today it brought them closer together. They had each other at least. However, the nagging thought in the back of Bee’s mind was that them two weren’t enough, at least not enough for their mother.

Rules broken: using said, varying sentence lengths
300 words
“Bee! Let’s go to the park,” Alia said, “I’m bored and so is Carolineeeee.” She gestured outside with her stuffed bear.
“Hey, quit that whining, we’ll go in a minute.” Bee smiled.
“Yayyyyy!” Alia began twirling out of excitement but quickly lost her balance and began to tumble.
“Hey,” said Bee, “what if we go to the library instead? That book you wanted to read is available.” She scrolled through the library app on her phone, checking the book was ready.
“Yes! I wanna read about magic and fairies!”
Smiling, the two walked hand in hand to the library down the street. They lived in a nice spot, an apartment in the center of town, but it was never too busy here. And perfect walking distance to all the good locations and stores. Of the two libraries in town, the one they were headed to was their favorite. It had a cozy nook on the top floor with a glass ceiling and a little café. It was the best place to be when it rained, with a hot cup of tea, or hot chocolate for Alia, reading on a bean bag, listening to the sounds of rain.
In fact, the two of them, plus Caroline, made their way up the three flights of stairs and snagged their favorite seats, right in the corner.
“Look at that view!” Bee exclaimed, pointing to the flock of blue winged birds flying outside.
“I wish I could fly like that” Alia said, flapping her arms like wings.
Bee giggled at Alia’s little dance. She pulled the book Alia wanted to read from a nearby shelf, sitting down and turning to the first page. At that point, Alia had tired herself out, so she plopped down next to her sister as Bee began reading aloud.

SWC
Weekly 2 – Part 2 – 266 words

“Beeeeee, guess what?” Alia ran over to her sister, excited to share her news, “the sky last night, it was so pretty, so black and sparkly, it’s like that dress you made for Caroline.” She lifted her stuffed bear Caroline, gesturing to its clothing, which today, was not actually the black dress, rather, a top hat pinned to its head and a dark red bow tie.
“I know!” Bee smiled pulling up a picture on her phone, “look at these stars here, I think that’s Orion. He’s the—
“The guy with the belt, right!”
“Yep, I’m glad you remember. He was cast up into the sky by Artemis, you remember who she is, don’t you?”
“Yaaaa! She the lady of the moon and the one with the archery”
“Exactly! And you know who her brother is?”
“He’s the sun guy, the bright sun, I love it so much I wanna hug it.”
“Yes, Apollo, but don’t get too close to the sun with your wings on, or they’ll melt.”
“Huh, wuzat mean?”
“It was in the story we read at the library yesterday with the princess Ariadne—
“I remember her!! I wonder what she thought of the sky, was it as sparkly and pretty for her, or was it mean and just black with no lights in it. I like the lights so bright and the sun and everything. And food! I’m hungry, I wanna eat lunch.”
“Then lunch it is!” Bee smiled, reaching for her sister’s hand as they scrambled down the stairs to the kitchen where the smell of fresh pasta was wafting up.

SWC
Weekly 2 – Part 3 – 309 words

“The sky’s so big today, bright, warm, tasty!” Alia giggled.
“How would you know what the sky tastes like?” Her sister Bee responded.
“Hey what’s that?” Alia gestured to a big thing in the sky, coming closer and closer.
“No! It’s not, it can’t be, no, this isn’t right, Alia, get inside quickly, we have to go, this can’t be happening again, how could it.” Bee struggled to breath, her mind racing. “This can’t be happening again, we’ve had enough tragedy.”
She pulled Alia close to her body, as they ran across the field to the nearest building. “This can’t be happening, not again, no.” Bee glanced up at the falling object, growing closer, closer, closer, she picked up her pace. They had to make it inside before it hit the ground, they would die. They could die anyway but how could Bee do this to her sister, it’s her fault. That’s what happened to her friend too, her fault, a falling plane, something wrong with the flight pattern, her friend believed everything was fine, trusting Bee, they didn’t make it inside in time, her friend too late. It was Bee’s fault, this would be too, it couldn’t happen again.
“Alia, run faster, I’ll catch up with you,” She pushed her sister forward, vowing to not let her die, Bee had enough blood on her hands, enough guilt, her friend, her mother at this point, she couldn’t let her sister die too.
With a loud crash that caused tears to burst from Alia’s eyes, the plane hit the ground, debris flying up around them. Bee, catching up to Alia, wrapped her arms around her sister’s tiny body, tears joining with the ones in her sister’s eyes, they would be okay, everything would be okay, no more death, Bee couldn’t take it, they would be okay, they would be o—
 

SWC
Weekly 2 – Part 4 – 437 words

“Nico, you excited? The cast list comes out today!” Bee exclaimed. She could barely keep her nerves in, the butterflies were flapping around her stomach. She packed up her notebooks and textbook into her backpack, waiting for Nico to finish writing the last sentence of his assignment.
“Yes! Who do you think you got?” Nico asked. The two of them stopped at their lockers to ditch the supplies they wouldn’t need over the weekend, then they walked to the auditorium, gathering around the group of teens huddling around the currently empty board. It would soon be filled with a list of twenty or so kids’ names, but there were a lot more than twenty kids gathered around. Around forty had auditioned, so some people were sure to but cut, but Bee knew she wouldn’t be one of them. She had gotten a pretty big role in the musical last year, and the director Ms. Geller loved her and her talent for acting.
“Well, I’m hoping for Anne, since that’s who I auditioned for, but I’d love to play anyone. I could see you as Cam, you want to play the love interest, don’t you?”
“And I don’t think anyone else is going out for it. No one is as fabulous as me.”
“That’s true.” Bee smiled, as the director, Ms. Geller, walked out of the double doors of the auditorium, folded paper in her hands. “Here it comes now!”
“Move aside kids, patience will get you your parts.” Ms. Geller pinned the list to the auditorium board and turned, heading back into the theatre. The huddle quickly reformed around the sheet, voices rising in excitement, squealing and sniffling from the few hidden tears of those who didn’t get parts.
“Oh my god yay!!! Nico, you’re Cam! I can’t believe it!” Bee exclaimed, “But wait, where’s my name? Did I not get a part.”
“I guess not. But don’t worry, I’ll keep you up to date on all the drama, after all, I’m the reason you didn’t get a part.”
“Wait what?? What did you do?”
“Oh, don’t worry about it, you seemed awfully stressed so I talked to Ms. Geller about it, and she decided it would be if you weren’t a part of this production. You need to rest.”
“And you didn’t think to consult me? It’s my life! I know what’s best for me, theatre helps me recover. Theatre is my therapy.” Bee felt her voice rising, but there was nothing she could do to control it. How could her best friend since fourth grade do this to her, what about their pact, their trust?

Eyes of the Dark

The sun is just sinking beneath the horizon (as your mom tucks you into bed). Maybe she isn’t there anymore, since you’re so grown up, but you still remember the stories she whispered in your ear as you drifted off, the same stories you tell yourself in your head tonight.
It’s what you love most about daylight savings, that you could go to bed later, because the sun would just be going down, but instead, you’re stuck going to sleep at 8:30 sharp to avoid the dark glare of the outside world.

And then the little (child) lived happily ever after.

The story in your head finishes, but this time you are wide awake, and so is your mind. It’s full of questions/theories/answers but most of all, did (they)? Did (they) really live happily ever? Knowing (they) almost caused (their) grandma’s death, knowing (they) would have to walk home in the dark that evening, a (possible) wolf lurking around every corner.

Against your better judgement, you sit up, making sure to keep the blankets hugging your body, and you slowly lift the blinds off the window.

It’s dark out. You’re not surprised, you knew it was coming, but it’s right there, you can almost see it/almost touch it. It’s dark out. You make eye contact with it, with what, you’re not exactly sure. You’re watching the dark and you know this is a bad idea, (but your mom is no longer around to warn you).

Eventually, you settle your head back down on your pillow, letting the blinds slap across the window. The dark you were watching is now gone, as your eyes begin to close. The creakings coming from the dark are still there, but you find them easier to ignore. It is almost a peaceful sleep, the only dream being that of the dark, but unlike other nights, it isn’t a nightmare.

Your eyes blink open as the jarring sound of your alarm wakes you. 7:00 AM on the dot, the sun already up/all traces of the dark night gone. But the light isn’t much better than the dark, you think. It makes everything harsher/brighter, until it hurts your eyes. You push those thoughts away, it’s better than the dark, isn’t it?

Your day passes in a flash, nothing remarkable to remember. But as you settle into your bed that evening, you recall your encounter with the dark the previous night. Hoping to be braver than yesterday’s self, you turn off your lights and pull the blinds open. It takes a moment for your eyes to adjust, but once they do, you can see it again. The dark figure you made eye contact with last night. Its eyes are glowing black against the dark gray/blue night. And you begin to watch it again, the eyes etched into your mind.

Surprisingly, you drift off calmly that night, contemplating your rendezvous with the dark. You faced it. Does this mean you’re no longer scared of it? That can’t be… it’s a natural fear, everyone is scared of the dark to some capacity.

A final thought crosses your mind before sleep takes you – instead of you watching the dark, the dark was the one watching all along, glowing eyes piercing deep into your soul.

(543 words)

word war with surf
prompt: I pulled up the floorboard, and my hand touched something cold.

I had a usual routine for a bad day, but that routine didn’t seem to be going to plan. It was: make myself a cup of warm tea, wrap myself in a blanket, and find my hidden journal to write down the harshness of the universe that day. A few problems. The stove broke, not very good for making tea, right, if you have no way to heat it up? So I settled for cold milk. Not very comforting. Step 2, wrapping myself in a blanket. Well it turns out that for homework my little brother had to make a blanket fort. So guess who’s blankets who stole, huh? Definitely not my extra fluffy ones.
The third part of my plan, writing in my journal, that seemed to be going well. I remembered the creaky floorboard my journal was under to keep it extra safe. But when I lifted it up, I felt something cold. That couldn’t have been my journal, it was usually pretty warm from the heat trapped down there. I tried to pull the cold thing out, but it was sticking to the bottom of the under-floor. Pulling my hardest, I yanked it out, but the force sent me toppling into the desk chair. Lovely, another bruise to add to the ones for dodgeball in gym class this morning. Gym, was not my thing, probably one of the reasons for my horrible day.
Anyway, back to the cold thing. Even once it was in my heavily heated room, not resting underneath, it was still ice cold, freezing. I would say even colder than snow, but I’ve actually never felt it. I’m scared of it, tending to lock myself in my room for a few days when it snows. This cold thing, though, it looked like it could have been snow, the same lightish blue white color, squishy, and definitely cold. But wouldn’t it have melted? I don’t how long it had been there, but it surely wouldn’t hold up, right? And who would have put it there. No one knew about this floorboard except—
Oh no, I knew what it was and who put it there. My old babysitter, of course. She loved pranking us, and she was supposed to stay with us over the weekend since parents would be going out of town.

SWC
Mar 18 – 416 words – 400 points

Thanks to @ gh0stwriter for this prompt: his hands were as calloused as folded-then-unfolded paper, the kind of texture you get when trying and failing to make an origami crane over and over again

“his hands were as calloused as folded-then-unfolded paper, the kind of texture you get when trying and failing to make an origami crane over and over again,” that is to say, very rough. They were like nothing I have ever seen before, no doubt the reason he used to wear gloves when I first met him. But I have to say, his courage has grown to an unbelievable amount. I could never do that, too self conscious, too scared about what other people are thinking, even if they don’t dare to say it.
What are his hands even calloused from? I have no clue, maybe working in some workshop, crafting something, creating? He never answers the questions, doesn’t talk too much. But one day, I get him to send down and tell a little story. He begins with his little sister, she was diagnosed with cancer, he tells me, life threatening, she was surely going to die. This was a few summers ago when I had nothing to do, so every day I came to the hospital and began folding origami cranes. The only problem, my hands were too large, I could never master the perfection. My little sister, though, on good days, could fold almost twice the amount as I could, her tiny little hands had such skill.
We were almost at one thousand, the saving number. But two days or so before we finished, she passed away. Since then, I’ve been folding seventy four paper cranes a day, the exact number we would have needed to finish and for her to have a greater chance of surviving. That’s why my hands are so calloused, too big to fold paper cranes properly, but I have to. It is the reason I used to wear gloves, they helped with the paper folding, but still they gave me barely a fraction of the precision she had. I no longer wear them, I have realized that my calloused hands are nothing be ashamed of. It’s from helping my sister, the one who would always help me whenever I needed it, so it’s up to me to repay her. It’s okay if I’m not perfect at making the cranes, I put in the effort where it’s needed, just like she did for me.
I always see her in each and every crane, the parts of her I miss the most, her kind face, her smile. She is each and every crane. The crinkled paper, from the many refolds, created by my imperfect hands, as calloused as the paper. But we’re broken creatures together, her, me, and each and every crane, we are one and the same.

SWC
Mar 21 – 460 words – 450 points

“Pride is a damsel in distress” to “courage is a child’s fears”

“Courage is a child’s fears,” she told me, whispering in my ear as I went to sleep, “and I don’t mean courage is a fear, courage is your way to overcome your fears.” I smiled at her words, a sleepy smile though. I wanted to go to bed, to rest, but nightmares plagued my nights, how could I sleep with thoughts of sheer terror, of screams, resonating in my brain.
It had been this way since I was young, post traumatic stress disorder, the doctors told me. Reminders of how I watched my parents die in a fatal car crash right in front of my apartment building. My nanny couldn’t hide the truth from me, I saw the drunk driver in the other vehicle slam right into them as they were leaving for a basketball game. I hadn’t even had a chance to say goodbye, my last conversation with them, a fight resulting in an earlier bedtime. I was seven then, and at age sixteen, now, the crash still appears in my head every night.
My aunt’s kind words did nothing to help, to push of the nightmares, but the thought was appreciated. I didn’t mind her calling me a child, I felt like one a lot of the time, a symptom of the trauma, the doctors told me. They told me a lot of things, many that I didn’t remember. Except one thing, this would never go away. It was likely that I would have this one nightmare for the rest of my life, or at least an altered version of it.
And it was inevitable. Sleep was necessary, unless I wanted to die. And I swore to my parents that I would live as full a life as possible. For them. So I guess I would try to build up my courage, I would go to sleep, and wake up screaming at one in the morning. At least I could scare the coyotes away from my neighbors’ dogs.
Off to sleep I went that night, trying to keep my breathing even, gentle thoughts in my mind, my face tucked into a group of stuffed animals, the rest of them hugged to my chest, their warm bodies not comforting, but I could at least pretend.
I had to face my fears. I could do it. I could be brave. All I had to do was try.
And yet, that night, the next night, every night that week, every night of my life, ending abruptly when I got tragically hit by a drunk driver, similar to my parents, at the age of twenty one. Up until then, I had the same nightmare, just to face the exact same ending. Tragic, isn’t it? Then I guess, what use is being brave?

SWC
Mar 23 – 532 words – 400 points

What would Toko do if they were a host of SWC? Hmm, good question, I’m glad you asked. First of all, they would make sure their cabin would win. How they would do that? Well, ten percent of all points awarded to other cabins would go to fan fi. Because of course fan fi is going to win, isn’t it?
Toko would also create some sort of point system around getting people to join SWC, though that would happen before SWC starts, so they are not sure if there is a way to count points for that, but I’m sure they would figure it out.
As host, Toko would love coming up with the session themes, especially the mascots because Toko loves cute things, especially animals, and cute things that aren’t animals. And Toko would also add some sort of extra point system for roleplaying because they love it. In fact, that is why they starting writing this daily in third person. While it is possible to get words from roleplaying, Toko thinks there should be a way to get points for it since roleplaying is so amazing.
Just going to pause the ideas to say, Toko is sorry if none of this makes sense since it is also being written for a word war that they keep forgetting about lol. But they are happy that they are multitasking: a word war, cabin war, and the daily. Extra points! Toko can already smell them.
Anyway, back to the amazing ideas. Toko would love to have SWC run all year, though they know it is not possible since there is tons of work put in behind the scenes for the cabins, the themes, planning, for everything in fact. However, they would try to make sure things stayed active and interesting so no one forgot about SWC (that happened to them once and they vowed never to do it again).
It is okay if none of Toko’s ideas make sense to others because Toko is one of the hosts, aren’t they?? Therefore, their logic will benefit only them, if there is logic behind their decisions, anyway. Hmmm, what else would Toko want as host?
Well, of course, SWC would switch to PST time. Therefore that would benefit Toko, and maybe a few others, but mostly Toko. It would probably switch months as well because March is not a very free month for Toko. There is the musical, the middle school play they are assistant directing, spring break, hmmm not a lot of free time, but they still are writing a lot, aren’t they? It is okay if Toko does not have the power to make these decisions. That is what kidnapping is for. They will simply kidnap the other hosts and force them to comply with these new ideas. These amazing ideas. The are amazing, aren’t they? Yes, Toko is sure they are, after all, Toko is amazing, and they came up with these ideas, so by relation, their ideas have to be amazing, don’t they. Anyway, I’m sure Toko has a lot more amazing ideas, but there are three seconds left on the word war timer, so that’s all the ideas for now.

SWC
Mar 29 – 526 words – 450 points

One minute can change everything, can’t it?
The grandfather clock that sits in the corner chimes its hourly toll. Eleven in the evening, you think, as you set down your journal. You have been staring at its blank pages for the past hour, exactly sixty minutes, unable to write something, anything down. You didn’t think this would be so hard, but it seems like all your thoughts hide themselves away too deep to recover and let free. You sink to the ground, battling the thoughts that race around your head, the ones you couldn’t bear to shed light on.
The clock continues to tick, rather silently it seems, but you can hear it. You can hear everything, the fridge’s faint humming, the ocean waves crashing the surface despite the two blocks of rush hour traffic standing in between. It’s all there to hear, as long as someone bothers to listen. And you always do, giving every little thing the attention you wish for.
Time continues moving even when there no one watches it. It will never come to a halt, not even a brief pause, instead you’ll just have to run to catch up with it.
The clock chimes again, half past eleven. Has it really been thirty minutes, you think. Thirty minutes of you simply sitting on your floor, contemplating your life, contemplating time and how quickly it moves. Time really does wait for no one.
You glance out your window into the darkness of the night. You could lie and talk about how pretty the setting sun looks, but there’s no point. No one would believe you, that the sun would be setting at eleven thirty pm, even at the height of the summer, but anyway, there’s no one around to talk to, so you don’t bother lying. Faint dots litter the sky. Everyone believes they must be stars, but how can they be, with all the pollution they release into the sky. They’re planes, you think, or maybe UFOs or something like that. It has to be.
A minute passes with you staring out the window, then another, then suddenly, the clock chimes midnight. You think how one minute can change everything, sixty tiny little things happening, each one a second, full of milliseconds and microseconds. But can one minute change everything, or can everything change one minute? Absorbed in something so simple as looking out the window can change the meaning of a minute, can change the meaning of time. It felt like five minutes, but it must have been half an hour you spent glancing out the window, you think, back in your head, contemplating and contemplating.
Before you know it, the clock chimes again, one in the morning, you should be asleep. But you look down at your journal that somehow found its way into your hands, and you notice that its once-empty pages suddenly fill up with ink. Filled with thoughts about time, about the dark sky, the not-setting sun. You suppose you have been writing this conversation deep in your head down. That’s the funny thing about time. It makes you do things you didn’t think you do.

SWC
Mar 30 – 538 words – 550 points

Well, I guess happy birthday to me! Or is it really? Wouldn’t I be so bored of it after a few weeks? Sure, the gifts would be nice, but eventually I would run out of things to want. I would probably stop celebrating it, it would be too annoying for my friends and family I bet.
However, do I still age normally? As in am I a day older every day, or a year older every day, because that certainly affects things. I would definitely stop celebrating my birthday if I aged a year in a day because everyone would always be prying about my birthday and how I’m at least 5000 years old, and how I’m not dead yet.
It would be fun to say it was your birthday every day, however, so you can go to Starbucks and other places that give you things on your birthday. However, you would have to go find different stores, I’m sure they wouldn’t give you a drink two days in a row, even if it was your real birthday.
Another thing, it would be really awkward when someone were to ask you when your birthday is. You can’t exactly say every day, and when you say “oh it’s today actually” that person will feel really bad. Honestly, I would probably just chose one day of the year and make that my birthday, which kind of defeats the purpose of having my birthday everyday but…
How would this work as an actual concept, anyway? Was I reborn everyday? Maybe, every evening I actually die and am reborn, so I live a one day life. That would be cool, I guess, but it depends if I have any memories.
Well, on to the good things about having my birthday every day, I guess there has to be some good in this, isn’t there? Well first of all, the gifts! I would probably get so many books that my to read list would be twice as long as it is now. I’d have books to read for ages. I would also get cake or cupcakes every day, which would be fun, but I would probably get sick of that after a bit. However, I usually make my own cakes, so I would get to experiment a lot more with different desserts and maybe even be able to create a recipe book with my ratings on each dessert. That seems fun! Except it would cost a lot of money with ingredients, especially the eggs. Hmmm, vegan cake anyone?
Having my birthday every day would also be a unique milestone for me. Instead of measuring things by years, I can measure them by day, which would also help me accomplish things more. I could say things like “by the time I’m fourteen years old, I will have finished this thing” which gives me about two weeks. Seems pretty accomplishable!
I would make sure to look on the bright side of things and help others! I would definitely donate gifts to the Salvation Army because I would want other people to share in my joy of having things. Overall, I think I could make it into something fun, even if by nature, it wouldn’t be!